Get your kicks on... the Lincoln Highway?

As a follow-up to our story on Jersey City's Lincoln Park, historian and Hidden New Jersey reader Jim Madden took to our Facebook page to remind us of yet another tribute to the 16th president that's just feet away. Keep your eyes open when you visit the Mystic Lincoln sculpture, and you'll see the red, white and blue signs that designate some of the park roads as the route of the Lincoln Highway.

A vintage Lincoln Highway marker,
as seen in the Smithsonian.

If your mind is going toward the Lincoln Highway in Highland Park, Edison or any number of other places in North or Central Jersey, you're on the right track. Those stretches of road were once part of the much larger Lincoln Highway, conceived by Indiana road enthusiast Carl Fisher in 1912 to run from New York City's Times Square to Lincoln Park in San Francisco. Like New Jersey's own George Blakeslee, Fisher saw the benefits of reliable, well-maintained roads for the nation's commerce and mobility. The privately-funded highway was to take in and improve a network of existing thoroughfares to create a direct transcontinental route. Promoting the road through the Lincoln Highway Association, Fisher hoped that contributions from automobile manufacturers and private citizens would find the improvement of the 3400-mile route.

If you try to follow the highway's original path through New Jersey these days, you get a good education in how roads and cities evolved to address the needs of a growing population. According to the website of the re-invigorated Lincoln Highway Association, travelers would take New York's 42nd Street west to a ferry, a necessary step more than two decades before the start of construction on the Lincoln Tunnel. Once across the Hudson in Weehawken, the highway coursed up the Palisades on Pershing Road, taking 49th Street to what was then Hudson County Boulevard into Jersey City and along the old Newark Plank Road through West Side Park, which was renamed Lincoln Park at the statue's installation in 1930. It traversed the Meadowlands along what's now Truck Route 1 and 9, well before the construction of the Pulaski Skyway.

Once in Newark, the road took already-congested city streets until it linked with current-day Route 27, which took it southwest through Elizabeth, Rahway, Edison, New Brunswick and Princeton. That portion of the highway has its roots in a road originally laid out by Dutch colonists as early as 1675. The southernmost section, now U.S. 206, brought the highway from Princeton through Trenton and into Pennsylvania. In the ensuing years, the route was adjusted several times to account for changing conditions, including the opening of the Holland Tunnel.

The Federal government got into the road business not long after World War I, endorsing Fisher's and Blakeslee's basic ideas but inadvertently ringing the death knell for the Lincoln Highway as the transcontinental route. Connecting towns and cities with reliable paved roads meant mobility, not just to transport goods from farm or factory to market, but for people to explore the country beyond their own community. While the Lincoln Highway was never fully completed from coast to coast, it paved the way for uniform long distance road standards and the eventual establishment of our interstate highway system.

In recent years, New Jersey's reinvigorated chapter of the Lincoln Highway Association has been placing commemorative markers on strategic points along the road's route. They're metal in Lincoln Park but at least one concrete post has been installed on Route 27 in Edison. Have you seen any?

Lincoln in Jersey City: an enduring spirit

Reporting for Hidden New Jersey has made me a real fan of the statues that stand in many of our older parks. Where I once took them for granted, I've come to realize that they often say a lot about the communities they're in: what the locals find important and what they value.

Take, for example, the Lincoln sculpture at the JFK Boulevard entrance to Jersey City's Lincoln Park. Memorials to our sixteenth president are common enough in cities and towns in the northern states, but there's something remarkable about this one. It's said to have been the second-largest Lincoln monument at its dedication, but what's even more notable is its design and how it got there in the first place.

Ivan found it and thought enough of it to bring me to visit it. Indeed, I could see why he found it so remarkable. Unlike the more majestic representation at his memorial in Washington, D.C., the seated, clean-shaven Jersey City Lincoln sits pensively on a boulder, seeming to contemplate a troubling issue. An adjacent plaque labels it "Mystic Lincoln," erected in 1930 by the Lincoln Association of Jersey City, with contributions from local school children. Ringed by a semi-circular bench, the statue invites passers-by to stop and consider the president's work and the challenges he took on during his tenure. In this deeply personal work, sculptor James Earle Fraser depicted a very human man with troubles that reached into his very core.

