The Westinghouse Factory in 2011.
Jane Davis writes:
”The beautiful Weequahic section I lived in was murdered by politicians and the real estate industry as their answer to the Black migration. (My parents came to Newark from Georgia in the late 1940s.) My family’s home — 141 Watson Ave. — was the last house torn down on that street to make way for the highway. Such a travesty. [….] It’s amazing how the Newark that was — and thus how/why it was dismantled — nowadays is unknown to… most people. And Blacks often get blamed for driving the city into the ground–for the historically ignorant, the myth/slander/libel of ‘there goes the neighborhood’ really took hold. In any case, Newark still means so much to me and is most certainly my ‘home.’
”In any case, I just wanted to say that the part of the website that has ‘before and after’ photos showing what had been in contrast to the emptiness of the highway is SO amazingly meaningful and essential — at last, I can SEE the houses, stores, etc., that made up my home but that have been erased for decades now. So, though there is much more to say about Newark, I just want to say a huge thank you from the bottom of my heart.”
Charmelle Vickers writes:
“My family lived at 34 Conklin Avenue in Weequahic. In Newark. Mary Alice and Clifford Hubbard lost their home when city planners forced through Interstate 78. That highway displaced thousands of people. After losing their home on Conklin Avenue, my family moved south to a part of Weequahic that was not yet destroyed. Their old wooden home was beautiful. I remember it. Thank you.”
Note: No known photo survives of 34 Conklin Avenue. The above image shows a similar-looking home on the next street over.
April 22, 1962
Dan O’Flaherty writes:
“I went to kindergarten and first grade here. Kindergarten was south (left) of the entrance on the first floor, and first grade was directly above it on the second floor. Playground was to the south (left) of the school. Pig Tail Alley ran behind the school, next to the fire escape. One day the bigger kids had a card game on the fire escape. I tried to play. Could not master holding the cards. Have not tried since.”
August 22, 1960
August 21, 1960
Anthony DiPalma writes:
”I was actually born and lived my first years on the West Side of that same street: at 23 Searing Street. It is unfortunately not in the photo – except for a small portion of the garage. I would give anything to see a picture of that building or of that side of the street before it was torn down.”
Tom C writes:
”As an engineering student at NJIT from 1981 to ’86 I was able to still see some of the beautiful old Newark intact. My parents – who were both natives from the 1920s to late ’50s – spoke sadly about the aftermath of the riots and downfall of the huge hi-rise low-income ’housing projects.’
“Thanks for bringing back some good memories – Newark Museum and the Ballantine House are true gems. Behind NJIT there was a restaurant called the Italian Kitchen. The building dated to the late 1880s, and it was run by an elderly couple who had been there since the 1950s. No menu, just what they wanted to make. Torn down in 1986.”
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.”
Damon Pressman writes:
“I’ve been doing research on Newark, specifically from about 1909-1923. My great-great grandfather apparently had a luggage factory at the corner of Seventh and Summer Streets. He was Max Naidis, and the M. Naidis Trunk & Bag company operated there during this time. It’s an empty lot now.”
“Geozinger” (username) writes:
“This is a treasure trove of pics from back in the day. I love these ‘slice of life’ candids; showing everything frozen in time and the sometimes odd juxtapositions of objects.
“For as downtrodden as the area may be described, there seems to be decent looking cars on the streets. Many of the pics show cars 3-4 years old. On the other hand, cars were usually pretty much finished after three years of daily use…”
Dan O’Flaherty writes:
“At the corner, at the right, is the Wonder Bar. Next to the Wonder Bar was a vacant lot where there were beer kegs. That’s the turn in Pig Tail Alley. Roseville Avenue School is visible further south on Roseville, to the left.”
Allan Lacki writes:
“My dad grew up in Newark, NJ during the 1920s and 1930s. When I was a kid in the ’60s, he used to drive us through the old neighborhoods where he used to live.
“They were used-up by then. Unlike the brownstone sections of Manhattan and Brooklyn, the houses were made of wood and could not be restored because they had been neglected for so many years. And they were mixed in with gritty factories, garages, and other industrial establishments that detracted from whatever visual appeal the streets may have had. After the 1967 riots, the flight to the suburbs accelerated, leaving the city destitute for so many years.”
Phil Yourish writes:
“After my dad returned from fighting in Europe during World War II, we moved with my mom into Baxter Terrace public housing. Public Housing was still racially segregated. I remember growing up in public housing. On snow days, I remember riding my sled on the sidewalk down the slope of James Street to Washington Park. On the way, we passed the houses and corner store where my parents shopped for groceries. All of this is now demolished.”
