W.W. Durant (1895-1901)
• Sagamore was under construction from 1895-1897.
• William West Durant built the Main Lodge (he moved into it in 1897) and several service buildings.
• W.W. Durant was the son of Thomas C. Durant, general manager of the Union Pacific Railroad.
• W.W. Durant went bankrupt after a divorce and a lawsuit brought by his sister.
• Durant sold Sagamore to Alfred G. Vanderbilt in 1901.

Alfred G. Vanderbilt (1901-1915)
A bio by his grandson follows this section.
• Alfred G. Vanderbilt was born in 1877 the year his famous great-grandfather, Cornelius, died.
• Alfred G. Vanderbilt expanded and improved the property until it included an outdoor bowling alley, tennis courts, croquet lawn, and hydro-electric plant, 100,000 gallon reservoir, and a working farm.
• He died a hero of the Lusitania sinking in 1915, leaving Sagamore to his widow, Margaret Emerson.

Margaret Emerson (1912-1954)
A bio by her grandson follows this section.
• Margaret Emerson was the heiress to the Bromo-Seltzer fortune.
• She continued to expand Sagamore concentrating on dining hall expansion and guest housing.
• She had three children: Alfred G. Vanderbilt, II born in 1912; George W. Vanderbilt born in 1914; and Gloria Marie Baker born in 1920.
• She brought the children and eventually her grandchildren to Sagamore every summer until 1954.
• She gave Sagamore to Syracuse University thinking she was protecting it.

Richard Collins (1901-1923)
A bio by his granddaughter follows this section.
• Head Caretaker for over 20 years. Raised five children with his wife at Sagamore.
• Supervised both building and maintenance.
• Oversaw farm operations.
• Was in charge of converting lighting from gas to electric (hydro.)

SU (1954-1973)
• Syracuse used Sagamore for 20 years for summer conferences and classes.
• Syracuse had a deferred maintenance policy. When Sagamore began to deteriorate, they sold it to the state of New York. New York wanted to add Sagamore’s 1526 acres to the Forest Preserve.
• The Preservation League of NYS convinced SU and the State to auction the main buildings to a non-profit organization rather than let them fall down or be destroyed.
• The current Sagamore Institute of the Adirondacks won the bid.

Sagamore (1975-present)
• Sagamore is an independent, 501c3 organization.
• It is the steward of the property that is now most often referred to as Great Camp Sagamore.
• Sagamore offers tours and residential programs to the public.

Biographies

Alfred Gwynne Vanderbilt
1877 - 1915

written by his grandson
Alfred G. Vanderbilt, Jr.

