As you can tell from the other entries on this blog, I’ve been fascinated with New Jersey history ever since I moved here. Maybe it’s latently defensive, considering that mocking New Jersey is a minor national pastime, and one that I understand. There’s so much about the most traveled parts of the state that represents the worst in land management and zoning, or lack thereof, in the country. Much of the state serves mostly as a conduit between Philadelphia and New York, and another huge chunk is merely a suburb of one or another of those cities.
The part of New Jersey where I live, south of Philadelphia, is still mostly farmland, although developments of McMansions have encroached on the landscape in the last 20 years the way that kudzu has covered the southern mountains. The Pine Barrens, land that was purchased by Joseph Wharton in the 19th century to be an aquifer to serve Philadelphia, remains protected, one million unlikely acres of pristine forest in the most densely populated state in the Union.
The overdevelopment of the rest of the state, and the progressive degradation of the landscape only serves to make what remains more precious. Those remnants of the past that survive are more compelling because of the odds they've beaten. In many cases they have remained untouched not out of some concern for their preservation, but out of indifference.
My wife , Judy, has pointed out to me that other parts of the region, like Chester County and Berks County in Pennsylvania, are more untouched by time than this area. So I think it might be the contrast between a 1716 tavern next to a 1950's gas station that makes it more compelling to me, like a 1930's Rolls Royce would be, if parked in a lot full of Nissans. The part of my personality that had me scouring flea markets and yard sales, rarely buying but always searching for that rare treasure, might explain my interest in local history . I probably am well suited to panning for gold.
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Henry Carlton Beck wrote a series of books in the first half of the last century that are so well written and entertaining that I would recommend them to anyone, regardless of their interest in New Jersey. He wrote about towns that were once bustling centers of activity, many of them ghost towns now, because their business of extracting ore from the iron rich mud of the pinelands creeks was made unprofitable by access to the more easily mined iron of upstate Pennsylvania. His method, like Edith Hoele's method that I mentioned in the "Summertime" post, was drawing from personal interviews with people old enough to remember details of things which had disappeared before many of us were born, and so are unknown to us. I don't think we're doing enough of that now, but that might be because I'm rapidly approaching the age of interviewee. My guess is that it takes a lot of patience to draw out the useful information from the maudlin, nostalgic inventory of personal loss that older people need little prompting to share. Another kind of gold panning, for information.
One of his stories that captured my imagination was about Port Elizabeth. If you drive down Rt 55 all the way to the end, and the road turns into old Rt.47, you’ll almost immediately pass a bait shop and a tiny post office, that today are the major features of Port Elizabeth. But at one time, it was a major seaport, trading with the West Indies in competition with Philadelphia and New York, though its status as such was as short lived as the local industries that supported it.
The town was founded by Elizabeth Clark Bodly, whose remarkable story I had intended to research and tell. Legend was that she and Elizabeth Haddon were good friends, who traveled to each other’s town, but Beck thinks this unlikely, since they were 40 years apart in age, and at the time Mrs. Bodly conceived of her plan, it’s doubtful that Haddon did much traveling. But the influence of the latter on the former is indisputable, and although their personal backgrounds were very different, as were their fortunes, they both stand out as remarkable Quaker women of great faith whose achievements can’t be diminished
So it seemed I couldn’t tell the story of Bodly without prefacing it with the story of Haddon.
So we have: Two Elizabeths
Additional Notes:
There are many references in this story to the Quaker influence on each of the two Elizabeths. The Quaker tradition is such an important part of the character and history of this area, that it occurs to me that it might be helpful to explain Quaker tradition a little, in the unlikely event that someone might read this who lives beyond the sphere of Quaker influence.
Quaker worship, in practice more closely resembles Zen Buddhism than other Christian denominations. They don't have churches, they have Meeting Houses. There is no preacher or pulpit, each member is an equal participant in the meeting, which involves group meditation in search of a light of guidance, which the Quakers believe to be Divine Inspiration. The inner light desciption is used by Buddhists also, the difference being that they believe the light to be an eternal part of human nature. The Quakers, in their meetings, are seeking what the Buddhists would call kensho, a glimpse of the nature of existence and a harmony with the universe.
If someone at a Meeting feels inspired to speak, he or she stands and speaks, and gets the full attention of the congregation, with the assumption that the words were divinely inspired. It's a uniquely egalitarian approach to Christian worship.
I lean toward Buddhism in my own beliefs, and I also see the Amish tradition as being very similar to Tibetan Buddhism. Amish worship is a 24/7 endeavor,similar to the lives of Tibetan monks, but with women and children. Traditions become the rituals, and harmony with the universe is clearly the goal, even if not stated. Amish seek satori, or permanent harmony, by ritualizing work as representative of man's purpose. To them, they are doing what God intended them to do. To the Buddhists this would be called achieving harmony with the universe.
On a community level, however, the two religions, Quaker and Amish, are different. Amish society is closed off from the world, and patriarchal. One of the fundamental principals of Quakers is equality. Every human being is equal, without exeption. The king is equal to a beggar. It's no accident, to me, that the birthplace of American ideals of democracy came to be in an area heavily influenced by Quakerism, . But the other major tenet of Quakers is pacifism without exeption, so although their democratic ideals may have helped to inspire the revolutionary cause, they were not active participents , and despite what should have been a grudge against British rule for their persecution in England, they lent comfort and support to wounded of both sides.
It was probably unfortunate for the Native Americans in this area that the first Europeans that they encountered were Quakers. I have no doubt that William Penn had no ulterior motives in creating his treaty, and Elizabeth Haddon had great respect for the wisdom and knowledge of the indigenous people in her area, and several attended the modest wedding celebration she held at her house. It was unfortunate, because it gave them no warning of what would come from the next wave of immigrants.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Two Elizabeths
Being the story of two remarkable women and their achievements in 18th century New Jersey
Chapter One
Imagine what an utter act of faith it was to board a two-masted ship in London to sail across the ocean to the New World, in 1700, when the risks of the journey itself paled in comparison to the dangers of a successful voyage. With primitive navigation, no modern weather detection that might warn of a hurricane mid-voyage,, the very real threat of very real pirates, and no possibility of a quick rescue at sea if one was needed, I wonder how many would take such a trip in order to leave behind everyone they knew and everything they were accustomed to, to go and live in a place that can only be compared today to the furthest recesses of the Amazonian jungle.
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Chapter One
Imagine what an utter act of faith it was to board a two-masted ship in London to sail across the ocean to the New World, in 1700, when the risks of the journey itself paled in comparison to the dangers of a successful voyage. With primitive navigation, no modern weather detection that might warn of a hurricane mid-voyage,, the very real threat of very real pirates, and no possibility of a quick rescue at sea if one was needed, I wonder how many would take such a trip in order to leave behind everyone they knew and everything they were accustomed to, to go and live in a place that can only be compared today to the furthest recesses of the Amazonian jungle.
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But that is the choice Elizabeth Haddon made when, as a young woman of 20 years old in 1701, she journeyed alone, without family or friends, to make a new home in a new world.
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Her early years were spent in Southwark, across the Thames from London , daughter of a respected Quaker family, respected by Friends, at least, for it was a time of relentless persecution of Quakers by the Crown.
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She was a studious, but lively girl, curious about her world, devoted to the principles of the Friends instilled in her by her family, and intrigued by the charitable work her mother was often engaged in.
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Her early years were spent in Southwark, across the Thames from London , daughter of a respected Quaker family, respected by Friends, at least, for it was a time of relentless persecution of Quakers by the Crown.
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She was a studious, but lively girl, curious about her world, devoted to the principles of the Friends instilled in her by her family, and intrigued by the charitable work her mother was often engaged in.
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On one notable occasion, before she was six years old, she begged her family to let her have a little tea party for her friends. She was made to help with the baking of cakes and to buy fruit for the occasion with her meager savings, and all preparations, and on the appointed day, the "friends" arrived, six young street urchins straight out of Oliver Twist, whom she had seen around her neighborhood and took pity on, and who made short work of the cakes and fruits that had been laid out. Her parents were taken aback by this display of kindness, but withheld praise from her, not wanting her to believe anything other than that charitable acts are their own reward, and not done for the praise or admiration of others.
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Her father was a blacksmith by trade, most notably as a maker of anchors, which was a profitable enough enterprise near a seaport the size of London. After losing three of Elizabeth's siblings to health problems related to the unsanitary and otherwise unhealthy conditions of early urban centers, her father moved the family down the river to the countryside. It was a mere half-mile from the Horselydown Friends Meeting-House, where Elizabeth would worship right up until she left for America.
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Being a prominent member of the meeting, her father was visited by other Quakers of note, including William Penn, who visited the Haddon household when Elizabeth was six. She was captivated by this charismatic man's tales of the new world across the ocean, his "green country towne" of Philadelphia, where Quakers could meet without fear of having the meeting house burned down by British troops, which had already happened to her meeting. As his stories of the new colony moved onto descriptions of the native people and their customs, young Elizabeth moved closer, wanting more detail about papooses, and teepees and mocassins and the natives' natural harmony with the land.
