The Botto house: uniting the workers of Paterson

It’s hard to imagine, but an unassuming century-old house in a cramped Haledon neighborhood was once the epicenter of a broad movement to improve industrial working conditions. The Botto house at 83 Norwood Street is now the home of the National Labor Museum, memorializing its role in the 1913 Paterson Silk Strike. On my recent visit I learned why silk workers stopped work and why Haledon became the nexus of the labor movement.

The Botto house on Norwood Street in Haledon

When I walked up to the porch and through the front door, I was struck by how cozy and welcoming the house is. Its original owners, Pietro and Maria Botto, were skilled silk workers who came to the United States from northern Italy in the 1890s. First settling in Union City, they bought five 25x100 lots in Haledon in 1908 to build their own house. The structure consisted of a ground floor with bedrooms, a parlor, kitchen, dining room and bathroom as well as a central hall. Upstairs, two railroad-style flats of three rooms and bathroom each were constructed to provide the family with rental income. A door at the front end of the upstairs hallway led outside to a porch that afforded a nice view of then-undeveloped land. The backyard included an arbor for grapes, plus a chicken coop, pigeon cage and rabbit hutch for meat and eggs.

While Maria inspected silk at home, Pietro worked in the Paterson mills, which were easily accessible via the Belmont Avenue trolley a few blocks from the family's house. The factory environment was a new experience for him, as most European weavers owned their own looms and consider themselves to be craftsmen rather than factory workers. 

The porch where labor organizers spoke to crowds
as large as 20,000

Labor unrest had a long history in Paterson, with strikes occurring as far back as the early 1800s. When mill owners converted to high-speed power looms in the late 1800s, they sought to increase productivity by having employees manage two of the new looms rather than just one. In 1913, the workers walked out when owners sought to double production once again, expecting weavers to manage four looms rather than two. The strikers called for improved conditions, an eight hour work day and an end to child labor. More than 23,000 employees left the factories, including broadloom and ribbon weavers, and dyers.

If all of this was happening in Paterson, why, then did Haledon play such a vital role in the strike? Over time, Silk City had become increasingly more hostile to worker protests, with the police becoming more allied with the mill owners. The mayor forbade the strikers from assembling within city limits, and the police were poised to enforce his will with violence, if necessary.

Haledon, however, was a far friendlier environment. Its mayor, William Bruekmann, was sympathetic to the mill workers, and the town had but one police officer, who was described by one newspaper account as “a slip of a man.” The strikers had already committed to a non-violent work action, and Haledon seemed to be an ideal place to gather.

Striking workers brought
their message to New York
through a pageant at Madison
Square Garden

Already familiar with labor struggles from his youth in Italy, Pietro Botto invited the strike organizers to hold rallies at his home. The house’s upstairs balcony made a great platform, and the land beyond was a natural amphitheater. Strikers could easily travel from Paterson on the trolley for the weekly rallies. The strike became a cause celebre for Greenwich Village intellectuals and union organizers. Speakers like Upton Sinclair, Big Bill Haywood, Carlo Tresca and Elizabeth Gurley Flynn gave rousing speeches before crowds of up to 20,000 supporters, speaking in German and Italian as well as English. The gatherings often took a festive air as singers and musicians performed between speeches.

After five months, the workers went back to the mills, lacking the funding to support their families any further. Though the manufacturers denied their demands for an eight-hour work day, they agreed to limit the workers to two looms. The strikers had achieved a great deal, nonetheless: they proved that non-violence and a democratic approach to labor organizing could bring them the visibility and progress they sought.

There’s a lot more to the story than we have room to spare. The American Labor Museum is holding a series of events to recognize the 100th anniversary of the strike, the perfect time to learn about this fascinating element of our immigrant and labor history. Check the museum's website for details.

Cut it out! The big scissors of Paterson

Paterson is known as Silk City for good reason: at one point, two-thirds of the nation's silk output came from the city's 175 silk mills, which employed over 20,000 people.