He might properly be called, "The Last of the Great Vanderbilts." Born in the year that his great-grandfather, "The Commodore," died, Alfred Gwynne Vanderbilt was the third son of Cornelius Vanderbilt II and Alice Claypool Gwynne.
"Commodore" Vanderbilt founded the family fortune in shipping, starting with $100 borrowed from his mother. By the time he died in 1877 at the age of 83, America's first great man of enterprise had amassed $100 million, including a railroad empire that stretched from New York City and Albany to Chicago.
The Commodore's eldest son, William H. Vanderbilt, doubled his father's fortune, though he died just eight years after his father. But, unlike the Commodore--who left 90 percent of his fortune to him--William chose to spit the majority of his estate between two of his sons: Cornelius Vanderbilt II, who was made "Head of House" by the Commodore's own will, and his brother, William Kissam Vanderbilt.
Cornelius II and his wife, Alice, continued a tradition of raising large families--the Commodore had sired thirteen, and William, eight. The next generation numbered seven. Their first child, Alice died at age 5, but she was survived by six siblings: William, Gertrude, Cornelius III, Alfred, Reggie, and Gladys.
In New York City, Alfred and his family lived in a 154-room French chateau that occupied the entire block between 57th and 58th Streets on Fifth Avenue. For a summer retreat, his parents commissioned Richard Morris Hunt to build a "cottage" in Newport. The Breakers, erected in 1895, had seventy rooms. Thirty of them were for servants.
William was schooled carefully to take what his parents thought of as his natural birthright, that of becoming the next head of the family. He was handsome, athletic and business-minded, as every Vanderbilt leader was expected to be. Succession among the next generation seemed sage and secure, as William began to show the requisite skills of diplomacy and leadership.
The Vanderbilt boys were enrolled at Saint Paul's School, and then sent on to college at Yale. There, William died suddenly of typhoid fever, the tragedy devastating the family. Leadership of the Vanderbilt clan was a question considered with as much gravity, and publicity, as that of most European monarchies. And although his younger brother, Cornelius III, was now in a natural position to lead, he was far from the image of what a Vanderbilt leader was expected to be.
Cornelius was frail, spoke with a stammer, and was painfully shy. He was more interest in inventions than columns of boring financial figures. And to make things worse, three years after the death of his brother, he fell in love with William's former fiancée. They met at the coming out party of his sister, Gertrude, at The Breakers. Suspicious of the young woman's motives--she was several years older than Cornelius, and considered to have had "experience"--his parents forbade them to court. A year later, over the elder Vanderbilts' strongest possible objections, Cornelius and Grace were married.
Alfred was in Japan, traveling with friends, when word of his father's death reached him. He raced back to Newport--traveling by chartered steamer and private rail car--to be with his grieving family in time for the reading of the will. Ostracized since his marriage to Grace Wilson, Cornelius III had been cut off, inheriting only the income from a small trust fund. Each of Alfred's other brothers and sisters would receive about $7 million. Alfred was named "Head of House." He would inherit cash, stocks and property valued at approximately $50,000,000.
The year was 1899.
To keep peace, Alfred gave Cornelius an amount equal to that received by the others, about $7,000,000. Cornelius complained to a reporter, "I had been told it would be ten."
Twenty-three years old, popular, dashing, handsome, and athletic, Alfred Gwynne Vanderbilt was now one of the richest men in America, and head of its most celebrated family. He soon married Ellen Tuck French, "Elsie," and they embarked on a life together.
He built Oakland Farms, a beautiful estate with the largest private indoor equestrian facility in the nation, in Providence, RI. Brother Reggie built an equally large estate near by. He bred and trained thoroughbreds, competed in coaching events and horse shows, and raced early versions of the new automobiles in Florida.
In coaching, he was considered the greatest whip of the day, and for two years was the fastest man on earth, setting speed records with his coaches Venture and Viking in America and Europe. Elsie gave Alfred a son, William Henry Vanderbilt II, in 1901. Two or three times a year, Alfred would travel to Europe to compete in horse shows and coaching meets. As the popularity of motor cars threatened to condemn coaching to extinction, Alfred was credited with reviving the sport of coaching in England and America. On his annual run from London to Brighton, he used as many as sixty horses, cheered along the way by throngs of spectators.
He and Elsie divorced in 1908. A few years later, Alfred met Margaret Emerson McKim at The Plaza Hotel, which stood just opposite his parents' house. Margaret was traveling with her father, Dr. Isaac Emerson, the inventor of Bromo Seltzer. The next summer she visited Newport, enchanting Alfred's mother and his entire family. The two were married in a private ceremony at Reigate, in Surrey, England, in 1911.
Throughout his life, Alfred maintained the family tradition of philanthropy, supporting the American Red Cross, the Young Men's Christian Association, St. Bartholomew's Church, Columbia-Presbyterian Hospital, and others with major gifts.
He purchased Camp Sagamore in the Adirondacks in 1901, and also owned Kamp Kill Kare. He was director of the Raquette Lake Railway and Raquette Lake Transportation Companies, the Fulton Navigation and Fulton Railroad Companies, and was the owner of sizeable acreage on Moose Lake. In addition, he built and was the sole owner of The Vanderbilt Hotel, which stood between 33rd and 34th Streets on Park Avenue in New York, maintaining an apartment on the top two floors as the family's New York City residence. For his continuing trips abroad, he and Margaret lived at Caesar's Camp, in Surrey, England.
Alfred, Margaret and their two young sons, Alfred and George, often accompanied by a large contingent of family and friends, would escape the heat of New York and Newport and travel to Camp Sagamore for hunting and fishing. They would travel by rail in his private railroad car, the Wayfarer (now at the St. Louis Railroad Museum) to Raquette Lake. From there, he and his guests came up to the Main Lodge by carriages and automobiles.
Returning from a series of horse shows and coaching exhibitions in England, in 1912 Alfred cancelled passage the day before he was to set sail on the Titanic, narrowly averting the worst maritime disaster in history.
Three years later, on his way to France to offer his services as an ambulance driver to the Red Cross in Europe, he boarded the Lusitania in New York. Within sight of the Irish coast, the great ship was torpedoed by a German U-boat, sinking in 18 minutes.
Alfred Vanderbilt was the most prominent victim of the disaster, and perhaps its greatest hero. He was described by one witness as, "the picture of a gentleman, calm and unperturbed, standing calmly as if waiting for a carriage."
Other survivors reported that amid the chaos and destruction, he spent his last minutes alive saving others. He removed his own life preserver and gave it to a woman who survived and coolly organized a search for children, which he placed into departing lifeboats.
He could not swim a stroke. In fact, swimming was the only sport in which he did not excel.
Last seen wrapping babies into wicker Moses baskets in the hope that they might somehow be floated to safety, Alfred Gwynne Vanderbilt perished a hero of the Lusitania sinking in 1915. His heroism was the subject of newspaper articles and editorials, poems and even songs. After his death, monuments were erected to his memory in both the United States and Great Britain.
The estate of Alfred Gwynne Vanderbilt, including the ownership of the Great Camps Sagamore and Kill Kare, passed to his wife, Margaret. By a special provision of the will, every person employed for five years or more at Camp Sagamore, Kill-Kare, Caesar's Camp, and Oakland Farms, received a full year's wages.
  Postscript

