But now the Has Been, as this salmon-colored paper once crowned her, is finally making an attempt to reclaim the throne, Manhattan real estate chronicler Michael Gross reports. Mr. Gross, who recently penned an article in Avenue about the grand dame and her underpriced units, noted that one of River House's apartments—a 16-room duplex in the tower—just came on the market asking $25 million.

The other listings in the building—there are at least 13, which is rather embarrassing for a co-op that made its reputation by being impossible to get into—are all priced between $3.5 million and $12.5 million. No apartment has ever broken the $15 million mark. Which is shocking considering the undistinguished, cookie cutter condos that are asking, and getting, higher prices than that these days. Still, it's not as though River House or its sellers could be accused of low self-esteem. No, they were cowed into reducing their expectations slowly and painfully after their units languished on the market. One 14-room apartment even halved its $15 million asking price to $7.9 million between 2010 and 2012 (oh, the shame of it!).

But River House is now doing its best to be a little less stuffy, a little more friendly than it once was, as Mr. Gross discovered by speaking with co-op board president John A. Allison (the co-op board president speaking with a reporter is, in itself, quite shocking).

It is, for example, "easing" the outright ban on open houses and rescinding the rule that residents not mention the building's name in listings or the press. Moreover, the River Club, an establishment so exclusive that residents had to apply separately even after getting past the fearsome co-op board, has now opened some of its facilities to shareholders: the garden, its restaurant, room service. Realizing, perhaps, that without membership in the River Club, living on a cul-de-sac by the East River can be a little isolating.

None of these changes are radical, of course (what would One Sutton and One Beacon think?), but they are changes. The co-op that daren't speak its name is now whispering. On occasion. To a few select people.

Indeed, Brown Harris Stevens broker Caroline Guthrie boasts about the tower duplex being located in "the legendary River House" in the first sentence of her listing. And the apartment, which belonged to the late Betty Evans, is so glorious, so graciously laid-out and so flooded with eastern light that if any unit can turn River House's fortunes around, this would surely be the one.

The apartment has four wood-burning fireplaces, a library designed by Billy Baldwin, a sauna, fur storage, an original silver safe, five bedrooms, 6.5-baths and—so exciting!—a bar room overlooking the river and skyline.

Sure, 15 Central Park West might command much, much higher prices. And it might have all the latest conveniences, including a condo board with more liberal admittance policies, but do any of its apartments have a bar room? We haven't heard of one. Perhaps Mr. Gross will consider writing a book about River House after he finishes his upcoming tome on the Stern/Zeckendorf collaboration.

kvelsey@observer.com

River House—a co-op so exclusive that it has long forbidden the use of its name in advertisements—has its reputation to protect, after all, a reputation the co-op has carefully maintained by turning away some of the more questionable types that have come knocking on its esteemed doors, among them Gloria Vanderbilt, Diane Keaton and Joan Crawford.

But times change, a heartbreaking phenomenon well-chronicled The Observer, and while River House still has its good name to trade on (much like our favorite tragic heroine Lily Bart), money does not flow to its hallowed halls as it once did.

But then, were things really ever the same after the FDR  put an end to mooring one's yacht in the marina?

While other listings around the city are going for tens of millions (consider the $88 million sale of the Sandy Weill penthouse at 15 Central Park West, Teddy Forstmann's co-op in contract for $40 million and the $52 million contract signed for the Ross co-op at 740 Park) the elite River House has yet to break the $15 million mark.

Apartment 4/5E, listed with Douglas Elliman broker Betsy Green, is a prime example.

The stately, sprawling five-bedroom has big bay windows that look out over the river, wood-burning fireplaces, en-suite bathrooms, a Juliette balcony and a 30-foot window in the master bedroom, but it has lingered on the market since its $11.5 million debut with Stribling in fall 2007.

Besides some fusty decorations and the owner's odd decision to put stainless steel floor in the living room—going for a ship's galley look?—the co-op is lovely and must be quite confused after being snubbed by buyers, so confused, in fact, that the listing even tried a bold reach for $15 million in 2008 with Brown Harris Stevens, before beginning a slow acceptance of new realities. That is to say a steady march of price reductions.

After being reduced from $8.5 million to $7.9 million just this past week, we'd say that the aging debutante is now deigning to seriously consider Simon Rosedale's marriage proposal.

