Category: Divine Stone

The relief carving of the symbols for the four evangelists surrounds the “Majestus” on the west front. The term tetramorph refers to a grouping of four. This is the work of the sculptor Theodore Barbarossa. It was likely modeled by the firm of Rochette & Parzini, and carved by their head carver, Mario Tommasi. The work was executed in the late 1960’s. The specific grouping of four here represents the four evangelists. Regardless of material – stained glass, mosaics, painting or stone – the symbolic representation of the four evangelists usually accompanies the image of the Majestus.

No doubt, Canon West was consulted on the iconography appropriate to the evangelists. From his book, Outward Signs – The Language of Christian Symbolism, we find the following:

“The four evangelists seem to have been the first of the saints to receive some visible token of recognition, becoming identified with the four ‘living creatures’ of Revelation. Although there was originally little agreement as to which creature represented which evangelist, there has been, since about the fifth century, a popular consensus…St. Jerome’s iconographic representation is now common to the whole church, East and West.”

– Canon Edward N. West

St. Jeromes representation:

• Matthew – the face of a man
• Mark – a lion
• Luke – an ox
• John – an eagle

The Pilgrims Frieze

The frieze immediately above the great bronze doors of the central portal is also by Barbarossa according to the National Sculpture review. We had previously attributed the design to Canon West and undoubtably there was a collaboration of sorts with the sculptor.

Theodore Barbarossa

Theodore “Ted” Cotillo Barbarossa (1906-1992) studied at Massachusetts College of Art and Yale University. He was a fellow of the National Sculpture Society, and a member of the National Academy of Design. Italian stone carving and plaster casting inspired him. Barbarossa worked in bronze, wood and stone. His work is in churches, museums and public buildings throughout the East Coast. As part of President Roosevelt’s WPA New Deal art initiative, Barbarossa created relief sculptures on post offices and other federal buildings depicting national ideals such as industry, education, and agriculture.

• National Sculpture Review, Winter 1971-72
• Legendary Locals of East Boston, Dr. Regina Marchi
• Tom Fedorek, Senior Guide, The Cathedral of St. John the Divine
• Previous post regarding the Pilgrims’ Frieze

Among the immigrants to the United States between 1830 and 1920 were many skilled artists, stone carvers, and sculptors. Italian stone carvers are a case in point. In the latter half of the 19th century many of the Italian quarries started to go out of business due to foreign competition. Since there was less marble being quarried, there was less of a need for stone carvers and the carving sheds began to close. The social, political and economic upheaval in the Italian marble industry spurred immigration.

The economic opportunities in America and elsewhere would allow them to earn four times what they earned in Italy. Many of these men trained as sculptors at the Fine Arts Academies in Carrara, Florence and Rome. To support themselves and their families while they were establishing themselves in the United States, they carved for others. The following are some key events leading from immigration, through the City Beautiful Movement to the end of WWII.

In the 1880’s, first to the Vermont Marble Company in Rutland and then to Barre to work in granite, the quarry owners recruited the Italian stone workers. This occurred throughout the burgeoning stone quarry sites in the U.S. in places like Marble, Colorado and Sylacauga, Alabama.

The Piccirilli Brothers and the Ardolinos

Others settled in large urban areas and these carvers were associated with many wealthy families, sculptors, politicians and architects. Through varying circumstances, the Piccirilli brothers made their way to New York in 1888 followed by their parents and sister. They soon found enough work to pay the rent and sustain the family. In 1912 Attilio won the commission for the USS Maine monument at the entrance to Central Park at Columbus Circle. This provided them the prominence they sought.

At about the same time, the Ardolino brothers and cousins made their way separately to first Boston and then New York. They became associated with ecclesiastical carvings and the architect Bertram Goodhue and the sculptors John Angel and Lee Lawrie. The reredos at St. Thomas Church at 5th avenue and 53rd was by Rafael Ardolino. Various Ardolinos executed a great deal of the carvings at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine from 1910 into the 1940’s.

