Doc in the box: Dr. Robert W. Cooke's very small clinic

County historical weekends are always reliable and often a scavenger hunt. They're reliable in that they all promise a bevy of local sites, many of them house museums where you can learn about life in a given town during the 1700s or 1800s. The houses are all wonderful in their own way, playing an important part in helping people appreciate local history. That said, there's only so many times you can hear about chamber pots and bed warmers before you start yearning for something a little different.

That's where the scavenger hunt comes in.

This past weekend, I checked out the Weekend in Old Monmouth, the two-day event encompassing more than 40 open sites on four separate driving routes in the county. Finding all of them would take a navigator or a GPS, and with Ivan on an out-of-state birding foray, I had neither. Thus, I picked a few spots and hoped for the best.

Eventually, my strategy had me heading for the doctor's office. The Holmdel Historical Society contends that Dr. Robert Woodruff Cooke's office, built in 1823 or thereabouts, is the nation's first and oldest building used exclusively for a medical practice. In fact, they're so confident in the assertion that they're willing to give a cash reward to whoever can prove them wrong. Okay, the reward is only $25, but hey, they're willing to back up their claim.

The building as it looked in 1940,
courtesy Historic American Buildings Survey.

I was prepared for an old building when I drove up. What I wasn't expecting was how small it was. Boasting impressively detailed Federal-style architecture, the structure nonetheless looked more like a children's playhouse than a doctor's office. Indeed, when I walked in, I discovered that the entire first floor consists of a reception area, a smaller side room where examinations presumably took place, and a closet. A door next to the fireplace opened to an extremely steep staircase leading to a second-floor bedroom that may have been used for overnight patients. How an ailing patient would be able to negotiate those steps was beyond me.

A view from upstairs, over the railing and looking down.

The second generation of his family to go into medicine, Dr. Cooke was born in Newton, grew up in Somerset County and attended medical school in New York. Ready to start his own practice after an internship with an older doctor, he purchased 14 acres of land in Holmdel in 1823 and built the office building. He later married and built an impressive house nearby for his growing family.

One of the doctor's four children, Henry Gansevoort Cooke, followed him into medicine and took over the practice when Robert died. The younger Dr. Cooke was also a Civil War veteran, serving first with the 29th New Jersey Regiment at Fredericksburg and Chancellorsville, and later as a volunteer surgeon at the Wilderness and Cold Harbor. (Family history courtesy Gregory Cooke.)

As unique and interesting as the building and its history are, the real treat of the visit was talking with the members of the Holmdel Historical Society. Cooke family members have very kindly lent some of the doctors' medical instruments to help tell the story, and one of the docents almost gleefully explained their use (tonsil snipper, anyone?).

Situated near the corner of McCampbell and Holmdel-Middletown Roads, the building was actually moved a few years ago to accommodate the construction of a McMansion development. It's now safe on the grounds of the Village Elementary School and listed on the New Jersey and National Registers of Historic Places, hopefully preserving its place in history permanently.

Likewise, the historical society folks seem genuinely excited by this little gem they saved, and eager to discover more of its story. I had to wonder why Dr. Cooke had built a totally separate building for his practice, rather than designating a room or two in his house to see patients, as some doctors do today. Had he, perhaps, actually lived in the building before he got married? And had any of the building served as a de facto post office during the 19 years the elder doctor was Holmdel postmaster? The folks I met there had their own theories, but the facts are still to be proven. Like any great piece of local history, the story of Dr. Cooke's office continues to develop.

The woman on the wall: Captain Eleanor Alexander and New Jersey's Vietnam Veterans Memorial

Of the 1563 fallen service members commemorated on the New Jersey Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Holmdel, only one is a woman: Captain Eleanor Grace Alexander. Every name on that wall has a compelling story, but viewing a female name, and learning about her, make a special impact on those who visit the memorial with no expectation of seeing a woman honored for her sacrifice in a war decades ago.

Captain Alexander's name on the
New Jersey Vietnam Veterans Memorial.

Affectionately described by family members as "a tough broad," the Queens-born Alexander moved to River Vale with her mother after graduating with a nursing degree from D'Youville College. Six years later, she'd achieved a measure of success as a cosmetic surgery operating room supervisor and was engaged to be married, yet felt compelled to enlist in the Army Nurse Corps. Friends suggested that she could offer her services in a safer environment by serving in the Peace Corps instead, but she was resolute in her desire to take the military route. In fact, she approached all of the services to see if they'd send her to Vietnam but only the Army would guarantee it. As her sister in law Suzanne Alexander later told the New York Times, "She told me she was going to do this before she had any obligations. She insisted on going over there for six months. She had to do this."

