tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9603789108280217942024-03-18T23:42:53.121-04:00Hidden New JerseyThe travels and adventures of a couple of nuts wandering around New Jersey, looking for history, birds and other stuff.Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02836481864368869692noreply@blogger.comBlogger530125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-960378910828021794.post-68674040086811827592024-01-19T11:26:00.000-05:002024-01-19T11:26:35.983-05:00Vegas... Paris... Roselle!What do all of these places have in common?<br />
<ul>
<li>Paris, France</li>
<li>Times Square, New York</li>
<li>Las Vegas, Nevada</li>
<li>Roselle, New Jersey</li>
</ul>
Roselle? The Union County, Parkway exit 137 Roselle? In what universe does this small town stand as equal to the City of Light, Crossroads of America and Sin City?<br />
<br />
The answer is simple: before any of those world-famous destinations could light up the night, one town had to be first, and that was Roselle.<br /><br />
After Thomas Edison perfected the incandescent light in 1879, he knew he had a lot more work to do if his invention was to be successful. What good would a light bulb be if you didn't have the power to use it? He and his muckers began work on an entire electrical system, including generators to make the electricity and the series of wires to bring that power from the generator to the individual lamps. By 1882, the Edison Illuminating Company had established the Pearl Street generating station in lower Manhattan and was supplying power to 59 customers via underground wires. Burying the distribution system under city streets was imperative, given the hazards already present in the nest of overhead telegraph wires strung above the sidewalks.<br />
<br />
The work inherent in building an underground system is expensive and time consuming: Edison's crew had to do their work at night, carefully replacing the cobblestones they'd dug up, as not to disrupt daytime traffic. Thus, it's not surprising that the Wizard of Menlo Park would opt for overhead systems in less congested areas. Before he attempted to sell the systems in small towns, though, he'd have to do some tests. Could he, in fact, build a system that would electrify an entire community from a central generating plant?<br />
<br />
That's where Roselle comes in. Edison wanted to test his system in a small community near a railroad that also wasn't being served by a gas company for lighting. Located along the Central Railroad of New Jersey line, Roselle was a tiny and growing residential community, yet the gas lines hadn't been extended there from Elizabeth. Plus, the head of the inventor's Company for Isolated Lighting lived in Roselle, making it easy for him to keep an eye on the system as it was being built and put into service. <br />
<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9HsQdZ3j6kSW8QpHKyWKOcPh28CrNdedJACYXmGZLQiyh0TBaVTkaQnJk0UluNr2Nt2fllu-Lygf75BPcfC0t7ImvwIQ4Pdfe5fW0oU4lnyWRCZ0Nb00ucEg-gcTH7qWqFNHiy03FrUbKmlw2tH0B7H1Bhxd9ZuwyfNO52l5QRJ5LTEPnAImimr9X57U/s4000/20230528_085059.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9HsQdZ3j6kSW8QpHKyWKOcPh28CrNdedJACYXmGZLQiyh0TBaVTkaQnJk0UluNr2Nt2fllu-Lygf75BPcfC0t7ImvwIQ4Pdfe5fW0oU4lnyWRCZ0Nb00ucEg-gcTH7qWqFNHiy03FrUbKmlw2tH0B7H1Bhxd9ZuwyfNO52l5QRJ5LTEPnAImimr9X57U/w320-h240/20230528_085059.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Roselle has embraced its history, <br />though folks in the Menlo Park section of Edison <br />might have something to say about the "first" part.</span> </td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">On January 19, 1883, Roselle took its place in technology history when the first overhead wire-equipped electric lighting system was fired up for the first time. When all was said and done, Edison's system included a steam powered generator at West First and Locust Streets, serving local businesses, the train station, about 40 houses and some 150 street lights. Service switched on around dusk and provided lighting until 11 p.m. when the power plant was shut down for the night. The First Presbyterian Church of Roselle also made history by installing a 30 bulb electrolier, becoming the world's first church to use electrical lighting.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">More importantly, once the effectiveness and safety of Roselle's Edison system was proven, other towns clamored to switch from gas lighting to electricity. Edison continued to make improvements on the concept in other places and eventually leased the plant to the community when it no longer served his purposes as a tool for testing out theories in electrical distribution.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEI9rEM25p9tOQk8nnBiSsJx1SiT0LygYhYlRjrkILYaiAnD2uA5GpUpYicOEo_No27Ss5FWR0Qndwn8eF4a51bSV0qUj85SFOI-a6y_jJfEBXiEPp8q4YMuJ3XnkgoaSDolFveX0t6ujPyp9UOlMp8S0zFT4bFbzvLEAGkibOck-6Joz31W7O2ID_7kk/s4000/20230528_084607.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEI9rEM25p9tOQk8nnBiSsJx1SiT0LygYhYlRjrkILYaiAnD2uA5GpUpYicOEo_No27Ss5FWR0Qndwn8eF4a51bSV0qUj85SFOI-a6y_jJfEBXiEPp8q4YMuJ3XnkgoaSDolFveX0t6ujPyp9UOlMp8S0zFT4bFbzvLEAGkibOck-6Joz31W7O2ID_7kk/s320/20230528_084607.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Look really carefully at the lower left corner <br />of the Twin Boro Lumber sign, <br />and you'll see Edison peering down at you.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Today, Roselle's status as New Jersey's (and the world's) first truly electric village is memorialized in the borough seal and "First in Light" motto. There's a plaque outside a lumber store at the corner of West First and Locust Streets that commemorates 100 years of light in Roselle, but it's not readable from the road, nor does it explain the complexities of the lighting system. The power plant itself was demolished in 1892, after Roselle's power grid was converted to alternating current and wired into the larger Suburban Electric Company in nearby Elizabeth. </div></div>Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02836481864368869692noreply@blogger.com0Roselle, NJ, USA40.659685 -74.26661440.646552500000006 -74.2928445 40.6728175 -74.240383500000007tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-960378910828021794.post-90382382388338343452024-01-16T15:20:00.009-05:002024-01-16T15:24:21.773-05:00Hidden Bargains on the Garden State Parkway<p>Eagle-eyed travelers along the Garden State Parkway might notice subtle yet distinctive differences to the road's construction as they travel between the New York state border and Cape May. Specifically, in the area between Woodbridge and Cranford, overpasses take the form of attractive stone arches, or in the case of railroad trestles, a combination of stoneface walls and horizontal steel beam. </p><p>Not coincidentally, these small relics of the Parkway's origins also mark a small stretch of the road that's truly a bargain. Those fourteen miles of highway are absolutely toll free.</p><p>Not just "no toll plazas, no EZPass." Absolutely free. It's a fine distinction, but hear me out.</p><p>The Parkway, like many things in New Jersey, has a complicated origin story, as I was reminded recently when researching a 40 cent difference between the price of gas at the Colonia service areas and every other service area on the Parkway. How is this possible when the NJ Turnpike Authority (and the NJ Highway Authority before it) requires service area operators to maintain the same price for all locations on the road?<br /></p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYfIHPtfvb-N-iQXXcuoa9O_xGsUM9ebkdcJ292sMFZxbcwH-ls7mZ93DQnvVeOc66ds1un6nKBlAAceK_YssfCDQ3bu7jgBpWsVWti6D1Q0MBspTN34f2xmwBNWx4Lkf-0jsKszi__9-84EILYTAVs3FGpVpmjXcYlzcBrPNDG1MCm21JY1Ey7zkI9ag/s4032/20210502_145529.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYfIHPtfvb-N-iQXXcuoa9O_xGsUM9ebkdcJ292sMFZxbcwH-ls7mZ93DQnvVeOc66ds1un6nKBlAAceK_YssfCDQ3bu7jgBpWsVWti6D1Q0MBspTN34f2xmwBNWx4Lkf-0jsKszi__9-84EILYTAVs3FGpVpmjXcYlzcBrPNDG1MCm21JY1Ey7zkI9ag/s320/20210502_145529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The Parkway's early stoneface elements are evident <br />where the road crosses the Rahway River in Cranford.<br />Centennial Ave crosses overhead. </span></td></tr></tbody></table>It all goes back to the birth of the Parkway in 1946, when the New Jersey Legislature authorized the State Highway Department to build what was then designated the Route 4 Parkway between Clifton and Cape May, with a spur from Woodbridge to Trenton. Nothing in the original legislation required the legislature to increase the State Highway Department's budget to build a 150-mile long road. <p></p><p>Ground for the toll-free highway was broken in Clark that year, and the four lane parkway -- including a broad grassy median separating north- and southbound traffic -- began to take shape. A total of 22 miles was built in Union, Ocean and Cape May counties before funds were exhausted in 1952. </p><p>Perhaps the mandate-without-funding method wasn't the best way to go? Governor Alfred Driscoll (namesake of the Raritan-spanning bridge) was committed to getting the highway done and the New Jersey Highway Authority (NJHA) was established in 1952 to complete the project. The NJHA was entrusted to issue voter-approved bonds as a reliable funding source for land acquisition and highway construction, rather than leaving it to the fate of annual state budget negotiations. Bond holders would be paid back with the proceeds from tolls charged at eight planned cross-highway toll plazas and a few on- and off-ramps. Once the debt was paid off, the tolls would be eliminated.*</p><p>The legislation that created the NJHA also mandated that the portions of the Parkway that had been built by the State Highway Department with funds from the state budget would be exempt from tollbooths.** Depending on how you define the term, you could say the Parkway is a freeway for that stretch. Considering there was neither a state income tax nor a sales tax at the time, the average New Jerseyan got a pretty good deal from that back in 1952, even if the average 21st century driver doesn't know the difference.</p><p>But what's that got to do with the price of gas in Colonia, you ask? </p><p>We get a hint from NJHA brochures issued in the early days of the highway. Chock full of useful details and convenient north-to-south and south-to-north maps, the handouts list the Colonia stations' location as "State Section," indicating that they were constructed with the original part of the Parkway. Indeed, a 2017 <a href="http://www.nj.com/traffic/2017/10/the_oddity_of_the_twin_parkway_service_areas_that_are_on_private_property.html" target="_blank">NJ.com</a> article notes that the stations were built on private property, though the Turnpike Authority owns the land surrounding them.</p><p>Because the gas stations aren't on Turnpike property, they're not required to follow the same pricing rules as the Bon Jovi (Cheesequake), the Houston (Vauxhall) or any of the other service areas. That's why Ivan and I got the pleasant shock of actual cheap gas on a recent drive home from Cape May. </p><p>Whether the big price difference will stick or not, only time will tell, but it's worth keeping an eye on if your travels bring you along that stretch of the Parkway on a regular basis.</p><p>At the very least, enjoy your free ride between Cranford and Woodbridge.</p><p><br /><i>*Insert cynical statement here. </i></p><p><i>**You can read it in PL1952, chap. 16, page 91, helpfully digitized by the New Jersey State Library <a href="https://dspace.njstatelib.org//handle/10929/54626" target="_blank">here</a>.</i></p>Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02836481864368869692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-960378910828021794.post-45648637738155889542023-06-07T14:54:00.001-04:002023-06-07T14:54:38.526-04:00The Battle of Monmouth and the Wizard of Menlo Park<p>Scrutinize the details on a towering Revolutionary War
monument in Freehold and you’ll find a young Thomas Edison with the heroine of
the Battle of Monmouth. He’s portrayed as thumbing the vent of a cannon barrel
as the famed <a href="http://www.hiddennj.com/2014/11/a-cool-drink-of-water-stumbling-onto.html" target="_blank">Molly Pitcher</a> rammed the charge.</p><p>How did Edison end up on a Revolutionary War monument? It's a bit of serendipity that started with an artist's visit to the inventor's Menlo Park laboratory, just a few weeks before the battle's 100th anniversary in 1878.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Illustrator James Edward Kelly had pitched <i>Scribners
Monthly</i> on the story of the man who’d invented a machine where “You talk
into it, turn a crank and it repeats what you have said.” Accompanied by a reporter,
Kelly took the Pennsylvania Railroad from New York to Menlo Park, a trip he
later noted in a memoir he’d hoped to publish of his encounters with famed men.
The 22-year-old artist warmed to Edison, not only sketching the 31-year-old
inventor at the phonograph for <i>Scribners</i>, but later creating a wax
relief he cast in bronze. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Kelly was later commissioned by Maurice J. Power of the
National Art Foundry to draw artwork to be included in an entry in the
competition for a monument to be placed at the site where the Battle of
Monmouth began. Architects Emelin T. Littell and Douglas Smythe envisioned a 90-foot-tall
granite column, encircled by five large brass plaques depicting key moments of
the daylong battle. It was Kelly’s task to illustrate those moments, the most
recognizable being Molly Pitcher manning a cannon in place of her injured
husband.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">According to Kelly’s memoir, the Littell/Smythe/Kelly
monument design was chosen from a field of more than 60 entrants. Though he’d
never worked with the casting process, he successfully lobbied Power for the
work of transforming his sketches to the 30-foot long, 6-foot high clay molds from
which the bronze panels would ultimately be made.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUkm6_1dADsVP5lwIB9kndVAiBi90l3-k5sSvDe6FVNaCrqYyQ97BXUQbzDX9_J0h03W1dxeDO9T3CZsa2SGh6SyKoFqOhuy_pAZPR6i6ONJDwhs-8jefFvWHcM8b_VeAgvR8FyobpBbPn0JQOUzPHqlo_c5VpgWCPe4xqWCC0Gmv3fv1Gri-u4aAi/s4000/20230517_110845.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUkm6_1dADsVP5lwIB9kndVAiBi90l3-k5sSvDe6FVNaCrqYyQ97BXUQbzDX9_J0h03W1dxeDO9T3CZsa2SGh6SyKoFqOhuy_pAZPR6i6ONJDwhs-8jefFvWHcM8b_VeAgvR8FyobpBbPn0JQOUzPHqlo_c5VpgWCPe4xqWCC0Gmv3fv1Gri-u4aAi/s320/20230517_110845.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Edison's a little hard to see, just to the right <br />and above of the man holding the cannonball. The artwork <br />is about 10 feet above the ground, a challenge for the viewer.</span></td></tr></tbody></table>Kelly tackled the Molly Pitcher scene first. Aside from the
challenges of learning a completely new process, he needed human models to help
him capture a realistic portrayal of the battle scene. While his mother and actress
Nell Starret provided the details and action of Molly Pitcher, it was a bit
harder to find someone to represent the gunner thumbing the cannon’s vent. Men
of the 1870s and ‘80s generally sported facial hair, and Continental Army soldiers
had been required to be clean-shaven. “My only acquaintance at that time
without beard or mustache was Thomas Edison,” Kelly wrote. “I went to him and
asked him if he would serve as a model. Mr. Edison consented, and the figure in
the panel is a portrait of the inventor when he was “lean and hungry” in his
search for the secrets of nature’s powers.”<p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The monument was formally dedicated on November 13, 1884, when
Edison’s public persona was in its formative stages. Electric lighting was far
from commonplace, and it would be years before the inventor’s work would
transform American life. It’s not surprising that I’ve found no indication that
his participation was noted at the time.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Edison himself doesn’t seem to have talked much, if at all,
about his brief career as an artist’s model, or his tenuous connection to the
Battle of Monmouth. And while biographies written during his lifetime do
attempt to forge a direct connection between him and a bank official named
Thomas Edison who signed Continental currency, the inventor’s Revolutionary-era
forebear was a Loyalist who moved to Canada after being imprisoned by the New
Jersey government. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i>Many thanks to historian Joe Bilby, who alerted us to this hidden
connection, and to William B. Styple, editor of Kelly’s memoir, </i>Tell Me of
Lincoln<i>, for including the artist’s recollections of Edison.</i></p>Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02836481864368869692noreply@blogger.com0Monument St & Court St, Freehold, NJ 07728, USA40.2622511 -74.277034111.952017263821155 -109.4332841 68.572484936178853 -39.120784099999995tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-960378910828021794.post-53428825113984768622022-08-10T12:30:00.005-04:002023-04-13T07:17:19.194-04:00London Calling at the Pole Farm<p class="MsoNormal">On any
given summer day, an 800-acre expanse of grasslands and forested tract on Lawrence
Township’s Cold Soil Road is alive with buzzing insects and chirping birds. Ninety
years ago the tract was alive with state-of-the-art radio technology that transmitted
