Ironbound January - February 1972

 Myself on the left and Kuwenderson Walk on the right.

Since I arrived in Newark, N.J. on 2nd October 1971, and established myself in the Ironbound, more precisely on Wilson Avenue corner with Barbara Street I had different sets of Brazilian friends. Rodrigo who was actually a Portuguese man who first migrated to Brazil probably in the late 1950s and arrived in the USA a week before myself, was my very first friend and turned out to be my room-mate as well. Soon after I moved in with Rodrigo, I made acquaintances with three Mineiros - young men from Minas Gerais - who shared the room next to ours.

I met a myriad of young Brazucas at Tia Eugênia's news-agency, or at a Brazilian coffee shop-cum-restaurant on the same side as Tia's on Ferry St. where there was a juke-box and I heard both Joan Baez's 'The night the drove Old Dixie down' and John Lennon's 'Imagine' for the first time ever. I found it funny how easily one made friends with Brazilians in Newark. People one wouldn't even bother to have a second look at in Brazil became instant friends in an American city. The simple fact of being from the same country made us all potential friends. I thought that was positive in a way.

After living in Newark for some weeks I realized there were 4 different groups of Brazilians: Mineiros, Paulistas, Paraenses and 'others'. Among Paulistas there were 2 sub-groups: young men from Guarulhos and another lot from Franco da Rocha, a town near Jundiaí-SP. 

Kuwenderson was a Brazuca from Bahia who was utterly different from everyone else. He had been a college student in Salvador and was highly politicized. He was into left-wing politics and I could not understand how on earth he was living in the USA, the Mecca of capitalism. Actually he was in the US because he had two brothers already established in the New York area who had helped him travel to the US and find jobs and accomodation. Kuwenderson was partially deaf so he had an extra burden in understanding the English language. He could read English all right but he hardly understood the spoken language which made him irritable most of the time.

I learned to appreciate Richard Wagner's music with Kuwenderson. He would play the 'Thannhäuser' overture and go into an ecstasy! It ended up becoming  one of my favourite classical pieces.

Kuwenderson was a nice fellow but very judgemental, always emphasizing what I had done wrong. I didn't need anyone to tell me so. I knew I didn't do the right thing when I left the record factory, bought a one-way ticket to San Francisco where I couldn't find employment and had to come back to Newark penniless. Kuwenderson irked me exceedingly but I kept my cool for I could not antagonize the very few friends I still had left. He would buy me a meal or two until the money my Dad would send me arrived.

It was through Kuwenderson that I heard of Violeta Parra for the first time. Actually, he was living in Santigado, Chile when President Allende was overthrown and murdered on 11 September 1973. Nine-Eleven didn't start in 2001 in NYC but 28 years before in South America.

Kuwenderson would play this vinyl album constantly.

Kuwenderson lived at the Prudential Apartments aka Sing Sing too, on Fleming Avenue. So I started hanging around that tenement in the early summer of 1972. As I was out of work I had a lot of free time on my hands so I met a lot of Brazilian fellows who lived in the neighbourhood. 

As soon as I got my work back I started sharing an apartment at the same Sing Sing with Nagib Luiz, a Brazilian fellow of Arab extraction I met at the record factory I went back to. Nagib and Guto shared the living room of an apartment rented by Nagib's cousin Leila, her husband and a baby. So, I finally was living at the infamous Sing Sing after all.

Coming back to Newark, from San Francisco

Late May 1972, when Carey & Paul left me off on Ferry Street near St Stephen's, in Newark, I took my step towards Tia Eugênia, in the early summer of 1972 without a penny in my pocket - not a penny to my name - you, Damazio Nazaré, were the first person I turned to for help. 

 

You helped me a lot back then. I'd like to seize the chance to finally thank you after 30 years. I remember I was dying to work “anywhere possible”, but I arrived just at the time factories were going on collective vacation, so I had to hang around for four weeks until the factories started working again. I had no place to sleep and no money for meals.  My Father (God rest his soul) even sent me US$300 dollars to “bail me over”. But before the money arrived, I had a really hard time. I slept at a different place every night. 

I remember several of those “Sing Sing” young men, even though I don't remember their names. There was a fellow that went by the alias of “Cri-cri”(meaning 'tiresome') whose real name I forget. He was from Franco da Rocha, worked as a truck driver and saved every penny he earned. He had a dream of being the owner of a fleet of truck when he came back to Brazil.

There was another fellow from Franco da Rocha who was already in his thirties and had grey hair. A 30 year old man was was considered “old” by us, who were 22 or 23 years old. He also worked as a truck driver and was a little plump. He was well articulated, could lead a long conversation and hold the attention of the small crowd that lingered near the gate that led to Lexington Street, at early summer evenings. Brazucas tried to live up the summer evenings the most they could and only went into their flats in the Prudential Apartments when the dark finally descended. While I stood up in a circle of about 10 young Brazucas, this fellow kept on talking about his dreams of becoming rich. He said his Italian grandmother had taught him a recipe of marinated egg-plant she had brought from Italy when she migrated to Brazil. He intended to open a business to sell those delicacies and hit the good times. I wonder whatever happened to him...Whether he became rich no one knows.

In September 1972 (it’s late September and I really should be back at school...) I finally went back to work at the record factory on Francis Street. Hallelluya! It was so good to feel “safe & sound” again. This time I worked on the 2nd shift which started at 3:45 pm and ended at 11:45 pm. At the factory I felt I belonged, whereas in San Francisco, due to my poor knowledge of English, I felt devastated. Now I had a whole bunch of new fellow workers like a somewhat fat Cuban lady called Elena who was really easy going. We used to talk the whole time for we worked side-by-side most ot the times. As we talked mostly in Spanish I made large strides in the knowledge of Cervantes language. 

The hot PVC paste was delivered by 2 Haitian Black guys. I became friends with one of them. The other one which seemed to be younger and was taller was somewhat wild. I was told he had the clap, slang for gonorrhea. There was a young Puertorican man who sported a pompadour hair was also deliverd PVC paste. He was Mike's younger brother who had a dark past. He had murdered a man in San Juan and had to be shipped out to the USA in order to evade the local police.  

I also met new Brazucas working there: Divino and Nagib Luiz, both guys I ended up sharing a bedroom with. 

I settled down in my job and decided I was going to work hard and save as much money I could to go back to Brazil and see my parents and siblings.

Why did “Cuíca” have that nickname? Have you ever played this instrument? His Amazonian wife was called Antonieta, but she liked being called “Toni”. She was brought to the USA when she was still quite young, probably before she was a teenager and must have gone to primary school in Newark. I hardly ever heard her speaking English but I knew she was almost like a native speaker. Her car radio was always on WABC and she hummed or sang along to almost all the Top 40s of the time. Lobo's “Don’t expect me to be your friend”, the follow-up to “I want you to want me” reminds me of Toni. I lived with them in a house they rented on East Ferry Street near the Ballentine beer factory. Cuica's brother Divino shared a bedroom with myself and the couple had the other one. 

Divino was the oldest of three brothers: Cuíca and Tarciso, who worked at Kutscher's in Monticello, N.Y. He was tall, strong and bald. He was always complaining about life; he obviously had a chip on his shoulder I never knew why. Maybe he felt unlucky for not having achieved what both younger brothers had. They were both married with pregnant wives. Tarcíso worked as a bus-boy at Kutscher's in Monticello, N.Y., in the Catskills mountains, but I only met him and his crazy wife Geralda 2 years later, in July 1975, when I returned to the USA and eventually got a ride with them to the Catskills. 

Divino delivered hot PVC paste at the record factory on Francis Street. When I was expelled from Sing Sing where I shared a living room with Guto & Nagibe who worked with me at the record factory, Divino said his brother had rented a house on East Ferry Street and was looking for an additional person to share the rent. I was glad to have a place of my own again after having been threatened by Nagibe's crazy aunt. One fine morning she stormed into the apartment shouting insults at me and threating to go to the Immigration Department to denounce me as an Illegal Alien and a drug fiend who had procured LSD for her dearest nephew.  It was early Sunday morning and we were all still in bed. So I feigned I was sleeping and let the hurricane go by. But as soon as I got up, I knew I had to move away from such a dangerous bitch. 

So I was more than glad when I moved in with Cuíca, Toni & Divino at that house on East Ferry Street. That would turn out to be my last abode in the USA for a while. It was close to work. I remember there was no proper bed in our room so I slept on some sleeping bag but I was content for having left that Nagibe's place at Sing Sing.

Antonieta’s mother had a couple of twins, a boy and a girl called Sonja, of pre-elementary school age, who spoke perfect English. I was enchanted by the children's ability to speak  English, and how smart they were for their age. I think children of immigrant parents realize early on they have a sort of power over adults who don't speak the national language properly. Toni’s mother was weird to me. They all belonged to the Jehovah's Witnesses sect. Apparently, the old woman's husband was in the USA illegally. He was a sailor who worked in a Brazilian ship which often went back and forth to Manaus or Belém. I heard someone say her husband had “jumped ship” in New York harbour. 