Other Stone Carving Immigrants

John Evans (1847 – 1923) was a stone carver and modeler. Born in Caernafon, Wales and trained in England, he settled in Boston in 1873. His company employed 100 workers and did architectural sculpture all over the country. He left an indelible mark on Boston’s buildings and monuments. The work was in granite, marble and sandstone. They did work for Cram, Goodhue and Ferguson and were a favorite of architect H.H. Richardson. They executed the work of sculptor Domingo Mora. The firm also did considerable work on the Cathedral Church of St. John the Divine.

John Donnelly, born in Ireland, the son of a stone carver, came to the United States in 1913. He formed the company John Donnelly & Son. They worked on many buildings in Philadelphia and Washington, D.C. The Donnelly company carved all of the decorative elements on theNew York City Public library with the exception of the lions (done by the Piccirillis).

Donnelly loved the sailboat races Saturday afternoons but was always worried about the carving job on the Vanderbilt Mansion, so he initiated the halfday Saturday for all of his stone carvers. The tradition carried on after the Vanderbilt job. He also mentioned that in 1890 there were only 320 stone carvers in the country, 140 of them were working for him on the Vanderbilt mansion at 5th Avenue and 55th Street, 80% were British and the rest Germans.

“Though Donnelly’s works were often sculptural, he preferred to be known as a stone mason rather than a sculptor or artist”

– John Donnelly, 80, Stone Carver Dies, New York Times obituary

Roger Morigi was born in Bisuschio, Lombardy in 1907. He apprenticed under his stone carver father beginning at age 11. Morigi also studied at the Academia di Belle Arts di Brera in Milan. He immigrated to the United States in 1927 and worked with his father. In 1932 the John Donnelly Company hired Morigi as a carver to work on the Supreme Court Building. He worked for the John Donnelly Company on the majority of the seven Federal Triangle buildings. Morigi began work as a carver at the National Cathedral in 1950, and was promoted to master carver at the National Cathedral in 1956. He held that position for 22 years.

Gino A. Ratti and his son Eddie were a smaller company but nevertheless stood out next to all the others for their artistry and carvings. Ratti was born in Carrara, Italy in 1882. He left Italy in 1907 for the United States. Edward Ratti later worked on the Washington National Cathedral.

The City Beautiful Movement

The City Beautiful Movement was America’s urban planning movement (1890’s-1920’s). The movement gained ground with the World’s Columbia Exposition of 1893 in Chicago. A temporary city was constructed primarily in the Beaux-Arts style. The concept focused on incorporating a civic center, parks and grand boulevards mimicking European cities. The movement happened at a time when the country’s urban population began to out number its rural population. Most cities were considered ugly, congested, dirty and unsafe.

Once artists, architects and other visitors returned to their cities after the exposition; they realized it was essential to the public welfare of the people to take heed of the urban landscape. Many American cities embarked on public buildings and art projects in order to beautify their cities. New York, Cleveland, San Francisco, Detroit and Washington, D.C. all began these efforts.

European trained sculptors and carvers were instantly prepared to execute these projects. The immigrant carving families and individuals mentioned above were poised to carry out the many projects.

It should be noted that over time the movement’s short comings came to the fore. It became apparent that improvement of the physical city without addressing social and economic issues would not substantially improve urban life.

The McMillan Plan -1902, Washington, D.C.

At the time, Washington, D.C. was no more beautiful than the average American city, with the exception of factories belching soot on the inhabitants. The McMillan Plan was deeply influenced by the City Beautiful Movement as well as the Louvre-Tuileries complex in Paris and the Whitehall area in London.

Additionally, the McMillan Plan sought to restore and amplify Pierre L’Enfant’s original plan for the city with its formal grandeur influenced by the designs of European cities and gardens.

Most of the recommendations of McMillan eventually materialized, mostly before WWII. Appropriations were authorized by the Public Building Act of 1926. $50 million was provided for the construction of the Federal Triangle and a new Supreme Court building and another $25 million to buy up the private land required.

