Williamsburg mainstay Toñita's attracts a new generation to the social club

When Maria Antonia Cay opened the Caribbean Social Club in the 1970s, it catered to a working-class community where people from the neighborhood could find reminders of home — whether that was Puerto Rico or the Dominican Republic.

The area, known as Los Sures, was once home to mostly Puerto Ricans who came to New York in search of better prospects.

But in the nearly 50 years since the club — which is better known as Toñita’s, after a nickname of Cay’s — opened its doors, the once industrial, blue-collar neighborhood around it has now become one of the city's most coveted real estate markets, brimming with modern high-rises and luxury brand storefronts.

Despite the changing surroundings, Toñita’s has fended off challenges to its continued existence. It remains a sanctuary for new arrivals to the city, including migrants and asylum-seekers who’ve arrived in the last year.

“The club hasn’t changed,” Cay said in an interview late last month. “It’s the same as it’s always been. It’s the people who come here that change. But the club and the building are the same as they were 50 years ago when I moved here.”

Robert Gómez, 35, came to New York nine months ago, seeking asylum in the U.S. from his native Venezuela. While looking for a place to celebrate the New Year, Gómez and his friends stumbled upon Toñita’s by chance. They had heard it was a place that would make them feel at home.

Gómez, now a club regular who also volunteers, says the serendipitous New Year’s Eve encounter changed his life.

“It’s not hard to realize how valuable a person as good as [Cay] is. She lets me come and be here regardless of whether I want to have a beer or drink. She gives you food everyday, in fact, I’ve already eaten twice today,” Gómez said in Spanish. ”It’s just an amazing place to be. It's like my work center because I come here, I have my phone charging and I get my orders and then I leave, I deliver and I come back.”

Gómez lives between a room he rents in Coney Island and a shelter located a few blocks from Toñitas on Myrtle Avenue, where he’s processing his asylum case. He juggles a job in construction and delivery work for Uber Eats. Gomez also volunteers at the club, clearing drinks on weekend nights when the place gets crowded.

"Toñita’s is a really cool place, where you can find different people from all over the world,” he said.

A haven for newcomers through generations

Marco Carrión, the executive director of El Puente, a Williamsburg-based organization launched four decades ago to stem violence in the area, said places like Toñita’s are critical to keeping the area's history alive while paying it forward to the next generation of immigrants.

“If familiar places disappear, the sense of belonging is lost. Gentrification is more than housing protection and that’s why places like Toñitas matter,” he added. “When a place where people gather leaves, the spirit of that community leaves with it. This is where people go to talk, gather, learn, connect.”

In June, dozens of clubgoers held a rally outside of the Municipal Building in Manhattan to support Cay, who was facing fines and a spike in noise complaints, including three just last month, according to 311 records.

“Immigrant communities need these places to have a sense of belonging. Some places in Williamsburg now only serve the newcomers,” Carrión said.

While seemingly everything else in Williamsburg has changed in the last two decades, the Caribbean Social Club seems untouched by time. The walls are covered in mementos, and Christmas lights and decorations hang all year long. All Cay has done since opening is paint some walls, she says. She’s even resisted installing air conditioning in an attempt to replicate Puerto Rico's warm, humid weather.

“It’s like being on the island,” Cay said.

In spite of inflation, Cay keeps her prices unchanged, offering Coronas and Medallas — Puerto Rico’s national beer — at $3 and cooking meals for patrons at no cost.

Gómez loves eating what Cay cooks and admits that having food that reminds him of home is one of his favorite reasons to come to Toñita's every day.

“There is a place like this in every country in Latin America, so it brings back memories,” Silvia Pérez, a Venezuelan videographer and club patron, told Gothamist in Spanish.

Francisco Rivera, better known among the club's regulars as “El Gato,” or "the cat," lives in the building next door.

“The neighborhood used to be cheap,” he said.

“You could eat for $2, but it’s nice that Toñitas remains as it was, only now having people from different origins and not only Puerto Ricans,” Rivera added.

“Everyone feels good here. People talk to one another like they’ve known them their whole lives,” Cay said.

And as long as she can earn enough to maintain the place, Cay says she won’t raise the prices.

Cay was 15 years old when she arrived in New York City to work as a babysitter in the Bronx.

“Back then you didn’t need as much paperwork to work,” she said in an interview — a stark departure from the present, as city and state leaders plead with Washington to expedite work permits for the tens of thousands of migrants who’ve come to the five boroughs in the last year.

Cay speaks proudly about the community built around her club and thinks that “the major social change in the neighborhood is that before all businesses were owned by Puerto Ricans, and not anymore.”

She has noticed one change, however: “Now more young people come.”

Carrión warns about the danger of cultural erasure and the importance of preserving places like Toñitas. “In 15 or 20 years, people will say ‘Boricuas used to be here’.”

“We have to take care of Toñita's like a treasure,” Pérez concludes.

"Here we are and here we’ll remain until…," Rivera says, trailing off to start serving beers to patrons.

Cay admits that she has received many offers to sell the building, but she’s not interested. Owning the building has helped her in keeping the social club running as long as she has.

“They could offer me $100 million. I’m not selling,” she said.