Chatham: where the press was as mighty as the musket

If you grew up in Union County or are a New Jersey news media junkie, you might remember the Elizabeth Daily Journal. Before finally succumbing in the early 1990s, the Journal proudly proclaimed its status as New Jersey's longest-printed newspaper, founded in 1779. What many of us didn't know was that wasn't always printed in Elizabeth, one of the state's oldest cities. Rather, it was born in the much smaller community of Chatham.

The other day I headed to this tidy Morris County town to check out what I thought was the site of the Journal's first printing press, marked by this sign on Main Street.

The timing of the paper's founding during the depths of the Revolutionary War, combined with the longevity of its existence, would lead you to believe that the Journal had started its life as a pro-independence broadsheet. With Washington's encampment just a few miles away in Morristown, it wouldn't seem logical or probable that a Tory or Loyalist newspaper would survive after the war ended. But still, I wondered about printer Shepard Kollock, noted on the historical marker as a former soldier. Why had he left the military? Had an injury sidelined him? Was he needed at home yet still eager to support the cause with his profession?

Back at Hidden New Jersey headquarters, we discovered this was another case of the information that wasn't included on the marker being just as interesting as what is. The short answer, courtesy of The WPA Guide to 1930s New Jersey, was that Kollock, "an ink-stained Revolutionist," resigned from the Continental Army "for the more vital task of combating the Tory press of New York City." True, but that's not the complete story.

Look further, and you'll discover that while Lieutenant Kollock may have left the army, it was with more than the blessing of his superiors. It was with their direct support and encouragement, born from an acute need. No newspapers were published in New Jersey at the start of the war, leaving state residents to rely on the highly-slanted and misleading Tory propaganda sheets from New York. Though a Patriot-friendly New Jersey Gazette was published in Burlington, its circulation area fell far short of northern and eastern New Jersey, leaving residents with no news source critical of Great Britain. Continental Army leadership realized that if the battle for hearts and minds was to be won, they'd have to get someone to publish a newspaper that promoted the cause of freedom and boosted troop morale.

Who to do it? Alexander Hamilton, stationed in Morristown with General George Washington at the time, suggested Kollock, whom he knew had been a printer in the West Indies. Washington and General Henry Knox agreed, either allowing Kollock to resign or giving him an honorable discharge, depending on which source you cite. The influence of his press, it seemed, was worth far more than whatever he would contribute militarily. The Continental Army gained an ardent and exceptionally loyal mouthpiece eager to publish news provided directly by Washington's Morristown headquarters.

That's not to say that Kollock had an easy life as writer and publisher of the Journal. Though the army supported him, fed him information and ensured he had sufficient paper stock to publish, his safety was another issue altogether. He had to move his press several times, as he was constantly under threat of being captured by the British. In fact, it's not entirely clear to me when he published at the exact location of the historic marker I visited. Other sources say that at some point he printed from a back room in a building that once stood somewhere on the current location of the Mall at Short Hills. His other covert locations? They may be marked with plaques on rocks around town, but I haven't found them yet.

Both publisher and newspaper survived the war well; Kollock even moved to New York once the British evacuated to start a paper there. After returning to New Jersey, he founded another newspaper in New Brunswick before moving the Journal to its final hometown of Elizabeth in 1786, operating at 39 Broad Street. He sold the paper in 1818 after being appointed the city's postmaster.

Today Kollock is remembered in his onetime hometown of Chatham with a ballfield named in his honor, hopefully reminding kids that the power of the press is mighty and potent.

For Halloween, some of our favorite haunts

It's Halloween, and New Jersey-based websites are having a field day with posts citing the state's top scary and haunted places. If you're into old graveyards or things that go bump in the night, there are plenty of places where you can satisfy your itch to get a good fright.

At Hidden New Jersey, we generally don't cover the mysterious, spooky and altogether ooky places that are well known to many explorers, but the spirit of the day got me thinking. Of all the places we've been, which ones do I wish were haunted? Or perhaps more accurately, which ones have stories so interesting I'd like the chance to commune with the people who once lived or worked there?

Here are a few I'd like to revisit, this time with a Ouija board or trusty medium:

Site of the explosion

The site of the Kingsland explosion: It was 1917. The United States was on the brink of entering World War I, and Lyndhurst's Canadian Car and Foundry plant was manufacturing munitions for American allies. Saboteurs were afoot, and Tessie McNamara's quick actions were the factor between life and death for her 1700 coworkers as explosions tore the factory apart. Everyone got out safely, but the saboteurs were reportedly never found. Did they go up with the blast?

