OK, let's unpack this. Today, we are taking a
trip to Buffalo, New York, and focusing our entire
deep dive, all of our sources, all of our analysis
on one immense historic residence. The Clement
House. Exactly. The Clement House. It's this
17 ,000 square foot Gilded Age mansion. And it
really is a physical artifact. Right. But when
you start to peel back the layers of history,
the bricks and mortar tell a much, much grander
and sometimes, frankly, tragic. A story of American
industrial wealth, incredible architectural ambition
and, well, a really surprising connection to
two U .S. presidents. That's the part that really
got me. Oh, absolutely. So the Clement House
at 786 Delaware Avenue is our lens today. And
the mission here isn't just to, you know, appreciate
the architecture. It's to understand its life
cycle. From beginning to end. From beginning
to, well, to today. We're tracing its lineage
from this multimillion -dollar private commission
to a monument for a dream that was cut short.
And then analyzing its ultimate legacy. Right,
how it transitions from a symbol of, really,
exclusivity into this dynamic, shared administrative
center for the American Red Cross and the Buffalo
Philharmonic Orchestra. It's quite a journey.
It truly is a remarkable case study in how wealth
transforms. And I think more importantly, how
architecture survives. So just to ground us.
The basic facts. The basic facts. We're talking
about a house completed in 1913. The design was
handled by Edward Broadhead Green of the highly
influential firm Green and Wicks. A huge name
in Buffalo at the time. And the property has
been recognized since 1974 as a vital contributing
element to the Delaware Avenue Historic District.
So it's protected in a way. It is now. Yes. We
have history. We have high finance. And we have
these incredible political connections all wrapped
up in one very, very large package. So to start,
I think we have to understand the patrons because
this house is a direct reflection of their financial
status and their, you know, ambition. Right.
Who were they? The home was commissioned by Stephen
Merrill Clement and his wife. Carolyn Jewett
Glemmond. And Stephen was a big deal in Buffalo.
A towering figure, a major industrialist, and
critically, the president of the Marine National
Bank at the turn of the century. And when we
talk about Gilded Age wealth in cities like Buffalo,
it's often tied to infrastructure and finance,
right? Exactly. The Erie Canal, grain storage,
the rail lines, they all made Buffalo a crucial
hub. And so if you're the president of a bank
like Marine National, you aren't just managing
money. No, no. You are the nexus of that regional
power. Stephen Clement's wealth was foundational.
It was tied directly to the economic engine of
western New York. So he was the money. He was
the money. And while Stephen represented that,
you know, accumulated wealth and power, Carolyn
Jewett Clement brought the land pedigree. Ah,
okay, so the location. The location. This site,
786 Delaware Avenue, it wasn't just raw land.
It had a deep history. What was there before?
Before the 1913 mansion, the property was occupied
by the Tripp Residence, a structure that dated
all the way back to 1855. Wow, 1855. So that
was a historic home in its own right. It was.
It was originally built by a man named Erastus
S. Prosser. Okay, so the Clements weren't building
on an empty plot. They were. What? Performing
an architectural upgrade on land that was already
established by the previous generation of Buffalo
elite. That's a great way to put it. Carolyn's
father, Augustus Franklin Tripp, purchased that
1855 residence in 1881. And so she inherited
it. She inherited the residence and the very
prestigious address when he died in 1908. And
this is where that that gilded age sensibility
you mentioned really kicks in. It really does.
And inheriting a house built in 1855 was. You
know, perfectly fine. But by 1911, it simply
didn't project the scale of success that Stephen
Clements, president of Marine National, needed
to project. It was too small, too old. All of
the above. The house was old. The style was probably
seen as hopelessly outdated. And the footprint
was likely insufficient for their rapidly accumulating
capital and, just as important, their social
demands. Right. You need a place to entertain,
to show off the wealth. You need a palace. So
they made the definitive choice of that era.
Tear it down. Just level it. In 1911, the Clemens
commissioned what our sources describe as a palatial
new residence. And that's when they brought in
the big name architect. Stephen's friend, actually.