The Federal Triangle

The decorative embellishment of the Federal Triangle was one of the last grand examples of the Beaux-arts principles that had swept the country at the turn of the century. The exterior architectural ornamentation for the seven buildings represented the largest concentrated program of its type ever undertaken by the government. Construction began in 1927 with the final sculptural element installed in 1941. The project’s exteriors consisted of 15 pediments with figurative groups, and at least 65 other designs of varying importance scattered throughout the complex of structures. All told, interior and exterior, there were 112 works by 44 sculptors and a vast industry of modelers, plaster casters, studio assistants and stone carvers. The Piccirilli’s, Ardolino’s, John Donnelly & Son and Gino Ratti all worked on the project. John Evans had passed away in 1923.

The National Archives Building

Of the seven buildings in the Federal Triangle, the jewel in the crown is the National Archives building. The architect chosen for the building was John Russell Pope. This was not a grand office building but the visual symbol of America’s heritage and its destiny.

Proportionately more was spent on architectural sculpture and decorative detail on this building than any other in the Federal Triangle.

The total cost of the decoration came to $360,000 (roughly $6,212,000 today) Of this sum, $190,200 was paid for the models of the three sculptors, $17,557 for the commercial models, and $152,940 for the stone carving

– George Gurney, Sculpture and the Federal Triangle

John Russel Pope selected 3 sculptors for the work on the building. He selected sculptors he knew and worked with and who he felt sure would carry out his vision. The sculptors also had their favorite stone carvers from past associations. There are two major facades to the building. The south facade and main entrance on Constitution Avenue and the equally important north facade on Pennsylvania Avenue. Each side had three major architectural sculpture features, a large pediment (18’6″ X 106′) and two ground level 10 foot statues.

South Facade – Constitution Avenue

North Facade – Pennsylvania Avenue

The fifty years between 1890 and 1940 saw the heyday of architectural sculpture in the U.S. After World War II architectural trends moved to the modern simplicity of glass and steel. These buildings were cheaper and quicker to erect, with little if any sculptural decorations. Young men and women returning from the war, or emerging from civilian war work, were presented with a myriad of opportunities for their professional lives. The supply of stone carvers dwindled as the demand for architectural sculpture wained.

John Connelly died in July, 1947; Edward Ardolino died in April, 1945; Attilio Piccirilli died in October, 1945; Gino Ratti died in 1937. In the most part, their companies did not survive them. When a skill is not taught or practiced it is known to die out within 3 generations. Consider how Dean Morton went to England in the late 1970’s to secure the help of Master Builder Jim Bambridge at the conclusion of the Liverpool Cathedral building. Consider how Bambridge enlisted Chris Hanaway, Alan Bird, Stephen Boyle and Nicholas Fairplay from England to train a new group of New York apprentices in stone cutting and carving.

In this century, several men and women found their way to work and learn in places like Kincannon Studios and Fairplay Stone Carvers. Today young men and women can train at the American College of the Building Arts with Joseph Kincannon.

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• The Socioeconomic study exploring the Immigration of Artisan Stone Carvers from Italy to the United States of America Circa 1830-1920, Russ Joseph Morris, The College of Staten Island
• John Evans (1847-1923) and Architectural Sculpture in Boston, Ann Clifford, 1992, Tufts University.
• The Architectural Record, July 1896
• The John Evans Company Divine Stone link
• The Irish imprint in American sculpture in the Capitol in the 19th and early 20th Century, The Capitol Dome, Volume 55, no 230, January 1, 2018
• New York Times, Obituary Section, July 2, 1947
• New York Preservation Archive Project
• Sculpture and the Federal Triangle, George Gurney, Smithsonian Institution, 1985.
• The Ardolinos Divine Stone Link
• American College of the Building Arts
• The Heritage Film Project – the Piccirillis

The Cathedral cutting and carving sheds were always filled with the sounds of chisels and mallets chipping away at limestone blocks. And with the chipping, limestone dust filled the air and settled on every surface, especially one’s hands and head. The fashion trends in the stone yard demonstrate some solutions.

Many cutters and carvers resorted to conventional headgear to keep away the dust but some brought style and fashion flair with their hats and scarves. Two trend setters that stood out from the rest were Timothy Smith and Arlene “Poni” Baptiste.

