By CHRISTINE HAUGHNEY
Published: February 17, 2008
KATHY RULAND decorated her family’s new two-bedroom condo at the Plaza Hotel with care. The windows, overlooking Central Park, are draped with gold silk, and the living room showcases her beloved Indonesian painting of the Hindu goddess Sita, which was bought at a gallery near her main residence in Laguna Beach, Calif. When she wakes up to front-row views of Central Park, she says she feels like a princess.
In the time she has been living, on and off, at the newly converted Plaza Hotel, she has met five residents of the 181-unit building. In fact, she has no idea who lives on either side of her; of the 10 apartments on her floor, she knows not a soul, not a face, not a name.
She wouldn’t mind meeting someone other than the decorators, real estate brokers and other service workers fussing over the apartments. But even the building’s security guards can’t offer much information.
Published: February 17, 2008
KATHY RULAND decorated her family’s new two-bedroom condo at the Plaza Hotel with care. The windows, overlooking Central Park, are draped with gold silk, and the living room showcases her beloved Indonesian painting of the Hindu goddess Sita, which was bought at a gallery near her main residence in Laguna Beach, Calif. When she wakes up to front-row views of Central Park, she says she feels like a princess.
In the time she has been living, on and off, at the newly converted Plaza Hotel, she has met five residents of the 181-unit building. In fact, she has no idea who lives on either side of her; of the 10 apartments on her floor, she knows not a soul, not a face, not a name.
She wouldn’t mind meeting someone other than the decorators, real estate brokers and other service workers fussing over the apartments. But even the building’s security guards can’t offer much information.
“I keep asking, ‘Has anybody else moved in?’ and they shake their heads,” she said. “The place has been deserted.”
The Plaza Hotel, which has spent much of its 100-year history packed with guests like the Vanderbilts and the Beatles, not to mention debutantes and Frank Lloyd Wright, closed in 2005 to reopen as part hotel and part condominium. The hotel is scheduled to reopen March 1, and the condominiums have been finished for months. Buyers have closed on nearly 100 apartments.
Yet for the most part, no one is home. Only a half-dozen residents live there full time and another three dozen residents live there on weekends, according to Lloyd Kaplan, spokesman for the Plaza’s owner, Elad Properties.
On any night, the Plaza has rows and rows of darkened windows. The hallways on upper floors are silent except for the occasional shudder of wind. When young girls ask Ed the doorman whether Eloise is home, they are told she is on vacation in Paris.
So the buyers actually residing at the Plaza are finding life a little strange. Not that they regret their decision to move in. It’s hard to complain, after all, about living in multimillion-dollar apartments in one of Manhattan’s most legendary buildings, or to grouse about too much privacy. In New York, with its doubled-up roommates, clotted sidewalks and elbow-to-elbow dining, privacy is one of the ultimate luxuries.
But the Plaza does provide a window into the transient lives of the latest wave of the ultrarich in New York. Most of the buyers of luxury condos like those at the Plaza — including current and former top executives of Staples, JetBlue, Viacom and Esprit, as well as a few Russian billionaires — are rarely there. The city is just one more place they spend time around the country or the world. When they are living at the Plaza, some say they find themselves longing for a nod from a neighbor by the elevator, a hello in the lobby, a friendly wine and cheese gathering. Like anyone else, they long for a community, albeit a community of the megawealthy.
Kathy Ruland’s family owns two apartments in the Plaza. Her parents, Betty and Fred Farago, bought a one-bedroom $5.8-million apartment in July on the 15th floor, and a two-bedroom in October for themselves, the children and the grandchildren.
When they first bought the one-bedroom, the Faragos encouraged Ms. Ruland’s 17-year-old son, Stan, to spend the night by himself in the Plaza, one of the first people to overnight there.
The family knew the building was nearly empty, but thought Stan could be like the character Macaulay Culkin played in the movie “Home Alone.” That night, Stan ordered pizza, Cokes and cheese bread for the security guards and hung out with them downstairs. When it was time for bed, he reluctantly went upstairs to the family apartment. “It was a little bit spooky because it was totally dead,” he said. “It was this huge hotel, and I was the only one up there.”
In the fall, his 21-year-old sister, Kelley, moved into the apartment.
She had just transferred to Columbia University and didn’t want to stay in her dorm room, because she was lonely. Her roommate, it turned out, was always away with her boyfriend.
