When people from the mid-Hudson Valley talk about prosperous days gone by, they remark on how Newburgh was a central market town. Goods of every sort were shipped through Newburgh by boat, truck and train.
Its business district held hundreds of shops spread out from the earliest commercial area of Front and Water Streets up Colden Street to Broadway and on to other commercial streets like Liberty, William and Mill.
Beyond those hubs, each neighborhood had a cluster of retail stores to serve the everyday needs of its residents. There was always a grocery or two, a laundry, a barber and hairstylist, a tailor, a butcher, a bakery, a hardware store and, of course, a couple of neighborhood taverns. The way shoppers have gone to the massive Woodbury Commons in Central Valley to our south, people used to come by train, bus or steamboat to the Newburgh business district where they could find just about anything they coveted – and in many varieties.
At the holidays, and for any special buying occasion, the folks of greater Newburgh made their way down to the waterfront district and looked at the merchandise offered by the biggest regional department store of all: Schoonmaker’s. It deliberately stocked merchandise for every taste and budget. The store’s origins went back to 1863 when three Newburgh men opened a dry goods store together on Water St. All three, John Schoonmaker, Samuel Mills and Alanson Weller had been born and raised on Orange County farms. They credited the strength and stamina required for farm work with helping them put in the long hours to succeed. By the end of the 19th century, Mr. Mills and Mr. Weller had both retired and, when John Schoonmaker died in 1904, the business was carried on by his son and daughters. It was hardly common for women to be business owners and managers, but the two Schoonmaker women worked along with their brother to expand the business further. By its 50th anniversary year in 1913, Schoonmaker’s employed between 130 and 230 people according to the season and had grown from one building on Water Street to three more adjacent stores remodeled to connect on each floor.
Personal service was the hallmark of the store’s success. Those many employees stood ready at every sales counter to advise on items, to demonstrate their features and make sure the customer was fully informed and satisfied. I recall shopping with my grandmother for hosiery and a saleslady carefully reached up on shelves, opened thin boxes and delicately removed each stocking showing its shade against the back of her hand so we could be sure we had the right color and quality. Salesmen pulled out as many shirts or ties as a gentleman wanted until the right style and fit was assured. There was as much work for the sales staff carefully repackaging, refolding or rehanging merchandise as there was in showing it to customers, so that the store always looked fresh and organized.

Like any good department store, Schoonmaker’s sold far more than clothing. They had household goods from bedding and tablecloths to kitchenware and glasses. The fabric department offered every stylish material for creating curtains or clothing, including yards of trimmings and thousands of threads and buttons. A big toy department filled one ground floor room and, again, sales staff would let a youngster try out a bicycle or pedal car and adjust it to be a good fit. They would take down from a high shelf and demonstrate a cast iron fire truck or a doll house so a family could see all the parts to play with. The big department store had other features like a luncheonette and a barber – all the sections in a late 19th century store like the one showcased on the PBS drama about Selfridges in London. If one’s purchase was a gift, there was wrapping offered and a long aisle of greeting cards to select just the right sentiment to express.
In the early 1920’s, Schoonmaker’s expanded by constructing a vast second store on the Front Street side of the railroad trestle. Their greeting card aisle was moved from the rear of one floor to the tunnel that was opened beneath the railroad trestle to connect the old and new stores at ground level. The old tunnel can still be seen, although now quite overgrown, as an opening below the trestle tracks just south of Fourth Street. It is hard to picture people standing in that space, but I once did and loved the rumbling noise that vibrated the little hall when a train passed way up overhead. It was one of the special quirky thrills of an old downtown store.
When Schoonmaker’s fell to Urban Renewal’s undeveloped plan, its owner, Samuel Schoonmaker, moved the business to the new Mid-Valley Mall. But times were changing fast and fickle customers were driving on looking for something else – something new.