Brooklyn Architect History: Washington Hull

Read Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3 of this story.

Architect Washington Hull had a lot of successes in his personal and professional life. He also had some profound failures. He was a Brooklyn boy, with a lot of talent as well as a healthy ego and a rather pugilistic personality. All of those factors resulted in a life that was certainly interesting, as well as news fodder for an eager press. He helped design and build the largest one-family home in New York City. His mansion for copper tycoon William A. Clark was an enormous castle designed for a man whose own ego, not to mention wealth, knew few boundaries.

This fantastic and rather overdone palace of 120 rooms is no longer standing, but it’s still in the memory of New Yorkers. Clark was the father of eccentric heiress Huguette Clark, who downsized from the family pile to 42 rooms over three apartments on 5th Avenue at 72nd Street. She led a strange and troubled life, and was the topic of a best-selling book called “Empty Mansions”, by Bill Dedman and Paul Clark Newell, Jr.

Brooklyn Architect History: Washington Hull
Washington Hull. Photo via Brooklyn Eagle, 1909

Washington Hull’s own life read like a novel sometimes. Aside from the mixed blessing of building a home for one of the Gilded Age’s most powerful and picky men, Hull also won a prestigious contest to design Brooklyn’s new Municipal Building in 1902. But just as he was about to begin to build, the contract was snatched out of his hands by the new, incoming Brooklyn Borough President Martin Littleton. He declared the Hull’s contest design and city contract null and void, and the architect who dreamed of designing a Brooklyn civic building for the ages saw his dream dashed on the rocks of political one-upmanship.

After Littleton found himself replaced by a newer borough president, one who also had no intention of building Hull’s building, Hull moved on. But not before charging the city for, and winning $15,000 for his plans. He became president of the Brooklyn branch of the American Institute of Architects (AIA), built several other projects inside and outside of the city, and was doing well, even though he never became a household name.

Brooklyn Architect History: Washington Hull
Sketch for the Athletic Club of Paris. Photo via Brooklyn Eagle, 1908

One of his biggest projects was to be a new Athletics Club of Paris, built by American sportsmen in France, in 1908. The description of the large clubhouse, as designed by Washington Hull, greatly resembles an upscale health club that we would be familiar with today. It had an indoor pool, a gymnasium, running track, racket and handball courts, bowling alleys, billiards and other club game rooms. The pool was to be built as a large tank that could be raised or lowered, so the floor could be used for other sports activities.

The whole project was being paid for by influential New York men who spent a lot of time in Paris, as well as French aristocrats such as the Marquis de Beauvoir, who was to be the club president. The Marquis had also donated part of his 6,000-acre estate for playing fields for the club. Washington Hull gave a presentation at the New York Athletic Club on March 5, 1908, introducing the club and its new building to a crowd of interested people. The Brooklyn Eagle printed a picture of the new building. I couldn’t find any evidence that this building was ever built, or that the club ever took off. A club by that name does exist in Paris now, but it was founded in 1962.

Perhaps the building was never built because Washington Hull was not alive to oversee his creation. On November 1st, 1909, Hull left his offices in Manhattan for the last time. He was getting ready to take a day or so off and set sail on his yacht, the Commodore, to take it to its winter berth. He and two crewmen, a Norwegian named Trygve Wold, and another unknown sailor set out from the ship’s summer berth at Lawrence Beach on Long Island, headed just down the coast to Bayonne, NJ, where the sloop would spend the winter. He had made this trip for more than a dozen years.

Brooklyn Architect History: Washington Hull
Julia Hull. Photo via Brooklyn Eagle, 1912

According to Mrs. Julia Hull, Washington had packed a lunch for himself and his men, and set out at 9 a.m., November 3. The trip should have only taken a few hours; the weather was good, and the sea was calm. When he said goodbye to his wife that morning, he promised her that he’d be home by dinner. That was the last time Julia saw him. A livery cabman named H. W. Dawson drove Hull to the beach. He was the last person to see Hull and his boat and crew.