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Being a prominent member of the meeting, her father was visited by other Quakers of note, including William Penn, who visited the Haddon household when Elizabeth was six. She was captivated by this charismatic man's tales of the new world across the ocean, his "green country towne" of Philadelphia, where Quakers could meet without fear of having the meeting house burned down by British troops, which had already happened to her meeting. As his stories of the new colony moved onto descriptions of the native people and their customs, young Elizabeth moved closer, wanting more detail about papooses, and teepees and mocassins and the natives' natural harmony with the land.
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Her interest became obsession, and in the ensuing years, her playthings were Indian dolls and moccasins, and her daydreams were about America. She would set up little doll diaramas with figures representing the Natives, and "read " from a newspaper the treaty with the Indians that Penn had negotiated. Her siblings grew tired of Elizabeth's obsession with America and the natives, and begged her to play some other games. But these were the only games that gave her any satisfaction.
As she got older, a practicality crept into her fantasies that would eventually lead her to step onto the gangplank of that ship a few years later.
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When she was 14, a young man named John Estaugh spoke at the Yearly Meeting in London, and young Elizabeth was quite taken with his passion for Quakerism and his deep, strong voice echoing through the Meeting House. She must have been beside herself when, on one occasion, John Estaugh was a guest at dinner in the Haddon household, and being just 14, she could not join them at the table. I imagine her crouched in a corner somewhere nearby, noting his every word. Estaugh had been to America, and gave the family an ear of Indian corn, one of several he had brought back to give as curiosities. The fact that he had been to the land of her dreams only amplified the magnetism she felt toward him. At some point in the evening, she managed to speak to him, and Elizabeth would never forget that short, probably most proper, conversation, for it was with the man she would eventually marry.
When she was 14, a young man named John Estaugh spoke at the Yearly Meeting in London, and young Elizabeth was quite taken with his passion for Quakerism and his deep, strong voice echoing through the Meeting House. She must have been beside herself when, on one occasion, John Estaugh was a guest at dinner in the Haddon household, and being just 14, she could not join them at the table. I imagine her crouched in a corner somewhere nearby, noting his every word. Estaugh had been to America, and gave the family an ear of Indian corn, one of several he had brought back to give as curiosities. The fact that he had been to the land of her dreams only amplified the magnetism she felt toward him. At some point in the evening, she managed to speak to him, and Elizabeth would never forget that short, probably most proper, conversation, for it was with the man she would eventually marry.
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In 1698, Elizabeth's fate was sealed when her father purchased a 500 acre plantation, across the river from Philadelphia. She was 18 at the time, and for the next two years, she could think of nothing else but of making a home there, in that new, exciting world.
In 1698, Elizabeth's fate was sealed when her father purchased a 500 acre plantation, across the river from Philadelphia. She was 18 at the time, and for the next two years, she could think of nothing else but of making a home there, in that new, exciting world.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Two Elizabeths Chapter Two
John Haddon, having bought the land in what was then West Jersey at the urging of Penn, was not as enthusiastic about the idea of resettling there as was his daughter. He had a successful business that provided well for the family, many friends at the Meeting and in the community as a whole,. Adventure seeking for its own sake is not a particularly Quaker value, but in any case he had probably reached the point in life where one tries to limit risks, rather than seek them out.
He sent two men to the new plantation to build suitable housing for his family anyway, in case he was given a sign that God's intentions were for him to go there. But that call didn't come for John Haddon. Time and again some business or health matter would prevent him from making even an investigative trip to see his new estate. Eventually he saw his own procrastination as the sign he'd been seeking. He gathered his family, and told them that he'd lost interest in going to America, and would consider giving the estate to a family member whose interest was keener than his. Elizabeth was heartbroken, of course. But not being the brooding sort, she considered her father's words, and the following evening summoned the family to the great family table. There she announced to them that she was, in fact, a family member with a keen interest, and that she proposed to go to West Jersey and establish herself there, as she believed that she had received the call her father had waited for.
Her family was as sceptical as any family at that time would have been about the ability of a girl of Elizabeth's age to settle in a new world and successfully operate a farm. But devout as they were, they did not take talk of calls from God lightly. When they gently expressed their doubts, Elizabeth responded that, in fact, young girls had led countries at various times and places in history, and that it could not be more difficult to run a farm than it is to run a country. Besides, she said, her call was to minister to the natives and to the people who were struggling, and she was certain that God would provide for a servant performing that work on his behalf.
Whether or not Elizabeth truly believed what she was saying, or was refusing to relinquish her life long dream, and in doing so was using the arguments that she knew would be most persuasive to her family, was a question that crossed the minds of the family. But these doubts were unspoken out of the great respect that Elizabeth held amongst them, and out of respect for her intentions. So rather than deny her, they asked her to meditate, in Quaker fashion, for a period of three months, to seek the light that would confirm to her that this was indeed the path chosen ,not by her, but for her.
It should be no surprise, just as it was no surprise to her family, that every day of the three months brought a stronger conviction in Elizabeth that she was intended to go to America. She became more affectionate to her family as the weeks went by, in a way that indicated to them that she knew that soon she would be missing their company. Her way was lit most clearly, but whether the source of the light was divine inspiration, her sense of adventure, her enormous curiosity, or a vague hope that perhaps she might encounter John Estaugh there, Elizabeth, in all likelihood, could not have determined herself.
The manner of this extraordinary family was to refrain from expressing doubts and fears that might inhibit their children from following the path chosen, so in spite of what must have been great trepidation about the safety and health of their beloved daughter, arrangements were made , when the three months were up, for Elizabeth to travel to the new plantation. She would be accompanied by Peter and Joseph, two workmen who were up to the task of helping Elizabeth establish the farm. Also accompanying her would be Hannah, the family housemaid, who had known Elizabeth for most of the girl's life, and who, in the isolated home to which they were headed, would become the dearest of friends. Into one of the great chests she packed, Elizabeth quietly slipped the ear of corn that had been a gift from John Estaugh.
He sent two men to the new plantation to build suitable housing for his family anyway, in case he was given a sign that God's intentions were for him to go there. But that call didn't come for John Haddon. Time and again some business or health matter would prevent him from making even an investigative trip to see his new estate. Eventually he saw his own procrastination as the sign he'd been seeking. He gathered his family, and told them that he'd lost interest in going to America, and would consider giving the estate to a family member whose interest was keener than his. Elizabeth was heartbroken, of course. But not being the brooding sort, she considered her father's words, and the following evening summoned the family to the great family table. There she announced to them that she was, in fact, a family member with a keen interest, and that she proposed to go to West Jersey and establish herself there, as she believed that she had received the call her father had waited for.
Her family was as sceptical as any family at that time would have been about the ability of a girl of Elizabeth's age to settle in a new world and successfully operate a farm. But devout as they were, they did not take talk of calls from God lightly. When they gently expressed their doubts, Elizabeth responded that, in fact, young girls had led countries at various times and places in history, and that it could not be more difficult to run a farm than it is to run a country. Besides, she said, her call was to minister to the natives and to the people who were struggling, and she was certain that God would provide for a servant performing that work on his behalf.
Whether or not Elizabeth truly believed what she was saying, or was refusing to relinquish her life long dream, and in doing so was using the arguments that she knew would be most persuasive to her family, was a question that crossed the minds of the family. But these doubts were unspoken out of the great respect that Elizabeth held amongst them, and out of respect for her intentions. So rather than deny her, they asked her to meditate, in Quaker fashion, for a period of three months, to seek the light that would confirm to her that this was indeed the path chosen ,not by her, but for her.
It should be no surprise, just as it was no surprise to her family, that every day of the three months brought a stronger conviction in Elizabeth that she was intended to go to America. She became more affectionate to her family as the weeks went by, in a way that indicated to them that she knew that soon she would be missing their company. Her way was lit most clearly, but whether the source of the light was divine inspiration, her sense of adventure, her enormous curiosity, or a vague hope that perhaps she might encounter John Estaugh there, Elizabeth, in all likelihood, could not have determined herself.
The manner of this extraordinary family was to refrain from expressing doubts and fears that might inhibit their children from following the path chosen, so in spite of what must have been great trepidation about the safety and health of their beloved daughter, arrangements were made , when the three months were up, for Elizabeth to travel to the new plantation. She would be accompanied by Peter and Joseph, two workmen who were up to the task of helping Elizabeth establish the farm. Also accompanying her would be Hannah, the family housemaid, who had known Elizabeth for most of the girl's life, and who, in the isolated home to which they were headed, would become the dearest of friends. Into one of the great chests she packed, Elizabeth quietly slipped the ear of corn that had been a gift from John Estaugh.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Two Elizabeths Chapter 3
No real record of the transatlantic voyage of Elizabeth and her companions remains, save one reference I found to her cheerful disposition for the duration of the trip. This likely annoyed her older companion Hannah, who was more reticent about the adventure than Elizabeth, and a sea voyage of that length, on that type of ship, was notoriously rough going for even the sailors.