telephone calls to Europe, South America and the Caribbean. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9Q0isNSDPX5vZDKodOxDuUIEWjmb3SGRJLvOhlIEKB5Rxonf9EnSHbNb01G8ClCvB_eRB-XBhkINnJb5rfnOqb2FiIPchRm2aPXk479_Sp6_T-CbSGEC4Kd2lMNdycolEuUzdo8xCzwqZfPPgJoQHm6ZjBsI_LUxVENgOk_aziQzdLPCTXlnnB9zM/s4000/20220730_104001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9Q0isNSDPX5vZDKodOxDuUIEWjmb3SGRJLvOhlIEKB5Rxonf9EnSHbNb01G8ClCvB_eRB-XBhkINnJb5rfnOqb2FiIPchRm2aPXk479_Sp6_T-CbSGEC4Kd2lMNdycolEuUzdo8xCzwqZfPPgJoQHm6ZjBsI_LUxVENgOk_aziQzdLPCTXlnnB9zM/s320/20220730_104001.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Locals dubbed
it the Pole Farm for the ever-increasing number of oversized telephone poles
that sprouted up to meet increasing demand for international telecommunications
service. Today the poles are gone and the site is part of Mercer Meadows, a unit
of the Mercer County Park System.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The Pole
Farm’s quaint appellation belies the magnitude of its stature as the American
Telephone and Telegraph Company's Long Lines Overseas Telephone Radio
Transmitting Station. More than two dozen steel towers, and then hundreds of
towering poles were erected between 1929 and the 1960s to support antennae that
transmitted telephone calls via shortwave radio to points across the Atlantic.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">These days, we take international telephone service for granted; with the advent
of web-based services, many of us skip the phone for video anyway. In the early
20<sup>th</sup> century, however, telecommunication was limited to places that
had been physically wired into the system. Thus, North America could talk to
North America, and Europe could talk to Europe, but there was no way for people
in the Eastern Hemisphere to talk with those in the Western Hemisphere.<br />
<br />
Enter the wonders of radio, which was becoming commercially viable for voice
signals in the early 1920s. Bell Labs engineers first devised a way to transmit
converted phone signals to London and back via long-wave radio signals, but
that was on an expensive single circuit. If AT&T had any hope of selling international
telephone service to the public, it had to be both cost effective and available
on demand.<br />
<br />
The answer came in shortwave radio, which overcame the issues of long-wave but brought
its own limitations. (Big science alert here!) To beam powerful signals long
distances, specialized radio antennas would have to be located precisely, built
under exacting conditions and suspended by large arrays of towers. Bell Labs engineers
again got to work, determining what kind of equipment the service would need
and where it would need to be located to operate optimally. Their solution also
had to address the very real problem that the wavelengths of shortwave vary in
how well they work, depending on the time of day. If the service were to be
reliable, engineers would have to overcome the limitation with a better
antenna.<br />
<br />
Beyond the knotty radio transmission challenges, AT&T needed two pieces of
land - one to build a transmitter and another to build a receiver - far enough
away from each other to assure that the arriving and departing signals didn't
interfere with each other. Building them in sparsely populated areas would
assure that there wouldn't be much if any other radio traffic to interfere. The
transmitting station needed to be relatively close to U.S. Route 1, where the
primary East Coast telephone system trunk line was located.<br />
<br />
Netcong in hilly, rural western Morris County proved to be a suitable location
for the receiving station, narrowing the possibilities for a transmitting
station to the south. Lawrence and Hopewell Townships proved to be just the spot,
with appropriately level farmland that was largely cleared. AT&T’s land
acquisition team quietly began negotiating with 14 farmers in 1928, moving quickly
in the hopes that deals would close before local chatter would prompt property
owners to raise their prices. Word got out in the local newspaper, and while
AT&T initially denied being in the market for farmland, it eventually admitted
the transactions and closed the deals. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Following
the purchases, AT&T quickly got to work on the infrastructure, both here in
New Jersey and the first two international locations, London and Buenos Aires.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The
Lawrence Township facility included two radio transmission buildings complete
with an innovative water cooling system for the powerful vacuum tubes that
generated the necessary shortwaves. To the outside world, the most remarkable
feature of the facility was the v-shaped configuration of 180-foot-high steel
towers – 26 in all – which supported a series of wire-mesh antennas. Placed
about 250 feet apart, the lines of towers extended about a mile in each
direction, aimed to beam signals to London and Buenos Aires. Somewhat like shades
that could be rolled up and down, the mesh curtain antennas were precisely tuned
to accommodate the complexities of shortwave technology at a given time of day
or night. Machinery hoisted the various curtains on Roebling cable at the
appointed hours to ensure reliable telephone service 24 hours a day.</p>Work was
completed in Lawrence and London in 1929, right on schedule, with Buenos Aires coming
online in 1930. Technological advancements soon improved efficiency and
capacity, enabling the site to handle more calls on a single radio channel and
bringing the cost of a call to $30 for three minutes. Meanwhile, some of the
farmers who once owned the land had made deals to lease it back, and continued
to raise crops in the shadows of the towers. One could say the property was bearing
fruit for everyone.<p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuHEL0cVPnmW2zEb3W1ZNyH4NAOZcqsGeuvLifEiR5MclWEagEJHyQ35mdajdgZlV3194DdP9cSB2d1jizxkrhTIwJcl787Av1HP5oO3F4prBCOe-_mnrZ9Yxp1mfloAqzo_7tsUURK0Iwxa_C7AKGhyapyio05iVyOeVj8MWWIT7acHorKXAXobF2/s4032/20210612_110130.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuHEL0cVPnmW2zEb3W1ZNyH4NAOZcqsGeuvLifEiR5MclWEagEJHyQ35mdajdgZlV3194DdP9cSB2d1jizxkrhTIwJcl787Av1HP5oO3F4prBCOe-_mnrZ9Yxp1mfloAqzo_7tsUURK0Iwxa_C7AKGhyapyio05iVyOeVj8MWWIT7acHorKXAXobF2/s320/20210612_110130.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">An example of the layout of a single rhomboid antenna, <br />illustrated on the Pole Farm's concrete map. </span></td></tr></tbody></table>Just
three years after the massive towers were erected, AT&T introduced the rhombic
antenna – a five acre-wide diamond-shaped array of eight poles, each 80 feet
high, holding up the antenna wire. These smaller, less expensive arrays spelled
the end for the giant curtain antennae, which were dismantled in 1939. Further advancements
brought the twin rhombic antenna (think one diamond next to another). It’s the
proliferation of those, over time, that led locals to dub the tract the Pole Farm.
With farming still going on around and amid the antennae, it probably didn’t
take much imagination for an onlooker to conclude that the tract’s big crop was
oversized telephone poles.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p>By the
mid 1950’s, the site was the largest facility of its type in the world, handling
more than a million calls a year. The site’s remaining woodlots and orchards
were cleared to erect even more antennas, totaling more than 2000 poles by the 1960s.
Old farmhouses, previously converted to housing for AT&T workers, were
either moved offsite or demolished to create more space.<p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In the
end, the technological progress that had given birth to the Pole Farm was what
ultimately what created its demise. The successful introduction of transatlantic
telephone cables and then satellite telecommunication proved to offer more reliable,
less costly service. AT&T relegated the Pole Farm to backup status in the
1960s, removing antennae as they were taken out of service. In the final years,
the facility that once provided groundbreaking voice communications to world
capitals was now left to serve small markets in countries most Americans couldn’t
easily locate on a map.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">AT&T
fully decommissioned the Lawrence Overseas Telephone Radio Transmitting Station
on December 31, 1975. By the end of 1977, virtually every standing structure on
the Pole Farm had been demolished – everything but a single pole from the Tel
Aviv rhombic. Farmer Charlie Bryan had requested that it remain standing as a
lightning rod to protect his home and barn nearby.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw8D3ybPCrd2PsO8YvYkkSriRcWeCQrc-dMBSi-Iax6ywbl5heN7yxcaSeS0UWY_V3KCSojuZOwX_8B0qmlO7eRgLIx-amZBOPB-WBc69vJ2RlhF1AjRZsY1YJTkH60mzPckifN5msyhUULwV7K-AoRaTOm3CfaNKA_qLh32p2cuFNYC3OLrSBRxPn/s4000/20220730_104452.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw8D3ybPCrd2PsO8YvYkkSriRcWeCQrc-dMBSi-Iax6ywbl5heN7yxcaSeS0UWY_V3KCSojuZOwX_8B0qmlO7eRgLIx-amZBOPB-WBc69vJ2RlhF1AjRZsY1YJTkH60mzPckifN5msyhUULwV7K-AoRaTOm3CfaNKA_qLh32p2cuFNYC3OLrSBRxPn/s320/20220730_104452.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Other traces
of the Pole Farm’s infrastructure are largely gone, through you might find the
stray cable or concrete footing among the ground foliage as you stroll along
the wooded paths. The county has memorialized the two transmitter buildings with
steel arches that approximate where their entrances would have been. The site
of Building Two, not far from the parking lot, includes a large concrete map of
the antenna configurations that once stood on the grounds. One can walk from Bogota
to Berlin, to Moscow, to London, to Willemstad, to Bermuda, imagining the conversations
that flowed through those radio waves.<p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Turns out, too, that the Pole Farm is a remarkably lovely place to visit on a
summer afternoon. In the two decades since Mercer County bought the property,
435 acres of the former farmland has been converted to native grasslands. It’s great
habitat for Short-eared Owls and Harriers in winter, and Grasshopper Sparrow,
Bobolink and Meadowlark in summer. The Washington Crossing Audubon has pegged the fields as outstanding for butterflies if the county leaves the grasses and wildflowers unmowed for the summer.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghn8znN22SGEuSkcz9inWi3CFEE1xkHB8ZyWCHWLm4uLbvH6hT9xDUUek5vloQoLGtTDgSsL7-A-DB8dunWGhk2oPzMRVXNTpKWCTAiZffUpN5F0SuN7hRfOGQSBMp-Pc8h1I3YghPxvJh4ZaAH5QVBNFeEHuvLrKPINeKusjtYbsE_XBYRYE0r-lE/s4032/20210612_115131.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghn8znN22SGEuSkcz9inWi3CFEE1xkHB8ZyWCHWLm4uLbvH6hT9xDUUek5vloQoLGtTDgSsL7-A-DB8dunWGhk2oPzMRVXNTpKWCTAiZffUpN5F0SuN7hRfOGQSBMp-Pc8h1I3YghPxvJh4ZaAH5QVBNFeEHuvLrKPINeKusjtYbsE_XBYRYE0r-lE/w113-h200/20210612_115131.jpg" width="113" /></a></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Level gravel paths make the entire place very welcoming to anyone on
foot, bicycle, stroller or wheelchair. As you walk or roll or run, consider
that some of the very routes you’re taking are the service roads that linemen
once used as they maintained the antennae that connected the world’s voices. Stop to look closely in the woods, and you might even see vestiges of the poles, guy
lines and concrete footings that stabilized the antennae. Interpretive signage along the paths offer photos of the structures that once stood there, along with portraits of some of the people who kept the station humming. A leisurely visit will leave you marveling at what once stood there.</p>
While I’ve covered a lot, there’s so much more to the Pole Farm, from nature
to history to technology. Lawrence Township historian Dennis Waters’ very
informative presentation for the Mercer County Park Commission, available on
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RSRk_DBZWUM" target="_blank">YouTube</a>,
dives a bit deeper into the technology, the people who worked at the site, and the
post AT&T history. It’s definitely worth watching.<br />Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02836481864368869692noreply@blogger.com0111-167 Cold Soil Rd, Lawrence Township, NJ35.7788977 -94.249704535.7788472 -94.2497835 35.7789482 -94.249625500000008tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-960378910828021794.post-8991512737588209222022-07-07T19:46:00.000-04:002022-07-07T19:46:27.079-04:00A New Idea of Home: Closter's Lustron House<p>Here at Hidden New Jersey, we’re big fans of lemonade makers
– entrepreneurial spirits who make the most of what some less creative folks
might find to be a problem. Edison’s <a href="http://www.hiddennj.com/2011/02/solid-as-rock.html">Portland cement</a> business, for example,
capitalized on crushing technology that had been used in the inventor’s
ill-fated iron ore mining venture, eventually leading to an outstanding,
durable concrete product. As you’ll recall from our previous travels, Edison
extolled the virtues of the product for use in everything from road surfaces to
inexpensive and quickly-erected <a href="http://www.hiddennj.com/2011/05/visiting-phillipsburgs-concrete-houses.html">housing developments</a>.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0OEFAJwXDXaQ3EbI0B_tqedOsTxiYrK50Z3NzI38NwWwmELajf1h_vdl4kBcNqU9ugLcr5-AGiTNkOm7bCXf79pggYj0deY1VCycjww5HWNbq0Msnmf_Jp0M3UnXeALycHjVxRDbYSdqbpkGjf2E2m-XHPtUdxtpWs1iLk-emmvWvQeTM_aqTc1MK/s4032/20190511_132732.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0OEFAJwXDXaQ3EbI0B_tqedOsTxiYrK50Z3NzI38NwWwmELajf1h_vdl4kBcNqU9ugLcr5-AGiTNkOm7bCXf79pggYj0deY1VCycjww5HWNbq0Msnmf_Jp0M3UnXeALycHjVxRDbYSdqbpkGjf2E2m-XHPtUdxtpWs1iLk-emmvWvQeTM_aqTc1MK/s320/20190511_132732.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Another example of ingenuity stands at 421 Durie Avenue in
Closter. The one-story enamel-clad home and garage is one of a handful of still-extant
examples of a company’s efforts to overcome one post-World War II crisis by attempting
to solve another. Originally owned by the Hess family, the house is one of the 2680
prefabricated housing units made by the Lustron Corporation, a division of
Chicago Vitreous Enamel Company. It would be no surprise if it puts you in the
mind of mid-20<sup>th</sup> century prefabricated structures like gas stations –
Chicago Vit made those, too. Expanding into the post-World War II housing
business was one executive’s means of keeping the company in business when the supply
of steel was scarce and regulated by the federal government.<p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Before we get to the business end, though, let’s take a look
at the Lustron House that’s been lovingly restored by dedicated friends and the
Closter Historical Society. I checked it our on a pre-COVID weekend afternoon
during one of its monthly open houses, announced on the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Lustronhouse" target="_blank">Friends of the Hess Lustron House Facebook page.</a> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The Lustron’s enamel-clad panels and boxy form make it easy
to spot among the other homes in the neighborhood. A distinctive zig-zag metal
pillar holds up the corner of the roof over a small concrete porch that leads
to the front door. Walk through that door, and you’re already in a small living
room, tastefully decorated with 1950’s era furnishings. You’d expect that a
metal house would feel antiseptic, but it felt cozy despite the metal walls and
ceiling, and the linoleum flooring underfoot. As manufactured, the house was
equipped with radiant heat, which oddly worked through the ceiling panels, rather
than the floor.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinpsPDU7-SyHukaR6JF2hFB8rg98f8GSQhCwXoMuRYe8cIvjg4sfuNpZTFAKAkNcoB7D4OldQ_zcUtMJlkqu9F1OT9-ET62nO4EkhR7x0oNQxzFw3cEPzizbpVO3jyrssz4Eu1fSzyTrpIcA5zuVtS-h2ZZN5deDYg7dI_3FNVvQ4Rj7BIbOrnU3G0/s4032/20190511_125307.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="155" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinpsPDU7-SyHukaR6JF2hFB8rg98f8GSQhCwXoMuRYe8cIvjg4sfuNpZTFAKAkNcoB7D4OldQ_zcUtMJlkqu9F1OT9-ET62nO4EkhR7x0oNQxzFw3cEPzizbpVO3jyrssz4Eu1fSzyTrpIcA5zuVtS-h2ZZN5deDYg7dI_3FNVvQ4Rj7BIbOrnU3G0/w208-h155/20190511_125307.jpg" width="208" /></a></div>Just to the left of the living room, there’s a dining area
with a pass-through opening in the adjacent wall.<br /><br /> Step through the doorway and
you’re in a small but well-appointed kitchen whose cupboards are stacked with
<a href="http://www.hiddennj.com/2011/11/from-tabletop-to-cockpit-boontons.html">Boontonware</a> tableware and 50’s era grocery items. A mid-century range/oven and refrigerator stand
ready for use.<p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgVY4ofmqpYcnAEs7sCWwm1PNBc0zvAdAR7VUwLOuKykk9hlZF0R1YqcB8q6aYClJYm09z90HOx_co-AvkuY0hp4qLlKyGmQIToMTsuBK4wr4TfLGBuMjtoIBieIyOHVDZ4Ycna5FypohG4I2OzT0Izm6L19JCG2DEl5cEVUWODuhSRpfp-uM3NJo2/s4032/20190511_125320.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgVY4ofmqpYcnAEs7sCWwm1PNBc0zvAdAR7VUwLOuKykk9hlZF0R1YqcB8q6aYClJYm09z90HOx_co-AvkuY0hp4qLlKyGmQIToMTsuBK4wr4TfLGBuMjtoIBieIyOHVDZ4Ycna5FypohG4I2OzT0Izm6L19JCG2DEl5cEVUWODuhSRpfp-uM3NJo2/w163-h218/20190511_125320.jpg" width="163" /></a></div>An adjacent laundry room still holds a rotary clothes press on
a desk with matching chair – the perfect setting for a mid-century homemaker to
continue with her chores even as she rested her feet. The only thing missing
from the Hess domestic executive’s original domain was the Thor Automagic, a
space-saving combination clothes washing machine, dishwasher and kitchen sink.
