My Idea of Real Comfort Is...

I recently found a fun 1980 House & Garden article in which top designers were asked to define comfort. Not surprisingly, most designers linked comfort to comfortable seating, including Billy Baldwin, whose Nantucket bed-sitting room, seen above, exemplified the designer's notion that comfort is "a first-class upholstered chair and everything within easy reach."

Designer Robert Lewis, with whom I'm not familiar, also believed comfort involved a well-upholstered chair, but comfort was atmospheric, too: "Wonderful fabric, herbs, flowers, good music- a place to unwind."

For Michael Taylor, comfort was "a seating arrangement that really works."  One such successful arrangement can be seen here, on Taylor's own terrace.  The wicker furniture was also designed by Taylor.

I agree wholeheartedly with William Hodgins' thoughts on comfort: "A casual stuffed sofa and a good mystery book."  I could easily relax- and read mystery novels- in this room designed by Hodgins.

No surprise that Denning and Fourcade showed rather elaborate upholstered chairs to illustrate comfort.  For Denning, it was "a chair where you can slump, put your feet up and make a telephone call," while Fourcade called for "a chair that you can sink into so that it completely enfolds you."

"Easy-to-move extra chairs that make your furniture arrangement flexible," said designer John Dickinson.  Such an important design consideration, and one that Dickinson acknowledged in his San Francisco home, above.

For Mario Buatta, comfort was linked with scent.  "A good piece of furniture, with pillows to rest your feet on- and a wonderful fragrance in the air."  In this photo of Buatta's home, you will find Freesia, potpourri, and pomander balls on the table next to the fireplace.

For Bob Patino, comfort was a soak in a "large deep tub full of hot water."

And finally, for Sister Parish, comfort meant "a room where one can relax and have tea with friends," something which, by the looks of it, she could do easily in her bedroom.


All photos from House & Garden, February 1980.

The Sister Parish Connection

The first thing that one typically does after buying a home is to furnish and decorate it to one's liking.  That might mean a fresh coat of paint, discarding curtains, or ripping out carpet.  But what if Sister Parish had once decorated your new home or, even better, lived there?  Would you strip away all of those Sister Parish touches?  I wouldn't, because any Sister Parish leftovers would make me love my new home even more.  However, not everybody feels as I do.  Take the Manhattan apartment seen here.  Located at 960 Fifth Avenue, this is the maisonette in which Parish once lived.  By 1990, when these photographs were published, the apartment had a new owner, who hired Keith Irvine of Irvine & Fleming to decorate it.  Assisted by Richard Keith Langham, Irvine set out to take the apartment "in a different direction" from the one Parish had taken, which, according to Irvine, had made the home feel like "a Yankee vision of a London house."  The homeowner concurred, deeming Parish's décor "country and gardeny... It took me four months to get her presence out of the apartment."  Well, each to his own.  I would have been thrilled to have had Parish's presence in my home, but that's just me.

Nevertheless, Irvine's work on this apartment is worth discussing.  The dining room's Directoire wallpaper, which is one of my favorite Brunschwig & Fils papers, is quite handsome, as is the living room's yellow striped wallpaper from Clarence House.  Look closely at those curtains.  I realize that today's preference is for clean-lined window treatments, but we can learn a lot about craftsmanship and technique from the curtains seen here.  And take note of the mirror above the living room sofa.  This was one of the few remnants of the apartment's Sister Parish décor.  Installed by Parish, the mirror remained in the new design scheme, although Irvine added a Clarence House wallpaper border to the edges.

Of course, time marches on and so does this apartment's décor.  You'll recall that not too long ago, Mario Buatta decorated this maisonette for a later owner, Patricia Altschul, who sold the apartment about two years ago.  I haven't seen nor heard about the apartment's current décor.  Have you?

The Living Room

The Dining Room

All photos from House & Garden, September 1990; Michael Mundy photographer.

Sister Parish in Maine

I suppose, in a way, it's fitting to end the week with photos of Sister Parish's homes in Dark Harbor, Maine. Homes is plural because, as you'll recall, she owned both a winter house in town as well as a summer place that was down the road.