After visiting friends from London who had relocated to Philadelphia, they made another stop at Burlington to see friends at the Meeting there. Then they hired a river boatman to take them to their new home. The mouth of the Cooper River is almost directly across the Delaware River from the large oak tree where Penn had signed his treaty with the Natives, and what a thrill it must have been for Elizabeth to see this natural monument that had played such a major role in her childhood games. Along the river they saw people who were living in caves and lean-tos along the banks, newcomers who were having a hard time getting established, and while it tore at Elizabeth's heart to see such human suffering, it reaffirmed to her that her call to serve was clear and necessary. The boatman warned of desperados and Natives in the thick woods along the banks of the Cooper, but Elizabeth was unafraid, certain that some Divine force would protect her from harm, and that certainty lent a serenity and steadfastness to her presence that served her well in the coming years. As she later said, when someone asked if she weren't afraid of some of the strangers who would appear at her door to seek shelter, "Perfect Love Casteth out Fear."
The pleasant but modest house sat on a knoll 150 yards back from the water, and after settling in. Elizabeth was beside herself with excitement, and unlike Hannah, who fell off to sleep at the first opportunity, she was wakeful the whole night, enchanted by the unfamiliar song of the whippoorwill. The next morning she rose early and went outside, and upon seeing her verdant, unblemished surroundings was overcome with emotion. As one early account tells it:
"She dropped on her knees, and with an outburst of prayer exclaimed fervently, "O Father, how beautiful hast thou made this earth!"
While her surroundings may have been heavenly, her situation presented many, more earthly challenges, but she proved herself equal to the task. She made fast friends with the local Natives, who saw her guileless nature and openness as a sign of her trustworthiness. The house was at that time three miles from the nearest neighbor, but word of the newcomer spread surprisingly fast, and when visitors would come by, in addition to being treated to Elizabeth’s famous hospitality, they would be peppered with practical questions. She asked what kind of grain was most likely to be successfully planted in that locale, and when told rye did well there, said" Then I shall eat rye bread.” It's been rumored that in the brew house built behind her house at a later date, she also used the rye to make whiskey, but since she had a reputation for sobriety, it was most likely for purposes of hospitality and medicinal uses that she brewed it.
She stripped the ear of corn that had been a gift from John Estaugh, and planted the kernels in the newly tilled soil behind her house, looking forward to seeing the tall, silky plant that he had described, and the giver no doubt crossed her mind as she worked.
After visiting friends from London who had relocated to Philadelphia, they made another stop at Burlington to see friends at the Meeting there. Then they hired a river boatman to take them to their new home. The mouth of the Cooper River is almost directly across the Delaware River from the large oak tree where Penn had signed his treaty with the Natives, and what a thrill it must have been for Elizabeth to see this natural monument that had played such a major role in her childhood games. Along the river they saw people who were living in caves and lean-tos along the banks, newcomers who were having a hard time getting established, and while it tore at Elizabeth's heart to see such human suffering, it reaffirmed to her that her call to serve was clear and necessary. The boatman warned of desperados and Natives in the thick woods along the banks of the Cooper, but Elizabeth was unafraid, certain that some Divine force would protect her from harm, and that certainty lent a serenity and steadfastness to her presence that served her well in the coming years. As she later said, when someone asked if she weren't afraid of some of the strangers who would appear at her door to seek shelter, "Perfect Love Casteth out Fear."
The pleasant but modest house sat on a knoll 150 yards back from the water, and after settling in. Elizabeth was beside herself with excitement, and unlike Hannah, who fell off to sleep at the first opportunity, she was wakeful the whole night, enchanted by the unfamiliar song of the whippoorwill. The next morning she rose early and went outside, and upon seeing her verdant, unblemished surroundings was overcome with emotion. As one early account tells it:
"She dropped on her knees, and with an outburst of prayer exclaimed fervently, "O Father, how beautiful hast thou made this earth!"
While her surroundings may have been heavenly, her situation presented many, more earthly challenges, but she proved herself equal to the task. She made fast friends with the local Natives, who saw her guileless nature and openness as a sign of her trustworthiness. The house was at that time three miles from the nearest neighbor, but word of the newcomer spread surprisingly fast, and when visitors would come by, in addition to being treated to Elizabeth’s famous hospitality, they would be peppered with practical questions. She asked what kind of grain was most likely to be successfully planted in that locale, and when told rye did well there, said" Then I shall eat rye bread.” It's been rumored that in the brew house built behind her house at a later date, she also used the rye to make whiskey, but since she had a reputation for sobriety, it was most likely for purposes of hospitality and medicinal uses that she brewed it.
She stripped the ear of corn that had been a gift from John Estaugh, and planted the kernels in the newly tilled soil behind her house, looking forward to seeing the tall, silky plant that he had described, and the giver no doubt crossed her mind as she worked.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Two Elizabeths Chapter 4
The story of Elizabeth Haddon and John Estaugh is so charming and enchanting that it was immortalized by one of our great Romantic poets, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, in his poem "Elizabeth." from the collection" Tales of a Wayside Inn." Its popularity can be demonstrated by the familiarity of one of its lines today. 150 years after its publication. "Ships that pass in the Night."
The first years' harvest and preparations for winter were successful, and news of the new immigrant spread, along with a reputation for her generosity and hospitality. She had increased her knowledge of herbal medicine from her Native friends, and traded with them her knowledge on the subject from her native country, and seeds interchanged, so that Elizabeth had quite an herbal dispensary growing behind her house. She used this growing knowledge to treat neighbors for miles around, and this practice continued for the rest of her life.
Wayfarers knew that if need be, her door was always open to share a warm hearth, or a hot meal, a bed for the night. And so it was that on one snowy night, two travelers knocked on her door, and although it had been several years since she'd seen him, she immediately recognized one as John Estaugh. Being who she was, there can be no doubt that she believed Providence had played a role in bringing him to her door.
An evening of pleasant conversation and news from England, concluded with Elizabeth taking John into the kitchen , to show him the ears of corn hanging there, and she told him that those and many more had come from the ear given by him to her family. She told him that she hoped his words of inspiration would fall on similarly fertile soil, and bear abundant fruit in the new world. Although John could command rapt attention and great admiration when addressing a Meeting House crowd, this talent didn't adapt him to being much of a ladies' man. He wasn’t one who could deftly show appreciation for Elizabeth's knack for poetry, or even recognize the flirtation for what it was, so they awkwardly said their goodnights.
The next morning found drifts of snow fallen overnight. Elizabeth put her two boarders to work, harnessing the oxen and clearing paths that would let her tend to her neighbors' needs, both the sick and those in need of food. Although John was unaccustomed to lots of physical labor, he jumped right in, and worked as hard as anyone at the task at hand. The rest of the day and evening he accompanied Elizabeth on her rounds, and although it wouldn't have taken much, she was impressed by his helpfulness, and by the comforting words he spoke to those in distress. So it was that on the next day, when he left to continue the mission he was on, and for the days that followed, she would find herself thinking of him more and more, as nothing can bind two people with a natural attraction to each other like time spent together in charitable works.
A couple months later, as preparations were being made for spring planting, John returned to Elizabeth's farm in the company of a number of other Quakers on a day trip to the Meeting at Salem, and She decided to go with them. Having decided on something, as we have seen, she was most capable of going after it single-mindedly, so after crossing Mantua Creek, and watering the horses, she feigned a problem with the saddle on her horse, so that John would stay behind the group to assist her. She seized this opportunity to propose marriage to him, using language that, in the same way as with her family, he would be least able to argue. "God has commanded me to love thee, John Estaugh."
Elizabeth was by all accounts a very attractive woman, and well to do, and as someone later noted, had John Estaugh been more worldly and wise, he would have been floored by the extraordinary proposal. But he gently told Elizabeth, in the only way that she could have accepted, that he was bound to complete the mission he was on, but that, upon his return to England, he would give it his most solemn consideration. Neither gave much weight to the fact that she was wealthy, and he was, by calling, a man of simpler means, or to the social impropriety of her proposal to him. Upon his return to England, and with or without counsel, he determined that Elizabeth's offer was a great gift indeed, and upon his return two months later, they were married in Quaker fashion. This involves merely sitting together at Meeting, and near the end stating, for all to hear, their intention to be kind and faithful to one another. And so began a long marriage in service to others and with great affection for one another.
The first years' harvest and preparations for winter were successful, and news of the new immigrant spread, along with a reputation for her generosity and hospitality. She had increased her knowledge of herbal medicine from her Native friends, and traded with them her knowledge on the subject from her native country, and seeds interchanged, so that Elizabeth had quite an herbal dispensary growing behind her house. She used this growing knowledge to treat neighbors for miles around, and this practice continued for the rest of her life.
Wayfarers knew that if need be, her door was always open to share a warm hearth, or a hot meal, a bed for the night. And so it was that on one snowy night, two travelers knocked on her door, and although it had been several years since she'd seen him, she immediately recognized one as John Estaugh. Being who she was, there can be no doubt that she believed Providence had played a role in bringing him to her door.