Yes, you read that right! The same innovative device could wash your clothes
and your dinner plates, though not at the same time. Like many other Lustron
homeowners, the Hess family eventually discovered that the Thor left much to be
desired. Perhaps they grew weary of having to <a href="https://www.mentalfloss.com/article/66737/bring-back-thor-automagic-1940s-hybrid-clothesdishwasher">change out the machine’s drums</a>; in any case, they replaced Thor with a standard sink that remains today.<p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Two bedrooms and a full bath make up the remainder of the
house, each with a space-saving pocket door to afford privacy.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwYtcZPcvLbJ8LyXBz9Mpog2pn5YKq2qNjwNSIyu5sIc18RW2TlsY_n4fj4m82y5ArPxXWghLpailSyS4Vs9FPPX2MmTX7gMCowZN4j94MN_BKc8JtNx1t4vUJ7quy6Z5A_m_3ECDE6wdXJh2znQSLd8h1u7iy6nUMXbZFz8Mwo3lgg8IcVc5G5f9b/s4032/20190511_130648.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwYtcZPcvLbJ8LyXBz9Mpog2pn5YKq2qNjwNSIyu5sIc18RW2TlsY_n4fj4m82y5ArPxXWghLpailSyS4Vs9FPPX2MmTX7gMCowZN4j94MN_BKc8JtNx1t4vUJ7quy6Z5A_m_3ECDE6wdXJh2znQSLd8h1u7iy6nUMXbZFz8Mwo3lgg8IcVc5G5f9b/s320/20190511_130648.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>The master bedroom feels fairly spacious, with plenty of
built-in storage that brought to mind an oversized office cubicle, but without the
cloth wall panels. Metal-doored closets stood on either side of a long,
built-in vanity backed by counter to ceiling mirrors that lend depth to the room.
The second bedroom, decorated with vintage toys, games and a typewriter,
probably would have been cramped living quarters for siblings to share. A Fort
Lee High School banner was stuck to the wall with magnets, a reminder that interior
décor in a Lustron couldn’t rely on the typical hammer and nails to hang
pictures or keepsakes. You could, however, decorate your bedroom wall with refrigerator magnets!<p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwoLE4o_FrWU8FGSalDMQoOg2a5mIDhpIr6woGjmCCZmVJlscCZk0tQ-W4NIbPOdFnvI2PS1Kanesw23aHJyHPDpsavrF1W9K3dvDrVK4QP3uEvIAlWn38RFNrmKdk94QhLHCeEjdGziYgePFI8CH77WDyk5oibKkOKan_A_xGc6TL3LqUl0MZ3pgU/s4032/20190511_130439.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwoLE4o_FrWU8FGSalDMQoOg2a5mIDhpIr6woGjmCCZmVJlscCZk0tQ-W4NIbPOdFnvI2PS1Kanesw23aHJyHPDpsavrF1W9K3dvDrVK4QP3uEvIAlWn38RFNrmKdk94QhLHCeEjdGziYgePFI8CH77WDyk5oibKkOKan_A_xGc6TL3LqUl0MZ3pgU/s320/20190511_130439.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Apart from the large enamel tiles lining the walls, the sole
bathroom in the house is pretty typical for a mid-century house. The only replacement
seems to be the sink and vanity combo, which ironically seems the most worn of
anything in the home.<p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The entire house is less than 1100 square
feet: tight quarters for today’s McMansion families but pretty much the standard for starter housing in postwar America. A Lustron would have
felt spacious for young couples relegated to living with their parents and in-laws
due to post-war housing shortages.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It might have been just the ticket for recently-married Harold Hess. Lustron caught his eye during a 1949 visit to
Palisades Amusement Park, where a model was displayed by the company's local dealer, Better Living Homes
of Maplewood. For less than $10,000, the dealer
promised that a team of his workers could build the house in less than 360 man
hours.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The house purchased, Hess needed a place to put it. He originally hoped to build in Fort Lee but found local
planning and zoning boards less than receptive to an enamel-clad house. After a
six-month ordeal, he found building codes to be more lenient in Closter, where
he got clearance to build at the corner lot at Durie Avenue and Legion Place. The
company delivered all the parts for its Westchester model home to the site in
one of its trademark tractor trailers, ready for assembly, complete with an
optional garage and enclosed connector corridor.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The Lustron Corporation promised a low-maintenance house,
and apparently that’s what they delivered. Aside from the problematic Thor
Automagic and some predictable wear on light switches and some of the
cabinetry, the place looks pretty darn good. The walls and ceilings could be
rubbed down with a little wax when they needed touching up.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">With all of these advantages, why isn’t Lustron still in
business today? A litany of issues arose fairly quickly, due to poor planning that couldn't be overcome by the extensive sales campaign that had gotten so many people excited about the future of prefab steel homes. In fact, Hess reportedly felt
fortunate to get his house at all, given that the company was headed into
bankruptcy.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In creating a national sales network,
the Lustron folks apparently didn’t consider the expense and complications of shipping
their product from their Ohio factory to building sites throughout the country.
The interstate highway system was yet to be built, and shipping by train would
still require transport from railyard to the ultimate destination. The Lustron
Corporation was left to create its own shipping infrastructure, using
specially-designed trucks that could accommodate the full weight of an entire
house. Needless to say, it was neither easy nor inexpensive to ship individual
homes. Tract homes could be built much less expensively and were.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Then there were the financial issues. Lustron executives had
relied on substantial government assistance to get the business going, securing
a $37 million loan from the Reconstruction Finance Corporation, a Depression-era
federal entity that made loans to banks, railroads and other businesses. Delays
in getting the business up and running, however, meant that the company had missed
the peak of the housing crisis. After 20 months of production, Lustron was
still losing money on every house it produced, leaving it unable to repay its
loan. The RFC foreclosed, and Lustron declared bankruptcy, leaving 8000
contracts unfulfilled. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Still, with luck and love, some of the homes the Lustron
Corporation did manage to build are still standing today. One has even been
exhibited in the Museum of Modern Art. Harold Hess lived in the Closter house for half a century, satisfied with his purchase but for the occasional need to find handymen with the creativity to repair things in a metal house. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02836481864368869692noreply@blogger.com0421 Durie Ave, Closter, NJ 07624, USA40.9707341 -73.966863812.660500263821156 -109.1231138 69.280967936178854 -38.8106138tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-960378910828021794.post-8908538987247146472018-06-17T14:10:00.000-04:002018-06-17T14:46:56.989-04:00Conquered by mosquitoes: New Sweden's Fort ElfsborgNot a cloud in the sky, and temperatures were expected to hit the mid 80s -- perfect beach weather. No doubt, the sandy expanses of Long Beach Island, Wildwood, Asbury Park and Sandy Hook were already reaching peak capacity.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-hcftNSbRXak_pDC_7THJ6yK1ZCe9PRACE3e1J1EkdP95NK_Kx5vdJAjiGkwibcCI9woNXIFnWSQ-X9Dp_EgIrgCJHgMMx12S4ij_pe9AScAaMHC9xfNidkJJ09XOGYX9EpT1cHHsDpw/s1600/20180616_102924.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-hcftNSbRXak_pDC_7THJ6yK1ZCe9PRACE3e1J1EkdP95NK_Kx5vdJAjiGkwibcCI9woNXIFnWSQ-X9Dp_EgIrgCJHgMMx12S4ij_pe9AScAaMHC9xfNidkJJ09XOGYX9EpT1cHHsDpw/s320/20180616_102924.jpg" width="240" /></a>Yet here I was, standing all alone on the beach, my only companion being a grounded turkey vulture. According to an aged New Jersey historic marker I'd seen before I made the turn down a long, narrow road, I wasn't far from the site of Fort Elfsborg. But as far as the 21st century was concerned, I was at Oakwood Beach in the Elsinboro Point Parking area of PSEG Nuclear's <a href="https://corporate.pseg.com/corporatecitizenship/environmentalpolicyandinitiatives/-/media/cca6e3286ee446f1815e2c339415b1d8.ashx">Estuary Enhancement Program</a>. On the way, I'd passed several residential garages and driveways, evidence of a shore community whose more photogenic side was pointed toward the lovely bay view.<br />
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New Jersey has its share of forts that don't exist anymore (we've shared the stories of the Revolutionary-era forts <a href="http://www.hiddennj.com/2013/11/refining-gloucesters-revolutionary.html">Billings</a> and <a href="http://www.hiddennj.com/2011/09/red-bank-on-delaware-revolutionary.html">Mercer</a> along the Delaware River), but Elfsborg is the granddaddy of 'em all. Not only is it not there anymore; it was the product of a colony that most New Jerseyans are unaware ever existed.<br />
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I first discovered the existence (or maybe the <i>concept</i>) of Fort Elfsborg many years ago on an aimless drive through Salem County, where there are still reliable signs at crossroads to tell you which towns are in which direction. One, somewhere, pointed to Fort Elfsborg. My trusty <i>WPA Guide to 1930's New Jersey</i> noted that Elsinboro Point was the site of the first Swedish settlement in the state. The colonists built a fort there in 1643 "to force Dutch trading ships to haul down their flags."<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinbi2do0LVxMNRkcPmCuzl7Y7l0OD5aShVn4mGaMYZwKL8rWMKn9xh6e-fuzHO_H6g9opeNIhjrpXC-ZnKhRViSp85O6AX7c95NTx0VAflQxqbpYEP4sU5FW_6nPWwrOnHhem9fxsqkgk/s1600/20180616_104503.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinbi2do0LVxMNRkcPmCuzl7Y7l0OD5aShVn4mGaMYZwKL8rWMKn9xh6e-fuzHO_H6g9opeNIhjrpXC-ZnKhRViSp85O6AX7c95NTx0VAflQxqbpYEP4sU5FW_6nPWwrOnHhem9fxsqkgk/s320/20180616_104503.jpg" width="320" /></a>Colonizing Swedes came to the Delaware Valley in 1638, with hopes of getting their share of the lucrative New World fur trade, despite the fact that the Dutch had already claimed the area and built Fort Nassau near current day Gloucester City along the Delaware, then known as the South River. The Swedes chose to build their fort closer to the mouth of the river, figuring they'd force the Dutch and English to get their permission to sail past, rather than having unfettered access to their own territory.<br />
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It was a perfect case of "looks good on paper" - an idea that probably seemed so logical that the Swedes might have wondered why the Dutch hadn't already secured the area. Reality proved different. The true adversary did not reach the Swedish settlement by ship, but by air, as evidenced by the name the colonists gave their fort: Myggenborg, or Mosquito Castle. The marshy land on which the fort was built was so rich with the pesky skeeters and gnats and their stinging so relentless that it was said the garrisoned soldiers appeared to have been afflicted with a horrible disease. It's small wonder that the fort was abandoned not long after.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihgb5AMSgh0feTR2tD_2DKHa2G0eJmKPI58wrNbVj7O0js6q_Niei8t932vfIetoycGHtELUvBGBQPK86s3ftW8Gpu50rjtDmahwKKWsVPE5D5e5fK8RPvR6pvlquJDxXLdgRaZuPGYrk/s1600/20180616_102804.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihgb5AMSgh0feTR2tD_2DKHa2G0eJmKPI58wrNbVj7O0js6q_Niei8t932vfIetoycGHtELUvBGBQPK86s3ftW8Gpu50rjtDmahwKKWsVPE5D5e5fK8RPvR6pvlquJDxXLdgRaZuPGYrk/s320/20180616_102804.jpg" width="320" /></a>Historians suspect that the actual fort site is underwater, somewhere off the Salem County coastline. In fact, PSE&G, the Swedish Colonial Society and the New Sweden Centre funded a 2012 expedition that explored both the Delaware Bay and the phragmites-infested coastline for evidence of human habitation. While they discovered portions of smoking pipes and arrowheads, none could be linked to the Swedish settlement. Given changes in sea level, the inevitable depositing of silt and whatnot over the years, impact of storms, what was close to the surface in the 1600s is likely well buried at this point, and the complex root systems of the phragmites are unlikely to give up any secrets.<br />
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As for the beach itself, the public portion is relatively small, but serviced by a gated 10-stall paved parking lot courtesy of PSEG Nuclear (that's right - free beach parking brought to you by the wonders of nuclear power!). Fans of natural beachscapes will appreciate the rustling phragmites and the dried-out bay vegetation along the high tide line, but that's about it. It's beautiful and somewhat secluded, but best left to the locals.<br />
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The WPA guide notes that Oakwood Beach was a summer colony, named for large oaks that once stood there and were taken down to build ships before the Civil War. Given the tidy upkeep of the homes there today, one has to believe that folks still enjoy living the shore life on Delaware Bay, hopefully without the relentless pesky insects.<br />
<br />Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02836481864368869692noreply@blogger.com0798 Salem Fort Elfsborg Rd, Salem, NJ 08079, USA39.544971011621413 -75.529427011669939.53861751162141 -75.5440825116699 39.551324511621416 -75.514771511669892tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-960378910828021794.post-65029954867743196362017-05-13T18:06:00.001-04:002017-05-13T18:06:57.428-04:00Route 278: the Expressway through my houseReaders of a certain age might remember the old Bugs Bunny <a href="http://www.ebaumsworld.com/videos/no-parking-hare-1954/83255074/" target="_blank">cartoon</a> where our hero wakes up in the morning to find an interstate highway being built around his rabbit hole. He spends the rest of the cartoon outwitting the construction workers to such an extent that they build the highway around his modest home.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNS7ccPD6FWMLWZeE0sStrUFYw9sKWA2pT2ZTbQ4bHXw_GLoT0sT47deYt3BY-wv2ipUgjz0qlTEnlzcFsbZC7O03-AOtNc1bKPRD2tHcD7mRSHZ5CeRfW_IV8kKrHvFZzgS4RhvNQbH4/s1600/749px-I-278.svg.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNS7ccPD6FWMLWZeE0sStrUFYw9sKWA2pT2ZTbQ4bHXw_GLoT0sT47deYt3BY-wv2ipUgjz0qlTEnlzcFsbZC7O03-AOtNc1bKPRD2tHcD7mRSHZ5CeRfW_IV8kKrHvFZzgS4RhvNQbH4/s320/749px-I-278.svg.png" width="320" /></a>Bugs' victory became real to me many years ago when my mom told me the story of how Interstate 278 was almost built through our living room in the late '60s. Apparently, my parents had bought my childhood home in Union without knowing that the neighborhood was on a Department of Transportation <a href="http://mapmaker.rutgers.edu/UNION_COUNTY/UnionCoHighways1967_2.gif" target="_blank">map</a> of the planned highway extension linking Staten Island with the then-yet-to-be-built Route 78 near the Union-Millburn border.<br />
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Earlier commercially-sold maps show a route that would have preserved our immediate neighborhood, but the impact on the town would have been immense with that route, too. Already criss-crossed by the Garden State Parkway and U.S. Route 22, Union would have changed dramatically, with an entire section of town cut off from the rest.<br />
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<span id="goog_568062625"></span>Plans for I-278 had been announced in the mid 1950s as part of a Federal government program to replace existing U.S. highways. According to a 1958 <i>New York Times</i> article, U.S. 1 would be replaced by Interstate 95, U.S. 46 replaced by 80, U.S. 22 replaced by 78, and so on. Planned as a secondary, or spur road, 278 would also be called the Union Freeway and was expected to divert Union County-bound traffic off Route 78 while relieving pressure on State Highway 28.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij2b8S333ADLOqEMk21KSKNjqJi0uC_kYl_c3JklOF-L3VmMpBnYiCehoytROQPYW5k852FWcnjnO00IeaMxR-aPgzZX4mEVGnCM2Xu5IlApw__mGfvx99iRwYbAMkYh5lhRNjegeJSnI/s1600/scan0001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij2b8S333ADLOqEMk21KSKNjqJi0uC_kYl_c3JklOF-L3VmMpBnYiCehoytROQPYW5k852FWcnjnO00IeaMxR-aPgzZX4mEVGnCM2Xu5IlApw__mGfvx99iRwYbAMkYh5lhRNjegeJSnI/s320/scan0001.jpg" width="247" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Protest letters are a little more convincing<br />these days.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As we know today, the interstates didn't replace the older New Jersey highways as much as they provided a less commercial, limited-access alternative that eventually got equally as congested as populations grew. And unlike a lot of the construction done in less populated areas of the country, parts of some of these highways would be built through thriving, densely built-up communities. The notorious urban planner Robert Moses had already pushed the construction of the New York portion of 278 in the 1960s by force of will, tearing up neighborhoods as it meandered through four of New York City's five boroughs.<br />
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Fortunately, New Jersey lacked a personality of Moses' stature to force the road through. That's where my family's story comes in. By the mid 1960s, Union, Roselle Park and Kenilworth residents living in the path of 278 were up in arms over the potential of losing their homes to a six-lane expressway. The Committee to Eliminate Highway I-278 was formed to organize Union residents in protest to state and Federal elected officials. I haven't been able to find much yet about the committee but discovered a letter sent to residents with office holders' names and contact information. Organizers claimed that more than 550 homes and 24 commercial properties would be claimed by eminent domain, pulling as much as $15 million in rateables off the tax rolls.<br />
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Local outrage eventually prevailed, and all that was built of 278 in New Jersey was a stub of a highway that opened in 1969, linking Route 1 in Linden to the Goethals Bridge in Elizabeth. Once the rest was effectively killed, the allocated funding went toward the Central Jersey Expressway, now known as Interstate 195.<br />
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And, of course, my family and I were able to continue to enjoy our home, unbothered by the inconvenience of being relocated by a six-lane interstate.<br />
<br />Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02836481864368869692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-960378910828021794.post-30031495462035780382016-10-28T09:59:00.002-04:002016-10-28T09:59:58.016-04:00The Statue of Liberty in Butler: the story evolvesLongtime readers may recall our surprising <a href="http://www.hiddennj.com/search/label/Statue%20of%20Liberty" target="_blank">discovery</a> of the Statue of Liberty on the balcony of the Butler Police station. To sum up, this eight foot-high replica - which looks pretty accurate at a distance - stands proudly in a prominent part of town, with no apparent connection to the community besides a general air of patriotism. A street in town is named for the statue's sculptor, Frederic Bartholdi, whom we later discovered was a friend of Richard Butler, the community's namesake whose rubber factory was once the largest employer in town. However, there's no prominent signage to describe the link to curious passers-by.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXBXIX6pJXloYAmjRU9VYnME473uvS5af8Vm_VA_GC6oihgAYF9QThTxUhX4oDGEaSCi129wY1OmpVjYIOHtYmYTtN1civoFGA_ckRMHof3KhLYm3SABLHat2cZtx68BQPxXBj_BWYJYQ/s1600/2012-07-08_15-26-22_877.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXBXIX6pJXloYAmjRU9VYnME473uvS5af8Vm_VA_GC6oihgAYF9QThTxUhX4oDGEaSCi129wY1OmpVjYIOHtYmYTtN1civoFGA_ckRMHof3KhLYm3SABLHat2cZtx68BQPxXBj_BWYJYQ/s320/2012-07-08_15-26-22_877.jpg" width="186" /></a>A bit more digging led us to discover that Mr. Butler had his own connection to Liberty Enlightening the World, as the statue is more officially known. The rubber magnate was the Lee Iacocca of his time, playing a major role in raising funds for the construction of the Statue's pedestal. As secretary of the American Committee for the Statue of Liberty, he donated the services of his rubber factory to ship miniature Statues to contributors. In recognition of his service, the French government named him a Chevalier of the Legion of Honor.<br />