The Commodore was a 30-foot sloop, with a motor and sails. She usually had a dory on board, but did not that trip; the small rowboat had been stolen that spring, and never replaced. The craft was equipped with two life preservers, bailing buckets and pumps that were deemed adequate for a small leak. Mrs. Hull and both of her sons, young adults in 1908, had all sailed for years with Mr. Hull, who was an accomplished sailor. Mrs. Hull told the New York Times that she had been on board with the rest of the family when the Commodore was caught out in a serious squall. The craft had ridden the waves like a cork, she said. It was a well-built and much-loved ship. Hull was also a champion swimmer.

When Hull didn’t show up for dinner that Wednesday night, Mrs. Hull was worried, but not overly so. She thought that perhaps he decided to go for one last sail before the winter set in. But when no word was heard from him by Thursday, she contacted the Coast Guard and the authorities on Long Island. Search craft went looking for him, but no trace of the craft or crew was found. There was no reason the ship would have sunk, unless it had a massive hole in it, and had sunk before the crew even knew it was happening. Perhaps it had been struck by an ocean liner, and run over by a ship that never even saw it.

The possibilities were frightening; if the craft had tipped over, the large sail would have kept it on the surface, but if it had been caught in a sudden squall, it could have drifted far off course out into the open sea. In addition to the Coast Guard and other harbor rescue ships looking for the Commodore, private vessels also went out to look. They scoured the coast of Long Island down to Bayonne. Mrs. Hull and Hull’s Columbia University fraternity hired a tug to aid in the search. None of the would-be rescuers found a single trace of the Commodore, Hull, or the two sailors. They were gone without a trace in the Atlantic Ocean.

On November 23, 1909, the battered body of Trygve Wold was found floating in Jamaica Bay. The other sailor was never positively identified, although several other bodies of missing sailors were found at that time. No one had known the other man, so descriptions were vague. The body of Washington Hull was expected to surface soon. Mrs. Hull and her family were still holding out hope that her husband would contact them from somewhere, alive and well. It wasn’t looking good. Three weeks later, on December 14th, small pieces of the yacht washed ashore, including a piece of the sternboard, which had a brass plate with the name “Commodore” engraved on it.

The wreckage had washed ashore after a heavy storm. The pieces were found off Belle Harbor. It was surmised that the sloop had been wrecked soon after heading out, and had sunk. The storm had brought it up from the bottom and washed it ashore. In addition to the sternboard, various other recognizable parts of the boat had also washed up. It was definitely the Commodore. The experts figured that Mr. Hull had gone down with his ship, and he too, would finally wash ashore soon. They may have been right.

The next day, a man fishing off Rockaway Point in a motorboat fouled his line on something. He looked down and could see the outlines of a boat seven feet below him. He rushed to the Coast Guard station which pulled the craft out of the water with ropes and hooks. It was what was left of the Commodore. There were no bodies aboard. The boat had not been there before the storm, which had dredged up the bottom, moving the wreckage to the site. A week or so later, a headless body washed up on the beach at Amityville. The corpse had been in the frigid water for a while, but was still wearing expensive shoes and clothing. Everyone was sure it was Washington Hull, except his family, which refused to positively identify the remains. Understandably, the headless part of the story was too much for Mrs. Hull.

Brooklyn Architect History: Washington Hull
154 South Portland, the Hull home. Photo by Scott Bintner for PropertyShark

On January 10, 1910, the Hull family had a memorial service for Washington Hull at their home at 154 South Portland Avenue. Besides friends and family, the house was crowded with representatives of all of the clubs and organizations that Washington had belonged to. He had been a popular captain of the crew team at Columbia, and was remembered by his family, college and professional friends as a fierce competitor, a talented man, and a wonderful husband and father. A portrait of Washington Hull was placed on the piano, along with a laurel wreath and his winning illustration for the Municipal Building of Brooklyn; his finest triumph that never would be.

