The Martha Washington Hotel was the name of the hotel at 30 East 30th Street between Madison Avenue and Park Avenue South in the Rose Hill neighborhood of Manhattan, New York City. It was built from 1901 to 1903, and was designed by Robert W. Gibson in the Renaissance Revival style for the Women's Hotel Company.
The hotel opened on March 2, 1903 as the first hotel exclusively for women, and serving both transient guests and permanent residents. It was almost immediately fuly occupied, with over 200 names on a waiting list. It originally had 416 rooms. On June 19, 2012 it was designated a historical landmark by the New York City Landmarks Preservation Commission. The original name of the hotel was the Women's Hotel, and subsequent names after "Martha Washington" include Hotel Thirty Thirty (2003), Hotel Lola (2011) and King & Grove New York (2012).
Read more about Martha Washington Hotel: Notable Residents, In Popular Culture
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“You’ve strung your breasts
with a rattling rope of pearls,
tied a jangling belt
around those deadly hips
and clinking jewelled anklets
on both your feet.
So, stupid,
if you run off to your lover like this,
banging all these drums,
then why
do you shudder with all this fear
and look up, down;
in every direction?”
—Amaru (c. seventh century A.D.?, Kashmirian king, compiler, author of some of the poems in the anthology which bears his name. translated from the Amaruataka by Martha Ann Selby, vs. 31, Motilal Banarsidass (1983)
“There are always those who are willing to surrender local self-government and turn over their affairs to some national authority in exchange for a payment of money out of the Federal Treasury. Whenever they find some abuse needs correction in their neighborhood, instead of applying the remedy themselves they seek to have a tribunal sent on from Washington to discharge their duties for them, regardless of the fact that in accepting such supervision they are bartering away their freedom.”
—Calvin Coolidge (1872–1933)
“A writer is in danger of allowing his talent to dull who lets more than a year go past without finding himself in his rightful place of composition, the small single unluxurious “retreat” of the twentieth century, the hotel bedroom.”
—Cyril Connolly (1903–1974)