The seafaring community of Mauricetown: This now-quiet town once was home to what was probably the largest number of sea captains per square acre. I'd love to hear what one of those captains saw on his many journeys to foreign lands, long before airplanes made the world much smaller. What exotic places did he see? What did he think of the native people he met?

Along the Morris Canal

The Morris Canal: whether it's the excavated remains of an ingenious inclined plane, landlocked port towns in Warren County or the canal bed that's been repurposed as the Newark City Subway, this long-dormant technological marvel has tons of stories to tell. A cooperative spirit, say of a mule tender or barge captain, might have a few words to spout about the canal's now derelict state.

The Delaware Bay lighthouses: More than one old lighthouse has a tragic story of a lonely, suicidal keeper living a solitary life miles from shore. To my knowledge, none of the Delaware Bay lights in New Jersey waters have such a tale to tell, but I'd still like to chat with one of the early keepers at Ship John Shoal, Miah Maull or Cross Ledge Light.

Gloucester City's Immigration Station

The Gloucester City Immigration Station: It was first Philadelphia's Ellis Island, then part of a Coast Guard base, then abandoned and now an office building. What were the hopes, dreams and fears of those who were detained here? Where did they ultimately end up?

Earl R. Erdner's warehouses in Woodstown: Simple, sage wisdom is right there on the outside walls, ripe for the reading. I'd love to know if the long-dead Mr. Erdner has any more advice for us from the great beyond.

Alexander Hamilton's room at Liberty Hall: While still a young student, America's first Treasury Secretary was the guest of Governor William Livingston's family in what's now Union Township. He already held ambitions for greater things and was building friendships that would serve him well throughout his career. What was going on in his teenaged mind?

Whatever you end up doing to commemorate All Hallows Eve, have fun! And if you happen to run into the Jersey Devil, give him our regards.

Jingle bells across the Arthur Kill?

Just when you think you've heard about every Revolutionary War story about New Jersey, something else pops up.

A while back I wrote about American troops camping beside the Rahway River in Cranford during the winter of 1779-80. While others were stationed at General Washington's winter headquarters in Morristown, General William Irvine's men were part of the forward defense against potential raids by the British troops stationed on Staten Island. The Redcoats would often come to New Jersey in attempts to steal food and supplies from the locals and had even tried to kidnap Washington.

Morristown gets all the press, but soldiers stationed at the little-known cantonments in Cranford and other communities closer to Staten Island actually had a better time of it. Though everyone had to deal with the heavy snows and cold weather, it was far easier for commanders of the smaller groups to keep their troops fed and housed.

In the midst of this hardship, Washington formulated a daring plan to attack General Wilhelm von Knyphausen's British troops on Staten Island. The narrow Arthur Kill was frozen, offering a rare solid surface for troops to cross from Elizabeth or Perth Amboy. Perhaps Washington was thinking that American forces would be able to reprise the surprise Trenton raid that had turned the tide of the war for the Americans in December 1776.

General William Alexander (a.k.a. Lord Stirling) and Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Hamilton met at Crane's Mills on January 13 and 14, 1780 to finalize the tactical aspects of the plan to be executed the following day. Rather than using Durham boats as Washington's troops had in the Delaware crossing, the Americans would be able to use land-based transportation: sleighs.

Yes, you read that right: sleighs. In what's been deemed one of the strangest military operations of the Revolution, Stirling and Hamilton mustered 500 sleighs to transport 2500 troops across the Arthur Kill. One would guess that the secrecy of the operation meant they didn't include jingle bells to the mix.

There's a good reason why there's no famous painting of this crossing to pair with Emanuel Gottlieb Leutze's Washington Crossing the Delaware. Depending on which data source you consult (and there aren't many), the attack was cancelled either because the British had caught wind of it, or due to extreme cold weather. This, however, didn't stop Washington from ordering several smaller incursions on Staten Island throughout the winter months.

Six months later, von Knyphausen would lead these British troops unsuccessfully in the Battles of Connecticut Farms and Springfield. You have to wonder whether those conflicts would have happened had the sleigh attack on Staten Island been executed successfully.

