A bit of Downton Abby in Pittsburgh’s “Millionaires’ Row”

From the street after dark, it was an impressive 110-year-old, limestone, three-story rich man’s monstrosity of a structure that loomed up from Fifth Avenue in Pittsburgh’s Shadyside neighborhood with a distinct air of bygone elegance. The first floor windows revealed glimpses of a busy Saturday night inside. Cars pulled up out front and valets rushed to remove luggage for arriving guests and take responsibility for disposing of vehicles. We switched off the navigation assistance that helped us find the Mansions on Fifth Hotel and pulled into the driveway to begin a two-night stay over the Martin Luther King Jr. Birthday holiday. It was interesting, fun, thought-provoking, and so expensive that a repeat visit will be highly unlikely.

For 25 years of the early 20^th Century, the massive structure was the home of one family – the Willis McCook clan. McCook was a prototype for today’s corporate lawyer. He specialized in mergers and acquisitions and made a fortune in the booming Western Pennsylvania of the early 1900s. His most famous client was Henry Clay Frick, the union-busting, hard-charging, coal and coke company executive who partnered with steel magnate Andrew Carnegie and cracked heads in the Homestead Mill riots. After the Homestead debacle, Carnegie blamed Frick for the carnage (even though at the time he went along with Frick’s decisions) and the two became bitter enemies. As Frick’s lawyer, McCook was in the thick of it. But, that’s another story.

McCook and his wife, Mary, had 10 children and they all lived comfortably with a squad of servants and the family pooch in the big house he built in 1907 for $300,000. It had its own second floor chapel, a billiard room, library, nine bedrooms, third floor servants’ quarters, beamed ceilings, lots of dark rich wood paneling, fireplaces, engraved decorations, and impressive stained glass windows. Apparently, things were going so well that McCook built a smaller red brick mansion right next door for his eldest daughter, Bessie, as a wedding present. The main house became a focal point for social life on “millionaires’ row” as Fifth Avenue was known then. Formal dinners, parties and social events were all played out in the stately halls and the wide picturesque back terrace of the McCook Mansion.

Willis and Mary died in the 1920s and by 1939, the family’s fortunes went aground. The hulking house was eventually sold at a Sheriff’s sale for $28,000. The University of Pittsburgh had it for a time and used it to house university-affiliated military officers in training during WW II. Then another family bought it and it became a rooming house for Carnegie Mellon University artsy types. Legend has it that among the 500 or so CMU students who lived there over the next 50 years were actress Shirley Jones, actor/comedian/director Albert Brooks and the late actor George Peppard when they were all CMU students. A fire broke out on the third floor in 2004 that destroyed part of the roof and led to the structure being boarded up, abandoned and put up for sale.

Eventually, entrepreneurs Richard Pearson and his wife, Mary Del Brady, put together a financing package that allowed them to buy and renovate the McCook mansion and Bessie’s old house next door to create the Mansions on Fifth Hotel, which opened in 2010.

Cindy and I were not prepared for the mud when we pulled into the driveway of the mansion/hotel. The front and side lawn of the house must have once been covered with lush green grass with sophisticated landscaping. The need to accommodate the cars of hotel and dinner guests had taken its toll. It appeared as though some sort of gravel or other surface materials had once been scattered around the house to accommodate 21^st Century vehicles but it had long since worn away leaving messy shoe-splattering mud for patrons to navigate on their way toward the worn old mansion steps. Somewhere, Mary McCook cringed as we tracked pieces of the front driveway across the wood floors of the entranceway.

Upon entering the old home, we were struck by the beauty and craftsmanship of the fine old dark wood paneling and beams. The huge great room or grand hall that we entered from the front door was decorated with chairs and tables reflecting the early 1900s. There was a fireplace in the corner next to the entrance to the old billiard room that now serves as the facility’s bar room.  A gigantic staircase dominated the room and led guests to a landing where an impressive floor to ceiling stained glass window dominated the area. Off this grand hall were dining rooms that had once been the McCook’s library, sitting rooms and formal dining room.

In a nook to the right of the main entrance was a desk where we checked in and a “butler” (he looked remarkably like the valet) took charge of our luggage before showing us to our room. I had signed up for a room on the Hotel’s web site and, being unaware of the layout and arrangements, I must have unknowingly signed us up for a room in the mansion next door instead of the main house where we wanted to stay. Management was helpful and polite in explaining that while the main house was booked Saturday night, we could transfer over to a room on the third floor for Sunday night. Satisfied with the arrangement, we trudged back through the mud to our first room in Bessie’s red brick mansion next door.

The McCook-Reed Mansion as it was known, is a less dramatic smaller red brick home that was actually finished before the main house in 1906. It is ornate in its own way with plenty of dark wood accentuation on the inside, but far less intricate and expansive than old man McCook’s digs next door. We were assigned a room that Bessie had apparently kept as a first-floor parlor room. There was a fireplace, and indications of pocket doors on the outside wall of the room. Inside pocket door evidence was covered by the huge king size bed’s headboard. In addition to the bed, there was a flat screen television that didn’t work at first (we had to call for help), one chair with foot stool, one stand-alone wooden closet with drawers, one desk and one desk chair.

The whole house seemed dark and dusty. There were numerous cracks in the plaster walls of our room and beside one window leaned a tired-looking lone floral-covered ironing board. It seemed out of place perched against the wall there, but the just wasn’t any place else in the room to put it where it would be out of sight. The bathroom was great with modern tile floors, a big claw footed bathtub and a separate walk-in shower in addition to the other usual accommodations. After settling in, we headed out on foot to do some shopping on Shadyside’s main drag about five blocks away.

