The Harknesses Left an Enduring Legacy

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.

How I Know Winter's Officially Over, The Joy of Spellcheck, Why I Blog

While snow was still falling this morning on eastern Long Island, the City of White Plains officially declared the end of winter. Not by proclamation, mind you, or by adherence to the astronomical calendar which placed the end of winter last Thursday. 

Rather, White Plains put action behind its conviction that no more massive storms will drop snow within our fair city’s borders. A Dept. of Public Works employee came by this morning to remove the red metal pole and flag from atop the fire hydrant in my cul de sac. There’s still an iceberg of slowly melting snow in front of the hydrant, but the city no doubt is confident its trucks will not have to plow any more flakes onto the heap.

Spellcheck Doesn’t Catch Everything: If I have one continuous fault I am willing to own up to, it is my inability to let small writing and speaking mistakes escape my correction. I particularly find “between you and I” to be highly objectionable. Are we not teaching that “between” is a preposition and that the object of a preposition can only be “me,” not “I”?

Not that I am infallible. It is très difficult to edit one’s own copy and speech, though I did have a rule on my magazine that any copy editor who changed even a comma in my manuscripts had to first run it by me for approval, or else. 

I've become a little less pedantic in my dotage, except when it comes to résumés and cover letters I review. But I still occasionally point out an error when I am amused by its presence. Such was the case in an email from Ellie earlier this week suggesting a visit to the Metropolitan Museum of Art where she works. 

“I just wondered through this contemporary Chinese art show, which closes April 6, and it was so good … maybe you could see this show … It's great how it's installed among the rest of the collection, rather than in a separate gallery,” she wrote.

To which I replied, in part: “Don’t take this the wrong way, that is me trying to correct you all the time, but I was tickled by a mistake you made in your note that actually makes perfect sense. You wrote, you "wondered" through the art show. You probably meant "wandered," but wondered actually conveys a real sense of discovery and joy.”

Spellcheck doesn’t work when the wrong word is spelled correctly. Sometimes, it’s for the best. BTW, Gilda and I will be going to see the exhibit next week. For those who can, take Ellie’s suggestion and see it, as well.

Preserving the Past: It is difficult to gauge how readers will react to any single post. Monday’s story about my father’s reunion in Perth, Australia, with his first love elicited some heartwarming notes of personal stories from their respective families. 

When I started this blog four and a half years ago one of my objectives was to initiate remembrances among readers through the stories of my family’s history. While I wanted to bring you into the Forseter family sphere, I would have been less than fulfilled if I did not make you reflect on your own, individual heritage.

I am not alone in trying to capture history for the next generation. The NY Times recently ran an article titled, “Preserving Family History, One Memory at a Time,” ( http://www.nytimes.com/2014/03/16/business/preserving-family-history-one-memory-at-a-time.html?ref=business). 

As far back as the mid-1980s my brother, sister and I videotaped our parents and their siblings. Within the last year I transferred the tapes onto DVDs, and with the help of our nephew Eric have made copies for each of our children. For Gilda’s family there’s a DVD of their early life in Saratoga Springs, NY. 

Sherlock Holmes is one of my favorite fiction characters. It would not be too much of a stretch to quote his oft-repeated phrase, “Time is of the essence.” If you’re not already doing something to preserve your patrimony, get cracking. 

Spring Thoughts Mean Only One Thing

If near-40-year-old Andy Pettitte can attempt a comeback to the rigors of major league baseball with the NY Yankees after being retired one year, perhaps there’s reason to believe I can return to the pitching mound after a three-year hiatus from Sunday morning fast-pitch softball.

I’m not sure our temple team needs a 63-year-old pitcher, but our 64-year-old hurler jumped ship, signing with another squad. So there may be an opening if none of the younger arms proves reliable. Over my near 30-year softball career, reliable would be a good descriptor of my performance. I wasn’t the best pitcher in the league, but I was among the most consistent, almost always keeping our team competitive. Before I joined, the team would lose by double-digit scores as the pitcher, Mike, simply lobbed the ball over. While we still lost most of our games during my first season, the scores were much closer. Mike, however, was not a happy teammate. He protested his demotion to the bench, appealing to the leadership of the temple Brotherhood, the sponsor of the team. Sadly, they suggested to Mike it was time to hang up his spikes. He chose, instead, to switch temples, though his misfortunes continued on his new team and it, too, told him to ride the pines.

I retired three years ago when I was no longer the starting pitcher and couldn’t justify waking up early Sunday mornings from April through October. I’m still not sure the warmth and comfort of our bed won’t seduce me into staying home (this morning, for example, I rolled out of bed at 10:30), but I’m getting that old excitement back. Yesterday I even bought new cleats (just in case) and tried on my old uniform; it fit perfectly, with no tugging at the waist of the pants. Actually, I rarely wore baseball pants, preferring to pitch in shorts. To say my “chicken legs” weren’t a distraction to batters would be disingenuous, but hey, you’re allowed to try any legal means of changing the focus of the opposition. I also checked my glove to make sure the lacing was in good order. In short, I’m ready for a season with players almost all of whom are closer to my son’s age (33) than mine. First practice is in a week or two, first game April 22. Hopefully, I won’t get hurt.


