
Every time I arrive in New York City I visit The Frick, Henry Clay Frick’s exquisite Fifth Avenue mansion housing his superb art collection, so when I travelled to Pittsburgh I made a point of seeking Frick’s family home.
This wasn’t easy, because I couldn’t get the hang of the local bus system. My first attempt landed me at Frick Park, which appeared to be a playground and tennis courts, a bequest from Henry Clay Frick, opened in 1927. There’s more to it than met my eye: Frick’s initial bequest ultimately extended to 644 acres.
Persistence pays. The following day I found the exact bus and bus stop to The Frick Pittsburgh.
It’s a compact site, with the original house, Clayton, in one corner: there’s a greenhouse, a café, a shop and an admirable display of carriages and early motor cars, and an art gallery, much of which I was told was closed, except for an exhibition of high-heeled shoes which I felt I could live without.
Henry and Adelaide Frick moved into Clayton shortly before the birth of their son, Childs Frick (1883-1965, named for his mother’s maiden name). He was utterly unlike his rapacious father – a scholarly palaeontologist, who grew up learning to love the animals that roamed in the grounds at Clayton, and he spent his life acting as a benefactor and trustee of the American Museum of Natural History in New York City.
Of the Fricks’ four children, the only other survivor to adulthood was their daughter, Helen Clay Frick (1888-1984). Her childhood was darkened by the deaths of her young brother and sister. Their father notoriously favoured Helen at Childs’ expense, and his will, leaving her $38 million, alienated her from her mother and brother.
Helen shared her father’s interest in art and art history. She travelled extensively in Europe with her parents, and advised her father on purchases for his collection. She also gathered a formidable archive of reproductions and catalogues, including records of many works of art lost in the two world wars. She curated what became the Frick Collection in New York City, and later established the Frick Art Museum in the grounds of Clayton where she habitually spent summers.
She liked the place as she remembered it in her childhood, so it was never modernised or extended. In the last few years of her life she resided at Clayton permanently, and died there aged ninety-six.
The house and grounds were opened to the public in 1996.
It’s a delightful place to spend a leisurely day. For lunch I was placed outside under a table-umbrella. I didn’t take notice of not being asked whether I wanted to be in the cool air-conditioned interior, where elegant ladies were eating at tables with tablecloths. I simply relished the experience of sitting in a beautiful place in beautiful weather and eating steak parmesan with a less than generous pot of house-blend tea.
I had time to sit in the lounge of the ultra-modern shop, well stocked with books about Frick, the architecture of the Golden Age (that is, late nineteenth-century eastern USA), fashion and high-heeled shoes until I was summoned by the docent, Pam, for the two-o’clock tour. Pam was wonderful. She was courteous, affirmative, formidably well informed, and managed the group with charm and precision.
The Frick Pittsburgh took some finding by bus, but it was well worth the effort.