An evening of pleasant conversation and news from England, concluded with Elizabeth taking John into the kitchen , to show him the ears of corn hanging there, and she told him that those and many more had come from the ear given by him to her family. She told him that she hoped his words of inspiration would fall on similarly fertile soil, and bear abundant fruit in the new world. Although John could command rapt attention and great admiration when addressing a Meeting House crowd, this talent didn't adapt him to being much of a ladies' man. He wasn’t one who could deftly show appreciation for Elizabeth's knack for poetry, or even recognize the flirtation for what it was, so they awkwardly said their goodnights.
The next morning found drifts of snow fallen overnight. Elizabeth put her two boarders to work, harnessing the oxen and clearing paths that would let her tend to her neighbors' needs, both the sick and those in need of food. Although John was unaccustomed to lots of physical labor, he jumped right in, and worked as hard as anyone at the task at hand. The rest of the day and evening he accompanied Elizabeth on her rounds, and although it wouldn't have taken much, she was impressed by his helpfulness, and by the comforting words he spoke to those in distress. So it was that on the next day, when he left to continue the mission he was on, and for the days that followed, she would find herself thinking of him more and more, as nothing can bind two people with a natural attraction to each other like time spent together in charitable works.
A couple months later, as preparations were being made for spring planting, John returned to Elizabeth's farm in the company of a number of other Quakers on a day trip to the Meeting at Salem, and She decided to go with them. Having decided on something, as we have seen, she was most capable of going after it single-mindedly, so after crossing Mantua Creek, and watering the horses, she feigned a problem with the saddle on her horse, so that John would stay behind the group to assist her. She seized this opportunity to propose marriage to him, using language that, in the same way as with her family, he would be least able to argue. "God has commanded me to love thee, John Estaugh."
Elizabeth was by all accounts a very attractive woman, and well to do, and as someone later noted, had John Estaugh been more worldly and wise, he would have been floored by the extraordinary proposal. But he gently told Elizabeth, in the only way that she could have accepted, that he was bound to complete the mission he was on, but that, upon his return to England, he would give it his most solemn consideration. Neither gave much weight to the fact that she was wealthy, and he was, by calling, a man of simpler means, or to the social impropriety of her proposal to him. Upon his return to England, and with or without counsel, he determined that Elizabeth's offer was a great gift indeed, and upon his return two months later, they were married in Quaker fashion. This involves merely sitting together at Meeting, and near the end stating, for all to hear, their intention to be kind and faithful to one another. And so began a long marriage in service to others and with great affection for one another.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Two Elizabeths Chapter 5
Elizabeth and John did not actively pursue the establishment of what was to become the busy little town of Haddonfield. That was made almost inevitable by other events beyond her control.
The first was when the General Assembly of West Jersey, seated at Burlington, decreed in 1681 that a road would be constructed between Perth Amboy and Salem along the path of the Indian trails that wended their way through the thick forest. Ten men from Salem and ten from Burlington were enlisted to do the work, and although in places it was little more than a bridle path, land travel between the north and the south was then possible, and although travel by boat between Salem and Burlinton was quite easy on the Delaware River, the road connected other smaller settlements in the interior, including my town of Woodbury (settled in the 1680’s), Swedesboro, Mickleton and others. The road between Woodbury and Salem remains a two lane road that follows pretty closely the original route, and many of the oldest buildings in the area are located along the road.
It also passed quite closly to Elizabeth Haddon’s property. Where it crossed the Cooper River happened to be at the limit of its navigability, so it happened that goods shipped by boat from Philadelphia and headed to settlers along the highway passed through that particular location. It was a natural center of commerce on a small scale.
West Jersey has been called the first Quaker colony by some historians, in spite of early settlements by the Swedes in Swedesboro and Salem. This was a result of the purchase of most of the land by two Quakers in England in the late 1600’s. One of them became insolvent, and a couple years later, when the other one died, the whole property was put in trust, administered by none other than William Penn. Among his other talents and accomplishments, he turned out to be quite the real estate agent as well. He divided the land into 1,000 parcels, and sold them to his Quaker acquaintances, including John Haddon, who ended up buying several, eventually.
Elizabeth made two return trips to England, and on her return from the second, she brought a deed for an acre of land along King’s Highway, as a gift to the community, and for the purpose of building a Meeting House. The combined effect of the area being a social center, as well as a center of commerce, made its development as a prominent town inevitable, as soon various merchants and tradesmen set up shop along King’s Highway to take advantage of the traffic and visibility.
Elizabeth and John built a larger house, with the expectation that John Haddon would eventually bring the rest of the family to live. But that never happened. Elizabeth served as the secretary of the Meeting for the remainder of her life, over forty years. She also managed the estate, and continued until her death to tend to the sickly or the needy in her vicinity, often daily.
John Estaugh managed his father=in-laws land holdings here, and continued to do missionary work on occasion. It was on one of these missions, to the Caribbean island of Tortola, that he became ill while attending a funeral in the rain, and died within a couple of days.
No words can describe her affection for, and attachment to him better than her own. She prefaced the publication of his last sermon with these words:
Since it pleased Divine Providence so highly to favor me with being the near companion of this dear worthy, I must give some small account of him. Few, if any in the married state, ever lived in sweeter harmony than we did. He was a pattern of moderation in all things ; not lifted up in any enjoyments, nor cast down at disappointments. A man endowed with many good gifts, which rendered him very agreeable to his friends, and much more to me, his wife, to whom his memory is most dear and precious.''
The first was when the General Assembly of West Jersey, seated at Burlington, decreed in 1681 that a road would be constructed between Perth Amboy and Salem along the path of the Indian trails that wended their way through the thick forest. Ten men from Salem and ten from Burlington were enlisted to do the work, and although in places it was little more than a bridle path, land travel between the north and the south was then possible, and although travel by boat between Salem and Burlinton was quite easy on the Delaware River, the road connected other smaller settlements in the interior, including my town of Woodbury (settled in the 1680’s), Swedesboro, Mickleton and others. The road between Woodbury and Salem remains a two lane road that follows pretty closely the original route, and many of the oldest buildings in the area are located along the road.
It also passed quite closly to Elizabeth Haddon’s property. Where it crossed the Cooper River happened to be at the limit of its navigability, so it happened that goods shipped by boat from Philadelphia and headed to settlers along the highway passed through that particular location. It was a natural center of commerce on a small scale.
West Jersey has been called the first Quaker colony by some historians, in spite of early settlements by the Swedes in Swedesboro and Salem. This was a result of the purchase of most of the land by two Quakers in England in the late 1600’s. One of them became insolvent, and a couple years later, when the other one died, the whole property was put in trust, administered by none other than William Penn. Among his other talents and accomplishments, he turned out to be quite the real estate agent as well. He divided the land into 1,000 parcels, and sold them to his Quaker acquaintances, including John Haddon, who ended up buying several, eventually.
Elizabeth made two return trips to England, and on her return from the second, she brought a deed for an acre of land along King’s Highway, as a gift to the community, and for the purpose of building a Meeting House. The combined effect of the area being a social center, as well as a center of commerce, made its development as a prominent town inevitable, as soon various merchants and tradesmen set up shop along King’s Highway to take advantage of the traffic and visibility.
Elizabeth and John built a larger house, with the expectation that John Haddon would eventually bring the rest of the family to live. But that never happened. Elizabeth served as the secretary of the Meeting for the remainder of her life, over forty years. She also managed the estate, and continued until her death to tend to the sickly or the needy in her vicinity, often daily.
John Estaugh managed his father=in-laws land holdings here, and continued to do missionary work on occasion. It was on one of these missions, to the Caribbean island of Tortola, that he became ill while attending a funeral in the rain, and died within a couple of days.
No words can describe her affection for, and attachment to him better than her own. She prefaced the publication of his last sermon with these words:
Since it pleased Divine Providence so highly to favor me with being the near companion of this dear worthy, I must give some small account of him. Few, if any in the married state, ever lived in sweeter harmony than we did. He was a pattern of moderation in all things ; not lifted up in any enjoyments, nor cast down at disappointments. A man endowed with many good gifts, which rendered him very agreeable to his friends, and much more to me, his wife, to whom his memory is most dear and precious.''
Friday, August 21, 2009
Salem Municipal Building Restoration, Salem, NJ
In 2000, while working for Restoration Carpentry, I was given the assignment of Lead Carpenter/Project Manager on a job in Salem, NJ. It was funded with a matching funds grant from the NJ Histric Trust and the City of Salem, and was conducted in accordance withThe Secretary of the Interior’s Standards for the Treatment of Historic Properties.
