Breaking the Color Barrier at Shady Rest

There seems to be something about Union County and historic golf courses.

First, there was the Oak Ridge Golf Course in Clark, whose grounds and clubhouse witnessed portions of the Battle of the Short Hills during the Revolution.

And recently I discovered the Shady Rest Golf and Country Club, now operating as the Scotch Hills Golf Course in Scotch Plains. While portions of its clubhouse date back to the 1700s, it's notable for two distinctions far more recent: its status as the nation's first African-American owned and operated country club, and as the home course of John Shippen, the first African American golfer to play in the U.S. Open.

Originally owned by Ephraim Tucker and later the site of George Osborn's Tavern, the house and surrounding 31 acres of rolling fields were purchased by the Westfield Golf Club in 1897. The organization converted the farmland to a nine-hole golf course and renovated the farmhouse/tavern into a clubhouse, opening the club in 1900. While the course was popular with its members, the surrounding neighborhood was equally as attractive to the growing African American community that settled there, reducing the acreage available when the club wanted to expand its course to 18 holes. Rather than getting into land disputes with its neighbors, the WGC chose to merge with its Cranford counterpart in 1921, relocating both organizations to the current site of the Echo Lake Country Club.

Seeing an opportunity to organize a country club for the regional African American community, the Progressive Realty Company stepped in and bought the property. What resulted was Shady Rest, marketed as a place "where respectable men and women can come and enjoy the real and outdoor life, and indulge in wholesome, healthful sports, as Golf, Tennis, Croquet, Horseback Riding and Shooting.”

It didn't take long before the club attracted the cream of both the athletic and artistic worlds. Well before she broke the Grand Slam racial barrier with her win at the French Open, Althea Gibson won the club's mixed doubles championship with her coach Sydney Llewellen. The club also became well known for its entertainment, drawing jazz legends including Duke Ellington, Sarah Vaughn, Count Basie and Ella Fitzgerald, who enthralled club members while others enjoyed the music from outside Shady Rest's gates.

Perhaps most notable, however, is its association with John Shippen, the first American-born competitor in the U.S. Open. A 16 year old self-taught golfer, he'd broken the sport's unspoken color line in 1896 when he played in the Open at the course where he caddied, Long Island's Shinnecock Hills. Later playing in four other Opens, Shippen was nonetheless denied membership in the Professional Golfers Association due to its exclusionary policies. Their loss, however, was Shady Rest's gain; he served as the club's pro from 1931 until 1960. (More information on Shippen's life and achievements is available on an informative website maintained by a foundation organized in his name.)

Like many other organizations, Shady Rest experienced financial strains during the Great Depression, and the town of Scotch Plains acquired the property through a tax lien. Assuming operation of the club in 1964, the town converted it to a public course, which it remains today. To the eyes of this very novice duffer, the rolling hills of Shady Rest appear to be a nice challenge for an afternoon on the links, and the greens fees are more than reasonable, even for non-residents. There's even a very attractive miniature golf range for those who would rather limit their frustrations to a minimum.

If recent events are any indication, the people of Scotch Plains know the treasure they have in Shady Rest. Listed among the state's 10 most endangered historic sites by Preservation New Jersey in 2008, the course and clubhouse were recently granted nearly $140,000 by the township council to finance repairs. While the old farmhouse is unrecognizable beneath the renovations and additions made since Tucker and Osborn owned it, it's well worth preserving for what it represents: the social and recreational pursuits of the black middle class in New Jersey.

From enslavement to business mogul: Elizabeth Sutliff Dulfer

I love it when a Hidden New Jersey story reveals another, equally as obscure story about an accomplished individual who's somehow evaded widespread notice. Such is the case with accomplished 19th century businesswoman Elizabeth Dickerson Sutliff Dulfer.

You might remember her name from our story about the clay trade that once prospered along the Hackensack River. She was the first person to capitalize on the wide-scale commercial value of the local clay, purchasing 87 acres of land in Little Ferry for the purpose of mining and selling the substance. It's remarkable for a woman of that time to have the resources and ability to acquire land without a man's help, but it's an even more fascinating story when you consider her origins.

