
Urban legend says that these structures are chapels where the privileged can repent of their sins, but in fact they house the elevator mechanics and other rooftop necessities.
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Urban legend says that these structures are chapels where the privileged can repent of their sins, but in fact they house the elevator mechanics and other rooftop necessities.

This fine corner-tower church, whose cornerstone was laid in 1911, was designed by O. M. Topp and Charles M. Hutchison.1 The plan was probably made in 1906, when a small chapel was put up with the intention of building the larger church when there was enough money. This is one of the very rare cases, incidentally, where the Pittsburgh History and Landmarks Foundation is wrong. The PHLF plaque has the church designed by F. Hoffman & Co.; but F. Hoffman & Co., was a Wilkinsburg contractor (probably the one that got the contract for the building), not an architectural firm.
The congregation is gone, but some attempt is being made to restore the building as a Center for Civic Arts. Old Pa Pitt wishes the Center good fortune, because this fine building deserves to have a future, and Wilkinsburg deserves art. As we can see from this old postcard from the Presbyterian Historical Society collection, the building has hardly been altered at all:

The congregation prospered, and in 1928 a large educational wing was built—now abandoned and in bad shape. The architect was Lawrence Wolfe, with O. M. Topp—by then one of the grand old men of Pittsburgh architecture—listed as “associate architect.”2





A church in a typical Pittsburgh interpretation of Perpendicular Gothic. The stubby battlemented towers make it look like a chapel built into the wall of a castle; we would guess that the larger one was meant to hold up a spire. The white Kittanning brick gives some of the effect of stone without the expense of stone.



Addendum: The architect was John A. Long; the church was built in about 1911.1


Designers of apartment buildings often put a lot of effort into the entrances, because the entrance is what sells the idea of the building. You are, after all, trying to make prospective tenants think this is where they want to live. You will walk through these doors, a good entrance says, and you will feel like a duke walking into his palace. In one short stretch of Bayard Street this morning, we collected several artistic entrances, beginning with the Adrian above, at which no duke would turn up his nose.

The Aberdeen is almost as splendid, an effect slightly diminished by installing stock doors at the entrance and balcony.

There are two King Edward Apartments (plus an annex around the corner); this is the older of the two.

The later King Edward is covered with terra cotta, and its bronze doors are themselves works of art.


Bayard Manor has the kind of late-Gothic entrance that would make you feel you had done your best if you were expecting a visit from Queen Elizabeth I.


The D’Arlington is an interesting combination of classical and Prairie Style, with both baroque and abstractly geometric ornaments coexisting comfortably at the entrance.




Finally, a later building that does not quite succeed in competing with its neighbors, but still provides a respectable-looking entry.

Mount Lebanon Baptist Church has been without a congregation since 2013, but it is kept up, and we hope it has or finds a sympathetic owner. In spite of the name, the church is in Dormont, which was in the “Mount Lebanon district” until it became a separate borough.


The church was put up in 1930; the architects were Lawrence Wolfe (the middle term in a dynasty of Wolfes who were in the architecture business for more than a century) in association with Smith & Reif.




This decoration seems to be meant to represent an outdoor pulpit of the sort that was popular in medieval times. It is not functional, or at least not easily used, but it does send the message that the minister could step out here and denounce the whole borough if it became necessary.


For hardware connoisseurs, here are some very elegant door pulls and locks.




Grape vines in Gothic style make up most of the carved decoration.





Some of the decorations verge on an Art Deco interpretation of Gothic.
We have more pictures of Mount Lebanon Baptist Church in different lighting at a different season.

According to the parish history at the diocesan site, this church was built in 1900, after previous buildings had been destroyed by fire twice in the 1890s. In old Pa Pitt’s opinion, the black tinted window coverings do the church no favors, but no one asked him.




Behind the church is a cemetery remarkable for its precipitous slope, which makes it necessary for some plots to be terraced.