It involved a restoration of an old bank building, which had been acquired by the city in 1926. Ask any local, and they will tell you the story of the moving of the building in 1926, from main St, around the corner to where it sits today. There are pictures of the moving process, which involved setting the building on rollers, and pulling it a couple inches a day with a block and tackle attached to a single draft horse, or maybe I should say drafted horse, since I'm sure he didn't volunteer. Looking at the size of the building, and its brick and stone construction, it boggles the mind, and thus has entered local lore aided by the fact that the bank never closed during this process, customers would just have to walk a couple more inches every day to get in. Over the years it had been adapted for the city's use as a dispensary of soulless bureaucracy, an office for the collection of taxes and water bills. When I arrived to begin the demolition phase, the space was filled with cubicles, a counter with glass partitions, flourescent lighting, and linoleum floors. Although one could tell from the exterior that this was an architectural gem, much of the interior evidence of that was not immediately apparent. The 5 ft high wainscot had been painted with 4 or 5 coats of ugly brown paint , as had been the 2 beautiful fireplaces and all the windows and doors. The magificent crown molding, the most elaborate I have seen, had been painted white, disguising its detail.
As the demolition progressed, the original beauty became abundantly clear. On disassembling the service counter, I found that it had been built upon the original teller counter from the bank, covered, of course with formica and more paint. As these were not part of the new plan for the space, I removed the white oak cabinets, but saved a section to adapt for use in my kitchen, where they sit today.
Teller cabinets relocated to my kitchen. The panelling on the back side(facing us) mimics the original (on the end to the right) with strip oak flooring ripped to dimension and applied over oak plywood.
It involved a restoration of an old bank building, which had been acquired by the city in 1926. Ask any local, and they will tell you the story of the moving of the building in 1926, from main St, around the corner to where it sits today. There are pictures of the moving process, which involved setting the building on rollers, and pulling it a couple inches a day with a block and tackle attached to a single draft horse, or maybe I should say drafted horse, since I'm sure he didn't volunteer. Looking at the size of the building, and its brick and stone construction, it boggles the mind, and thus has entered local lore aided by the fact that the bank never closed during this process, customers would just have to walk a couple more inches every day to get in. Over the years it had been adapted for the city's use as a dispensary of soulless bureaucracy, an office for the collection of taxes and water bills. When I arrived to begin the demolition phase, the space was filled with cubicles, a counter with glass partitions, flourescent lighting, and linoleum floors. Although one could tell from the exterior that this was an architectural gem, much of the interior evidence of that was not immediately apparent. The 5 ft high wainscot had been painted with 4 or 5 coats of ugly brown paint , as had been the 2 beautiful fireplaces and all the windows and doors. The magificent crown molding, the most elaborate I have seen, had been painted white, disguising its detail.
As the demolition progressed, the original beauty became abundantly clear. On disassembling the service counter, I found that it had been built upon the original teller counter from the bank, covered, of course with formica and more paint. As these were not part of the new plan for the space, I removed the white oak cabinets, but saved a section to adapt for use in my kitchen, where they sit today.
Teller cabinets relocated to my kitchen. The panelling on the back side(facing us) mimics the original (on the end to the right) with strip oak flooring ripped to dimension and applied over oak plywood.
Pulling up layer after layer of linoleum and underlayment, I eventually reached the diagonally laid maple floor, which unfortunately had sections missing and many nail holes. I was able to salvage enough from the back section of the building to patch in the front, so that now, the main room has its original floor.
Buttonwood Painting, of Philadelphia, was hired as a subcontractor to do the laborious work of stripping the paint from all the woodwork, and a look at the extent and detail of that work, including the little wooden medallions every few inches along the wainscot, and the intricate carvings on the fireplaces,
can only begin to tell you what those guys were up against. As this was a historical job, no torches could be used, so it was repeated applications of chemical strippers that got the job done.
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Pieces of the woodwork had been cut out at various places over the years to accommodate electrical or mechanical needs, and it was part of my job to patch these with matching species, leaving as much of the original in place as was possible.
The large windows (4+ft square per sash) were stripped, then I dissassembled them, reattached the sash weights, which had long been lost in their pockets, and rehung them. They operate now with two fingers, even though they weigh about 80 lbs each
The gorgeous pocket doors had been stuck in their pockets long ago and forgotten, but have been restored to their former glory, and are used regularly by the buildings's occupants.
I worked from an elegantly drawn set of plans, created by Philip Scott, of Kise, Straw, and Kolotner. Philip designed the desks which would be used by the City Council in their twice monthly meeting.
We had the large cap molding milled, and the rest was built on site by me. I made the tongue in groove panels by adding a bead to the edge of standard #1 oak flooring with one of my antique molding planes.
The original planned use for the building was as a courtroom, but it was decided that there were too many windows to be appropriate for that. So it was designed to be used as the City Council Room. There are two offices on the second floor, that several city officials told me they hoped to move into, however, and I think as a testament to how well the job turned out, the state senator and the state representative from the district moved their offices there. The first floor is now also used as the welcome center for the city of Salem, and is open for tours.
Nails (and a little bit of Bodo Otto)
I'm willing to bet that 30% of carpenters working today can't drive a nail. I'm sorry to sound like a geezer, but before screw guns and nail guns became the standards of fastening, we used to bang a lot of nails. As much as I love these newer, faster tools, I'm nostalgic for the physical motion, the rhythm, and the noise of nailing off with a hammer and a pouch full of nails, and the natural syncopation of a crew of carpenters working away. tap Bang BANG! tapBANG!bang tapBANG!bangBANG!
One time, I was working in the circa 1790 townhouse of Penny and George Bachelor in Society Hill, with my co-worker, Paul. Paul was the person who got me fascinated with antique tools, and aspired, I think, to be a "period" carpenter in some place like Colonial Williamsburg, where he could give public displays of his considerable talents using the old methods of woodworking. He was a little wacky, that guy, but more about him later. He had purchased some very expensive boxes of hand forged wrought iron finish nails for his own use, but thought that Penny's house was the perfect place to use some of them. Penny walked in while he was nailing some edge on one of the shelves we had built for her, and although she was a naturally calm and cool person, pitched a fit, and told him to use regular finish nails, from the hardware store.
Nether of us understood why this was so important to her. We knew that she was an architectural historian for the National Park Service. What we didn't know is that she had written the definitive study of dating buildings by the type of nail used, and was vehement about not confusing the unlikely archaeologist studying her house in the future, by using inappropriate nails.
Penny was a member of the Yearly Meeting of the Arch St. Meeting House, along with my employer at the time, Ted Nickles. Quakers, being notorious in their thriftiness, as well as meticulous record keepers , they had kept detailed records of every addition, repair, and alteration to the building over the course of its 250 year life. Penny began examining every record, and then carefully disassembling the area in question until she had a few nail samples, which she examined and documented. By the time she published the study, she could date a building within 5 or 10 years, simply based on the nails that were used. Her insistence on our using contemporary nails was quite understandable, in that light.
If you are interested in a simplified history of the changes in nails over the years, you can find it here:
http://frank.mtsu.edu/~histpres/services/naildating.htm
Before 1790, the only nails available were hand made by blacksmiths, and expensive, This accounts for the superior joinery found in buildings of the period; almost nothing structurally depended on just nails. Dating by nails before this date is further complicated by the fact that derelict buildings in colonial days were burnt to the ground, and the ashes sifted to recover the precious nails so they could be reused.
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So recycling is not a new concept, it once was common sense. It used to be fairly common, in fact, to move entire houses, from one plot of land to the next. I mentioned the moving of the Salem municipal Building in that post, but smaller houses were often moved from town to town, and the process of doing that with no damage to the building was more art than science to its practitioners. I had the pleasure of working side by side with a team of two brothers who did that their whole lives.
Old Swedes' Church sits off to the right of King's Highway as you are leaving Swedesboro heading west. A new church was built in the 1770's and 1780's to replace the log church that had occupied the site since 1703. The present building was erected in 1884. By the 1980's, the structure of the huge open ceiling had begun to fatigue, and an engineer's report predicted imminent failure and collapse. In order to stabilize it until the considerable money needed to repair it could be raised, the two brothers (sorry I don't remember their names) were hired to erect structural scaffolding, the way they might secure a building before moving it.
Our job, as restoration and preservation carpenters, was to remove pews, floorboards, etc. so that they could run their scaffolding from floor to ceiling. I call this "surgical" demolition. Each piece is carefully removed, numbered and safely stored and catalogued so that it can be put back in pristine original condition.
Old Swedes' Church(Trinity Church) Swedesboro,NJ
What was fascinating to me was the way these two old guys worked. They had done this so many times, that I don't recall hearing them say more than a dozen or so words to each other, or to anyone. One of them would come up to the balcony and point to show us where the next couple of holes needed to be, then go back about their business.
The best place to eat lunch when you're working on a church is always the cemetery, and Old Swedes' is no exception. Clean, quiet, plenty of places to sit. One of the prominent graves there is that of Dr. Bodo Otto. His house is a couple miles further up King's Highway, though it's actually his second house, in the same location. The first was burnt down, not to retrieve nails, but to exact revenge.
Dr' Otto and his father, also a doctor, ministered to George Washington's troops over that brutal and fateful winter spent at Valley Forge. His house was burnt down by British loyalists.