Elizabeth Dickerson was born into slavery in 1790, in New Barbadoes, current-day Hackensack. She worked in servitude for William and Polly Campbell at their home along the banks of the Hackensack River until achieving manumission in 1822. It's not known whether she paid for her freedom or whether it was granted for past service, but either way, she was free to enjoy the same rights as any woman who'd never been enslaved.

Census records indicate that following her release, she may have lived and worked as a seamstress in New York City, marrying a Jamaican immigrant named Alexander Sutler. Regardless of her profession, she must have managed her income wisely, for she started acquiring land on her return to New Jersey in 1847. She spent more than $1300 to purchase the Little Ferry property not far from her childhood home, aggregating tracts from several sellers. You've got to believe she had a goal in mind, as it took time, serious persistence and a strategy to negotiate the number of transactions she had to make to acquire the land.

Once she had the property together, the real work began. Mining clay was a tough, labor-intensive business in the mid 1800s, and she hired several employees to help her. As we saw in the case of the Mehrhofs, Dulfer counted on ships to transport her product to customers in the larger cities of New Jersey and beyond. Some accounts say that her business was one of the largest clay providers in the country; she was likely among the wealthiest landowners in Bergen County, too. That said, she still had to deal with the prevailing attitudes of the time: the 1850 census listed her husband as owner and farmer of the property, even though she herself held legal title to the land.

Following Alexander's death in 1855, Elizabeth remarried, this time to a Dutch immigrant 33 years her junior. John Dulfer joined his wife's business, and together they also tended the 50 acres designated to agriculture. Records show that the farm was successful as well, yielding potatoes, hay, butter and produce that Elizabeth sold at market in Hoboken and elsewhere.

Elizabeth's business and financial acumen served her well in her advancing age, when she capitalized on the potential of her considerable holdings. Selling the clay beds in 1867 for more than ten times what she'd paid for them 20 years earlier, she became a financier. Between 1864 and 1870, she invested more than $16,000 in Bergen County real estate and high-interest bearing mortgages.

Elizabeth died in 1880 at the age of 90. Buried in what's now known as Gethsemane Cemetery in Little Ferry, she seems to have fallen largely into obscurity, much like the clay industry in which she excelled. It's truly a shame: in her time, she defied the odds against women and African Americans to become one of the most successful entrepreneurs in New Jersey.

Saving a piece of journalism history: the Thomas Fortune house

A large, century-old house on Red Bank's Drs. James Parker Boulevard wouldn't seem to be worthy of much attention, except for two facts. First, it stands vacant, on a sizable piece of land ripe for development. Second, and more importantly, it's a National Historic Landmark that's in danger of being lost, along with the opportunity to tell the story of T. Thomas Fortune.

I first learned about Fortune from our friends Peter Primavera and Gordon Bond at Garden State Legacy, who are spearheading the effort to save the house from demolition. Their zeal piqued my curiousity: why made this little-known individual so important that his house warrants recognition and preservation?

T. Thomas Fortune

What I discovered was an accomplished publisher and civil rights activist who contributed not just to the cause of African-American equality, but to the development and advancement of issues-based journalism. He founded and ran the largest and most influential black newspaper of his day, arguably setting the standard for advocacy journalism.

The story of Timothy Thomas Fortune starts in Florida, where he was born into slavery in 1856. Coming of age during the Reconstruction Era, he got a first-hand view of the rise and fall of black influence in government and public life when his father Emanuel won a seat in the Florida House of Representatives.

Young Thomas spent a great deal of time in the Florida statehouse during his father's tenure, even serving as a Senate page. There's nothing quite like being in the belly of the beast if you want to understand exactly how government works, and he got quite an education in Southern politics. While several blacks had been elected to office in the post-war years, their efforts to gain true influence and change met with little success due to sanctioned discrimination in the halls of government. Longstanding prejudice among whites led to the eventual banishment of most black elected officials in Florida, including Emanuel Fortune.