At first glance, it's a heady mix of floral chintzes, stripes, and patchwork. But take a good look at the rooms and you'll see evidence of Sister Parish's projects: decoupage, needlework, and floral arrangements that she attended to daily. They add such a homey touch to the interiors, don't you think? In fact, these photos make me want to take up decoupage. Well, almost.


The Summer House


Mrs. Parish's sitting room. The rug was Irish made. The interesting looking corner cabinet held sweaters.




No, not Yummy, but rather Desmond the Pekingese.

Mrs. Parish's needlework sat beneath a faience jug of sunflowers and green tobacco leaf.


The Winter Town House


The town house living room. The fabric on the sofa was an Albert Hadley design.



A town house arrangement of lettuces, chicory, nasturtiums, beedtops, and parsley was done by Parish's daughter, Apple Bartlett.



A guest bedroom at the town house. The headboards were upholstered in quilts from West Virginia, while the bed spreads, also quilts, were made in Kentucky.



Mrs. Parish decoupaged this old mirror.



Mrs. Parish's town house bedroom with its four different floral chintzes.



A hallway that led from the greenhouse to the living room.


All photos from House & Garden, March 1971, Horst photographer.

My Tribute to Albert Hadley

It's with a very heavy heart that I'm publishing this post, one that I hope will be a fitting tribute to Albert Hadley. As I'm sure some of you are aware, Mr. Hadley died early this morning in his hometown of Nashville. It's strange how very sad I feel, especially considering the fact that Mr. Hadley and I were barely acquainted with one another. And yet, I feel as though I knew him quite well. His work resonated with me like that of no other designer. And truth be told, no other designer has taught me as much about design and living as Albert Hadley did.

There have been very few times in my life that I've been struck by the proverbial thunderbolt, but one indeed hit me while reading the Elle Decor cover story on Albert Hadley's Manhattan apartment (February/March 2000.) If there is such a thing as a perfect home, that was it. Yes, the rooms possessed more style and flair than most of us can ever hope to achieve in our own homes, but what mattered more to me was the apartment's complete lack of pretension. His home was just that: a home, one in which he surrounded himself with objects that had meaning for him or that simply struck his fancy. You could tell that nothing was chosen for show, but rather because it spoke to him. And in turn, his apartment spoke to me.

One of my dreams in life was to meet Mr. Hadley. I was fortunate enough to have spent time with him on three different occasions. But before meeting him, we had corresponded by mail. Shortly after starting my blog, I sent out holiday cards that I had designed using a photo of Sister Parish goofing off and holding an empty Jeroboam up to her mouth. A friend suggested that I mail a card to Mr. Hadley, and so I did. He responded with a very gracious letter in which he wrote, "Sister Parish would be thrilled to be the Christmas card for "The Peak of Chic"! I don't recognize the photograph, but she's certainly belting it out."

A few months later, I had a private meeting with him at his office. He was very generous with his time, answering all of the silly questions that I asked him. I was struck by his mild manner and his still-mellifluous Southern accent that seemed little affected after years of living away from the South. Seeing that I was a fellow Southerner, he was especially interested to show me framed drawings and sketches of the work that he did at Rosedown Plantation in Louisiana. I realized after that meeting that Mr. Hadley was not just a great designer, but a kind and courtly gentleman as well.

That was not to be my only meeting with Albert Hadley. Close to four years ago, the editors at House Beautiful assigned me an article to write about a wonderful Manhattan apartment designed by Mr. Hadley and his then associate Harry Heissmann. (House Beautiful, April 2009.) Once again, I made the journey up to the offices of Albert Hadley Inc., only this time I was armed with my tape recorder, pad, and pencil for an interview. I suppose that if there is to be one plum writing assignment in my life, that was it!

Mr. Hadley was the best kind of decorator. His primary concern was to create homes for his clients in which they could live comfortably and live well. He catered not to his whims but rather to the needs of his clients. And most impressive to me was that he encouraged young designers to get educated in the history of design and the decorative arts. He believed that without this foundation of knowledge, decorating with any kind of authority is difficult at best.

I realize that my tribute to Albert Hadley might border on hagiography, but death has not elevated Mr. Hadley to legend status nor design sainthood. He achieved that long ago during his exalted career. And it might seem hackneyed to say that his passing marks the end of an era, but in my mind, indeed it does. I feel fairly certain that the word "branding" never crossed Mr. Hadley's lips. And I do wonder if a humble, thoughtful person like Albert Hadley could succeed in today's world where never-ending self-promotion has become the norm.