Hidden names bridging the Turnpike

I expected that a quick stop at the Turnpike's Alexander Hamilton Service Area might elicit a brief lesson on our first Secretary of the Treasury, but I found something I didn't anticipate. Walking to the building from my parked car, I saw not one, but five large plaques arranged in a semicircle, ringing an accompanying brass map. They're dedicated to a valorous group of New Jerseyans: six war heroes plus two individuals who distinguished themselves in service to the Turnpike.

A little research revealed that most if not all of the plaques were once affixed to Turnpike bridges that were named for each of the honorees, as noted on the brass map. Each bridge is nearest the pike gets to the honoree's hometown, more or less.

Given the history of the Turnpike, it's entirely fitting that several bridges are named for those who died during wartime. The highway was constructed not long after the conclusion of World War II, and several of its executives and employees were veterans.

• The Wallberg-Lovely Bridge crossing the Rahway River above Exit 12 is dedicated to the first two New Jerseyans to die in World War I. Martin Wallberg of Westfield was a Private with the Canadian Expeditionary Forces when he died on November 10, 1917, while Private Luke Lovely of South Amboy died 20 days later, while serving with the American forces.
• The Lewandowski Bridge is named for three brothers from Lyndhurst - Army Private Alexander, Marine Sergeant Walter and Air Force Lieutenant William - who perished within 18 months of each other during World War II. Their bridge is better known as the Eastern Spur, which soars over the Meadowlands, hugging Laurel Hill.
• The Chaplain Washington Bridge honors Rev. John Washington of Newark, one of four heroic chaplains who gave their own life jackets to sailors during the sinking of the Troopship Dorchester during World War II. His bridge spans the Passaic River north of Exit 14.
• An additional bridge honors Marine Sergeant and Medal of Honor winner John Basilone of Raritan, yet it's not represented at the Hamilton Service Area. Basilone's bridge spans the Raritan River north of New Brunswick.*  

Two more bridges honor civilians:

• The Laderman Bridge crosses the Hackensack and honors toll collector Harry Laderman of Fair Lawn. The first Turnpike employee to die on the job, Laderman was killed when a truck rammed his booth. His death also spurred the Turnpike Authority to protect the booths with cement blocks to prevent additional accidents. 
• The Vincent Casciano Bridge recognizes the State Assemblyman from Bayonne who advocated the construction of the Newark Bay Extension. Linking the Turnpike to the Holland Tunnel, the Extension was designed to ease congestion on the Pulaski Skyway. Appropriately, his bridge is the cantilever structure on the Extension over Newark Bay.

There are a few ironies attached to these plaques and their original placement. For safety reasons, the Turnpike was designed to create as few distractions to the motorist as possible. It's utilitarian, curves are virtually non-existent on the main road, and elevations are generally gradual to reduce the need for acceleration. Bridges were expressly designed to be virtually undetectable to the motorist - consider that a good percentage of the Eastern Spur is elevated, but just about nobody would equate it to the nearby Pulaski Skyway. If you define a bridge by the metalwork or wire rope seen on the George Washington or Goethals, you could say the Turnpike has precious few bridges. And if people did consider the bridges at all, they wouldn't have time to read a commemorative plaque at highway speed.

So, perhaps it's a good thing those plaques are posted at Alexander Hamilton, where motorists can pause for a few moments to appreciate the honorees. Now if the Turnpike would just put more effort into sprucing up the markers that memorialize the folks the service areas are named for...


* I later discovered a similar plaque for the Basilone bridge at the nearby Joyce Kilmer Service Area.

The Elizabethtown Presidential mansion: Boxwood Hall

One of the highlights of my Union County travels during this year's Four Centuries Weekend was a visit to the home of former United States President Elias Boudinot, in Elizabeth.

Yes, you read that right: New Jersey was actually home to a president other than Grover Cleveland, and like Cleveland's, his home is now a state historic site. The eight room, mid-18th century Boxwood Hall is now a shadow of what it was in Boudinot's time, when the mansion held 18 rooms and the surrounding property covered four city blocks.

Boxwood Hall (courtesy NJ Division of Parks and Forestry)

Before I get into the highlights of the house, let me clear up the presidential confusion. As you know, the 13 colonies declared independence from Great Britain in 1776, and the Constitution we're governed under was ratified in 1787. In between, the central government operated under the Articles of Confederation, by which power was concentrated in individual states, which were in a 'league of friendship' with one another. The president of Congress thus had largely ceremonial duties, and was elected by the legislature to preside over meetings and act as an impartial moderator over debates. Boudinot was the second man to hold the position, presiding between November 4, 1782 and November 2, 1783.