One of the five original apprentice stone cutters, Timothy sported an array of berets, straw hats and baseball caps. Timothy recently said, “I love hats. I see a good hat and I buy it. I just collect them.” He added, “We were always outside and a hat was important.”

Timothy’s berets often included pins with military insignias that he would buy from Army Navy stores and add to his hats.

While many women stone cutters and carvers simply wrapped a kerchief around their heads to protect them from the stone dust,

Arlene “Poni” Baptiste was without doubt the stone yard fashionista. She brought an Afro-Caribbean splash of colors and patterns to the long headscarves she always wore. She looked like a Nubian Queen with her elaborately tied scarves that fell onto her shoulders.

Poni explains that the head coverings “often began as just an interesting piece of printed fabric. Some were colorful scarves I bought or was given to me by family and friends because of my well known preference for wearing them.”

“The key is choosing a symmetrical central pattern. A starburst, for instance folded just right yields a radiant crown. Then there is the tying. A knot in the back ain’t quite enough, but twisting the two ends then wrapping and lacing them around my head results in a neat finish.”

And because of the dusty environment she worked in, Poni adds “there is also simply the practical side of it.

My dreads stayed dust free in a stone yard.”

Timothy comments that Poni’s fashion style was “fantastic, so individual and unique. She was also a great stone cutter.”

The stone cutting shed could be frigid in winter so the crew employed an assortment of headgear — from tweed caps to hoodies fastened over hats to thick wool knit hats — to keep the body warm. The fashion trends in the stone yard turned practical.

When work began on the south tower, construction supervisor Stephen Boyle would frequently be seen wearing a hard hat. Others wore them on and off depending upon how hot the temperature got while they were setting stones.

On one occasion hard hats were not meant to keep heads safe from falling objects. The helmets were ceremonial and celebratory on Sept. 29, 1982 when clergy and dignitaries wore blue hard hats to mark the resumption of construction of the tower after a 41-year hiatus. Bishop Paul Moore, usually wearing his imposing miter, swapped it for a hard hat, which he raised in celebration to all assembled.

One particular hat had a long life at the stone yard, passing from one stone carver to another. Cynie Linton remembers buying a painter’s style brimless hat at a vintage clothing store in Greenwich Village. 

“It was the hat I wore the majority of my eight years as a stone cutter and carver,” Cynie said, the hat “kept stone bits and dust out of my hair.”  

When Cynie left the Cathedral for architectural school she passed the hat on to new apprentice Treese Robb. “I don’t actually remember giving it to her…I must have been in a generous and expansive mood,” Cynie said facetiously.

Treese remembers, “I admired Cynie’s hat and she had beautiful wavy hair,” adding that Cynie looked “so darling in that hat.” 

All these years later, Treese still has the hat.

Note to Treese: Cynie misses that hat and wishes she had it back.

More Fashion Trends in the Stone Yard

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• All the images in this article were taken by Robert F. Rodriguez during his decade plus time documenting the activities in the stone yard of the Cathedral Church of St. John the Divine in New York City.

This year, 2023, is the 150^th anniversary of the founding of the Cathedral Church of Saint John the Divine. On April 16, 1873, the New York State Legislature ratified an Act of Incorporation creating the cathedral as a legal entity. The cathedral’s institutional life began on that date, although nearly twenty years elapsed before the commencement of construction.

Since that time, three major campaigns of construction, spread over a century, created the cathedral we have today. Built of the only material that is truly eternal – stone – it should stand for many more centuries, given proper maintenance. I seldom enter the cathedral without whispering a prayer of thanksgiving for the multitude of stonecutters, glassmakers, carpenters, and hod-carriers whose labor realized the vision of its founders.

But if not for a bishop’s sex scandal, the cathedral might have never been founded.

The Case of Bishop Onderdonk

“He passed his hand in the most indecent manner down her body, so that nothing but the end of her corset-bone prevented his hand from being pressed upon the private parts of her body.”