Alice Gwynne Vanderbilt, Alfred's mother, passed away in 1934, having outlived four of her seven children.

Cornelius Vanderbilt III, Alfred's older brother, remained married to Grace Wilson until his death in 1942. After receiving $7 million from his brother, Cornelius and Grace wasted no time establishing large homes and extravagant lifestyles. Grace became known as The Mrs. Vanderbilt, reigning supreme over New York society, and hosting lavish dinner parties at which her husband rarely appeared. By the time of her death in 1952, her wealth had been spent.

Gertrude Vanderbilt Whitney, Alfred's older sister, married Harry Payne Whitney, himself heir to a great American fortune. She became one of America's premier sculptresses, founding the New York Studio School and The Whitney Museum of American Art in Manhattan. Her son, Cornelius Vanderbilt ("C.V.") Whitney was a founder of Pan American Airways and successful investor in films, "Gone with the Wind" among them.

Reginald Vanderbilt, Alfred's younger brother, devoted his life to gaming and horses. He divorced Cathleen Neilson in 1903, marrying an actress, Gloria Morgan, twenty years later. Their daughter, Gloria Vanderbilt, is a noted author and designer of clothing and fragrances. After Reggie died in 1925, Gloria was the subject of a bitter custody dispute between her mother and her aunt, Gertrude Vanderbilt Whitney.

Gladys, Alfred's younger sister, married Count Laszlo Szechenyi in 1908. The Breakers, willed to Alfred by his father, was given to Gladys by Alfred's son, William Henry Vanderbilt II. The house was eventually sold to The Preservation Society of Newport County, and is the most popular tourist attraction in Rhode Island. Gladys' daughter, Countess Anthony Szapary, maintains a private residence on the third floor of the mansion, where she is frequently visited by her children, Paul and Gladys, and by other Vanderbilt relatives.

William Henry Vanderbilt II, Alfred's son by his first wife, served in both World Wars and was elected Governor of Rhode Island. He was a trustee of Vanderbilt University in Nashville, TN, founded by a gift of $1,000,000 by the Commodore in 1873. Now deceased, he is survived by his daughters Emily, Anne and Ellen, and by a son, William Henry Vanderbilt III.

Alfred Gwynne Vanderbilt, Alfred's eldest son by Margaret Emerson, shared his father's passion for horses, games, and travel. His Sagamore Farms outside Baltimore, MD produced such Hall of Fame thoroughbreds as Native Dancer, Discovery, Find, Social Outcast, and Bed O'Roses. His children are Wendy, Heidi, Alfred, Nicholas (deceased), Victoria and Michael.

George Vanderbilt, Alfred's youngest son, was an explorer and anthropologist, living at Arcadia Plantation in South Carolina until his death in 1969.

Many children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren of Alfred Gwynne Vanderbilt visit and support Camp Sagamore to this day.

Margaret Emerson, My Grandmother--One of a Kind
by
Henry J. (Tony) Topping, Jr.

(ed. note) Henry J. Topping is Margaret’s grandson by her daughter Gloria Baker. He died in 2003. Here is his recollection of his grandmother.