Boudinot's historical contributions far exceed his rather brief and somewhat nominal leadership of our country. A member of the New Jersey Provincial Congress in 1775, he served as an aide to New Jersey Militia commander and future Governor William Livingston. His presidential term was just part of his overall service in Congress, as he also served three terms in the House of Representatives between 1789 and 1805.

Just as I have on other visits to historic homes around the state, I ran into a few familiar names at Boxwood Hall. Our good friend Alexander Hamilton was a guest there while studying at Elizabethtown Academy, just before making a longer stay at William Livingston's Liberty Hall. (One might wonder why he moved, as Boxwood is much closer to the school. Maybe he was more taken by Livingston's daughters than by Boudinot's family?) Forming a close and lasting friendship with the young and ambitious student, Boudinot later supported Hamilton's proposed fiscal programs while in Congress.

George Washington also made a visit to Boxwood Hall, not during the Revolution, but just before his first inaugural. He'd taken about a week to travel from his Virginia home to New York, which was then the capital of the young country, and Elizabethtown was his final stop before reaching the city.

Upon becoming director of the U.S. Mint in 1795, Boudinot moved to Philadelphia and sold Boxwood Hall to Jonathan Dayton. A patriot in his own right, Dayton had been the youngest signer of the U.S. Constitution and Speaker of the House of Representatives. (As a side note, he was also friends with Aaron Burr and was indicted for treason in the ex-vice president's alleged attempted western land grab.)

Boxwood Hall may be more modest in size today than it was during Boudinot's day, but it's a true gem in a city that highlights aspects of its substantial Colonial heritage while hosting a diverse, multicultural population of immigrants and first generation Americans. Two young student volunteers told me the story of the house and its furnishings, and they were clearly excited to have notable history right in their own neighborhood. I couldn't help but share in their enthusiasm, and it reminded me why it's so important to preserve and maintain places like Boxwood Hall.

A Happy Ho-Ho-Kus anniversary for Aaron Burr

One of these days, I'm going to do a comprehensive Hidden New Jersey post on Aaron Burr. The guy keeps showing up in our travels, despite the fact that little to nothing has been made of his roots in the state.

It's kind of sad, actually: Burr was born in Newark, educated at Princeton (his father was an early president of the College of New Jersey) and led troops in the Battle of Monmouth. Those are credentials that would seem to qualify him to be honored with a rest area on the Turnpike, but there's no recognition. Most people only associate him with the duel with Alexander Hamilton, which made Burr the only US vice president to kill someone in a civilian capacity.

Aaron Burr: one complicated guy

Burr was the reason for the visit Ivan and I made to the Hermitage in Ho-Ho-Kus. A Gothic Revival gem with a storied history, this National Historic Landmark was the site of Burr's first marriage, to Theodosia Bartow Prevost, 230 years ago today.

It was the Revolutionary War and Theodosia's strong sense of self-preservation that brought the couple together. She was the wife of a British officer, Jacques Marcel Prevost, at a time when Continental troops were confiscating land with known ties to the Crown. While her husband was stationed far away and she had not seen him in some time, Theodosia knew that she had to do something to save her home and property from being seized.

Building friendships with influential people on both sides of the conflict, she heard that General Washington and his troops would be traveling through Bergen County after the Battle of Monmouth in July 1778. It was customary for senior military officials to stay in the homes of prominent citizens, so Theodosia offered the Hermitage to Washington, along with the surrounding fields where troops could make camp.

Washington's acceptance and subsequent stay marked the first of many visits by Revolutionary notables including Alexander Hamilton, James Madison, William Paterson and, of course, Aaron Burr. All may have played parts in helping Theodosia retain the property despite continued threats of confiscation.

Burr's subsequent visits to the Hermitage set the foundation for a lengthy friendship with Theodosia, sustained by correspondence over several years. After leaving the military due to poor health, Burr returned to the law studies he'd begun before the war. Meanwhile, Jacques Marcel Prevost had been sent to Jamaica and eventually died from wounds sustained several months earlier.