The giant scissors of Paterson have absolutely nothing to do with that. Well, except that they're now displayed in the Passaic County Museum at Lambert Castle, the former home of silk magnate Catholina Lambert. Ivan and I found them not long after we discovered the world's largest spoon collection.

The story goes like this: like many employees, teachers in Paterson's school system wanted to know when the 'big boss' might come by to check on their work. Given that they were assigned to their particular rooms, it wasn't easy for them to communicate when classes were in session. Children would go unsupervised if one teacher went to tell another that the superintendent of schools was in the building, and that certainly wouldn't reflect well on them if the principal (or, God forbid, the superintendent) happened to notice. Thus, they had to find a way of getting the message around quickly. AND they had to do it in a way that didn't sound like "Act busy... the boss is coming!"

The big scissors!

A brilliant teacher came up with the perfect idea. You probably had a teacher or two who'd always be borrowing things from his or her colleagues, using students as the messengers. I can remember being sent to the next classroom to ask the teacher if he had some extra oaktag because Mrs. So-and-so had come up one sheet short for the class project. It happened often enough (more with some teachers than with others) that seeing a kid go from one classroom to the next was unremarkable and wouldn't be questioned.

Of course, you couldn't send a student to the next classroom to tell the teacher that Superintendent Wilson was in the building, but you also didn't want to send her with a request for something the teacher might have had available. The requested item had to be unusual enough to warrant asking a few teachers, but not so odd that it would raise suspicion.

It's apparently not known who came upon them as the perfect request, but the teachers agreed that if one of them saw the superintendent in the building, she'd send a student to the next room for the big scissors. That next teacher would say she didn't have them and send the child on to another teacher in the 'hopes' he'd have them on hand. In this very innocent way, the whole faculty would be alerted, and the principal and students would be none the wiser.

We also don't know if Superintendent John Wilson ever got word of the big, constantly-missing scissors during his visits, but they made a special appearance at his retirement dinner in 1944. Teachers presented him with a large wooden pair of shears and let him in on the secret. He must have been amused by the gag; he kept the prop and later donated it to the Passaic County Historical Society as an example of life in Paterson's school system.

A cranky Patersonian changes the world of art

New York's Metropolitan Museum of Art contains one of the world's finest and most diverse collections, thanks in large part to a cranky, uncharitable Paterson industrialist. By most accounts, the guy didn't even care that much about art.

If you visit the Met and read the small placards next to the works on display, chances are you'll frequently see the words "Rogers Fund" as the funding source. That's referring to Jacob Rogers, the aforementioned curmudgeon. The son of Rogers Locomotive Works' founder Thomas Rogers, he became the manufacturing concern's president upon his father's death in 1856. The company was the largest of five locomotive manufacturers in Paterson, turning out a new railroad engine every two days.

While Jacob Rogers was among the wealthiest men in the city, there's no trace of his generosity anywhere in Paterson. In fact, he seemed to enjoy turning down requests for donations and small favors. Young boys who asked if they could use a portion of his land for a ballfield were told he'd lease them the land for $2000 per month -- after they erected a $5000 fence around it. Even when he chose to give funds to a worthy cause, the donations could end at any time. A representative from a local hospital suggested that Rogers might be able to afford a monthly gift of more than the $100 he had been sending; the stipend was quickly and permanently stopped.

Much of this behavior stemmed from restrictions the Paterson city government had put on Rogers' business, primarily forbidding the company from starting any of its locomotives within the city. Undoubtedly this meant having to use protracted and expensive means of moving product out of the factory to customers. Rather than seeking a mutually satisfying compromise, Rogers instead held a grudge against the city to his dying day.

That's a good explanation for why there are no grand tributes to Rogers' largess in Paterson, but how does he become one of the Met's most influential donors? It seems that his contrariness is a major factor. He'd read about a wealthy man who'd died in the Midwest in the 1880s, leaving his entire estate to a group of educational institutions. The man's family contested the will, but it held up in court.