Kelley thought the Plaza would be busier, she said. But security guards called her Eloise as she headed in and out. Although her mother and grandmother often visited, she felt isolated. Last month, Kelley transferred back to the University of California, Los Angeles, moving into a shoe-box-size room at the Kappa Kappa Gamma sorority house. “It doesn’t matter where you are or how nice the place is — you get lonely,” she said. “The only time I wasn’t lonely was when my mom and grandma were there.”
Of course, New York can be a lonely place, even for the rich who make Manhattan their primary home and live in the equivalent of private clubs — 740 Park, for instance. Entry into those co-ops requires not just money, but also the right credentials. That means that they are closed off to the Russian billionaires and wealthy entrepreneurs from other American cities who live here part time.
Bernard and Joan Spain, who also live there, have held three cocktail parties for people who live nearby.
Contrary to what outsiders think, those residents can also be isolated. Michael Gross, who wrote a book about 740 Park, said the residents he interviewed talked about how they rarely saw one another and often rode elevators alone. The only exception was in the early 1970s when one vertical line of apartments, the D-line, filled with young families. But that closeness quickly disappeared when the D-line became known as the divorce line, because of all the marriages that fell apart.
“They don’t do secret deals to rule the world in the elevator,” he said. “They rarely see these people.”
The Plaza residents are isolated partly because the building is still filling up. Some buyers are waiting for decorators to customize their apartments for their art collections. Other buyers are staying at their third and fourth — or in some cases eighth and ninth — homes until the building’s restaurant and gym are open. That may not be until the spring.
In some ways, the Plaza Hotel’s residents are like newly wealthy New Yorkers during the Gilded Age in the late 19th century. Back then, newly transplanted New Yorkers lived in luxury hotels rich with dining rooms and men’s and women’s lounges.
David Nasaw, a biographer of Andrew Carnegie and a history professor at the Graduate Center at the City University of New York, said that Mr. Carnegie lived in amenity-rich hotels like the St. Nicholas when he first moved to New York.
He later upgraded to the Windsor Hotel, and established himself socially by spending time in the hotel’s dining, drawing and reading rooms. Back then, Mr. Carnegie’s accommodations were looked down upon by older New York families who lived in private residences.
“Nobody who had any kind of money would dare live in an apartment building where there weren’t services,” he said. “You wouldn’t imagine in the 1870s or 1880s getting your services anywhere else. These places prided themselves on the amenities.”
Mr. Nasaw said the superwealthy in the 19th century may have had an easier time figuring out how to meet the neighbors. The social rules on how and when to call on one another were far more explicit, and it was easy to tell whether social overtures were accepted or rejected. Think of the invitations and rejections Countess Olenska receives in Edith Wharton’s novel “The Age of Innocence.”
“These formal structure and rituals allowed people to navigate,” Mr. Nasaw said.
THERE are, of course, no real rules anymore. That’s why when all the decorating is done, brokers say, it may not be easier for the neighbors to be neighborly. For many residents, this will be just fine. “The ones who bought there are not looking to be part of a community,” said Kathryn Steinberg, a broker with Edward Lee Cave, who sold two apartments at the Plaza. “They have their community.”
John Coustas, president of the Greek shipping company Danaos, closed last month on a two-bedroom apartment. He doesn’t plan on living there full time, but isn’t worried about being lonely. He has three sets of friends who also bought there. “Of course we hope that we’re going to meet more people,” he said. “We’ll see how it develops.”
Ms. Ruland said meeting people is hard simply because it’s hard to tell the residents from the help. One neighbor cast his eyes away from her one day when she walked through the lobby with a mop and bucket. She said she felt like telling him her family owns two apartments in the Plaza.
She hopes, she said, that over time she will meet someone there who shares her love of art and running. Her mother hopes that she will find neighbors who like to play canasta or bridge.
“It’s going to be easier when we go to the fitness center,” she said. “I would love to meet people. The sooner the better. It’s getting. ... It’s getting. ... We’re ready.”
Bernard and Joan Spain say the fitness center may not be the answer. The couple, whose main home is in Philadelphia, bought their $7 million two-bedroom apartment in June. After renovations, they moved in last month, replacing their space at the nearby Sherry-Netherland Hotel. In their five years at the Sherry-Netherland, they said, they never saw any neighbors at the gym.