Such were the lurid allegations against Benjamin Tredwell Onderdonk, Bishop of New York, hauled before an ecclesiastical tribunal in 1844 to stand trial before a panel of eighteen of his fellow bishops on charges of “immorality and impurity” with women of his diocese.

Until then, Onderdonk had had a brilliant career in the church. The son of a prominent physician and vestryman of Trinity Church, Onderdonk became a candidate for the priesthood after graduating from Columbia College. He studied theology privately with John Henry Hobart, rector of Trinity Church and Bishop of New York 1816-1830. Hobart, incidentally, was the first to propose an Episcopal cathedral for New York, suggesting a site in Washington Square in 1828, but his idea withered on the vine.

Onderdonk had a rapid ascent up the ecclesiastical career ladder as Hobart’s protégé and, in 1830, his successor. Diocesan historian James Elliot Lindsley provides an assessment of Onderdonk’s character:

He was the hardworking, loyal servant of Hobart and, like the bishop, was likely to quarrel with his associates. But alas, he lacked Hobart’s celebrated grace and charm. One suspects he also had little of the other most endearing Hobart quality: a ready ability to apologize when shown in error … He was speedily made the fourth Bishop of New York in an election that met with general approval, though some of Onderdonk’s best friends regretted a certain coarseness of manner and an unfortunate habit of openly “fondling” his students at the seminary or “often caressing” people he knew well.

Given his proclivity for uninvited intimacy, Onderdonk may well have been guilty of the charges against him. Nevertheless, the tribunal was as much about a rancorous dispute within the Episcopal Church as about Onderdonk’s alleged groping. 

Onderdonk’s episcopate was contemporaneous with the rise of the Oxford Movement, which advocated the revival of certain doctrines and liturgical practices that Anglicanism had abandoned when the Church of England broke with the Roman Catholic Church in the 16^th century. There were two factions in the Episcopal Church with respect to the Oxford Movement: on one side, High Church adherents; on the other, Low Church evangelicals, who condemned the movement as “popery.” It was a time when, as one church historian put it: “… dark clouds gathered on the ecclesiastical horizon. The party spirit reared its ugly head to a hitherto unprecedented degree.” 

Onderdonk was an outspoken supporter of the Oxford Movement; the Low Church bishops who initiated the tribunal, determined opponents. The eighteen bishops who heard the case convicted Onderdonk by an 11-7 vote, mainly along Low Church-High Church lines. 

The final stage of the tribunal was a vote on whether to depose Onderdonk (i.e., permanently remove him from office) or to suspend him for a time. He escaped deposition by one vote. Suspension meant that he could no longer perform any of the sacramental offices ordinarily performed by a bishop (e.g., ordination, confirmation). Further, the suspension was for an open-ended period, effectively leaving the Diocese of New York with a do-nothing bishop-for-life.

If the panel of bishops was assuming that Onderdonk would simply resign, they misjudged him. He steadfastly refused to resign, believing that to do so would be tantamount to admitting guilt. Onderdonk maintained his innocence until the day he died – and beyond. A close examination of his tomb in Trinity Church Wall Street, sculpted by John Moffitt, reveals a snake peeking its head out from underneath the bishop’s vestments – the serpent of scandal. From behind the tomb, we see Onderdonk placing his foot on the serpent, as if to crush it.

Until his death in 1861, Onderdonk held the title Bishop of New York. Bishops from other dioceses traveled to New York to perform his duties until 1852, when the diocesan convention installed Jonathan Wainwright as the “provisional bishop.” But Wainwright died only two years into the job. 

Enter Horatio Potter

In 1854, the diocesan convention elected Horatio Potter as the new provisional bishop. He served in this capacity until Onderdonk died, whereupon Potter succeeded him as the full-fledged diocesan bishop. 

The cathedral’s story begins with Horatio Potter, who, had it not been for the Onderdonk affair, might have remained comfortably in Albany as the rector of St. Peter’s Church. Potter, the son of Quaker farmers, was a pacifist and a peacemaker, an ideal shepherd for his frequently fractious flock. Morgan Dix, rector of Trinity Church and a charter trustee of the cathedral, described Potter as follows: “Wise, prudent, and skillful, he piloted his diocese through stormy weather, and in dangerous places.”