Her husband's death left Theodosia available for marriage, but it's said that she had some reservations about marrying her friend Aaron. At 35, she was ten years older than Burr, and he was in the early stages of establishing his law practice in Albany. To his advantage, he was an accomplished war veteran with many influential acquaintances and a fondness for smart women.

Just six months after becoming a widow, Theodosia agreed to wed, and the happy pair tied the knot in a double ceremony with friends at the Hermitage. They settled first in Albany and then in New York City, leaving the Ho-Ho-Kus property in the care of her family. It seems that Burr likely spent no more time there after the marriage than he had before.

Unfortunately, the marriage lasted only 12 years, ending with Theodosia's death from stomach cancer. Together they had one daughter, also named Theodosia, whom Burr made sure got a strong education in the Classics in a time when few women were so highly educated.

The Burr story is just a footnote in the 250-year history of the Hermitage, and the house as it stands today looks very little like the structure where Theodosia lived. Georgian-style stone construction is now obscured by the Gothic detailing added in the mid 19th century. We'll be taking a look at that in a future Hidden New Jersey entry.

Cheap gas... mall shopping... and a duel?

New Yorkers flock to current day New Jersey for cheap gasoline and tax-free clothing shopping, but in the early days of the United States, they had another reason for crossing the river: settling disputes. At the time, dueling was a socially accepted means of resolving a grudge, but laws against the practice in New York were severe and strictly enforced. New Jersey, however, was a bit less meticulous about stopping duels and punishing the participants. Even New York Governor DeWitt Clinton is said to have taken advantage of the site to settle a disagreement.

The cliffs of Weehawken were a favored spot for duelers -- they were close to the river for quick arrival and exit, and the surrounding brush and trees offered some cover. Today the bluff above the then-popular site is marked to denote the tragic 1804 duel that took the life of Treasury Secretary Alexander Hamilton while plunging Vice President Aaron Burr into infamy. A bust of Hamilton commemorates the event not far from where it occurred, accompanied by a stone on which his head was allegedly laid after he was mortally wounded.

What few people know is that Hamilton's son Phillip died by similar circumstances, not far away, three years earlier. Viewed by his father to be the family's "brightest hope," the 20-year-old was being groomed as a successor to continue on the family work in government and politics. Thus, it wasn't surprising that Phillip took umbrage at insults he perceived in an 1801 Independence Day speech by a young Republican lawyer named George Eaker. Words were exchanged, Eaker called the young Hamilton a rascal -- fighting words in that day. A duel was arranged shortly after.

According to the recent biography written by Ron Chernow, the elder Hamilton was torn when he heard of the impending clash. While having moral objections to dueling, he still felt it important to defend one's honor and integrity when insulted. He counseled Phillip to either hold fire or shoot in a direction away from Eaker. That way, if he were shot by his opponent, it would be considered murder. It was a very similar strategy to the one Hamilton would use in his own duel with Burr three years later.

Sadly for all involved, the strategy worked about as well for Phillip as it would for his father. Meeting his opponent at Paulus Hook in Jersey City, he held fire and calmly took the shot Eaker discharged. He died the following morning, attended by his grieving parents. You'd think the experience would have served as a lesson for Hamilton in his dealings with Burr, but his inability to see the futility of dueling would cost him his life, as well.

Visiting Princeton in Elizabeth

If you happen to get called for jury duty in Union County, be sure to check out Princeton University while you're there. You'll be walking in the footsteps of some of our most notable early Americans.

No, they haven't moved the county courthouse. It's still in Elizabeth, the county seat. The very seeds of one of America's nine colonial colleges were originally planted there, beside the First Presbyterian Church on what's now Broad Street. A marker commemorating the spot is planted squarely on the outside wall of the parish house, site of the original school building.

Colleges at the time were vastly different than they are today; the students were younger and primarily studied for the ministry. Jonathan Dickenson, the pastor at First Presbyterian, helped establish the College of New Jersey in October 1746 as an alternative to the less enlightened religious philosophy being taught at Yale. With his death the following year, the presidency of the school shifted to the Reverend Aaron Burr, father of the more famous man with the same name. He moved the school to Newark and eventually to Princeton, whose remote location he felt would provide little distraction from his students' scholarship.

Though The College of New Jersey had a brief stay in Elizabeth, the town's educational heritage had a major impact on American independence. The Parish House I mentioned earlier was built on the site of Elizabethtown Academy, which educated Revolutionary-era notables including Alexander Hamilton and his future nemesis, the younger Aaron Burr.