But the story’s not quite over. The story of the Municipal Building just wouldn’t die, even though Washington Hull was gone. After winning the project under Borough President Swanstrom, Hull lost the contract under B.P. Littleton. He had to pay Hull $15,000 for the unused plans. Littleton had contracted McKim, Mead & White to design his Municipal Building. When he was defeated in the next election, the new Borough President Coler dumped those plans in the trash, but had to pay them off, too. He went with plans designed by Hull’s old partners, Lord & Hewlett. When he lost his office, and was replaced by new Borough President Steers, Lord & Hewlett faced the same fate as their predecessors. They sued, and were awarded a payment for their plans as well.

B.P. Steers had his own architects in mind; the firm of McKenzie, Voorhees & Gmelin. They drew up their plans for Municipal Hall, and were all set to finalize them when Julia Hull, Washington’s widow, decided to sue the Borough of Brooklyn for $60,000. Her suit stated that her husband had won the contract fair and square, and was to be paid not only for his plans, but for his work as the project architect. He would have received 5 percent of the original $1.5 million cost of the project, which came to $75,000. The city had paid him $15,000, she wanted the balance. It was owed to her husband, she said, and had he been alive, he would have fought for the contract.

Brooklyn Architect History: Washington Hull
Hull’s winning design for the Municipal Building. Photo via Architecture and Design, 1903

Many legal experts agreed. They thought the way Littleton had rejected Hull’s winning design was shameful and bad precedent. They advised that the city pay up, before it got worse. Steers countered that that was a lot of money, and if they paid it, they would not be able to build the Municipal Building. He also said that he might have to use the Hull plans, because he couldn’t afford to not use them after all of the lawsuits. Julia Hull said that was fine, she had an architect all ready to put her husband’s design on the street. He could make any small changes that time and technology had made necessary.

McKenzie, Voorhees & Gmelin saw the handwriting on the wall, and also filed suit, asking to be paid for their design now, just in case what had happened to three firms before them was their fate as well. They wanted $10,000 for their initial sketches and designs. They had not yet completed their final plans. The Brooklyn Board of Estimates had a coronary, and rejected McKenzie et al’s claims. The fight was on.

In 1914, the courts decided for one victory for Julia Hull. She was also part of another suit against the city filed by sixteen other plaintiffs for architectural and building trades work done for the 1908 Building Codes Commission. Washington Hull had been a member of a committee called the McClellan Commission that was meeting to rewrite the building codes for the city. Their recommendations, drawn up after years of work, had been summarily vetoed and tossed out by McClellan, who then fired them all.

Brooklyn Architect History: Washington Hull
Clark Mansion. Photo via New York Public Library

When the next mayor, Gaynor, took over, he appointed a new Commission, with none of the old members. The new commission used the McClellan Commission’s work as a framework, and built on it, passing new code rules. The seventeen plaintiffs wanted to get paid for their work. They sued the City and won. Julia Hull received over $10,000 as compensation for her husband’s work. The suit against the Borough of Brooklyn was next. She won that one, too.

The Borough did not go through with implementing Washington Hull’s plans for a Municipal Building at that time. The entire thing was shelved once again. The new Municipal Building was not constructed until 1924, when the designs of McKenzie, Voorhees & Gmelin were made reality. That is the building that stands today, and it’s a pretty good building, too. It has nothing to do with Washington Hull’s designs, and he probably would have hated it. Today, he’s totally forgotten, as is the brouhaha over the building.

Julia Hull lived at 154 South Portland until 1922, when she sold the house. She died in December of 1925. The family never believed that the headless body washed up in 1909 was that of Washington Hull. Although she lived out the rest of her life with her children and grandchildren in financial comfort, she never remarried. She was known for her generosity and for her prodigious musical talent, and for cultivating that talent in others, especially in Brooklyn. Washington Hull left us two Brooklyn buildings — his Reading Room for Grace Episcopal Church, at 62 Joralemon Street, and the fine building for the 74th, now the 70th Precinct at 154 Lawrence Avenue. Too bad there aren’t more.

Read Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3 of this story.


What's Your Take? Leave a Comment