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That solved one mystery, but we were still left to wonder about the origin of the police station Liberty. We figured she probably wasn't actually manufactured in Butler, since the statuettes the rubber company shipped were made by the Newton Bottle Stopper Company of New York. Still, she looks too accurate to have been crafted by a well-meaning fan.<br />
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It took us a while, but we got the answer during a visit to the Butler Museum during Morris County's recent Pathways to History weekend. According to the Butler Historical Society folks, their Liberty was one of several that were used as decoration on Liberty Island for the Statue's rededication celebration in 1986. How it got from the celebration to Butler is another question for another day; our friends at the Historical Society invited us to come back to review their substantial collection of Statue-related documents, ephemera and artifacts.<br />
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We kind of like this mystery and where it's taken us. Sometimes uncovering the story in pieces is even more fun than getting to the bottom of it in one swipe.<br />
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<br />Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02836481864368869692noreply@blogger.com0Butler, NJ, USA41.0037087 -74.34153939999998840.9557727 -74.422220399999986 41.0516447 -74.260858399999989tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-960378910828021794.post-30248857048979827152016-01-15T14:12:00.000-05:002016-01-15T14:12:16.522-05:00Winter birding turns balmy at Barnegat LightIf you're a birder in New Jersey, chances are you make the same trip every winter: you take the walk along the jetty at Barnegat Light to see the Harlequin Ducks.<br />
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They're cool little ducks that look like a paint-by-number project, with well-defined blocks of colorful plumage. Big fans of the rough-and-tumble waters next to rocky coastlines, they hang out next to the rip rap that forms the jetty protecting the eastern end of the tip of Long Beach Island from massive erosion.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3l9ZSgVxEE_-qZ8tDk_gUnrnK6Ze6YQ8FxBIDsBiUpksUmzDO-1Bt9eKr44ro1vf8wGMCiOGhTAcm8YzWb7Cg1-GurJWXpvcApJuyu5i_mSngXRJv1ORKnQk7jUdbKswjLLnqIu9XrzM/s1600/2013-01-06_11-03-46_672.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3l9ZSgVxEE_-qZ8tDk_gUnrnK6Ze6YQ8FxBIDsBiUpksUmzDO-1Bt9eKr44ro1vf8wGMCiOGhTAcm8YzWb7Cg1-GurJWXpvcApJuyu5i_mSngXRJv1ORKnQk7jUdbKswjLLnqIu9XrzM/s320/2013-01-06_11-03-46_672.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brr. This is the usual frigid jetty walk.<br />That dot to the right is Ivan.</td></tr>
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Usually, Ivan and I visit Barnegat in January for a reliable look at the ducks along with Great Cormorants, Common Eiders and Purple Sandpipers. Without fail, the weather is cold and blustery, with gusts coming off the ocean, but Ivan's a man on a mission to see 100 bird species before the end of the month. More often than not, I only walk halfway down the jetty before I give up and climb down to the beach, while Ivan swings his spotting scope on his shoulder and tromps down to the birds' preferred haunt, the end.<br />
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This season, we thought we were in luck. On our planned Barnegat Light day, the weather was in the downright balmy 50 degree range, and the predicted rain was holding off for at least a bit. Would this be the year we got the birds without the frostbite? Or would we discover that the desired birds hadn't yet arrived since their more northern territories hadn't frozen up yet?<br />
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Our first stop was just outside Barnegat Light State Park, where we discovered a large group of Boat-tailed Grackles perched on the power lines. Hearing a gentle "plop" in their general direction, I warned Ivan that we might be in for a Mel Brooks "High Anxiety" <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=scgO8Vfh1qU" target="_blank">moment</a>, but fortunately the birds played nice. Still, though, their presence was a bit off season, adding a bit of concern about whether the ducks were around.<br />
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After Ivan's customary pause to pay homage to Civil War General and lighthouse architect <a href="http://www.hiddennj.com/2011/12/ducks-barnegat-lighthouse-and-civil-war.html" target="_blank">George Meade</a>, we turned to start our way down the concrete platform that wraps around the northern edge of LBI and leads to the jetty on the eastern edge of the park. A few birders were clustered at the bend in the walkway, but nobody was going any further down. In a moment we knew why: waves were crashing against the jetty with such force that buckets of salt water were leaping over the walkway. Neither of us had ever seen puddles on the land side of the jetty, yet here they were.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2qr4jKgzmpj2X6g7288hGVwU9WHMqv90gDQEuCGda03yHeNyL1IvmRU8PC_A7wH_gN-dWr27Yn56K3exY66_kHZPdz1R03FZ6Yqj0nhM5qKjNTFMe1nzKKYwah0StzoUW0hBlx2_q-Zg/s1600/20160109_085354.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2qr4jKgzmpj2X6g7288hGVwU9WHMqv90gDQEuCGda03yHeNyL1IvmRU8PC_A7wH_gN-dWr27Yn56K3exY66_kHZPdz1R03FZ6Yqj0nhM5qKjNTFMe1nzKKYwah0StzoUW0hBlx2_q-Zg/s320/20160109_085354.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Oh crap. We weren't seeing any water-borne birds from our vantage point. They all notoriously prefer the area farther south of where normal people would hang out, and the frequency of the breaching waves was enough to nix any thought of making a run for it and hoping for the best. I myself wouldn't feel comfortable risking the walk across the rip-rap jetty.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiEyQ7WlszMvfy37TkrvfQYT8wsxRScmGbtiZcwYj_4Wj8MYSA6ZZ9Alxv4x12uycx-r5pftmqdCk2exDwBZy2iIf7F8hsugWkTDVfoTZmNMnU60-MGSEXMniEwdxIAOxKnUzuHZgxB0M/s1600/20160109_090549.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiEyQ7WlszMvfy37TkrvfQYT8wsxRScmGbtiZcwYj_4Wj8MYSA6ZZ9Alxv4x12uycx-r5pftmqdCk2exDwBZy2iIf7F8hsugWkTDVfoTZmNMnU60-MGSEXMniEwdxIAOxKnUzuHZgxB0M/s320/20160109_090549.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view looking north from the beach. <br />That water to the right is what washed up over the jetty.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Never one to declare defeat easily, Ivan reasoned that we'd just have to walk down the beach. Fine by me. Maybe we'd be able to get on the jetty farther down, or maybe the birds would be someplace we could see them. Either way, we weren't giving up. We'd driven all that way, and the chances of getting back to Barnegat before the end of the month were pretty much nil, so we had to make the best of this visit. Maybe we'd find some unexpected species along the way. You never know.<br />
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And indeed we did, hiding in the detritus along the tideline. If I hadn't seen the movement out of the corner of my eye, we would have missed a couple of Ruddy Turnstones foraging for food. Maybe they were a little freaked by the weather, too, as they didn't appear too worked up about us being just steps away.<br />
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Our reward for all that walking was a host of ducks braving the rough waves in the waters off the beach just west of the end of the jetty. Difficult as they were to focus on as they bobbed up and down on the surface, we eventually ID'd not only the Harlequin and the Common Eider, but found some Black Scoter and Long-tailed Ducks, too. And a Great Cormorant was perched, as is customary, on one of the towers out in the water.<br />
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Satisfied, we made our way back toward the lighthouse, happy to have made the call to walk the beach. Nature wasn't done with us, though. As if on cue, a small bird flew past us to perch on a bush along the dune. A run of the mill sparrow perhaps? No, a Snow Bunting, a bird we thought we'd have to make another long drive to find this month. Maybe the birding gods were smiling on us after all. At least we got our reward for persistence.<br />
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<br />Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02836481864368869692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-960378910828021794.post-74618234445140699802015-09-10T13:12:00.000-04:002015-09-10T13:12:07.804-04:00The star of Bethlehem? An Edison mystery in Hunterdon. Once again, it was proven to us: travel around North Jersey and you're bound to find something related to Thomas Edison.<br />
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This time, it came when we made a left turn off Route 57 West, passing Earle Eckel's <a href="http://www.hiddennj.com/2015/06/no-pita-with-this-gyro-earle-eckels.html" target="_blank">Autogiro Port</a> on our way southward to points unknown. After an enlightening stop in Asbury (more to come on that soon), we found ourselves driving on an undulating road through beautiful farmland. We weren't quite sure where we were, except that we'd left Warren County.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrGo_yeHJsE-RONsL5xc0ZDxYK_Xe3PjeoCF4idcs6tFrT8-YRNz7eef31tD7qxh-SeoYMgwc0lgutYRwrL6DLXWzGJyQBjW0i49CzPgecpLE8K92HZYULni_1f95_sbPpyIpVpWX86ws/s1600/20150907_134625.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrGo_yeHJsE-RONsL5xc0ZDxYK_Xe3PjeoCF4idcs6tFrT8-YRNz7eef31tD7qxh-SeoYMgwc0lgutYRwrL6DLXWzGJyQBjW0i49CzPgecpLE8K92HZYULni_1f95_sbPpyIpVpWX86ws/s320/20150907_134625.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The unusual two-story springhouse next to the sign <br />
that started our mystery.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And then, there it was: a Hunterdon County historic marker. Titled "TOWER HILL FARM," it continued, "Dating back to the 1840s, this farm was purchased for Thomas Edison's storekeeper, Frederick Devonald, in 1932 and remained in the family until 1983. Unusual springhouse consists of two levels."<br />
<br />
Devonald was a name I hadn't come across in my reading on Edison's life and career, leading me to believe that he wasn't one of the Muckers, the tight-knit group who worked closely with the Old Man on his experiments. He's not referenced in two of the latest and most comprehensive Edison biographies, nor does Mucker Francis Jehl mention him in his <i>Menlo Park Reminiscences</i>. Who was this mystery man?<br />
<br />
Considering that Edison's Stewartsville Portland cement plant is a 12 mile drive away from Tower Hill, I wondered if he'd been one of the many employees who'd never worked in either Menlo Park or West Orange. And who had purchased the land for Devonald a year after Edison's death? Was the gift connected to his work service at all, or was I just reading too much into a sign author's attempt at economical writing?<br />
<br />
Back at <i>Hidden New Jersey</i> HQ, we set ourselves to finding out. Checking first with Hunterdon County Parks and Recreation, we discovered that in addition to the stone springhouse we'd seen, the property hosted a farmhouse that had been built in 1848. Interestingly, the Parks and Rec website said that other Devonalds than Fred -- Ira and Margaret -- bought the farm in 1932 as a family weekend retreat, with three of them eventually making it their full time home. Records of the 1920 census list Ira and Margaret as two of the eight children being raised by Fred and his wife Julia in Orange.<br />
<br />
There went my supposition that Edison had bought the property for Devonald, but what about Fred's job? His family being from Orange made it doubtful that he worked at the Stewartsville cement plant. Was he, in fact, one of the keepers of the famous storeroom in the Building 5 machine shop at the West Orange lab? The wondrous room that Edison famously claimed to have everything from the hide of a rhinoceros to the eye of a United States Senator, all in order to speed the process of invention?<br />
<br />
As it turns out, it's entirely possible. A search of the online archives of Rutgers' <a href="http://edison.rutgers.edu/" target="_blank">Thomas Edison Papers</a> project reveals more than 70 documents referencing or signed by Devonald, mostly related to the procurement of supplies for the storeroom. One even went directly to Edison at his <a href="http://www.hiddennj.com/2012/03/where-edison-concentrated-iron-ore.html" target="_blank">Ogdensburg</a> iron mines, asking for approval to purchase chemicals. (Edison asked for prices and said he'd see Devonald to discuss.) Another source noted that Fred once turned to Julia, herself an Edison employee, to make a motion picture screen.<br />
<br />
And that leads us to Fred's brief star turn. While not a key employee, he was accorded a role in the development of one of Edison's most noteworthy inventions -- literally. A small room on the second floor of the West Orange labs was, in effect, the world's first motion picture studio, and the Edison movie making team needed animated subjects to test the kinetoscope technology. Hams like Mucker Fred Ott were more than happy to fake a <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8PaJ1r0udvQ" target="_blank">sneeze</a> for the cameras, and it seems that Devonald was open to participating, too. You have to wonder if he's one of the men in the brief dance scene in <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vfqUjBDIkT8" target="_blank">this</a> film. We may never know which one of the subjects he was, and he certainly didn't go on to screen stardom. But it does go to show: in the right work environment, you can have a lot of fun if you show a little personality.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02836481864368869692noreply@blogger.com2944 Mountain View Road, Asbury, NJ 08802, USA40.66883 -74.99942799999996615.1467955 -116.30802199999997 66.1908645 -33.690833999999967tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-960378910828021794.post-36702812146306330322015-08-28T10:06:00.000-04:002015-08-28T10:06:43.608-04:00Backed up on the road to Sandy HookOn a warm summer Sunday, we weren't surprised to run into people just trying to make it to Sandy Hook. What surprised us was how long ago they'd started their trip and the massive delay they suffered -- maybe New Jersey's first huge traffic jam. Certainly, it was the biggest hassle anyone has experienced in trying to get to the shore.<br />
<br />
We'd started the day avoiding all things beach. In fact, we were at a sod farm in eastern Mercer County, looking for 'grasspipers' - a general description of the shorebirds that hang out in grasslands. The fields weren't quite as productive as we'd hoped, leading us to wander a bit aimlessly until we found ourselves in the western Monmouth County community of Allentown.<br />
<br />
Full of Colonial, Georgian and Federal-style buildings dating to the earliest days of the nation, Allentown was built around an old grist mill on Doctors Creek. A picturesque mill pond offers a nice focal point to downtown and, of course, is irresistible to intrepid birders. The part downtown isn't quite so interesting -- it's the part that extends back to the residential areas that's tempting.<br />
<br />
Finding the right road wasn't hard -- it's called Lakeview Drive. Before we got to the lake, though, we noticed an old graveyard by the side of the road. The landscape is well tended, the grass is short, but its old stone border wall has seen better days, and its grave markers are well worn. In a lot of ways, it's not much different from any number of other small cemeteries dotting the more remote areas of New Jersey.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgymkHjISwiTwzmDm2IG8yvMqJ5xjJaVCx2hMIFQp0CAVfHOrj_7zXjY6oIpOZxAcfZAu67XqDM1mwpEL_6FRr7IDwd9oIfEXrmCqQ9_ZZxJKkTJi3NVQ6Znu4V6xPyBNysF6cKFDTWiLc/s1600/20150823_133744.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgymkHjISwiTwzmDm2IG8yvMqJ5xjJaVCx2hMIFQp0CAVfHOrj_7zXjY6oIpOZxAcfZAu67XqDM1mwpEL_6FRr7IDwd9oIfEXrmCqQ9_ZZxJKkTJi3NVQ6Znu4V6xPyBNysF6cKFDTWiLc/s320/20150823_133744.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not exactly a rest area, but sufficient for the need.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
What got our attention was a shorter stone flanked by two American flags. According to the plaque affixed on top, we'd stumbled on the pit stop for somewhere between 10,000 and 15,000 travelers who were just trying to get to the shore during some of the hottest days of June.<br />
<br />
This seeming horde of Bennies weren't headed to sun, fun and maybe some debauchery on the Boardwalk. They were members of what was acknowledged to be the best trained fighting force in the world: the British Army of 1778.<br />
<br />
Led by General Sir Henry Clinton, the troops had left Philadelphia and were on their way to the British stronghold of New York at Manhattan. Originally, the plan had been to evacuate troops via ship down the Delaware River and around New Jersey northward, but a shortage of transports forced a change of plans to an overland route. Crossing the Delaware, the troops moved in a northeasterly direction through Mount Holly and beyond.<br />
<br />
The trip was arduous. Heavily encumbered by a 12-mile long wagon train of equipment and supplies, the Brits and had been struggling to make their way despite demolished bridges and harassment by local Patriots. Even nature seemed to be conspiring against them: thunderstorms, mosquitoes and oppressive humidity made the trek especially onerous.<br />
<br />
After encamping at Allentown overnight, Clinton decided to direct his troops toward Sandy Hook. It was a logical move: the British had captured the peninsula over a year before and fortified it against attack, though Patriots occasionally attempted raids to disable Sandy Hook Lighthouse. Several British naval vessels were usually stationed offshore as further protection, and from there, safety in Manhattan was just a reasonably short sail away.<br />
<br />
Clinton and many of his troops eventually made it to Manhattan, but not without a serious fight, and that's an understatement. General George Washington, seeing an opportunity to strike, advanced the Continental Army to confront the British at Monmouth Court House - present day Freehold. The battle that ensued on June 28, 1778 was the largest artillery battle of the American Revolution and one of the longest engagements of the entire war.<br />
<br />
Consider that the next time you're stuck in shore traffic.<br />
<br />
<br />Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02836481864368869692noreply@blogger.com3Allentown, NJ, USA40.176396456346843 -74.5843744001388740.176017456346841 -74.58500490013887 40.176775456346846 -74.58374390013887tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-960378910828021794.post-45119117447838456592015-08-20T20:13:00.002-04:002015-08-20T20:13:45.985-04:00Black Gold, Texas Tea: the hidden corporate headquarters in Flemington<div>
For many years, New Jersey had the reputation of being <i>the</i> home for corporate headquarters. It seemed that if you were a Fortune 500 company, you either located your CEO here or had a major installation somewhere in the state. Some of them moved here from more expensive digs in New York City, finding good transportation routes and pleasant suburbs to attract employees. In any case, it wasn't hard to pick out the corporate HQs dotted along our highways, with their sprawling lawns and low-slung buildings. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Curiously, as I discovered recently, one of the largest and most famous among them had much more modest digs on a small lot in Flemington. You might know that corporation as ExxonMobil. Back then, it was Standard Oil of New Jersey.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