Robert Singer writes:
“My father owned a business around the corner from here on Market Street. I used to shop here on Mulberry Street when I was a teenager. As you rounded the corner from Market to Mulberry, the street was full of old industries, bargain shops, and the like. All of it is long since gone.”
Dan O’Flaherty writes:
“The Wonder Bar from a different angle. Somewhere along this block was a candy store where we drank egg creams. Possibly it was called Ratner’s.”
John Smaldone writes:
“Looks a lot better in 1961. We know why that is.”
J Muse (Anne’s Grandbaby) writes:
“Absolutely fabulous work. I can only imagine the time and dedication and research it took to make this site a reality. I wasn’t even born at the time these majestic buildings and stores were intact. Even still, it felt like a trip down memory lane. Thank you for your time and devoted effort. This should be done in all urban cities across the nation!!!”
Frank Bray writes:
“Wow, so many great pics of a bygone time! Parts of Newark look like the older parts of Toronto, but much of Toronto has been gentrified, and those old houses renovated. Newark demolished everything.”
Anthony Vanacore writes:
“My girlfriend’s great great grandfather Edward F Ganning moved to 100 West Street with his family from the 1890s to 1920s when he died. He raised his youngest son there, and his other kids also resided there in their young adulthood. This is the first photo I’ve seen of the area as it is now redeveloped.”
June Williamson writes about her grandfather’s house at 26 Fulton Street, the townhouse at far-right of above image:
“My grandfather landed in Newark (from Scranton) as a young man in the depths of the Depression. In the 1930 Census, his address is 26 Fulton Street #16 (lodger of Katherine Graves), which is now, of course, a parking lot! He worked as a coil winder for Western Electric.”
Haarith Alston-Taalib writes:
“My twin cousin GiGi lived on the 2nd floor on 12th Ave. and I lived on the 2nd floor on the corner of Wallace Street; we would stand in our front windows and wave to one another from a distance. She was crying on the phone when she saw this photo. She’s going to cry again when she sees these photos. We played and spent a lot of time together; we got separated after the Newark riots in 1967, and I didn’t see her again until 2024. I’m going to show these to her today, thank you. This part of our lives was lost after the riots; you are helping us remember.”
#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.”
Map of Downtown Newark in 1873 vs. 2016
January 1959
Old First Cemetery looking NW from far rear
July 1961
Park lot graveyard Old First Ch. looking NW from Central Railroad Depot
March 1962
Park lot rear Old First church, formerly graveyard
The same location today
The cemetery is now beneath the playing field of the Hockey Arena
The same location today
The same location today
A change in urban form and urban scale
Old First Cemetery looking SW from Central RR Depot
Old First Cemetery showing a mound at SW corner
Old First Cemetery showing steps to be excavated, a mound at SW corner
Old First Cemetery looking NW from Central RR Depot
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:
Dee Kirk writes:
“I grew up one block from here on Stone Street in the 1940s, in a building that looked just like the ones here. My Italian mother worked on a sewing machine in a sweatshop. We lived in a long and narrow tenement. The innermost rooms had no natural light. But there were so many other children like me on the street. On Sundays, the Catholic nuns from St. Lucy’s would walk down the street ringing bells and calling all of us children to Sunday school. In the 1950s, all of Little Italy and my childhood home in Newark was demolished.”
Dan O’Flaherty writes:
“This is where the station was. It closed around 1985. In the fifties, on Thanksgiving, the Mummers band disembarked here and marched down Roseville Avenue to the Bamberger’s Thanksgiving Day parade. I think that was how Santa Claus got to Newark.”
John-Paul DeRosa writes:
“My great-aunt Eleanor Britton lived at 204 Avon Avenue in Newark, worked at 192 Market next to Four Corners, studied drawing and costume design at the Fawcett School evenings on Academy Street, and attended the Clinton Avenue Presbyterian Church.
“Her diary is all about her social life and it is chiefly concerned with fashion, boys, dance, etc. She mentions dozens of businesses and I have tracked down most of them, along with nearly half of the 180 people mentioned by name. Later, from 1931-1938 she again wrote diaries in Newark and mentions some 3,000 or more people in her social life during that time.”
Dan O’Flaherty writes:
“There’s a guy named Jack Cashill who lived at 29 Myrtle as a kid in the 50s, right across Pig Tail Alley from me, and he says we hung out together. (We lived at 62 Roseville.) I believe him because he was older and we moved when I was 7, but he remembers things and people that jibe with my hazy memories. Like how I got a 6-inch scar on my left arm.”