Yeah. Architect Edward Broadhead Green to design
the monument. This really highlights a generational
shift. Out with the old, however historic, and
in with the bold new statement. And it's interesting
where they were living. just before this massive
project. Right, they weren't, you know, camping
out in the old trip residence after the inheritance.
No, they were living at Stevens' late father's
home down the street at 737 Delaware Avenue.
Which gave them the freedom to completely level
the site at 786. And oversee the construction
of a custom -designed masterpiece without the
inconvenience of moving twice. It signifies a
very strategic, very planned consolidation of
status. And now we have to talk about the price
tag because it helps us truly grasp the magnitude
of the statement they were making. It's a number
that's hard to wrap your head around, even now.
The sources confirm the Clement House cost $300
,000 to erect. In 1913. In 1913 dollars. That
sum is genuinely staggering. So let's put that
into perspective for you. $300 ,000 in 1913 is
the equivalent of approximately $8 .5 million
today. Eight. 0 .5 million just for the construction
cost. It's just to build it. That excludes the
land value, which on Delaware Avenue would have
been immense. It excludes the furnishings, the
art collections needed to fill those 17 ,000
square feet. So it was a commitment to the absolute
zenith of luxury. This wasn't merely a house.
This was capital expenditure designed to last
for centuries to cement the Clement name in Buffalo
history forever. But this immense investment
in permanence. It's undercut by a profound piece
of personal tragedy. It really is. As you analyze
this incredible cost and ambition, you have to
look at the timeline of Stephen Merrill Clement's
life. And this is the heartbreak at the core
of the Clement House's story. What happened?
Stephen Merrill Clement died on March 26, 1913.
The same year the house was finished. He was
on vacation in Atlantic City, New Jersey. The
house was not completed until later that same
year. So, wait. He invested the equivalent of
$8 .5 million of his fortune into this dream,
this ultimate symbol of his success as a banker
and industrialist. And he never set foot inside
the finished structure. He never saw it. He never
saw the final rendering of his own legacy. Oh,
that's just brutal. It forces us to shift our
perspective on the house entirely. Yeah, it's
not a celebration anymore. No. The Clement House
ceased being a celebration of Stephen's success
and instantly became a monumental... Very expensive
tombstone for his dream. And for his widow, Carolyn.
Imagine. Carolyn, his widow, moved into a palatial
residence that represented immense personal effort
and financial sacrifice from her late husband,
but which he never ever got to enjoy. That detail
just adds this powerful layer of poignancy and
fragility to the whole concept of Gilded Age
wealth. It does. You can achieve everything.
Commission the greatest monument and still lose
the one thing money cannot buy. Time. Time. And
that really sets the stage for Carolyn's role
in the house's subsequent history. She was now
the sole owner, living inside this grand, bittersweet
monument. Exactly. And that detail is absolutely
essential as we move into the building itself.
So let's turn our attention to the physical reality
of those 17 ,000 square feet. This is a residence
designed for a specific purpose. It's not just
a big house. It has a function. A very specific
function. To facilitate the social. business
and cultural life of a family at the absolute
apex of regional power. And the sources say it
had 20 rooms in total. 20 rooms. But those numbers
only start to hint at the internal organization.
When you look at the floor plan, you start to
understand the... The functional hierarchy of
the era. Yes. The architecture dictates the social
routine. The ground floor was entirely dedicated
to the public face of the Clements. It had to
be impressive, functional, and formal. That's
where we find the spaces that facilitated Stephen's
status as a banker and an elite member of society.
You have the essential formal rooms, a large
reception room for greeting and screening guests.
Screening guests. I like that. Oh, absolutely.
And a substantial library. Yeah. And the library.
You know, it wasn't just for reading. No, that
was a power room. It was often used for private
business meetings, closing deals, or serious
discussions away from the public eye. After the
house was repurposed for the Red Cross, these
spaces easily converted into conference rooms.
Which demonstrates their inherent functional
formality. They were built for business. Exactly.
And the small, specific details are what truly
bring the luxury to life. The sources mention
the inclusion of specialty spaces, like a dedicated
wardrobe room. Which sounds a little innocuous,
doesn't it? A wardrobe room. But it speaks volumes
about the level of required social engagement.