We had just returned to our room when there was a knock on the door, I thought it would be our “butler” delivering the sparkling wine and strawberries I ordered as part of our package. It was a “butler” but he brought an unwelcome message. The poor man had been sent by management to explain that the boiler in the McCook-Reed Mansion was on the fritz and there would be no hot water available for some time. He handed me a little slip of paper that basically said the same thing but it was signed “warm regards” by the management. He uncomfortably added that he wasn’t sure that the boiler would be repaired before morning.

We were contemplating a morning without a hot shower an hour later when another knock came at the door. This time it was another “butler” in muddy shoes carrying a silver bucket with our sparkling wine and two glasses. I was about to ask about the missing strawberries when he reached into his coat pocket, fished around a moment and came up with a cellophane container that encased a big slab of chocolate fudge.

“Oh and here,” he said handing me the container. “They also sent you this. Enjoy.”

He accepted my tip and trudged out. I opened the bottle and poured us ample glasses but our attention was soon diverted to what sounded like two men bickering in the basement. We couldn’t quite make out the words, just the tone. It was coming up through the furnace register in the corner of the room and we came to realize it must have been the experts summoned to do battle with Bessie’s old basement boiler in an effort to restore hot water to the house full of guests.

The workmen were apparently successful. There was hot water in the morning, but our time in Bessie’s house was over. We packed our bags for our move to the big house and went next door for breakfast.

“We are here for the buffet,” Cindy told the hostess when we stepped inside the great room.

“The what?” came the reply.

“Breakfast,” I added.

“Oh, you mean brunch,” she concluded. “Follow me. You will be in the library.”

She led us to what had been old man McCook’s library which was now configured into a fancy eating room. There were books behind the glass in the built-in shelves of the ornate room. It would have been a nice touch if those books had been publications from the period, but instead it was an eclectic collection of books from Jackie Collins, pop culture biographies, late 20^th century history books, and smattering of bargain book fiction. A serious server poured us coffee.

“The buffet is open,” she said. “Please help yourself.”

It was a truly grand buffet – or brunch. It was fresh, hot and elegant. A gentlemen prepared omelets to order in the corner next to the ornate fireplace. A big table in the center of the great hall decorated with extravagant floral arrangements held silver platters upon which servers placed bacon, sausage, polenta with maple syrup, French toast, fresh fruit, bagels, pastries, cheesecake and a variety of other top notch specially prepared offerings that kept most patrons coming back for seconds.

It was difficult to converse in the serving area because just steps away, a massive baby shower brunch celebration had begun and everyone attending was talking at full volume all at the same time. The noise bounced off the heavy dark wood walls and around the room making a racket like a small gymnasium full of cheerleaders who were all belting out a different cheer. We scampered back to our table in the corner of McCook’s old library and enjoyed our food, relishing the relative silence.

When the bill arrived, it indicated that we owed $82 for the buffet—or brunch! Fortunately, Cindy recognized that we had been charged the mere mortal off-the-street riff raff price for the buffet—or brunch. As guests, our cost for the mealwould be only $62.

We settled up and headed out for a day-long set of cold weather Pittsburgh activity. When we returned late that evening, all our bags had been dutifully moved to new room. A very friendly and efficient front desk person showed us to our new room that she explained had once been the third-floor servants’ quarters under the McCook regime. We climbed the steps past the impressive stained glass, under the thick wood beamed ceilings and over thick decorative Victorian era carpets to the second floor. Bright and interesting artwork covered the walls of the second floor and each had a price tag offering the renderings for sale. Then, we went through another fire door and scaled a second more narrow set of stairs that opened on a wide and spacious third floor.

Our host unlocked a room door and led us into a suite. By then, we were panting too hard to speak but managed to convey approval of our newer grander surroundings with vague hand signals. The first room had original built-in wood drawers and a huge hutch that held the fully operational flat screen television. There was a large couch and a love seat and a big two-part leather footstool/coffee table in front of the couch. Three steps located beside the built-in drawers took us down into a large bedroom that held a desk, wing-back chair and ottoman and a full-size desk and desk chair. The modern, up-to-date bathroom was off the bedroom.

Could this have been where Shirley Jones or George Peppard rested their heads after a full day of doing actor in training things over at CMU? Before that, was it where the McCook’s exhausted butler retired to read Butler and Yeats after a hard day of pampering a large spoiled family? We were certainly warm, snug and comfortable. I had earlier mused that the old joint could be haunted. I slept like a rock. Cindy slept with one eye open and on the lookout for orbs, lights, creeks, moans, groans or other ghostly apparitions—sorry Cindy.

We checked out in the morning, paid the bill (our move to the big house cost us an extra $347!), and set out for home. Mansions on Fifth was an interesting experience. There are few chances to get an accurate glimpse of how the captains of industry once lived in America and the folks who restored the property completed their task successfully with love and care. They are to be congratulated for their vision, patience and hard work. But, I can’t say that I would return. The expense, about $600 for two nights and another $62 buffet—or brunch—was pretty rich for our taste. 

The McCook-Reed Mansion part of the complex still needs a lot of work before the price tag can be justified. But, if you would like to stay in what could pass for the Pittsburgh version of Downton Abby, the main McCook Mansion, don’t mind the jolting cost, and don’t mind getting your feet muddy, I can recommend it. There are few opportunities out there to live even for a weekend like a 19^th Century Pittsburgh millionaire.