For a hundred years, the McCune Mansion has perched on the hill at 200 N. Main, watching as the world changed around it.
A time-lapse film of those years would show a changing Salt Lake skyline: the Capitol building going up to the east, trolley cars and cables coming down, skyscrapers, apartment buildings rising nearby; valley views being blocked; new looks and different designs.
But there it stands, a bit of old-fashioned frou-frou in what has become a more streamlined neighborhood.
A home, said a man named Moritz Alsberg, "is an instrument for measuring the degree of civilization a people has attained." And that is true of the McCune Mansion. When it was built in 1900, it was state of the art; the best that money could buy; a showpiece of extraordinary proportions.
And it remains that today, says current owner Phil McCarthey, who is finishing a multimillion-dollar restoration project to bring the mansion back to its glory period. "It's a unique treasure, a unique part of our heritage."
Built of native Utah sandstone quarried from a location that is now part of the Loa National Forest, topped with tiles made in the Netherlands, paid for by money made in mining and railroads, inlaid with precious woods and filled with amazing treasures, the home is a quintessential symbol of Utah's coming of age, a representation of the broadening world view, of the optimism and exuberance that greeted the turn of the 20th century.
And that's just the building itself, says McCarthey. Think about what went on inside. Think what was happening in the state in 1901 when the mansion was finished:
Utah had been a state for only five years.
Alfred McCune was heavily involved in state politics.
McCune and his wife, Elizabeth, were personal friends of LDS apostle Heber J. Grant.
The Kearns Mansion had just been completed, and other lavish homes were being built along Brigham Street.
The first automobiles had come to town.
The original Salt Palace was presenting spectacular entertainment.
And the McCunes were at the center of it all.
"Think of the guests that would have gathered around their dining table," says McCarthey. "Think what conversations would have gone on here. Would they have put their cares and opinions aside for an evening of elegance, or would there have been heated debates?"
Imagine the elegant balls in the upstairs ballroom. Or the orchestra playing in its own alcove by the main stairway. Or the men playing billiards in the cathedral-like curio room, perhaps stepping out on the balcony to have a smoke and look at the Great Salt Lake in the distance.
For the 20 years they lived there, the McCunes were among Salt Lake City's most prominent citizens, and their home was a mecca for high society.
"McCune was the Bill Gates of his day," says McCarthey, "and his home reflects that."
Alfred W. McCune was born July 11, 1849, at Fort Dum Dum, near Calcutta, India, where his father was stationed with the British military. It was there that the family came in contact with doctrines of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
The McCunes continued this association in Rangoon, Burma, where a small missionary school was taught in their home. And soon they began making plans to join the Saints in the Salt Lake Valley.
Arriving in New York in March of 1857, 8-year-old Alfred saw snow for the first time; he thought salt was falling from the sky. The family made the trek across the Plains, and lived for a time in Farmington before settling in Nephi, where they took up farming.
Farming was not something Alfred particularly liked. So, at age 19, he and his older brother joined with some other Nephi men in a business venture, hauling freight to workers laying tracks for the transcontinental railroad. They soon realized there was more money to be made grading the railroad line and signed on for that.
This work taught Alfred two things — his heart lay in commerce, and transportation was vital to the growing nation. Both would shape the direction of his life in years to come.
First, however, there was a wedding — to his childhood sweetheart, Elizabeth Ann Claridge, also of Nephi.
Freighting, railroad-building, timber operations followed, often showing a similar pattern. Alfred McCune was a risk-taker and would commit to daring contracts that would not only intimidate competitors but would also daunt his partners. McCune often had to buy out the partners but always managed to deliver on the contracts.
By the 1880s, he had business interests throughout the West and into Canada. But he was no ruthless, cutthroat entrepreneur. He developed a reputation as a fair and honest dealer. "Friends he had in multitudes, and those who know him best love him most," wrote one of this close associates.
In 1888, at age 39, a wealthy and respected young man, McCune moved his family to Salt Lake City. There, Elizabeth soon became involved in church work; she was called as a counselor in the general presidency of the Young Ladies' National Mutual Improvement Association. And their third daughter and ninth child was born in 1891.
Alfred was involved in the modernization of Salt Lake City's streetcar system. In 1899, he began investing in — and modernizing — copper mines in Peru. And in 1891, he became part of the lucrative Payne Mining Co., based in British Columbia.
In 1897, the McCunes embarked on a yearlong trip to Europe, taking up residency in England and visiting sites in France and Italy. On their return home, they leased the Gardo House. But it was time for the family to build its own home, and for the site, they chose the sloping hill at 200 North Main.
Elizabeth was given carte blanche to build and furnish the home as she desired. For the design, she chose to copy a home on Riverside Drive in New York City that she particularly admired. The architect was S.C. Dallas.
Alfred later remarked that he wasn't sure exactly how much the home cost to build because they quit counting after they had spent $500,000. But to build it from scratch in today's dollars would take more than $50 million, says McCarthey.
On Christmas Eve 1999, the McCarthey family gathered for a celebration at the McCune Mansion. "We figured it had been 79 years since a family Christmas had been celebrated there, and we thought that it was a fitting way to mark the end of the millennium," says Phil McCarthey.
