He paused in his narrative to give me one of those knowing, piercing looks of his. This was still another Hammerstein: he was the accomplished actor awaiting applause for securing such an extensive and undeserved line of credit from so unexpected a source.
“Does that,” he asked, “explain to you how I could pull his leg?”
The impresario did not then go into bankruptcy. A few of us combined and lent him the money. My activities in Harlem also included the purchase of two solid blocks of lots.
In 1887 Ehrich and I bought from Oswald Ottendorfer the entire block bounded by Lenox and Mount Morris avenues and One Hundred and Twentieth and One Hundred and Twenty-first streets. I induced the Ottendorfers to split the transaction and content themselves with our buying the Lenox Avenue front outright and their giving us an option on the Mount Morris front. This option was sold for $10,000 profit, to Walter and Frank Kilpatrick, and our total profits, which we divided in May, 1887, were $43,424.10. I always remembered the numbers because of the sequence, 43, 42, 41.
Immediately after we had sold the Ottendorfer block we purchased the block to the north, also for $325,000. In this purchase the Kilpatricks joined us. I had a peculiar experience when it came to drawing the contracts. As the Ottendorfers had agreed to take back separate mortgages on every four lots, I wanted the Astors, owners of this block, to do the same. Mr. Southmayd, the partner of William M. Evarts and Joseph H. Choate, attorneys for the Astors, refused to do so, and insisted that we give him one mortgage for the entire $240,000 which they had agreed they would allow to remain on the property. All my pleadings were in vain. He even refused to take back four mortgages on eight lots each, saying that he could not tell which was the most valuable, and we might retain one or two of the plots and forfeit our equities on the rest.
Mr. Southmayd told me that just prior to the Panic of 1857, when farms of 160 acres in Brooklyn were being sold at very inflated prices, an old German truck-farmer was asked what he wanted for his 160 acres. He demanded $50,000, the prevailing price at that time; $35,000 cash and a $15,000 mortgage. When they argued with him that he had reversed the order of things, Hans still adhered to his terms, as he claimed that the property was not worth over $15,000, and when asked why he then insisted on $50,000, he answered, “because you paid that amount to my neighbour Peter for the same size farm.” Southmayd sneeringly added that after the Panic of 1857 Hans got his property back for his mortgage.
I would not submit to being balked by Southmayd. I made up my mind to talk to the famous John Jacob Astor himself.
I had never met him, but he had often been pointed out to me, as, shortly before 9 o’clock, he walked with his son, Waldorf, down Fifth Avenue, from their home to their office in Twenty-fifth Street. Astor was a portly figure with impressive side-whiskers. I watched for them and followed them to their office and asked for an interview. My plain statement of facts made no apparent impression on them. I tried again: I told Southmayd’s story of Hans: a smile broke the severity of the elder’s face.
“Mr. Astor,” I concluded, “you must admit that it’s unfair to your property to compare the Harlem of to-day with the Brooklyn of 1856.”
“You’re right,” said Astor. “You make me a proposition of what relative values you put on the various plots, and what will be the amounts of the separate mortgages, and I will have it checked up.” I submitted my figures and they were accepted without any change. The mortgages were paid long before they were due, as all the property was promptly improved. I believe this was the first time that the Astors broke away from their policy of not selling any of their holdings.