Fred Papert on the phone, a usual posture, in
his office on 42nd Street in Manhattan, NYC

It is 11 a.m., and Fred Papert is at his desk in a familiar posture – slouched, with a telephone at his right ear.

"He can’t really . . . . You tell him . . . . It’s ridiculous at this point . . . .”

It seems that Madison Square Garden has let it be known that it is withdrawing from a $14 billion redevelopment plan in Manhattan’s West 30’s. The plan would transform the area into a dazzling new “gateway” to New York City, with a relocated Pennsylvania Station, a relocated Madison Square Garden, two new skyscrapers, a rejuvenated James A. Farley post office building, and five million square feet of commercial, hotel, residential and retail space. Fred doubts that Madison Square Garden actually will withdraw. He suspects it’s angling for something. If it does withdraw, the development plan is in danger.

But why is Fred Papert, the 81-year-old president of the 42nd Street Development Corporation, a dozen blocks away, so exercised? Why isn’t he resting on his laurels as a pioneer in the resurgence of once-blighted West 42nd Street, a resurgence that started modestly 30 years ago with the establishment of Theater Row in woebegone tax-foreclosed buildings donated to his nonprofit development corporation by a grateful city government?

Why? Because Fred, the retired senior partner in the advertising firm of Papert, Koenig, Lois, is passionate about real estate development in the public interest. And after years of involvement in the redevelopment of 42nd Street into a thriving thoroughfare, he is on first-name terms with many of the public and private figures involved in major city redevelopment projects.

Fred brings out illustrations of the Madison Sq.
Garden-Penn Station proposal to make a point

With the 42nd Street effort now on a firm financial footing, Fred spends some of his time advising, coaxing, and influencing the “players” in the city development process on what to do and how to do it. He also spends time running a foundation called the 42nd Street Fund, which was formed when the development company turned out to be so successful financially that it could fund a foundation to aid other causes.

And on Saturdays he often goes to the track. Through a couple of uncles whom he describes as ne’er-do-wells, he got a taste for horses and track life at an early age, and eventually bought a horse, and then another. At one time he owned half a dozen, and ran them with occasional success, but now his stable, Sugartown, is down to a mare, a foal, and a colt named Thou Swell, who is scheduled to run at Belmont in June.

“I go on Saturdays for enjoyment these days,’ he said, “or whenever my horse runs.” That’s less often than it used to be.

It was Fred’s involvement with the late Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis in the successful effort to save Grand Central Terminal in the 1970’s that launched him in this post-retirement career. Once the terminal’s future was secured, Jackie and Fred wandered west on 42nd Street and were appalled by the blight they saw.

Resolved to act, they formed the 42nd Street Development Corporation and housed it in the architecturally celebrated office building at 330 West 42nd Street, once the home of the McGraw Hill Publishing Company but by 1975 an almost empty property owned by Group Health Insurance. It was the major property on the stretch from Ninth to Tenth Avenues, the area the development corporation was to focus on.

“We raised $4 million to renovate the bottoms of buildings for Theater Row,” Fred said, “and we built a mosquito-sized Lincoln Center.” It consisted of five stages in six old buildings. The idea was to bring people back to 42nd Street, and that effort succeeded. Since then Theater Row has been rebuilt and improved twice. The final reconstruction was done by a developer who paid the corporation $14 million for the right to build a skyscraper in the airspace above it. The fee was used to modernize and expand Theater Row, and a residential tower now looms over it.

Theater Row produces enough income to cover operations and still support the philanthropic work of the 42nd Street Fund, which supports a wide variety of nonprofit activities and causes in the performing arts, social services and education.

Theater Row, on West 42nd Street,
a part once blighted, in Manhattan

“We like to do things that others are not doing,” Fred says. One beneficiary is a nonprofit organization called Music and the Brain, run by Fred’s daughter, Lisha Papert Lercari. The organization provides materials, curriculum and teacher training to schools to teach young children to read music and play the piano. There is no cost to the schools, and over 100 have enrolled so far, mainly in New York City. The program is based on research showing that early training in music helps children’s cognitive powers, and the foundation’s hope is that this training will become part of the regular school curriculum nationally.

Frederic S. Papert was born on October 29, 1926, three years to the day before the stock market crash of 1929. The crash was financially devastating for his father, Emil, who, as it happened, died of natural causes the same day. After emigrating from Lithuania, Emil had gone to Wisconsin and worked as a trapper. Eventually he established a successful fur business in Manhattan called Papert & Cohen. He was the “raccoon king of New York,” Fred said.

Fred’s mother, the former Isabel Maud, a professional dancer when Emil met her, raised Fred and his sister in Manhattan. The family lived in various East Side apartments and Fred has remained an East Sider all his life. In addition to his daughter Lisha, Fred has another daughter, Emily Papert Williams, and one grandchild. His wife Diane, whom he married in 1953, died in 2006.

Fred’s career was in advertising. After a stint in the Navy and graduation from the Missouri School of Journalism, he worked as a copywriter and later as an independent advertising consultant, becoming the “consulting creative director” for a large full-service agency, Sudler & Hennessey.

Later he joined forces with Julian Koenig, a well-known copywriter, and George Lois, an equally successful art director, to form Papert, Koenig, Lois, which became the nation’s first publicly owned advertising agency. It lasted till 1970, representing such clients as Procter & Gamble, Xerox, Quaker Oats and Seagram. It also represented public service clients and political figures, introducing Fred to causes that would occupy his later years and individuals who would collaborate with him.

Eventually the advertising firm entered acquisition negotiations, and found a buyer. But the buyer backed out of the deal. That set in motion a lengthy, costly, complex and ultimately successful lawsuit that left Fred with enough wealth to retire in 1970 and devote himself to public interest causes. The first was the effort to save Grand Central Terminal. The second was the effort to revive 42nd Street. The third may be described as a general effort to help worthy causes in New York City.

He takes the subway to work from his East Side apartment, sometimes stopping to play tennis at one of the two tennis courts at Grand Central Terminal. Then he is in the office, talking on the phone and sometimes sounding like a real estate operator himself.

“At one time we were the only entity in this part of town,” he said. “We were offered the Sheraton Hotel near the river for its mortgage value. If I had been a for-profit company I could have bought everything for 15 cents on the dollar.” His memories are filled with tales of real estate deals, some that succeeded and many that never materialized.

He never loses hope or interest. “If I have any virtue it’s the virtue that I never say die,” he said. “A project may die, but I plow on anyway.” At 81 he is plowing on with as much vigor as ever.

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