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Snackshot of the Day: Hoboken's Clam Broth House

Snackshot of the Day: Hoboken's Clam Broth House



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Welcome to The Daily Meal's new daily photo feature: Snackshot of the Day. The Daily Meal's editors, contributors, and readers dig into some pretty great restaurants, festivals, and meals. There's not always enough time to give a full review of a restaurant or describe in depth why a place, its food, and the people who prepare it are noteworthy, so this new feature is going to do what photographs do best, rely on the photos to do the talking.

From here on out, we'll be featuring a new food- or drink-related photo every day. We won't always feature food; wine, beer, cocktails, coffee, everything's on the offer. Sometimes the image will be of food, sometimes it will be of people behind the food, sometimes just related to food. Sometimes there will be a brief story or note by way of explanation; sometimes the images will do all the talking. Expect glazed donuts from cult favorites like the Doughnut Vault in Chicago, giant oysters from Drake's Bay outside San Francisco, delivery vans, menus, food vanity license plates, or as in the case today, restaurant signs.

Photos featured will start with those taken by The Daily Meal's editors and contributors, including the Culinary Content Network, but we'd love to feature reader-submitted photos, too. Think you've taken a great food photo that deserves to be featured? Send an email to The Daily Meal's photo editor, Jane Bruce, with a caption and credit, with the email subject line "Snackshots" and we just may feature it.

Today's photo was taken recently on the corner of River and Newark Streets in Hoboken, N.J. It's an old sign for the Clam Broth House, a restaurant said to have originally been founded in 1899. The Clam Broth House closed mid last decade due to structural issues, but was reopened in 2010, only to close again and be replaced by a restaurant called Biggie's Clam Bar. So the original restaurant didn't make it, and who knows how much longer the sign will keep up the good fight, but for now, it's a beautiful, if crumbling, reminder of some of the great restaurant advertising of days past. They don't make 'em like they used to, huh?

To submit your own photo, email jbruce[at]thedailymeal.com, subject line "Snackshots."

Arthur Bovino is The Daily Meal's executive editor. Follow Arthur on Twitter.


On the Waterfront’ Returns to Hoboken

HOBOKEN, May 23—They had come to look at Hoboken 20 years after, and soon one of the celebrated visitors was exclaiming:

“They've torn down all of River Street — the whole damned thing!”

Twenty years ago, when River and adjacent waterfront streets were teeming with sailors, longshoremen and girls frequenting 40 bars, Hollywood descended on Hoboken for nine weeks to film “On the Waterfront” with Marlon Brando.

Elia Kazan, the director, and Budd Schulberg, who wrote the screenplay—both winning Oscars — returned last night for a nostalgic night on the town 20 years later.

They were guests of the Hoboken Model Cities agency, which is rehabilitating thousand old buildings as part of a major effort to shore up a town whose port and general economy have been on the decline.

Right after dinner at the Clam Broth House, Mr. Kazan set off on foot for the nearby, dock area where he had filmed the story of waterfront violence and crime. On a pier with the towers of Manhattan across the river forming a backdrop, he recalled that the Hoboken waterfront of 1953 had a much cruder, even 19th‐century, look.

But what impressed him most was the disappearance of River Street. Three solid blocks between River and Hudson Streets have been razed to form the site for three 25‐story apartment buildings of 830 units whose $300 to $350 rents, it is hoped, will attract some middle‐income tenants from New York.

Although Hoboken still has a number of handsome stoneand‐brick mansions built by shipping magnates around the turn of the century, its peak as a port in the greater New York harbor is past. A dozen years ago, the Holland‐America Line shifted its trans‐Atlantic terminal to Manhattan, and the wharf it used and where Mr. Kazan filmed some scenes — the Fifth Street Pier — is a shambles today.

But Mr. Schulberg, who was also poking around the port area, made a happy discovery. He said that a barge with a little shack on it, tied up to a pier, was the same one used in the movie as the office of the pier gang boss, who was played by Lee J. Cobb.

Mr. Schulberg was accompanied by the actress Geraldine Brooks, who is his wife. They visited the stand‐up beer and clam bar of the Clam Broth House, which until recently was an all‐male sanctuary.

Meanwhile, Mr. Kazan, a short, gray‐haired man, was wandering in another direction until he found the alley where “they did in Rod Steiger” in the film. In fact, Mr. Kazan was so intent on going over the old ground that his hosts—and the Hoboken police who were to escort him — lost him for half an hour.

He arrived a bit late at the high school auditorium to join Mr. Schulberg to speak to a group of 400 who had paid $2.50 to see a 16‐mm. print (with difficult sound) of “On the Waterfront.”

Marlon Brando was not in town, but the Hoboken longshoreman on whose life his role was based got an ovation from the crowd. He is Anthony (Tony Mike) de Vincenzo, now 63 years old, and he had collected more than $25,000 in an out‐of‐the‐court settlement after charging invasion of privacy.

Mr. de Vincenzo, who stood up against the threats of the gang goons and aided in the break‐up of the crime‐ridden system of hiring men, said with a laugh: “I was proud to be a rat. The men I fought are dead and buried and God bless them, but Tony Mike is alive.”

Comparing conditions of the pier workers then and today, he summed up for the crowd: “We had to struggle. Today they live like kings and queens.

Mr. Kazan and Mr. Schulberg were given lethal‐looking cargo hooks in lieu of keys to Hoboken, and neither seemed to show any hard feeling toward “Tony Mike,” who was with them on the high school stage.

Mr. Schulberg, sporting a graying goatee and his Dartmouth sports jacket, said, that “yes, in a way” he had been threatened while making the picture because at the time “things were very hot around the harbor” insofar as crime and mob violence were concerned.

Mr. Kazan was more explicit about those filming days: “A couple of guys tried to rough me up. But it sounds like I'm crabbing so I won't talk about it.”

To the audience, including many young people, he put a question: “Anything like the film still going on in Hoboken?”

He stirred up a lot of “ohhhs” and “ahhhs” with that one. Only last week, Big Bill Murphy, a prominent longshoreman's association official, was attacked by masked men on Washington Street, the main street, and shot several times while waiting in his car for a red light. He was released from the hospital this week.

But much of the waterfront bustle that made Hoboken an ideal setting for the film is now gone. The Todd Shipyards closed in 1965, and Hoboken, cramped into 1.3 square miles, does not have the space for a major installation to handle container ships, local officials say.

Figures on hirings of longshoremen tell the story. Fifteen years ago there were 419,555 hirings on the Ho boken docks in one year—nearly 9 per cent of the hirings in the entire Port of New York. In 1972 the total had dropped to 130,000, less than 5 per cent of the total.

The glory days of preWorld War I prosperity and the brash days of booze and craps on a wide‐open waterfront may not return. Yet Hoboken, with its long, straight streets of still‐solid brick homes — many very handsome — and with its antique Erie‐Lackawanna passenger terminal and with an assortment of quaint, vintage bars, has a charm not found elsewhere in the metropolitan area.

The big port activity on the Jersey side of the harbor is now at Newark and Port Elizabeth, which have huge container‐handling facilities. With the loss of port activity, Hoboken's population has changed drastically.

There has been a major influx of Puerto Ricans and other Hispanic groups. They now constitute close to half of the total population of 45,000, according to Mayorelect Steve Cappiello, a former police sergeant and Councilman. But Italians dominate politically.

Hoboken is still a town where people sit at night on the benches outside the old City Hall. But street crime is up, and a rash of disturbances in the Hispanic section in the summers of 1970 and 1971, including windowsmashing and bottle ‐throwing, helped Mr. Cappiello's law ‐and ‐order campaign under the slogan: “Your Safety and Future Our Concern.”

It still has a considerable port activity, a number of industries ranging from propeller‐building to coffee‐roasting, and plans for some waterfront office buildings.

Hoboken has hopes for a turnaround, that its charm and closeness to New York will indeed attract Manhattanites. Some have already moved over and refurbished brownstone homes. Of course, many thousands of commuters simply pass briefly through the ancient rail station every day to and from New York.

