People Who Live in Glass Houses

"This is a building of high achievers," says Joanne Carson. "People who live here are not climbing. They have arrived." The building is United Nations Plaza, a 32-story cooperative apartment complex that hovers above Manhattan and the East River, across the way from U.N. headquarters. The "high achievers" certainly include Joanne's husband Johnny, along with Author Truman Capote, TV Producer David Susskind, Actor Cliff Robertson, Dress Designer Bonnie Cashin and assorted corporation executives. Robert F. Kennedy had a six-room pied-a-terre on the 14th floor. Secretary of State William Rogers' one regret about his duties in Washington is that they keep him away from his six-room suite in U.N. Plaza. "Gee, how I miss that apartment," he says.

As well he might. For 336 families who can afford the price of admission, the U.N. Plaza's twin towers offer the best views in Manhattan. From behind its huge windows (when the wind blows the smog away), residents of "the Compound," as they affectionately call it, can see north to Westchester County, south to New York Harbor and the open ocean beyond, east to Kennedy Airport, and west to the New Jersey Palisades. Prices range from $75,000 for a one-bedroom apartment up to $275,000 for a nine-room duplex--plus maintenance charges of as much as $2,000 a month. A U.N. Plaza apartment can be a profitable investment; a three-bedroom suite that cost $65,000 in 1966 was sold two years later for $155,000--a profit of 140%.

Singing Waiters. Services provided for residents are spectacular. Valets, seamstresses, luggage handlers and caterers are on call, and six uniformed security guards patrol the building's hallways and entrances to keep away thieves and party crashers. Tom Shelley, the day desk captain in the cavernous, cathedral-like main lobby, has been described as "a college housemother" and "the equal of the concierge at the Ritz"; he forwards mail and halts newspaper deliveries for absent tenants, and he knows where to rustle up a singing waiter on short notice.

For residents who have their own live-in maids, the seventh floor of each tower is mostly devoted to servants' quarters. There is also a bank, a brokerage house, a playground, a restaurant, doctors', dentists' and lawyers' offices. "It's your own private little Utopia," sighs Joanne Carson. Truman Capote says: "My theory is that you can stay in this building and never leave it. You can go from one dinner to another for a month without duplicating."

Raspberry Tart. Money is the main tie that binds U.N. Plaza residents. Considering the variety of their taste in decor, it seems to be the only tie. An exporter and his wife inhabit an eight-room West Tower penthouse whose walls are completely covered with dark green Vermont marble--giving their apartment a curiously tomblike atmosphere. Capote's apartment features a red-on-red dining room ("Like a hot raspberry tart," he says), and a prominently displayed pink china jar labeled "Opium," which was a housewarming gift from Jacqueline Kennedy.

Then there is the 30th floor apartment of Sam (children's clothes) and Alyce Simon. Mrs. Simon, who describes herself as an "atomic artist," has ripped out all the original interior walls and floors, turned a six-room apartment into a three-room suite that gives the impression of a space platform suspended in the Manhattan sky. Equally intriguing is the eleventh-floor abode of William and Milly Johnstone. Johnstone is a retired officer of Bethlehem Steel Corp.; Mrs. Johnstone, who likes to be called "Milly-san," is a Zen disciple who religiously performs her daily Japanese tea ceremony in a bedroom decorated to resemble the Teahouse of the August Moon.

Staring Out. As the old aphorism suggests, people who live in glass houses should not get stoned. Spying on one's neighbors is one of the most popular pastimes at U.N. Plaza. "The people across the way have a telescope," says a penthouse dweller. "I presume they are looking." The presumption seems fair. Over cocktails one night in the rooftop restaurant of the neighboring Beekman Towers, Sam and Alyce Simon accidentally discovered that the restaurant commanded a marvelous view of their bedroom.

Other U.N. Plaza residents complain that the glare through the windows hurts their eyes (some have taken to wearing sunglasses indoors), and that their parties are dreadfully dull: the guests all just stand around, staring out. Joyce Susskind gets glassy-eyed when she recalls the day she walked naked from her shower, looked out of her windows--and saw a window washer looking in. Stunned, Mrs. Susskind "just sat on the bed and stared. I'll never forget his face --and I'm sure he'll never forget mine."

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