If you didn't know her, she was Mrs. Emerson; but if you met her, a pretty, smiling face with laughing, bright eyes would soon say, "Call me Margaret"--or maybe even "Maggie"--if you wanted to. The staff called her "madam", but without a hint of servility. My mother, Gloria Mary Baker, called her "Mama" and I called her "Tutu"--Hawaiian for grandmother.
Regardless of how you knew her, who you were, or what your relationship with her was, one all-encompassing impression overwhelmed--you had never known anyone quite like her, and you weren't likely to soon again--maybe ever.
Her respect was not for sale, but it was easily earned. And, you wanted it. Good manners and deportment, the kind consideration of others and charity were required to get it. The willingness to learn brought high marks, especially when blended with tolerance and an open mind. She expected a keen sense of fair play on a field of high standards where human frailties were played. Most important, effort was rewarded as much as accomplishment. Both were doubly rewarded.
Her friends and admirers were legion--ranging from Heads of State and Royalty to shopkeepers and the progeny of slaves--from Broadway composers to prize fighters--and from financiers to Cardinals. They were unflinchingly loyal. Tutu, you see, was the rare and unmistakable example of all of the qualities she prized in others and sought to develop (with some measure of success, I hope) in me. She would invariably point out those esteemable qualities to me--whether they were General George C. Marshall's patriotism and foresight in the Marshall Plan or the charm and wit of the dialogue in George Abbott's plays. The latter two were, of course, important ingredients of good humor and it bore an importance of its own.
Tutu inspired others. She brought out their best--and they knew it. Important battle strategies were debated by the top Navy brass in the seclusion of her Kahala home in Honolulu during World War II. After the war was over, Dick Rogers and Oscar Hammerstein locked themselves up in the house on Banyan Road in Palm Beach to write "Victory at Sea" because "they knew they could do it there"--having gotten "stuck" everywhere else. Tutu and her hospitality were the common thread of these oddly related, but disparate undertakings. (Keeping her young grandson out of the "music room" was an important component of that hospitality.)
She was a charming, gracious and elegant hostess--constantly entertaining and entertaining constantly. And, she loved it. It could have been a black-tie dinner for 20 at her Long Island estate or a whole wild boar BBQ for 60 in the woods at Arcadia, her 14,000 acre South Carolina plantation. Thus, the redesigning of the Sagamore dining hall to accommodate 65 was no accident; it was a self-imposed necessity.
The concept alone might have overwhelmed some, but to her it was simply drawing the plans in the dirt with a stick and asking that it be done in keeping with the rest of Sagamore--and with one eagle eye watching. Tutu had what we call in the Navy "command presence". This may be roughly defined as the imagination, foresight, power and management skills to create and implement action toward a single end. It may be that as an only child, even though a girl, she was taught early whether she liked it or not, by my great-grandfather, Isaac E. Emerson, Captain, USNR, Spanish-American War. Certainly naval tradition--and she was partial to it--carried on in the family as all her male progeny, myself included, served in the Navy during times of war.
Or, maybe it came from a child- and young-womanhood that included an upbringing in numerous, seriously staffed palatial homes, several round-the-world trips and living abroad, thus developing an incredible sense of planning and logistics. Several full-scale lengthy safaris to Africa in the 1920's could only have helped in that regard.
That the then Mrs. Vanderbilt would decide to enlarge--rather than abandon--Sagamore, as a 31-year-old mother of two small boys still in her widow's weeds, is not surprising to me. It was probably no more of a challenge to her than teaching Uncle George how to shoot. She was a crack shot and together--after she taught me--we broke many a clay pigeon off the back porch of the Main Lodge. She was in her fifties then. I recall her sending me throughout various dark passages in the lodge with a .22 rifle to get rid of squirrels. The trout on the dining hall wall attests to her fishing skills. (Fishermen and women, remember how crude the tackle was in those days.)
Here at Sagamore, Tutu orchestrated the running of this Great Camp, meeting the needs of its large staff which in turn met the needs of the camp, saw to the pleasure and entertainment of a non-stop flow of 15 - 20 guests--sometimes many more, and directed the minutia of her young grandchildren's summers. She did so never missing a beat, pulling it all off with the polish, ease and aplomb of a Toscanini.