Digging a bit deeper into its history, I discovered that the statue also represents an enduring dedication to Lincoln and his achievements. Jersey City is home to the nation's oldest continually-operating Lincoln Association, which has met on February 12 every year since 1867 to commemorate the Great Emancipator's birth.

Though New Jersey's electoral votes failed to go to Lincoln in both of his elections and opinions of him were mixed, Jersey City was home to many who supported the president before and after his untimely death. According to its website, the founders of the association were civic leaders and businessmen who vowed to meet annually to "discuss the obstacles [Lincoln] overcame in his early years, his firm and fair philosophy, his vision and courage, and his many achievements."

Since then, the yearly ceremonies have included re-enactments and readings from Lincoln scholars. Anyone who reveres the former president's memory is welcome to attend the events, which are now held at the sculpture and in the Casino in the Park nearby.

Just as important as the annual event is the daily presence of Lincoln's words, themselves, in the walls within the memorial area:

"That government of the people, by the people and for the people shall not perish from the earth." 

"With malice toward none and charity toward all." 

"Let us have faith that right makes might and in that faith let us to the end dare to do our duty as we understand it." 

Immortal words all, and well worth considering through the ages.

A campus stroll through history, as told by trees

In three and a half years and over thousands of miles criss-crossing the state, we've seen a lot of notable trees. We've come upon ancient mighty oaks that witnessed the signing of treaties with the natives and the first American air mail (albeit by balloon), and a large but younger one that provided a customary place for country folks to don their shoes before walking into town. A massive holly spent most of its life in obscurity before becoming a force in changing the route of the Garden State Parkway. A host of famed trees of other species are mostly known for being really old and still alive. The message they all deliver is clear: despite rampant development, New Jersey communities somehow manage to preserve trees that have meaning to them.

What we didn't know was that we could have visited offspring of most of these trees, and more, in one place: the Union County College campus in Cranford. There, not far from the Sperry Observatory, is a grove of 70 trees that comprise the Historic Tree Project. Labeled with nameplates, they represent not only New Jersey but many other notable places around the country.

The New Brunswick white oak that's said
 to have inspired Joyce Kilmer's poem Trees
is represented by this healthy youngster.

A project of UCC biology professor Dr. Tom Ombrello, the Historic Tree Project started in 1997, intending to grow and nurture seedlings and saplings of trees that have some significance in American history. Several seeds or acorns from each historic tree are germinated in the adjacent greenhouse, with the goal of ultimately planting one in the grove. Spare seedlings are shared with other schools, parks and historic societies around the state, with the goal of preserving the parent tree's heritage (or, perhaps, sap-line).

Presidents are well represented, with offspring including George Washington's Mount Vernon holly, red maple and sweet buckeye trees, oaks from Abraham Lincoln's birthplace and resting grounds, and more from notable places in the lives of presidents Jefferson, Grant, Cleveland, Wilson, Eisenhower, Truman and Johnson. Others celebrate groundbreaking African Americans including Booker T. Washington and Martin Luther King. Still more are the progeny of "witness" trees that may still stand at the site of historic events like the Battles of Gettysburg and Antietam, and the attack on the World Trade Center buildings on September 11, 2001.

Over the years, some of the historic trees have been felled by storms or other natural occurrences. Raising plants in climates outside their normal environments can be tricky, making some especially susceptible to the harsh weather extremes we've experienced in New Jersey over the past several years. And, of course, there are the usual four-footed villains to guard against. One might wonder if an acorn from a pedigreed oak, however young, might be an especially tasty treat for an adventurous squirrel, or if the bark of a historic sycamore might be especially pleasing for a deer looking to rub his head.

The project is now focusing on trees representing New Jersey historic people, events and sites, including catalpa, magnolia and buckeye samples from nearby Liberty Hall. Grover Cleveland's birthplace is represented by descendants of the mighty sycamore and a red oak behind the Caldwell home, while a ginko tree reminds us of the Greenwich tea burning. The Pinelands also gets a shoutout with a pitch pine from the area near Tabernacle where Emilio Carranza, the "Lindbergh of Mexico" met his untimely end while flying a goodwill mission in 1928.

Like all living things, trees have a finite life. Even the sturdiest and most ancient eventually die on their own, making projects like these all the more important. Despite the best efforts of preservationists and arborists, we've already seen the passing of storied trees like the Mercer Oak and the New Brunswick Joyce Kilmer Oak, but not before acorns were collected and nurtured. With luck, 200 years or more from now, our own descendants will be able to relax under the boughs of these trees and consider their own links to the past, gain inspiration and do great things in their own lives.