The Bodo Otto House
Dr. Otto was an extraordinary man, much loved by his patients and neighbors. Before his death at the young age of 33, he added to his extraordinary legacy by successfully pleading for the sparing of the life of the only man captured for the burning of his house.
Further still up the road stands the "Death of the Fox" Inn, where Dr. Bodo Otto died of tuberculosis on Jan.20, 1782. I'll try to remember to tip my hat every time I pass it.
The Death of the Fox Inn
One time, I was working in the circa 1790 townhouse of Penny and George Bachelor in Society Hill, with my co-worker, Paul. Paul was the person who got me fascinated with antique tools, and aspired, I think, to be a "period" carpenter in some place like Colonial Williamsburg, where he could give public displays of his considerable talents using the old methods of woodworking. He was a little wacky, that guy, but more about him later. He had purchased some very expensive boxes of hand forged wrought iron finish nails for his own use, but thought that Penny's house was the perfect place to use some of them. Penny walked in while he was nailing some edge on one of the shelves we had built for her, and although she was a naturally calm and cool person, pitched a fit, and told him to use regular finish nails, from the hardware store.
Nether of us understood why this was so important to her. We knew that she was an architectural historian for the National Park Service. What we didn't know is that she had written the definitive study of dating buildings by the type of nail used, and was vehement about not confusing the unlikely archaeologist studying her house in the future, by using inappropriate nails.
Penny was a member of the Yearly Meeting of the Arch St. Meeting House, along with my employer at the time, Ted Nickles. Quakers, being notorious in their thriftiness, as well as meticulous record keepers , they had kept detailed records of every addition, repair, and alteration to the building over the course of its 250 year life. Penny began examining every record, and then carefully disassembling the area in question until she had a few nail samples, which she examined and documented. By the time she published the study, she could date a building within 5 or 10 years, simply based on the nails that were used. Her insistence on our using contemporary nails was quite understandable, in that light.
If you are interested in a simplified history of the changes in nails over the years, you can find it here:
http://frank.mtsu.edu/~histpres/services/naildating.htm
Before 1790, the only nails available were hand made by blacksmiths, and expensive, This accounts for the superior joinery found in buildings of the period; almost nothing structurally depended on just nails. Dating by nails before this date is further complicated by the fact that derelict buildings in colonial days were burnt to the ground, and the ashes sifted to recover the precious nails so they could be reused.
******************************************************
So recycling is not a new concept, it once was common sense. It used to be fairly common, in fact, to move entire houses, from one plot of land to the next. I mentioned the moving of the Salem municipal Building in that post, but smaller houses were often moved from town to town, and the process of doing that with no damage to the building was more art than science to its practitioners. I had the pleasure of working side by side with a team of two brothers who did that their whole lives.
Old Swedes' Church sits off to the right of King's Highway as you are leaving Swedesboro heading west. A new church was built in the 1770's and 1780's to replace the log church that had occupied the site since 1703. The present building was erected in 1884. By the 1980's, the structure of the huge open ceiling had begun to fatigue, and an engineer's report predicted imminent failure and collapse. In order to stabilize it until the considerable money needed to repair it could be raised, the two brothers (sorry I don't remember their names) were hired to erect structural scaffolding, the way they might secure a building before moving it.
Our job, as restoration and preservation carpenters, was to remove pews, floorboards, etc. so that they could run their scaffolding from floor to ceiling. I call this "surgical" demolition. Each piece is carefully removed, numbered and safely stored and catalogued so that it can be put back in pristine original condition.
Old Swedes' Church(Trinity Church) Swedesboro,NJ
What was fascinating to me was the way these two old guys worked. They had done this so many times, that I don't recall hearing them say more than a dozen or so words to each other, or to anyone. One of them would come up to the balcony and point to show us where the next couple of holes needed to be, then go back about their business.
The best place to eat lunch when you're working on a church is always the cemetery, and Old Swedes' is no exception. Clean, quiet, plenty of places to sit. One of the prominent graves there is that of Dr. Bodo Otto. His house is a couple miles further up King's Highway, though it's actually his second house, in the same location. The first was burnt down, not to retrieve nails, but to exact revenge.
Dr' Otto and his father, also a doctor, ministered to George Washington's troops over that brutal and fateful winter spent at Valley Forge. His house was burnt down by British loyalists.
The Bodo Otto House
Dr. Otto was an extraordinary man, much loved by his patients and neighbors. Before his death at the young age of 33, he added to his extraordinary legacy by successfully pleading for the sparing of the life of the only man captured for the burning of his house.
Further still up the road stands the "Death of the Fox" Inn, where Dr. Bodo Otto died of tuberculosis on Jan.20, 1782. I'll try to remember to tip my hat every time I pass it.
The Death of the Fox Inn
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Summertime , Westville,NJ, ca.1900
I've been collecting versions of "Summertime" by George Gershwin, on my ipod. I'd made a cd a few years ago with as many versions as I could find. Louis Armstrong and Ella Fitzgerald, Janis Joplin, Billie Holliday, Miles, Coltrane, and on and on. But my All-Time favorite has to be Billie Stewart.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4xrhcQcAJSI
Summertime's also my favorite season, right up until its waning days, when regret and disappointment begin to replace the high hopes and optimism that seemed to settle in for good right around the first of June. It's probably an emotional hangover from our school days, when we suddenly wondered where the summer had gone, and faced the dreary days of school starting.
But being an optimistic person in general, and thus mandated by nature to look on the bright side, I've adapted by becoming an avid fisherman (because fishing kind of sucks in summer) and an avid football fan, which makes me look forward to autumn.
And I know summertime will be back; it always comes back. Some things, when they're gone are just gone.
I became enchanted with local history in South Jersey because there is so much physical evidence of it here, and not just in museums or official historic sites, but almost everywhere, and to a greater degree than I've seen anywhere else. A drive down King's Highway between Woodbury and Salem, though not as scenic as it was 20 years ago thanks to housing developers, still reveals something about its past every time I drive it. You can almost pinpoint the spot where Elizabeth Haddon, founder of Haddonfield, feigned a problem with her horse, so that she could drop behind the group of Quakers she was riding to Salem with , and have the opportunity to propose to John Estaugh in private. The proposal was immortalized by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow in his poem "Elizabeth."
Tarry awhile behind,
for I have something to tell thee,
Not to be spoken lightly,
nor in the presence of others;
Them it concerneth not,
only thee and me it concerneth."
And they rode slowly along through the woods,
conversing together.
It was a pleasure to breathe the fragrant air of the forest;
It was a pleasure to live on that bright and happy May morning
The spot's about a mile from my house. I'll show you where I think it is:
Just off King's Highway, south of Mantua Creek
But some things are just gone.
Edith Hoelle is gone, She was the librarian for the Glouscester County Historic Society library, and I used to see her cheerily going to work every day, while I was working on the Hunter-Lawrence House. She clearly loved her work, and wrote a column for many years in the local paper about Woodbury's history, and I thank her for giving me the bug, as well as for being an invaluble source. Much of the history she gathered was by word of mouth, from people in their 80's and 90's when she interviewed them in the 1950's.
One of my favorite articles of hers was about something that is so gone, it seems totally fantastic.
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It was called Washington Park, and occupied 600 acres along the Delware River, just to the right of the Walt Whitman Bridge if you are driving into New Jersey. Its name derived from the fact that Gen. Washinton had rested a night there in1777, when the Howell farm occupied the site.
The Pier at Washington Park
50.000 people showing up on a summer weekend was a routine affair, Coming to swim (gulp!) in the Delaware, ride the "gravity roads," early versions of the roller coaster, walk the 1800 ft. long pier stretching into the Delaware, full of amusements, and served by an aerial trolley for those who were too pooped to walk out to the end. They'd come to hear John Philip Sousa and his band play those marches we all know, and 100,000 came one weekend to hear William Jennings Bryan speak about how the banks needed regulation, and how the rail monopolies had to be broken, not to denounce free enterprise, but to assure its survival.
.
A trolley line was constructed between Woodbury and the park, so that the inhabitants of our little town could, for a nickel, be transported in minutes to the c.1900 equivalent of Disney World.
The Shoot the Chute at Washington Park
The park had the tallest Ferris Wheel in the world, at 100 feet. And it was right here, a couple of miles from Woodbury.
But the big attraction was the Electric Fountain. Seen above, its dancing, swaying streams of water would shoot as high as 80 feet, lit by an ever changing spectrum of light. In the center of the fountain was a huge glass stage, operated by an elevator, inside which Actors would enact various scenes from American history, changing sets and costumes up to 4 times in an evening. As Edith tells it, the stage was big enough that when Washington crossed the Delaware inside the glass stage, there was plenty of room for the large boat he and his men were "riding"in.
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If you follow Rt. 130 through Westville, you will see the Texaco oil storage facility to the right. This entire facility sits within the boundaries of what was once this summertime pleasure park.
I'm not sure what surprises me more: How so much physical evidence of history can survive the ravages of time and progress, or how something that was so much a part of local culture could vanish without a trace, making it seem more like a dream than reality.