To say that the history of Standard Oil is complicated is a vast understatement, and I couldn't hope to explain it all in a readable blog post. For the purposes of today's story, what you really need to know is that at one point in the 1930s, the corporation's headquarters technically was a lawyer's safe on Main Street in the Hunterdon County seat. John D. Rockefeller's oil behemoth was broken up in a 1911 Supreme Court antitrust ruling, with Standard Oil of New Jersey (or Jersey Standard) being the largest of the resulting "baby Standards." Operating refineries at Bayonne and Linden, it continued to evolve after the mandated breakup, making several acquisitions and eventually becoming the world's largest oil producer. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Flemington has never been known to be a big oil town, nor has there ever seemed to be a potential for anyone to strike black gold somewhere off Route 31. And, in fact, there doesn't seem to have ever been a Standard Oil office anywhere in town, except maybe for a desk and chair at a filling station. This was not a traditional arrangement by any means.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As you might have already guessed, the company's reasons were purely economic. In one word, taxes. New Jersey law at the time stated that a company was headquartered where its incorporation papers were housed. By moving its headquarters from Linden to Flemington in 1937, Standard Oil was able to shave its tax bill by 80 percent. The company's operations continued without missing a beat.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Exxon corporate histories say nothing about this move to the heart of New Jersey's farm country, though I guess it's not surprising. The fact that the company had previously moved its headquarters to Linden from Newark to save a half-million dollar tax payment leads me to believe that the stay in Flemington was a relatively brief one, lasting only until a more attractive tax haven could be identified.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Despite Standard Oil's penchant for bending the rules, it's likely that its new neighbors in Hunterdon County wouldn't have minded a bit that the company had done this bit of corporate legerdemain, if they even knew the move had occurred. The boost in revenue to the county meant their own tax bills would decrease. While no new jobs were created, nor was there any additional burden placed on local roads and utilities. Maybe they hadn't struck oil, but who ever complained about lower taxes?<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02836481864368869692noreply@blogger.com0117 Main Street, Flemington, NJ, USA40.50913 -74.85955714.987095499999999 -116.168151 66.0311645 -33.550962999999996tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-960378910828021794.post-70110295809614083272015-08-13T21:44:00.000-04:002015-08-13T21:44:02.233-04:00Eggs came first in Flemington (at least that's what we figure)When I was in the fourth grade, my teacher gave me a project that opened my eyes to the diversity of our state. Everyone in our class had to write a report about a randomly-assigned county in New Jersey and present it to our fellow students. With 21 kids in the class, we were all guaranteed to learn about areas of the state we knew little of.<br />
<br />
I got Hunterdon. Hunter-who? Clear across the state from my Union County home, I'd never heard of it. Dutifully, I sent a letter to the courthouse in Flemington, wondering what this far-off place had in store for me.<br />
<br />
A few weeks later, I got a big manila envelope from the Hunterdon County clerk, loaded with pamphlets chock-full of facts and figures. While some of my classmates had gotten pretty tourist brochures featuring shore locations or historic sites in their assigned counties, the data-laden Hunterdon literature made one thing very clear: the county was where food comes from. And it was big business.<br />
<br />
I was reminded of this recently as Ivan and I wandered just a block off Main Street in Flemington and came upon an office building labeled "Old Egg Auction Prestigious Offices." With a liberal number of rooster statues strewn about, the building clearly had been repurposed after an industrial past.<br />
<br />
A county historic marker told the tale: "FLEMINGTON EGG AUCTION. The country's first, and, at one time, the largest cooperative egg auction operated here from 1932 until the death of the egg business in the 1960s."<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhThU3HRS-WfdPQ1XPbZALgWSfFW1Uvmj9jYrmpiDWTWH6_8zrrcXjg0hDvx6iDnDgoZ4tO3i0fqLt_o3qzFo6jT40RDdQ8eHqSl8gdF8Nc-NZtWlYrZxmkaJSZMjYV7GAplQfn9eDGJUE/s1600/20150808_153411.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: transparent; clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhThU3HRS-WfdPQ1XPbZALgWSfFW1Uvmj9jYrmpiDWTWH6_8zrrcXjg0hDvx6iDnDgoZ4tO3i0fqLt_o3qzFo6jT40RDdQ8eHqSl8gdF8Nc-NZtWlYrZxmkaJSZMjYV7GAplQfn9eDGJUE/s320/20150808_153411.jpg" width="320" /></a>The "first and largest" fit perfectly with my childhood impression of Hunterdon County, but what was this about the death of the egg business? Isn't that just a little dramatic? I mean, I'd had a Taylor ham, egg and cheese that morning for breakfast. Obviously, this warranted a bit more research once we got back to <i>Hidden New Jersey</i> headquarters.<br />
<br />
Our usual sources gave but a hint of information. Published a few years after the auction's founding, the Flemington chapter of <i>The WPA Guide to 1930s New Jersey</i> noted that the auction had started in 1930 to ensure the county's poultry farmers could attract better prices for their wares than they presumably could by seeking buyers independently. More research revealed that the auction had operated from the basement of one of the downtown stores before moving to a Park Avenue factory that had once housed the Empire Glass Company. Not long afterward, the Flemington Egg Auction expanded to live chickens and other livestock, eventually becoming a model for other agricultural cooperative auctions around the country.<br />
<br />
That was just the start. These days, the big Mid-Atlantic chicken states are Delaware and Maryland, but poultry was big business for New Jersey in the early- and mid-20th century. More than 1200 egg and livestock producers participated in the Flemington Auction in the late 1940s, and Hunterdon County wasn't even the largest poultry producer in the state. By 1956, sales of meat chickens and eggs accounted for nearly a third of all farm cash receipts, and we were fifth among all states in egg production. The Egg Auction alone was pulling in about $2 million a year.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbsqeIyjqGa0RpzI9JCX9aIViw14e3J-FroJ-kj3426EZObPrBwGFnOKo7R9DlOhQSbs6h8gY61HiUlxY6cZk5WBV6BGy50aU7kc8e9Aw0ACjVexgLXL5_5WVK7no-4hlASRTdueo0Kbg/s1600/20150808_153511.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbsqeIyjqGa0RpzI9JCX9aIViw14e3J-FroJ-kj3426EZObPrBwGFnOKo7R9DlOhQSbs6h8gY61HiUlxY6cZk5WBV6BGy50aU7kc8e9Aw0ACjVexgLXL5_5WVK7no-4hlASRTdueo0Kbg/s320/20150808_153511.jpg" width="180" /></a>Not long afterward, the tide turned, as oversupply and grain prices led egg producers out of the marketplace. Undoubtedly, improved transportation systems made it easier for lower-cost southern factory farms to ship fresh product to New Jersey at competitive prices, too. Maybe the egg business didn't die, but its New Jersey division wasn't doing very well. Farmers around the state, Hunterdon included, were discovering their land was worth more to developers than it would ever be if they continued producing eggs. Starved by a lack of suppliers, the Flemington Auction closed in 1976.<br />
<br />
Its property festooned with painted rooster statues, the Old Egg Auction building got us thinking about evolution -- not just the fate of the egg industry, but the old chicken-and-egg question. In Flemington, the egg was clearly sold at the auction before chickens ever came before the gavel. Will it ever come back to roost? That's a debate for another day.Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02836481864368869692noreply@blogger.com384 Park Avenue, Flemington, NJ, USA40.514086 -74.86234100000001514.992051499999999 -116.17093500000001 66.0361205 -33.553747000000016tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-960378910828021794.post-80535966777344800432015-08-06T19:27:00.000-04:002015-08-06T19:27:37.462-04:00Going to church: the amazingly well-preserved Old Broad Street PresbyterianI've long been of the mind that keeping a historic building in continuous use is the best way to keep it from deteriorating. An impressive structure on West Broad Street in Bridgeton proves that sometimes, the direct opposite is true.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsOudPT8aoD_CFlB5ie8H7xctE4693FPzVO-Nlxzs3JIwm1DVTXZVKaM17ELPq4rcVTiUak3CESBWWVuGMG0nywJOa6I1ZnoP8IV5QNQWTRgbC-pR4QFcmkRxEt_quCm-6b3aD63ckSYw/s1600/20150726_145308.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsOudPT8aoD_CFlB5ie8H7xctE4693FPzVO-Nlxzs3JIwm1DVTXZVKaM17ELPq4rcVTiUak3CESBWWVuGMG0nywJOa6I1ZnoP8IV5QNQWTRgbC-pR4QFcmkRxEt_quCm-6b3aD63ckSYw/s320/20150726_145308.jpg" width="320" /></a>Standing on a full city block along the main road, surrounded by scattered gravestones from the late 18th century to the present, the Old Broad Street Church owes a good part of its fine condition to the fact that it was largely abandoned in 1836, just over 40 years after it was built. According to the church's <a href="http://www.fpcbridgeton.org/friendsobsc.html" target="_blank">website</a>, it may be the most pristine example of Georgian high ecclesiastical architecture surviving in the thirteen original states.<br />
<br />
We visited on a recent Sunday afternoon, when the congregation generously opened the doors to a curious public. From the outside, the two-story brick building appears both stately and simple, designed in the manner of the Philadelphia churches of the day. Doors on three sides of the rectangular church welcome visitors; curiously, the only side without a door is the one that faces the road. One of the side doors was open, and as we walked past, I noticed what appeared to be a metal beam running from a metal box diagonally up to the ceiling. Was this some sort of reinforcement, added during a restoration attempt? Hopefully we'd find out.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEElonE-ktBue31BS_nWFPz_tRpDg_NIk5TEgwiOeN2Dqu1CZzbFQkZPmRAnmKEs5JuTCzMlHG6rJI9T9KANdN_wksJVGBC8FIoP6nYm08kuWBBSuYiDEFtByxOs67EV7cYuUu_s2YjwA/s1600/111874pv.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEElonE-ktBue31BS_nWFPz_tRpDg_NIk5TEgwiOeN2Dqu1CZzbFQkZPmRAnmKEs5JuTCzMlHG6rJI9T9KANdN_wksJVGBC8FIoP6nYm08kuWBBSuYiDEFtByxOs67EV7cYuUu_s2YjwA/s320/111874pv.jpg" width="231" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A bit of neck strain for the folks in the expensive <br />seats? Photo courtesy <a href="http://www.loc.gov/resource/hhh.nj0429.photos?st=gallery" target="_blank">Library of Congress.</a> </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Walking inside, we were welcomed by a member of the friends organization, who gave us a brief history of the church, the first Christian congregation organized in Bridgeton. Its original members had been worshiping at far-flung churches and wanted their own meeting place in the growing town. By 1795, they had their own church, complete with box-style pews. The more prosperous congregants usually purchased pews closest to the front of the church, but as our hostess observed, prominence may have come with a cost. Sitting so close to the elevated pulpit, the rich folk had to strain their necks to see the minister in his elevated pulpit. Meanwhile, the view from the back pews was just fine.<br />
<br />
The building's simplicity reminded me of a lot of Colonial-era Presbyterian churches I've visited, but unlike those, I could easily imagine early Americans sitting in Old Broad's pews to worship. Instead of wood floors, this church had brick, and the white paint on the pews both looked and felt sturdier -- more durable -- than what you usually see in a building that's been converted to central heating. The only concession to weather extremes is that curious metal contraption I'd noticed earlier, a two-stove and piping system constructed at nearby Atsion and installed in 1809. No other modernization has been done to the building since then: no plumbing, no electrical work, no mechanical systems.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj434UrsU5QIHXFxAVHPtkI1NZailm7jOo9OAvMNxs5r9BXh11hGmm-OgOb6eEnRPx_agHlPoHxXGYPN30HSwDSpGHTOtNTqbUKh0tqTL0nHpgzrjiEtnGbolIv0iKPINvh9Hpwe5-gDdQ/s1600/20150726_143238.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj434UrsU5QIHXFxAVHPtkI1NZailm7jOo9OAvMNxs5r9BXh11hGmm-OgOb6eEnRPx_agHlPoHxXGYPN30HSwDSpGHTOtNTqbUKh0tqTL0nHpgzrjiEtnGbolIv0iKPINvh9Hpwe5-gDdQ/s320/20150726_143238.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This plaster medallion adorns the center of the ceiling.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It's a wonder the ornate plaster ceiling details have lasted so long, given the lack of climate control. That said, the absence of complications like plumbing and a constantly-working furnace may be what saved it. Uneven heating and leaky pipes have been the downfall of countless neglected historic structures.<br />
<br />
As our hostess shared the history of the congregation, another docent told us we absolutely had to check out the balcony level, especially the east side. Religion had been part of the curriculum at the local school in the early 1800s, so students were brought to the church for instruction. Separated by gender, the girls sat in the western balcony, the boys opposite. How can we know for sure? The wood of the western pews is pristine, while those on the east are marked with carved initials and names. Come to your own conclusion.<br />
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So why was the church abandoned so early in its history? The growing city's population shifted eastward in the early 19th century, and Presbyterians understandably wanted to worship closer to home. They built a new church on the east side of town and left Old Broad Street. As will happen over time, the congregation has seen splits and mergers over its 230 plus year history, but they haven't forgotten their roots. Family plots in Old Broad Street's sizeable churchyard still take in new burials, adding to more than 10,000 graves that include resting spots of several members of Congress, New Jersey Governor Elias Seeley and a good number of veterans of the American Revolution and the Civil War.<br />
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The living are welcome, too, just a little less often. The doors of Old Broad Street open for worship during August and a special service on Thanksgiving Day. And if you're lucky, as we were, you'll happen by when they're having an open house. Between the truly striking architecture and the welcoming spirit of the church's friends and congregants, you'll be glad you stopped by.<br />
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<br />Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02836481864368869692noreply@blogger.com0Bridgeton, NJ, USA39.428895720510205 -75.2456942756714439.4273627205102 -75.24821577567144 39.430428720510207 -75.243172775671439tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-960378910828021794.post-89641800933023854392015-07-30T19:00:00.000-04:002015-07-30T21:32:31.969-04:00A tankard of liberty at Potter's Tavern in BridgetonIf we've learned anything in our travels, it's that the terms "first" and "oldest" are often up for debate when it comes to historic places and events. Sometimes the claims have to be qualified (as in "oldest existing governor's mansion still at its original site") while other times, the boast is the well-meaning exaggeration of a proud community. Either way, there's usually a good story to be found, making our visit well worth the time.<br />
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A first was what led us to Potter's Tavern in Bridgeton: some contend that New Jersey's first Patriot newspaper was published there. Since we'd already told a similar story about the <i>New Jersey Journal</i>, the Continental Army-endorsed paper founded by Essex County printer <a href="http://www.hiddennj.com/2015/03/chatham-where-press-was-as-mighty-as.html" target="_blank">Shepard Kollock</a> in 1779, I knew we had to get the scoop.<br />
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On our first <i>Hidden New Jersey</i> <a href="http://www.hiddennj.com/2014/05/nailing-it-down-in-bridgeton.html" target="_blank">visit</a> to Bridgeton last year, we discovered the city holds the state's largest historic district, an impressive array of 18th and 19th century structures. Potter's Tavern stands prominently on West Broad Street, across from the latest of several successive courthouses to stand in town. While several taverns operated locally in the late 1700s, Potter's was especially popular with lawyers, who would would stop in before or after conducting their business at the courthouse, engaging in discussion of current events.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixaiOEzCxHVy10OoUdVucncUrjhewW5FYCOrMMnRep5tQ7yyJDTiMDPCCqL73bRZ5Z2b7tzrnOJSmzGbh6C4wqsn94PGefuZfj6ovvmqD0JY1f8P3sIBayyrjpYw7_c_CV37WDu__e4YM/s1600/20150726_155050.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixaiOEzCxHVy10OoUdVucncUrjhewW5FYCOrMMnRep5tQ7yyJDTiMDPCCqL73bRZ5Z2b7tzrnOJSmzGbh6C4wqsn94PGefuZfj6ovvmqD0JY1f8P3sIBayyrjpYw7_c_CV37WDu__e4YM/s320/20150726_155050.jpg" width="180" /></a>The tavern's contribution to history starts in 1775, several months after the initial battles of the American Revolution were fought in New England. New Jersey soil was untouched by bloodshed at that point, but a small group of Greenwich men had already acted on their displeasure with British rule by conducting their own version of a tea party, <a href="http://www.hiddennj.com/2012/09/greenwich-tea-tasting-litte-burnt.html" target="_blank">burning a shipment of the English import</a> in the community's market square. Others were actively debating the various options of an evolving relationship with Great Britain: maintaining status quo, negotiating with the Crown on issues where colonists had grievances, or continuing the armed battle for independence. <br />
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Sometime before Christmas of 1775, one of those tea burners and other patrons of Potter's Tavern decided to issue their thoughts in a handwritten document on a weekly basis. Several wrote essays that were then collected and given to a scribe to be penned into one long document that was posted at the tavern. None of the essays was signed; the fact that they were transcribed by one person assured that no particular man's handwriting would betray him for advocating treason and rebellion. Tavern owner Matthew Potter wasn't one of the authors, but he could have been arrested just for allowing his customers to work on the newspaper on his property.<br />
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More than a dozen issues of the <i>Plain Dealer</i> were published from late 1775 to early 1776, helping to galvanize support for independence from British rule. Though Cumberland County's Loyalists attempted to find the writers and hold them legally accountable for their rebellious words, no-one was ever identified. After the war, several authors came forward, including two future New Jersey governors -- Richard Howell and Joseph Bloomfield -- as well as local physicians Jonathan Elmer and Lewis Howell. Copies of the <i>Plain Dealer</i> are housed in Rutgers University's Special Collections in New Brunswick.<br />