Speaking of “jumping ship”, I don’t know if you met a man from Pernambuco who was a cook in a Brazilian merchant navy ship that sank off the coast of Africa and ended up being taken to the US by an American ship. He arrived in New York without documents or money and was taken to the Brazilian Consulate, where he made friends with Brazucas who took him to live in Newark. That's how I met him. When I met him he was trying to get a Brazilian passport for months without success. Officials at the Brazilian Consulate at the Rockefeller Centre apparently didn't care for him. Once, frustrated with the bureaucratic delay, he went up to the 95th floor and threatened to throw himself off if the employees did not hand him his passport. He was always in trouble. He himself told me he had been arrested in New Jersey for the Police caught him pissing on a street corner which is illegal in the US. I don't remember his name, but we had an impromptu intimacy which was pleasant. He tried to get some action going but I wasn't willing.

Now, coming back to the record factory on Francis Street, on the night shift (we started at 11:45 pm and knocked off next day at 7:45 am) I remember Gus, who was our white American supervisor. Gus must have been in his late 30s and had blue eyes. He was known to us as 'foreman' (boss). I felt he was affable but  was a man of few words. He knew most of us didn't speak any English so why bother with words? There was also an older white man with white hair who always wore a beanie; he was a kind of mechanic that was called when there was a problem with the machines.  

I'd like to explain how a vinyl record is made. First, engineers cut the sound into a lacquer-coated disc using a specialized lathe, often applying a specific EQ curve (equalization) that cuts bass and boosts highs. The lacquer is coated in silver & nickel to create a "stamper"—a metal, reverse-image mold. All this process was done previously somewhere else. 

The actual pressing is what we, machine operators, did. The stampers (side A & side B) are placed in a hydraulic press, which heats and compresses a piece of pre-heated PVC ( Polyvinyl chloride, a synthetic plastic polymer) into the final 7-inch record shape in about 45 seconds. 

Synthetic Plastic Co. was the name of the company we worked for. The factory took a whole block on Francis Street in the Ironbound of Newark. It was an old factory. I was told by a fellow employee that during the World War II the factory was re-adapted to making guns and bullets for the US government. It must have been built early in the 20th century or maybe even late 19th century. The factory looked old and the machines looked even older. The machines we operated must have been bought 2nd hand from big corporations like RCA Victor or Columbia. We had to do all manually. 

Synthetic Plastics Co. manufactures of Kasoloid & Ludanite on Francis Street took a whole block between Komorn & Kossuth Streets. 

I think you met a Brazilian at the factory, who wanted to “pass as Portuguese”. I think he was originally from Guarulhos. It seems to me that he was from a Portuguese family, as he was light and 'well-built' but decidedly Brazilian... and as he was “coveting” a job in the construction industry, which was the “fiefdom” of the Portuguese, he lived “pulling the bag” of the 'Portugas' and was even “speaking with an accent from there” already. He was a good-looking boy, with a bit of blond hair. I remember he knew you. Do you know his name? This man must have “moved up in life”  I think everyone seeks their own good, in whatever way they see fit. I don't judge anyone! On the other hand, there were many Brazilians who stumbled in life...many began to associate themselves with “evil elements” and got into drugs alone and from there, to rock bottom, it was just one step.

Continuing in our record factory, I don't know if you ever met a Brazilian who worked “morning shift”, like you. He was very blond, with blue eyes, he could easily pass for an American; But the boy spoke almost no English; I don’t remember his name, but it could very well be José-something, as it seems to me that he was called “Joe”. He lived in Paterson, NJ and I remember he said he had an American girlfriend who was going to find him a better job.  His girlfriend must have fixed it, because one day he disappeared.  Despite that, he was a really nice guy;  he always talked to me upstairs in that locker room, where we all had our “lockers”; Sometimes they had to break into my locker because I had forgotten the padlock combination;  the “shifts” ended up meeting in the “locker-room”; while I went home to sleep, the “morning people” began their 8-hour journey. Later I switched to the morning shift, ended up making a mistake by stopping work, and when I came back, in September 72, I went straight to the afternoon shift (it started at 3pm?) I stayed until early Spring 1973.

I was in Paterson a few times with a short Brazilian (the ladies’ man, mentioned above). Did you get to know there? It was north of Newark, in Passaic County and there was a bit of a Brazilian community there. In 1976, Bob Dylan released a song called “Hurricane” that talked about a black boxer named Hurricane falsely accused of a murder that took place in Paterson. So Paterson went from a simple “extra” to a “leading role” in pop music. This was the main track from the LP “Desire”, which was Dylan's best-selling album of his entire career. They said that Paterson was better than Newark, but currently, talking to Carlos, who is also a taxi driver in New Jersey, he told me that Paterson is “the dumps” and much worse than Newark. Go and understand! And I thought that there was ‘paradise’.

Damasio, if you have Internet access, go to mapquest.com and type in Newark, NJ and you will have a photo map of the city! This way you can have an exact idea of ​​the places you are looking for. I also always go to the “WABC music radio” website, which is cheap. It seems like we go back to the 60s and 70s in a second. If v. If you have a chance, come in and tell me later. Well, dear friend, I'll stay here, waiting for your response in the near future. Don't feel obligated to write about the past. Only write if you feel like it. But regardless, please say “hello” so I know all is well with you, and that you received my missive.  My e-address is: mcarlus@hotmail.com

Pieces out of chronological order in this text:  

I noticed Newark has now completely de-industrialized. There are no more factories in that region. Brazilian men work in construction, women are cleaners etc. Industry no longer exists.

Tarciso was married to a woman who spoke very loudly called Geralda... I was even afraid of her. Tarciso had a “sleepy” face and his wife was a true “devil”...she was always pregnant and worked as a “chamber maid” at Kutchers. I ended up getting to know them better when I also went to work in the “mountains” in 1975, and Cuíca or Toni gave me a ride in their car. I went with a suitcase and gourd because I knew I was going to work as a dishwasher at Kutcher's too. Geralda went from Newark to Monticello, in Sullivan County...it seems to me that she had a child too.

At that time I barely spoke English, but I was always interested in learning.  I remember that when I went from “night shift” to “morning shift” and met YOU I was positively impressed, because you knew more English than any Brazilian I had met up until that moment.  I remember you told me that you had studied at Fisk Schools, which by an incredible coincidence of fate would be the first school I would teach at two years later (late 1973). I remember you talking about the Present Perfect, which I couldn't fully understand. In fact, between us, my English improved a lot after I started teaching, as I had to “work out” before going into class, for fear of making a mistake. I practically memorized those Present Perfect rules (12th lesson), since I couldn't “feel” it. It took me a while to “swallow” (or would it be assimilate?) the Present Perfect.

Badfinger's “No matter what” is the song that reminds me the most of you then, besides (logically) “If loving you is wrong I don't want to be right”, “Everything I own” and “Baby I'm a-want you” from Bread, and “I am woman”, which you said your teacher mentioned in the English course you saw. I did at that High School on Laffayette Street.

Speaking of music and records, do you remember that most Brazilians sent Columbia House coupons, which appeared in music magazines like 'Hit Parade', 'Song Hits' etc. receiving in the mail like 12 long-playings? People committed to buying another portion for a much higher price.  The Brazilian woman only received the first shipment, which was very “fat” and never bought what she had committed to at the price of gold.

I got two of these shipments. I bought everything I wanted. That wonderful double “Chicago” (“Colour my world” & “Make me smile”), “CSN&Y”, Don McLean's 'American Pie' (the tender “Vincent” about Van Gogh), Carole King's “Tapestry”, which even at that time it had been the best-selling album in the world; an LP by Barbra Streisend where she sang & rocked “Mother” by John Lennon; a double by Joan Baez, where she sang “The night they drove Old Dixie down”; ‘Deja vu’ by Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young; ‘Harvest’ by the wonderful Neil Young; lots of Bob Dylan; ‘Concert for Bangla Desh’ etc.

 

Remember that couple from Puertoriqueños who made “long-playing”? I only made 45 rpm singles! Did those who made LPs earn more? I think so, because we, who made singles, were “discriminated against”. The Puertoriqueña woman had long braids. Do you remember her?  Do you remember those two Peruvian girls; one called Maria and the other looked like a little boy. They said they were lovers! 