Law Library Philadelphia, PA
In October of 1992, I went to work for Rick F., who had a small design/build company, and by small, I mean after he hired me, there was him and me. He had taken this job, building an architect designed library of solid cherry and a clerestory, the large skylight type structure, for a couple on 21st St, Bob and Eileen.
They were both lawyers, I believe in the same firm, and Bob was President of the Philadelphia Bar at that time. Rick had very limited woodworking experience, which is why he hired me. Some of the larger moldings we had milled offsite, like the crown molding that tops the whole room (solid cherry) and the large crown-type molding under the mantlepiece. Everything else we milled onsite, and it turned out beautifully, I must say. I talked Rick into doing a hand rubbed linseed oil finish, which upon retuning a couple years later, still had the deepest, richest luster you could imagine.
About half way throught the finishing process at this point. The hand tubbing took a long time, but was worth it.
Rick was nearly impossible to work for...he was extremely high strung and immature. I summoned all the Buddha-nature I could muster to stay one step ahead of his unpredictible moods. At one point, he decided he wanted to rout the edge of the large piece of cherry that was to be the mantle. Half way throught the process, he panicked and lifted the router up, destroying the front edge. When I saved his ass by taking out my hand planes and making the mistake nothing but a bad memory, he gave me my props, and stayed out of my way.
The woodworking here was challenging, but straight forward. The most difficult part, besides putting up with Rick,were the end panels of the clerestory. Essentially, the oval windows are "trimmed" with a solid piece of furniture grade flakeboard, with a half inch reveal around the window, and scribed to the curved panelled ceiling. Then four pieces were overlaid, with another half inch reveal at the window, and creating half inch channels perfectly aligned with the window mullions, again all scribed tight to the cieling, and with a relflected half- oval cutout at the top. I was pretty proud of how that turned out, but if Rick hadn't been such a nut, I probably would have said "How the hell are we supposed to do that?" instead of "No Problemo."
The only picture I have of this is kind of blotchy
I worked for Rick for 4 or 5 years, somehow. When I became aware of some of his subs calling me "Poor Nevin," I decided it was time to leave.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
I was a Carpenter for the FBI Phila, PA
(Note: The photos accompanying this story were scanned from old poloroids. Sorry for the quality, but they're all I have.)
It was 1982, and the economy was in the early stages of its first collapse from the misguided Republican philosophy that what this country really needed was a moron as president, and to bring an end to the god-awful suffering of the rich.
It was 1982, and the economy was in the early stages of its first collapse from the misguided Republican philosophy that what this country really needed was a moron as president, and to bring an end to the god-awful suffering of the rich.
President
Waiting for a cigarette to trickle down
This, in a classic example of the bad timing that has characterized many of my major life decisions, was the time that I had chosen to start my own remodeling business. The endeavor was doomed also by my lack of experience (I had only been working in the field for a couple years at that time) and the fact that I’d spent most of my efforts establishing a relationship with a network of ambitious and active investors, whose common bond was their shared devotion to the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, and their practice of Transcendental Meditation. But they had the appearance and behavior of greedy young yuppie investors, and they were giving me more and more business, so I pretty much put all my eggs in their basket. Then one day, their contact person told me that the whole group was done with investing for now, and was going out to Maharishi University in Iowa to help the Maharishi levitate the fieldhouse by group meditation. I never heard whether or not they succeeded, but I hope it came down on somebody's toes.
Maharishi
So it was that I found myself working with Eli, an Israeli immigrant whom I’d met through Chuck Eckert. Eli’s visa had been about to expire, and Jeanine F., who owned an insurance agency on South St., had offered to marry Eli to make him legal. Eli thought this was a great and generous offer, and the wedding was a lot of fun. A couple weeks later, Eli was miserable, because apparently Jeanine had something more matrimonial in mind, and she was 25 yeas older than Eli, and looked it.
So a few months before Eli skipped town to escape Jeanine’s demands, he and I were working on the South Philly home of Sgt. Alan K., a police sargeant in the South St. district who was friends with Jeanine. Alan liked the carpentry work I was doing on his house, and one day took me aside and told me to go talk to a friend of his who was building a bar on Sixth St., right below South. It intrigued me so I went and met Jay, Alan’s friend. Jay was fashionably dressed, carried a walking stick, drove a Lincoln town car, and in every way exuded an aura that said “I’ve made a LOT of money selling cocaine, and now I’m looking for other things to amuse me.” But after a short conversation, he hired me, to be paid in cash on an hourly basis, to build a 36 foot brass topped bar out of solid oak, with all moldings and millwork, in oak made on site with equipment that he would provide. It was irresistible, so I agreed, and started the next week.
A couple things became obvious after a week or so. One was that Jay had never built a bar before, even though he referenced this bar that he built in Ft. Worth or that bar that he built in Chicago. The other obvious thing was that this bar was not being built with Jay’s money. Steve B. was the principal investor, it seemed, and his two brothers. Frank and Jeff were always around, though it was clearly Steve’s money, and he had supposedly made a fortune in commodities. None of that mattered to me: I was getting paid in cash regularly by Jay, who would pull up in his Lincoln Town car every Friday and dispense cash from a giant wad.
Big, tacky and pretentious...the perfect grifter car
He gave me just enough direction, that with my own design sense and with an ever increasing experience in woodworking I was able to make progress that pleased everyone involved, most of all Jay.
The outside of the bar, as well as the rest of the room that held the bar, was paneled with solid oak, which was wrapped in two piece molding, all 2000 ft of which were milled by me on site, using a table saw and route table.
The back bar was all crafted from solid oak, with a semicircular frame for a stained glass piece made by a local South St. artisan.
All this was more fun than I could have imagined getting paid for. There were other contractors working on site, but the bar was mine. There was an Italian gentleman working for Jay, who was general foreman on the job. Bill was huge, maybe 6’4”, spoke with a thick accent, and was firm but very genteel. He had a cousin, Marino, who was bought on to help me with the endless sanding and finishing that needed to be done, and he raved to Bill about my work, saying he hadn’t seen a craftsman like me since he left Italy. I was flattered, but at times felt as much of a fraud as Jay, because I was learning as I went, but I never let on to that.
Marino on the left, paperhanger whose name I forget on the right
As the bar and surrounding room got closer to completion, Jay came by one day, and offhandedly said that he was getting ready to build a restaurant and hotel complex in the Cayman Islands, and that he wanted me to come along. I said, sure Jay, and didn’t give it much thought.
Periodically, representatives of various Police benevolent associations would come by the job site, and Jay always made a big deal of paying them “donations” in cash. He said those payments were why we weren’t getting any parking tickets, and weren’t being hounded by building inspectors. It made sense, because both were true. He would hand Artie, who was the devoted right hand and go-fer to Steve, a small zippered satchel, and say, “Don’t lose that, there’s 30,000 bucks in there.”
Artie, an old school South St. hipster, standing behind the bar in progress. I traded my 1969 Gibson SG Custom to him for a butcher block countertop that I needed at the time. The guitar was for his ex-wife, who didn't even play. I would gladly trade him my truck to get it back today.
Everything Jay did said “Coke Dealer,” and I still couldn’t figure out his connection to Sgt. Alan, who seemed totally on the up and up, and who was married to a high profile TV personality.
Marge Pala
More and more, when I saw Jay, he would ask me about a passport and other arrangements that I might need to make before our trip to the Cayman islands. I had not really taken this talk seriously at first, but it became more and more apparent that Jay was totally serious about this. Island life had a particular attraction for me at that time in my life, which for various reasons was a time of restlessness, in spite of the fact that I had a six month old son whom I adored.
Travis and me
My marriage was becoming more strained for a number of reasons, some of my doing, some just of circumstance. The more I read about the Cayman islands, the more I was intrigued.
The Cayman Islands
When Bill, our Italian foreman, who was to be my roommate in the Caymans, started to tell me about the great Italian Food he would be cooking for me, I realized that this was real and imminent, and that I was going to have to make some decisions. We were looking at a year or two of work, so I decided that I would go, and if things were working out, I would bring my wife and child down there to live with me.
So I proceeded to get my passport and make other preparations, mental and emotional and practical, to embark on a new journey.
As the work on the bar got closer to completion, I began to do other carpentry tasks around the building
and also worked on Steve’s mansion in Gladwyn. I learned that Jay was also working on a restaurant for some gentleman of Italian descent and of questionable character on Third street.
-
Restaraunteurs
Some of their minions came to our our bar one day frantically looking for Jay. It seems that building inspector had shown up at the third street restaurant asking for permits. The workers there told him that Jay had “taken care” of the permits. The inspector replied “Who the F is Jay?” when they told him that Jay was in the Cayman islands and could not be reached at the moment (cell phones had not yet been invented) , he told them to tear down the three story addition that they’d built under Jay’s direction. Obviously this didn’t go over too well with the Italian gentlemen who were paying for the project. When Jay got back a meeting was arranged at our restaurant, and it so happened that it was only me and Jay who were there when they came over for a little goodfellas conversation. I was building a service bar on the first floor and Jay sat down with them at a table around the corner from me. Apparently, these men were the ones planning the complex in the Cayman islands, and they told Jay in no uncertain terms that he would not be going to the F-in' Cayman islands. He would not be going any f-in' where.