Rogers, a lifelong bachelor, didn't believe in inheritance and saw an opportunity in the Midwestern man's approach. He became a member of the Met, delivering his $10 membership fee to the museum director each year. He asked about the institution's management structure and finances, and though he mentioned he'd be addressing the Met in his will, the director didn't think much of it. It seems that the only times Rogers visited the museum were to deliver his annual dues -- not exactly the type of member one would expect more than a couple thousand dollars from after death. Apparently the Met management was unaware he was a wealthy locomotive magnate. They just thought he was an unusual man who was curious about where his membership money was going.

Rogers' seeming obscurity at the museum ended with his death in 1901. Other than small inheritances to a few of his nephews, he left the entirety of his estate -- liquidated property and all -- to the Met. The $5 million was the first gift over $1 million the struggling museum had ever received. Rogers stipulated that his bequest was to be invested and the principal left untouched; the museum was allowed to spend only the income. Unlike other donors, however, he set no boundaries on the types of art the institution could purchase with the proceeds of his gift. As the museum's then director Luigi Palma di Cesnola said of New York millionaires at the time, "They will give money for buying collections, and for building purposes, because both remain visible monuments of their generosity, while endowment funds are invisible and remain unknown to the general public."

Since then, the income from Rogers' gift has funded the museum's productive archaeological expeditions in Egypt as well as the acquisition of legendary works by Rembrandt, Velasquez and other acclaimed artists. The principal continues to grow and earn, ensuring that a Patersonian known in life as tightfisted and mean will, nonetheless, endure as an example of generosity.

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?

With this many spoons, there should be plenty of ice cream

Did you know that Paterson is home to the world's largest collection of spoons?

You read that right: the world's largest assembly of collectible spoons is housed in Paterson. I know! I had no idea, either, until Ivan and I visited Lambert Castle on Garret Mountain. We were there to check out the Civil War exhibit and while orienting us, the front desk volunteer happened to mention it. How could I have not known about this?

Just a small bit of the world's largest
spoon collection

How does the world's largest collection of spoons end up in Paterson? Pretty simple -- its original owner, Bertha Schaefer Koempel, started the hobby during her childhood in the city. Born in 1882, she'd amassed more than 5400 spoons (and a few matching forks) before she died in 1966. Friends and family members would give her souvenir spoons from their travels, and she knew some well-traveled folks. By the time she died, every state in the Union was represented in the collection, as well as a majority of of the world's nations.

Definitely nothing like the cheesy tin commemorative utensils I remember seeing at souvenir stands in my youth, these spoons are amazingly detailed and beautiful in their own right. Most of those on display right now are lovely silver with nice designs and paintings on them, representing local scenes or noted personalities. Some are even enameled in jewel tones. Others have interesting add-ons like the mummy 'entombed' in a compartment in an Egyptian spoon.

Mrs. Koempel donated the spoons to the Passaic County Historical Society in 1967, and with the exception of a few years during Lambert Castle's renovation, they've been on display there ever since. Only about 250 of the spoons are out at any given time, but the museum plans to rotate the collection occasionally so that all are eventually available for public viewing.

The Civil War gets real this weekend in Passaic County

Considering that no Civil War battle was fought in New Jersey, I've often found it difficult to relate to the conflict the way I do to the Revolutionary War. Battles for independence were fought not far from my grammar school, and I learned the names of local residents who participated, but I had no similar reference point for the War Between the States. That changed this weekend, when I discovered the stories of a handful of New Jerseyans who'd left Passaic County for the war, some never to return.

A treasure trove of locally-significant Civil War artifacts has been lurking in Paterson, deep within the archives of the Passaic County Historical Society at Lambert Castle. The donations of county residents whose ancestors fought in the War, they're available for view at the Castle over the next few days as part of the 150th anniversary of the war.

Honoring Passaic County's Civil War Veterans is a small but significant collection of uniforms, weaponry, documents, photos and artwork reflecting the four year conflict. Not only does it include battle gear, it features General Ulysses S. Grant's death mask and lapel ribbons marking the mourning period after President Abraham Lincoln's assassination. Visitors with local roots can also review a roster of Passaic County residents who served in the war to see if their ancestors took part.