 

Speaking of Peruvians, I remember that there was one of them who was Japanese and was very nice person... I don't recall his name now, but I remember he used to hum George Harrison's “Something” and then sang the only bit he knew: “I don't know, I don't know”. He also sang along to “Where do I begin?” (“Love story Theme” with Andy Williams) and I liked Italian singer Nicola di Bari. Actually, he looked a bit like Nicola for he wore a pair of dark glasses too. He used to tell me Sergio Murilo (remember “Marcianita”?) was a big hit in Peru.

In the letter I sent to Brazilian Voice's letter section I mentioned Dentinho. Now I remember Dentinho's name was Luiz something. I was known as Carlos at the factory. Carlitos for the Hispanics. I think you didn’t get to know Dentinho, as he also worked the night shift whereas you worked the morning shift. Dentinho delivered vynil paste and was a funny little guy;  he had a beard and mustache but very young; he must have been 18 or 19. Dentinho shared an apartment on the 2nd floor of a house on Wilson Avenue, next to Saint Stephen's church with Alfredo and G. (I'm not sure of his name), a tall, good-looking fellow with blue (or green) eyes, who had an old Mustang and seemed to be the leader of the pack. The three were from Franco da Rocha. By the way, Saint Stephen's church has now become all but “Brazilian”, as the Sunday services are held in Portuguese by a Brazilian Pastor.

One night I went by their house and they asked me to listen to some albums aka LPs I had bought at ‘Two Guys’, a department store on Broad Street. One of the albums was the sound track from the movie 'West Side Story', and the boys thought it was 'strange' that I liked that type of music, especially after hearing 'Tonight' with Marnie Nixon singing with a Puerto Rican accent. They laughed, and thought I was bizarre for having that taste. There was also a Donovan LP and a few others I can't remember at the moment. 

On the Sunday afternoon “Dentinho” was arrested on the Pulaski Skyway, he had stopped by my place, a room I shared with a Portuguese man and 3 Brazucas above the aforementioned go-go bar and we went out for a “ride” in his car. After we drove around aimlessly for a while, he dropped me off at home. It was an autumn afternoon, just when we immigrants missed Brazil the most. Before going up to my room, I spent a little time with Dentinho, who inserted a quarter on the juke-box in the semi-deserted bar and listened to “Long ago tomorrow”, by B.J. Thomas.  It was his favorite song then. It was the last time I saw him. Minutes later Dentinho drove back to the Pulaski Skyway where he was stopped by the cops for speeding; the “cops” wanted to see his documents; he took the police to his house; There they saw his passport with an expired visa. That was his undoing, the cops took him plus Alfredo and G. immediatly to prison. The whole thing was really sad because they were all nice fellows who wouldn't hurt a fly despite being technically “illegal immigrants”. It was the biggest buzz  On Monday, at the record factory Synthetic Plastics Co. everyone talked about their sad plight. Dentinho wouldn't come back to work any longer... and neither Alfredo who worked there in the afternoon. They were deported to Brazil in December 1971.

Sometimes I think, had not Dentinho been detained by the police, my life would have taken a different path entirely. They were 3 young men I could have associated with instead of going on living on top of the go-go bar which was not exactly the best place to live and meet new people. 

Guto

Guto was a different kind of immigrant. He was a rock guitar player. More than this, Guto was highly cultured compared to the rest of us. He'd left Brazil for he was extremely angry with the Brazilian bureaucratic educational system. He had a dream of becoming an architec. He tried hard to get into University of São Paulo's FAU (Faculdade de Arquitetura e Urbanismo), the best school in the country. Even though he had been an excellent student and had scored high marks at the college-entrance-examination he would flunk the 'artistic examination'. He seemed to have been a victim of the University's internal politics. After taking two exams on two consecutive years and not being accepted he got bitter about the whole business and decided to go into voluntary exile. Guto was very good in dealing with numbers and got a better-than-average job working on a lathe at a scissor's factory in Newark's north side away from the Ironbound where most of us were confined.

Damazio had seen Guto playing his guitar at someone's flat earlier in 1972, and introduced me to him circa June when I was hanging around Sing Sing with nothing to do. Guto was a big fan of British rock bands especially the Who. As I was familiar with The Who's 'Tommy' opera-rock album I had something to talk about. Guto used to idolize Yes - progressive rock's ultimate heroes. I didn't know much about progressive rock but I sure knew Yes' 'Roundabout' that played a lot on San Francisco's FM radio-stations when I stayed in the West Coast recently. Guto was a fan of Led Zeppelin too. Every time we would go down for a bite at the Down Neck diner at the corner of Market St. & Fleming Ave. Guto would spend a quarter to play Led Zeppelin's 'Black dog'. He was the first person who told me about David Bowie's 'Ziggy Stardust & the Spiders from Mars' when Bowie was hardly known in the US.

Guto had plans to share an apartment with Luiz Alberto, an old friend of his from Brazil who was visiting him with the intention to stay. Alberto being a somewhat pampered young man would not blend in or put up with the Newark-crowd let alone dare go out and find a job in a factory. So Alberto ended up returning to Brazil before Fall would set in. Once I made the mistake of trying to play some Bob Dylan or Neil Young song with Alberto's guitar. He didn't say a word. After I finished my inglorious task he took the guitar back and played the Beatles' 'Blackbird' with all its splendor and complicated chords as if to say: 'Look, mate, you're no damn good!' I might be wrong there, of course, but that's the impression I had. Guto was not like that. Guto was an impressive guitar player but he was unassuming and a pleasant fellow. (Read more at https://newark-path-manhattan.blogspot.com/2020/10/66-columbia-street-newark-summer-1972.html

Guto on a very cold Saturday on Market Street, Newark, N.J. 9 December 1972.

Guto in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

Guto & Myself on our way to Philadelphia P.A.; at this time I would not shave or cut my hair anymore.

Philadelphia felt like the Artic Circle; the wind blew like a hammer... and nobody showed up on the streets of Philadelphia.

Myself freezing up on the streets of Philadelphia... 9 December 1972.

Guto, Nagib and I went to see Grand Funk Railroad playing at the Madison Square Garden on Saturday, 23rd December 1972.

Nagib fakes playing Guto's guitar; he wears his beloved Lee overall. 

Wiss scissors' factory in 2013, a few weeks before being demolished. 

Wiss & Sons in 1969.

1930s.

This street photo was published in the "Newark Sunday News" on 6 March 1952 on page 6. On the back there is also the date 25 January 1930, which looks like when it was taken.

Before 1925 aerial view. Another story has been added to the main buildings. The roof line is changed and the cupolas are gone. The sign on the front was changed and razors has been dropped. The manufacture of straight razors was discontinued in the latter part of 1923. This image from the 1934 catalog. The identical picture was also in the 1925 catalog. The main buildings from the image were used as letterhead in the late 1920s.

Aerial view from the 1919 catalog. The building at the left with the flag now has awnings. The water tower and another water tank are new. There are more buildings in the surrounding neighborhood. With more factories in the background spewing smoke.

1911 aerial View. This from the 1912 catalog, but dated 1911, as the identical picture is dated as such in the 1911 catalog. The building length along Littleton Avenue is the same. The same image, without the air brushing to make it look cloud-like, exists as a postcard. This image was used as letterhead for many years after this. Nothing was cropped out. The only change for the letterhead was the sky above the smoke was removed. 

A circa 1906 postcard of the factory. The factory has already been expanded on both sides. Note the building starts with three stories at the near end and is four at the far end. A version of this also exists with a two line caption, the second line being "Main Building where WISS "Stielweld" Shears are made." Those postcards were sent out to their customers. This postcard (with single line caption) was reproduced on page 14 of Newark, The Golden Age, by Jean-Rae Turner, Richard T. Koles and Charles F. Cummings, 2003. The book's caption is riddled with errors. This factory did not begin in the 1840s, but was opened in 1887. J Wiss never made jewelry or silverware. The jewelry store branch of the company simply retailed these items. The Short Hills Mall branch was opened 1961, when the mall opened. It was not moved. The book is available at Amazon, and page 14 is in the preview.

A circa 1890 picture of the factory as originally built.  Frederick C.J. Wiss is standing in front of the right door facing forward. His younger brother Louis is to his left. Photo is from the Newark Public Library.

Columbia St. / Prudential Center / Lafayette St. / Broad St.

 

Columbia St. corner with Lafayette St. looking downtown Newark.

Prudential Center indoor-arena under construction in June 2007. 

Prudential Center indoor-arena during a hockey match. 

Prudential Center seen from above; Lafayette St. crosses Columbia St., Mulberry St. where the main entrance to the Center is; Broad St. being the street across in the back.

bird's-eye-view of the Gateway Center and Newark's Pennsylvania Station.

the remains of a bridge over the Amtrack next to Newark's Penn Station. This railway crosses New Jersey Road Avenue and Ferry Street going down south. It was terminated some time in the late 1970s. 

New Jersey Road Avenue.

New Jersey Road Avenue. 