I ventured back in time in a different way on Thursday, attending a luncheon of the Society of the Silurians at the Players Club on Gramercy Park in Manhattan to hear the featured speaker, Gail Collins, Op-Ed columnist for The NY Times, and an acquaintance going back more than 35 years to our days in New Haven when her husband, Dan, and I worked at the New Haven Register. (The Silurians, by the way, is an organization of veteran New York City journalists founded in 1924. As previously mentioned, I’m 63. With very few exceptions, I was the youngest in the room of 150, a record attendance, there to hear Gail talk about her career and her thoughts on politics of the day. Even society president Tony Guida, distinguished looking at 70 with a full head of coiffed, silver hair, couldn’t avoid noting the age of the assembled when he asked for all cell phones, beepers, pagers and pacemakers to be turned off prior to Gail’s presentation.)

Gail didn’t disappoint, regaling all with stories of her days as a Connecticut state capitol reporter before coming to New York in 1980. We took a few minutes before and after her talk to catch up. The only disappointment was Dan and another New Haven alum, Trish Hall, now Op-Ed editor of The Times, weren’t in attendance. But I did sit next to Times reporter Robert D. McFadden, a spry 50-year veteran of the paper, whose main assignment these days is writing pre-obituaries of the noteworthy and famous.

By the way, anyone who has followed Gail’s columns on Mitt Romney knows she always includes a reference to the star-crossed family trip to Canada when Mitt boxed the family Irish setter, Seamus, in a crate atop the station wagon as he, his wife and their five boys rode inside. Seamus eventually developed diarrhea, forcing Romney to make an unscheduled stop to hose down the dog and crate but not allow any of the humans to relieve themselves. Gail maintained Romney’s behavior provides insight into his character. Nevertheless, she indicated when the primaries are over she will retire Seamus from her columns. I’m not so sure, if Romney winds up securing the Republican presidential nomination. We’ll just have to wait and see.


After the luncheon and a quick stop at Gilda’s office on Union Square, I was off to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to see the “The Renaissance Portrait from Donatello to Bellini,” an exhibit I highly recommend but alas is closing today. One thing struck me among the painted portraits—several of the 15th century profiles of men looked vaguely familiar in their headdress. It was not until later that evening when watching the evening news that I realized the turbaned men hanging on the walls of the Met bore a striking resemblance to the millinery styles of the men of present day Afghanistan.


Saturday was Gilda’s birthday, her 63rd. Don’t worry. Gilda has no qualms about revealing her age. Indeed, she is vastly amused when people guess she is 20, even 30, years younger. Not wanting to jostle the crowds of St. Patrick’s Day, we spent a peaceful day together. Today we will tour the annual orchid show at the Bronx Botanical Gardens and then head off to Brooklyn where Ellie and Donny will prepare a birthday feast of one of Gilda’s favorite foods—fried chicken.

All the News That's Fit to Print. Really?

If you read the front page article in the Arts section of the NY Times Wednesday you would have been informed of a plan by the Metropolitan Museum of Art to update the plaza in front of the world-renowned edifice. In the newspaper’s words, the project would “transform this four-block-long stretch along Fifth Avenue, from 80th to 84th Street, into a more efficient, pleasing and environmentally friendly space, with new fountains, tree-shaded allées, seating areas, museum-run kiosks and softer, energy-efficient nighttime lighting.”

Furthermore, you would have discovered the long overdue remake would be underwritten by a member of the museum’s board of trustees, David H. Koch (pronounced Coke), to the tune of $60 million. The article pointed out Koch is a philanthropist who previously pledged $100 million to renovate the New York State Theater at Lincoln Center (http://www.nytimes.com/2012/02/08/arts/design/olin-designs-metropolitan-museum-a-new-fifth-avenue-plaza.html?_r=1).

But what the newspaper, whose page one motto is “All the News That’s Fit to Print”, didn’t say about Koch is he is among the most controversial personages of American politics. David H. Koch and his brother Charles G. are among the largest contributors to right wing causes, including political action committees dedicated to the defeat of President Barack Obama and the overturning of many if not all of the social benefit laws passed during his term of office and any of his Democratic predecessors. Heck, they’re probably against any progressive legislation Republican presidents endorsed, as well.

Which begs the question, if New Yorkers were aware of the Koch antipathy toward many of the ideals and values they cherish, would they be comfortable accepting his largess to spruce up their city and support their cultural centers?

It’s a tough and sensitive question to answer. Surely history is laden with many examples of controversial, even nefarious, figures extending their wealth to provide enrichment to the masses. Andrew Carnegie was no saint in business, but he endowed countless libraries and a university. The Rockefellers were not without warts, but much of New York City has their imprimatur stamped on it. Consumers go ga-ga over anything Apple, despite the sweatshop conditions under which Steve Jobs allowed its products to be constructed in China.