There are other masters of design practicing today, and for that we should be thankful. But there will only be one Dean of American Decorators, and for me, Albert Hadley will bear that title forever.





Some of my favorite Albert Hadley and Parish-Hadley designed interiors:



The Manhattan apartment of Albert Hadley.



A mid-1970s era Manhattan living room in which Parish-Hadley used a mix of Alan Campbell fabrics.



A Palm Beach guest house bedroom. (Parish-Hadley)




A garden room at a Greenwich, CT show house. (Parish-Hadley)



Brooke Astor's Manhattan apartment. (Parish-Hadley)





The Manhattan apartment of the late Glenn Bernbaum of Mortimer's fame. (Parish Hadley)



Mr. Hadley's former country house in Tarrytown, New York.




A Manhattan bedroom designed for a bachelor. (Parish-Hadley)



Decorated by a young Albert Hadley, this room appeared in a 1959 Vogue article, "Summer on a Shoestring".



The guest sitting room of the Leonard Davis house, Palm Beach. (Parish-Hadley)



The "Dog Sitting Room" in the guest suite of the late Brooke Astor's apartment. (Parish-Hadley)



Mr. Hadley's Kips Bay show house room from 2001, "Homage to Van Day Truex". (Albert Hadley)




Mr. Hadley's Southport, Connecticut house.


All interiors photos with the exception of the first are from Albert Hadley: The Story of America's Preeminent Interior Designer by Adam Lewis and Parish-Hadley: Sixty Years of American Design by Christopher Petkanas, both terrific resources.

A Numbers Game

On the day that Elizabeth Taylor died, I tweeted that the actress was never more beautiful than in Butterfield 8. I stand by that statement, but I would like to add that she was also stunning in Ash Wednesday. I will never understand why that movie was so roundly panned. Here's the deal: the film is set in Cortina, Italy; Taylor drives a gorgeous Mercedes, as I recall; the producer was Dominick Dunne; and most importantly, her clothing was by Valentino. Oh, and she wears a bejeweled turban in the movie. Seriously, what more do people want? Talk about a heavy dose of glamour!

But this post isn't really about Taylor. I've just taken us down a very circuitous path to a discussion of telephone numbers, or more accurately, telephone exchanges. Butterfield 8, in case you're not aware, was the exchange that Taylor dialed to find out who her appointments were for the evening. Because as you know, Taylor played Gloria Wandrous, a call girl. A quite beautiful call girl, but a call girl nonetheless. Decades ago, telephone numbers were a little different than they are today. They were composed of seven numbers, but the first two numbers were designated by letters. So, Butterfield 8 was BU8 plus four additional numbers. You dialed the letters using the corresponding numbers on the dial. I may not be making myself clear, so you can click here to learn more about it.

So why am I writing about this? Because, don't you think that these exchanges had a lot of pizazz compared to the boring old numbers we have today? I'm sure that a lot of you remember when phone numbers were designated this way. If you watch an old movie set in London, you might hear characters referring to a phone number as WHItehall XXXX. That was a well-known exchange. If you lived in New York, your exchange might have been PLaza or GRamercy. Had I lived in my current Atlanta home back in the 1950s or 60s, my exchange might have been CHerokee.

I know this might seem like such a random post, but seriously, wouldn't you rather have calling cards printed up with KLondike, MUrray Hill, or HEmlock rather than all of the rigmarole we have to use today? I know that I would.


Parish Hadley's telephone number, as seen here in a detail of a rendering for Sister Parish's calling card, was RHinelander 45380.




One of the lady decorators, Elsie Sloan Farley set up shop on Park Avenue. Her number was PLaza 3-3516.




If you needed to reserve a room at The Carlyle back in 1936, you would have rung RHinelander 4-1600. You would still dial the same number today: 744-1600.




Syrie Maugham's London exchange was a posh sounding Mayfair. Her Chicago shop? That exchange was SUperior. That one sounds nice too.




W.E. Browne was an old decorating firm in Atlanta. This invoice, issued to my mother for the purchase of an antique cabinet, shows the firm's TRinity exchange. What's funny is that this invoice was dated 1990; I suppose they never saw any need to print new letterhead. I also admit that I like the use of "Decorators and Furnishers". It seems refreshing in a day and age where those terms are considered to be passé.