Potter’s accomplishments include reconciling the northern and southern bishops in the aftermath of the Civil War, creating opportunities for women to serve in the church, and expanding the church’s outreach beyond the carriage trade to the working classes and the poor.

On the day the cathedral was chartered, Potter was 71 years old. What might have motivated him, late in life and two decades into his eventful episcopate, to take on the monumental task of founding, building, and raising the funds for an Episcopal cathedral for New York City?

Stephen Payne Nash

The proximate cause appears to have been a letter from Stephen Payne Nash, an attorney with a specialty in church law and a layman involved in diocesan affairs. Nash, writing on behalf of churchmen both clerical and lay, requested that the bishop raise the matter of a central church at the annual diocesan convention of 1872.

Nash’s letter must have struck a chord with Potter. At the diocesan convention, the bishop presented a vigorous case for the construction of a cathedral, enumerating its many potential benefits, and concluding:

Who can doubt that a fitting Cathedral establishment in this City would become a center of earnest self-denying Church work, from which streams of spiritual blessing would, on the one hand, flow with healing waters into the darkest places of this great City; while, on the other hand, they would spread their influence through the strangers that come here over every part of this vast country. 

– Horatio Potter

On September 28, 1872, the convention unanimously passed resolutions empowering a committee of fifteen clergy and laity to apply for a charter, to raise funds for purchasing a site, and to build “a cathedral church and other buildings in connection with same.” The convention also passed a resolution mandating that “neither the site nor any building to be erected thereon shall at any time be encumbered by mortgage or any other permanent debt.”

On January 3, 1873, Bishop Potter kicked off the project with an organizational meeting at his residence, to which he invited fifteen leading members of the clergy and laity, the cathedral’s first board of trustees. Nash was appointed the secretary of the board, a position he would hold until 1886. 

All but forgotten today, Nash played a critical behind-the-scenes role in the cathedral’s early history. Among other legal matters, he drafted the 1873 charter and negotiated the acquisition of the cathedral’s site from the Leake & Watts Orphan Asylum. He sat on the panel that selected the cathedral’s design and participated in drafting the contract with Heins & La Farge, the cathedral’s original architects. He died in 1898, a few months before the first service was held in the crypt.

A Question of Motive

An oft-told tale is that the impetus for the founding of St. John the Divine was a determination to outrival the Roman Catholics of New York, whose own cathedral was under construction on Fifth Avenue. The story goes that elitist Episcopalians were indignant that their Irish servants should worship in a building large enough to swallow the average Episcopal parish church.

I have seen no evidence to support the notion that St. John the Divine was founded to spite the Catholics with an edifice even grander than St. Patrick’s Cathedral. The founders even anticipated the criticism. Cathedral historian George Wickersham on the early planning: “It was essential to convey the thought that no rivalry was contemplated.” 

The canard may have originated from Catholic resentment of the Episcopalian project, as expressed in an 1887 editorial in the American Catholic News: “What business is it of anyone else if the Protestants of the United States want to erect a large building in New York and desire to call it a Cathedral? … Let the children have their toys.”

The fact is that cathedral building was on many minds in the second half of the 19^th century, as Janet Adams Strong points out in her exhaustive study of the competition to select a design. Overseas, the cathedrals of Cologne and Milan resumed construction after a centuries-long hiatus. In Britain, six cathedrals were begun in the 1860s and 1870s. Both St. Patrick’s and St. John the Divine were American manifestations of this cultural phenomenon.

It is not inconceivable, though, that the diocesan convention’s wave of enthusiasm for the project might have had an undercurrent of rivalry, though not with Catholics, but rather fellow Episcopalians. In 1868, the Diocese of New York reduced its geographic purlieu by spinning off two new dioceses, Albany and Long Island. On June 8, 1872, the new Diocese of Albany committed to creating a central church to be known as the Cathedral of All Saints. 

