Onassis's Olympic Tower

Then there are islands in the sky, and many of this genus are far more expensive than the real thing. A well-heeled couple recently plunked down $650,000 for a nine-room penthouse duplex 51 stories above Manhattan's Fifth Avenue. The apartment will be as secure as Fort Knox, look superciliously down upon neighboring St. Patrick's Cathedral, and allow its tenants, on a clear day, to see, if not forever, at least to New Jersey. They will be among the first residents of Olympic Tower, a complex of 230 condominiums, 19 floors of offices, exercise rooms, sauna, private dining rooms, boutiques and a block-long park with three-story ulterior waterfall, trees and two bistros that will be open to the public.
The first of its kind in New York City to combine office, retail and residential facilities, Olympic Tower is half-owned by one Greek who should have no quarrel with Americans—Aristotle Onassis, who is reported to be taking an apartment there. The operators promise every conceivable convenience, from private, temperature-controlled wine cellars to a supersophisticated electronic surveillance system that will yawp at the concierge's desk downstairs if a Miró on a wall is touched by a burglar —or even the owner.
The building, to be ready for occupancy in early 1975, will have a staff of 36 European-trained hoteliers, ready at the drop of a drachma to ensure that the out-of-town Olympian will find on his return a well-stocked refrigerator, flowers in the vases and, as ordered, his clothes cleaned and laid out. The staff will always be on hand to charter limousines, yachts, helicopters and jets, snap up tickets to the theater, opera and concert. In residence, madame in her marble bathroom (with porcelain bidet) will never be embarrassed by window-cleaning voyeurs: the floor-to-ceiling solar-glass windows are washed by peekless mechanical equipment. Ari's aerie is located on the razed site of the old beloved Best & Co. store, where generations of middle-class New Yorkers trudged to outfit their children before each school season. Now, commuting between down-tower office on 19 and cloudland condominium on 48, errant Olympians face only one major problem: how to convince suspicious spouses that they were caught for two hours in a traffic jam.