An Ethnic Kaleidoscope : Witness to Waves of Immigrants, Historic Mulberry Street’s Only Constant Is Change

The little church on Mulberry Street has seen it all.

Once, Irish immigrants dominated the cobble-stoned road snaking its way through lower Manhattan. They built St. Patrick’s Cathedral in 1809 and made it their spiritual home.

Until the Italians came. Thousands of them, speaking a new language and insisting on church services in their own tongue. By 1900, most of the Irish had left Mulberry Street and St. Patrick’s became a landmark in the bustling Little Italy district.

Until the Chinese came. Thousands of them, buying up land in nearby Chinatown, moving to Mulberry Street and putting down roots in the old neighborhood. Their children began attending St. Patrick’s day school in the 1970s, and the playground echoed with Asian dialects.

Until the Dominicans came. Thousands of them, immigrating to New York and becoming the city’s largest group of foreign-born people in the 1990s. Many families moved into Mulberry Street apartments and today most students at St. Patrick’s are Dominican.

“What’s next? I couldn’t begin to imagine,” says Gene Miller, a Native American in his 50s and a building superintendent who watches the passing scene from an old brick stoop. “I’ve been on this street for more than 20 years and it’s always changing. Lots of very different people.”

For the most part, they get along. But they also get under each other’s skin. It’s a familiar story in New York, Los Angeles and other ports of entry: The first wave of foreigners settle an area, move up in the world professionally and give way to succeeding waves.

Gradually, the neighborhood changes. But its role as a magnet for newcomers does not. In the nation’s largest city, no street better reflects this immigrant hurly-burly than Mulberry. As he swats flies in the noonday sun, Miller points to some of the remaining Italian shops and says a few of the owners are living in the past. For them, change is hard to accept.

“I don’t want to name any nationalities, but this place was cleaner when Italians still lived here,” declares Louis Rossi, a shopkeeper in his 80s who observes traffic flowing by his novelty store. “I saw a big dead rat in the street yesterday. You didn’t used to see that.”

Rossi’s customers nod approvingly, but then he concedes that business is changing. The big-shot tourists from Los Angeles and Chicago who used to drop money in Little Italy don’t come around much anymore. He’s only had one big sale recently--to Puerto Ricans.

“It was for their independence day. I sold ‘em a couple dozen flags and they keep coming back for more,” Rossi says. “Everybody’s different. You gotta get along.”

Even if it means watching the old neighborhood slip away.

A few blocks down, Phyllis Lazzeri puts the finishing touches on a sausage and braciola stand that her family has operated on Mulberry Street for years. It’s all part of the Festival of San Gennaro, one of Little Italy’s prime tourist attractions. Tonight, visitors will pack the streets. But on other nights, she says, the Italian flavor is all but gone.

“The Chinese have really taken over Mulberry Street,” Lazzeri says. “I grew up on this street, and today it’s pretty much a tourist attraction. You have the famous Italian restaurants, but the people who really live here now are the Chinese. It’s makes you sad.”

To Miller, it’s part of the passing parade. He notes that local merchants formed groups in the 1970s to preserve the community’s Italian character. With a little more pizazz, they thought, the old excitement might return.

It’s been a lost cause.

Across the street, Sam Liu works at his mother’s dry cleaners. The 20ish young man shrugs off the neighborhood changes. Nowadays, most Italians operate restaurants in Little Italy and go home at night, he says. Their historic community ties are dissolving.

“The real story here is that the Chinese population here has been exploding,” Liu says. “And if you think the numbers are big now, just wait until Hong Kong shuts down in 1997. There’s no more room in Chinatown, and so this neighborhood will feel the pressure.”

When Chinese first arrived en masse on Mulberry Street in the mid 1960s, there was occasional friction with some Italian-Americans. Mainly, it involved real estate disputes and one group replacing another. Now Liu talks like an old-timer, grumbling about crime, even though he has worked on the street less than three years.

“It’s a nice street to do business, Mulberry is, but sometimes it gets depressing,” he says. “We’ve got bums coming over here from the Bowery three blocks away. And when they try to get us to clean their clothes, with the way they smell, I’m sorry. I have to say no.”

Sometimes, neighbors help each other. Although Italians and Chinese rarely socialize, saleswoman Szi-Szi Eng is grateful for at least one Mulberry Street remnant.

“When Mr. John Gotti still had his offices up the block, things were peaceful around here,” she says with a grin, referring to the jailed Mafia godfather. “He had tough guys stationed outside and nobody would dare hassle you when they were around. Now that he’s gone, I’m more careful at night.”

The street is full of surprises. Early Irish settlers thought they controlled Mulberry, but then Italians clashed with them over what it meant to be an American. It all came down to religion: The Irish insisted that church services be in English, but Italians wanted to use their own language and they eventually prevailed after petitioning the Vatican for relief.

On this street, bilingual battles started early. Now, Miller, says, it’s ancient history:

“They (Italians) always thought this place was their legacy, but the old-timers started dying and their kids don’t want to live here. The Chinese wanted the property more and they had the cash to buy it. In this country, everything’s a deal. It has nothing to do with sentiment.”

Along time ago, Mulberry Street was nothing but emotion. By 1900, it was the sight of touching reunions for immigrant families who had been separated for years. Those who reached America first waited on the old street, straining for a glimpse of relatives who were walking up from the docks to join them in their new home.

It was one of America’s worst slums, jammed with filthy tenements where immigrants sometimes lived 10 or 12 to a room. In his landmark book, “How the Other Half Lives,” journalist Jacob Riis called the Mulberry district “the foul core” of New York’s urban blight, its housing and public services “the vilest and worst to be found anywhere.”

Today it’s reasonably neat and quiet. Those who live here go about their business and the mood seems calm. Yet Mulberry Street still churns with immigrant passions.

Down the block, a Chinese shopkeeper says he welcomes tonight’s San Gennaro Festival, but fears some Italian teen-agers will get too rowdy. A tourist walks by wearing a red, white and blue T-shirt that reads: “Welcome to America. Now Learn English.” As he rummages in the back of his store, Louis Rossi digs out a handful of Puerto Rican flags. Just in case.

It’s another day on Mulberry Street, and Miller waves hello to friends passing by.

“I try to see this as a Native American, and you know we generally keep to ourselves in this city,” he says. “Down here, people get along as well as anywhere else. They’re not always the best of friends. But so what? The point is, they live side by side.”

Swatting another fly, the oracle of Mulberry Street can’t resist a parting shot. Like old St. Patrick’s Cathedral, he’s seen a lot.

“You forgot to ask me about the Indians, and what we think about this,” Miller quips. “I do remember that we once sold this island to white men for $24. But we wouldn’t take it back from you now. You guys have really screwed it up. You can have it.”