Eight score and five years ago: Lincoln in Cape May?

Abraham Lincoln in the 1840s.

Wednesday February 12 marks the 205th anniversary of the birth of Abraham Lincoln, an interesting date to consider our sixteenth president relaxing at the Jersey Shore.

New Jersey's direct connections with Lincoln are rather sparse, with most state explorers pointing to the gravesites and ruins of a forge run by his distant ancestors in Fillmore, Monmouth County. Thus, I was rather delighted to come upon a link between Honest Abe and the seaside resort of Cape May.

While somewhat surprising, the pieces seemed to fit at first glance. By the mid 1800s, Cape May had become a popular destination for politicians and statesmen to escape the oppressive summertime heat of Washington D.C. Lincoln represented Illinois for one term in Congress in the 1840s. And the register of the old Mansion House inn shows "A. Lincoln and wife" as visitors on July 31, 1849.

Making the story even more appealing, some sources claim that Lincoln made a decision in Cape May that arguably affected the course of history. It's said that while he and his wife Mary were enjoying a respite by the sea, he received a letter from President Zachary Taylor, offering him the governorship of Oregon Territory. Mary reportedly balked at the prospect of living in the remote territory, among the Indians, and urged Lincoln to turn down the offer. The pair returned to Illinois, where the future president resumed his legal practice and later unsuccessfully ran for U.S. Senate.

It's a great story, but it's not true - most of it, anyway. Though Lincoln was offered the governorship, he wasn't in Cape May when he received the letter from Taylor, but in Illinois. Court records place him in Springfield, Illinois on July 31, winning a settlement on behalf of a client. Given the limits of 19th century transportation, there's no way he could have gotten from the Springfield courts to the Jersey Shore by the end of the day to make the story possible.

What, then, about the hotel register with the "A. Lincoln" signature? Two theories provide plausible stories. First, some believe the name might have been planted there, perhaps by Mansion House management, to raise the inn's profile as the lodging place of esteemed notables. Another story states that "A. Lincoln" did, in fact, stay there: Philadelphia merchant Abel Lincoln. So I guess you could say that if you were a Lincoln in 1849, you had to be Abel to be in Cape May.

Heading to the Meeting House in Imlaystown

A few weeks ago I got a message from Hidden New Jersey reader and renowned bird blogger Rick Wright, asking whether I'd ever written about Gilbert Imlay. No... I'd only heard the name Imlay in reference to Imlaystown, a section of Upper Freehold and the supposed home of Hannah Saltar and Mordecai Lincoln, the New Jersey ancestors of our sixteenth president.

It got me curious, so I took a drive through the countryside of Monmouth County to find the tiny community.

You'd never know it once you're there, but Imlaystown isn't far from I-195, and as the crow flies, it's practically next door to Six Flags Great Adventure. Rather than using the GPS, I was going slightly less high tech: directions jotted down from a Google Maps search. I hadn't looked up a specific address, so I was hoping it would get me to the center of town, such as it was.

Thing was, I got distracted along the way. Sure, I got off 195 and rambled down country roads, but then I saw a sign for the Yellow Meeting House staring at me from the other side of a T intersection. From my earlier reading, I knew this was the oldest house of worship in the area, having been built in 1737 on land donated by the Saltar family. There was nothing else of note within eyeshot, so I figured that if I found the Meeting House, I might find the town nearby.

An arrow on the sign pointed left and said "Three miles," so I took note of the odometer and made the turn. A shade less than three miles later, I came to an intersection with Yellow Meeting House Road. Gotta take it, right? Regrettably, a fair number of widely-spaced McMansions had been built on either side of the road, followed by some older split-levels and ranch homes as I drove along. Could I even hope that the view of my destination was unspoiled, at least a little bit, by 20th and 21st century housing?

Then, as advertised, I found the Yellow Meeting House, far back in a field dotted with gravestones, seemingly untouched by modern life. The WPA Guide to 1930s New Jersey notes that "a side door is kept unlatched so that anyone may try out the white box pews or climb to the large balcony in the rear." I didn't find this to be the case, but a glance through one of the many windows revealed a simple yet impressive interior.