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The <a href="http://www.cchistsoc.org/" target="_blank">Cumberland County Historical Society</a> opens the tavern to the public a few times a year,* including the day we visited. The smallness of the place seemed about right; you could see how the intimate setting would encourage the regulars to share dangerous ideas. We learned that the Potter family not only operated a food and drink establishment in the building, but lived there, too. The seating area on the first floor was about the size of a small living room, with a cozy fireplace and a barred-in counter where the alcohol was locked up. An authentic colonial kitchen in the back brings visitors back to colonial days. One of the restored rooms upstairs is interpreted as a bedroom, while the other exhibits historic maps of Bridgeton and Cumberland County and a collection of military swords used by Potter men from the Revolution through World War I.<br />
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All of this brings us back to the original claim and a question: was the <i>Plain Dealer</i>, indeed, New Jersey's first newspaper? The state's now-deceased <i>de facto</i> historian, John Cunningham, felt its regular publication schedule was enough to qualify it as a newspaper, while others say no. I contend that the label we put on it doesn't matter nearly as much as the impact of its existence. Unless another example can be found, it marked the first time New Jerseyans regularly put pen to paper to debate and promote the merits of independence from the British Empire. That's clearly enough to recommend it, and to place Potter's Tavern on the list where Americans risked their freedom to express their heartfelt beliefs.<br />
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<i>* Those who'd like to arrange a private tour can make arrangements through the Historical Society.</i>Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02836481864368869692noreply@blogger.com151 West Broad Street, Bridgeton, NJ, USA39.4277356 -75.23853629999996439.4276396 -75.238693799999965 39.4278316 -75.238378799999964tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-960378910828021794.post-46737405062217136782015-07-23T12:00:00.000-04:002015-07-24T13:43:29.441-04:00Uncovering the Blue Comet in blueberry countryNear the center of the Pinelands community of Chatsworth, there's a sandy, partially grass-covered clearing on the side of the road. In it, there's a square plot marked off by a decorative black chain, and within the plot, a pair of rails embedded in the ground.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnQRRd7yz181Bj3G_bUy1HrQ8R1Io86IEa77w81kDE321mmNgiakUmHfbvX81Hfsqxw-y5vnKzCuw43FMnrP21yCCwonCEyOh0iwohQSMACw9wHZnmANSRBLIzrDc7IR34aOH0ATwg1qQ/s1600/20150524_153942.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnQRRd7yz181Bj3G_bUy1HrQ8R1Io86IEa77w81kDE321mmNgiakUmHfbvX81Hfsqxw-y5vnKzCuw43FMnrP21yCCwonCEyOh0iwohQSMACw9wHZnmANSRBLIzrDc7IR34aOH0ATwg1qQ/s320/20150524_153942.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Apologies for the bad framing.<br />
Photo shot from the car.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It's hard to see in the picture, but those rails extend far beyond the clearing, well into the woods in the distance. They mark the remains of Chatsworth's ties to the rise and fall of New Jersey's version of glamorous land travel.<br />
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Today, the strongest connection any of us have to passenger rail travel is likely to be with New Jersey Transit commuter trains and light rail, but for our earlier neighbors, that wasn't the case. In the first half of the 20th century, particularly before air travel became the norm, trains could be something very special. Long distance travelers could enjoy luxury accommodations on express lines like the <i>20th Century Limited</i>, and even local commuter trains sometimes sported cars specifically for the first-class set.<br />
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By the 1920s, Central Railroad of New Jersey President R.B. White saw glamour as a way to attract riders to what had become the company's rather pedestrian, unpopular line to the state's southern shore destinations. The Blue Comet would run from New York to Atlantic City, but with style that lived up to its name in appearance and engineering. Capable of traveling up to 100 miles an hour, the train was said to be the first east of the Mississippi River to use roller bearings for smooth starts and stops.<br />
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White spared no expense in furnishings and design: passengers enjoyed luxurious upholstery and carpeting, fine dining and windows hand-etched with comets and stars. Each of the cars was named for a comet, including an observation car whose back deck could accommodate six travelers. The train was swathed in blue and cream colors, representing the sea and sand of the Jersey Shore, with nickel-plated accents. Even its whistle was distinctive, with Pinelands residents recalling a foghorn- or steamboat-like tone. When the Blue Comet made its maiden trip in February 1929, it became CRRNJ's flagship train.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoj_gyQJTA7rVdjDhiPJW5z98fLuBrgk5WCmMxWq4KckbsSr492Ob_rAiofCsj3hXVqo2An5-WTkS-PSVopYXDO0Kvcdue5SoPTa4IlYWYiJhYZ-kOLWFsp9yDk1r-Scov707w7aZlC4Y/s1600/Blue_Comet_locomotive.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoj_gyQJTA7rVdjDhiPJW5z98fLuBrgk5WCmMxWq4KckbsSr492Ob_rAiofCsj3hXVqo2An5-WTkS-PSVopYXDO0Kvcdue5SoPTa4IlYWYiJhYZ-kOLWFsp9yDk1r-Scov707w7aZlC4Y/s320/Blue_Comet_locomotive.jpg" width="320" /></a>Its introduction was ill-timed. Eight months later, the stock market crash plunged the nation into the Great Depression, leaving most potential travelers without the resources for luxury travel. By 1933, the train was making just one run a day, and competition from the Pennsylvania Railroad took additional ridership away. However, the Blue Comet soldiered on, logging an on-time record so reliable that people along the route set their clocks by the train's arrival. Legend has it that the people of Chatsworth counted on the northbound train to slow enough to drop off the New York and Philadelphia newspapers that passengers had read and discarded.<br />
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In fact, Chatsworth was little more than a brief blip of scenery to the Blue Comet until August 19, 1939. More than a foot of rain fell during a tremendous storm that day, with cloudbursts delivering the vast majority of it after 2:00 p.m. Poor visibility forced the train's crew to reduce speed to about 40 miles an hour, but restricted sightlines were just part of the danger ahead. </div>
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By 4:30, flooding had washed the sandy Pinelands soil out from beneath the tracks at milepost 86, about a mile west of Chatsworth. The train's crew had no idea of the hazard they were approaching. Though the locomotive and coal tender made it over the now-unsupported track, the five passenger cars separated and came off the rails, resting at angles nearly parallel to the railbed.</div>
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Despite crashing in the sparsely-populated Pinelands, help wasn't long in coming. Realizing that the ever-reliable Blue Comet was late to the station, the concerned people of Chatsworth waded to the scene of the crash. Word went out that 100 or more souls could have died in the crash, drawing ambulances and doctors from distant communities. Of the 49 souls on board, 38 suffered mostly minor injuries, though the train's cook was fatally crushed and scalded when the dining car stove fell on him.The crash scene was so flooded that local residents later recalled wading through chest-deep water to help passengers in the train's last two cars.</div>
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The track was quickly repaired and service restored after most of the Blue Comet's cars were reconditioned, but the flagship train's days were numbered. Just over two years later, it made its final run, never having made much of a profit, if any, for the Jersey Central.</div>
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After finding the brief bit of track commemorated in downtown Chatsworth, we headed east on a road alongside the old railbed. The area may have become more developed over the years, but it wasn't hard to imagine what residents might have faced as they attempted to help the Blue Comet's passengers after the derailment. The track runs pin-straight for what seems like miles, often on berms of that classically-sandy Pinelands soil. Portions of the track were obscured by overgrown weeds and trees that had sprouted between the rails. Other stretches seemed to be clear enough to accept a train on a moment's notice. Someone with a good imagination could stand there at night and will herself to hear the roar of the Blue Comet, its foghorn whistle alerting local residents of its approach.</div>
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As seems to be the case with so many legendary trains, bits and pieces of the Blue Comet are still out there for the finding, with four complete cars still in New Jersey. One car, Biela, stands near Route 22 West, having been converted to a dining room at the Clinton Station Diner. Another three are owned by the United Railroad Historical Society of New Jersey, with plans for restoration and eventual return to the tracks.<br />
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<i>Sopranos</i> fans might also remember the train's fateful appearance on one of the series' final season installments. Model railroad aficionado (and Tony Soprano's brother in law) Bobby Baccalieri is admiring an antique Lionel Train version of the Blue Comet when he's dispatched by two hitmen from a rival crime family. Perhaps the show's producers didn't resolve the story of the famed Russian of the Pine Barrens episode, but ironically, someone in Tony's crew received a Pinelands-related payback of sorts.<br />
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Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02836481864368869692noreply@blogger.com0Woodland, NJ, USA39.818895159100478 -74.53531622886657739.817370659100476 -74.537837728866577 39.82041965910048 -74.532794728866577tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-960378910828021794.post-17275147446922596782015-07-16T20:12:00.000-04:002015-07-27T17:52:27.897-04:00Pileated Woodpeckers: the excavation professionalsEver have one of those days when your work brings you onto the road a little earlier than usual, the weather is clear and balmy and you find yourself driving near one of your favorite places? The coincidence is just too good to pass up a visit.<br />
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It doesn't seem to happen often enough, but that's where I was this afternoon. Near perfect weather, assignments complete for the day, and deliciously close to one of my favorite birding spots, Watchung Reservation. What else could I do? With binoculars already in the car, I was ready for a leisurely afternoon hike.<br />
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My usual target spot for an impromptu walk through nature at Watchung is the bridle path alongside Surprise Lake. Broad and well-worn, it's a safe, tick-free route for dog walkers, runners or folks like me who weren't exactly dressed or shod for a day in the woods. I wasn't sure I'd see or hear many interesting birds, given the time of day, but even a quiet walk is well worth the effort.<br />
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Finding my way to the bridle path, I considered trying to call out a Pileated Woodpecker. They're regulars, if not abundant, at Watchung, and we've heard and/or seen them several times near Surprise Lake, their loudly distinctive "WUK-WUK-WUK-WUK" being one of my favorite bird vocalizations. (Check it out <a href="http://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Pileated_Woodpecker/sounds" target="_blank">here</a>.) As a species, they prefer forests with a good choice of standing and fallen dead trees. Even if you're not lucky enough to see one, you'll probably see evidence of them in a decent-sized woods -- large chunks of bark and inner tree trunk laying on the ground where they've pecked for insects. Square-shaped holes mark where they've excavated nesting holes.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTXQaxNmI_3MvuKogmzWCJsHlYnm7J5SnkrXoJWCsVIznsg3eecClockcf02cvWksVbcxQD4XwCMzSH-BKX9NGL870WNXork90d0ZazKugK6bo5cBoMxGMDCOM4RYmVI9EW_nGfoLwrVM/s1600/Pileated2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTXQaxNmI_3MvuKogmzWCJsHlYnm7J5SnkrXoJWCsVIznsg3eecClockcf02cvWksVbcxQD4XwCMzSH-BKX9NGL870WNXork90d0ZazKugK6bo5cBoMxGMDCOM4RYmVI9EW_nGfoLwrVM/s320/Pileated2.JPG" width="198" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not the Pileated I saw today,<br />
but a good representation.</td></tr>
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You may be wondering what the big deal is about Pileated Woodpeckers. Quite simply put, they're huge, and they look like an old school Woody Woodpecker. At an average of 16 inches long, with a large, powerful bill and distinctive red crest, they're more than twice as big as the Downy Woodpeckers you might see on a backyard tree. And rather than drilling in a rapid-fire pecking motion, they chip rather deliberately at their target tree trunks, cocking their heads as if contemplating the perfect angle to get to the inects beneath.<br />
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Just as I was thinking about imitating the "WUK-WUK-WUK" to bring one out, I saw movement at the base of a tree on the side of the trail about 10 feet ahead. Expecting to see a Robin or two, I was astounded to see two Pileateds low on the tree trunk. It was clear they'd been there a while: one was standing on a pile of wood chips it had clearly excavated from the large hole it was still pecking away at. If I didn't know better, I'd believe it was a contractor working on a new factory for the Keebler Elves. The companion Pileated seemed either to be standing watch or perhaps waiting for a few good morsels exposed by its more industrious partner. Was this a parent-child situation, with a hungry adolescent waiting for mom to provide dinner?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB5xrChwHXR2WyevkiLaDUQgBnOcYIA911pYZRpBPvvQBXyR2LtJveRMxiiu38nwhkwYoethl5yoO-KSMJYBt-SHx3Ltm9vr97fI2abKUW4Umcph9bsz2TQcPEtq2d7bmMXc__AnWaRIs/s1600/20150725_102849.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB5xrChwHXR2WyevkiLaDUQgBnOcYIA911pYZRpBPvvQBXyR2LtJveRMxiiu38nwhkwYoethl5yoO-KSMJYBt-SHx3Ltm9vr97fI2abKUW4Umcph9bsz2TQcPEtq2d7bmMXc__AnWaRIs/s320/20150725_102849.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Post-Pileated damage.</td></tr>
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Whatever their work plan and relationship, they made for fascinating watching. My plans to go any further down the trail evaporated instantly as I set to watch one of my favorite species from the closest vantage point I'd ever had. It's not often you can view woodpeckers situated closer to the ground than you are! As the excavator continued his work, the other bird alternately turned up bits of piled detritus or hid around the side of the tree, his head occasionally popping up in a somewhat startled-looking "peekaboo" fashion.<br />
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Then, suddenly, I heard the "WUK-WUK-WUK" sound of a third Pileated from a tree about 10 feet beyond the working pair. Seeing two at once was a treat -- three was unprecedented for me. Could this have been the other parent, or maybe another offspring? Was it possible that there were even more in the vicinity?<br />
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I stayed just a few more minutes to enjoy the activity, then left the apparent family to their dinner. It wasn't clear they'd even noticed me, but they deserved their privacy and a measure of safety. And besides, they were making such short work of that hole at the base of the tree that I couldn't be sure it wouldn't come tumbling down at some point.* For a spur-of-the-moment stop at the Reservation, I'd been nourished by a peek at nature that I won't soon forget.<br />
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*I kid, I kid. To my knowledge, no tree has ever been felled, beaver-style, by an overenthusiastic Pileated Woodpecker.Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02836481864368869692noreply@blogger.com0Watchung Reservation, Mountainside, NJ, USA40.680704 -74.3854800000000340.632539 -74.466161000000028 40.728868999999996 -74.304799000000031tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-960378910828021794.post-91373313647466494662015-07-08T19:00:00.000-04:002015-07-09T21:54:28.590-04:00America's first cattle drive? Salem County's Great Cow ChaseNew Jersey isn't especially known for its wide open prairies, ranches and cowboys. According to some, though, Salem County just may have been the sight of the nation's first cattle drive. And no, I'm not talking about a Saturday night rodeo in <a href="http://www.hiddennj.com/2011/08/searching-cowtown-for-cattle-egrets-and.html" target="_blank">Cowtown</a>, though the historic drive took place nearby, led by a brigadier general known as Mad Anthony Wayne.<br />
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Venture back to early 1778, when General George Washington's army was encamped at Valley Forge, Pennsylvania. Beset by desertions by February, Washington still had to feed more than 2000 men, as well as the horses they relied upon, even as the British conducted their own foraging expeditions and dealings with help from sympathetic Pennsylvanians.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3XfdAlCV-0GQotd2gLwkeklYOF7-kfF0CzPFaYIgmABKLIodMRXnmo-im8pzKlDFtiaaf-4HGu-M_F7pjk9DgokqmOHje1-R1KLuIX3Gmre-EiycvJ57Fwf-5kKBSeONJd6Bx9uCGjCE/s1600/Hadrosaurus+Cowtown+National+Park+047.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3XfdAlCV-0GQotd2gLwkeklYOF7-kfF0CzPFaYIgmABKLIodMRXnmo-im8pzKlDFtiaaf-4HGu-M_F7pjk9DgokqmOHje1-R1KLuIX3Gmre-EiycvJ57Fwf-5kKBSeONJd6Bx9uCGjCE/s320/Hadrosaurus+Cowtown+National+Park+047.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This specimen would have fed a LOT of Continental soldiers.</td></tr>
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Across the Delaware River was New Jersey, known as the Breadbasket of the Revolution for its plentiful forage for animals and food for humans. Washington sent Wayne with about 550 troops down Jersey to Salem County to retrieve the life-sustaining supplies. Starting from Wilmington, Delaware to avoid the British-controlled river near Philadelphia, Wayne and his troops made their way to Salem and to the area near present-day Pilesgrove, where they gathered about 150 head of cattle. Horses and wagons, however, were in short supply, meaning that the Continentals would have to drive the cattle on the hoof back to Valley Forge, rather than transporting butchered beef.<br />
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By this point, a local Loyalist had tipped off the British and more than 2000 Redcoats were sent to track Wayne and his troops down. After an initial stab at transporting some of the cattle to New Castle, Delaware to evade the British, Wayne led the procession northward and west along the Old Kings Highway on the 50 mile journey to Valley Forge, eventually crossing the river north of Philadelphia, somewhere between Burlington and Trenton. While some say that the herd was diminished to a mere 50 head by the time Wayne reached camp, the Jersey beef and hides undoubtedly made the difference for countless hungry and shoeless Continental soldiers.<br />