Last night's nostalgic evening ended close to the waterfront at an official reception in the vintage Grand Hotel and Bar where the tile floors, paneling and wall paintings evoke days of nickel beer and free lunch. Mr. and Mrs. Schulberg, Mr. Kazan and “Ibny Mike” were all in the throng that was served beer from big pitchers.


On the Waterfront’ Returns to Hoboken

HOBOKEN, May 23—They had come to look at Hoboken 20 years after, and soon one of the celebrated visitors was exclaiming:

“They've torn down all of River Street — the whole damned thing!”

Twenty years ago, when River and adjacent waterfront streets were teeming with sailors, longshoremen and girls frequenting 40 bars, Hollywood descended on Hoboken for nine weeks to film “On the Waterfront” with Marlon Brando.

Elia Kazan, the director, and Budd Schulberg, who wrote the screenplay—both winning Oscars — returned last night for a nostalgic night on the town 20 years later.

They were guests of the Hoboken Model Cities agency, which is rehabilitating thousand old buildings as part of a major effort to shore up a town whose port and general economy have been on the decline.

Right after dinner at the Clam Broth House, Mr. Kazan set off on foot for the nearby, dock area where he had filmed the story of waterfront violence and crime. On a pier with the towers of Manhattan across the river forming a backdrop, he recalled that the Hoboken waterfront of 1953 had a much cruder, even 19th‐century, look.

But what impressed him most was the disappearance of River Street. Three solid blocks between River and Hudson Streets have been razed to form the site for three 25‐story apartment buildings of 830 units whose $300 to $350 rents, it is hoped, will attract some middle‐income tenants from New York.

Although Hoboken still has a number of handsome stoneand‐brick mansions built by shipping magnates around the turn of the century, its peak as a port in the greater New York harbor is past. A dozen years ago, the Holland‐America Line shifted its trans‐Atlantic terminal to Manhattan, and the wharf it used and where Mr. Kazan filmed some scenes — the Fifth Street Pier — is a shambles today.

But Mr. Schulberg, who was also poking around the port area, made a happy discovery. He said that a barge with a little shack on it, tied up to a pier, was the same one used in the movie as the office of the pier gang boss, who was played by Lee J. Cobb.

Mr. Schulberg was accompanied by the actress Geraldine Brooks, who is his wife. They visited the stand‐up beer and clam bar of the Clam Broth House, which until recently was an all‐male sanctuary.

Meanwhile, Mr. Kazan, a short, gray‐haired man, was wandering in another direction until he found the alley where “they did in Rod Steiger” in the film. In fact, Mr. Kazan was so intent on going over the old ground that his hosts—and the Hoboken police who were to escort him — lost him for half an hour.

He arrived a bit late at the high school auditorium to join Mr. Schulberg to speak to a group of 400 who had paid $2.50 to see a 16‐mm. print (with difficult sound) of “On the Waterfront.”

Marlon Brando was not in town, but the Hoboken longshoreman on whose life his role was based got an ovation from the crowd. He is Anthony (Tony Mike) de Vincenzo, now 63 years old, and he had collected more than $25,000 in an out‐of‐the‐court settlement after charging invasion of privacy.

Mr. de Vincenzo, who stood up against the threats of the gang goons and aided in the break‐up of the crime‐ridden system of hiring men, said with a laugh: “I was proud to be a rat. The men I fought are dead and buried and God bless them, but Tony Mike is alive.”

Comparing conditions of the pier workers then and today, he summed up for the crowd: “We had to struggle. Today they live like kings and queens.

Mr. Kazan and Mr. Schulberg were given lethal‐looking cargo hooks in lieu of keys to Hoboken, and neither seemed to show any hard feeling toward “Tony Mike,” who was with them on the high school stage.

Mr. Schulberg, sporting a graying goatee and his Dartmouth sports jacket, said, that “yes, in a way” he had been threatened while making the picture because at the time “things were very hot around the harbor” insofar as crime and mob violence were concerned.

Mr. Kazan was more explicit about those filming days: “A couple of guys tried to rough me up. But it sounds like I'm crabbing so I won't talk about it.”

To the audience, including many young people, he put a question: “Anything like the film still going on in Hoboken?”

He stirred up a lot of “ohhhs” and “ahhhs” with that one. Only last week, Big Bill Murphy, a prominent longshoreman's association official, was attacked by masked men on Washington Street, the main street, and shot several times while waiting in his car for a red light. He was released from the hospital this week.

But much of the waterfront bustle that made Hoboken an ideal setting for the film is now gone. The Todd Shipyards closed in 1965, and Hoboken, cramped into 1.3 square miles, does not have the space for a major installation to handle container ships, local officials say.

Figures on hirings of longshoremen tell the story. Fifteen years ago there were 419,555 hirings on the Ho boken docks in one year—nearly 9 per cent of the hirings in the entire Port of New York. In 1972 the total had dropped to 130,000, less than 5 per cent of the total.

The glory days of preWorld War I prosperity and the brash days of booze and craps on a wide‐open waterfront may not return. Yet Hoboken, with its long, straight streets of still‐solid brick homes — many very handsome — and with its antique Erie‐Lackawanna passenger terminal and with an assortment of quaint, vintage bars, has a charm not found elsewhere in the metropolitan area.

The big port activity on the Jersey side of the harbor is now at Newark and Port Elizabeth, which have huge container‐handling facilities. With the loss of port activity, Hoboken's population has changed drastically.

There has been a major influx of Puerto Ricans and other Hispanic groups. They now constitute close to half of the total population of 45,000, according to Mayorelect Steve Cappiello, a former police sergeant and Councilman. But Italians dominate politically.

Hoboken is still a town where people sit at night on the benches outside the old City Hall. But street crime is up, and a rash of disturbances in the Hispanic section in the summers of 1970 and 1971, including windowsmashing and bottle ‐throwing, helped Mr. Cappiello's law ‐and ‐order campaign under the slogan: “Your Safety and Future Our Concern.”

It still has a considerable port activity, a number of industries ranging from propeller‐building to coffee‐roasting, and plans for some waterfront office buildings.

Hoboken has hopes for a turnaround, that its charm and closeness to New York will indeed attract Manhattanites. Some have already moved over and refurbished brownstone homes. Of course, many thousands of commuters simply pass briefly through the ancient rail station every day to and from New York.

Last night's nostalgic evening ended close to the waterfront at an official reception in the vintage Grand Hotel and Bar where the tile floors, paneling and wall paintings evoke days of nickel beer and free lunch. Mr. and Mrs. Schulberg, Mr. Kazan and “Ibny Mike” were all in the throng that was served beer from big pitchers.


On the Waterfront’ Returns to Hoboken

HOBOKEN, May 23—They had come to look at Hoboken 20 years after, and soon one of the celebrated visitors was exclaiming:

“They've torn down all of River Street — the whole damned thing!”

Twenty years ago, when River and adjacent waterfront streets were teeming with sailors, longshoremen and girls frequenting 40 bars, Hollywood descended on Hoboken for nine weeks to film “On the Waterfront” with Marlon Brando.

Elia Kazan, the director, and Budd Schulberg, who wrote the screenplay—both winning Oscars — returned last night for a nostalgic night on the town 20 years later.

They were guests of the Hoboken Model Cities agency, which is rehabilitating thousand old buildings as part of a major effort to shore up a town whose port and general economy have been on the decline.

Right after dinner at the Clam Broth House, Mr. Kazan set off on foot for the nearby, dock area where he had filmed the story of waterfront violence and crime. On a pier with the towers of Manhattan across the river forming a backdrop, he recalled that the Hoboken waterfront of 1953 had a much cruder, even 19th‐century, look.

But what impressed him most was the disappearance of River Street. Three solid blocks between River and Hudson Streets have been razed to form the site for three 25‐story apartment buildings of 830 units whose $300 to $350 rents, it is hoped, will attract some middle‐income tenants from New York.

Although Hoboken still has a number of handsome stoneand‐brick mansions built by shipping magnates around the turn of the century, its peak as a port in the greater New York harbor is past. A dozen years ago, the Holland‐America Line shifted its trans‐Atlantic terminal to Manhattan, and the wharf it used and where Mr. Kazan filmed some scenes — the Fifth Street Pier — is a shambles today.

