It was already nearing 3 o’clock in the afternoon when I arrived at the corner of Grand and Chrystie. The afternoon sun still shone bright upon the clear, blue sky. All around, the markets of Chinatown emitted a vibrant spirit that somehow never seemed to fade. After a few minutes, my feet had guided me to Hester Street. As I walked further down, my surroundings began to change. There were less and less food stalls, and more and more restaurants. The store awnings seized to read Chinese characters, and soon were completely replaced by Italian words. I stopped, and found myself standing in the corner of Mulberry Street. Surrounded by dozens of white people, I now became the outsider.
Left and right, people were enjoying the great weather as they dined outside. I could not help but question the authenticity of these Italian restaurants. Do they still really serve Italian food? Do they even speak Italian? Why are there so many Hispanic workers? It was difficult for me to imagine what Little Italy was a century ago, but I certainly that it was not like this. The only feature that remained unchanged were the tenement buildings resting on top of the restaurants. These were the homes of the first Italian immigrants settling in New York City in the late 1800s. Surprisingly, the tenements still maintained their original façade with very little damage. Most of the buildings were made out of reddish bricks, each a maximum of five stories. Facing onto the street, the fire escapes still hang above the ground floor, serving more as an aesthetic than an emergency exit.
Focusing my eyes back to the street level, I began to walk past the seated diners. It was evident that most of them were tourists. The only New Yorkers on the block were the ones who were walking in a hurried pace. However, it was more to differentiate the real Italians in the neighborhood. The first few people whom I approached were either non-Italians or newcomers. Eventually, I came upon a restaurant called Il Palazzo. In front was an old man, with a full head of white hair. He was leaning upon a menu stand. He did not seem too busy, so I went up to him.
“Hello, I’m doing a school project on Little Italy. Are you interested in being interviewed?,” I asked unconfidently.
Beaming, the old man replied with a thick Italian accent, “YES! Of course! What do you want to know?”
And so the conversation started.
“Well, how long have you been in Little Italy? And how has it changed?”
“I came here in 1964. Big change! I worked here [points to the Il Palazzo] first. And then I worked over down Mulberry, Mott Street… I worked all over! Back then it was old fashioned. Most of the stores were street carts! Have you watched the Godfather?”
I nodded.
“Yes, we sold wine and cheese from carts. In ’75, Chinese move in and Italians move out. Then neighborhood changed. It’s all tourists. A lot of Italians moved to Brooklyn, New Jersey, Staten Island. I moved to Brooklyn with my wife. Where are you from?”
“Staten Island.”
“Ah, so you know. Italians move to Brooklyn, Chinese follow us. My block – all Chinese people. But I have respect for them. Real immigrants have dream, the American dream. It’s tough, but it’s possible. They [Chinese] work hard. My wife taught at a Catholic school. All my kids went to private school. It’s very expensive, but religion is important. You learn values. You leave school, but religion is still with you. It’s sad how they’re closing down. Private schools all over the city – gone – because of no money.”
I thanked the old man and shook his hand. But before I left, I asked, “What is your name?”
In a deep, thick Italian accent, he shouts, “GIOVANNI!”
I laughed, snapped a picture, and parted ways.
Crossing the street to Grand, I decided to explore a corner store. From afar, I thought it was a deli. Once inside, I was greeted with an assortment of cheese stacked on multiple racks and behind the glass. I made my way towards the back of the store where two men were conversing by the counter. Seeing me approach, one of them asked if he could help me.
“Oh, I’m just here to do a school project. Can I interview you?” I said more confidently this time.
“Yeah, I can help you get an A.,” the man said jokingly.
We both chuckled.
“Okay, so how long have you been in Little Italy? And how do you think it has changed?”
“I’ve been here for 35 years. Little Italy is smaller, but not much has changed. I mean, nowadays you have to be millionaire to live here. Most of the original Italian families have moved out, but they come back. Every holiday and Sunday they come back, and they bring their kids and grandkids with them. They show them around and stuff. The tourists are the ones that keeps the neighborhood alive mostly.”
“So how did you end up here?”