Ever cheery, with a quick wink and a smile, she could tell you what and how much was fresh in the garden that day, when the red guide boat would be fixed (wasn't my fault), who was coming next week and why we should take note, or that she had arranged for us to go to Old Forge because there was a special movie for children. And, she would do all of that between racking her croquet mallet and the game of Bocci, which was about to begin.
When (and not all that rarely) we were invited to the Main Lodge in the evenings and, if we were good, dinner with the grown-ups, Tutu would be buzzing about--perhaps from a fireplace chat with Baron de Geinsburg, editor of Vogue magazine--to the puzzle table where she always seemed to spot that one hard-to-find piece--to the piano urging her friend "Paigie" into the current show tunes--to leading me to the newest National Geographic with a story she'd just read by Roy Chapman Andrews about the Gobi Desert.
During dinner, this consummately skilled hostess would direct the conversation from geo-politics to local politics--from social conditions to the conditions of "society", the concept of which amused her no end in its pretentiousness.
The art of conversation was practiced in both its clever and serious forms. But, it was never pedantic since the participants were always witty and intelligent--and, usually, direct players in the scenarios being discussed. George Abbot would describe current theatre, General Marshall would opine about President Truman, Churchill and Stalin, while Uncle Alfred might handicap the Triple Crown.
When I was old enough to understand, I never ceased to be amazed at Tutu's depth and breadth of knowledge, whether arcane or philosophic in content. She was incessantly curious, able to get the best information, and intelligent enough to both understand and use it. I truly believe that knowledge meant far more to her than any of her countless possessions.
She was a woman who gave far more that she took--whether it was the cost of a staff person's doctor bill--or the giving of Sagamore itself. And, she did it as inconspicuously as possible. This "head of the 400," according to the New York Times (a title she would have laughed off as a joke), gave discreetly and anonymously. Although unable to escape it, her dislike for publicity was intense.
Tutu’s name isn't etched on museum walls. Monuments were not her style. But the families of hundreds (on good source) of American servicemen will never forget that someone they knew only as "someone" had paid to send their sons back to America, all shot up from battle, to recover at home or, unraveled and "shell-shocked" (post traumatic stress, today) just to go home to visit. You see, she cared about humanity and the human condition from the lowliest corporal on the "Bataan Death March" to her friend General Wainright who marched at the head of his men.
They would all have thanked her if they could, but, as she saw it, her deeds bore their own rewards. When told she was being honored for her Red Cross work in the Pacific with America's highest civilian award, she asked if she could receive it in private. With grace, dignity, and true humility, she did.
If I had to describe her in a sentence, I'd say, "She cared about everyone and everything and that she had a lot of `moxie'." From economics to politics, the past to the present, the arts to science and from intellect to wit--all these were important. She loved both beauty and sport. Purdy shotguns and Hardy fly rods were as important as stunning diamonds and furs. But being well versed in each was more important than any of them. She loved the beauty of the Adirondack woods and the swamps of the Carolina low country as much as the splendors of the Louvre and the Prado.
She also cared about herself. Her sense of personal pride and dignity was more important to her than social mores or public embarrassment. Adhering to her own high principles, she went to Reno as a young woman and publicly aired family "dirty linen" in order to obtain a justifiable divorce; this was unheard of for women in those days--and, though she would arch her eyebrow at me for the phrase--particularly those of her station in life.
Tutu was a "God-fearing" woman, as they used to say a Catholic by choice (I say by choice because it was both hers and the Church's. Although she married more than once, the church reinstated her for her compelling humanitarianism.) She was, however, ecumenical in her views. She happily numbered Jews, Protestants, Buddhists and Muslims amongst her friends. Rather than viewing them as heathens or seeking to proselytize, she looked upon them as a source of wisdom.
My grandmother was an extraordinary human being and her life even more so, given her status, the times, and the fact that she was a woman. She would probably have made a superb President and, had she done that, a wonderful model for those surely (I hope) to come.
Although it was an accident of birth, no one has come close to her profound influence on my life. Tutu was truly one of a kind.