She enlisted in May 1967, leaving behind her hope chest and wedding dress, and bringing a great deal of enthusiasm for the challenge ahead. Assigned to the 85th Evacuation Hospital at Qui Nhon, Vietnam, she was part of the team responsible for stabilizing seriously wounded patients, whether they be American, allied or enemy. A colleague recalled that "Rocky," as Alexander became known, was "top notch... never got rattled... even managed to look well groomed" in the chaos of field hospital work.

Captain Alexander's D'Youville College yearbook photo, class of 61.
A nursing scholarship was established there in her name.

Five months into her enlistment, Alexander grabbed opportunity from coincidence, a decision that one could say cost her her life. As fighting intensified at the Battle of Dak To 60 miles away, the 85th was to send an emergency medical team to nearby Pleiku to treat the wounded. Another nurse was part of the team but couldn't be located in time, so Alexander took her colleague's gear and ran to join the departing group. She and the team worked grueling 14 hour shifts, an exhausting yet exhilarating regimen for the enthusiastic nurse. "The troops around Pleiku are getting hit quite hard," she wrote to her mother in mid November. "For the past three days, I've been running on about four hours sleep. Funny thing is, I love it."

After six weeks, the team was returning to the 85th when their plane encountered rain and low clouds that would prevent their landing at Qui Nhon. They were diverted to another airstrip with better landing conditions but crashed into a mountainside while attempting to get there. Alexander, the other 21 passengers and four crew members were all killed in the accident. She was 27 years old and was posthumously awarded the Bronze Star.

Accounts of Captain Alexander from those who served with her say much of her commitment and poise; it seems that many of the enlisted men at the hospital were enthralled by her beauty. Most touching is a letter written to Alexander in 1991 by the Army nurse whose place she seized for the Pleiku assignment. "How did you keep it together? You know, the guys really leaned on you," she wrote. "You and I triaged, organized, drove the men and prayed... I really admired your strength and envied it." The same nurse acknowledges that had events been a little different, she, herself, might have perished in the crash, and Alexander survived. She tells of the complex mix of guilt and sorrow she continued to feel, decades later, and her struggles to make a positive impact on the world in Alexander's memory.

We often think of the sacrifices men made, and the fact that but for a twist of fate, an injury that prevents a deployment, a roll call missed, one soldier survives while the one who took his place dies or is injured. Until very recently, with women being further integrated into combat roles in Iraq and Afghanistan, most of us didn't consider that the beneficiaries or victims of fate could be female.

Last September, the New Jersey Vietnam Veterans Memorial dedicated a new monument for Captain Alexander, ensuring that more visitors will learn about her dedication and sacrifice. She's a true example of the power of commitment and the unstoppable desire of some to make a positive impact on those around her.

Another unexpected resting place: the Crawfords at exit 116

We run into a lot of obscure graveyards... many of them being attached to a particular institution (like the recent Sussex County Alms House cemetery) or perhaps an old family plot in a former farm turned something else (like the Willcox family plot in Watchung Reservation).

But it's decidedly unusual to find a cemetery next to a memorial that has nothing to do with anyone buried there. That's the case with the Crawford family cemetery located next to the New Jersey Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Holmdel. A relatively small plot of land, the graveyard is elevated and encircled by a metal fence.

According to a sign on the fence, the cemetery was part of a 1219 acre lot that was originally granted to Captain John Bowne in 1687 by England's King James II. The land came into the Crawford family after Bowne's great granddaughter married William Crawford in 1756. And as many families once did, they buried their dead in a designated plot on their property, selecting a site on a gently rolling hillside. It was later described as being "one half mile east of Crawford Corners... about a half mile from the road to Everett and surrounded by woods, making it difficult to find."

The tract stayed in the Crawford family until the early 1950s, when descendants sold it to the state for the construction of the Garden State Parkway and Garden State Arts Center. As a condition of the sale, the cemetery land remained in Crawford hands, sectioned off with a rusty chain link fence from an unused part of what was then Highway Authority property. Its last burial occurred in 1923, and the graveyard appeared to remain unknown to the hundreds of thousands of people who attended concerts and events at the venue every year.