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The Great Cow Chase, as it's now known Down Jersey, has been commemorated a few times in recent years. Back during the Bicentennial, <a href="http://www.hiddennj.com/2011/08/searching-cowtown-for-cattle-egrets-and.html" target="_blank">Cowtown</a> founder <a href="http://www.hiddennj.com/2014/02/no-bull-stoneys-auction-at-woodstown.html" target="_blank">Stoney Harris</a> and friends drove 50 cattle up Kings Highway, with cheering spectators lining the road. And last year marked the first running of the <a href="http://www.salemcitynj.com/124017.html" target="_blank">Cow Run 10 Miler</a> road race for humans, starting at Cowtown in Pilesgrove and ending 10 miles away in downtown Salem City. It may not be the running of the bulls, but it's a truly unique way of celebrating a little-known yet important part of our Revolutionary history!<br />
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<br />Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02836481864368869692noreply@blogger.com0Pilesgrove, NJ, USA39.6531394 -75.31464389999996539.4575289 -75.63736739999996 39.8487499 -74.99192039999997tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-960378910828021794.post-36173584871184513992015-06-25T09:13:00.000-04:002015-06-25T09:13:03.868-04:00Firing up a celebration of joy in New Brunswick John Adams famously predicted that the anniversary of America's independence would "be commemorated, as the Day of Deliverance by solemn Acts of Devotion to God Almighty." In a letter to his wife Abigail just after the Declaration of Independence was adopted by the states, he said, "It ought to be solemnized with Pomp and Parade, with Shews, Games, Sports, Guns, Bells, Bonfires and Illuminations from one End of this Continent to the other from this Time forward forever more."<br />
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That brings up the question -- when did celebrations actually begin? Who declared the day an official event for commemorating the act of separation from Great Britain and the official birth of the United States? I'm sure if you go to Massachusetts or Pennsylvania, you'll find people who say their forebears were the first to make July 4 a major holiday, but they'd be wrong. Like so much of what occurred during the Revolution, the first celebration was held in New Jersey, ordered by General George Washington himself. You can't get much more official than that.<br />
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The story brings us to 1778, just after the Continental Army fought the British at the Battle of Monmouth on June 28. Having demonstrated to the enemy in a daylong conflict that the Americans were a force to be reckoned with, Washington led his 11,000 Continentals to New Brunswick to rest. The Raritan River would provide refreshment to the parched and exhausted troops, who camped on both banks during the first week of July while the General made his headquarters at Ross Hall on River Road in Piscataway.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB8oGVzO-DGYRPrSt_mDLFPsvOLGdl20pdvOIusmjKr5NB5KUxvpbeGtq9kTWDrsT5uoTagwLtTZ9NDx0h7bG9S4xKBgI-lbvzBeFRgtODLWljezgxUYuI5Y-s7WmdMsOVE7KKmOz8lsU/s1600/River_Road%252C_Piscataway%252C_NJ_-_1778_parade_marker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB8oGVzO-DGYRPrSt_mDLFPsvOLGdl20pdvOIusmjKr5NB5KUxvpbeGtq9kTWDrsT5uoTagwLtTZ9NDx0h7bG9S4xKBgI-lbvzBeFRgtODLWljezgxUYuI5Y-s7WmdMsOVE7KKmOz8lsU/s320/River_Road%252C_Piscataway%252C_NJ_-_1778_parade_marker.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marking the route of the 1778 Independence Day celebration<br />on River Road in Piscataway.</td></tr>
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Washington capitalized on the massive gathering of soldiers to make a LOT of noise on the Fourth. He ordered them to line the Raritan's edge in a single file that ran two miles from White's Farm -- the present-day Buccleuch Park -- to Sonman's Hill, where Douglass College of Rutgers University now stands. Bolstered by an artillery force of more than a dozen cannons, the men then fired their muskets one by one in sequence in a <i>feu de joie,</i> or fire of joy.<br />
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That was just the start of the celebration. Every soldier was issued an extra ration of rum, and the officers gathered at Ross Hall for an evening party. Notables including Baron von Steuben, Alexander Hamilton and the Marquis de Lafayette were among the 100 people in attendance at Ross Hall.<br />
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Imagining the celebration as it occurred is a little difficult these days -- subsequent development and Route 18 have obliterated the 18th century landscape in New Brunswick, though the terrain remains a little more natural once the Raritan flows into Piscataway. Ross Hall was torn down in the 1960s after a destructive fire, though a single wall was saved for eventual restoration; plans are to have it displayed at the nearby Metlar-Bodine House. However, anyone driving the length of the highway along the river can appreciate the sheer mass of humanity it took to create a two-mile long shooting range, along with the duration of the gunfire they created, firing one after the other in sequence.<br />
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We can still get a little taste of the 1778 celebration every year on Independence Day. On the afternoon of July 4, reenactors gather at New Brunswick's Buccleuch Park for a smaller though no less enthusiastic <i>feu de joie</i>, a reminder not only of our fight for independence, but of New Jersey's significant sacrifice toward the goal.<br />
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<br />Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02836481864368869692noreply@blogger.com2New Brunswick, NJ, USA40.505535673022216 -74.447698926953240.457240173022214 -74.528379926953193 40.553831173022218 -74.3670179269532tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-960378910828021794.post-34847286445217953162015-06-17T20:29:00.000-04:002015-06-17T21:17:54.709-04:00No pita with this Gyro: Earle Eckel's hidden airportState Route 57 in Warren County seems like some sort of supernatural entity. No matter how well I think I get to know it, no matter how many times Ivan and I travel its length, subsequent trips always seem to reveal something new.<br />
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Or, more accurately, something old.<br />
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Just the other day, we were driving the road west of downtown Washington when I looked to the left and saw this:<br />
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How could we have missed Eckel's Autogiro Port near the corner of Route 57 and Mill Pond Road? Look a little closer at this seemingly freshly-painted sign, and you can see a claim that this is the first exclusive autogiro airport in America. THAT I would have remembered; we're always happy to find new airfields.<br />
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As I discovered with a little research, we'd stumbled upon one of Washington's more accomplished citizens, Earle S. Eckel. Born in 1891, he showed a remarkable combination of entrepreneurship and ingenuity from a very young age. By the time he turned 20, he'd already fulfilled a contract to string telephone wires from Philipsburg to Washington, built a steam engine that both powered his mom's washing machine and heated the wash water, and operated his own mobile movie theater enterprise, among other ventures.<br />
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Detailing all of Eckel's enterprises will make for a good future <i>Hidden New Jersey</i> entry, but for now we'll stick with the autogiro port. Long story short, an interest in motorcycles eventually got Eckel into automobile sales and repairs in Washington, and then to gasoline and fuel oil. Petroleum was good to him: in partnership with his brother, he opened a chain of nine service stations, which they sold to the Tidewater Oil Company in 1930. The windfall was substantial, and he used a portion of it to buy his own airplane. Predictably, that led to another business: Eckel Air Service, which offered flying lessons and charter flights from Easton Airport.<br />
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Eckel eventually left the airline business when it proved to be less than profitable, but the venture whetted his interest in aviation, particularly when it came to a craft that he could keep on his Mill Pond Road property. He didn't have enough room for an airplane, so he selected the recently-developed Pitcairn autogiro. Sporting both a nose-mounted propeller and a helicopter-type rotor above, it offered the joy of flying at slow speeds with the convenience of shorter takeoffs.<br />
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Reflecting his usual enthusiasm for new ventures, Eckel built a well-equipped airfield on his property in 1931, clearing a runway, installing floodlights and erecting a hangar. Two years later he bought a second craft, building another hangar to store it.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eckel with Tidewater's autogiro <i>Miss Vedol.</i></td></tr>
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According to some accounts, Eckel held the nation's first transport autogiro pilot's license and flew the first airmail from Washington NJ to Newark during National Air Week in 1938. Locally, the autogiro made Eckel a few bucks in towing advertising banners and offering flying lessons, while he often traveled to out-of-state air shows to fly stunts competitively. He found his real success as a pilot for the Tidewater Oil Company, which hired him to fly two multi-state promotional tours for their Veedol motor oil. Estimating that he flew a total of more than 4000 passengers in the autogiro, he told the <i>Schenectady Gazette</i> that "safety is the keynote of the autogiro, these ships being able to land in small patches of level ground far too small for conventional type planes."<br />
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Eckel continued to keep his autogiros at the port even after selling the property in 1942, but as his interests turned to other pursuits, the field reverted to its former use as farm fields. Meanwhile, improvements in helicopter technology and the relative costliness of autogiros pretty much sealed their fate in the commercial market. Improved versions of the technology are still available today and are occasionally used for surveillance<br />
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As for Eckel, he died in 1978, having lived an interesting and varied life. Today, his former home and gyro port are the basis of the Pleasant Valley Historic District, listed on the National Register of Historic Places. Only a small wooden sign and the bright side of the one remaining hangar indicate anything remarkable about the placid little area where once an adventurous mind took flight.<br />
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<br />Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02836481864368869692noreply@blogger.com0Washington Township, NJ, USA40.748940471362644 -75.007643582174340.748188471362646 -75.0089040821743 40.749692471362643 -75.0063830821743tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-960378910828021794.post-85051268006456051482015-06-10T20:00:00.000-04:002015-06-11T22:18:10.183-04:00Visiting the Governor's house in Perth Amboy A few years ago, we were absolutely blown away by the history we found nestled among the old industrial grittiness of <a href="http://www.hiddennj.com/2011/04/finding-new-jerseys-hidden-capital.html" target="_blank">Perth Amboy</a>. Once the capital of East Jersey, the city is home to the oldest public building still in use, the state's oldest Episcopal parish, what was arguably once the oldest corporation in America, and the vestiges of a once-busy port. We barely scratched the surface on our visit and vowed to return sometime to see more.<br />
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The opportunity came with the arrest of a governor. Well, the reenactment of an arrest -- of William Franklin, the last Royal Governor of New Jersey. As befits his title, Franklin was a Loyalist allied with the government of Great Britain during the time of the American Revolution. His home, known as the Proprietary House, survives, representing the only royal governor's home still standing on its original grounds.<br />
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I'd seen photos of the house's exterior, but I was still taken aback when we pulled up. This was a massive pile of bricks in a residential neighborhood, a real survivor. How could it have been there all these years without being more widely known?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqs3CHhs4QoPlS5gUliAEK1c259gmvqxnJ1PDG1z9wWIXpRgyUbozPrhXram0pK4lUJfEUKE4CnoUCRPBFnekj05cbAd8LgDe-hKxtftykYhg8UzPTj4RSfshIpJHkjqChcMYROp72FpI/s1600/Proprietary-House-CMYK-1024x768-e1357707286412.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqs3CHhs4QoPlS5gUliAEK1c259gmvqxnJ1PDG1z9wWIXpRgyUbozPrhXram0pK4lUJfEUKE4CnoUCRPBFnekj05cbAd8LgDe-hKxtftykYhg8UzPTj4RSfshIpJHkjqChcMYROp72FpI/s320/Proprietary-House-CMYK-1024x768-e1357707286412.jpg" width="320" /></a>The inside, what we could see of it, was just as impressive. We walked in to find a spacious center hall flanked by two parlors, one of which was decorated as a stately dining room. One of the basement rooms was interpreted as the kitchen, complete with massive hearth, while a barrel-vaulted storage room was set for a future event. Upper floors were off limits, but a view up the center of the staircase sent the imagination reeling. How many rooms are up there, and how many stories could be told in them?<br />
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No doubt, the awe we felt was exactly what its architect intended for the home of a provincial leader. Construction on the first portion of the house began in 1761, funded by the Proprietors of East Jersey as the official residence for the Royal Governor. The design, while somewhat severe on the outside, was grand: constructed of brick imported from England, its two stories, plus an attic and full basement made it one of the largest houses in the 13 colonies. Four chimneys served its many fireplaces. <br />
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Franklin was appointed governor in 1763 but didn't move into the Perth Amboy mansion until 1774; he'd lived at his Burlington estate until funding issues for the home could be worked out. While he sometimes gets a bad rap due to his loyalist leanings, Franklin enjoyed moderate popularity in the early years of his tenure, developing a welfare program of sorts to help farmers during lean years, and running lotteries to fund bridges and roads. After the start of the Revolutionary War, he supported a reconciliation with Great Britain, a stand that eventually led to his arrest on June 17, 1776. While his wife Elizabeth remained at the Proprietary House until escaping to New York in 1777, Franklin was imprisoned in Connecticut. Neither ever returned to the Perth Amboy house.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wow, that's a lot of stairs!</td></tr>
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Reportedly the house was used by both the American and British forces at various points during the Revolution; what's known for sure is that it suffered a near-devastating fire. A merchant and real estate investor named John Rattoon bought the property in the 1790s, repaired the damage and sold it to New York hotelier Richard Woodhull in 1808. Renaming it Brighton House, Woodhull envisioned two new wings for the house, which, with its location on a bluff above Raritan Bay, became what was arguably one of New Jersey's first seaside resorts. However, he only managed to get one wing built before the War of 1812 prompted an economic downturn. By 1817, he'd sold the property to Matthias Bruen, one of the wealthiest men in America, who made it his family estate.<br />
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Following his death in 1846, Bruen's heirs made the property a hotel once again, later donating it to the Presbyterian Church as a retirement home after another financial downturn in the 1880s. Ultimately, the Proprietary House became a rooming house known as the Westminster, the spacious land surrounding it sold as separate lots, and Kearny Avenue run through what had been its front yard. Conditions deteriorated in the early 20th century, but local historians raised hopes that the building would eventually be restored to tell the story of Franklin and the turbulent Revolutionary years.<br />
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Today, the Proprietary House is owned by the State of New Jersey and managed by the local Proprietary House Association, which is responsible for raising the funds to restore and interpret the ground floor and first floor of the building. A separate organization is managing the restoration of the 1809 wing and the upper floors of the main structure as offices, reflecting the realities of historic preservation today. While the dream of any historian would be to restore a building to its original condition, the economic realities of managing such a large structure usually point to finding tenants. And buildings nearly always fare better when they're occupied.<br />
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Walking around the house, I could understand why the Proprietary House Association folks are proud of the building and eager to tell the story of Franklin and his arrest. The Revolution was more complicated in New Jersey than most people realize, and Franklin seemed to be doing the best he could in what quickly became a no-win situation for him and his family. While he supported reconciliation with Great Britain, his own Assembly pushed for independence, a force too powerful for him to deny. It's a story not often told, and fortunately the Proprietary House still stands to help tell it.<br />
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Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02836481864368869692noreply@blogger.com1149 Kearny Avenue, Perth Amboy, NJ, USA40.5034845 -74.26925590000001914.981449999999999 -115.57784990000002 66.025519 -32.960661900000019tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-960378910828021794.post-53354598436241832352015-06-04T18:32:00.000-04:002015-06-04T18:32:15.159-04:00Summer with the merchant class at the Strauss MansionWhen summer finally gets its grip on New Jersey, the idea of whiling away a warm afternoon on the expansive porch of a rambling shoreside Victorian home starts to sound pretty good.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzl9y1Uji60on7K-dmRsZlgqEb8Wjx69ojbifAuEj9EjR2GA8AEFhpS_ZR86s_fXpwUPCejUG_GQuADcYhxsCMYQDMaLVEfwe0TtL3Qv7hC-4-SuDqkVxDEWo4bdsf0JIcyBaGLKlYyhk/s1600/20150502_110446.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzl9y1Uji60on7K-dmRsZlgqEb8Wjx69ojbifAuEj9EjR2GA8AEFhpS_ZR86s_fXpwUPCejUG_GQuADcYhxsCMYQDMaLVEfwe0TtL3Qv7hC-4-SuDqkVxDEWo4bdsf0JIcyBaGLKlYyhk/s320/20150502_110446.jpg" width="320" /></a>That was the thought that came to mind a few weeks ago, during the Weekend in Old Monmouth when I found my way up a steep hill to the Strauss Mansion, home of the Atlantic Highlands Historical Society. I'm a sucker for Queen Anne-style Victorian homes, and this one is the only mansion of its kind in Monmouth County that's open to the public. The closer I got, the more I could see the wear and tear on the house, but its pleasantly jumbled arrangement of turrets and gables drew me up onto the broad wrap-around porch and inside. The prospect of walking into one of these homes brings out the little kid in me: how awesome would it be to play hide and seek there?<br />