Richard and Margaret Collins at Sagamore
written by their granddaughter, Elizabeth Collins
with the assistance of Margaret Collins Cunningham,
their daughter (d.2004), and other family members

Richard James Collins and Margaret Ellen Callahan were married on October 16, 1901 in Chestertown, NY. They began work as the caretakers of Sagamore when Alfred Vanderbilt bought the camp in January 1902. Sagamore was "home" and "work" until March 1924 when they moved over the ice and by log road to their new home, The Hedges on Blue Mountain Lake.
Richard was born on November 20, 1872 in North Creek, NY. Raised on a farm near the Hudson River, he ventured farther north as a freight wagon driver on the route from North Creek to Indian Lake and Blue Mountain Lake; he was 14 when he started. Sometime after that he began working for William West Durant, under the supervision of John Callahan (Margaret's half-brother) who in 1892 had become Superintendent of the William West Durant properties in the area south of Raquette Lake. Margaret was born on July 4, 1868 in Chestertown, NY. She taught school in Adirondack, NY and family memory surmises that her summer visits to Raquette Lake provided the opportunity for courtship.
Raising a family and overseeing the growth and operation of Sagamore were life filling and life satisfying for the Collinses. Their first home at Sagamore was the apartment over the dining hall and kitchen. After the laundry building (now the conference building) was completed, they moved there. The room that now serves as the director's office was their living room. All of the five Collins children were born while Richard and Margaret were at Sagamore. The first four were born at Saint Elizabeth's Hospital in Utica: John in 1902, Richard in 1904, Patrick in 1906, and Margaret in 1908. Thomas was born on the Collins farm in North Creek in 1910. School, church, and town activities were key.
Grade school was easy with classes held right here at Sagamore. But getting to high school presented more of a challenge. John left Sagamore to attend high school in Corinth, NY. The others went each day by wagon or sleigh to the Raquette Lake School. After high school, it was on to RPI, St. Lawrence, Notre Dame and Saint Elizabeth's College in NJ.
Each Sunday all of the children, and at least one of their parents, made the trip to Raquette Lake for church, sometimes staying for dinner with Dennis and Mary Dillon. Mary was the daughter of John and Mary Callahan and had been maid-of-honor at Richard and Margaret's wedding. Dennis Dillon, working with Margaret's brother, Maurice, owned and ran the Raquette Lake Supply Company. The Dillons, Callahans, and Collinses all had a hand in setting up the Raquette Lake Library; Margaret served on the first Board of Directors. Richard was on the School Board for many years. Margaret was also active in the Red Cross. Her son Richard told of long hours at a machine that cranked out knitted tubes that were then hand-finished into socks for the soldiers of World War I.
When Richard and Margaret took on the work at Sagamore, John and Mary Callahan were living at Uncas and Dennis and Libby Lenihan were running Kamp Kill Kare. The family stories are filled with accounts of shared work and shared pleasure. The paint shop at Sagamore was a good place for square dances. Bowling parties, just before the lanes were to be refinished, seem to have been a regular event. Building the toboggan runs at Sagamore and Uncas, and testing them out, was a mutual effort. When the Vanderbilts were in Camp in summer, Richard often would take all of the "boys" camping. His daughter Margaret remembers going out for the day with Mrs. Vanderbilt to join the campers for lunch, but she didn't get to stay over.
Mr. and Mrs. Collins shared the work of running the Camp. Much of the day-to-day management (hiring staff, setting wages, ordering goods and supplies) was done in consultation, generally by mail or telegraph with the Vanderbilt's Secretary, a position held in succession by Messieurs Merriam, Alexander, and Crocker. Both also worked directly with Mr. Vanderbilt and then with Mrs. Emerson in planning and executing changes in the camp complex. Richard was always deeply involved in coordinating any construction or renovation. We're told that when the hydroelectric plant was under construction, the engineer proposed that the wires be strung above ground while Mr. Collins advocated for underground. Arguing that weather could all too easily disrupt services, he persuaded Mr. Vanderbilt to take on the extra time and expense necessary for the underground installation. Mrs. Emerson liked to have Richard take her for a carriage or sleigh ride to look over the Camp and to discuss "things." She was especially fond of winter sleigh rides, the snowier the better.
Margaret kept house--on a large scale. She managed the kitchen and housekeeping staff and coordinated the activities of staff that came with the Vanderbilts for large parties or long holidays. The Camp was often at capacity over the Christmas holiday. She worked directly with the first Mrs. Vanderbilt, Elsie French, and then with Mrs. Emerson on the purchase and replacement of most of the furnishings.
In 1922, Richard and Margaret Collins bought the Duryea Camp on Blue Mountain Lake. The family memory holds that they simply decided that it was time to have a place of their own. They stayed at Sagamore two more years, but by the summer of 1924 were settled into the operation of The Hedges Hotel; work that would engage them until Richard's death in 1943 and Margaret's in 1956.