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Tony Russo (pseudonym) writes:
“That car in the foreground looks just like the car I owned. When they built those monstrous skyscrapers in the 1970s, the work crews were all Italians. They were mafia. They hired vandals and homeless to go in these homes and set them on fire, in order to justify demolition. Everybody lost. Nobody won. Nobody won because the parking lot and skyscraper they built in place of these homes is now empty and has so few tenants. You could say that the bad blood came around. The animals. They tore up our beautiful neighborhood for this.”
Bill Chappel writes:
“The mailbox in this image was right in the path of turning traffic. When cars sped through the intersection and bumped onto the sidewalk, they kept on hitting this mailbox. At my suggestion, the post master moved the mailbox to the other side of the street and better protected it behind a traffic pole. Zero accidents since then. That same mailbox is now decades old.
“These old photos show that Newark streets now have thousands more of those unsightly telecom wires dangling from the poles. In many streets, the buildings are all gone. But the telephone wires and poles are the last things left. I suppose someone will come along one day and say those are the only historic things left of our city.”
The Polhemus House on July 21, 1960:

Anne Mabry writes:
“I remember the Polhemus House as a beautiful mansion owned by the Newark Museum that they allowed to run down, simply because they didn’t have the money or the imagination to use it. One day in the early 1990s, I passed by and discovered it had as its ‘owner’ a little black cat that liked to hang out on the stoop.
“The Polhemus House was demolished in 2011 after the Newark Museum determined it was an imminent hazard. A familiar scenario to preservationists, which goes by the term ‘demolition by neglect.’ The site was transformed into a park reflecting the house’s footprint, which itself succumbed to further demolition with the Newark Museum’s ambitious expansion and construction of apartments.
“Today, not a trace of the Polhemus House remains.”
#565-567-569 Broad between Central Ave & Washington Pl