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I was just as awed when I got inside as I was when I saw the house on the drive up. Welcoming me into the expansive entry hall, a Historical Society member shared a brief history of the home, which was just one of several "cottages" built in the neighborhood by prominent New Yorkers seeking a respite from steamy Manhattan summers. Built in 1893 for the family of importer and merchant Adolph Strauss, the 21-room mansion was designed by Solomon Cohen and built by Adolph Hutera. Strauss himself would stay in the home only on the weekends, returning to the city by ferry during the week for work while his wife Jeannette and seven children would remain in Atlantic Highlands. They were part of a Monmouth County summer enclave known to some as the Jewish Newport on the Jersey Shore, with their specific group known as the "49ers" after their 49th Street neighborhood in New York. Other homes in the neighborhood of similar vintage are still well maintained, and a nice drive around Prospect Circle will give you a good idea of the community where the Strausses relaxed during the warmer months.<br />
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Following Mr. Strauss' death in 1905, the house was sold, eventually becoming a rooming house in the 1960s. By 1980 conditions in the building had become so dire that the town condemned it for code violations, leading the Historical Society to wage a campaign to raise funds to purchase and save it. The house by that point was a shadow of its former self: asbestos shingles covered the original cedar shakes on the exterior, the roof was in serious need of repair, wall-to-wall carpet covered its floors.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some of the original flooring. Wow!</td></tr>
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The house's current stewards are candid about the limitations of their preservation work to date, and as you walk through the rooms on the first and second floor the need for new plaster work and paint are evident. That said, the potential is enormous. You can't help but be impressed by the craftsmanship of the Victorian-era builders, hidden for many years. The hardwood floors are laid in intricate patterns not seen in homes built these days, and the original stained glass has been returned to its rightful place after having been sold by a previous owner.<br />
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Much of the house is curated to reflect the Strauss era of ownership, with beautiful furnishings and clothes representing the 1890s and early 1900s, but a good portion of the second floor is dedicated to local history. Everything from Sandy Hook's lifesaving history to 19th century tools and hardware to the old 20th century White Crystal diner is represented in the Historical Society's varied collection. They've also assembled an impressive reference library and archive that's open for those interested in researching aspects of the town's history (yearbooks and maps are always fun to peruse!).<br />
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And for those like me who'd love to while away a summer evening on the porch, the Historical Society <a href="http://www.ahhistory.org/events/" target="_blank">hosts</a> a series of concerts, suppers and other gatherings. With such an amazing asset to help them raise restoration funds, they're taking a creative - and fun - approach to bring people to the house.<br />
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Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02836481864368869692noreply@blogger.com0Atlantic Highlands, NJ, USA40.412070582230278 -74.03357684612274240.41169258223028 -74.034207346122741 40.412448582230276 -74.032946346122742tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-960378910828021794.post-55360733908098306502015-05-27T20:15:00.000-04:002015-05-27T20:15:45.881-04:00Shorebird migration: good news on Red Knots at Brig?The lives of us Hidden New Jerseyans get complicated this time of year. There are always festivals, great events at historic sites and more opportunities for us to make friends within the conservation community. And spring migration gives us limited chances to see birds decked out in their finest plumage on their way to their mating territory. Even the birds that raise families in New Jersey get frustratingly hard to see as they settle down and build nests in trees whose branches have suddenly become so leafy they obscure anything within.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTwZgWK7iEFiQ6bwDdOHDpgqwGAFVcyjRft2crCRnoCH0jnSQO9ME3s93k44h62YDUaRSPYHJktFSjhTvTc1eHg4O7jTjBhUr4Xr5O2gB5yP0i7K0GjKB1GcEzvlK023AA_xjDP-37jV4/s1600/Moonbird.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTwZgWK7iEFiQ6bwDdOHDpgqwGAFVcyjRft2crCRnoCH0jnSQO9ME3s93k44h62YDUaRSPYHJktFSjhTvTc1eHg4O7jTjBhUr4Xr5O2gB5yP0i7K0GjKB1GcEzvlK023AA_xjDP-37jV4/s320/Moonbird.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This larger-than-life representation of a Red Knot<br />memorializes Moonbird, who's been commuting <br />via the Delaware Bayshore for 20 years (and we hope still is!).</td></tr>
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And then, there are the Red Knots. You might remember them from our <a href="http://www.hiddennj.com/2014/05/fly-me-to-moon-but-stop-in-new-jersey.html" target="_blank">story</a> last year. They're the endangered shorebirds that make a pit stop on the Delaware Bayshore enroute from their winter homes in Argentina and Chile to their summer breeding grounds in Arctic Canada. The window to see them is pretty darned small: generally a few weeks or less in May and June, after the horseshoe crabs have come out of the water to lay their eggs on the shore. Knots take advantage of that ever-reliable cycle to fatten up before flying the final leg of their 9000+ mile journey.<br />
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Similarly, scientists flock to the Bayshore in large numbers this time of year to assess the health of the Red Knot population and its potential for growth. The fate of the species and the horseshoe crab are obviously intertwined, and efforts to bolster the crab population will have a major impact on these amazing travelers.<br />
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Given other obligations, we didn't have the luxury of journeying to the Bayshore on a May weekend, as much as we would have liked. And given that Memorial Day came so early this year, there was no way we were going to go as far south as the Cape May County peninsula. Instead, we took our chances with Forsythe NWR, a.k.a. Brig, figuring we'd be able to see at least some of the shorebirds we needed to bolster our year lists.<br />
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Still, I was hoping that a Red Knot or two would be in the mix. Considering how many warblers we'd missed seeing in New Jersey this spring, it seemed the fates owed us a treat.<br />
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As we started our drive along the eight-mile Wildlife Drive atop the impoundment berm, we noted that the tide was out, leaving broad expanses of mud between large islands of marsh grass. Normally conditions like that leave a lot to be desired; a bit more water would concentrate the birds into a smaller area of drier ground. As we scanned broad swaths of mud, we considered the possibility we'd have to do a second sweep a few hours later, once the tide had come in.<br />
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Still, though, we were finding occasional groups of shorebirds as we drove further along. Small Sandpipers and the occasional Willets gave us hope that we'd at least see <i>something</i> on our first go 'round.<br />
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Then we heard the ruckus. A pebbly expanse just past the grassy shoulder of the berm was alive with birds busily pecking in the dirt for their mid-morning meal. The noise was extreme as dozens of Ruddy Turnstones pecked and dug and, well, turned stones to search for their meal. A couple of sizeable horseshoe crab shells stood motionless nearby, sending the silent message that yes, in fact, there might just be some eggs there, fairly far from the oceanfront. This was a gathering well worth leaving the car to investigate.<br />
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Like bargain-seekers at the discount table, Turnstones pushed Sandpipers and their breed brethren aside to get a better angle on the possible horseshoe crab egg bonanza just below the surface. They were fun to watch, but both Ivan and I had the feeling a good surprise could be there for us, too. Scanning the group, I decided to get a bit closer to see if I could spy the birds that were so close to the berm they were obscured by grass. And, I saw... yes....<br />
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A Red Knot! Milling among the Turnstones, the sole bird of its kind plucked its way through the stones and sand for a good meal. While the Knot was a singleton, it looked rather healthy and plump, as if it might have been chowing down for a good couple of days. Forsythe isn't generally known as the place to go to see Red Knots, being on the Atlantic Coast rather than the Bayshore, but at least one decided to grace us with its presence.<br />
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As we later discovered when checking in with the <a href="http://www.conservewildlifenj.org/blog/2015/05/25/19077-red-knots-counted-the-most-seen-in-new-jersey-in-a-decade/" target="_blank">Conserve Wildlife</a> folks who keep track of such things, this year's count of migrants to the Delaware Bayshore has been especially good. That got me thinking about how our Red Knot found his way to a beach within viewing distance of Atlantic City. It's always possible that this single individual got a little confused or misplaced from the flock that usually ends up farther south and west, but I'd personally like to think that he's the harbinger, maybe the trendy guy who thinks he discovered the next great place for migrating Red Knots to spend their brief but meaningful Jersey Shore vacation.<br />
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Yes, I'll admit I'm anthropomorphizing, but we can always hope that these small but mighty shorebirds will become so abundant that they'll need to stretch out a bit when they visit here in future migrations. Would it be the worst thing for Red Knots to visit AC every once in a while?<br />
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<br />Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02836481864368869692noreply@blogger.com0Edwin B Forsythe National Wildlife Refuge, Galloway, NJ, USA39.4534313 -74.41445620000001839.4289103 -74.454796700000017 39.4779523 -74.374115700000019tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-960378910828021794.post-56021573295078673652015-05-20T20:21:00.002-04:002023-06-14T07:05:29.716-04:00Fun with Flags at the Old Barracks*One of my favorite parts of exploring New Jersey is that there's always the chance of finding something extraordinarily cool in a spot you're not really expecting.<br />
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Like the time we found a <a href="http://www.hiddennj.com/2014/08/pandas-rejoice-bamboo-abounds-in-new.html" target="_blank">bamboo forest</a> at Rutgers in New Brunswick. Or when we discovered a piece of Grover Cleveland's <a href="http://www.hiddennj.com/2011/04/aloha-and-fruitcake-from-clevelands.html" target="_blank">wedding cake</a> at his birthplace in Caldwell. Or found a taxidermied specimen of the now-extinct <a href="http://www.hiddennj.com/2012/10/washington-damn-torpedoes-and-hitting.html" target="_blank">Heath Hen</a> at the Drake House in Plainfield. Usually, they're not the things you're initially looking for in the place you're visiting, but they become one of the dominant aspects of your memories of the place.<br />
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I had a similar experience not long ago at the Old Barracks in Trenton. Said by some to be the last remaining colonial British military barracks in North America, it was constructed in 1758 as part of a larger defensive system during the French and Indian War. It played a pivotal role in the American Revolution and had a checkered past until it was purchased by local preservationists in the early 1900s. Now owned by the state of New Jersey, it's been fully restored to tell stories of colonial life and defense. If you're into military history or early Jerseyana, it's an amazing place to visit.<br />
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Among the many artifacts is something you'd never expect to find at a small museum in New Jersey: one of the oldest surviving flags in North America and maybe the British Isles. It's hanging unassumingly on a wall in the Barracks' French and Indian War exhibit space.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Pine Tree Flag. <i>Photo courtesy <a href="http://www.barracks.org/" target="_blank">The Old Barracks Museum.</a>.</i></td></tr>
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In the interest of full disclosure, the flag's story is tied more to Connecticut than to New Jersey, but there's no shame in that. Some of our best friends came here from other places. It's known as a Pine Tree flag for the small conifer affixed to the upper left portion near the St. George's Cross. Embroidery in the center stripe of fabric appears to label it as the banner of the 5th Connecticut Provincial Regiment, which hailed from somewhere east of present-day Hartford. The soldiers of the 5th served at Fort Ticonderoga during the French and Indian War, and many of them likely clipped pieces of the flag for souvenirs at the conclusion of their service. That's why the damage to the banner would seem so uniform in spots. Flags carried by regiments during the Civil War sometimes suffered similar damage -- one could say they were sort of loved to death. (Coincidentally, New Jersey's <a href="http://www.hiddennj.com/2011/11/yahoos-in-civil-war-see-their-flag-at.html" target="_blank">Civil War flag collection</a> is just a few blocks away at the State Archives, with select few examples on display.)<br />
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How do artifacts like this survive, and how do they end up in Trenton? This one seems to have been the beneficiary of the forgetfulness of the soldier who might have been its creator. Flagbearer and Ensign Jacob Woodward took the homemade flag when his service was complete, tucking it away in a chest, much as many of us do when we move from one stage of our lives to the next. Maybe he took it out occasionally to view it, maybe not. All we know is that 200 years later, a Woodward descendant sold the chest and its contents in an estate sale, leaving the new owner to discover what he fortunately recognized to be a treasure. Professional textile conservators have estimated that the flag dates to the mid-1700s, if not earlier.<br />
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One thing led to another until, in 2009, the Pine Tree flag found a home within Trenton's own French and Indian War relic. Though the Barracks and the flag weren't acquainted in their primes, it's fitting they should be together now, much like centenarians who meet at the VFW and build a friendship based on similar wartime experiences. Together, they tell a story of pre-Independence American history that so many of us know so little about.<br />
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*Apologies to fans of <i>The Big Bang Theory
</i>Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02836481864368869692noreply@blogger.com0101 Barrack Street, Trenton, NJ, USA40.2199833 -74.768713314.697948800000002 -116.0773073 65.7420178 -33.4601193tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-960378910828021794.post-70381285677767430312015-05-13T19:00:00.000-04:002015-05-13T19:47:24.622-04:00None shall pass! Sandy Hook's hidden fortOur birding excursions at Sandy Hook usually lead us close to the tip of the hook, where Fort Hancock's Nine Gun Battery and Battery Peck continue to molder, unrestored. Part of the search for interesting species takes us close to the Coast Guard base, where, if you look in the right direction, you might notice an odd bit of construction: a very sturdy granite block structure topped by a water tank.<br />
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The big stone walls seem like a bit of overkill to protect a water tank, both regal and like a discarded part of the set of <i>Monty Python and The Holy Grail</i>. Then again, they probably stood up well to the surges of Hurricane Sandy. It wasn't until recently that we noticed an additional, less medieval-looking wall coming out from one side and continuing eastward for a short bit, looking rather vestigial beneath overgrown vines.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Ni!</i> A portion of the old Fort at Sandy Hook. <br />
We did not bring it a shrubbery.</td></tr>
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I didn't think much of it until my recent visit to the <a href="http://www.ahhistory.org/" target="_blank">Strauss Museum</a> in Atlantic Highlands (more on that to come), where I came upon a 19th century map of Sandy Hook. Rather than illustrating the location of Fort Hancock's many batteries and functional buildings, the map portrayed a pentagonal structure at the tip of the hook, labeled only as "fort." Part of the location matches the site of the still-standing walls. After a little research, I realized we'd inadvertently stumbled on the remnants of the Fort at Sandy Hook, the Civil War-era predecessor to the army base that had operated from the late 1800s until 1974.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The fort's intended shape is illustrated<br />
near the top of this 19th century map.</td></tr>
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Who knew? Sandy Hook's strategic location near the entrance to New York Bay makes it a perfect defense location, so it's not surprising that Fort Hancock wasn't the first Army base there. To start the tradition, the wooden-walled Fort Gates was built there in 1813 to protect the harbor and city. The rather obviously-named Fort at Sandy Hook was part of the next generation Third System U.S. fortifications as advances in weapons technology drove construction of granite-walled defense systems. Construction began on the hook in 1857 as part of a larger network of forts within New York Harbor that was designed to protect shipping channels into the city along with Forts Richmond (now Battery Weed), Tompkins, Hamilton and Lafayette near the Verrazano Narrows.<br />
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As the map portrays, the fort's pentagonal shape was highlighted with bastions at each corner. Though construction was far from complete at the start of the Civil War, the Army outfitted the fort with more than 30 cannons of various sizes and capacities. Company E of the 10th New York Heavy Artillery was assigned to the fort in April 1863. By July 1866, the fort was vacant again, apparently never to be used again.<br />
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Three years later and only 70 percent built, the Fort at Sandy Hook was declared obsolete. New artillery technology, in the form of rifled cannons, could easily destroy the granite-walled fortress, rendering it useless. However, portions of the fort were reportedly incorporated into the still-standing Nine Gun Battery built in the 1890s through the early 1900s.<br />
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For safety reasons, Nine Gun remains closed to the casual visitor, so it's not easy (or prudent) to figure out exactly where the old fort walls exist in the newer construction. However, there's still that wall below the Coast Guard water tank, visible from Lot M at the base of the Fishermen's Trail near Battery Peck. Look carefully to the east of the tank, and you might be able to follow a line to additional parts of the fort wall. Don't attempt, however, to get too close. While the Coast Guard base is still recovering from Hurricane Sandy, the site remains an active military installation, and you can't just walk in. Even if you bring a shrubbery.<br />
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<br />Suehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02836481864368869692noreply@blogger.com1Sandy Hook, NJ, USA40.4781616 -74.01626579999998514.9561271 -115.32485979999998 66.0001961 -32.707671799999986