Isn’t it intriguing that only three months later, the Diocese of New York unanimously approved a cathedral for New York City? Did the downstate Episcopalians fear being outdone by their upstate brethren? Could they risk the provincial state capital surpassing the cosmopolitan city in ecclesiastical grandeur? If there was in fact a rivalry, then the Albanians triumphed, completing the darkly atmospheric All Saints while the New Yorkers were still shopping for a site.

A Slow Start

Once the Legislature granted the charter, the trustees began searching for a place to build. Three trustees each pledged $100,000 (about $2.5 million today) for the purchase of a site. They focused the search on what was then the northern frontier of the fashionable district, the block bordered by West 57^th and 58^th Streets and Sixth and Seventh Avenues, known today as Billionaire’s Row. 

The Panic of 1873 ushered in the worst depression of the 19^th century and thwarted all hopes of raising the necessary funds to purchase a site and commence construction. The severity of the financial crisis forced two of the trustees to withdraw their pledges. In the following years, the board of trustees continued to meet periodically to satisfy the requirements for maintaining the status of the corporate charter, but there was scant progress toward acquiring a suitable site.

Bishop Potter’s failing health forced him to withdraw from public appearances in 1883. He convened his last board meeting at his bedside shortly before his death in 1887. By then, his nephew and successor, Henry Codman Potter, had revived the project. When H.C. Potter laid the cornerstone of the cathedral five years later, it was one more link in a chain of events that began with Bishop Onderdonk’s scandal, his substitute’s premature death, and Horatio Potter’s arrival in New York as the replacement.

Horatio Potter was buried in Poughkeepsie, close to his childhood home. In 1921, his remains were translated to the sarcophagus directly behind the High Altar. Should the bishop ever resurrect, I have no doubt that he will gaze upon the cathedral’s majestic interior with gratitude and wide-eyed wonder. 

But he will be quite surprised to find himself up on Morningside Heights, given his own preference for a suitable site: “I should regret it very much if a site should be selected too high uptown or too far west of Fifth Avenue.”

See Divine Stone’s October 2021 posts about the Founder’s Tomb

Bishop Potter’s Tomb, October 22,2021

Isidore Konti’s Proposal, October 27, 2021

Many thanks to diocesan archivist Wayne Kempton for his kind assistance with the research for this article.

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Sources:

Cathedral League. Cathedral Church of Saint John the Divine (New York: St. Bartholomew’s Press, 1916).

Chorley, E. Clowes. “Benjamin Tredwell Onderdonk” in Historical Magazine of the Protestant Episcopal Church, March 1940, pp. 1-51.

Dolkart, Andrew S. Morningside Heights: A History of its Architecture & Development (New York: Columbia University Press, 1998).

Haddad, Ann. “My Conscience Acquits Me” in Merchant’s House Museum, November 14, 2018.

Hall, Edward Hagamann. A Guide to the Cathedral of Saint John the Divine (New York: Laymen’s Club, 1928).

Lindsley, James Elliott. This Planted Vine: A Narrative History of the Episcopal Diocese of New York (New York: Harper & Row, 1984).

Manning, William Thomas. Sermon Preached by the Right Reverend William Thomas Manning, Bishop of New York, in the Cathedral of Saint John the Divine on Saint John the Evangelist Day 1921 at the Dedication of the Founder’s Tomb. (Project Canterbury, transcribed by Wayne Kempton, 2007).

Strong, Janet Adams. The Cathedral of Saint John the Divine in New York: Design Competitions in the Shadow of H.H. Richardson, 1889-1891 (Dissertation, Brown University, 1990).

Wickersham, George W. The Cathedral Church of Saint John the Divine (C. Harrison Conroy Co., n.d.).

“Stephen P. Nash Dead,” New York Times, June 5, 1898. 

“The Episcopal Convention,” New York Times, September 27, 1872. 

Lee Lawrie and the central portal of the west front began from this 1927 letter. After successfully completing a model for one of the statues for the portal, the Trustees of the Cathedral awarded the preparation of all models for the sculpture for the central portal of the west front of the Cathedral.

The following quote from the minutes of the Fabric Committee is provided by the Cathedral Archives.

Extract from The Fabric Committee minutes, May 24 1927: It was recommended that the Trustees adopt the following.