Even as he was learning the realities of government, Thomas was spending time in printing shops and newspaper offices, picking up writing and publishing skills. Those talents stood him in good stead when he moved to Washington, DC to study law at Howard University. He worked his way through school at a black newspaper, earning a reputation as a talented writer with a distinct voice. He'd found his niche.

At the age of 24, Fortune set out on his own as a journalist, believing that the nation's black population needed a national forum. Moving to New York City, he founded a series of newspapers, including The New York Globe and the New York Freeman, later named The New York Age. He wrote broadly on interracial relations and the advancement of African Americans, advocating equal educational opportunity and women's rights. "To tell a man he is free when he has neither money nor the opportunity to make it," he wrote, "is simply to mock him."

Unlike many of the general circulation newspapers of his day, Fortune's puiblications avoided sensationalism in favor of intelligent, reasoned editorial content and high journalistic standards. He was well recognized for his ability to encourage dialogue by balancing opposing views, and is credited with giving blacks a vehicle to discuss social issues and protest inequity. Noted journalists including Ida B. Wells and Victoria Earle Matthews started their careers working at the Age.

Fortune's work atracted the attention of Tuskegee Institute president Booker T. Washington, who hired the journalist as a speechwriter and collaborated with him on several books despite their sometimes divergent opinions. Washington also provided financial support to the Age, helping to keep the newspaper afloat during difficult times. Nonetheless, Washington neglected to credit Fortune for most of his contributions, leading to a degree of friction between the two.

The Fortune house today, awaiting preservation.
Courtesy Peter Primavera.

It's not clear why Fortune decided to settle his family in Red Bank, but his move out from New York in 1901 reflected a growing trend of affluent blacks settling in the suburbs. Securing a mortgage from one of New York's first African-American banks, he purchased a 12-room Second-Empire style home located conveniently near the train station. He commuted to the city once a week, preferring to write and edit at home. The location also proved convenient to visitors; Washington often came to Red Bank to meet with Fortune.

Ideological differences between the two men ultimately led to a split, with catastrophic results for the journalist. Unhappy with Fortune's more strident public pronouncements, Washington lost faith in his writer and withdrew his financial support for the Age. Already suffering from severe depression, Fortune had a nervous breakdown in 1907 and lost the Red Bank house to foreclosure eight years later. While he eventually recovered and began working again, he never quite regained the level of influence he'd once held within the community. He died in Philadelphia in 1928.

To characterize Fortune solely as an African-American leader would be to minimize his broader role as an activist publisher and commentator. He demonstrated the power of journalism to provoke debate and influence public policy among the diverse factions of communities others might see as being of one mind. Black leaders, whether separatist or integrationist in belief, sought and valued his counsel. The issues he championed -- equal rights and equal opportunity for women and minorities -- continue to be debated today, and scores of media outlets and journalists now play the roles that Fortune and his newspapers established in his day. Every one of us, regardless of ethnic or racial origin, benefit from the example he set.

The group working to save the Fortune house has established a Facebook page to keep supporters updated on the progress of their campaign. Reflecting Fortune's interests and achievements as well as the history of the larger Red Bank community, they're building a broad coalition to widen awareness and advocacy for the site. Post-acquisition plans are still in development. The challenge now is to save the house and with it, a way to build awareness of Fortune's legacy.

Lawnside: a Free Haven in history

If you drove through the Camden County borough of Lawnside, you'd be excused for thinking it's no different from any other small town in New Jersey. The typical appearance of its shops, schools and modest homes belie its history as the first independent self-governing African-American community north of the Mason-Dixon line.

According to the Encyclopedia of New Jersey, people of African descent began settling in what's now Lawnside in the 1700s. Both freedmen and escaped slaves were drawn to the community, and as the anti-slavery movement grew, Philadelphia abolitionist Ralph Smith began purchasing land in the area. To encourage further settlement in the place he called Free Haven, Smith divided the acreage into lots and sold it to blacks at reduced prices. When a group of former slaves from Maryland joined the community, it became known as Snow Hill, after their former home. The current name of Lawnside was coined in 1907 when the Pennsylvania and Reading Railroad built a station stop there.