Broad Street corner of Cedar Street with former Two Guys dept. store on the right. 

Lefcourt Bldg & National Newark & Essex Banking Co. 

Newark post card sent to North Dakota on 21st January 1944. 

downtown Newark by night. 

205 Lafayette School, Newark, N.J.

main entrance to Lafayette School. 

Lafayette St. corner with Congress St., Ironbound, Newark, N.J. 

66 Columbia Street, Newark - Summer-Fall 1972

When still in San Francisco in May 1972, I finally realized I couldn't find a job in that cosmopolitan city due to my lack of English so I thought I'd solve this problem by going back East where factory work was a-plenty and English was not mandatory. Little did I know I was in for a rude awakening for when I arrived back in Newark in late May, I was told by my former employer they were not hiring at that moment due to their forthcoming annual Collective Vacation in June - they'd shut down the whole factory for 4 weeks. I was mortified for I had no money to rent a room. I would have to stay over at friends' places and wander the streets of Newark until they came back from work and I could share a meal and a little corner in their flat for the night. 

Since I arrived back in Newark - after a 7-day-driving-marathon from San Francisco, California to New York - on 26 May 1972, a hot & muggy Friday, with no money at all, I had to make ends meet in an erratic way. I remember the exact moment Carey & Paul dropped me off on Ferry Street and waved goodbye. For a few moments I felt like a child abandoned to its own devices. After a little while I collected myself, started walking towards Wilson Avenue and went into the back kitchen of the go-go bar on the corner of Wilson Ave & Barbara St to see Rodrigo who had been working at Alberto's bar kitchen since late 1971. I asked him to mind my suitcase and guitar while I went around to Sing Sing to try and find some of the friends I had left behind.

June - July 1972 (down & out in the Ironbound)

I wrote my Father in Brazil asking him for US$ 300 - but it would take 3 to 4 weeks for the money-order to come through in the mail. So in the meantime I had to make do relying on other people's charity. I promptly started visiting the few friends I still had left in the Ironbound around dinner time to share their meals. Off the top of my head I remember Kuwenderson Walk, a young man from Bahia I had met in early 1972, and Damazio Nazaré, from Guarulhos-SP who I had worked with at the record factory in late winter 1971-1972; two friends who helped me with some food and sympathy. 

When Father's money-order finally arrived I rented me a room to have some privacy. I don't remember which place though. There's a fog in my mind when I try to recall details of those difficult days. It was June and it was stinking hot and muggy. Some days I waited for hours for Kuwenderson to knock off his cleaning job at Newark's Police Station so I could eat with him. He was a strange fellow. We had become friends in the bitter 71-72 winter. We were both into revolutionary politics. Kuwenderson was a Marxist-Leninist but conservative socially speaking. He could have easily lent me 50 or a 100 dollars to tide me over during that period but he was adamant in withholding cash. Like that song 'money's too tight to mention'... Brazilians in general buy you a meal but they never lend you money under any circumstances.

While I waited for my Father's money-order to come in the mail I wandered through every nook and cranny in the Ironbound. As the name suggests there were myriad railway tracks criss-crossing the area. There was a freight train railway coming from the north side of Penn Station which crossed Ferry Street overhead between Prospect St. and Congress St. It has since been demolished giving rise to Iberia restaurant & a parking lot at 80-84 Ferry St. I remember buying myself a copy of Brazilian weekly tabloid 'O Pasquim' at Tia Eugênia's news agency, entering the lot, climbing up to the overhead tracks, sitting myself down near the vegetation and reading the humorous paper for a couple of hours. It usually took me 2 hours to read the main interview, various cartoons and articles. 

Reading 'O Pasquim' in such a situation was remarkably healing. It made me detach myself from my own plight and took me right back to Mum's place at Vila Madalena or Bela Vista where I had been happy-and-content but didn't know it until then. It revived me intelectually. It reminded me that after all I could speak, read and write one language properly. It made me feel whole again. I was not only a person who spoke 'broken English' and could not understand what was said on the radio or the plots of movies at 42nd Street cinemas. 

Having been living the life of a foreign immigrant in the USA for 8 months had taken its toll on my self-esteem. Even though I was feeling much better after my trip to San Francisco in April when I had the supreme joy of re-establishing a nurturing friendship with Nino I was still battered intelectually for having fallen down the social scale. Me & Nino had the chance to talk about all aspects of the life of a migrant and his difficulties in a new environment.   

No matter how hard I try to recall those trying days it's all in a fog. I must have worked somehow during this period for I distinctly remember being inside a huge place like a food court in one of those brand-new buildings near Pennsylvania Station. Actually, it was on 2 Gateway Center, a brand-new 18-story black office building on the corner of Market St & McCarter Hwy that was linked with Penn Station by a series of foot-bridge-corridors. 

The Getway commercial complex (in 1972 only 1 & 2) was self-contained, allowing tenants and visitors to remain within its interior. A pedestrian mall one level above the street connected all parts of the complex connected to Penn Station by a glass-enclosed skywalk that extended over Raymond Plaza. 

Another skywalk extended across McCarter Highway to connect Gateway One and Gateway Two. The skywalks were intended to separate vehicular and pedestrian traffic and provided safety and security to wary commuters. These were completed by 1972.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gateway_Center_(Newark)

I had been taken to this huge food court at 2 Gateway Center by a Brazilian fellow I don't remember anymore. It was after-hours for the place was deserted with no food service going on. He handed me a huge vacuum cleaner and told me I was to clean the whole floor filled with tables and chairs. I had to stack up big piles of black chairs and then reach for the vacuum cleaner to clean up the premises. 

I started at 5 o'clock pm when the sun was still hot outside (it was summer) and the crowd had already left for New York City or other places in New Jersey. This part-time job didn't last long though. I remember I didn't like working there all that much. I was all by myself the whole time, in such a huge space; I felt dejected; it was like everyone else had gone home and I was left behind to clean after them. I probably worked one a couple of days and didn't even collect the pay. I must have been depressed for the job was not that bad after all.  

Around this time, high summer of 1972, I remember working at a small factory which was actually a sort of workshop on Laffayette Street for nearly a week. Somehow when I got back to Newark I thought I might be elegible to collect Unemployment Benefit. I was told that in case I started working under a different name I could receive money from the Government with my true social security card and real wages on top working under a different name. I was given an SS card of someone called Dimas who'd left his card back when he went back to Brazil. 

When I found this factory job on Laffayette St. I introduced myself as Dimas and was told I would work the night shift. It was not a real factory but an industrial lot with a few machines to manufacture plastic components of electrical grids. My mission was to operate a big machine 3 times de size of those record-making-machines I had worked with in the previous winter. I had to open and shut a big glass door while two horizontal sides pressed on each other with molten plastic injecting into a mould. I had to wait a moment to open the glass door again and withdraw the finished product. I repeated the same motion countless times from 10:00 pm till 8:00 am in the next morning. I remember there was a railway line just in the back of the lot and every now and then I could see a long freight train going by. This was the only distraction I had for the longest possible night. It was lonely but not as bad as the restaurant near Penn Station.

One night I had to miss  work for some reson I can't recall. My boss then rang Dimas to know what happened and obviously didn't find anyone by that name. I assumed I had been sprung and fearing consequences I never went back there. Not even to collect the cheque for the days already worked. So I was back at square one, unemployed again.

When July finally came I was happy to go back to my former job at the record factory on Francis Street. This time I worked the afternoon shift. I guess I was more self-assured now, glad to hold a full-time job again after 5 months 'on the run'. I enjoyed immensely working side by side with a big Cuban girl who would talk 8 hours straight. Never a dull moment. Amazing I don't remember her name. She'd teach me how a real Cuban pronounces words. They drop Bs all together. Cuba becomes Cu_a. No B whatsoever.

We knocked off work at a quarter-to-twelve pm and a group of  fellow employees walked all the way from Francis Street where our factory stood to Penn Station - always talking about anything that came to mind. I could finally use English for the first time even if everyone spoke broken English. Some of the Black Haitian boys stopped there to have something to eat before taking a train or bus elsewhere. I kept on walking past Penn Station on Market Street and would  cross over bustling McCarter Highway to the other side. 

The other side of the tracks was exactly that: the shadier side of Newark where large stretches of street blocks had been torched during the infamous 1967 riots. No more Portuguese, only Hispanics and Blacks. There was nothing open at this hour. In the morning one could have ham'n'eggs in a joint owned by a Puerto Rican fellow on Columbia Street past Green Street toward Laffayette Street. The area was 'rough'; half industrial, half-residential. Myriad of chards of broken glass bottles scattered on the pavement. Some of the streets were paved with red brick. Hamilton Street on the Ironbound side of McCarter Hwy which starts at New Jersey Road Avenue still is paved with red bricks if you check up at Google Maps (2020).