But Mr. Schulberg, who was also poking around the port area, made a happy discovery. He said that a barge with a little shack on it, tied up to a pier, was the same one used in the movie as the office of the pier gang boss, who was played by Lee J. Cobb.

Mr. Schulberg was accompanied by the actress Geraldine Brooks, who is his wife. They visited the stand‐up beer and clam bar of the Clam Broth House, which until recently was an all‐male sanctuary.

Meanwhile, Mr. Kazan, a short, gray‐haired man, was wandering in another direction until he found the alley where “they did in Rod Steiger” in the film. In fact, Mr. Kazan was so intent on going over the old ground that his hosts—and the Hoboken police who were to escort him — lost him for half an hour.

He arrived a bit late at the high school auditorium to join Mr. Schulberg to speak to a group of 400 who had paid $2.50 to see a 16‐mm. print (with difficult sound) of “On the Waterfront.”

Marlon Brando was not in town, but the Hoboken longshoreman on whose life his role was based got an ovation from the crowd. He is Anthony (Tony Mike) de Vincenzo, now 63 years old, and he had collected more than $25,000 in an out‐of‐the‐court settlement after charging invasion of privacy.

Mr. de Vincenzo, who stood up against the threats of the gang goons and aided in the break‐up of the crime‐ridden system of hiring men, said with a laugh: “I was proud to be a rat. The men I fought are dead and buried and God bless them, but Tony Mike is alive.”

Comparing conditions of the pier workers then and today, he summed up for the crowd: “We had to struggle. Today they live like kings and queens.

Mr. Kazan and Mr. Schulberg were given lethal‐looking cargo hooks in lieu of keys to Hoboken, and neither seemed to show any hard feeling toward “Tony Mike,” who was with them on the high school stage.

Mr. Schulberg, sporting a graying goatee and his Dartmouth sports jacket, said, that “yes, in a way” he had been threatened while making the picture because at the time “things were very hot around the harbor” insofar as crime and mob violence were concerned.

Mr. Kazan was more explicit about those filming days: “A couple of guys tried to rough me up. But it sounds like I'm crabbing so I won't talk about it.”

To the audience, including many young people, he put a question: “Anything like the film still going on in Hoboken?”

He stirred up a lot of “ohhhs” and “ahhhs” with that one. Only last week, Big Bill Murphy, a prominent longshoreman's association official, was attacked by masked men on Washington Street, the main street, and shot several times while waiting in his car for a red light. He was released from the hospital this week.

But much of the waterfront bustle that made Hoboken an ideal setting for the film is now gone. The Todd Shipyards closed in 1965, and Hoboken, cramped into 1.3 square miles, does not have the space for a major installation to handle container ships, local officials say.

Figures on hirings of longshoremen tell the story. Fifteen years ago there were 419,555 hirings on the Ho boken docks in one year—nearly 9 per cent of the hirings in the entire Port of New York. In 1972 the total had dropped to 130,000, less than 5 per cent of the total.

The glory days of preWorld War I prosperity and the brash days of booze and craps on a wide‐open waterfront may not return. Yet Hoboken, with its long, straight streets of still‐solid brick homes — many very handsome — and with its antique Erie‐Lackawanna passenger terminal and with an assortment of quaint, vintage bars, has a charm not found elsewhere in the metropolitan area.

The big port activity on the Jersey side of the harbor is now at Newark and Port Elizabeth, which have huge container‐handling facilities. With the loss of port activity, Hoboken's population has changed drastically.

There has been a major influx of Puerto Ricans and other Hispanic groups. They now constitute close to half of the total population of 45,000, according to Mayorelect Steve Cappiello, a former police sergeant and Councilman. But Italians dominate politically.

Hoboken is still a town where people sit at night on the benches outside the old City Hall. But street crime is up, and a rash of disturbances in the Hispanic section in the summers of 1970 and 1971, including windowsmashing and bottle ‐throwing, helped Mr. Cappiello's law ‐and ‐order campaign under the slogan: “Your Safety and Future Our Concern.”

It still has a considerable port activity, a number of industries ranging from propeller‐building to coffee‐roasting, and plans for some waterfront office buildings.

Hoboken has hopes for a turnaround, that its charm and closeness to New York will indeed attract Manhattanites. Some have already moved over and refurbished brownstone homes. Of course, many thousands of commuters simply pass briefly through the ancient rail station every day to and from New York.

Last night's nostalgic evening ended close to the waterfront at an official reception in the vintage Grand Hotel and Bar where the tile floors, paneling and wall paintings evoke days of nickel beer and free lunch. Mr. and Mrs. Schulberg, Mr. Kazan and “Ibny Mike” were all in the throng that was served beer from big pitchers.


On the Waterfront’ Returns to Hoboken

HOBOKEN, May 23—They had come to look at Hoboken 20 years after, and soon one of the celebrated visitors was exclaiming:

“They've torn down all of River Street — the whole damned thing!”

Twenty years ago, when River and adjacent waterfront streets were teeming with sailors, longshoremen and girls frequenting 40 bars, Hollywood descended on Hoboken for nine weeks to film “On the Waterfront” with Marlon Brando.

Elia Kazan, the director, and Budd Schulberg, who wrote the screenplay—both winning Oscars — returned last night for a nostalgic night on the town 20 years later.

They were guests of the Hoboken Model Cities agency, which is rehabilitating thousand old buildings as part of a major effort to shore up a town whose port and general economy have been on the decline.

Right after dinner at the Clam Broth House, Mr. Kazan set off on foot for the nearby, dock area where he had filmed the story of waterfront violence and crime. On a pier with the towers of Manhattan across the river forming a backdrop, he recalled that the Hoboken waterfront of 1953 had a much cruder, even 19th‐century, look.

But what impressed him most was the disappearance of River Street. Three solid blocks between River and Hudson Streets have been razed to form the site for three 25‐story apartment buildings of 830 units whose $300 to $350 rents, it is hoped, will attract some middle‐income tenants from New York.

Although Hoboken still has a number of handsome stoneand‐brick mansions built by shipping magnates around the turn of the century, its peak as a port in the greater New York harbor is past. A dozen years ago, the Holland‐America Line shifted its trans‐Atlantic terminal to Manhattan, and the wharf it used and where Mr. Kazan filmed some scenes — the Fifth Street Pier — is a shambles today.

But Mr. Schulberg, who was also poking around the port area, made a happy discovery. He said that a barge with a little shack on it, tied up to a pier, was the same one used in the movie as the office of the pier gang boss, who was played by Lee J. Cobb.

Mr. Schulberg was accompanied by the actress Geraldine Brooks, who is his wife. They visited the stand‐up beer and clam bar of the Clam Broth House, which until recently was an all‐male sanctuary.

Meanwhile, Mr. Kazan, a short, gray‐haired man, was wandering in another direction until he found the alley where “they did in Rod Steiger” in the film. In fact, Mr. Kazan was so intent on going over the old ground that his hosts—and the Hoboken police who were to escort him — lost him for half an hour.

He arrived a bit late at the high school auditorium to join Mr. Schulberg to speak to a group of 400 who had paid $2.50 to see a 16‐mm. print (with difficult sound) of “On the Waterfront.”

Marlon Brando was not in town, but the Hoboken longshoreman on whose life his role was based got an ovation from the crowd. He is Anthony (Tony Mike) de Vincenzo, now 63 years old, and he had collected more than $25,000 in an out‐of‐the‐court settlement after charging invasion of privacy.

Mr. de Vincenzo, who stood up against the threats of the gang goons and aided in the break‐up of the crime‐ridden system of hiring men, said with a laugh: “I was proud to be a rat. The men I fought are dead and buried and God bless them, but Tony Mike is alive.”

Comparing conditions of the pier workers then and today, he summed up for the crowd: “We had to struggle. Today they live like kings and queens.

Mr. Kazan and Mr. Schulberg were given lethal‐looking cargo hooks in lieu of keys to Hoboken, and neither seemed to show any hard feeling toward “Tony Mike,” who was with them on the high school stage.