What do you mean? A wardrobe room is an indicator
of a constant formal life. When you're attending
multiple society dinners, balls, institutional
events every single week, you require an extensive
and specialized wardrobe. It goes way beyond
simple closet space. Way beyond. This room was
a logistical necessity for maintaining the constant
cycle of formal appearances. It indicates a life
lived in the highest echelon of Buffalo society.
You needed staff just to manage the clothes.
But if we're going to identify the singular passion
of the Clements, or maybe Carolyn's ongoing commitment
after Stephen's death, we have to look at the
music room. The music room. This is the architectural
centerpiece, and honestly, this is where the
sources get really interesting. Indeed. This
space was not an afterthought. It was an entire
wing of the house. An entire wing. The music
room consumed the entire left side of the house.
Get out. The whole side. The whole side. We're
talking about a room that measured a staggering
1 ,040 square feet. That's nearly 100 square
meters. That is bigger than my entire apartment.
That is bigger than many modern family homes
today. By a lot. And think about what it takes
to dedicate that amount of floor space and ceiling
height purely to music. This demonstrates an
almost institutional commitment to patronage.
It wasn't a piano tucked in the corner. No, it
was a private concert hall. And the contents
of the room confirm this level of dedication.
What was in there? The room housed not one, but
two Steinway Grand Pianos. Two of them? A harp
and a built -in pipe organ. A pipe organ? Okay,
that's the next level. A pipe organ is a permanent
fixture. It is. It requires specialized structure.
dedicated air bellows it represents a final irremovable
commitment to musical performance in acoustics
so this space likely attracted local musicians
possibly even touring artists passing through
buffalo it established the clements as major
cultural patrons and this space was designed
for sound for performance and for the public
display of cultural refinement which was an essential
duty of the newly wealthy in the gilded age You
proved your worth not just by the size of your
bank account, but by the quality of the culture
you could bring into your home. Now, despite
all the modernity and the sheer scale of the
new construction, the Clements did something
interesting. They demonstrated a unique, conscious
reverence for the site's history. The heritage
of fireplace. Yes. This detail provides a beautiful
counterpoint to the ruthlessness of demolishing
the old house. They salvaged the fireplace from
the drawing room of the original 1855 Tripp residence.
Carolyn's childhood home. And consciously installed
it in the master bedroom of the new house. That
is a fascinating psychological choice. It really
is. They erased the physical structure, but they
insisted on incorporating this one specific symbolic
anchor, a piece of the family's past tenure on
that land. It's a very tangible way of, what,
mitigating total erasure? I think so. Ensuring
that the new monument wasn't seen as entirely
rootless, but connected, however faintly, to
the histories of property. It's a small detail,
but it speaks volumes. Now, zooming out to the
house's total structure, the floor plan was designed
not just for entertaining, but for enforcing
the strict social hierarchy of the time. Oh,
absolutely. The organization of the three main
floors is a perfect architectural diagram of
class separation. So the family bedrooms were
on the second floor. Logically, yes. On the private
second floor, maximizing comfort and distance
from the public -facing first floor. But the
segregation is starkly illustrated by the third
floor. The third floor. The entire top floor,
spanning the entire breadth of the house, was
dedicated exclusively to the servants' quarters.
A house this size, 20 rooms, 17 ,000 square feet,
built for constant entertaining, required a large
staff. You'd need cooks, maids, footmen. Possibly
a private secretary, the organist, or a music
tutor. The sheer number of people required to
maintain the Clement's lifestyle necessitated
dedicating an entire floor to their housing.
And that physical separation. Placing the staff
out of sight and generally out of mind. That
is the clearest manifestation of Gilded Age social
stratification built directly into the structure
of the home. To truly appreciate why the Clement
House survived and stands today, we have to look
at its immediate surroundings. The house was
built right in the heart of the Delaware Avenue
Historic District. An area known for both its
architectural ambition and its intense volatility.
Right. Edward Broadhead Green was the right architect
for the job. known for his refined Gilded Age
designs. But the neighborhood was a constantly
shifting landscape of status and demolition.