Washington Florist, founded 1906 and owned by the William Zois family:
Peggy Zois Kapco writes:
“My family is Greek-American going back a hundred years. Washington Florist was founded 1906 and was named after the nearby Washington Park. We’re now the fifth generation of the family to own this business. I don’t think my daughter will inherit the family business. She’s interested in the fashion industry. My generation will be the last.
“Business hasn’t been as good ever since the pandemic. One month, Verizon cut our phone lines, and we lost business for a month. Over time, the family-owned businesses up and down this whole part of Broad Street have closed. Decades ago, there was a film studio next door, a bank, a piano story, and a beauty salon. Now the neighbors are mostly vacant stored and fast food restaurants. As a small business owner, it’s hard to compete with Amazon and same-day flower delivery. Corporate’s products aren’t as good as ours, but they have speed. As small business owners, so many things are beyond our control.”
Washington Florist was established in 1906 at 577 Broad Street and the corner of Central Avenue. Six years later, they moved into their current location at 565 Broad Street, shown below in c.1920-1929:
Anne Mabry writes:
“Washington Florist on Broad Street is the only remaining family-owned florist left in Newark. I remember the first time I went in how enchanted I was by the resident cat, who could frequently be seen sleeping in the window. The business is threatened now by a developer who thinks Newark needs a 40-story apartment building at the corner of Broad Street and Central Avenue. The florist still hangs on while the developer looks for funding.”
James Hollaway writes:
“I grew up on this street. On the corner was the Armel “French Ice Cream” shop. Next door there was a candy shop. And next to that a Chinese laundry. I bought ice cream and candy there ever day. One block down was Frank’s Meat Market. When Mr. Frank grew old and left town during white flight, I bought his shop. I had just returned as a GI from the Vietnam War, and it was the first business I owned. I put my heart and soul into that place, selling meat to all the neighbors on my street. One day, some youths came into my shop and held me up at gunpoint for my money. That was it for me. I closed my shop the next day. My old meat shop is now a corner store church. It belongs to my neighbor Bernard Wilks from Dominion Fellowship Ministries.”
Bill Chappel writes:
“One day the City came and demolished the ice cream shop, the candy store, and the Chinese hand laundry. My house is right next door and shared a party wall. I was afraid that my house would collapse along with it. The laundry is now a vacant lot and our neighborhood dog park. The City owns the land, and it’s their job to mow the lawn. A few years ago, I called the City to tell them this, and they told me they had forgotten this land was still theirs. So I took it on myself to mow the grass with the machine Mr. Hollaway bought me. As I get older, keeping this vacant lot clean gets more and more difficult.”
Anne Mabry writes:
“The row house next to the corner apartment building at the corner of James and MLK we romantically called the “Romeo and Juliet House.’ By the early 1990s, all that was left was the facade of the building. The third floor had a window that resembled a crumbling balcony, from which Juliet would listen to the poetic passionate speeches of Romeo.”
James Hollaway writes:
“I was born on this street and lived here all my life. I just turned 80 last year. This was the Piacek house, belonging to a white family from Poland. I used to play with their son. Their kid grew up and left home. One day, the house went silent. We learned weeks later that there had been a murder in that house.”
Anne Mabry writes:
“This little wood-frame house was tucked between the Rutgers-Newark graduate dormitory (to the left) and the Rutgers parking lot (to the right) when we moved to James Street in 1991. We never learned who lived there except it was abandoned and owned by Rutgers. Possums lived in the basement. You can guess what happened next. Another ‘demolition by neglect.’ The tiny footprint the little green house occupied was swallowed up by the parking lot. Not a trace remains except for a piece of the decorative roof cornice that we saved and sits on our back porch.”
The Little Green House on Essex Street:
Anne Mabry writes:
“The corner meat market was another fixture in our neighborhood. This one at the corner of University Avenue and Orange Street catered to those who had a penchant for freshly processed pork. As the city’s demographics changed from Polish and Italian to Black and Muslim, the kinds of businesses changed, too.
“The corner store used to be called Engelkorn’s. They sold hams, bacon, and pork. This corner store is now Unity Brand Halal. They now sell turkey, lamb, and chicken.”
Mrs. Bachmeier writes about her memory of the 1950s:
”I lived on Burnet Street 1951, went to Burnet Street School – later moved to Orange Street around 1958. Left around 1963…
”Even today after all that time I still see Orange Street the way it used to be: It was a very busy and lived place. There used to be a diner on the corner of Burnet and Orange Streets, The Orange Bar & Grill. Jimmy’s Barber Shop. Rocco’s Pizza & Restaurant. Schickhaus meat packing. There was the candy store on the corner of Broad and Orange Streets.
“Five years ago, my husband took me down to see the area. [….] I was in shock to see what had happened. I can’t believe where I used to live is now a gated parking lot. It was sad. I guess it’s true: ’you can’t go home again.'”
The Orange Bar and Grill: (left)

S side Orange St looking SW from opposite Eagle St:

Anne Mabry writes:
“The ubiquity of the corner bodegas in Newark cannot be underestimated just because all are gone. There were family-owned businesses at the corner of Burnet and Orange, the corner of University and Orange, the corner of James and High Street, and just about everywhere else. I remember well the one at the corner James and High Street that was named after Saint Michael’s Hospital. It had everything: from bananas to fresh Portuguese rolls to cat food. Even Halloween candy when I took my two young children there for trick or treat. My neighbor Bill Chappel swore by their hot coffee.
“It now sits with a torn awning, broken windows, and graffiti on the iron-gated door. There is a verbal promise from NJIT to not tear it down. And so the Saint Michael’s bodega sits abandoned… waiting for a new lease on life.”
Greg Calloway (pseudonym) writes:
“I started working as a public employee at the nearby building in 1970. This building on the corner was a flophouse and rooming house with shady characters sitting out front. I remember walking past, seeing empty liquor bottles in the windows, and then thinking to myself: ‘This is not a reputable neighborhood institution.’ Around the corner there used to be an even seedier dive bar named Shorty’s I believe.”


James Hollaway writes:
“In this part of the city, there was all the meat markets. On Essex Street at the right, there were horse stables when I was a kid. On Orange Street, there was every single business you needed in life. From birth to death, you could live your whole life on this street. One by one, Newark power players and developers demolished these small buildings. One here and another one there, until now there is not one left. When I walk along this part of Orange Street, sometimes I still feel like I can catch a whiff of Philip Armour brand meat.”