Hamilton made quite an impression on attorney and future New Jersey Governor William Livingston, who invited the student to live at Liberty Hall just a few miles away. The contacts the future Treasury Secretary made through Livingston were the foundation for his future accomplishments. He even established his reputation as a ladies man by wooing one of the venerable three graces, the beautiful and coquettish Catharine Livingston.

The Academy didn't survive the war, as many students joined Hamilton and some of the faculty in joining the Continental Army. The building itself, converted to a storehouse, was burned by the British in 1780.

A Hidden Trifecta in Raritan

Fresh from our greater white-fronted goose sighting, Ivan and I spotted a small truss bridge and historical marker on the side of the road. Wait! Stop! Turn back! Tiny bridges have always brought interesting stories, and I didn't want to pass this one up.

A Hibernia Mine bridge in Raritan? Isn't that Morris County territory? Had we stumbled on a Hidden New Jersey gem linking two non-contiguous counties? Ivan started reading the marker through his binoculars, but I couldn't help myself. I got out of the car to find out.

Talk about a span with a history! Not only is this an old bridge, it's survived its own obsolescence twice. Originally, it was part of a railroad started in 1863 to move ore from the Hibernia iron mines in Morris County to the Morris Canal and later to the Central Railroad of New Jersey (CRRNJ) at Wharton. The mines were pretty much tapped out by 1916 and closed in 1930, the same year CRRNJ bought the line to serve the area's industries.

By then, though, the bridge had gone on to its second use as a vehicular passageway across a railroad right of way in Hillsborough. It served that purpose for more than 100 years before being dismantled and stored. For the past four years, it's been exclusively a footbridge within the Somerset County Park System, enabling pedestrians to easily cross the Raritan Water Power Canal.

The what canal? When we were in Duke Island Park, we'd wondered if the canal we crossed was simply a portion of the Delaware and Raritan Canal, or maybe a feeder, given the proximity of the Raritan River. I didn't know of any other canal in central New Jersey, so when I read the Hibernia bridge marker, I was stumped. Logic and lessons learned from my many visits to Paterson's Great Falls led me to reason that water had been shunted for industrial purposes, but that's as far as I could figure when we were standing at the bridge. I doubt the Raritan ever supplied the mighty wattage of the falling Passaic River waters, but heck, I could be wrong.

Further research cemented the link: Alexander Hamilton. According to the Raritan Borough website, Hamilton visited the community after the Revolutionary War and thought the river's power could be harnessed to bring industry to the community. Local leaders were less than convinced, but the idea stayed alive and the three-mile long Raritan Water Power Canal was constructed in 1840. Predictably, factories started springing up along the river, taking advantage of cheap power and the proximity of the railroad. That's our link to Passaic County, courtesy of our first Secretary of the Treasury.

Raritan hosted one of the country's largest textile manufacturers, the Raritan Woolen Mills, which supplied the army during the Civil War and World War I. I can't find a direct source confirming the mill used water power, but it was located close to the Raritan, making it likely the Water Power Canal was a factor in its operation. Today, the property is site of a condominium complex. I wonder how many of its residents know their tenuous connection to Alexander Hamilton?

Liberty Hall - the crossroads of American history

When I was growing up in Union, we all knew of a mysterious house on Morris Avenue across the street from Kean College. You couldn't see it because it was obscured by trees and shrubbery, but we knew that it was historically significant and that the woman who lived there was very important in Republican politics. Any time a Republican president came to town (and there were more than a few visits like that), there would be a private reception at the home. The rest of us, however, were left to wonder what was back there, behind the greenery.

I was sure to tell Ivan that story before we visited the house, Liberty Hall, during Union County's Four Centuries Weekend. Vacant since the death of its last resident, Mary Alice Barney Kean, the home is now a museum and a fascinating look into the history of one of New Jersey's most influential families. For all but about a decade in the early 1800s, the house was owned by the Livingston/Kean family until it was taken over by the Liberty Hall foundation. I toured the house not long after it became a museum, and on that and subsequent visits, I enjoyed talking with docents about the house itself, the family and the belongings they left behind to represent almost two centuries of living there. Maybe it comes from that initial fascination I had as a kid, but I've always been drawn to learn more.