That volatility is crucial context. Wealthy families
in Buffalo were constantly trying to one -up
their neighbors. The Clement House was a massive
modern replacement for an older home. But its
survival becomes even more miraculous when you
look next door. It's 776 Delaware Avenue, the
Gratwick House. The fate of the Gratwick House
is a genuine architectural tragedy. And you have
to understand it to really contextualize the
Clement House's survival. You do. The Gratwick
House was torn down in 1919. 1919. That's just
six years after the $300 ,000 Clement House was
completed next door. Just six years. And this
wasn't just another old residence. The Gratwick
House was arguably one of the most significant
pieces of architecture in the entire city. Why
is that? What was it? It was a Richardsonian
Romanesque mansion designed by the... legendary
Henry Hobson Richardson. Okay, for our listeners
who might not be immersed in architectural history,
why is Henry Hobson Richardson considered such
a giant of American architecture? What does Richardsonian
Romanesque even mean? Richardson essentially
defined the aesthetic of American architecture
in the late 19th century. He was a true titan.
His style, Richardsonian Romanesque, is characterized
by monumental scale Heavy, rusticated stonework.
So like rough -hewn granite. Exactly. Brownstone
or rough -hewn granite. Massive rounded arches,
deep -set windows, and an overall sense of powerful,
rugged permanence. His buildings feel heavy,
grounded. Very grounded. His buildings, like
the Trinity Church in Boston or the Allegheny
County Courthouse, are foundational to American
architectural identity. He was the master of
synthesizing European Romanesque traditions with
American practical needs. So to clarify, the
Gratwick House was a masterpiece in this style,
designed by the man who defined it. It was more
than that. The sources specifically highlight
that the Gratwick House was Richardson's last
commission. His last one. His last one. It was
designed in 1886, just before his death, and
subsequently completed in 1888 by Shepley, Rutan,
and Coolidge, the firm that carried on his practice.
It represented the endpoint of a monumental career,
an architectural legacy structure. Yet, despite
this incredible pedigree, the final commission
of an architectural master, it was erased just
31 years after its completion. And only six years
after the Clements finished their grand statement
next door. That is the brutal lesson of Gilded
Age cities, isn't it? It is. Architectural significance
often loses out to economic utility or changing
family needs. The Gratwick House was demolished
because the new owners, or perhaps the estate
after the family moved on, decided the land was
worth more than the structure. Or they just preferred
a totally different type of development. Right.
It shows that even structures of national importance
could be temporary in the face of shifting wealth
and development pressure in a boomtown like Buffalo.
It almost makes the Clement House's decision
to tear down the 1855 Tripp House look quaint
in comparison. It does. The Clements were just
replacing an outdated house with a new one. The
erasure of the Gratwick House was the loss of
a national landmark. And it perfectly illustrates
the environment the Clement House was born into.
It was surrounded by this rapid cycle of creation
and destruction. And the Clement House survived
where the Gratwick House failed. And as we established
earlier, that survival hinged less on its architectural
style relative to Richardson's work and more
on a single, crucial, philanthropic decision
made by Carolyn Clement decades later. Let's
transition now to the human connections, because
the story isn't just about Buffalo. The Clement
family used this massive structure to solidify
their place in society. And in doing so, they
literally connected themselves by marriage to
one of the most enduring political dynasties
in American history. This connection is so often
missed when you focus solely on the architecture,
but it's absolutely critical for understanding
the reach of American elite families. So Stephen
and Carolyn Clement had six children. Right.
But we focus on the youngest. Stuart Holmes Clement,
who lived from 1895 to 1974. And Stuart made
the connection official. In 1911, right as the
new house was being designed and constructed,
Stuart married Margaret Livingston Bush. The
timing is important. Yeah. The marriage coinciding
with the height of the family's architectural
ambition. It's a power move. A huge one. And
this marriage wasn't just a local affair. It
was the consolidation of different forms of wealth.
Margaret Livingston Bush was not from Buffalo
banking. She was from the industrial and financial
power base of the East Coast. Who was her father?
She was the daughter of Samuel Prescott Bush,
a major Ohio industrialist and railroad executive.
A titan in his own right? Absolutely. And tracing
that lineage forward reveals the jaw -dropping
political impact. Margaret was the sister of
a future U .S. senator. Prescott Sheldon Bush.