This is a strangely elaborate gateway for a postwar modernist apartment building. But anyone who knows the history of Fifth Avenue can guess that the gateway indicates where a grand mansion once stood on the Shadyside Millionaires’ Row. (Although city planning maps make Fifth Avenue the boundary between Shadyside and Squirrel Hill, traditionally both sides of the street were counted as “Shadyside.”)

Atherstone was the mansion, or “castle” as locals would have said, of hardware and steel magnate John Bindley.

It was built in 1890, greatly expanded during the First World War (when these pillars were built), abandoned in 1929, and torn down in 1938.

When the demolition began, the Bulletin Index, Pittsburgh’s high-toned society magazine, ran an article about the house that we reproduce below. The magazine had been infected by Timestyle with its horror of conjunctions and its quirky capitalization, but we trust our readers to interpret it without too much difficulty. The article gives us a picture of Depression-era Fifth Avenue at its lowest point, before the postwar housing boom filled many of the vacant estates with modern apartment buildings.

Forty years ago young Theodore Dreiser used to spend his evenings reading Balzac in the Allegheny Public Library, his Sunday afternoons walking out Fifth Avenue and back again. It was then one of the wealthiest, swankiest, most famous streets in the world. Dreiser gaped at the great mansions, marvelled years later in his autobiography that “even the lamp posts were better than in other parts of the city.” One of the most magnificent of the castles he gaped at was “Atherstone” (see cut).
Atherstone was a work of art, a baronial symbol of the great-spending paleo-industrial age of which William Randolph Hearst is the sole remaining big figure. Pittsburgher John Bindley, having grown rich with his Grant Street hardware store, richer as co-founder of the Pittsburgh Steel Co., built his four-story gargoyled castle (in 1890) in the grand manner, with crenellated turrets and 80 windows with leaded panes, named it after his ancestral home place in England. A widower with only two of his six children living, he travelled through Europe every year with his niece Elmina, brought back paintings, furniture, hand-carved panelling, marble mantel-pieces in the fashion of one who feels it a class privilege and duty to patronize the arts. Fixtures he had made to order in Manhattan to match the furniture he bought, for the Chippendale dining room, the Japanese room that was his favorite. During the prosperous war years Steelman Bindley spent $200,000 to remodel, add a wing to his castle. In an enlarged residence of 24 rooms, six baths, he installed an electric elevator, new copper drains, plumbing and kitchen equipment, added cupboard space that virtually equalled the room volume of an ordinary house, put two carved stone pillars at the driveway entrance, two huge solid oak doors at the entrance of the hand-carved oak panelled hall.
Four years later, at the age of 75, Steelman Bindley died. Atherstone and contents were left to Son Edward Houston Bindley, who died in 1929, to Daughter Adelaide Bindley Davidson, who closed up the castle, put most of the furniture (including the Japanese room) into one end of the Hoeveler warehouse, moved to California. Installed above the spacious six-room coachhouse in the rear was Niece Elmina McMillin, her four servants.
Many a great mansion Theodore Dreiser looked upon forty years ago now stands boarded up and weed-choked, many another has been torn down to leave great toothless gaps in swank Fifth Avenue. Fortnight ago came word that John Bindley’s Atherstone, scene of many and lavish entertainments, was to be given into the hands of home-wrecking Austin Givens, Inc. (who eleven years ago tore down John Bindley’s hardware store to make way for the Gulf Building). Last week the curious and buying public poked and peered through the cold bare rooms of Atherstone, being auctioned bit by bit. This week Wrecker Givens began to tear down, cart away.
—The Bulletin Index, December 8, 1938, p. 33.


“Mrs. Thaw’s chocolate church” was what the neighbors called it, since the brownstone church was largely built with Thaw money. The architect was Theophilus P. Chandler, Jr., a name that sounds as though its bearer was summoned into being to have his suspenders cut by the Marx Brothers.





More pictures of Third Presbyterian.