Why has River House suffered so? Some blame its secluded location (once one of its greatest assets), others the rise of hassle-free condos. Or maybe it's the dwindling pool of "our" kind of people.

Regardless of its recent decline in the hearts of the city's elite, the building still retains its cultish, country club appeal: there’s a cul-de-sac where your car can sit idling for long stretches, membership in the hoity-toity River Club, and neighbors like Henry Kissinger and Sir Evelyn de Rothschild.

kvelsey@observer.com

The apartment has four bedrooms, a terrace, two balconies, a staff room, a laundry room and gym/office space. The listing doesn't tell us the square footage, but for $15 million we're guessing it's enough to keep you and your family happy. Even if the old dame's seen its better days.

Photos: Stribling

Not just in contract, as happened back in 2001, when hog wholesaler Joseph W. Luter III decided to walk away from his deposit, even after getting past the notorious board, because his wife wanted to be closer to the park, and so they bought on Park. This four-bedroom, five-and-a-half bath regal wonder is finally, really, truly, we swear gone. And for much less than Mr. Richards had hoped.

According to city records, Manuel Balbontin, a Chilean-born investment manager who focuses on his native continent, and wife Corina Ulivi Balbontin have just paid $11.65 million for the duplex. Mr. Luter was prepared to pay $17.5 million, and four years ago Mr. Richards was even asking $22.7 million, before cutting it to $13.9 million two weeks after Lehman Brothers collapsed and the world with it.

Are the Balbontins big entertainers? Hopefully! "It's a beautiful, very formal home, perfect for entertaining," said East Side maven A. Larry Kaiser IV, who has been inside the ground-floor duplex, but was not attached to the deal. And yet it was also not perfect for entertaining. "It's a reverse duplex, where the reception rooms are on the top floor and the bedrooms below. And a hostess likes to make a grand entrance, coming down the stairs, and you really can't do that here, even though there is plenty of room to host."

He added that it was not ideal for a large family, maybe someone with one kid, though, according to Mr. Balbontin's website, he has three and has lived in the city for 18 years. Perhaps a renovation is in order? That would be unfortunate, as well. "If you wanted great French everything, this home was perfect, you don't have to change a thing," Mr. Kaiser said. "But that is not for everyone."

Brown Harris Stevens' Kathy Sloane, who has stuck with Mr. Richards for the long haul, declined to comment.

Two years ago, the producer of Chicago and Sweeney Todd, among so many other hits, moved into a full-floor four-bedroom at 21 East 96th Street (even he needed to be closer to the park, apparently). Meanwhile, the Balbontins are leaving behind a full-floor four-bedroom at 620 Park Avenue, which came on the market in July with John Venekamp of Brown Harris Stevens. It was asking $9 million but was knocked down to $8.75 million in February.

Read past Manhattan Transfers here. >>

mchaban [at] observer.com | @mc_nyo

Still, for all these problems, this apartment's a dandy with plenty of selling points. It boasts views of the East River, two fireplaces, five and a half baths, and a fountain courtyard. Downsides are the inconvenient location and lethargic neighborhood. Now if you can just brave the infamous co-op board...

SLIDESHOW: 435 East 52nd Street 4E/5E

realestate@observer.com

Hopefully it works, as the listing has bounced from Stribling, where it was listed for $11.5 million in the fall of 2007, to Brown Harris Stevens the following year, with an audacious tag of $15 million, before arriving at Warburg around the time our article appeared, when the ask was set at $10.95 million. For what it's worth, Dana wrote that nobody is exactly sure the building's ever broken the $10 million mark, so if this one pulls it off, bravo.

 -- What's it like working the ESPYS, ESPN's annual awards show? The Desk has no idea, but now we know it pays well enough to buy your own million-dollar two-bedroom in the East Village. Maura Mandt, who has produced the show -- among other things -- eight times since 1998, just bought a co-op at 50 East 10th Street. The final price was $1.15 million, down from $1.25 million but also more than the $999,000 the unit was asking back in March. That sale entered contract but never closed, and the apartment was relisted in June. The seller was Joan Bardach, a clinical psychologist.

Superior Ink: The Up-and-Comer >

River House: The Has-Been >

MAP: Who lives where, from the worlds of media, culture, business, and politics >

Consider this. While co-op owners at the 52nd Street and East River apartment house have listed rambling units for more than $20 million, the most expensive sale ever at the River House, according to  the database of a broker who has done business in the building, is $12.25 million, and that was nine years ago, in a bull market. A rival broker put the most expensive sale ever at a mere $10 million for a four-bedroom unit in 2008. In the era of $26 million sales at the newer 15 CPW and $14 million transactions at Superior Ink, that is, dare we say, kind of pathetic.