Nino & Pepe were in New York by mid June. A lot had happened to them  too since I had left them in San Francisco with Carey & Paul on 22nd May 1972. Pepe's US visa was about to expire and he needed an extension. He would have to travel to either Canada or Europe to renew his visa. He then decided to change his life completely. He gave up his flat on Larkin Street, probably transfering the lease to a friend of his; anyone would have taken that lovely apartment. He left his Best Western Motels job and flew Sabena Airlines to  Brussels, Belgium with Nino. They had a stopover in Paris so Nino would climb up the Eiffel Tower. Both Pepe and Nino had a brand new US entry visa and could stay in the country (legally) for another 6 months.

 

August 1972   

I don't remember exactly the first time I brought Nino to Newark. I must have rung Pablo who told me the big news: Pepe & Nino had arrived in New York on a flight from Brussels and were staying at an apartament in Queens, N.Y. which had been rented for them. I took the Path train to 14th Street or 33rd Street, then caught a New York subway train to Times Square and Queens. On my first or second visit to their Queens apartment, I must have taken Nino by the arm and brought him across the Hudson River to feel what Newark, N.J.was like.

I showed Nino the neighbourhood around Ferry Street, Wilson Avenue... then I took him to wherever place I was staying at the moment. Honestly, I'm lost on that point. Next thing I know Myself & Nino were doing the same we used to do in downtown São Paulo in the old days: Walking about, sitting at any available space any time we felt like to smoke cigarettes and talk our heads off the whole day.

I showed Nino the railroad that crossed Ferry Street overhead and we climbed up to the tracks. Nino must have liked the 'deserted feeling' of the place for we sat down by the tracks, lighted our cigarettes and talked about our latest adventures and what our plans were for the near future. After a while, Nino did something I've never forgot; he took a matchbox from his pocket, gathered some dry straw lying next to the rails and set it on fire. Then we climbed down the little hill and went onto the street again acting like nothing had happened. Just like that! The fire was'nt big but I knew it had been something 'wrong' and 'unusual'.

We wandered around Newark's Ironbound streets countless times. Nino didn't have qualms in asking any Brazilian fellow we'd meet whether they knew of rooms to let. Soon enough he found a room on the 2nd floor (which Americans call 3rd floor) of a house on 66 Columbia Street across the tracks. I would never consider living on the other side of McCarter Highway but Nino was more broad-minded than myself. The house was owned by an octogenarian widow from Galicia, Spain called Enriqueta. The room was clean and spacious, it had 2 beds but I would be the only tenant for the moment. Three windows (with shades that rolled up) that gave out to the street. It was a pleasant place.  

Enriqueta must have been born before 1910, got married and migrated to the US with her husband in the 1920s. She probably had children but they must have all got married and moved somewhere else for she had no family with her in that ample house. She had white hair and wore a headkerchief that covered part of her head. She was very friendly and smiled easily. She spoke Gallego to us and we answered in Spanish. I liked her the first time I laid eyes on her.  

I remember asking Enriqueta whether she had ever visited the Statue of Liberty. She answered she'd never seen Miss Liberty! Not even from afar - which is hard to believe as one can spot it on a clear winter's day - from a distance - in that part of New Jersey. Liberty Island is actually under N.J. jurisdiction. She also said she'd never been to Manhattan. I don't know this could be possible. I wonder whether she never went to the harbour to greet relatives arriving from Spain in the 30s or 40s. 

Enriqueta had a trelissed-vine full of ripe grapes in her backyard. She told us she'd soon make home-brewed wine out of it. We were both dazzled by the plucky little lady and she knew she'd made a positive impression on us and was happy. From now on, every time Nino visited me, we stayed at home at Columbia Street.

I tried to get Nino a position as a machine-operator at the record factory but he wouldn't hear of it. I can't recall whether I took him to the factory office to fill in an application for a job position. The fact is that Nino was on a mission from God: he'd stumbled into the New York gay scene and he would stop at nothing until he knew everything there was to be known.

Talking about Statue of Liberty, I remember the sunny day we boarded a ferry-boat to Ellis Island to have a peak at it. Since the 'old times' in Brazil, we used to talk about world heritage monuments and wondered how big and beautiful they would really be in person. We used to make fun of a quaint Brazilian habit of self-aggrandizement when it comes to landmarks and monuments. Brazilians always found something they were the 'best or the greatest of' in South America. Little did we know the USA considered itself the 'greatest' in the world. We probably never thought we would one day be talking about this subject in the USA. Nino bad-mouthed everything he saw in the US since he set foot in that country: from the Golden Gate Bridge to the Empire State building. 

As we approached Ellis Island, Nino would not stop belittling the Statue. How small it was! It was green! I didn't know whether I'd laugh or be cranky with him for I wanted to enjoy such an eventful outing. Even when we were climbing up the narrow steps inside the statue he'd not stop depreciating it. We got to the head of Miss Liberty and watched the scenary outside... for Nino everything was small and ugly.   

One day, Nino said he had met Brazilian singer-song-writer Erasmo Carlos on 42nd Street and had talked to him. Erasmo told him he had come to New York to see Elvis Presley at the Madison Square Garden. Elvis opened on Friday, 9 June 1972, at 8:30 pm. He then had two Saturday appearances: an afternoon show at 2:30 pm and another at 8:30 pm. Elvis had a final recital on Sunday afternoon, 11 June 1972, at 2:30 pm. 

Supposing Nino met Erasmo on 42nd Street the week after Erasmo had seen Elvis at the Garden - he & Pepe must have arrived in New York earlier than I've so far asserted. They must have moved to NYC by mid June 1972. So I wouldn't have been back to work yet for the factory opened for business only in July. That explains the amount of wandering me & Nino did in the streets of the Ironbound. I was probably still waiting for the money my Father would send me when Nino arrived. 

My daily routine was working 5 days a week from 3:45 pm to 11:45 pm. I worked evenings and part of the night. I'd be back home a little past midnight. I'd turn on my cassette-radio to listen to DJ sensation Alison Steele at WNEW-FM metro-media stereo as soon as I got into my room, took my work clothes off and prepared to go to bed. I'd get up next morning around 9:00 am, listen to the radio and was out for lunch at 12:00 am. There were different eating places around that area but I liked a Puerto Rican business on the left-hand side of Lafayette Street. I liked their rice-and-beans because it reminded me my own Mother's. A little more spicy only. It was cheap and good. Then I would go around and check the Brazilian 'scene' at Tia's newsagency on 112 Ferry Street.

I remember a particular hot day in July or August 1972 at the record factory. The boss bought a few huge watermellons, sliced them in dozens of pieces and every machine operator or vynil paste conveyor left his work place for a few minutes to partake of that deliciously sweet red fruit. It's moments like these one never forgets for the rest of one's life. I can still see the happy faces of Horace, a Blackman who worked at the long-play section and other Hispanics having a bit of fun in the summer time... just like that song by Sly & the Family Stone.

I also recollect a Sunday afternoon going to Queens, N.Y. with Damazio to visit a Brazilian friend of his. He was an older man with an adult daughter and a blonde grand-daughter of 10 who had been Damazio's neighbours back in Guarulhos-SP. They had migrated to the USA around the same time as him. The older man was born in Italy, migrated to Brazil in the late  1940s, got married and had children that now moved to the USA with him. The blonde girl was very fond of Damazio; she spoke Portuguese to him which was unusual for migrant kids. Kids usually forget their original tongue after entering the school system in the new country. We noticed though she could speak a lot o English already. Much more than the adults, including her mother, grandfather, myself and Damazio.

Life at Sing Sing 

On Sundays I usually took the PATH train to mid-town Manhattan to watch double-feature movies at some of those old cinemas on 42nd Street. One particular Sunday, Damazio came too and brought along Pardal (real name Wilson) and some other Brazuca friend of his. While we watched a western flick I started making wry comments about some characters in the plot who were mostly losers, comparing them with Brazilians. Damazio thought it was funny but Pardal wasn't very amused with my putting down our countrymen and said he would never come to the movies with me again.  

One Sunday afternoon I went out with Kuwenderson to visit his younger brother who lived with an American woman in a flat, in the Greenwich Village. The woman in question was not in the premises while we were there. Before going up to the apartment we lingered on Washington Square which was crowded with jugglers, clowns and musicians. His brother had no shirt on and the place looked messy like a hippie's den. Kuwenderson tried to be casual about our visit but I think his brother wasn't too pleased to see him with somebody else. He barely gave his brother any attention. Apparently this Brazilian young man was supported by an older white woman. I don't know how much older. We hung around for a while and then got the fuck out of there. It was a useless visit. I only felt diminished when I compared my life with Kuwenderson's brother's adventurous life. He at least shared a place with someone who spoke English whereas I still spoke mostly Portuguese and some Spanish to boot.