Image of Syrie Maugham stationery from Syrie Maugham by Pauline Metcalf.

A Master of Entertaining

You know that I love my vintage design magazines, and I mention often that there is much inspiration that can be drawn from their photos and articles. But inspiration aside, these old mags can also pull you into a fantasy world, one in which thoughts of "Wow, I'd love to live in a glamorous apartment like that" or "Good grief, I'd give my right arm to be able to host that kind of party" prevail. It's the latter sentiment that I felt when I first read a 1967 House & Garden article about a Christmas party hosted by designer Richard Nelson. In fact, I was planning to post about this gorgeous party when I found out that Richard is one of my readers. I figured what better way to turn fantasy into reality than by speaking with Richard to find out the whys and wherefores of this captivating party.

A little background first. Richard is a noted interior designer who began his career in New York in the late 1950s. In fact, he was Sister Parish's assistant for a few years, helping her with such projects as the famous White House redecoration for Jacqueline Kennedy. After his stint with Parish, Richard decided to strike out on his own, setting up shop in Manhattan and later in Newport, the city that Richard now calls home. Richard recalls that the 1960s were a heady time for a young New York decorator. It was not uncommon for him to spend most nights out on the town- in black tie no less. And if he wasn't out and about, he was entertaining at home. Richard remembers hosting seated suppers for 12 to 13 guests on an average of four to five nights a week. Yes, you read that correctly.

Now let's stop for a moment and think about that. Four to five nights a week. When Richard told me this, I actually didn't know what to say. Can you imagine? Of course, I had to ask him how in the world he entertained with such gusto and maintained his business. He said that he usually had help when he hosted dinners, although he always participated in the preparation of the meals. And sometimes to keep things simple, he would order in Chinese from a neighborhood restaurant and serve it on his Chinese export porcelain to make it special. Now that must have really been something else.

The 1966 Christmas soiree featured here took place at his former apartment on the Upper East Side, part of two Civil War brownstones that had been combined in 1917. Richard's apartment consisted of a dining room and a music room that was connected by an enclosed walkway. (That's the festive looking walkway above.) The music room had a 20' high ceiling, making it the perfect setting for a very tall Christmas tree. The dining room, decorated in the 1920s by Charles of London, had a ceiling that was covered in painted canvas meant to look like leather. (You can see it in a photo below.) The walls had been decorated with old japanning and antiqued mirror, but by the time Richard moved in the walls were beyond repair, hence the painted finish that you see below.

Seeing that this was to be Richard's first large party in his home, he opted for a lavish and elegant black-tie affair. He hired Donald Bruce White to cater the event. In 1966, White was just beginning his career, later becoming one of Manhattan's premier caterers. (In fact, I've shown his apartment on my blog. Click here to see it.) The delicious menu included smoked turkey, pâté en croûte, shrimp and parsley tree with curry dipping sauce, and of course, that croquembouche. If that wasn't enough, his friend Mabel Mercer entertained his guests for an hour and a half, after which everyone danced until 4:30 in the morning. But after the last guest left, Richard did not have much time for relaxation. A few days later, he hosted a party for friends' children so that they could see his Christmas tree. The event was replete with little presents, cookies, and juice, something that he still does to this day.

Though the setting of Richard's dinners may have changed- he now lives in an 18th c. Colonial house in Newport- his style of entertaining hasn't. He still makes sure to serve delicious food. And more importantly, he never forgets the point of entertaining: to have a good time with good friends.




That is Richard, above, wearing white-tie and tails. The footmen's liveries were made at a shop around the corner from his apartment.



The music room decorated for the party. The small tables and gilt chairs gave guests a place to rest between dances.



A view from the music room to the garden courtyard beyond.



The buffet was laid in the dining room. Note the painted canvas ceiling.



The smoked turkey was sliced quite thin and then reassembled for serving.



During the early part of the party, a harpist played while guests drank champagne and chatted.



After the 11pm buffet supper was served, Mabel Mercer sang for guests.



A few days later, friends' children visited to see Richard's Christmas tree.

All photos from House & Garden, December 1967.