Moreover, as recently as 2008, before Lehman crashed, the 26-story edifice had three units on the market, an embarrassing glut for such a self-consciously elite institution. Today, according to Streeteasy.com, there are five active listings, from a four-bedroom, third-floor apartment asking $24.5 million to a three-bedroom on the 12th floor asking $4.9 million.

How has this terrible state of affairs come to pass at River House—the River House—the one that Henry Kissinger has called home for decades, the apartment house so uppity it rejected the likes of Gloria Vanderbilt and Diane Keaton, the apartment house sooo exclusive that it prohibits brokers from naming the building’s address or even its name in listings?

There are many ways to answer that question. Most of them tend to involve the excrescences of Robert Moses; the citywide decline in crime, which has rendered Manhattan one big playground for the rich; and the rise of the condominium.

RIVER HOUSE, designed by William Lawrence Bottomley, rose between 52nd and 53rd streets and the East River in 1931, on a site where cigar and furniture factories once stood, and at a time, not so unlike our own, when the rich found the contrast between urban grit and the high life aesthetically charming, according to The Times’ architectural writer Christopher Gray.

Charming from a decent remove, that is. According to Mr. Gray: “With a yacht landing, a mid-block driveway, a walled garden, apartments of nine to 17 rooms and private tennis and swimming club in the basement, River House offered accommodations that few New Yorkers had any hope of enjoying. Sleek chauffeured limousines entered a landscaped courtyard on 52d Street and exited down a ramp to 53d Street.”

Today, what charm existed in peering at the laboring classes while sipping a sherry in the confines of one’s 17-room flat is no longer. River House now finds itself surrounded by suitably posh neighbors. Nor, for that matter, can the resident, à la Marshall Field III, waltz outside onto one’s yacht, and after a 35-minute ride alight at one’s Port Washington home. For that, River House residents have Robert Moses to thank.

Just nine years after the building’s erection, the span of the F.D.R. that ferries cars from 14th to 92nd streets opened for business. And so the yachting dock went the way of the Manhattanite’s unfettered access to the waterfront.

What remains in lieu of yachting access is something a tad more austere. On a recent Sunday afternoon, where the easternmost tip of 52nd Street ends in a cul-de-sac bluff overlooking a River House patio below, an elegant lady in a red baseball cap lounged below browsing through the weekend paper, protected from the roar of the cars on the neighboring F.D.R. by nothing more than an ivy-covered wall. 

Strike one: Robert Moses. Strike two: the passage of time.

“Over the passage of time, some buildings lose their fashionable cachet, others gain it and others maintain it throughout, like those on Fifth Avenue and Park Avenue,” said a broker who’s done deals in River House.

Indeed, much has happened since its heyday, which extended well into the ’80s and ’90s. For one, the city has gotten much, much safer—a trend that has transformed countless traveler-beware precincts in Manhattan into paradisiacal playgrounds for those with too much discretionary income.
“New York had these enclaves, just because the city wasn’t that safe,” said Laurence Jones, an architect who’s worked in his share of wealthy buildings. “It was totally secure, isolated, protected. Now, you can’t imagine a neighborhood less interesting.”

In the immediate vicinity of River House, there are, to wit, no chic restaurants, no hot cocktail bars. There are no art galleries or beautiful young things strutting about in the latest frocks. Rather, there are at least three florists (rich people just love their fresh flower arrangements); the stuffy restaurant Le Perigord; a furniture store; a D’Agostino; Tal Bagels; an oddly placed McDonald’s; a Parnell’s Pub and Restaurant; a diner; and a GNC.

“It’s not a question of not being able to get the architecture and quality,” said another well-positioned broker. “It’s purely location.”

AND, THEN, LET US NOT forget the rise of the condominium, a form of housing that predominates in other, more livable cities, but that has somehow only recently gained steam in New York.

“I’ve seen a tremendous increase in demand for condos for the super rich, versus the co-ops,” said Tamir Shemesh. whose Prudential Douglas Elliman group is now marketing the über-lux condos at One Madison Park. “A lot of buyers want hassle free.”