All the while, the community was part of the larger Centre Township, with representation on the town council. As it grew to have its own school, churches, shops and distinct culture, it was clear that Lawnside should stand on its own. Through an act of the New Jersey Legislature, Centre Township was disbanded and Lawnside officially became a borough in 1926. To this day, Lawnside's population continues to be predominantly African American and extremely proud of its heritage, as evidenced on its borough seal.

Considering its roots, it's not surprising that the community that became Lawnside made its own contributions to the freedom effort. Nearly fifty men joined the Union Army during the Civil War, likely in the 22nd US Colored Troops that mustered out of Philadelphia. The hamlet was also a stop on the Underground Railroad, and its respected resident minister an agent. Preacher Peter Mott's house was the station, and it's been restored by the Lawnside Historical Society.

When I drove into town, I saw brown historic signs leading to the house, and I wasn't sure what to expect. Over the years, I've come to accept that historic sites aren't always in central locations or even where it might seem logical. Sometimes 20th century development pressures have transformed the acreage around an old farmhouse into the site of compact tract housing. That's what I found when I pulled to the end of a townhouse-lined cul-de-sac to find the Mott farmhouse. Not far away, behind a buffer of woods, traffic on the Turnpike whizzed by. Clearly, a lot has changed since Mott and his wife Eliza bought the property from prominent African-American dentist and Underground Railroad conductor Jacob C. White, Jr. in 1844.

The house is only open on Saturdays, so I wasn't able to go inside, but an informative sign related the facts that local historians have been able to glean about Mott and his property from census records. Listed in 1850 as a laborer, Mott apparently was well-off enough to build a two-story house and hold property worth $600. A respected member of the community, he founded the Sunday School at the Snow Hill Church, which is now known as Mount Pisgah A.M.E.

As I left town for other adventures, I realized that the completely typical appearance of Lawnside demonstrates the success of its founders' vision. More often than not, when people seek equality, they're just looking for the same chances everyone else gets, no more, no less. When it came to Free Acres, it was a place where free-born and formerly enslaved people of African descent could establish a home and raise a family in peace.

Evergreen Cemetery: a brief visit to honor those who served

We sometimes have to be a bit strategic when we plan a Hidden New Jersey history field trip involving multiple locations. Sites seem to all be staffed for the same limited hours, so we need to determine if an before- or after-hours visit would be just as productive. And, of course, we have to be a bit flexible to account for the serendipitous stop at a must-see we find along the way.

I ran into this challenge a few weeks ago during Union County's Four Centuries weekend, when I had about four hours to make meaningful visits to as many sites as possible. Hillside's Evergreen Cemetery went on the 'later' list, so when I was in the neighborhood the other day, I stopped in to check it out.

Listed on the New Jersey and National Registers of Historic Places, Evergreen opened in 1853 as the state's first non-profit, non-sectarian cemetery. It's become the final resting places for six Members of Congress (and a non-voting delegate from pre-statehood Alaska), famous writers, a substantial Roma (Gypsy) population, and local luminaries including Newark's first black school principal and the first Jewish mayor of Elizabeth. I had some idea there were some must-visits, but I didn't know where they were, or, for that matter, how expansive the cemetery was.

The cemetery's grand gates welcome visitors from the center of a block on North Broad Street, but I snuck in a still-nicely-marked corner entrance. Almost immediately I saw one of the grand contemporary memorials that have made Evergreen a favored stop for current-day graveyard art enthusiasts. Out of place among the older sandstone and gray granite markers, many of them consist of black stone slabs well over five feet tall  joined by a common lintel, and usually engraved in gold lettering. The most interesting thing about them, in my opinion, is that some have been placed in the cemetery's older section, which was designed in the Victorian style: park-like, with graves placed in harmony with the landscape. This motif was common in the mid 1800s, when graveyards were popular places to picnic and enjoy a pleasant Sunday afternoon with friends.  