So, should we hold David Koch to a higher standard, simply because we might disagree with his politics? I’m not quite ready to say. My point in writing this, however, is not to blame the message, but to shoot the messenger, so to speak. I expected more from The Times than just a recitation of David Koch’s philanthropy. David Koch has baggage he chose to add to his personage and the public is entitled to know, and should be informed, of it, even when he is doing something laudable and altruistic.

Catching Up With The Times

Parsing the Cover-up: If we have learned anything from the various scandals—political, social and sexual—of the last 40 decades, it is that usually the cover-up is much worse than the crime. From Watergate to John Edwards-gate, to baseball steroids-gate, to now Arnold-gate, the public’s tolerance for evasiveness and deceit is much shallower than its compassion and acceptance of sinners who are contrite and confess.

Into this cycle of teaching moments steps a new report commissioned by the nation’s Roman Catholic bishops that seeks to explain the causes of sexual abuse by priests that has rocked the church (http://www.nytimes.com/2011/05/18/us/18bishops.html?_r=1&scp=1&sq=roman%20catholic%20bishops&st=cse).

Not being Catholic, I can only comment from the outside. I’m interested but not really surprised by the reasons cited in the report. Moreover, I’m not convinced priests are significantly more prone to sexually abusing young boys and girls than any other religion’s leaders, be they celibate by doctrine or not. People in authority repeatedly have been shown to abuse their status, even against the most defenseless of society.

What has confounded me throughout this scandal is the lack of accountability of the bishops and the rest of the higher echelon of the church. Instead of confronting the problem head on, they covered it up, permitting offending priests to sin time and again in unsuspecting parishes with innocent children. Thus, the new report is nice to have but in no way resolves the central issue of the cover-up of abuses that has gone on for decades.


Arnold-gate: Let’s just say Arnold has eclectic taste.

His alleged paramour, Mildred Patricia Baena, by whom he fathered a son, is hardly fashioned from the same mold as Maria Shriver, his wife of 25 years. See for yourself: http://www.nytimes.com/imagepages/2011/05/19/us/19schwarzenegger-cnd.html


In Style: Interesting article about Jennifer Lopez in last Sunday’s NY Times— http://www.nytimes.com/2011/05/15/fashion/jennifer-lopez-the-peoples-pop-star.html?_r=1&scp=2&sq=jennifer%20lopez&st=cse

What made the report on J. Lo’s revamped vibes more personal was her recent appearance in a red Gucci gown at the Costume Institute gala at the New York Metropolitan Museum of Art. Some of you may know our daughter, Ellie, works at the Met. Each year she helps out at this high fashion function.

From her vantage point checking in A-list guests, Ellie could observe all the actresses, models, celebrities and socialites, such as Alicia Keys, Ashley Olsen, Beyonce, Blake Lively, Claire Danes, Demi Moore, Eva Mendes, Fergie, Ginnifer Goodwin, Taylor Swift, Gwyneth Paltrow, Zoe Saltana, Christina Ricci and Gisele Bündchen.

Her red carpet verdict—J. Lo far and away exuded more star power, more glamour than any other.


Degree of Separation: I once sat across an airplane aisle from Sen. Paul Tsongas when he was considering a presidential run in 1992. As I was reading a Times article on his chances, I tapped him on the shoulder (he was facing the other way), explaining the serendipity of sitting next to the person I was reading about prompted my intrusion on his privacy. He was very gracious and understanding.

This short reflection is a prologue to sitting across from a distant cousin’s wife last Sunday as she related her employers were profiled in that day’s Times Styles section. Instead of the usual wedding announcement or Vows article, the write-up was about the elegant party the couple was planning for their...divorce! (http://www.nytimes.com/2011/05/15/fashion/celebrating-a-divorce-with-a-party-noticed.html?scp=1&sq=charles%20bronfman&st=cse).

The rich surely do live different lives.


Brooklyn Landmark: The once tallest building in Brooklyn, the Williamsburg Savings Bank, has been converted to a mixed use edifice of commercial space and luxury residences. The Times ran an article Tuesday about the auctioning off of six penthouses ranging in price from $1.325 million to $2.55 million.

I was struck by the following paragraph: “The conversion of the landmark from a quirky collection of offices — many for dentists — to luxury residences atop floors of commercial space was among the most talked-about in Brooklyn, but the building failed to sell out despite flurries of activity” (http://www.nytimes.com/2011/05/17/nyregion/apartments-are-auctioned-at-towering-brooklyn-condo.html?scp=1&sq=williamsburg%20savings%20bank&st=cse).

My mother took me to one of those dentist offices to have some baby teeth extracted when I was about five. The oral surgeon propped my mouth open with a short, hard black rubber tube before putting me to sleep. The next thing I knew, a young nurse’s face was circling round and round before my eyes as I emerged from the ether. I can still see her face floating above me.


Too Many Visions: Are you as tired as I am seeing video of Osama bin Laden watching a video of himself? Before he was killed, all we saw was film of him walking a rocky trail, or shooting a Kalashnikov rifle. Now every news report shows him watching himself. Enough already!