The Four Centuries tour gave us an abbreviated view of the home and the family's history, which is kind of like telling a wine connoisseur that she can sample just one bottle from an extensive cellar. Built in the 1770s by Governor William Livingston as a country estate and family home, the home was setting to quite a number of distinguished Americans. Yes, George Washington visited, and Alexander Hamilton roomed there when he was a student in Elizabethtown. Livingston's daughter Sarah married the first U.S. Chief Justice, John Jay in the home. Other Livingston daughters married equally as well, cementing a family history that's sprinkled liberally with notables, even to current day. The Kean name, of course, is familiar to those who remember Governor Thomas Kean's two terms in the 1980's, but other Keans served in Congress and Trenton before him. The family also had controlling interest in the Elizabethtown Gas and Elizabethtown Water utility companies.

One of the many things I enjoy about a visit to Liberty Hall is seeing some of the less-grand family possessions. These people threw virtually nothing away, and since they occupied the house without any gaps from 1811 on, they didn't have the opportunity most of us do to cull out useless belongings before a move to another home. As a result, a great deal of stuff accumulated over the years. For example, the dining room is currently decorated for a Halloween party, using authentic decorations and costumes found in the attic. Researchers have also found century-old receipts for coal deliveries. 

The rest of the grounds contain a lovely garden behind the house, as well as an orchard, carriage house and even a museum which holds a fire engine and firefighting memorabilia collected by one of the Keans. Much of the land adjacent to the Liberty Hall estate land has been developed as part of the Kean University campus, but you can still get a sense of what a lovely expanse it was when the family lived there.

Liberty Hall is one of my favorite historical sites in New Jersey; I've only scratched the surface with this entry. Ivan and I will definitely be returning for the full tour, and I'll be sure to update you on more of what we learn.

Franklin and Adams slept here: Indian Queen Tavern at East Jersey Olde Towne

New Brunswick's reputation as a Revolutionary-era city is tempered largely by the presence of Rutgers University, one of the original eight colonial colleges. Essentially all of the period architecture is gone from the city's riverfront and dock area, obliterated by Route 18 and redevelopment over the past 30 years. However, history buffs and fans of the musical 1776 are well aware of the some of the more notable of the era's personages who visited during the war.

Yes, Alexander Hamilton was there with his troops at a point... but the big guns are John Adams and Benjamin Franklin. New Brunswick was a stopover for them in August 1776 as they traveled from Philadelphia to Perth Amboy and Staten Island to meet with British General Howe. According to David McCullough's venerable biography John Adams, the pair were to represent America's side in a discussion of the recent declaration of independence from the British crown. The conversation ended, of course, with a stark refusal to surrender and thus rejoin the empire.

The story of the night before the discussion is rather whimsical in nature and says a lot about the historic pair. Because accommodations in New Brunswick were mostly full at the time, Adams and Franklin were forced to share a room. Some even say that the pair even had to share a mattress. It wouldn't be surprising -- after all, inns of the day didn't exactly have the queen posturpedics today's hotels do. According to legend, Franklin spent much of the night expounding on the merits of keeping the window open. He'd published a theory on the benefits of fresh air, believing that people in closed rooms were more likely to catch cold from each other. Adams, on the other hand, feared the night air but eventually fell asleep to the sound of his bed partner explaining his beliefs.

Fortunately, the inn where they overnighted, the Indian Queen Tavern, has been restored. Unfortunately, it's not at its original location at the corner of Albany and Water Streets, an intersection now covered by an entrance to Route 18. You can visit the tavern now at East Jersey Olde Towne in Piscataway, which is where I found it.

Olde Towne is a collection of historic and reconstructed homes and buildings from around Middlesex County and environs, all arranged in a tidy, walkable community off River Road. Though they feel a bit too tidily situated, the New Brunswick barracks next to a tavern next to a home and blacksmith shop... and a tiny square brick church.... a visitor quickly warms to the thought of them all located in one place. You could do a nice little study of East Jersey colonial architecture in probably a half hour.

The tavern and the barracks, especially, caught my attention. Long interested in New Brunswick's colonial past, I took a look at the addresses and tried to place where the buildings had stood, in comparison to today's streetscape. Not surprisingly, both were fairly close to the Raritan, if not absolutely on it. The city had been a busy and productive port area, with lots of shipping and commerce. No doubt, it was quite a toddling town in its day. Small wonder that colonial luminaries had found their way there.