Unfortunately, Hurricane Sandy made her mark on some of what makes Evergreen such a pastoral spot. It's said that many of the cemetery's trees are over 300 years old, and as I made my way through, I saw that several limbs were down, some trees even toppled, taking with them more than a few monuments. Workers were busily collecting leaves and branches, but three weeks after the storm, they still have a lot of work to do.

Not far into my ramblings, I came to a section with several familiar-looking white grave markers placed in uniform rows. If I had any question on what I'd stumbled onto, it was answered by the pair of 100 pound cannons flanking the plot. I'd found the cemetery's Civil War section, set aside in 1862 for free burials of dozens of casualties and veterans of the War Between the States. Some of the stones were visible and easily read, while others were obscured by fallen tree limbs. A nearby flagpole was bent over a few feet above its base, perhaps by the branch that sat nearby, already sawed into sections to be carted away. I spent a good few minutes resetting many of the American flags that had fallen to the ground after presumably having been placed on the graves for Veterans Day.

Just by chance, I noticed two gravestones marked "US Col. Inf" or "USCI," meaning "United States Colored Infantry," the segregated troops that fought in the Civil War. Had I stumbled upon a large contingent of African American casualties' final resting places? I couldn't really tell -- while many of the markers didn't indicate service in the segregated service, other stones were totally inaccessible.

A little research at home uncovered a possibility. More than 75 black Civil War veterans are buried at Evergreen, some with stones that note their service in the segregated ranks. Some historians believe that others actually served in Union County regiments that had been assumed to be all white. Regardless, those buried here seem to have been honored well, considering the presence of the cannons, which I learned were procured by Elizabeth Mayor Dr. William Mack on Memorial Day, 1900.

Other Civil War veterans are interred at Evergreen within their own family plots or mausoleums, including Brevet Brigadier General James Vote Bomford and Medal of Honor recipient Captain William Brant, Jr. Their graves, however, would have to wait another day for discovery. There's way too much about Evergreen to limit it to a short visit, so I'll be back, next time with Ivan in tow.

Oliver Cromwell in Burlington - fighting the patriot cause

After finding the Bonapartes in Bordentown, I guess it wasn't all that surprising that I'd locate Oliver Cromwell just down the road a piece, in Burlington. And while the South Jersey version wasn't the Lord Protector of the Commonwealth of England, he too fought for freedom from the British Crown.

Oliver Cromwell's late-in-life home.

Burlington's Oliver Cromwell was born in 1752 in nearby Columbus, and he was among several free black men who served in New Jersey regiments during the Revolutionary War. In the earliest days of the conflict, blacks were barred from enlisting on the patriot side, but that rule was changed in late 1775, after the British promised freedom to enslaved Americans in return for military service against the colonies.

Cromwell got into the action as things were heating up in New Jersey. He was among the soldiers who crossed the Delaware with Washington on Christmas 1776, and he fought in the battles that turned the tide of the war: Trenton and Princeton. He may have been a battlefield drummer, relaying orders from officers to soldiers in the field of conflict. Serving a total of six years in the military, Cromwell also saw action at Monmouth, Germantown, Brandywine and Yorktown, ultimately leaving the army with a badge of merit and honorable discharge papers that were signed by General Washington himself.

According to some sources, Cromwell's overall likeability came to his benefit several years later. When he applied for a veterans pension, several notable Burlington residents helped him secure a $96 per year payment from the government. It was with that money that he bought a 100 acre farm just outside town. Much later, he moved into the house that now bears his name, ultimately outliving eight of his 14 children before dying at the age of 100. It's said that several of his descendants still live in town, no doubt proud of their ancestor's contribution to the cause of American independence.

Local residents organized the Oliver Cromwell Black History Society in 1984 to advance public understanding of African American history. Through their efforts, the name of this notable New Jerseyan lives on.

Hidden Heroes: a few words on Isaac Gordon

On the Fourth, after the reading of the Declaration of Independence in Morristown, Ivan and I took a ride through Madison to visit the grave of a little-known Civil War notable, Isaac Gordon.