Mr. Schulberg, sporting a graying goatee and his Dartmouth sports jacket, said, that “yes, in a way” he had been threatened while making the picture because at the time “things were very hot around the harbor” insofar as crime and mob violence were concerned.

Mr. Kazan was more explicit about those filming days: “A couple of guys tried to rough me up. But it sounds like I'm crabbing so I won't talk about it.”

To the audience, including many young people, he put a question: “Anything like the film still going on in Hoboken?”

He stirred up a lot of “ohhhs” and “ahhhs” with that one. Only last week, Big Bill Murphy, a prominent longshoreman's association official, was attacked by masked men on Washington Street, the main street, and shot several times while waiting in his car for a red light. He was released from the hospital this week.

But much of the waterfront bustle that made Hoboken an ideal setting for the film is now gone. The Todd Shipyards closed in 1965, and Hoboken, cramped into 1.3 square miles, does not have the space for a major installation to handle container ships, local officials say.

Figures on hirings of longshoremen tell the story. Fifteen years ago there were 419,555 hirings on the Ho boken docks in one year—nearly 9 per cent of the hirings in the entire Port of New York. In 1972 the total had dropped to 130,000, less than 5 per cent of the total.

The glory days of preWorld War I prosperity and the brash days of booze and craps on a wide‐open waterfront may not return. Yet Hoboken, with its long, straight streets of still‐solid brick homes — many very handsome — and with its antique Erie‐Lackawanna passenger terminal and with an assortment of quaint, vintage bars, has a charm not found elsewhere in the metropolitan area.

The big port activity on the Jersey side of the harbor is now at Newark and Port Elizabeth, which have huge container‐handling facilities. With the loss of port activity, Hoboken's population has changed drastically.

There has been a major influx of Puerto Ricans and other Hispanic groups. They now constitute close to half of the total population of 45,000, according to Mayorelect Steve Cappiello, a former police sergeant and Councilman. But Italians dominate politically.

Hoboken is still a town where people sit at night on the benches outside the old City Hall. But street crime is up, and a rash of disturbances in the Hispanic section in the summers of 1970 and 1971, including windowsmashing and bottle ‐throwing, helped Mr. Cappiello's law ‐and ‐order campaign under the slogan: “Your Safety and Future Our Concern.”

It still has a considerable port activity, a number of industries ranging from propeller‐building to coffee‐roasting, and plans for some waterfront office buildings.

Hoboken has hopes for a turnaround, that its charm and closeness to New York will indeed attract Manhattanites. Some have already moved over and refurbished brownstone homes. Of course, many thousands of commuters simply pass briefly through the ancient rail station every day to and from New York.

Last night's nostalgic evening ended close to the waterfront at an official reception in the vintage Grand Hotel and Bar where the tile floors, paneling and wall paintings evoke days of nickel beer and free lunch. Mr. and Mrs. Schulberg, Mr. Kazan and “Ibny Mike” were all in the throng that was served beer from big pitchers.


On the Waterfront’ Returns to Hoboken

HOBOKEN, May 23—They had come to look at Hoboken 20 years after, and soon one of the celebrated visitors was exclaiming:

“They've torn down all of River Street — the whole damned thing!”

Twenty years ago, when River and adjacent waterfront streets were teeming with sailors, longshoremen and girls frequenting 40 bars, Hollywood descended on Hoboken for nine weeks to film “On the Waterfront” with Marlon Brando.

Elia Kazan, the director, and Budd Schulberg, who wrote the screenplay—both winning Oscars — returned last night for a nostalgic night on the town 20 years later.

They were guests of the Hoboken Model Cities agency, which is rehabilitating thousand old buildings as part of a major effort to shore up a town whose port and general economy have been on the decline.

Right after dinner at the Clam Broth House, Mr. Kazan set off on foot for the nearby, dock area where he had filmed the story of waterfront violence and crime. On a pier with the towers of Manhattan across the river forming a backdrop, he recalled that the Hoboken waterfront of 1953 had a much cruder, even 19th‐century, look.

But what impressed him most was the disappearance of River Street. Three solid blocks between River and Hudson Streets have been razed to form the site for three 25‐story apartment buildings of 830 units whose $300 to $350 rents, it is hoped, will attract some middle‐income tenants from New York.

Although Hoboken still has a number of handsome stoneand‐brick mansions built by shipping magnates around the turn of the century, its peak as a port in the greater New York harbor is past. A dozen years ago, the Holland‐America Line shifted its trans‐Atlantic terminal to Manhattan, and the wharf it used and where Mr. Kazan filmed some scenes — the Fifth Street Pier — is a shambles today.

But Mr. Schulberg, who was also poking around the port area, made a happy discovery. He said that a barge with a little shack on it, tied up to a pier, was the same one used in the movie as the office of the pier gang boss, who was played by Lee J. Cobb.

Mr. Schulberg was accompanied by the actress Geraldine Brooks, who is his wife. They visited the stand‐up beer and clam bar of the Clam Broth House, which until recently was an all‐male sanctuary.

Meanwhile, Mr. Kazan, a short, gray‐haired man, was wandering in another direction until he found the alley where “they did in Rod Steiger” in the film. In fact, Mr. Kazan was so intent on going over the old ground that his hosts—and the Hoboken police who were to escort him — lost him for half an hour.

He arrived a bit late at the high school auditorium to join Mr. Schulberg to speak to a group of 400 who had paid $2.50 to see a 16‐mm. print (with difficult sound) of “On the Waterfront.”

Marlon Brando was not in town, but the Hoboken longshoreman on whose life his role was based got an ovation from the crowd. He is Anthony (Tony Mike) de Vincenzo, now 63 years old, and he had collected more than $25,000 in an out‐of‐the‐court settlement after charging invasion of privacy.

Mr. de Vincenzo, who stood up against the threats of the gang goons and aided in the break‐up of the crime‐ridden system of hiring men, said with a laugh: “I was proud to be a rat. The men I fought are dead and buried and God bless them, but Tony Mike is alive.”

Comparing conditions of the pier workers then and today, he summed up for the crowd: “We had to struggle. Today they live like kings and queens.

Mr. Kazan and Mr. Schulberg were given lethal‐looking cargo hooks in lieu of keys to Hoboken, and neither seemed to show any hard feeling toward “Tony Mike,” who was with them on the high school stage.

Mr. Schulberg, sporting a graying goatee and his Dartmouth sports jacket, said, that “yes, in a way” he had been threatened while making the picture because at the time “things were very hot around the harbor” insofar as crime and mob violence were concerned.

Mr. Kazan was more explicit about those filming days: “A couple of guys tried to rough me up. But it sounds like I'm crabbing so I won't talk about it.”

To the audience, including many young people, he put a question: “Anything like the film still going on in Hoboken?”

He stirred up a lot of “ohhhs” and “ahhhs” with that one. Only last week, Big Bill Murphy, a prominent longshoreman's association official, was attacked by masked men on Washington Street, the main street, and shot several times while waiting in his car for a red light. He was released from the hospital this week.

But much of the waterfront bustle that made Hoboken an ideal setting for the film is now gone. The Todd Shipyards closed in 1965, and Hoboken, cramped into 1.3 square miles, does not have the space for a major installation to handle container ships, local officials say.

Figures on hirings of longshoremen tell the story. Fifteen years ago there were 419,555 hirings on the Ho boken docks in one year—nearly 9 per cent of the hirings in the entire Port of New York. In 1972 the total had dropped to 130,000, less than 5 per cent of the total.

The glory days of preWorld War I prosperity and the brash days of booze and craps on a wide‐open waterfront may not return. Yet Hoboken, with its long, straight streets of still‐solid brick homes — many very handsome — and with its antique Erie‐Lackawanna passenger terminal and with an assortment of quaint, vintage bars, has a charm not found elsewhere in the metropolitan area.

The big port activity on the Jersey side of the harbor is now at Newark and Port Elizabeth, which have huge container‐handling facilities. With the loss of port activity, Hoboken's population has changed drastically.

There has been a major influx of Puerto Ricans and other Hispanic groups. They now constitute close to half of the total population of 45,000, according to Mayorelect Steve Cappiello, a former police sergeant and Councilman. But Italians dominate politically.