Prescott Sheldon Bush, who was a significant
figure in Connecticut politics and finance for
decades. And this is where we need to trace the
bloodline clearly for the listener, because it's
a bit of a bombshell. It really is. Margaret
Livingston Bush Clement, the woman who married
into the family building this magnificent house,
was the direct paternal aunt of George Herbert
Walker Bush. The 41st president of the United
States. The very same. Wait, let me just absorb
that for a moment. So a massive $300 ,000 mansion
built by a regional banker in Buffalo, designed
to symbolize local commercial power, is essentially
part of the extended family network that produced
a sitting U .S. senator, a CIA director, a vice
president, and a president. Precisely. The house
is directly connected by marriage. And it doesn't
stop there. No. If we continue the lineage, Margaret
was, of course, the great aunt of President George
W. Bush. The 43rd president. Yes. The Buffalo
banking elite was not siloed. They were intermarrying
with the national, industrial, and political
aristocracy of families like the Bushes and the
Walkers. It's such a powerful illustration of
the way the American elite operates. Regional
economic hubs like Buffalo generate immense localized
wealth. And that wealth then seeks to solidify
its status through marriage into established
or rapidly ascending political and dynastic families
elsewhere. So the Clement House became an ancestral
node linking Buffalo's industrial past to America's
national political future. It adds an enormous
layer of historical significance to the building
itself. When Carolyn Clement moved in, she wasn't
just a widow living in a large house. She was
the matriarch of a family that was actively intertwining
its roots with the nation's future political
leadership. The House only holds national weight,
not just regional. Absolutely. This realization
is why a deep dive into a single street address
can be so enlightening. You start with architecture
and end up tracing the lines of power that shaped
the entire 20th century. The House, in a sense,
represents the marriage certificate between finance
and political destiny. So the story of the Clement
House takes its final, definitive turn due to
the immense philanthropy of Carolyn Jewett Clement.
The woman who inherited this monumental, but
as we discussed, ultimately melancholy project.
This is the moment where the house shifts from
a private monument to a public utility. And that
shift is what ensures its survival. Carolyn was
clearly dedicated to giving back. It sort of
reflects that later stage Gilded Age ethos that
massive wealth carried civic responsibility.
It does. We know she had already been a major
donor. She'd given $80 ,000 to the University
of Buffalo and endowed a chair at Yale University.
She understood the power of leveraging wealth
for institutional stability. And her most impactful
local decision came in June of 1941. A very significant
year. With the United States preparing for entry
into World War II, Carolyn donated the Clement
House to the western New York chapter of the
American Red Cross. That timing, 1941, is incredibly
important. It's everything. It placed the house
directly into the service of a massive humanitarian
effort during a period of national crisis. It
immediately shifted the building's public perception
from an ostentatious symbol of wealth to a vital
center for community service. It's likely secured
its status and local affection for decades to
come. For sure. It did. The building became informally
known simply as the Red Cross Building. The sheer
size and layout of the mansion, with its reception
rooms, conference rooms, and ample administrative
space, made it an ideal headquarters for a large
regional organization. And they took care of
it. They did. The sources note that the residence
underwent a significant restoration in 1999,
which illustrates the long -term institutional
commitment to maintaining the structure's historic
integrity. even while maximizing its utility.
So the Red Cross occupied the property for nearly
eight decades. A very long time. But the next
major transaction, starting around 2017, completely
redefined the use and ownership of the entire
four -acre plot, moving it into this unique shared
campus model. This brings us to modern Buffalo
philanthropy, specifically a man named John Yerchak.
He's a local developer and philanthropist who
co -owned CalSpan. And in 2017, he purchased
the entire property. Which was viewed initially
with some trepidation, you know, given the history
of demolition in the district, particularly the
Gratwick House's fate. People were probably worried
he'd tear it down. Exactly. But Yurchuk proved
to be following Carolyn Clement's philanthropic
playbook. What did she do? Immediately after
the purchase, he executed a monumental gift.
He donated the campus centerpiece, the Clement
residence itself, to the Buffalo Philharmonic
Orchestra, the BPO. As an outright gift. An outright
gift. Wow. So that decision created a genuinely
fascinating logistical and institutional scenario.