The community is open from Tuesday through Friday and on Sunday afternoons; I guess they keep it closed on Saturdays due to the proximity to Rutgers Stadium. Unfortunately that's when I was there, so I didn't get the chance to check out the building interiors, but it's definitely worth another visit. The Indian Queen, at the very least, deserves more attention.

Storming the mountain (Garret, that is)

Danged if the weather didn't suddenly turn colder just as the weekend arrived.  That meant that this week's Sue/Ivan field trip was done in chilly, chilly weather.  And what better place to go in chilly weather than a mountain?  To be more specific, it was Garret Mountain in Woodland Park (formerly West Paterson), an oasis of nature in the highly-urbanized greater Paterson area.  More than 500 acres of the mountain are set aside by the Passaic County parks system for walking, hiking, cycling, horse riding, you name it. And its location at the northern end of the first Watchung Mountain ridge makes it a bit of a haven for birds (and birders), particularly during migration season.

We started our day by parking in the Elvis lot, known for the Presley impersonator who's been known to perform there for passers-by. It was really quiet, aside from a few passing cars and a runner or three. No chirping, cawing or quacking, though there were a few mallard ducks on the little bit of pond that wasn't frozen over. We proceeded to a wooded area with small streams running through it, and ran into a couple of other birders, as well as some birds. I was able to get some photos of a red-bellied woodpecker, but a friendly chickadee was a much closer (and much easier) subject, perching on a limb right next to us. He was apparently looking for handouts, which one of the regular birders is only too happy to provide.

Tromping a bit further up the mountain, we checked the underbrush for additional birds but the area was very, very quiet. Apparently the birds were smarter than we were, and had opted to spend the day someplace a bit warmer.  The occasional turkey vulture flew overhead, scanning for prey.

The reward for all of that tromping was an observation area at 500 feet above sea level, with sweeping views all the way to New York City. George Washington stationed troops here to keep an eye on potential British incursions into New Jersey from occupied Manhattan during the Revolutionary War. Today, it also offers a really great view of the city of Paterson, America's first planned industrial city. Alexander Hamilton, the nation's first secretary of the Treasury (among other things), believed that the country's best chance for economic independence was through industry. The theory was that if we could manufacture our own products, from our own resources, we'd have little need for imports from our former European rulers. He and several other like-minded men created the Society for Useful Manufactures, which then went about developing the area's industrial base.

Paterson (named after the New Jersey governor at the time) was built along the site of a roaring waterfall that Hamilton saw as an excellent power source to run mills and factory turbines. Eventually, the city became home to the Colt gunworks, the Rogers locomotive works and a variety of textile mills.  In fact, Paterson was known for a long time as Silk City due to the strength of that industry within the city. Thomas Edison located one of his illuminating factories there, as did the Wright-Curtiss operation that built the aircraft engine for the Spirit of St. Louis.

Paterson has always been a bit of a

gritty city, but with that grit also came a bit of wealth enjoyed by the owners of those manufacturers. From the heights of Garret, you can still see a fair share of grand public buildings among the bodegas and check cashing places. And within the confines of the reservation is Lambert Castle, a turreted brick mansion built by one of the city's silk magnates in the 1890s. It's now open to the public periodically for tours.

As we continued our hike around the reservation, we came upon the restored observation tower Lambert built as part of his estate. While it was closed to visitors, it's another nice place to rest a bit and enjoy a spectacular view.

All in all, it was a rather sparse birding day but an interesting exploration of an area I'd known relatively little of. It's always good to get some altitude on a hike -- it brings some air into the lungs and blood into the leg muscles. It also builds an appetite, and we were ready to grab some sustenance. After spending a few hours on a mountain with a set of turreted buildings, where better to go than the Castle? So yes, we drove to Clifton and stormed the White Castle.

Now, I'll digress for a moment here and share a little something about my choice in companions. Any man who wishes to hang out with me must be cool with my penchant for road food. Any statement about it being 'unladylike' or even 'gross' will disqualify a potential beau. I found it tremendously reassuring that Ivan encourages visits to the Castle. He even shared an activity that could change a visit from merely good to epic: the construction of one's own castle from the leftover burger boxes. Why I never thought of this myself is truly a mystery, but I guarantee that this information will be used in the future.

Oh, and he chose to hang out with me for several hours after the Castle visit. Now that says a lot about the guy.