Things began to change in 1986, when New Jersey luminaries sought a site for the state's Vietnam Veterans Memorial. The Holmdel hillside was deemed to be the perfect location, winning over locations in Trenton and Jersey City's Liberty State Park. While the cemetery was protected via the agreement with the Crawfords, it became clear that it would need a slight makeover to befit the stature of its new neighbor. As the site was cleared for construction, the cemetery was sectioned off with a new fence and brick wall while overgrown brush was removed in favor of well-manicured grass.

The cemetery now stands three or four feet higher than the walkway that leads to the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, and a sign on the fence tells the story of how the property came to the Bowne and Crawford families. Those who visit with the intent of honoring soldiers also have the chance to get an unexpected history lesson about one of the longest-lasting bloodlines in the state. If that's not hidden New Jersey, I don't know what is.

Contemplating tumult in American history: the Vietnam Veterans Memorial and Vietnam Era Educational Center

If you've driven past the Garden State Arts Center, you've most likely missed a huge opportunity to learn more about one of the most tumultuous periods in American history. You'll see small signs pointing toward the New Jersey Vietnam Veterans Memorial, but the markers do very little to alert passers-by about the impact of the place they could choose to visit.

Admittedly, I was one of those people until fairly recently. Having visited the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington, D.C., I expected the New Jersey version to be similar, just smaller. However, what I found was much more: both a memorial and a museum that explains the Vietnam War and its lasting impact on American society.

Located steps away from the memorial, the Vietnam Era Museum and Educational Center is the country's only such facility, and when you think about it, it's something that's sorely needed. With the passage of time, the war and its impact have evolved from political hot buttons to subjects in history classes, and the brothers and sons who served and survived have aged to become grandfathers and uncles. Thankfully, veterans are treated with greater respect now, but it's still important that people continue to understand the complexity of war and the range of challenges it poses to the nation and society.

The museum's layout is simple yet effective. The main exhibit area is a large, circular room, ringed with a timeline that explains the history of Vietnam, crucial events during the war, U.S. involvement, and what was going on 'back home,' from popular culture to protest. An inner ring brings the story from history to personal experience: actual letters from soldiers and loved ones often poignantly reveal the pain of separation and the alternately mundane and terrifying aspects of war. Scattered among the letters are service medals, childrens' drawings and a shockingly pragmatic telegram notifying family of a soldier's death and the shipping process for his remains.

The center of the room has the potential to make the biggest impact on visitors. It's the testimony theater, where speakers share the impact the Vietnam War had on their lives. Whether a veteran, a war protester, or perhaps the family member of a soldier who died in the war, each offers intensely personal perspectives on abstract concepts of loss, experience or opposition.

Unfortunately, no testimonies were scheduled for the day of my visit, but I was fortunate to get a tour of the outdoor memorial from volunteer guide Dan O'Leary. While the memorial is open 24 hours a day, it's well worth going when the museum is open and Dan or one of his fellow veterans can share their own wartime experiences.

Designed by Vietnam refugee and naturalized American citizen Hien Nguyen, the memorial is rich in symbolism. As we walked toward the memorial, Dan explained that the lighting fixtures along the path were spaced at the same intervals as soldiers walked when they moved through the jungle. By allowing several steps distance in front and behind, they'd avoid mass casualties if the lead soldier set off a booby trap by disturbing a trip wire strung across the path.

Visitors enter the memorial itself through one of two concrete tunnels shaped like bunkers, representing the transition from home, or 'the world,' to 'in country' (the theater of war in Vietnam). Once inside, you're at the lowest part of a large bowl carved into the terrain, with the state tree, a red oak, in the center. A dramatic sculpture stands nearby, featuring a nine-foot tall statue of a soldier standing over another of a nurse who's tending to an injured GI. Each is a different ethnicity, reflecting the backgrounds of the Americans who served in the war. Two ramps leading upward toward the surrounding walls are meant to represent DNA, the strands of life.

The New Jersey memorial lists 1562 state residents by the day of the year on which he (or in one case, she) was killed or listed as missing in action during the war. Of the 366 panels that circle the inside of the memorial, only a few are blank, leading me to think about the randomness of death during wartime. During a war in which U.S. involvement was so lengthy, why were some days 'lucky' while others were not? And being able to see dates of loss gives visitors a chance to make a personal connection even if they didn't know anyone who was killed in the war or who lost a loved one there. On a birth date, or a wedding anniversary, while you were celebrating, had someone else made the ultimate sacrifice?

