
















Six of New York’s surviving Gilded Age mansions hide in plain sight on Madison Avenue, and most people would never suspect they were once residences.
Stretching across an entire block, the imposing Villard Houses complex looks every bit like a public building, but it was initially designed as six attached townhomes.
Henry Villard originally owned the property, and in the early 1880s, he hired McKim, Mead & White to design houses on it for himself and five other executives of his railroad company.1
With the firm’s star designer, Stanford White, otherwise engaged, the project’s design fell to Joseph Wells, an assistant who discarded White’s original sketches and opted for an exquisite Renaissance-inspired scheme.2

Wells’ work on this project was magnificent. Judging from this and his designs for the New York Life Buildings in Kansas City and Omaha, and the Russell & Erwin Building in New Britain, Connecticut, I’d venture to say he was more talented than White—certainly he was more disciplined.
Wells styled the Villard Houses as an Italian palazzo, reportedly inspired by the Palazzo della Cancelleria, Palazzo Farnese,3 and Villa Farnesina.4
The three-story homes included basements and attics and were built around a central courtyard, with brownstone facades and a tile roof. The ornamentation is sparse but striking, forming a tasteful, cohesive design that is far more subdued than many of White’s buildings, which were often quite garish.

The Villard Houses marked an important turning point for McKim, Mead & White, as Wells’ Renaissance-influenced design received widespread public acclaim, prompting the firm to look increasingly toward Italian architecture for inspiration.5
The project itself was a bust, however: Villard’s company failed during construction, and the homes were put up for sale before the interiors were completed.6 Typical Gilded Age bullshit. The firm ultimately finished the interiors of four of the homes.7

Stanford White and Joseph Wells reportedly had a complex and contentious relationship that grew increasingly strained through the 1880s as White’s hard-partying lifestyle began to eclipse his work output, and Wells handled major projects without credit or commensurate pay.8
Although he was virtually unknown to the public, Wells was highly esteemed in the architectural community, and when he abruptly died in 1890, his friend Cass Gilbert said he “had the temperament which makes artists unfit to cope with the world, and which, therefore, kept them always as assistant rather than principals.”9 Woof.
Granted, I tend to root for talented people who stay out of the spotlight, but I consider Wells an unsung genius, and the Villard Houses are undoubtedly his finest surviving work.







































I drove down U.S. 1 one morning to see old motel signs.
That’s when I found Shangri-La.
Judging from an old postcard of the Shangri-La Motel (pictured below), it was probably a reasonable slice of paradise in its time. And now? Well…
Originally owned and managed by Mr. & Mrs. Carroll A. Maul,1 the motel advertised:
“Modern duplex cottages. New city court. Automatic vented heat. Carpeted floors. Airfoam beds. Connecting rooms. City water. Tile baths. Maid service.”

The motel opened in 1950,2 and the sign pictured at the top likely debuted then as well.
It appears to be the same one visible on the far left of the postcard, although it was awkwardly placed on the office roof at some point, probably when the nearby highway was widened.
“They sure don’t make signs like that anymore,” says the voice of some old man in my head.




This postcard depicts the Main Dining Room of the Piedmont Hotel in Atlanta, designed by Willis F. Denny and completed in 1903.
Ruth Ehrlich wrote on the front: ‘In the excitement of leaving the other night, I forgot to “drop” you this postal. Hoping that you will pardon my delay. I am with love to you and yours sincerely.’
Oddly, the card is unaddressed and contains no postmark. Guess she forgot to “drop” it again.





This postcard depicts a scene on Atlanta’s Mitchell Street, looking east toward Forsyth Street.
The card was postmarked in Atlanta on October 13, 1910, and addressed to Miss Edmonia March in Taylorsville, Virginia.
The following note was written on the back:
“Atlanta Ga
10/13/10I have been promoted to one of the longest run in the South running from Wash DC to Atlanta only 706 mile. I’m on the road 24 hours. I get my lay off in Wash
Write me
612 – 6th – N.E. St. WashSincerely [?]”


Some people would consider Daisy fleabane a weed, since it tends to pop up uninvited in unexpected places.
But I’m a big defender of many so-called weeds, including fleabane, which is a member of the aster family and a favorite of native bees and small insects. It’s tough, easy to grow, and I think its dainty white-and-yellow flowers are pretty.
It’s a better sight on the summer landscape than some tropical plant that subsists on hose water and chemicals.