Hoboken is still a town where people sit at night on the benches outside the old City Hall. But street crime is up, and a rash of disturbances in the Hispanic section in the summers of 1970 and 1971, including windowsmashing and bottle ‐throwing, helped Mr. Cappiello's law ‐and ‐order campaign under the slogan: “Your Safety and Future Our Concern.”

It still has a considerable port activity, a number of industries ranging from propeller‐building to coffee‐roasting, and plans for some waterfront office buildings.

Hoboken has hopes for a turnaround, that its charm and closeness to New York will indeed attract Manhattanites. Some have already moved over and refurbished brownstone homes. Of course, many thousands of commuters simply pass briefly through the ancient rail station every day to and from New York.

Last night's nostalgic evening ended close to the waterfront at an official reception in the vintage Grand Hotel and Bar where the tile floors, paneling and wall paintings evoke days of nickel beer and free lunch. Mr. and Mrs. Schulberg, Mr. Kazan and “Ibny Mike” were all in the throng that was served beer from big pitchers.


On the Waterfront’ Returns to Hoboken

HOBOKEN, May 23—They had come to look at Hoboken 20 years after, and soon one of the celebrated visitors was exclaiming:

“They've torn down all of River Street — the whole damned thing!”

Twenty years ago, when River and adjacent waterfront streets were teeming with sailors, longshoremen and girls frequenting 40 bars, Hollywood descended on Hoboken for nine weeks to film “On the Waterfront” with Marlon Brando.

Elia Kazan, the director, and Budd Schulberg, who wrote the screenplay—both winning Oscars — returned last night for a nostalgic night on the town 20 years later.

They were guests of the Hoboken Model Cities agency, which is rehabilitating thousand old buildings as part of a major effort to shore up a town whose port and general economy have been on the decline.

Right after dinner at the Clam Broth House, Mr. Kazan set off on foot for the nearby, dock area where he had filmed the story of waterfront violence and crime. On a pier with the towers of Manhattan across the river forming a backdrop, he recalled that the Hoboken waterfront of 1953 had a much cruder, even 19th‐century, look.

But what impressed him most was the disappearance of River Street. Three solid blocks between River and Hudson Streets have been razed to form the site for three 25‐story apartment buildings of 830 units whose $300 to $350 rents, it is hoped, will attract some middle‐income tenants from New York.

Although Hoboken still has a number of handsome stoneand‐brick mansions built by shipping magnates around the turn of the century, its peak as a port in the greater New York harbor is past. A dozen years ago, the Holland‐America Line shifted its trans‐Atlantic terminal to Manhattan, and the wharf it used and where Mr. Kazan filmed some scenes — the Fifth Street Pier — is a shambles today.

But Mr. Schulberg, who was also poking around the port area, made a happy discovery. He said that a barge with a little shack on it, tied up to a pier, was the same one used in the movie as the office of the pier gang boss, who was played by Lee J. Cobb.

Mr. Schulberg was accompanied by the actress Geraldine Brooks, who is his wife. They visited the stand‐up beer and clam bar of the Clam Broth House, which until recently was an all‐male sanctuary.

Meanwhile, Mr. Kazan, a short, gray‐haired man, was wandering in another direction until he found the alley where “they did in Rod Steiger” in the film. In fact, Mr. Kazan was so intent on going over the old ground that his hosts—and the Hoboken police who were to escort him — lost him for half an hour.

He arrived a bit late at the high school auditorium to join Mr. Schulberg to speak to a group of 400 who had paid $2.50 to see a 16‐mm. print (with difficult sound) of “On the Waterfront.”

Marlon Brando was not in town, but the Hoboken longshoreman on whose life his role was based got an ovation from the crowd. He is Anthony (Tony Mike) de Vincenzo, now 63 years old, and he had collected more than $25,000 in an out‐of‐the‐court settlement after charging invasion of privacy.

Mr. de Vincenzo, who stood up against the threats of the gang goons and aided in the break‐up of the crime‐ridden system of hiring men, said with a laugh: “I was proud to be a rat. The men I fought are dead and buried and God bless them, but Tony Mike is alive.”

Comparing conditions of the pier workers then and today, he summed up for the crowd: “We had to struggle. Today they live like kings and queens.

Mr. Kazan and Mr. Schulberg were given lethal‐looking cargo hooks in lieu of keys to Hoboken, and neither seemed to show any hard feeling toward “Tony Mike,” who was with them on the high school stage.

Mr. Schulberg, sporting a graying goatee and his Dartmouth sports jacket, said, that “yes, in a way” he had been threatened while making the picture because at the time “things were very hot around the harbor” insofar as crime and mob violence were concerned.

Mr. Kazan was more explicit about those filming days: “A couple of guys tried to rough me up. But it sounds like I'm crabbing so I won't talk about it.”

To the audience, including many young people, he put a question: “Anything like the film still going on in Hoboken?”

He stirred up a lot of “ohhhs” and “ahhhs” with that one. Only last week, Big Bill Murphy, a prominent longshoreman's association official, was attacked by masked men on Washington Street, the main street, and shot several times while waiting in his car for a red light. He was released from the hospital this week.

But much of the waterfront bustle that made Hoboken an ideal setting for the film is now gone. The Todd Shipyards closed in 1965, and Hoboken, cramped into 1.3 square miles, does not have the space for a major installation to handle container ships, local officials say.

Figures on hirings of longshoremen tell the story. Fifteen years ago there were 419,555 hirings on the Ho boken docks in one year—nearly 9 per cent of the hirings in the entire Port of New York. In 1972 the total had dropped to 130,000, less than 5 per cent of the total.

The glory days of preWorld War I prosperity and the brash days of booze and craps on a wide‐open waterfront may not return. Yet Hoboken, with its long, straight streets of still‐solid brick homes — many very handsome — and with its antique Erie‐Lackawanna passenger terminal and with an assortment of quaint, vintage bars, has a charm not found elsewhere in the metropolitan area.

The big port activity on the Jersey side of the harbor is now at Newark and Port Elizabeth, which have huge container‐handling facilities. With the loss of port activity, Hoboken's population has changed drastically.

There has been a major influx of Puerto Ricans and other Hispanic groups. They now constitute close to half of the total population of 45,000, according to Mayorelect Steve Cappiello, a former police sergeant and Councilman. But Italians dominate politically.

Hoboken is still a town where people sit at night on the benches outside the old City Hall. But street crime is up, and a rash of disturbances in the Hispanic section in the summers of 1970 and 1971, including windowsmashing and bottle ‐throwing, helped Mr. Cappiello's law ‐and ‐order campaign under the slogan: “Your Safety and Future Our Concern.”

It still has a considerable port activity, a number of industries ranging from propeller‐building to coffee‐roasting, and plans for some waterfront office buildings.

Hoboken has hopes for a turnaround, that its charm and closeness to New York will indeed attract Manhattanites. Some have already moved over and refurbished brownstone homes. Of course, many thousands of commuters simply pass briefly through the ancient rail station every day to and from New York.

Last night's nostalgic evening ended close to the waterfront at an official reception in the vintage Grand Hotel and Bar where the tile floors, paneling and wall paintings evoke days of nickel beer and free lunch. Mr. and Mrs. Schulberg, Mr. Kazan and “Ibny Mike” were all in the throng that was served beer from big pitchers.


On the Waterfront’ Returns to Hoboken

HOBOKEN, May 23—They had come to look at Hoboken 20 years after, and soon one of the celebrated visitors was exclaiming:

“They've torn down all of River Street — the whole damned thing!”

Twenty years ago, when River and adjacent waterfront streets were teeming with sailors, longshoremen and girls frequenting 40 bars, Hollywood descended on Hoboken for nine weeks to film “On the Waterfront” with Marlon Brando.

Elia Kazan, the director, and Budd Schulberg, who wrote the screenplay—both winning Oscars — returned last night for a nostalgic night on the town 20 years later.

They were guests of the Hoboken Model Cities agency, which is rehabilitating thousand old buildings as part of a major effort to shore up a town whose port and general economy have been on the decline.