Since I came back to Newark in June 1972, I changed my social habits and started hanging around Sing Sing more often. Brazilian fellows who worked hard during the day would hang out on the sidewalks of Lexington or Oxford Streets in small clusters to talk their heads off during the long summer evenings. Sometimes day light would last until 9:00 pm and the heat was a demon. That's when I met a lot of young and not-so-young Brazilian men who talked mostly about what they would do once they returned to Brazil. One hardly saw a Brazilian female. In the 60s and 70s the bulk of the Brazilian diaspora was made up of males. 

I remember this particular fellow called Edson who must have been in his early 30s for he already sported some grey hair. He shared a flat with Damazio and some other fellows, drove a truck during the day and enjoyed talking about his dreams when he had a chance. As he was a little older than the rest he felt he had the right to speak at length. He told us he would certainly become rich if he found a way to mass-produce his grandmother's pickled eggplant recipe, a concoction she had brought from Italy when she migrated to Brazil. As I have never seen Edson again I wonder whether he made his dream come true. 

There was another young man with straight hair falling on his forehead named Cri-cri (I don't remember his real name) who was known to have saved every penny he had made in 'America'. He had a dream of buying a few trucks and start a trucking business in Franco da Rocha-SP, a town  in Sao Paulo metropolitan area. I wonder whether Cri-cri ever became a rich man after all. Guys would make fun of him and his stinginess. He never spent any money apart from paying rent and buying food. He never went out in the weekends; never drank a beer or a soft drink.

One summer evening we went to someone's flat at Sing Sing to listen to a young man called Alberto who played accoustic guitar dexterously. He played and sang mostly Beatles songs so we sat down to listen for a while. Before I listened to him play I was fool enough to say I knew how to play 'Blackbird' (singin' in the dead of night...) Alberto gave me his guitar and I made myself a jerk playing and singing Paul McCartney's ode to Martin Luther King. After I finished it, Alberto took back his guitar and played 'Blackbird' the way McCartney would have done it. 

He had arrived from Sao Paulo recently and was still looking for a job. Differently from most of us, Alberto hailed from a Brazilian middle-class background and one could easily see he wasn't comfortable with the lowly life of poor immigrants he had ended up with. Newark's Ironbound definitely wasn't his scene. Even though he was polite one could see he had been terribly disappointed with this lower class environment he was trapped into.

Alberto had actually been invited to join his childhood friend Guto, who had been living at Sing Sing since he arrived from São Paulo in February 1972. Augusto Guidon was a different sort of person. Even though Guto had also hailed from a middle class family in Bras, he had a different approach to life. Guto was resourceful and sharing a room in a flat in a working-class tenement didn't break his spirit. On the contrary, it made him stronger.

Guto had a singular life story. His original dream was to become an architect so he applied himself to study as hard as he could. He finished high school at Bras, a São Paulo middle-class inner suburb and went into a preparatory course known as 'cursinho' for the college entrance examination. He wanted to enter Universidade de São Paulo's FAU (Faculdade de Arquitetura e Urbanismo) the best architecture school in the country. Guto took that examination in 1970 and 1971 but he failed both times. Even though he was top on the list of best achieving students in mathematics, chemistry, physics and biology - subjects considered the most difficult by everyone - when it came to testing specific artistic skills in which the candidate to enter Architeture School had to undergo - that is geometry, dimensional drawing plus bi- and tri-dimensional collage - Guto never managed to accrue enough points to enter the course. 

Feeling he had been cheated by the FAU faculty panel which decided who passed or flunked the artistic examination Guto became bitter for a while. To soothe his bruised self esteem Guto turned to his old passion: music. He had been a serious fan of British rock, especially of The Who, and as 'a dedicated follower of fashion', he started playing electric guitar. After listening to The Who, Guto had an epyphany which made him look up to British culture as the crème de la crème. Now that he was down but not completely out he decided to leave Brazil as soon as possible. He took a plane and landed in New York, in February 1972, in the middle of a snow storm - that made him shiver. I don't know how he ended up in Newark's Ironbound but that's where I met him in June 1972.

September - October 1972

I guess Nino spent a lot of his time hanging around 42nd Street, the favourite place of hustlers, drug pushers and petty criminals. It probably reminded him of the corner of Av. Ipiranda with Av. São João, in Sao Paulo. Once he told me he had seen something spetacular: a sizeable group of Black youths suddenly turned up from nowhere, entered movie theatres without paying, robbing box-offices, getting all sorts of products from nearby stores and getting away as fast as they had shown up. It would be until the late 1990s I would hear of such a mass behaviour in Brazil where it's known popularly as 'arrastão'. As you can see Americans are always ahead of us. At least 3 decades. 

Pepe had left a steady job in the West Coast - he'd worked as a night clerk at a Western Motel in  San Francisco - to move to New York to join his best friend, and I suspect to appease Nino who wanted to know NYC badly. Pepe who was an earnest young man, hit the big time when he was picked out to work as a waiter at the super-posh Four Seasons restaurant. Working in such a place meant big money for its patrons' tips were the best in town.

The Four Seasons was a New American cuisine restaurant established in 1959, it was located at 99 East 52nd Street, in the Seagram Building, a skyscraper at 375 Park Avenue, between East 52nd and 53rd Streets, in Midtown Manhattan, designed by Ludwig Mies van der Rohe and Philip Johnson. 

With seasonal fare and stunning surroundings, it attracted the city's movers and shakers, with its Midtown location making it convenient for power lunches. President Kennedy held a fundraiser there in 1962 and it quickly became an institution. Anna Wintour, Henry Kissinger, Martha Stewart, Bill Clinton, George Lois, Bill Bernbach and Jackie Kennedy were regular customers. Philip Johnson had lunch there daily at a special table in the Grill Room.

As Pepe started working as a waiter, Nino found out all about container trucks - with their back door wide open - parked between Piers 40 & 51 in the New York harbour next to the Greenwich Village where sex among men was performed with no questions asked. San Francisco had blown Nino's mind. New York had taken him one step closer to the edge. What made his double-life work so well was that he knew exactly how to behave (sweetly) to his lover and to put on a face of well-behaved young man to their friends. But deep inside I think his real self was going into a transformation he could hardly handle.

Jack Nicholson at a fund-raising party for Democratic Party presidential candidate George McGovern at the Four Seasons on 14 June 1972.

The Four Seasons restaurant where Pepe worked in 1972.

By mid-October 1972, Nino showed up at Columbia Street and said he had left Pepe. As the 2nd bed in my room was still vacant, I told him he could sleep there. We were already fast asleep when someone knocked at my door. It was Pepe. He had finished work a the posh restaurant, took a cab to Newark and spotted the house where his (former) lover was staying. 

He didn't have much trouble convincing Enriqueta to let him in in the middle of the night. He was a Spanish national like herself. Besides, his blue eyes gave him an appearance of good breeding. Besides, being a landlady in a workink men's suburb Enriqueta must have been used to her roomers coming in and out at odd hours in the night. I went back to sleep while Nino convinced Pepe to lie down in bed with him until the break of day. I don't remember how things turned out but some time later in that day Nino was back from Queens where he had accompanied Pepe and said we would have to go into hiding immediately. He had already hired a room for two on 8th Avenue not too far from 42nd Street. 

I wonder what Pepe must have done when he went back to 66 Columbia St. and realized that Nino bird had definitely flown away. He must have tried to persuade old Enriqueta to tell him where we had flown... but Enriqueta was powerless for we had left that house very quietly and got lost in the tri-state area.    

We stayed in the 8th Avenue room one week. Then, Nino found us a room in a Portuguese household on South Ferry Street. The room with a double-bed was in the attic; full of cockroaches. Nino who was strict with cleanliness went out, bought a can of insectiside, sprayed the whole place and went out to avoid breathing the deadly fumes. When we came back a few hours later we found dozens of wobbly cockies sticking to the slanted walls and many more dead ones on the floor.

Billboard's Top 5 on 25 November 1972.

1. I can see clearly now - Johnny Nash

2. I'd love you to want me - Lobo

3. I'll be around - Spinners

4. I am woman - Helen Reddy

5. Papa was a rolling stone - The Temptations

The winter of 1972-1973 crept in without my realizing it. It would be the second winter I'd spend in the USA. Nino, who had been living with Pepe (Jose) in Queens-NY since August, decided he'd had enough of living abroad and was going back to Brazil on 12 November 1972, a Sunday. He was terribly homesick and couldn't stand being apart from his family much longer. The idea of spending Christmas away from his parents and siblings was dreadful to him. I could not understand his plight, for Xmas was only another holiday to me. 

He could stay away from his family for months on end, without giving them a thought, but started missing them terribly when something went wrong. I think he was bored with his life and wanted some drastic change without much effort and decided to 'go back'. Going back is always easier than sorting oneself out.

