Among my enduring memories from the first several decades of my life are periodic visits to see my mother at what she called her “home away from home”—the Harkness Pavilion at Columbia-Presbyterian Hospital. Mom was in Harkness more times than I care to recount. She stayed in the building dedicated to those who could afford private rooms.
The visits to Harkness were never memorable except for two instances. During an early visit, perhaps before I was 10, I peered out a window overlooking the West Side Highway. It was raining that evening. The tail lights from cars appeared like unbroken red lines extending deep into Manhattan.
The second instance occurred during the winter in the mid-1970s. Gilda and I had driven down from Connecticut, arriving after dark.
We parked on West 168th Street near Broadway. We had to walk a long block down to Ft. Washington Avenue plus a short distance to the entrance to Harkness. New York was not the safest of cities back then, particularly the Washington Heights area around Columbia-Presbyterian. I nervously looked over my shoulder every so often to check out anyone who might be following us.
As we headed west on 168th Street I spotted a bearded man in a dark pea jacket with an upturned collar walking briskly behind us. I whispered to Gilda not to be afraid. He was, I told her, one of her favorite actors—Al Pacino— still looking very much like Frank Serpico, the biopic role he played of a New York City policeman/detective who testified against departmental corruption. She didn’t believe me. We debated even as he approached us. As he passed us he asked how we were doing. I replied, “Fine, if you are who I think you are.” He said yes and scooted past as we rounded the corner onto Ft. Washington Avenue.
It took a moment for the moment to register with Gilda, but then she blurted out, “It’s Al Pacino.” She scurried after him as he entered the Harkness Pavilion. Once inside, he vanished from sight. My mother had always said celebrities stayed and visited others at the Harkness. She was right.
All those years going in and out of the Harkness Pavilion I never indulged any curiosity as to its namesake. It took one of Gilda’s many talents to fill in the blanks.
Among my bride’s numerous accomplishments is a knack for planning informative, picturesque day trips. Recently, a scenic tour took us to Waterford, CT, outside New London, to Harkness Memorial State Park (with lunch at Captain Scott’s Lobster Dock on Hamilton Street in New London where locals and out-of-towners line up to savor crustaceans of all types). But I digress, even as my mouth waters at the memory of that succulent meal.
On the grounds of the state park is Eolia, one of the seven homes Edward and Mary Harkness owned. Overlooking Long Island Sound, Eolia was their summer residence. Situated on 230 acres, the neoclassical mansion named for the island home of the Greek god of winds has 42 rooms including 20 bedrooms, 14 bathrooms and 11 fireplaces. Unlike the stately mansions of Newport, RI, Eolia presents as a very livable home.
By now you may be wondering, who were these Harknesses? Why have I not heard of them before? From where did their wealth emanate? First a little tease: In 1918, Forbes magazine ranked Edward Harkness as the sixth richest man in the United States.
His father, Stephen, for whom the Harkness Pavilion was named, was, among other vocations, a banker in Ohio. Twice he lent more than $70,000 to a fledgling businessman who suggested Stephen become his partner. Stephen demurred, not wanting to have any limelight shine on him. He agreed, however, to be a silent partner. Shunning publicity became a family hallmark.
Harkness was the company’s second largest stockholder. The enterprise? Standard Oil. The businessman? John D. Rockefeller.
Edward Harkness’ brothers died, leaving him, after his mother passed away, the sole heir to the fortune. In addition, his wife, Mary Stillman, came from a well-heeled family. Her maternal grandfather owned much of what we now call Mystic Seaport.
The Harknesses had no children. No heirs, unless you consider the citizens of America their beneficiaries, for they truly left a legacy across many philanthropic arenas.
Ever marvel at the wonders of ancient Egypt displayed inside New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art? You can thank Edward’s fascination with Egypt for much of the collection, including artifacts from King Tut’s tomb.
As the story goes, when Howard Carter discovered King Tutankhamun’s tomb in 1922 he was accompanied by George Herbert, 5th Earl of Carnarvon, whose castle we now recognize as the stage for TV’s Downton Abbey. His ancestral home back then was in disrepair. To fund its renovation Herbert offered his collection of Egyptian treasures to the Met. Edward already was a benefactor of the Met’s Egyptian department, so it asked if he would pay for some of the earl’s treasures. Edward replied he would underwrite all that was offered.
Ever been to Yale? In 1930 he gave his alma mater $11 million to build nine residential colleges, this after funding eight residences for Harvard.
Founded in 1918 by his mother and later administered by Edward and Mary, the Harkness family established the Commonwealth Fund, one of the longest running, continuous foundations to improve public welfare.
I could go on but this already is a long post. With the notable exception of the Harkness Pavilion and Camp Harkness adjacent to the state park where Mary first started a retreat for children afflicted with polio and now used by special needs children, almost none of the gifts the Harknesses made (more than $2 billion in today’s dollars) bears their name. Just as they were to John D. Rockefeller, they mostly remain silent partners to us all.