They have high hopes for the Plaza. In August, they attended the 100th anniversary party to see if they could meet future neighbors. And when they moved in, the Spains introduced themselves to the single woman who lives on their floor with her mammoth dog, and also to a Swedish family they met in the lobby.
Ms. Spain has held three cocktail parties for friends who live nearby. “We popped some popcorn and put out some mixed nuts,” she said.
They invited the neighbor with the dog, but she took a rain check. And last week, Mr. Spain said, he met another neighbor while taking out the trash.
The views help prevent them from getting lonely. They entertain themselves by watching thousands of people mill in and out of the Apple Store below. They also talk on the phone with a friend’s friend who bought a third-floor apartment, but has not yet moved in. They hope that they will meet people when the shops and restaurants open.
“We expect that we’ll meet very interesting people,” Ms. Spain said. Her husband added, “We’re optimistic people.”
The Plaza Hotel, which has spent much of its 100-year history packed with guests like the Vanderbilts and the Beatles, not to mention debutantes and Frank Lloyd Wright, closed in 2005 to reopen as part hotel and part condominium. The hotel is scheduled to reopen March 1, and the condominiums have been finished for months. Buyers have closed on nearly 100 apartments.
Yet for the most part, no one is home. Only a half-dozen residents live there full time and another three dozen residents live there on weekends, according to Lloyd Kaplan, spokesman for the Plaza’s owner, Elad Properties.
On any night, the Plaza has rows and rows of darkened windows. The hallways on upper floors are silent except for the occasional shudder of wind. When young girls ask Ed the doorman whether Eloise is home, they are told she is on vacation in Paris.
So the buyers actually residing at the Plaza are finding life a little strange. Not that they regret their decision to move in. It’s hard to complain, after all, about living in multimillion-dollar apartments in one of Manhattan’s most legendary buildings, or to grouse about too much privacy. In New York, with its doubled-up roommates, clotted sidewalks and elbow-to-elbow dining, privacy is one of the ultimate luxuries.
But the Plaza does provide a window into the transient lives of the latest wave of the ultrarich in New York. Most of the buyers of luxury condos like those at the Plaza — including current and former top executives of Staples, JetBlue, Viacom and Esprit, as well as a few Russian billionaires — are rarely there. The city is just one more place they spend time around the country or the world. When they are living at the Plaza, some say they find themselves longing for a nod from a neighbor by the elevator, a hello in the lobby, a friendly wine and cheese gathering. Like anyone else, they long for a community, albeit a community of the megawealthy.
Kathy Ruland’s family owns two apartments in the Plaza. Her parents, Betty and Fred Farago, bought a one-bedroom $5.8-million apartment in July on the 15th floor, and a two-bedroom in October for themselves, the children and the grandchildren.
When they first bought the one-bedroom, the Faragos encouraged Ms. Ruland’s 17-year-old son, Stan, to spend the night by himself in the Plaza, one of the first people to overnight there.
The family knew the building was nearly empty, but thought Stan could be like the character Macaulay Culkin played in the movie “Home Alone.” That night, Stan ordered pizza, Cokes and cheese bread for the security guards and hung out with them downstairs. When it was time for bed, he reluctantly went upstairs to the family apartment. “It was a little bit spooky because it was totally dead,” he said. “It was this huge hotel, and I was the only one up there.”
In the fall, his 21-year-old sister, Kelley, moved into the apartment.
She had just transferred to Columbia University and didn’t want to stay in her dorm room, because she was lonely. Her roommate, it turned out, was always away with her boyfriend.
Kelley thought the Plaza would be busier, she said. But security guards called her Eloise as she headed in and out. Although her mother and grandmother often visited, she felt isolated. Last month, Kelley transferred back to the University of California, Los Angeles, moving into a shoe-box-size room at the Kappa Kappa Gamma sorority house. “It doesn’t matter where you are or how nice the place is — you get lonely,” she said. “The only time I wasn’t lonely was when my mom and grandma were there.”
Of course, New York can be a lonely place, even for the rich who make Manhattan their primary home and live in the equivalent of private clubs — 740 Park, for instance. Entry into those co-ops requires not just money, but also the right credentials. That means that they are closed off to the Russian billionaires and wealthy entrepreneurs from other American cities who live here part time.
Bernard and Joan Spain, who also live there, have held three cocktail parties for people who live nearby.