As a matter of fact, too much had happened to Nino since he arrived in San Francisco in February 1972. He had lived too many exciting experiences in those 8 months and now he felt he had to go back to his family's bosom to sort himself out. He wasn't sure of himself anymore! 

On the other hand, being a Taurean - Nino was born on 28 April 1949 - he knew exactly what he wanted and was very practical on how to get to the point without further ado. I learned a lot from Nino during the period we interacted in San Francisco, New York and Newark. One had to build up a secure place for oneself. One had to have his own privacy protected. This was the first lesson one learned when living by himself.

I had bungled up my living arrangements when I moved into the Wilson Avenue room by being too friendly to every young man who approached the place which stood on top of a go-go bar owned by a Brazilian businessman. As I had bought a record player - at Two Guys Dept. Store on Broad Street -  young fellows started showing up in our (mine and Rodrigo's) room to listen to records. Rodrigo started working as a fac-totum in the bar's kitchen so some times I had 3 or 4 fellows hanging around - some I had never met before - listening to Grand Funk Railroad as Rod Stewart belted out 'Maggy Mae' in the juke-box downstairs. Unintentionally I had made my very bedroom a 'public space'. I'd been my worst enemy when I opened up my door to everyone. 

The go-go girls who usually arrived at 9:00 pm - to dance at the bar - changed costumes in our toilet out in the corridor. This WC served six of us Brazilian fellows that shared 2 rooms in the 1st floor. Unbeknownst to myself I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

When I told Nino what had happened he thought I'd been a fool and was adamant to teach me Life's basic rules. I had to take better care of myself. I had to rent a room by myself and be more private. I shouldn't expose myself to the elements. I had lived with my parents my whole life - I was 23 years old then - so I didn't know the basic facts of life.

The fact is that soon after Me & Nino moved into the Portuguese lady's house he made up his mind about going back to Brazil almost immediately. At first I tried to dissuade him from leaving arguing he should stay a little longer; he had not even seen the North American winter with its glorious snow but Nino wouldn't hear of it. Actually, when still living in California, Pepe had taken him to Lake Tahoe, near the Nevada border, for a weekend in the snow. 

I guess Nino was so intent in flying back to Brazil right then while he still had the means to do it; he had enough money to pay for a one-way ticket to Sao Paulo. He was afraid if he spent that money he would never have another chance to go back to South America. The funny bit is that instead of changing Nino's mind about staying in the USA he convinced me I should do the same. 

Suddenly I started thinking in that same line: I convinced myself I had been living in the USA for far too long. Actually I had been there for only one year. I put my mind to work on going back to Brazil as soon as I could. First I had to save money though for I had only been back to work a few weeks back. 

As I knew I'd soon be by myself again I started looking for new accomodation because I didn't like the house or the people in that house. Portuguese people then were really uncompromising; they lived in a materialistic world of their own. They were a brutalized people. Maybe they had lived too long under Salazar's dictatorship and lost their soul. 

Back at the record factory I made friends with a happy-go-luck  Brazilian young man from Arab extraction called Nagib Luiz. He had arrived in the US with his pregnant cousin Leila and her husband. They moved in with an aunt of theirs who had migrated in the late 1960s and was now married to an American citizen which made her a 'legal' migrant differently from most of us who did not own the universally coveted 'greeen card'. As Leila was expecting a baby, the aunt found them a flat at the Prudential Apartments which they could share with other migrants in order to save money. 

Before Nino flew back to Brazil I had already talked to Nagib about the chance of my moving in with them. Nino flew out on a Sunday afternoon, 12 November 1972, and I moved into the Sing Sing flat on Monday morning, the 13th. I would share the lounge (living room) with Nagib and Guto, the guitar player whose best friend Alberto could not adapt to the harsh realities of a poor immigrant's life and had flown back to Brazil, just like Nino did.

Guto was a different cup of tea as far as immigrants went. He had an education. He was a well informed young man who followed the British rock scene closely being a serious fan of The Who and progressive rock which was making great strides with Led Zeppelin and Yes. I knew about Yes from my San Francisco FM station period for they had a Top 10 hit called 'The roundabout' which I really liked. He told me about Monty Pyton's Flying Circus which was shown on TV then. He was the first person I ever met who knew who David Bowie was. He actually introduced me to Ziggy Stardust & the Spiders from Mars for he had the album. On Saturday or Sunday mornings Guto would go down and have breakfast at the nearby Down Neck diner and played Led Zeppelin's 'Black dog' on the juke-box. 

Guto was an excellent musician and hung around progressive rock joints in West Orange and other New Jersey towns on Friday and Saturday night.  A real gentleman among the rabble and desperados. Guto worked at a scissors' factory - I suppose it's J.Wiss & Sons factory on 33 Littleton Avenue - which one could reach driving Market Street all the way to the Court House where there is a bifurcation: Springfield Avenue to the left and West Market Street to the right. Go on straight W Market St for 8 blocks and then make a left turn to Littleton Ave and you're at the scissors' factory that only employed immigrants who showed them their Green Card. Guto was so good at maths that after taking a test at the factory office he started working at their metal lathe almost immediately and wasn't asked to show his Green Card.

Guto worked in the morning; me & Nagib in the evening so we hardly ever had a chance to interact during the week but we made up for on weekends. Guto had a Brazilian acquaintance who had migrated with his family from Pará while still a child so he could speak English fluently and had a big car. On a freezing early December Saturday morning we jumped into his big car and went on a day-trip to Philadelphia-PA. It could have been either the 3rd or 10th of December. I brought my camera along so I still have pictures taken during this car trip to  Pennsylvania. We went to see the Liberty bell, visited the historical centre, saw a lot of Benjamin Franklin's countenances everywhere and almost froze to death for it was a cloudy, gloomy and freezing Saturday. Next time I saw Philly it would be 5 years later, in 1977, watching Sylvester Stallone's 'Rocky' on the wide screen.

On 23rd December, a Saturday, exactly two days before Christmas 1972, Guto, Nagib and I went to see Grand Funk Railroad in concert at the Madison Square Garden, a multi-purpose indoor arena in New York City, located in Midtown Manhattan between 7th and 8th Avenues from 31st to 33rd Streets, it is situated atop Pennsylvania Station.

Ever since the Concert for Bangladesh organized by George Harrison & Ravi Shankar with Bob Dylan, Leon Russell, Ringo Starr, Badfinger, Eric Clapton & Billy Preston which took place at the Garden on 1st August 1971, exactly 2 months before I arrived in the USA, I revered the place so I was really happy to be able to enter that arena even if it was to see Grand Frunk Railroad which was not exactly my cup of tea. I had first heard about this heavy-rock trio (sometimes a foursome) from Guinho, a Santo André-SP young man who started sharing our bedroom (mine and Rodrigo's) on top of that go-go bar on Wilson Avenue in late 1971. He was a great fan of the band and showed their album in which they covered the Rolling Stones' 'Gimme shelter'. 

Guto, Nagib and I got grandstand seats. I was actually astounded when Grand Funk took to the stage and the whole arena seemed to take off due to the dazzling lighting applied to the stage that looked more like a boxing-match rink faraway in the distance. Their entrance was actually the hightlight of the show which was professionally perfect but not very moving. They played for less than an hour, did an encore and that's all she wrote. Suddenly we were at the 33rd Street Path station taking our train back to Newark, N.J. as if nothing had happened. Not any wiser or richer for the experience. I wonder what would have been like being at the Garden when the Concert for Bangladesh took place 16 months before. I would have chosen the afternoon session instead of the night performance.

Two or three weeks later would be Christmas 1972. I couldn't believe it would be my 2nd Christmas in the USA.

The next day being a Sunday and Christmas Eve, I spent it listening to the radio and taping the best selling songs of 1972. At night, Guto, Nagib and I went to the Midnight Mass at Saint Aloysius church on 66 Fleming Avenue, the next block from Sing Sing. The only thing I remember from that religious service is the singing of 'Stille Nacht' (Silent night) by the congregation. 

We worked only 4 days in the last week of 1972. I stayed home on Saturday and Sunday listening to reviewing of the most popular songs of 1972 on WABC and Casey Kasem on WPIX. On New Year's Eve we took the Path train and waited for 1973 at Times Square. I don't remember whether I went by myself or Guto, Nagib or Damazio went along. I only remember that particular night because I witnessed a stabbing just in front of me. I didn't actually see the stabbing. I only saw a man wielding a knife running breathlessly after another man. And that was our goodbye to the wonderful year of 1972, the most exciting year of my whole life. 

It's wierd, but that was the second stabbing I witnessed in less than 6 months. While I was still living on 66 Columbia Street, in the last days of summer, after midnight when I came from work, I heard Puertorican people shouting from a house in the opposite side of the street. I went to the window and noticed that a man had been stabbed. The police came afterwards.