The story goes something like this: Born into slavery in the South, Gordon escaped to Union lines in Washington County, North Carolina during the Coastal Campaign in 1862. Intelligence he supplied to the Union Army eventually led to several key victories against Confederate troops in North Carolina and Virginia.

During his time with the Union soldiers, Gordon befriended Colonel Edward E. Potter, who commanded a newly formed African American regiment. Following the war, Potter brought Gordon back to Madison, where the Colonel, by then a general, retired as a gentleman farmer. Gordon served as Potter’s coachman and servant and died in 1917.

Gordon is buried in a back corner of Hilltop Cemetery on Main Street in Madison, and unfortunately on a day when flags had been placed on the graves of others who’d served our country, there was none on his. His gravestone, however, gives some indication of his contribution. If you get the chance, stop by and pay your respects.

Not much other information is readily available about Gordon, but I'll be looking into his background a bit more over the next few weeks. He's just one of many African Americans who risked their lives and freedom to help the Union cause during the Civil War, and his story deserves telling.

A lot of history in just a few steps

Perth Amboy fits a lot of history into a very small space, notably downtown at City Hall and the adjacent Surveyor General’s office. The sign in front of the two structures notes the significance of the town in New Jersey – and, in fact, US history.

Looking at the mansard roof and whitewashed brick exterior of city hall, you’d be hard pressed to place it at its original construction date of 1713, but it is, indeed, one of the, if not the oldest public buildings in continuous use in the United States. The current exterior was part of a renovation and enlargement project done in the 1870s, and the original town courthouse structure is encased within it. Notably, this was the site of the first occurrence of a black man voting legally in the United States, just a day after the enactment of the 15th Amendment of the Constitution. Thomas "Mundy" Peterson cast his ballot here on March 31, 1870 in a referendum on changing the town's charter, and he later became a member of the commission formed to make the revisions. He was also the first African American in Middlesex County to serve on a jury and was an active member of the Republican Party.

The Surveyor General’s office next door is just as interesting in its own way. A small, somewhat nondescript white brick building, it holds the records of the Proprietors of East Jersey. Who, you ask? Well, back in the late 1600s, much if not all of the land of the Jersey colonies (East and West) was granted to individuals who likely never set foot in the new world, remaining in England and Scotland. Known as proprietors, they hired local representation to ensure their land here was managed appropriately. Thus, the General Board of Proprietors of the Eastern Division of New Jersey was created in 1684 and eventually became what was arguably the oldest continuously operating corporation in the country. The Surveyor General’s Office was where they’d meet to discuss landholding matters and determine ownership of any land created in eastern New Jersey (by buildup of silt, etc.). Members were descendants of the original proprietors who held at least 1/96th of a share, and as you can guess, the whole shebang became a bit of an anachronism over time. When the board disbanded in 1998, its records went to the state archives, but before that, they were held in this tiny building. (Incidentally, there was a similar board for West Jersey, housed in Burlington.)

Across the street there’s an open space that might qualify as a town square if it weren’t a circle. In addition to a majestic George Washington statue donated by the town’s Scandinavian residents in 1896, there’s a reproduction of the Liberty Bell which was presented to the people of New Jersey by US Treasury Secretary John Snyder after touring the state in a savings bond drive in 1950. Interesting, isn’t it, that it ended up in Perth Amboy instead of Trenton?

Of all the statuary we saw for the day (oh, including the rather dashing Earl of Perth, for whom the town is named), I most liked the large, stylized bust of Nicolaus Copernicus. Presented by members of the city’s sizeable Polish community, its column reads: “He stopped the sun/Moved the earth.” Pretty nice epitaph, don’t you think? After reading that one, Ivan and I mused over what Mama Copernicus must have made of her childrens’ relative accomplishments. For my part, I wondered if she continually chided her other son for not stopping the sun like his brother. Ivan, on the other hand, opined that she probably said that moving the earth was nice, but not nearly as nice as the sturdy bookcase her other son made for her. Either way, she probably wasn't completely satisfied. It’s always something, right?