Most movingly from my perspective, many of the articles in the collection are traced directly back to a local resident who fought in the war. Battle becomes so much less abstract when you can relate it to someone who may have walked the exact Paterson streets you did earlier in the day. Looking at the uniforms arrayed in the exhibit, it's not hard to imagine a local soldier stopping by to pick up his jacket before going off to war. It led me to wonder what led them to enlist and their impressions of their experiences. Why, for example, was a Paterson grocer so moved by the cause that he sold his business and actively recruited scores of men to join him in battle? A reproduction broadside advertisement tells you some of Hugh Irish's motivation and practically shouts his patriotism... and you can read it for yourself at Lambert Castle.

The exhibit closes on Sunday October 2, and Civil War reenactors from the Second Rhode Island Volunteers will be camping on the castle grounds. Stop by and check it out!

Fall for America's industrial history in Paterson

Another ‘hidden in plain sight’ New Jersey notable is America’s first planned industrial community. Combine one of the state’s grittiest cities with the second largest waterfall in the eastern United States, and you’ve got a fascinating story with roots in the American Revolution. We talked about it a little in an earlier post on Garret Mountain, but the city deserves a post all its own.

Alexander Hamilton first conceived the city while accompanying General George Washington through New Jersey during the war. As legend has it, the pair stopped for lunch at the base of a magnificent waterfall, where Hamilton saw the possibilities for hydropower to run machinery. Counter to Thomas Jefferson, who saw America's future as largely agrarian, Hamilton believed that the country's best chance for economic independence was through industry. If we could manufacture our own products, from our own resources, we'd have little need for imports from our former European rulers. With others who felt likewise, he was instrumental in the creation of the Society for the Establishment of Useful Manufactures, or SUM, which then built Paterson's industry starting in 1792.

Through a clever system of raceways, the Great Falls of the nearby Passaic River provided hydropower 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 engine for Lindbergh’s storied aircraft, the Spirit of St. Louis.

Over time, the series of water raceways was replaced by a more efficient hydroelectric plant near the falls that continues to serve the local power grid. And as suburbanization populated the area upstream of Paterson, a good portion of the Passaic's water was shunted off for other purposes. Now on most days, the Falls, while still impressive, are but a trickle of what they were over 100 years ago. Check them out after a good rain, especially after Wayne has flooded, and you’ll get a good sense of their full might.

Paterson itself continues as a gritty, working-class city, though much of the industry has left the same as it has in many US cities. A productive artists' colony now makes its home in some of the mill buildings, and there's been some effort to preserve the history that's all around. In fact, Congress voted to fund a management plan for the area, which earlier was designated a National Historical Park. With any luck, that will bring much-needed attention - and tourist dollars - to the city. There are a lot of National Park geeks who would visit a phone booth in a remote corner of Nebraska if it were on the Parks list (I should know… I’m one of them.).

It's really pretty astounding that Paterson hasn't gotten more attention, given its location, Hamilton's involvement, and the impact of its founding on America's economic history. Perhaps the industrial aspect was what held it back as a tourist attraction: how many people make it a point to visit gritty, working-class cities? In an upwardly-mobile, striving culture like ours, how many people want to be reminded that there are people still pushing their way up the ladder? Paterson has long been home to recent immigrants -- people who don't necessarily speak the language, and have different traditions. We all know how that makes some people nervous. Most of all, though, I think people just don't know it's there.

There's a great little welcome center near the Falls, and when I visited, I was welcomed by a city resident who was a wealth of information. He spent about an hour with me, outlining history of Paterson's founding, interesting facts about Alexander Hamilton (i.e. had things gone differently, he might have been our first African American president. Yes, you read that right. His mom was Creole.), the best local restaurants, and American traditions that have their roots in the city. It’s amazing what you can find out, just by running into the right person.

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.