Right after dinner at the Clam Broth House, Mr. Kazan set off on foot for the nearby, dock area where he had filmed the story of waterfront violence and crime. On a pier with the towers of Manhattan across the river forming a backdrop, he recalled that the Hoboken waterfront of 1953 had a much cruder, even 19th‐century, look.

But what impressed him most was the disappearance of River Street. Three solid blocks between River and Hudson Streets have been razed to form the site for three 25‐story apartment buildings of 830 units whose $300 to $350 rents, it is hoped, will attract some middle‐income tenants from New York.

Although Hoboken still has a number of handsome stoneand‐brick mansions built by shipping magnates around the turn of the century, its peak as a port in the greater New York harbor is past. A dozen years ago, the Holland‐America Line shifted its trans‐Atlantic terminal to Manhattan, and the wharf it used and where Mr. Kazan filmed some scenes — the Fifth Street Pier — is a shambles today.

But Mr. Schulberg, who was also poking around the port area, made a happy discovery. He said that a barge with a little shack on it, tied up to a pier, was the same one used in the movie as the office of the pier gang boss, who was played by Lee J. Cobb.

Mr. Schulberg was accompanied by the actress Geraldine Brooks, who is his wife. They visited the stand‐up beer and clam bar of the Clam Broth House, which until recently was an all‐male sanctuary.

Meanwhile, Mr. Kazan, a short, gray‐haired man, was wandering in another direction until he found the alley where “they did in Rod Steiger” in the film. In fact, Mr. Kazan was so intent on going over the old ground that his hosts—and the Hoboken police who were to escort him — lost him for half an hour.

He arrived a bit late at the high school auditorium to join Mr. Schulberg to speak to a group of 400 who had paid $2.50 to see a 16‐mm. print (with difficult sound) of “On the Waterfront.”

Marlon Brando was not in town, but the Hoboken longshoreman on whose life his role was based got an ovation from the crowd. He is Anthony (Tony Mike) de Vincenzo, now 63 years old, and he had collected more than $25,000 in an out‐of‐the‐court settlement after charging invasion of privacy.

Mr. de Vincenzo, who stood up against the threats of the gang goons and aided in the break‐up of the crime‐ridden system of hiring men, said with a laugh: “I was proud to be a rat. The men I fought are dead and buried and God bless them, but Tony Mike is alive.”

Comparing conditions of the pier workers then and today, he summed up for the crowd: “We had to struggle. Today they live like kings and queens.

Mr. Kazan and Mr. Schulberg were given lethal‐looking cargo hooks in lieu of keys to Hoboken, and neither seemed to show any hard feeling toward “Tony Mike,” who was with them on the high school stage.

Mr. Schulberg, sporting a graying goatee and his Dartmouth sports jacket, said, that “yes, in a way” he had been threatened while making the picture because at the time “things were very hot around the harbor” insofar as crime and mob violence were concerned.

Mr. Kazan was more explicit about those filming days: “A couple of guys tried to rough me up. But it sounds like I'm crabbing so I won't talk about it.”

To the audience, including many young people, he put a question: “Anything like the film still going on in Hoboken?”

He stirred up a lot of “ohhhs” and “ahhhs” with that one. Only last week, Big Bill Murphy, a prominent longshoreman's association official, was attacked by masked men on Washington Street, the main street, and shot several times while waiting in his car for a red light. He was released from the hospital this week.

But much of the waterfront bustle that made Hoboken an ideal setting for the film is now gone. The Todd Shipyards closed in 1965, and Hoboken, cramped into 1.3 square miles, does not have the space for a major installation to handle container ships, local officials say.

Figures on hirings of longshoremen tell the story. Fifteen years ago there were 419,555 hirings on the Ho boken docks in one year—nearly 9 per cent of the hirings in the entire Port of New York. In 1972 the total had dropped to 130,000, less than 5 per cent of the total.

The glory days of preWorld War I prosperity and the brash days of booze and craps on a wide‐open waterfront may not return. Yet Hoboken, with its long, straight streets of still‐solid brick homes — many very handsome — and with its antique Erie‐Lackawanna passenger terminal and with an assortment of quaint, vintage bars, has a charm not found elsewhere in the metropolitan area.

The big port activity on the Jersey side of the harbor is now at Newark and Port Elizabeth, which have huge container‐handling facilities. With the loss of port activity, Hoboken's population has changed drastically.

There has been a major influx of Puerto Ricans and other Hispanic groups. They now constitute close to half of the total population of 45,000, according to Mayorelect Steve Cappiello, a former police sergeant and Councilman. But Italians dominate politically.

Hoboken is still a town where people sit at night on the benches outside the old City Hall. But street crime is up, and a rash of disturbances in the Hispanic section in the summers of 1970 and 1971, including windowsmashing and bottle ‐throwing, helped Mr. Cappiello's law ‐and ‐order campaign under the slogan: “Your Safety and Future Our Concern.”

It still has a considerable port activity, a number of industries ranging from propeller‐building to coffee‐roasting, and plans for some waterfront office buildings.

Hoboken has hopes for a turnaround, that its charm and closeness to New York will indeed attract Manhattanites. Some have already moved over and refurbished brownstone homes. Of course, many thousands of commuters simply pass briefly through the ancient rail station every day to and from New York.

Last night's nostalgic evening ended close to the waterfront at an official reception in the vintage Grand Hotel and Bar where the tile floors, paneling and wall paintings evoke days of nickel beer and free lunch. Mr. and Mrs. Schulberg, Mr. Kazan and “Ibny Mike” were all in the throng that was served beer from big pitchers.


On the Waterfront’ Returns to Hoboken

HOBOKEN, May 23—They had come to look at Hoboken 20 years after, and soon one of the celebrated visitors was exclaiming:

“They've torn down all of River Street — the whole damned thing!”

Twenty years ago, when River and adjacent waterfront streets were teeming with sailors, longshoremen and girls frequenting 40 bars, Hollywood descended on Hoboken for nine weeks to film “On the Waterfront” with Marlon Brando.

Elia Kazan, the director, and Budd Schulberg, who wrote the screenplay—both winning Oscars — returned last night for a nostalgic night on the town 20 years later.

They were guests of the Hoboken Model Cities agency, which is rehabilitating thousand old buildings as part of a major effort to shore up a town whose port and general economy have been on the decline.

Right after dinner at the Clam Broth House, Mr. Kazan set off on foot for the nearby, dock area where he had filmed the story of waterfront violence and crime. On a pier with the towers of Manhattan across the river forming a backdrop, he recalled that the Hoboken waterfront of 1953 had a much cruder, even 19th‐century, look.

But what impressed him most was the disappearance of River Street. Three solid blocks between River and Hudson Streets have been razed to form the site for three 25‐story apartment buildings of 830 units whose $300 to $350 rents, it is hoped, will attract some middle‐income tenants from New York.

Although Hoboken still has a number of handsome stoneand‐brick mansions built by shipping magnates around the turn of the century, its peak as a port in the greater New York harbor is past. A dozen years ago, the Holland‐America Line shifted its trans‐Atlantic terminal to Manhattan, and the wharf it used and where Mr. Kazan filmed some scenes — the Fifth Street Pier — is a shambles today.

But Mr. Schulberg, who was also poking around the port area, made a happy discovery. He said that a barge with a little shack on it, tied up to a pier, was the same one used in the movie as the office of the pier gang boss, who was played by Lee J. Cobb.

Mr. Schulberg was accompanied by the actress Geraldine Brooks, who is his wife. They visited the stand‐up beer and clam bar of the Clam Broth House, which until recently was an all‐male sanctuary.

Meanwhile, Mr. Kazan, a short, gray‐haired man, was wandering in another direction until he found the alley where “they did in Rod Steiger” in the film. In fact, Mr. Kazan was so intent on going over the old ground that his hosts—and the Hoboken police who were to escort him — lost him for half an hour.

He arrived a bit late at the high school auditorium to join Mr. Schulberg to speak to a group of 400 who had paid $2.50 to see a 16‐mm. print (with difficult sound) of “On the Waterfront.”

