Gilded Age mansions, once nearly extinct, make a quiet comeback in Manhattan: ‘The best of both worlds’

By the late 1990s, Randall Rackson had already done the apartment thing. He’d lived on Central Park West, in rooms stacked above those of others.

But one evening altered the course of his future.

“I went to a party at somebody’s townhouse,” Rackson, 66, told The Post. “And I was, like, ‘That’s the best of all worlds. This is a house like I grew up in, but it’s in Manhattan.’”

Soon after, Rackson, founder of the derivatives business for insurance and financial services giant AIG, began hunting for a townhouse of his own — though little did he know he’d stumble upon something coveted in New York City.

Still, the search was frustrating. Kitchens were in the basement, because staff did the cooking there; top floors had low ceilings, because staff lived there.

“Most of them are structured in a way that people lived back then and they don’t live now,” he said.

Then he found 349 W. 86th St. — or, rather, what was left of it.

Once a Gilded Age Beaux-Arts music conservatory, the building had no roof, no stairs, and plenty of rats and pigeons. A developer had planned to replace it with a 15-story condo, but neighbors sued over blocked light, stalling the project.

Rackson bought it in 1999 for $1.4 million, knowing he had not just found a home: he also saved a piece of the city’s rare Gilded Age fabric from disappearing.

What followed was a four-year restoration that preserved the limestone façade while reinventing the interior. The finished 11,500-square-foot dwelling — built in 1901 and now asking $29.75 million — combines historic formality with casual spaces for everyday living.

“I love the fact that I got to design it in a way that was historic and preserved the parts of it that were intact,” Rackson said. “It’s the idea of living in a house in the city that is really kind of the best of both worlds.”

It’s also a very rare piece of property to own in New York.

Rackson’s home is one of a small number of true Gilded Age survivors that are now available for history-minded house hunters. In the past six months alone, at least five such mansions have been listed, with others closing for eye-watering sums.

Among them: 25 Riverside Drive, a 30-foot-wide residence listed for $22.8 million in December before being withdrawn in June; 15 E. 63rd St., an 18,000-square-foot limestone behemoth built in 1901 and asking $39.5 million; and a 19th-century limestone structure at 57 E. 74th St. priced at $13.9 million.

And it all comes at a time when buyers may be more eager than normal.

The timing happens to overlap with the latest season of HBO’s “The Gilded Age,” which has introduced a wider audience to the showy architecture of late 19th-century Manhattan. 

“There is a real comeback for these historical homes,” Cathy Franklin of Corcoran, who has been involved a few Gilded Age sales in the span of her career, told The Post. “People want more space, and since the pandemic, a lot of families looked to Gilded Age mansions as being able to offer that space … And there are people who want something rare.”

Lydia Sussek of Douglas Elliman, who is marketing Rackson’s property, sees another driver: privacy. 

“Since COVID, a lot of people have started to value private space and not having to deal with the public,” she said. “That is another wonderful attribute of having a private home in the heart of the city.”

The Gilded Age — roughly from the Civil War through the early 20th century — was an over-the-top era when the newly rich looked to outdo one another in stone, marble and stained glass. 

“The simple answer is that there have always been rich people in New York — rich people build big houses,” said architect Sam White, great-grandson of the famed Gilded Age architect Stanford White. “In the decades after the Civil War … the newly rich were looking for houses that incorporated the imagery of European palaces.”

So they set out to work. In 1900, Fifth Avenue between 57th and 96th streets may have had as many as 150 to 160 mansions. 

“Today there might be 15,” White said. “Conclusion: 10% remain on Fifth Avenue.”

World War I marked the beginning of the end for Gilded Age grandeur. With more enticing work beyond domestic service and evolving social ideals, the ranks of household staff thinned, while escalating costs and shifting priorities made lavish estates harder to sustain. So, the wealthy began moving into luxury apartments — a trend that began with the opening of the Dakota on West 72nd Street in 1884.

Over time, most period mansions were demolished or converted to institutions, private clubs and cultural spaces. A handful — like the newly reopened Frick Collection on East 70th Street — remain as museums, while others, such as the Ukrainian Institute at East 79th Street, retain much of their original grandeur.

The market for those that survive is strong. 

In June, 9 W. 54th St. — a 24,000-square-foot, 50-foot-wide limestone mansion built in 1896 for financier James J. Goodwin — sold for $38.21 million.

“The buyers… were considering a range of uses from a private residence to a family office or private club,” Douglas Elliman’s Patricia Vance, who repped the listing, told The Post. 

The new owner will use it as a semi-private gallery, she said. A small but memorable detail charmed visitors: “the original safe in the dining room, which was used to secure the silverware.”

Just weeks earlier, 973 Fifth Ave. — the only fully restored Stanford White-designed mansion still in residential use on the avenue — closed for $46 million, The Post exclusively reported. 

“Selling 973 Fifth Ave. was an exceptional opportunity,” Corcoran’s Carrie Chiang, who repped the listing told The Post. “It offers a level of elegance and history that simply can’t be recreated today.”

Built in 1910, the 25-foot-wide limestone Italian Renaissance palazzo spans more than 16,000 square feet across seven floors, with sweeping views of Central Park and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Located on the protected “Cook Block,” where no building rises above six stories, the property has undergone a multi-year, multi-million-dollar restoration that preserved original details — stained-glass windows, marble fireplaces, a limestone staircase.

It features double parlors with 16-foot ceilings, five kitchens, a rooftop terrace, landscaped garden, wine cellar, Hammam steam room and 11 bedrooms, including staff quarters.

Buyers for these properties, Chiang added, “tend to be [high-net-worth] individuals who are looking for more than just square footage … For some, it’s about living in a home with history. For others, it’s about making a statement of taste and longevity.”

The allure is not just about size.

Franklin, who has sold multiple Stanford White properties, points to the unmatched craftsmanship of the era. 

“When you think about the late 1800s and the early 1900s, that’s a period of architecture where they had the most beautiful materials … marble, wood, plaster, craftsmanship,” she told The Post. “So many immigrants had come to the country with wonderful skills for plaster, painting, woodwork and gold leaf.”

The design priorities were different, too. 

“For these houses … it was about having beautiful, grand entertaining spaces, very high ceilings, spectacular parlor floors,” Franklin said. “These were homes meant to host dozens at a dinner table and hundreds in a ballroom.”

But modern expectations are not always in sync with that grandeur. 

“A house with an original layout will require a major intervention,” White said. “I assume that someone who is willing to spend $30 to $40 million on a house is buying something post-intervention.”

For buyers today, the scarcity is part of the draw.

“These mansions are one of a kind,” said Chiang. “You can renovate them with every modern luxury inside while preserving the exterior charm and character. That blend of past and present is incredibly appealing right now. And with so few of these homes left, the rarity only adds to their value.”

Vance sees them as artifacts as much as real estate. 

“They’re rare, and as more disappear, the remaining ones feel even more special — like museum pieces,” she said. 

Some will stay private, others may become cultural spaces, “but they’ll always be a part of New York’s story.”