Haarith Alston-Taalib writes:
“Yes, my twin cousin lived on 12th Ave. between Wallace and Newton Streets; she lived across from the hospital on the 12th Ave. side. I’m going to find out if she has any pictures of 12th Ave. and the hospital. Both of us played in that triangular shape park there on 12th Ave. at Wallace Street. Whenever I’m in Newark and I ride by that area, I can remember the building in the lower photo, all that greenery and the neon sign there at the corner; that was the view out our kitchen window. Thank you, this was a dream come true, I never thought I’d see images like these again from my early childhood.”
Shown here is the view of the neon sign and fire hydrant outside of Haarith Alston-Taalib’s kitchen window. The neon sign says “Newark Gardens Convalescent Home”:
J Muse (Anne’s Grandbaby) writes:
“Across from Ann’s beauty parlor. I learned how to do a roller set…”
Dan O’Flaherty writes:
“‘Pig Tail Alley’ ran behind these houses. Jack Cashill, the author, lived at 29.”
(the house second from right)
Fredrica Bey writes:
“My Aunt Ampa grew up here in an apartment. It had no hot water and no refrigerator. One day, she learned that she was eligible for Newark’s first urban renewal public housing project that had just opened. The new apartment was small. But she was very proud of it and proud to live in public housing because the space was hers. One day, First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt came to give her an award for having the ‘best kept’ apartment in the complex. I still have the photo of Aunt Ampa with Lady Roosevelt.”
Aunt Ampa with Lady Roosevelt:
Stephen Pellegrino writes:
“Newark was such a visually interesting city. Most of the old buildings are gone now.”
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.”
Dan O’Flaherty writes:
“We saw the film Old Yeller there in 1957. It was very very sad.”
East side Pennsylvania looking northeast from southwest corner of Vanderpool on May 18, 1961:
Theresa Randolph writes:
In 1934, my parents paid $1,500* to buy that house at 167A Pennsylvania Avenue in the Lincoln Park neighborhood. I was born five years later in 1939. We were the first black family in the neighborhood. Neighbors on one side of us were Italian. Neighbors on the other side were Polish and Irish. Most people in the neighborhood were white immigrants from Europe.
Now the tavern on the corner at 171 Pennsylvania Avenue was named Stern’s Bar and & Grill. It was owned by a Jewish man. My dad and other blacks soon learned that this store owner refused to sell to black customers. You could enter and sit down, but he would just refused to serve you. We learned to avoid Stern’s tavern and to bring our business elsewhere. That wasn’t much of a problem back in those days because we had a choice of many other taverns and corner stores in the neighborhood. We could walk everywhere, and all the businesses that we needed were within walking distance of our home.
167A Pennsylvania Avenue:
Stern’s Tavern is now closed. Theresa Randolph’s house was demolished and transformed into what is now a parking lot for City of Newark garbage trucks.
Ron Roi writes:
“I would walk to school in the early 50’s. From High Street, Bank Street, and right to Courthouse Place. I knew several people in these brownstone homes. These were beautiful buildings. I’m still alive at age 77. Most of my dear friends are departed. But my memories of old Newark live on with me.”
Dan O’Flaherty writes:
“Yes, the Masonic Temple was across the street from my childhood home on the 3rd floor of 62 Roseville Avenue. It was beautiful (and huge, like everything else on Roseville Avenue to me). I remember looking out the 3rd floor window at the blue globes with the stars on them. I never saw anything going on there, though.”
Dan O’Flaherty writes:
“From the left, Richie and Ronnie Giuliano lived on the second floor (I think) of the 3-decker. They were older than us but we played with them. They were cousins of the two Anthony Giuliano’s who were city councilmen at large in the 60s and 70s. Patsy Madera, about their age, was on the third floor. Her father Al )Eldo) Madera, was an inspector for the City. My parents knew him and I got to know him in the 80s. The next house, the 2-story, was where the Gibbons brothers practiced dentistry and where we went for dentist visits. You can see a sliver of our house, 62 Roseville on the far right. Pig Tail Alley ran behind all these houses.”
Dan O’Flaherty writes:
“I think these are the houses directly south of the Roseville Avenue School playground. If so, a Black physician practiced in 68, the house adjacent to the playground. He patched me up after several of my big cuts.”
Dan O’Flaherty writes:
“I grew up in this house. Wow. Thank you. It’s so small! Dr Samuel Fortunato owned the building and used the first floor for his practice. Very convenient for me. I don’t remember a sign, but I would imagine he did. This suggests that by 1962 he had stopped practicing there.”
Dan O’Flaherty writes:
“Pig Tail Alley is behind this church. In back of the church was a big (for me) wall along the alley.”
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