Marlon Brando was not in town, but the Hoboken longshoreman on whose life his role was based got an ovation from the crowd. He is Anthony (Tony Mike) de Vincenzo, now 63 years old, and he had collected more than $25,000 in an out‐of‐the‐court settlement after charging invasion of privacy.

Mr. de Vincenzo, who stood up against the threats of the gang goons and aided in the break‐up of the crime‐ridden system of hiring men, said with a laugh: “I was proud to be a rat. The men I fought are dead and buried and God bless them, but Tony Mike is alive.”

Comparing conditions of the pier workers then and today, he summed up for the crowd: “We had to struggle. Today they live like kings and queens.

Mr. Kazan and Mr. Schulberg were given lethal‐looking cargo hooks in lieu of keys to Hoboken, and neither seemed to show any hard feeling toward “Tony Mike,” who was with them on the high school stage.

Mr. Schulberg, sporting a graying goatee and his Dartmouth sports jacket, said, that “yes, in a way” he had been threatened while making the picture because at the time “things were very hot around the harbor” insofar as crime and mob violence were concerned.

Mr. Kazan was more explicit about those filming days: “A couple of guys tried to rough me up. But it sounds like I'm crabbing so I won't talk about it.”

To the audience, including many young people, he put a question: “Anything like the film still going on in Hoboken?”

He stirred up a lot of “ohhhs” and “ahhhs” with that one. Only last week, Big Bill Murphy, a prominent longshoreman's association official, was attacked by masked men on Washington Street, the main street, and shot several times while waiting in his car for a red light. He was released from the hospital this week.

But much of the waterfront bustle that made Hoboken an ideal setting for the film is now gone. The Todd Shipyards closed in 1965, and Hoboken, cramped into 1.3 square miles, does not have the space for a major installation to handle container ships, local officials say.

Figures on hirings of longshoremen tell the story. Fifteen years ago there were 419,555 hirings on the Ho boken docks in one year—nearly 9 per cent of the hirings in the entire Port of New York. In 1972 the total had dropped to 130,000, less than 5 per cent of the total.

The glory days of preWorld War I prosperity and the brash days of booze and craps on a wide‐open waterfront may not return. Yet Hoboken, with its long, straight streets of still‐solid brick homes — many very handsome — and with its antique Erie‐Lackawanna passenger terminal and with an assortment of quaint, vintage bars, has a charm not found elsewhere in the metropolitan area.

The big port activity on the Jersey side of the harbor is now at Newark and Port Elizabeth, which have huge container‐handling facilities. With the loss of port activity, Hoboken's population has changed drastically.

There has been a major influx of Puerto Ricans and other Hispanic groups. They now constitute close to half of the total population of 45,000, according to Mayorelect Steve Cappiello, a former police sergeant and Councilman. But Italians dominate politically.

Hoboken is still a town where people sit at night on the benches outside the old City Hall. But street crime is up, and a rash of disturbances in the Hispanic section in the summers of 1970 and 1971, including windowsmashing and bottle ‐throwing, helped Mr. Cappiello's law ‐and ‐order campaign under the slogan: “Your Safety and Future Our Concern.”

It still has a considerable port activity, a number of industries ranging from propeller‐building to coffee‐roasting, and plans for some waterfront office buildings.

Hoboken has hopes for a turnaround, that its charm and closeness to New York will indeed attract Manhattanites. Some have already moved over and refurbished brownstone homes. Of course, many thousands of commuters simply pass briefly through the ancient rail station every day to and from New York.

Last night's nostalgic evening ended close to the waterfront at an official reception in the vintage Grand Hotel and Bar where the tile floors, paneling and wall paintings evoke days of nickel beer and free lunch. Mr. and Mrs. Schulberg, Mr. Kazan and “Ibny Mike” were all in the throng that was served beer from big pitchers.


On the Waterfront’ Returns to Hoboken

HOBOKEN, May 23—They had come to look at Hoboken 20 years after, and soon one of the celebrated visitors was exclaiming:

“They've torn down all of River Street — the whole damned thing!”

Twenty years ago, when River and adjacent waterfront streets were teeming with sailors, longshoremen and girls frequenting 40 bars, Hollywood descended on Hoboken for nine weeks to film “On the Waterfront” with Marlon Brando.

Elia Kazan, the director, and Budd Schulberg, who wrote the screenplay—both winning Oscars — returned last night for a nostalgic night on the town 20 years later.

They were guests of the Hoboken Model Cities agency, which is rehabilitating thousand old buildings as part of a major effort to shore up a town whose port and general economy have been on the decline.

Right after dinner at the Clam Broth House, Mr. Kazan set off on foot for the nearby, dock area where he had filmed the story of waterfront violence and crime. On a pier with the towers of Manhattan across the river forming a backdrop, he recalled that the Hoboken waterfront of 1953 had a much cruder, even 19th‐century, look.

But what impressed him most was the disappearance of River Street. Three solid blocks between River and Hudson Streets have been razed to form the site for three 25‐story apartment buildings of 830 units whose $300 to $350 rents, it is hoped, will attract some middle‐income tenants from New York.

Although Hoboken still has a number of handsome stoneand‐brick mansions built by shipping magnates around the turn of the century, its peak as a port in the greater New York harbor is past. A dozen years ago, the Holland‐America Line shifted its trans‐Atlantic terminal to Manhattan, and the wharf it used and where Mr. Kazan filmed some scenes — the Fifth Street Pier — is a shambles today.

But Mr. Schulberg, who was also poking around the port area, made a happy discovery. He said that a barge with a little shack on it, tied up to a pier, was the same one used in the movie as the office of the pier gang boss, who was played by Lee J. Cobb.

Mr. Schulberg was accompanied by the actress Geraldine Brooks, who is his wife. They visited the stand‐up beer and clam bar of the Clam Broth House, which until recently was an all‐male sanctuary.

Meanwhile, Mr. Kazan, a short, gray‐haired man, was wandering in another direction until he found the alley where “they did in Rod Steiger” in the film. In fact, Mr. Kazan was so intent on going over the old ground that his hosts—and the Hoboken police who were to escort him — lost him for half an hour.

He arrived a bit late at the high school auditorium to join Mr. Schulberg to speak to a group of 400 who had paid $2.50 to see a 16‐mm. print (with difficult sound) of “On the Waterfront.”

Marlon Brando was not in town, but the Hoboken longshoreman on whose life his role was based got an ovation from the crowd. He is Anthony (Tony Mike) de Vincenzo, now 63 years old, and he had collected more than $25,000 in an out‐of‐the‐court settlement after charging invasion of privacy.

Mr. de Vincenzo, who stood up against the threats of the gang goons and aided in the break‐up of the crime‐ridden system of hiring men, said with a laugh: “I was proud to be a rat. The men I fought are dead and buried and God bless them, but Tony Mike is alive.”

Comparing conditions of the pier workers then and today, he summed up for the crowd: “We had to struggle. Today they live like kings and queens.

Mr. Kazan and Mr. Schulberg were given lethal‐looking cargo hooks in lieu of keys to Hoboken, and neither seemed to show any hard feeling toward “Tony Mike,” who was with them on the high school stage.

Mr. Schulberg, sporting a graying goatee and his Dartmouth sports jacket, said, that “yes, in a way” he had been threatened while making the picture because at the time “things were very hot around the harbor” insofar as crime and mob violence were concerned.

Mr. Kazan was more explicit about those filming days: “A couple of guys tried to rough me up. But it sounds like I'm crabbing so I won't talk about it.”

To the audience, including many young people, he put a question: “Anything like the film still going on in Hoboken?”

He stirred up a lot of “ohhhs” and “ahhhs” with that one. Only last week, Big Bill Murphy, a prominent longshoreman's association official, was attacked by masked men on Washington Street, the main street, and shot several times while waiting in his car for a red light. He was released from the hospital this week.

But much of the waterfront bustle that made Hoboken an ideal setting for the film is now gone. The Todd Shipyards closed in 1965, and Hoboken, cramped into 1.3 square miles, does not have the space for a major installation to handle container ships, local officials say.

Figures on hirings of longshoremen tell the story. Fifteen years ago there were 419,555 hirings on the Ho boken docks in one year—nearly 9 per cent of the hirings in the entire Port of New York. In 1972 the total had dropped to 130,000, less than 5 per cent of the total.