It did. The BPO and the Red Cross announced they
would share the historic residence for their
administrative staff. So you now have two major
seemingly unrelated nonprofits, humanitarian
aid and high culture sharing a 17000 square foot
building originally designed for a single family.
And the way they share it is the best part. The
distribution of space is almost poetic when you
consider the house's original hierarchy. It really
is. Let's look at the modern floor plan split.
The Red Cross occupies a portion of the first
floor, which includes the formal entry and conference
spaces. But also the entire third floor. The
entire third floor. The former servants' quarters.
That's right. The humanitarian organization occupies
the entire former servants' quarters. It's a
wonderful irony. The space once dedicated to
the invisible labor force supporting the Clemens
private luxury is now the nerve center for an
organization dedicated to public aid and relief.
That's incredible. And meanwhile, the BPO administrative
staff occupies the entire second floor. The space
that was originally dedicated to the Clement
family bedrooms. So the family's private spaces
are now managing the arts, while the staff quarters
are managing humanitarian aid. And the main floor's
foyer and reception rooms function as shared
common areas. So the architectural hierarchy
of 1913 has been functionally flattened and repurposed
into a collaborative community resource hub.
The house has literally internalized the concept
of shared utility. But the evolution of the property
doesn't stop at the mansion's walls, right? We
have to consider the rest of the four -acre lot.
Right. The original estate was sprawling. Yeah.
In 1979, long after the Red Cross took over,
an office building and an adjoining structure
connected by an atrium were built on the back
portion of the plot. Near the old carriage house
and the parking lot. And this brought a distinct,
utilitarian 1970s aesthetic onto the historic
land. It's quite a contrast. And that complex
was recently subject to another major transaction.
In 2018, yes. The rear complex, a substantial
53 ,500 square feet on 2 .85 acres, was sold
separately. Two. Best Self Behavioral Health,
another nonprofit agency focused on mental and
behavioral wellness, paid $3 .15 million for
that larger structure behind the mansion. So
the conclusion here is remarkable. What began
as a single, highly exclusive private estate,
a monument to Stephen Clement's ambition and
wealth, has been segmented. into a sophisticated
multi -organizational campus. Today, the entire
footprint is dedicated to three distinct non
-profit organizations. the BPO, the Red Cross,
and best self -behavioral health. The original
$300 ,000 architectural statement now serves
as a dynamic, layered symbol of sustained community
utility in Buffalo. It's an incredible evolution.
Hashtag, hashtag, hashtag, outro. That journey
from a single wealthy family's monumental dream
to a shared administrative hub for the arts and
humanitarian services is truly exceptional. It
really is. We started by exploring a tragic timeline.
Stephen Clement never seeing his completed mansion.
And we ended by tracing a profound political
bloodline, all centered on one address, 786 Delaware
Avenue. And I think the Clement House provides
an essential lesson. Historic structures are
not preserved merely by accident or aesthetic
merit. Right. It's not just because they're pretty.
No. They are living, evolving assets that survive
based on their ability to be continually repurposed
by changing economic and critically philanthropic
forces. Carolyn Clement's decision to donate
the house in 1941 was an act of practical immortality.
That's a great way to put it. She ensured the
structure's future through utility rather than
preservation alone. And when you consider that
the house was literally connected to the political
destiny of the Bush family, and yet its ultimate
purpose was serving local Buffalo communities,
it just emphasizes the complex, intersecting
layers of history that exist in every city. And
this raises an important final question for you,
the listener, to mull over as you view the built
environment in your own community. Yeah. We spend
time detailing the ruthless demolition of the
1855 trip residence to make way for the More
profoundly, we noted the erasure of the 1888
Gratwick House, a structure of national architectural
importance designed by H .H. Richardson just
six years after the Clement House was finished.
A huge loss. A monumental loss. The Clement House
survived through strategic donation and function.
So the question is, what criteria truly determines
which pieces of history are preserved and which
are erased for the next ambitious project? The
difference between a landmark and a parking lot
is often just one family's civic impulse, or
perhaps the perfect timing of a nonprofit organization
needing a new headquarters. That's the layered
history you can find when you take a deep dive
into a single street address.