He had purchased the home in August of that year, had done what needed to be done to make it habitable and was about to jump into the massive restoration project.
After the festivities, they tried to turn off the lights in the third-floor ballroom. But after they had flipped every switch they could find, one bank of lights was still on. "We tried it again and again. But those lights wouldn't go off." Finally, in exasperation, McCarthey said aloud, "OK, Alfred, if you want the lights on, they can stay on." At that moment, he says, the lights flickered, but they didn't go off.
McCarthey came back the next day, and they found a switch on the second floor that controlled the upstairs lights. Trick or convenience? Did McCune just not want to go down the stairs in the dark, or was it a little amusement he incorporated into the house?
Either would be typical of McCune, says McCarthey. He was very innovative, adopting the latest methods and looking for new solutions. But he also loved a good joke.
"He was a character," says McCarthey, who has come to know and appreciate McCune even more since working on his house. For example, Elizabeth wanted her bedroom on the southwest side on the second floor so she could wake up each morning to a view of the Salt Lake Temple. (Alfred's was on the other side — in those days separate bedroom/sitting rooms with an adjoining bath were standard procedure — where he could watch the state Capitol being built.) But on the outside of the building by Elizabeth's windows are two sandstone statues of nude women. Coincidence or subtle humor?
And on the third floor, you can see a window from the outside that you can't find on the inside. It turns out, there is a little passageway surrounding that end of the ballroom, going nowhere. But was it just for symmetry, so the window on the outside wouldn't impact the ballroom on the inside? Or was it used for spying?
In the basement, there is a room-size wall safe built under the stairwell. They had to have a locksmith come to open it, said McCarthey. Alas, it was empty.
In the dining room, there is a bullet hole in the wall. Two theories might explain it, he says. One is that someone who did not agree with McCune's political stances came to take a potshot at him. "In those days we didn't have the Internet where you could post your opposing views."
The other story is that once, when Elizabeth was away, Alfred was entertaining another woman. And that woman's husband did the shooting. Either way, the bullet missed and lodged in the wall, where it remains.
But flickering lights and tall tales aside, if the McCune Mansion is haunted, it is only with the spirit of an earlier age. "There's a tremendously warm feeling here that reaches out and speaks to you," says McCarthey.
When his home was built, Alfred McCune could afford the best — and that's what he got. The main entryway is cloaked in rich mahogany from Santo Domingo. The drawing room, in the style of Louis XIV, is paneled in white satin mahogany from South America, thought to be the rarest wood in the world at the turn of the century — and now extinct (conservation was obviously not a priority in those days).
The wall mirror in that room was made in Germany and shipped in one piece in a custom-made rail car. In fact, a custom-made rail siding was built from the main line in Salt Lake City to the mansion's hill to deliver it.
The first floor fireplace is made of Nubian marble from Italy. The ballroom is done in a process called scagliola, which involved breaking marble in pieces, mixing it with epoxy and molding it. Had pure marble been used, the weight would have been prohibitive, but Elizabeth wanted the look of marble.
An artist labored for two years, painting all the ceilings and panels throughout the mansion. The formal dining room on the third floor was designed to recall the famed English banquet room Haddon Hall.
McCune's bedroom is circular, complete with three curved doors cut from an elegant mahogany; no knotholes in sight. The bathroom had one of the first showers — maybe the first — in Utah.
McCarthey has installed some additional restrooms in some of the back bedrooms, has put in an elevator and brought kitchen facilities (which had already been torn up and changed) up to 21st century standards.
But other than that, he has tried to maintain the integrity of the original building. He has brought in a conservator, and they've tried to establish original paint colors.
The biggest challenge has probably been the roof, which is composed of thousands of tiles, custom-fabricated in Holland. "It's been like a huge jigsaw puzzle," he says. There are more than 120 different styles of tile, all designed to fit a certain location. The original ones were all numbered. "We heard that McCune had had a second set of tiles made, so they could be used for repairs. And luckily, we found that in the basement. But over the years, other repairs had been made, and we couldn't just use all of those."
It turned out that they were able to salvage about half of the original tiles and use 25-30 percent of the second set. Then, they found out that the company was still in business in the Netherlands, and it made new, matching tiles for the rest.
If that seems like a lot of work to go to, it epitomizes the approach McCarthey has taken throughout the house. He wanted it done right.
If you look beyond the elegance, you find quality workmanship, he says. "A hundred years later, all the doors, all the drawers still open and shut."
He's not convinced, he says, that everything has to be made to look brand new; sometimes it's interesting to see what a century of living has done. And, he suspects that it may turn out to be like a European cathedral. "There will always be something that needs to be done." But he feels a deep responsibility to take care of the home.
The McCune Mansion is a unique heirloom, he says. "We are the caretakers at this time. It's up to us to preserve and pass it on to the next generation."
He has always been attracted to the building. "I used to drive by, and it almost seemed to whisper to me, to call me to come a little closer."
He had the resources and the commitment and was just crazy enough to take it on, he says, "but mostly we did it because we are Utahns, and this is an important part of Utah."
And so the McCune Mansion will stand on its hill for future years, silently watching as the world around it changes again. And as long as it stands, it will be a tangible reminder of its time — when it was the best that civilization in Salt Lake had to offer.
E-MAIL: carma@desnews.com