26 new york | july 8–21, 2019back in Prosky’s day recalls the director chasing after a Roosevelt.
As in: those Roosevelts. But celebrities like these were fewer and
farther between now. While old-line Wasps still gravitated to the
historic district, the demographics of the neighborhood were
changing. The Heights Casino was filled with arrivistes, like the
family who bought a 12,000-square-foot six-story building on Wil-
low Street, whose ad for domestic help—“Family of six is looking
for an energetic, experienced, meticulous, detail-oriented house-
keeper familiar with finely curated décor, antique care, silver, and
fine china”—became the subject of much snickering after it
appeared on a bulletin board at the club.
Perhaps nowhere in Brooklyn Heights was this shift more visually
apparent than drop-off at Grace Church School, where Preppy
Moms in tennis whites and Power Moms on their way to their jobs
at white-shoe law firms increasingly found themselves jostled out of
the way by Fashion Moms taking Mommy and Me pictures against
the backdrop of brownstone Brooklyn. In the age of Instagram,
Brooklyn Heights’ Wes Anderson aesthetic had new appeal, and
Grace Church in particular had been discovered by Fashion. By the
time Morgano signed on as director, the school was lousy with the
children of stylists, editors, and designers, the best known of whom
were two former Vogue staffers, stylist Jessica Sailer Van Lith and
Sylvana Ward Durrett, the special-projects director in charge of the
Met Gala. Although both were relative newcomers to the area, their
company, Maisonette, a sort of Net-a-Porter for children, had co-
opted the entire Brooklyn Heights look, drawing models and
“muses” from the Grace Church community—such as Glenna Neece,
a former model and the wife of Rag & Bone founder Marcus Wain-
wright—whom they featured in aspirational photo shoots, lounging
on statement couches with their children while spouting très Brook-
lyn quotes like, “A few days ago, Henry cut up an old pair of my jeans
and put together a Viking ensemble!”
Unlike the members of the board, this new crowd didn’t seem
interested in amassing old-fashioned power: They just wanted fol-
lowers. In short order, Morgano became one of them. Despite her
presentation as a scrappy gal from Real Brooklyn, Morgano was
as aspirational as anyone else in Brooklyn Heights, and soon
enough she was following the members of the group she called “the
popular girls” on Instagram and soliciting wardrobe and shopping
advice from its members.hen Town & Country featured the school
on a list of “prestigious preschools” favored
by “Goyard-bag-toting parents,” its conspic-
uous mention of Morgano contributed to a
growing impression this was a crowd the
director was purposely cultivating. “She had
a type she gravitated toward,” said one parent. “And in the process,
she would gravitate away from others.”
Specifically, the bankers, lawyers, doctors, and assorted other
nonsexy professionals who had long been the bedrock of Grace
Church. “I heard we had an old-time parent who gave a lot of
money to the school—it’s not fair, but that’s what happens—who
applied for their grandchild,” one former teacher confided.
“Apparently they put in their application a day late, and Amy
rejected them.” Grandparents are technically not allowed to apply,
of course, and Morgano had a reputation as a stickler for the
rules—sometimes. And so, when the daughter of Maggie Gyllen-
haal’s stylist “rolled in midyear,” according to a parent at the
school, “people were like, ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ ”
Meanwhile, Morgano’s preference for the new and shiny was
worrying some of the longtime teachers. In March 2016, Smith
heard something that disturbed the peace in her library aerie:
A teacher survey had gone out, asking teachers about their
hopes for the coming year, and she had not received one. Shesoon found out why: Morgano wasn’t renewing her contract.
“Hi, Mary,” one of the office administrators said brightly
when the librarian came storming by to get her coat. “What a
gorgeous day it is.”
“No, it’s not,” Smith snapped. “It’s horrible. I just got fired.”
For Prosky, this was a call to arms. She and Smith wrote long
letters to the board detailing the ways they felt the new admin-
istration was violating the ethos of the school. The committee
was sympathetic but not in the way the women had hoped. The
letters were perceived as indicative of their inability to accept
change. A member of the vestry was dispatched to inform Prosky
that her contract was being discontinued. The former director
was said to be heartbroken. “She thought all these people on the
board loved her,” said Smith. “And they did, but they were two-
faced. They got change, but they got more than they wanted.”
(Prosky declined to comment for this story.)“HI GRACE PARENTS!” READ THE EMAIL. “The gala
is now less than three months away and we are finalizing our live
and silent auction items. We still have space for a handful of excep-
tional, mind-blowing items (think villa in italy for a week!), and
we know you’ve been waiting until now to send us your best offers.
Please please please don’t wait any longer! #Time’sUp!”
The biannual Gala and Auction at the Grace Church School has
not traditionally been a lavish event: It usually takes place in the
basement of the church. But in 2017, parents arrived to find the
room transformed by the same hands as the Met Gala. Graceful
hurricane lamps replaced the harsh overhead lighting, and wait-
ers in tasteful uniforms refilled wineglasses at long tables deco-
rated with peonies and roses while parents bid on auction items
that included a dinner at the home of designer Jason Wu. Not long
after a piece of children’s artwork sold for upwards of $10,000,
Morgano stood up to thank the women who had made the eve-
ning possible. “You’re good-looking, you’re rich, and who knew—
you’re kind as well,” she said.
Or maybe she said “generous,” or “successful.” People were drink-
ing, and they can’t quite remember, but they do know that what was
said made approximately half the room cringe. “It just didn’t feel like
Grace,” one said.
The other half just took the compliment. After all, they were
good-looking and rich. Chelsea Redick, who had co-chaired the
evening’s auction, was in the latter category. Redick was new to the
neighborhood. She and her husband, former Duke basketball star
and Philadelphia 76ers player JJ Redick, had moved to Brooklyn
with their two children in order to be closer to Chelsea’s identical
twin, who lived in Dumbo, where they lived in a $4.25 million pent-
house overlooking the East River.
To some, the Redicks were the apotheosis of the new element
encroaching on the Heights. Renovations to their apartment
included the installation of gold bathroom sinks and wallpaper that
was said to be custom-made to match the first Louis Vuitton hand-
bag Redick gave his wife. Chelsea and her sister, who were blonde
and dimpled and called one another “twinny,” came across to some
as an aesthetic aberration. “They look like Sweet Valley High,”
observed one Brooklyn Heights parent.
Morgano was a basketball fan, and she had been happy to make
room for Redick’s 2-year-old son when the player’s agent called
midyear. But she might have dismissed Chelsea as just a typical
wag herself if Chelsea hadn’t shown up on the first day, sweet and
earnest and offering to help out however she could. Growing up in
Florida, Chelsea had seen her mom always volunteer at her school,
and Chelsea had loads of experience doing toy drives and turkey
drives for the various NBA teams her husband had been on. Plus,
she said, that’s how you make friends.
Chelsea hadn’t hit it off so much with the blue-blood blondes onW