On the walk from the museum to the memorial, Dan pointed out other poignant features of the grounds, too. An inviting, shaded meditation garden is dedicated to all women veterans of the Vietnam War and offers a quiet place to contemplate. Another area features a statue memorializing dogs who serve with the troops in all wars, past, present and future.

More than 9000 students visit the memorial and museum every year to learn more about the Vietnam era, and if their experience is anything like mine, they come out enriched from the experience. Even if you're old enough to remember the war and the tumult of protest in the U.S., it's well worth getting off the Parkway and spending an hour to learn more and contemplate the sacrifice of our fellow New Jerseyans.

Down on the (1890s) farm in Holmdel

One of the perils of being in a relationship with a Civil War buff is the "Six Degrees" syndrome. You know ... you see or hear a family name that's shared by a war notable, and the first response is, "I wonder if they're related to....."

Six degrees, more or less, brought us to Holmdel's Longstreet Farm a few weeks ago. Ivan had been to the surrounding Holmdel Park in the past, and figured there had to be some connection to Confederate General James Longstreet. Everyone does, of course, have some connection to New Jersey. Why not Lee's right-hand man? A visit sounded good, especially following a particularly non-productive morning of prospecting new birding sites in eastern Union County.

Once off the parkway and past a defunct Lucent Technologies/Bell Labs site, we were pleasantly surprised to find a small working farm nestled in the middle of a country park. Historic Longstreet Farm has many of the bells and whistles necessary to a 19th century agricultural operation just before the start of mechanization: a vintage farmhouse, barns, outbuildings, land for crops and livestock, all well tended.

The visitor's first stop is a small farm building with exhibits that set the stage for the rest of the visit, explaining farm life during the time period the Longstreet place was in business. Having settled there in the early 1800s, the family originally owned all of the land that's now Holmdel Park, renting tracts to tenant farmers who planted, tended and harvested grain and potatoes.

From there we went straight to the farmhouse. Like many older houses of the time, it was built in several stages, the oldest dating to the late 1700s. I was a little surprised to find that the entire house was furnished to reflect the late Victorian era of the 1890s, with wallpaper and other appointments carefully reflecting patterns of the period. A costumed volunteer explained that their research and donated artifacts had led the county to choose that point in time, and I had to agree that it makes the Longstreet home rather distinctive among historical sites in the state. So often you see homes presented in the Colonial style, even when they were occupied clear into the 20th century. And even with the later timeframe represented, it wasn't hard to determine where the 1790 addition began. Since they'd elevated the ground floor rooms to accommodate a cellar below, the rooms in the 'new' part of the house were a few feet higher than the adjacent rooms in the older portion.

Plenty of Longstreet family portraits are hung throughout the house, which led Ivan to ask about the potential connection to the Confederate general. Only a distant relative, we were told; the family had come from Holland in the 1600s and one branch had split off and traveled south to live. Even without the military connection, though, the family had some pretty formidable members, including Mary Ann Longstreet, who was born in the 1820s and lived in the house well into her 90's with her nephew, who was apparently a bit of a dandy, judging from his belongings. Mary Ann's photograph indicates a stern personality who wouldn't be crossed. The house stayed in the family line until it was donated to the county in 1967, but the arrangement allowed Longstreet heirs to live in the house until the last one died in 1977.

We found the house to be a lot more interesting than we'd expected, and the remainder of the farm had its charms, too. Of special note to early American farm purists, the Longstreet barn is one of three remaining 18th century true Dutch barns still in existence in Monmouth County. A large flock of roosters and a guinea fowl or two live in a reconstructed chicken house, with a few escapees clucking around the farmyard for good measure, crowing to their hearts content. And two enormous work horses were in their paddocks in the 1860's era stable, bringing to mind the famous Clydesdales. No doubt they pull the plows in season, but they seemed pretty well rested when we were there.

Given it was the last weekend in November, the crops were in, but we were promised a cow milking demonstration if we stayed until 3 p.m. Longstreet Farm hosts special farm-themed events throughout the year. Whether you've got kids in tow or are just looking for some afternoon time on your own or with someone special, stop by the farm for a nice diversion.