When I saw the headlines about fire damaging “building owned by Curtis Institute,” my heart sank. The Curtis Institute of Music is such a lovely building. But it was actually historic Wetherill Mansion, located behind Curtis, at 251 South 18th Street, that burned. Not to the ground mind you, but looking rather the worse for wear. The building, formerly owned by the now-defunct University of the Arts, was purchased by Curtis last year. Not that its destruction is not an enormous loss. The longtime home of the Philadelphia Art Alliance, situated on the southeast corner of Rittenhouse Square, was designed by architect Frank Miles Day in 1906.
For over a century, the Alliance was committed to showcasing local art, craft, and design, while also hosting works by world-renowned artists and architects, such as Mary Cassatt, Le Corbusier, M.C. Escher, Antonio Gaudi, Walter Gropius, George Nakashima, Horace Pippin, Man Ray, and Andrew Wyeth. Among those who performed or read there were Alvin Ailey, W.H. Auden, Leonard Bernstein, John Cage, E.E. Cummings, Merce Cunningham, Buckminster Fuller, Martha Graham, and Dorothy Parker.
I lived within walking distance of the Alliance for over 30 years, sometimes only within a block or two. When I owned my bookshop at 259 South 17th Street (next to the Medical Tower), I strolled past every day on my morning and evening dog walks to Rittenhouse Square. It was a lovely little block then, before a high rise was erected on 17th Street – admittedly, on the site of a squalid little parking lot, but at least it was open space. You didn’t feel boxed-in, and I could still see the sky from my desk. I believe its construction also resulted in the demolition of the charming old Rittenhouse Medical Bookstore, with its upstairs leaded-glass windows, and with which I had a friendly professional relationship. Next to that was the residence of piano pedagogue Eleanor Sokoloff. Leopold Stokowski once kept an apartment a few doors down, but I believe that too had already been demolished. Across the street was the top-floor residence of a double bassist with whom I used to drink beers on the roof until late at night. She now holds a principal position with a symphony orchestra out west. Come to think of it, I also used to drink with a cellist who lived upstairs from my shop, a Curtis and later Juilliard student, who spent at least as much time on the golf course as he did in class. It was a nice little set-up for me. My irritable dog, a stray recovered from Rittenhouse Square in a thunderstorm, used to amuse herself by standing in the open window, with her front paws in the shop flower box, six feet or so from street level, causing passersby to cry out in surprise and drop their sodas when they were startled by her sharp, sudden barks.
The Philadelphia Art Alliance was established in 1915 by philanthropist Christine Wetherill Stevenson, heiress of the Pittsburgh Paint Company. Property was purchased to house the enterprise at 1823-25 Walnut Street (with 1827 Walnut added later), but in 1926 the PAA was moved to the Stevenson family home on Rittenhouse Square.
Stokowski’s wife, the pianist Olga Samaroff, once served on the PAA’s music committee. In 1958, Curtis Institute founder Mary Louise (Curtis) Bok Zimbalist was awarded a PAA Medal of Achievement for “advancement of or outstanding achievement in the arts.”
The building is on the National Register of Historic Places. I used to lunch there sometimes with the late flutist and bon vivant Robert Stallman.
The fire broke out early on the morning on July 4, resulting in “significant damage.” Aerial shots of the building reveal a badly compromised roof. Surely there is extensive damage inside, the result of the fire itself, efforts to extinguish it, and whatever materials may have been released by the heat. The cause has yet to be revealed, but I speak from personal experience when I say that Philadelphia is a big fireworks town.
The craftsmanship and building materials were products of a bygone age. The building can be restored, perhaps, but it’s doubtful that that sense of permanence, instilled by so many institutions of the era, will ever be recaptured.
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