Contrary to what outsiders think, those residents can also be isolated. Michael Gross, who wrote a book about 740 Park, said the residents he interviewed talked about how they rarely saw one another and often rode elevators alone. The only exception was in the early 1970s when one vertical line of apartments, the D-line, filled with young families. But that closeness quickly disappeared when the D-line became known as the divorce line, because of all the marriages that fell apart.
“They don’t do secret deals to rule the world in the elevator,” he said. “They rarely see these people.”
The Plaza residents are isolated partly because the building is still filling up. Some buyers are waiting for decorators to customize their apartments for their art collections. Other buyers are staying at their third and fourth — or in some cases eighth and ninth — homes until the building’s restaurant and gym are open. That may not be until the spring.
In some ways, the Plaza Hotel’s residents are like newly wealthy New Yorkers during the Gilded Age in the late 19th century. Back then, newly transplanted New Yorkers lived in luxury hotels rich with dining rooms and men’s and women’s lounges.
David Nasaw, a biographer of Andrew Carnegie and a history professor at the Graduate Center at the City University of New York, said that Mr. Carnegie lived in amenity-rich hotels like the St. Nicholas when he first moved to New York.
He later upgraded to the Windsor Hotel, and established himself socially by spending time in the hotel’s dining, drawing and reading rooms. Back then, Mr. Carnegie’s accommodations were looked down upon by older New York families who lived in private residences.
“Nobody who had any kind of money would dare live in an apartment building where there weren’t services,” he said. “You wouldn’t imagine in the 1870s or 1880s getting your services anywhere else. These places prided themselves on the amenities.”
Mr. Nasaw said the superwealthy in the 19th century may have had an easier time figuring out how to meet the neighbors. The social rules on how and when to call on one another were far more explicit, and it was easy to tell whether social overtures were accepted or rejected. Think of the invitations and rejections Countess Olenska receives in Edith Wharton’s novel “The Age of Innocence.”
“These formal structure and rituals allowed people to navigate,” Mr. Nasaw said.
THERE are, of course, no real rules anymore. That’s why when all the decorating is done, brokers say, it may not be easier for the neighbors to be neighborly. For many residents, this will be just fine. “The ones who bought there are not looking to be part of a community,” said Kathryn Steinberg, a broker with Edward Lee Cave, who sold two apartments at the Plaza. “They have their community.”
John Coustas, president of the Greek shipping company Danaos, closed last month on a two-bedroom apartment. He doesn’t plan on living there full time, but isn’t worried about being lonely. He has three sets of friends who also bought there. “Of course we hope that we’re going to meet more people,” he said. “We’ll see how it develops.”
Ms. Ruland said meeting people is hard simply because it’s hard to tell the residents from the help. One neighbor cast his eyes away from her one day when she walked through the lobby with a mop and bucket. She said she felt like telling him her family owns two apartments in the Plaza.
She hopes, she said, that over time she will meet someone there who shares her love of art and running. Her mother hopes that she will find neighbors who like to play canasta or bridge.
“It’s going to be easier when we go to the fitness center,” she said. “I would love to meet people. The sooner the better. It’s getting. ... It’s getting. ... We’re ready.”
Bernard and Joan Spain say the fitness center may not be the answer. The couple, whose main home is in Philadelphia, bought their $7 million two-bedroom apartment in June. After renovations, they moved in last month, replacing their space at the nearby Sherry-Netherland Hotel. In their five years at the Sherry-Netherland, they said, they never saw any neighbors at the gym.
They have high hopes for the Plaza. In August, they attended the 100th anniversary party to see if they could meet future neighbors. And when they moved in, the Spains introduced themselves to the single woman who lives on their floor with her mammoth dog, and also to a Swedish family they met in the lobby.
Ms. Spain has held three cocktail parties for friends who live nearby. “We popped some popcorn and put out some mixed nuts,” she said.
They invited the neighbor with the dog, but she took a rain check. And last week, Mr. Spain said, he met another neighbor while taking out the trash.
The views help prevent them from getting lonely. They entertain themselves by watching thousands of people mill in and out of the Apple Store below. They also talk on the phone with a friend’s friend who bought a third-floor apartment, but has not yet moved in. They hope that they will meet people when the shops and restaurants open.
“We expect that we’ll meet very interesting people,” Ms. Spain said. Her husband added, “We’re optimistic people.”
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