August 4, 2025

132 Clinton Place, that’s the address listed on the ship manifest as their final destination. My grandfather’s brother Vincenzo’s place, they would stay there until at least 1930. Vincenzo is never listed on the census, and I don’t have any recollection of him (even in stories). By the 30’s there were four children in the house and they eventually move to White Plains.
On google maps, the location is not correct, the address no longer exists. There’s 120, then 129, then no structures until the street ends. A man named José owns 129, he bought the building eight months ago. It’s a converted warehouse, huge metal i-beams open the floor plan, and high ceilings—it would make great artist’s studio (my wife would be in heaven). José’s business is milling wood and steel. I count about a half dozen people working there. There’s a 1940’s roadster in pieces in the corner; José loves vintage cars.
I tell him I’m looking for my grand parent’s first home in the US, 100 years ago. “One-hundred years, it must have been rough back then.” He’s intrigued by my search and appreciates the desire to reconnect. We talk for almost an hour. We decide the house must have been in the empty lot next door. His building was erected in 1920.
José lived in Manhattan for many years, but recently relocated to Yonkers. We talk about immigration waves, economic opportunity, and the drive to seek a better life for your family. The Irish and Italians came here in large numbers to fill manufacturing jobs in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Before the Immigration Act of 1924, you didn’t need papers, people just came and worked.
With opportunity and education, generations moved away, and as the Bronx became a less desirable borough in the 1960’s, the demographics shifted. Yonkers is now majority Latino and there’s little evidence in the downtown area that Italians ever lived there. I found a couple of pizza places and a Fiat, but nowhere to get a good cappuccino in the morning, I’m still looking.