Now worshiping in a newer church in Imlaystown proper, the congregation of the Upper Freehold Baptist Church has its roots at the Yellow Meeting House and still holds an annual gathering there on the last Sunday in July. Working with a local friends organization, church members keep the building and grounds well cared for, and it's not hard to imagine the faithful arriving on horseback, on foot and in carriages. The graveyard contains burials from the 1700s to the present, with a fair number of war dead. Decorated with a weathered flag and presumably replacing a worn, unreadable stone, one granite block reads:

"Bordentown January 6, 1777 

'Honored and dear father, I have this day joined the Light Horse.' 

Jonathan Holmes died in service, Aug 4, 1777."

Indeed, one of the church's early ministers was a strong advocate of American independence and may have influenced Holmes' decision to join the army. Reverend David Jones was ordained at the Yellow Meeting House in 1766 and continued preaching there until late 1775, when his sermon "Defensive War in a Just Cause Sinless" became a widely circulated message of patriotism. He soon took a chaplain's post with a Pennsylvania regiment and accompanied troops to Brandywine, Germantown, Valley Forge and Monmouth. Like Reverend James Caldwell, he became well known to the British, to the point where General Howe put a price on his head.

Perhaps it was Jones' spirit that drew a wary presence during my visit. As I walked from the graveyard toward a historical sign nearer the parsonage, I heard a hawk screech in the near distance. Looking up, I saw three red tailed hawks circling above, as if to warn me: show respect for our dead!

I may have overstayed my welcome. It was time to make my way back to Imlaystown proper and find what I'd originally been looking for. That's a story for next time... and I'll eventually get to Gilbert Imlay!

Burlington: a refuge from the Civil War

The slim brick rowhouses of Burlington's historic Wood Street are interrupted by a wider and squatter cream colored stucco residence labeled "Grant House." While it was never actually the home of then-General and later President Ulysses S. Grant, one of his visits there might have saved his life.

A graduate of West Point who fought in the Mexican War, Grant rose to the rank of commanding general of the Union Army during the Civil War. Justifiably concerned about the safety and welfare of his family, he moved his wife Julia and four children to the house at 309 Wood Street, in Burlington. His children attended classes at the school, and by all accounts, the family had an uneventful stay in town. Though he spent little time there himself, the General would visit when he could.

Shortly after the surrender of Confederate forces at Appomatox in April 1865, Grant traveled to Washington D.C. for a cabinet meeting. President Lincoln invited the Grants to join him and his wife for a night at the theater, but the General declined, knowing that Julia disliked Mary Todd Lincoln's erratic behavior and would refuse to go. Of course, you're not going to tell your boss that your spouse thinks his wife is crazy, so rather than telling Lincoln the truth, Grant cited a promise to visit the children in Burlington that night.

The Grant home in Burlington:
a safe haven from the Civil War, perhaps more.

Yes, it was that night: April 14, 1865, the evening Lincoln was assassinated at Ford's Theater. Grant knew nothing of the attack until his train reached Philadelphia that night. After escorting Julia to Burlington, he caught a morning train back to Washington.

There's some question as to whether Grant was a target of the conspiracy to kill Lincoln, and given the genesis of the plot, it would make sense. Over a year before, the general suspended the exchange of prisoners of war, realizing that the Confederate army already lacked manpower. Holding captured soldiers would only reduce the army's effectiveness further. Confederate sympathizer John Wilkes Booth hatched a scheme to force Grant's hand: kidnap the president and demand the release of the Southern soldiers in exchange for Lincoln's freedom.

With the addition of co-conspirators, the plan grew and evolved. Instead of kidnapping Lincoln, Booth would assassinate him, while his compadres murdered both Vice President Andrew Johnson and Secretary of State William Seward. The Union would be crippled by the loss of its top administration leaders, Booth believed, sending the country into disarray. Was Grant on the hit list? Even if you took his prisoner-of-war policy out of the equation, he was a top military leader, making him a powerful target. Regardless, the plan beyond the Lincoln shooting was a failure. The man assigned to kill Johnson balked at the prospect of murder, and Seward's assailant succeeded only in injuring him seriously.

What we do know is that Grant and his family found safety and security in Burlington. And there's an interesting little footnote, too. Rumor has it that well before the war, Grant and then-candidate Lincoln once arm-wrestled at one of the local inns. No word on who won, or if it could possibly even be true, but it's fun to consider.