66 Columbia Street is the 2-story house in the middle. 

Enriqueta's house seen from a diffent angle. The building on the left used to be a warehouse. She had a trelissed-vine at the back of the house (where you see a parked car).

63 Columbia Street just opposite Enriqueta's house, where I boarded briefly in 1975.

Columbia Street as seen from the corner with Green Street. The apartament building on the left used to be a warehouse. Hispanic kids used to roam the area in the early 1970s smashing bottles on the ground and scattering rubbish everywhere. A pretty rough and ugly area. 

34 Columbia St. - the last standing house on the street after the Council erased large chunks of the area for 

the whole picture of the destruction of 30 & 32 Columbia St. 2 houses next to the corner of Lafayette Street. 

the bulldozer that wrecked 2 whole houses to the ground leaving only the stoop next-door to 34 Columbia Street. Photo taken by Google in August 2019.

CAT bulldozer stands alone in the lot from which it wrecked two houses; corner of Columbia and Lafayette.

here are the 2 houses before being demolished by the Council: 30 & 32 Columbia Street.

the 3 story-house on the opposite side of Columbia St. next to Lafayette St. was also raised to the ground circa 2015.

Columbia St. as seen from the corner with Lafayette St. circa 2015, before the great demolition.

Lafayette St. corner with Columbia St. looking down to McCarter Highway and the railway tracks.

Prudential Center on 25 Lafayette St. aka 165 Mulberry St. opened on 25 October 2007 with National Newark & Essex Banking Co. building and Raymond Commerce Bldg in the middle of the picture. 

Columbia Street past Lafayette St. looking towards newly-built Prudential Center (on the left) the 2 classical Newark skyscrapers (left background) plus the Gateway Complex (on the right) and Penn Station Hilton Hotel.

Central Rail Road New Jersey map, showing Columbia Street in 1873, exactly 100 years before I lived in it. Note that there was NO McCarter Highway anywhere to be seen. The rail road ran along Hamilton Street with a Station at Mulberry Street. 

Tom Margittai, right, with his business partner Paul Kovi in the Four Seasons restaurant in an undated photograph. The restaurant was considered to be past its prime when the two bought it in 1973, but they rejuvenated it.

Tom Margittai, who revitalized the Four Seasons, dies at 90

By Sam Roberts

27 November 2018

Tom Margittai, who with a partner rejuvenated the Four Seasons restaurant from autumnal senescence into a majestic — and, for the first time, profitable — three-star magnet for Manhattan’s power brokers, died on Friday in Santa Fe, N.M. He was 90.

The cause was complications of heart surgery, Richard Tang, his spouse and only immediate survivor, said.

Mr. Margittai (pronounced mar-gih-TIE) arrived in New York in 1950, having been narrowly delivered from the grip of the Nazis during World War II. He and his parents had been among 1,600 Jews rescued by Rudolf Kastner, a Hungarian lawyer and journalist, who had bribed the Germans to smuggle them by train from Hungary to Switzerland instead of transporting them to the Auschwitz concentration camp in German-occupied Poland.

Mr. Margittai began his catering career as a dishwasher at the Waldorf Astoria. He joined the culinary conglomerate Restaurant Associates in 1962 and worked his way up to vice president for the company’s upscale outlets.

Joseph Baum of Restaurant Associates had created the Four Seasons on the ground floor of the Seagram Building, on Park Avenue and East 52nd Street, in 1959, but by 1973 it was considered to be past its prime. Restaurant Associates, by then overextended, was glad to unload the lease when Mr. Margittai and Paul Kovi offered to buy it.

In a campaign conceived by the advertising impresario George Lois, the partners promoted the restaurant with a personal stamp. They published an “Annual Love Letter to New Yorkers” and signed it, convivially, “From the-two-of-us.”

By 1977, Mr. Margittai and Mr. Kovi had so revolutionized the restaurant that the book publisher Michael Korda proclaimed in The New York Times that its formerly forsaken bar, later called the Grill Room, had become “the most powerful place to eat lunch in town,” a dominion that Lee Eisenberg of Esquire magazine later immortalized by calling the Four Seasons the home of the “power lunch.”

The new owners recruited Seppi Renggli, a versatile Swiss chef; Alex von Bidder, a young Swiss hotel manager; and Julian Niccolini, an experienced Tuscan hotelier.

“If it wasn’t for Tom Margittai,” Mr. Niccolini said in a phone interview, “the American cuisine the way we know it today would not exist.”

The partners modernized the menu, introducing healthful “spa cuisine” and other culinary innovations, like a baked potato served with its own bottle of Lungarotti olive oil. The Times restaurant critic Mimi Sheraton awarded the Four Seasons two stars in 1979; a later Times critic, Bryan Miller, added a third in 1985.

Mr. Margittai and Mr. Kovi viewed their mission as twofold. They were not merely pleasing palates; they were also feeding egos.

“Nobody pays $9.75 to have the world’s best baked potato,” Ruth Reichl wrote in The Times in 1995, referring to that off-menu favorite, which would cost about $16 in today’s dollars. “People pay for the privilege of eating it in the world’s most powerful company.”

The Pool Room of the Four Seasons in 1988. Mr. Margittai and Mr. Kovi successfully lobbied to have the restaurant’s interior, designed by Philip Johnson, declared a city landmark in 1989.

In the mid-1970s, when others saw a crime-ridden and fiscally unsound city on the brink, Mr. Margittai and Mr. Kovi saw an opportunity — to lure those they called New York’s “doers” to their establishment.

“We’re not a jet-set restaurant — and we never will be,” Mr. Margittai told The Times in 1984. “We don’t get semiretired chairmen of the board. They go to ‘21.’ We don’t get fashion people or the fast-lane crowd. Fashion designers come, but not the people who wear their clothes. We get hard workers, achievers — the editors, the publishers, the architects.”

The partners also cared about what they had created.

Defying the building’s owners, they successfully lobbied to have the restaurant’s original interior, designed by Philip Johnson, declared a city landmark in 1989.

In 1994 they passed the toque to their two junior partners, Mr. von Bidder and Mr. Niccolini, who continued to run the restaurant in the Seagram Building until their lease expired in 2016 and the building’s new owners replaced them. Three months ago, Mr. von Bidder and Mr. Niccolini opened a new Four Seasons at 42 East 49th Street.

Thomas George Margittai was born on 8 April 1928, in Sighet, Transylvania — its jurisdiction shifted over the years between Romania and Hungary — to Bela Margittai and Piroszca (Scheiner) Margittai. His father owned a lumber mill.

The family lived in Bucharest, Romania, until Tom was about 10, then moved to Budapest. In 1944, when the Germans invaded, the family seemed destined for extermination, but they escaped in late June on what became known as the Kastner Train, an exodus on 35 cattle cars that Adolf Eichmann of the SS had agreed to in exchange for gold, gems and cash.

The train was diverted by the German authorities to the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp, where the refugees were held for several months before most of them were transported to Switzerland by December. The family emigrated to what would become Israel before Tom Margittai moved to New York.

There he would become banquet manager at the Sherry-Netherland Hotel. In 1956, Mr. Kovi, who was born in Hungary, was named his assistant.

After a hiatus at the Mark Hopkins Hotel in San Francisco, Mr. Margittai returned to New York in 1962 and became a vice-president of Restaurant Associates; by then Mr. Kovi had been running several high-end establishments for the conglomerate. They became directors of the Four Seasons in 1968.

In 1972, Mr. Margittai was mulling an offer to run the Playboy Clubs, but the chef and cookbook author James Beard, a friend, suggested buying the Four Seasons instead. Restaurant Associates, which had overexpanded, demanded $230,000 and insisted that Mr. Margittai and Mr. Kovi also acquire the nearly defunct Forum of the Twelve Caesars, on West 48th Street.

The partners put $15,000 down, closed the Forum and resuscitated a restaurant that, John Mariani wrote in “The Four Seasons: A History of America’s Premier Restaurant” (1994), was “losing its soul, its personality and its allure.”

After the partners retired, Mr. Kovi divided his time between New York and Budapest; he died in 1998, at 74. Mr. Margittai, who won a James Beard Foundation Award in 1985, retired to Santa Fe with Mr. Tang, a jewelry designer and artist.

In 2017, new partners opened the Pool and the Grill at the original site of the Four Seasons. As the culinary axis was about to shift, Paul Freedman assessed the fate of the original space in his 2016 book, “Ten Restaurants That Changed America.”

“The scene of so many deals is now doomed by a transaction it can’t control and the insatiable appetite of the real-estate industry,” he wrote. “A restaurant that survived and even flourished in the dark years of New York City’s decline may be extinguished by prosperity.”