The glory days of preWorld War I prosperity and the brash days of booze and craps on a wide‐open waterfront may not return. Yet Hoboken, with its long, straight streets of still‐solid brick homes — many very handsome — and with its antique Erie‐Lackawanna passenger terminal and with an assortment of quaint, vintage bars, has a charm not found elsewhere in the metropolitan area.

The big port activity on the Jersey side of the harbor is now at Newark and Port Elizabeth, which have huge container‐handling facilities. With the loss of port activity, Hoboken's population has changed drastically.

There has been a major influx of Puerto Ricans and other Hispanic groups. They now constitute close to half of the total population of 45,000, according to Mayorelect Steve Cappiello, a former police sergeant and Councilman. But Italians dominate politically.

Hoboken is still a town where people sit at night on the benches outside the old City Hall. But street crime is up, and a rash of disturbances in the Hispanic section in the summers of 1970 and 1971, including windowsmashing and bottle ‐throwing, helped Mr. Cappiello's law ‐and ‐order campaign under the slogan: “Your Safety and Future Our Concern.”

It still has a considerable port activity, a number of industries ranging from propeller‐building to coffee‐roasting, and plans for some waterfront office buildings.

Hoboken has hopes for a turnaround, that its charm and closeness to New York will indeed attract Manhattanites. Some have already moved over and refurbished brownstone homes. Of course, many thousands of commuters simply pass briefly through the ancient rail station every day to and from New York.

Last night's nostalgic evening ended close to the waterfront at an official reception in the vintage Grand Hotel and Bar where the tile floors, paneling and wall paintings evoke days of nickel beer and free lunch. Mr. and Mrs. Schulberg, Mr. Kazan and “Ibny Mike” were all in the throng that was served beer from big pitchers.


On the Waterfront’ Returns to Hoboken

HOBOKEN, May 23—They had come to look at Hoboken 20 years after, and soon one of the celebrated visitors was exclaiming:

“They've torn down all of River Street — the whole damned thing!”

Twenty years ago, when River and adjacent waterfront streets were teeming with sailors, longshoremen and girls frequenting 40 bars, Hollywood descended on Hoboken for nine weeks to film “On the Waterfront” with Marlon Brando.

Elia Kazan, the director, and Budd Schulberg, who wrote the screenplay—both winning Oscars — returned last night for a nostalgic night on the town 20 years later.

They were guests of the Hoboken Model Cities agency, which is rehabilitating thousand old buildings as part of a major effort to shore up a town whose port and general economy have been on the decline.

Right after dinner at the Clam Broth House, Mr. Kazan set off on foot for the nearby, dock area where he had filmed the story of waterfront violence and crime. On a pier with the towers of Manhattan across the river forming a backdrop, he recalled that the Hoboken waterfront of 1953 had a much cruder, even 19th‐century, look.

But what impressed him most was the disappearance of River Street. Three solid blocks between River and Hudson Streets have been razed to form the site for three 25‐story apartment buildings of 830 units whose $300 to $350 rents, it is hoped, will attract some middle‐income tenants from New York.

Although Hoboken still has a number of handsome stoneand‐brick mansions built by shipping magnates around the turn of the century, its peak as a port in the greater New York harbor is past. A dozen years ago, the Holland‐America Line shifted its trans‐Atlantic terminal to Manhattan, and the wharf it used and where Mr. Kazan filmed some scenes — the Fifth Street Pier — is a shambles today.

But Mr. Schulberg, who was also poking around the port area, made a happy discovery. He said that a barge with a little shack on it, tied up to a pier, was the same one used in the movie as the office of the pier gang boss, who was played by Lee J. Cobb.

Mr. Schulberg was accompanied by the actress Geraldine Brooks, who is his wife. They visited the stand‐up beer and clam bar of the Clam Broth House, which until recently was an all‐male sanctuary.

Meanwhile, Mr. Kazan, a short, gray‐haired man, was wandering in another direction until he found the alley where “they did in Rod Steiger” in the film. In fact, Mr. Kazan was so intent on going over the old ground that his hosts—and the Hoboken police who were to escort him — lost him for half an hour.

He arrived a bit late at the high school auditorium to join Mr. Schulberg to speak to a group of 400 who had paid $2.50 to see a 16‐mm. print (with difficult sound) of “On the Waterfront.”

Marlon Brando was not in town, but the Hoboken longshoreman on whose life his role was based got an ovation from the crowd. He is Anthony (Tony Mike) de Vincenzo, now 63 years old, and he had collected more than $25,000 in an out‐of‐the‐court settlement after charging invasion of privacy.

Mr. de Vincenzo, who stood up against the threats of the gang goons and aided in the break‐up of the crime‐ridden system of hiring men, said with a laugh: “I was proud to be a rat. The men I fought are dead and buried and God bless them, but Tony Mike is alive.”

Comparing conditions of the pier workers then and today, he summed up for the crowd: “We had to struggle. Today they live like kings and queens.

Mr. Kazan and Mr. Schulberg were given lethal‐looking cargo hooks in lieu of keys to Hoboken, and neither seemed to show any hard feeling toward “Tony Mike,” who was with them on the high school stage.

Mr. Schulberg, sporting a graying goatee and his Dartmouth sports jacket, said, that “yes, in a way” he had been threatened while making the picture because at the time “things were very hot around the harbor” insofar as crime and mob violence were concerned.

Mr. Kazan was more explicit about those filming days: “A couple of guys tried to rough me up. But it sounds like I'm crabbing so I won't talk about it.”

To the audience, including many young people, he put a question: “Anything like the film still going on in Hoboken?”

He stirred up a lot of “ohhhs” and “ahhhs” with that one. Only last week, Big Bill Murphy, a prominent longshoreman's association official, was attacked by masked men on Washington Street, the main street, and shot several times while waiting in his car for a red light. He was released from the hospital this week.

But much of the waterfront bustle that made Hoboken an ideal setting for the film is now gone. The Todd Shipyards closed in 1965, and Hoboken, cramped into 1.3 square miles, does not have the space for a major installation to handle container ships, local officials say.

Figures on hirings of longshoremen tell the story. Fifteen years ago there were 419,555 hirings on the Ho boken docks in one year—nearly 9 per cent of the hirings in the entire Port of New York. In 1972 the total had dropped to 130,000, less than 5 per cent of the total.

The glory days of preWorld War I prosperity and the brash days of booze and craps on a wide‐open waterfront may not return. Yet Hoboken, with its long, straight streets of still‐solid brick homes — many very handsome — and with its antique Erie‐Lackawanna passenger terminal and with an assortment of quaint, vintage bars, has a charm not found elsewhere in the metropolitan area.

The big port activity on the Jersey side of the harbor is now at Newark and Port Elizabeth, which have huge container‐handling facilities. With the loss of port activity, Hoboken's population has changed drastically.

There has been a major influx of Puerto Ricans and other Hispanic groups. They now constitute close to half of the total population of 45,000, according to Mayorelect Steve Cappiello, a former police sergeant and Councilman. But Italians dominate politically.

Hoboken is still a town where people sit at night on the benches outside the old City Hall. But street crime is up, and a rash of disturbances in the Hispanic section in the summers of 1970 and 1971, including windowsmashing and bottle ‐throwing, helped Mr. Cappiello's law ‐and ‐order campaign under the slogan: “Your Safety and Future Our Concern.”

It still has a considerable port activity, a number of industries ranging from propeller‐building to coffee‐roasting, and plans for some waterfront office buildings.

Hoboken has hopes for a turnaround, that its charm and closeness to New York will indeed attract Manhattanites. Some have already moved over and refurbished brownstone homes. Of course, many thousands of commuters simply pass briefly through the ancient rail station every day to and from New York.

Last night's nostalgic evening ended close to the waterfront at an official reception in the vintage Grand Hotel and Bar where the tile floors, paneling and wall paintings evoke days of nickel beer and free lunch. Mr. and Mrs. Schulberg, Mr. Kazan and “Ibny Mike” were all in the throng that was served beer from big pitchers.


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