William Zeckendorf, a pioneer of condo development in New York, including that of 15 Central Park West, traces the birth of the condo here to the St. Tropez on East 64th Street, which was built in 1964. But, he added, condos didn’t really begin to take root in New York until the 1980s. Mr. Zeckendorf has since built some 30 condo buildings, including Worldwide Plaza, the Vanderbilt, the Columbia and, of course, the Zeckendorf Towers on Union Square.

“Starting in 1990, condos began to outpace co-ops in pricing,” he said, “and starting in 2000, the difference exploded.”

Not only are condos units growing, but co-op boards have become, particularly during the recent boom, even more restrictive. And few if any are more difficult than that of River House. Which leaves a wealthy apartment-buyer with the following question: Deal with an ornery co-op board all for the sake of an inconveniently located, albeit stunning co-op, or buy a centrally located condo and save yourself the hassle.

Doesn’t seem like much of a dilemma, now does it?

drubinstein@observer.com

When you’re lucky, rabbis and red ants are involved, like at the Apthorp; or it’s a Jordanian princess fighting her elderly boyfriend’s sons for his duplex at the Pierre. And then there’s Marty Richards’ Homeric effort, now well into its 10th year, to sell his 14-room maisonette at the River House. According to a brokerage database, Kathy Sloane is handling Mr. Richards’ apartment once again, her third time with the listing.

It’s been hard. The gated East 52nd Street co-op, home to Kissinger, has turned away Gloria Vanderbilt, who sued, and Joan Crawford, who is said to have then put up the East River’s famous Pepsi sign because Coca-Cola’s president was in the co-op.

Brokers are not allowed to say the River House’s name. Listings mention its anonymous street address only.

Mr. Richards, the septuagenarian Chicago producer, has been trying to sell his apartment since March 2000. That was his first go with Ms. Sloane, the Brown Harris Stevens managing director known for her work with the Clinton family. She had a buyer, the chief executive of the world’s largest pork processor and hog producer, but he walked away from a $17.5 million contract. His new wife wanted to be on Park Avenue.

“I live in L.A., and I thought I’d seen it all,” director Bill Condon said about the duplex in 2003, when a Jean Dufy was hanging in the powder room, and a four-person tub in the master bathroom was below the owner’s initials on a gold-and-blue rococo ceiling. That year, the producer’s tag was down to $11.5 million.

In 2006, after a renovation, it was up to $29 million with Sotheby’s. A year later, when that firm lost the listing and Ms. Sloane got it back, the price was $22.7 million. “I think now,” the broker said then, “we have it at a very realistic figure.”

By the end of that year, the apartment was in contract again, reportedly with a fashion trade-show mogul named Elyse Kroll. But the deal fell through, apparently because the buyer’s name had been leaked to the press, and, of course, Ms. Sloane was under investigation in Albany for tax evasion (the state later dismissed charges).

The listing went to Ann Jeffery, the broker who just sold a $29 million co-op at 834 Fifth Avenue. Her tag for the Richards duplex was cut to $18.9 million last October, but that didn’t help: A year later, she’s no longer handling the apartment, according to her Web site. And its price is down to $13.9 million.

Upper East Side brokers don’t quite know what to make of it. “Someone else told me that, just on Friday, and I said, ‘Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit, bullshit,’” one top broker offered. “It’s a little puzzling! She has it; she doesn’t have it; she has it? But Marty’s very volatile,” said another.

Mr. Richards did not return a message, and an email from Ms. Sloane’s assistant said she wouldn’t be available. “Let me just say this,” Ms. Jeffery said. “I’m very happy with the decision, and I wish them all the success in the world.”

Update, Thursday 12:36 PM: The listing is finally online! And the price is $13.9 million.

mabelson@observer.com

You were a Pan Am flight attendant in the late ’70s, when you married. Where did you meet your husband?
Four twenty-nine East 52nd Street, it was a new rental building called River Court. I, and a lot of stewardesses, moved in—one-bedroom apartment; we had five girls. We heard about a guy who was moving into the same floor, a corner two-bedroom. And I knew he had a lot of closets, and I had no closets for my clothes.

After Pan Am, there was a job in marketing, which you left to raise your daughters. So why, in the late ’90s, did you return to work by becoming a real estate broker?
Because my children were desperate to get me out of their hair; I was everywhere in their lives. My children were in plays, I was the woman backstage doing the costumes; my children went on a field trip, I was the woman on the field trip. … I was totally overbearing.   