“RESOLVED, that Mr. Lee Lawrie be chosen to execute the sculpture of the Central Portal of the West Front at a total cost of $118,000 — models $67,000. Cutting 50,300.

“RESOLVED, that Mr. John Angel be chosen as the sculptor for the North and South Portals of the West Front at a cost of $98,000. –models $54,000 – cutting $44,600; and that a contract with him be made to furnish the models for the South Portal at a cost of $27,000.”

The Trustees proceeded to cause contracts to be issued to both men. Lawrie was advised of the award and responded to Cram and Ferguson:

Your letter of June 10th, telling me that Mr. Cram and the trustees have decided to entrust the sculpture of the Central Portal of the Cathedral to me, makes me feel very good. The work will be a joyous labor for me.

– Lee Lawrie

Below Lee Lawrie describes the subjects for the central portal as well as the Majestas above them and ancillary sculpture.

The Models

Here Tom Fedorek adds some commentary on the symbolism of the basestones. “Isaac – it appears to be the ram caught in a thicket. A reminder of how Isaac was almost sacrificed by his father Abraham. An angel directing Abraham’s attention to the ram saved Issac. At Chartres, on the porch of the north transept — the exemplar for this portal — Abraham is depicted with a juvenile Isaac and there’s a ram on the basestone beneath them. Joseph is easy — it’s a papyrus plant signifying Egypt.

“As for Moses — It looks like a city gate or a fortress or a temple. None of which make any sense for the Moses narrative. He and the children of Israel were wandering in the wilderness, where there weren’t any cities or temples. Moses built a tabernacle, a kind of tent, to house the ark of the covenant. There wouldn’t be a permanent temple for many generations after Moses.”

The date of the above image is unknown. Presumably it is from the early or mid 1930’s. The three figures modeled represent half of the statues for the north jamb. It is also unknown if Lawrie created others. There were no additional images.

Other West Front Models

There are, however, additional images in the archives representing Lawrie’s sculptural models of a very different style. A style closer to the Art-Deco work at Rockefeller Center than to the traditional figure work shown of Isaac, Joseph and Moses. They appear below:

These models may have been for the upper rank of figures above the prophets or they may have been modeled for the archivolts. Again, Tom Fedorek identifies the symbolism of these figures.

“The trio of angels are from the Book of Revelation, aka the Apocalypse. The giveaway is the first angel’s Greek inscription APOKALYPTON. The angel with the stone appears in Rev 18:21-24: ‘Then a mighty angel took up a stone like a great millstone and threw it into the sea, saying, So shall Babylon the great city be thrown down with violence…’ The angel with the sickle appears in Rev 14:17-20 ‘And another angel came out of the temple in heaven, and he too had a sharp sickle…So the angel swung his sickle on the earth and gathered up the vintage of the earth, and threw it into the great wine press of the wrath of God…”

Fast Forward 10 years

It is 1937 and a few years before the reopening of the full Cathedral with the completed Nave. Other than the Majestas, none of the models have been carved. Cram and Ferguson write to the Cathedral that Mr. Lawrie is requesting some additional payment for his work. A portion of the June 24, 1937 letter from C.N. Godfrey of Cram and Ferguson to Dean Gates appears below.

Cram and Ferguson go on to advise the Cathedral that there appears to be no legal obligation but perhaps one of good will and a wish to do justice to everyone connected with the building. The Cathedral made the payment and obtained a complete release from Mr. Lawrie. Because of the slow and incomplete work of Lee Lawrie on his contract and the multiple changes in general contractors the central portal was never carved. Once the complete length of the Cathedral was opened and the decision to refrain from further building was made after WWII, it would be almost 50 years before Dean Morton would hire Simon Verity to complete work on the central portal, now known as the Portal of Paradise. Mr. Verity did not make models, he employed direct carving methods on all the statues.

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• Many thanks to Wayne Kempton the Diocesan Archivist for taking time to send us the correspondence and the images for this story.
• Thanks also to Tom Fedorek, Senior Guide, for his exquisite knowledge of liturgical symbolism.