“My great, great grandfather created this store. I’m the fourth generation to own this business. It’s the oldest cheese place in America – 122 years. This actually used to be a bar. We moved here from next door. Back the there was no refrigerator. Imagine they see all of this. They’d be amazed to see the invention of refrigeration.”
“How do you feel about the path Little Italy is going? Are you worried?”
“I mean, I think it’s great… to see shoppers, to see people my age coming in with their sons and grandsons. You know, all of the tiles and ceiling are original.”
I looked around. “Wow, they still look great.”
“Yeah, we make sure to take good care of the place.”
“Well, thank you for everything. What’s your name again?”
“My name is Bob. Bob Alleva, like the name of the store.”
I walk out onto the street. Immediately, I thought about how interesting it was to have two opposing perspectives of the changes going on in Little Italy. The more I thought about it, the more it started to make sense. The opinions of Giovanni and Bob differed because of one reason, and that is because each had arrived in different times of the 20th century. Giovanni came here in 1964 while Bob came here 35 years ago, which was around 1979. According to Giovanni, this was around the same time when Little Italy started to change. Therefore it makes sense when Bob said that there has not been a lot of change because Little Italy already has changed.
The afternoon sun began to set, and the blue sky started to develop a yellow-orange hue. I walked around the block to Mott Street. I remembered what Giovanni said about once working here. The block was clearly not part of Little Italy anymore; it now belonged to Chinatown. Right then, I thought about the New York Post article that made me choose to Little Italy for this project. What it said was true. Little Italy barely covered three blocks.
I headed back to Mulberry Street, but this time I turned the other way. I came across another man standing in front of a fancy-looking restaurant. All suited-up in front of a restaurant with a wooden exterior, he looked up and down the street for potential customers.
Hesitantly I asked, “Hello, do you mind if I interview you for a school project?”
“Yeah, sure. What do you want to know?”
“Anything you want to say.”
“Okay. This is Il Cortile, which means The Courtyard. Established in 1975. Behind the restaurant, there’s little courtyard. You’re more than welcome to go inside and see it. But c’mon, let’s cross the street. I’ll tell you a cool story.”
We walked across the street.
He points at a name located on top of the restaurant building. “You see that? It says ‘Anna Espositio.’ That’s my great, great grandma. She had 23 kids.”
“WHAT? Whoa, 23!?”
“Yep. My name is Sal Esposito.”
“So, Sal. How do feel about the changes in Little Italy?”
“You know, changes are happening. There are plenty of stores for rent. You see this building behind us? We used to own this building, too. Neighborhood is changing. Little Italy is only two and half-blocks. Now, there’s this new neighborhood called Nolita, short for North of Little Italy. That’s where all the yuppies and younger people start to move in. Rent is going up because the wealthy is around us. They’re closing in more and more. New money is buying old buildings. They’re buying the little guys. The rent used to be 7k. Now they raise it to 17k. How can you expect people to pay?”
“Yeah, that’s a high price.”
“But you know what will end up happenin’? These stores of rent…they’ll end up being owned by an Italian. So everything stays Italian no matter what. There was this recent article in the New York Post about Little Italy becoming extinct.”
“Yeah, I read it actually!”
“They got it wrong. Little Italy is nowhere near extinction. They just did that for publicity, for money. Bam! Front page of the NY Post. You know, what people are saying about Little Italy… it’s not bad news. It’s just a bad story.”
“Wow, you’re right…By the way, can I take a picture of you in front of the restaurant?”
“Yeah, sure. Just make sure you can see the name of the restaurant.”
After I shook his hand, he gave me his business card for reference.
It was already past 6PM when I finished my last interview. The three hours I spent in Little Italy has left me brimming with satisfaction. Hearing the stories of the three men has given me a new hope for this New York neighborhood. Although very small in comparison to the neighboring Chinatown, it still thrives. It is still filled with a rich history, which can be found in the lives of its inhabitant and the bricks of its buildings. People, such as the men whom I met, are the very reason why Little Italy will continue to prosper for many more years. The foundation of Little Italy is based on the American Dream, and just as long as this dream never dies, this neighborhood too shall never die.