You sell a very particular, blue-blooded slice of Manhattan real estate, which your Sotheby’s profile calls ‘the ultra-luxury segment.’
I might sell someone’s townhouse, and his niece or his ex-wife’s new lover needs a place to live. They’ll still keep me and call me, and it might be a studio in the Village, or it might be a West Side one-bedroom walk-up. We take the business. … You want to sell everything. There are some brokers that say, ‘Oh, no, I only handle these guys.’

In 2003, you set a Carnegie Hill townhouse record for price-per-square-foot when you sold an $11.25 million house at 13 East 94th to a software executive. Is that what put you on the map?
I look at my first important sale as my first million-dollar sale. … That’s always on my mind, that’s always the big sale.

Your longtime real estate partner, Gillian Jolis, died in March 2005, after battling cancer.
In December, we had the single most complicated deal of our entire career. It was a major, high-profile person … and Gillian was at Sloan-Kettering, finalizing the deal. … Real estate attorneys came and went on this; the other broker on the other side was fired; and she kept it all together. She was doing deals right up to the end.

Last year, you sold $66 million of real estate, making you one of the 100 biggest brokers in the country. But this July you said your team’s volume was off by 50 percent from that time last year. What about now?
We just did our numbers: We are off last year’s by almost 40 percent.

You have quite a history at River House, the East 52nd Street co-op so fancy that it wants to be called by its street address, not name.
Well, all you have to do is put two and two together and look at all the listings at River House that haven’t been moving. I guess that’s not working for them, is it?

There are a lot of apartments lingering over there, including your $24.5 million listing on the third floor. Why aren’t they being bought?
What we generally feel is big apartments are bought by big families, and all the River House properties are big; big families have children; children go to school in Manhattan; and that is not a school neighborhood.

The Chicago producer Marty Richards first put his River House co-op on the market nine years ago. You had the $29 million listing, though you lost it in 2007, and it still hasn’t sold. Nor has former WorldCom director Francesco Galesi’s duplex, which you once listed for $50 million. What’s the problem?
I highly request that the board revisit their selectivity. … It’s such a high-profile turndown building that people in their right mind do not want to apply there, because they do not want the stigma of that turndown. And that is the reason. It’s really a shame, because the apartments are stunningly wonderful.

You also have four listings nearby at 860/870 UN Plaza, the towers where Truman Capote and Bobby Kennedy owned apartments. Do you live in the neighborhood?
No … I love that building. I’ve sold a lot there. … I happened to be at the right place at the right time; I was averaging $1,300, $1,400, $1,500 per square foot. And then the market tanked, and the one property I could not sell there—and I will—is number 24DE. We have it on for $5.5 million. … This was Vilar, the bottom floor of Vilar’s.

That’s the fallen millionaire Alberto Vilar, who was found guilty of securities fraud. Is he the one who put in the blue and gold columns?
Yes. My people bought it from him when he was put in house arrest, and he had to sell off, the government sold off, half his property.

The investor and environmentalist Dan Lufkin listed his 455 Central Park West apartment, a 19th-century chapel, with you for $17 million, even though he paid $5.775 million. The tag is down to $14 million, but isn’t that high?
He paid $5,775,000? It was an empty lot; no roof on it. Just the facade was there. It was a burned-out, looked like bombed-out, facade with no roof. It was filled with birds and homeless people.

The mansion at 9 East 67th Street sold this January for $25 million. Even though you were its broker, the commission went to Richard Steinberg, who’d had the listing before you. You quarreled in the press over it; he called you a liar. Have you talked since?
Certainly I respect his work, and if there was business for us to do together, we would do it.

You just sold 99-year-old Bunny Mellon’s townhouse at 165 East 70th Street to Morgan Stanley chief John Mack and his wife for $13.5 million. Its entire first floor is a 12-car garage; she had used the house for storage. Did that make it a hard sell?
Eight offers in the first week on the market. It was not a hard sell. Eight real offers.

A couple like that probably could have spent a lot more on a house, but they ended up buying what was basically the Mellon family’s storage space. Is modesty in?
High-net-worth individuals right now all want to be low profile. … They do not want a high-profile purchase, and they’re looking for a reason to explain it.

Won’t that change?
For new money it will, yes—any new money, people who haven’t been burned yet.

mabelson@observer.com