I didn’t see too much of Jay after that. I did some more work for Steve and his brothers right up until the opening of the restaurant, called Vital Spirits. The concept of the restaurant was an accommodation for every variation of dietary regulation. Vegetarian, vegan, kosher, alcoholic, breatharian (O2 pumped out of jets at the bar). It was overly ambitious and goofy in the way that many creative endeavors fueled by cocaine at that time were. It was doomed by the lack of practicality that doomed so many of those endeavors. It was closed soon after opening. I was working on south st about a year later, after taking a job with another contractor and I happened to run into one of the other subcontractors who worked on the bar. He told me that Steve and his brothers had been busted about six months after the job was done for the importation of tons of marijuana,
Tons of Ganja
and that they’d been victims of a Federal sting. I asked if Jay was part of their operation, whether he too had been locked up as they had been. He told me that the word on the street was that Jay was FBI. Suddenly, the light came on, and his association with Sargent Alan, as well as his occasional disappearances, and his association with the mafia types investing in the Cayman islands all began to make sense. Unwittingly, I had been a carpenter for the FBI. But in the process, I had learned much about woodworking, people, and my sometimes amazing naivete.
A Boat Story Part I Woodbury, NJ
February had at least 75 days this year, or so it seemed, and about half way through, cabin fever struck me with such force that I was compelled to clean and organize my shop. Since moving back into this house after our ill-fated horse farm adventure, it had become merely a repository for assorted junk. But underneath it all, I knew there were the shop machines I had had inherited from my dad, the large assortment of power tools that i had accumulated in my professional (carpentry) career, and boxes and boxes of antique planes and other antique hand tools that I had feverishly collected and restored as part of my quitting-smoking therapy 15 years ago.
And suddenly I had a working shop, badly in need of a project. Although I've had kind of a bug for several years now to build a hurdy gurdy, the cabin fever left me vulnerable to a serious case of spring fever, which left me dreaming about fishing, my other passion, and the approaching arrival of spawning striped bass in the Delaware River. I could either build a hurdy gurdy that could float, or more practically, a boat capable of bringing me to the stripers' doorstep.
A casual web search turned up a site (http://www.svensons.com/boat/ ) that published old boat plans from Popular Science , most, apparently, from the 50's and 60's, when the editorial assumption was that real men liked to, and knew how to, build things, like homemade toasters made from coat hangers and sheet metal, or a particle accelerator you could make on the weekends from toilet paper tubes, aluminum foil, and a 4000 watt transformer you have laying around in your basement workshop. Although the plans they published were practical. they made assumptions about the skills and available materials of their readership that I suspect were exaggerated, but served both the ego and the tendency to procrastination of the typical reader
For instance, here is their plan to build your own steam engine. (if you need the rest of the article, email me, but you should be able to wing it.)
At my job, which at the time involved turning an old warehouse into upscale condominiums, we had been using a glue down laminated floor material, which was tongue in groove,, 5/16" thick, and with a fairly durable coating on the finish side. Though the plans called for marine plywood, coated on the outside with fabric and some kind of paint that has no doubt been outlawed for 35 years because of its devastating effects on the environment, and its ability to cause cancer at the merest touch, an alternative began to shape in my mind. I immersed a piece of the flooring in water and left it over the weekend. On Monday, not only were the finish and lamination unaffected by the drenching, but the tongue and groove worked perfectly with a mated dry piece. If I used this material, with the finish side showing inside the boat, and substituted fiberglass on the hull, I could make this boat both seaworthy and evocative of the sporty runabouts of that era made by ChrisCraft and Thompson, evocative being the key word here, because by no means do I possess (yet) the ability or the budgetary means to duplicate the gorgeous craftsmanship of those wonderful old boats.
I settled on a plan that would suit my needs as a fisherman, that I could reasonably launch and trailer by myself, if need be, and that would fit in my shop, since it was still too cold to imagine doing any of the work outside. Here's the plan I chose: http://www.svensons.com/boat/?p=MechanixIllustrated/FlyingFisherman
The average person considering building from one of these plans probably has, or has access to, all the required tools, like a table saw, a bandsaw, sanders, a router. One thing I happened to have, which most people don't, is a 75 year old Stanley # 20 adjustable bottom plane
By adjusting the center wheel on this amazing plane, you can set almost any curvature, convex OR concave. In the same way that a standard try plane will, after a number of passes, present you with a flat edge, this plane, after cutting the board to the rough curve with your band or sabre saw, gives you a perfectly smooth curve, which, if you don't change the setting, can be duplicated on your next piece. I would highly recommend that if you are thinking of building any kind of boat, that you locate and purchase one of these, and if you're not schooled in plane blade sharpening and plane setup, that you take a little time to familiarize yourself with those simple, increasingly forgotten, but essential skills.
So the first step was building the forms, for which I enlarged the plctures in the plans enough that I could accurately get the proper dimensions. To scale the curve, I laid it out on a half sheet of plywood i had laying around, and transposed the angles with an adjustable bevel square. To get the curve, i scaled the height at the center, and using a flexible steel rule, bent it until it laid on all the marks, and got my son Jack to trace the line, since you definitely need a third hand for that operation. I did the front frame piece first, because the rearward frame has the same curve as the stern, and I wanted to reuse the plane setting, as previously mentioned. The stern was made up from two pieces of 1x12 oak, which I ran thru the joiner and glued up with a biscuit jointer, then laid out and scaled the same as the frame pieces. It is reinforced on the sides and bottom with additional pieces cut from 1x4 oak, with notches in those pieces for the frame members, as seen in the plans.
It's funny now, because once I got the frames and the back made, I thought I had really made something...it hadn't occured to me at that point that I would eventually trash 2/3 of what I had built, the two frame pieces and the 2x6 form for the keel being more or less a "mold" for the boat, rather than part of it. So here's what I had
Then the stern in various stages
I chose yellow pine for the inwales and the chines, which create the framework for the outer shell, and oak for the keel. The stem, because of its severe curve needed to be cut out of 2x12, which I doubled up, glued with resourcinol, and screwed. Now I just had to attach the inwales and chines to the stern,bend them around the frame, determine the angle and length to cut them and attach them to the stem. It turned out to require considerable force on the chines to screw them to the stem, and one pic shows my blood from where I drove the point of my screwgun into my thumb
In the second picture, you can see how much more severe the bend is in the chines, as compared to the inwales. Besides, I sign all my work in blood at some point.
After some adjustments to the joint where the chines hit the stem, I was ready to begin applying the flooring to the sides. Starting at the back, this went smoothly enough, but as I worked my way to the front, the double curve made it increasingly hard to keep the tongue in groove joints tight. I had been gluing these joints all along, and I found that by applying a bar clamp when neccessary, I could close them up, and once it was glued and screwed, everything was cool.
I have to pause here to thank my friend Dan Witten, a talented woodworker from Jamaica, who fed my enthusiasm for this project with his own. After I had one side sheathed, Dan came over and helped me do the other side. This job is more than twice as easy with two people. He also helped with the tedious work of mortising the bottom supports into the keel.
.jpg)
With the sides complete and most of the supports in place, it's starting to look like a boat ..jpg)
Dan helping me install the floor supports. When Dan saw the boat project for the first time, he said "The bow-ot is Tight,Mon" Thanks, Dan..jpg)
Starting to put on the sides.jpg)
How the "flooring" looks on the inside of the boatThe side supports were actually done before the bottom supports, but after the sheathing was on. Each pair, going front to back, was slightly different due to the changing contours of the sides and bottom. I started with one shape, and custom fit them (in pairs) as I went along. I made them from some 1x6 mahogany that I had kept around for several years, in anticipation of just such an occasion. I could have used oak or even yellow pine, I suppose, but I love the contrast in color, and since I already had it, it felt like it was free.
I had run out of the flooring material, so I decided to do the bottom in plywood. Since I was going to fiberglass the whole outside, I used 5/16 S2S exterior plywood, mainly because it was difficult to find marine grade plywood locally. (Thanks, Home Depot, for putting all the Real lumber yards and hardware stores out of business.)
.jpg)
The foremost 18" or so was done with two pieces, because of the severe curves..jpg)
It actually looks like it might float, which would be nice.The rest of the bottom was all one sheet. There is a support underneath, where they all come together.
I found an online source for fiberglass materials, and ordered 6 yds. of 42" wide fabric (just enough) and one gallon of resin. I ended up buying a second gallon later. Having driven junker cars for most of my life, I was acquainted with the basics of fiberglass work, say from having to patch a football sized rust rotted spot so that the piece of crap would pass inspection. But on my NEXT boat, I will take a little more time and care with this phase of the project. As Elvis said, "fools rush in where wise men fear to tread." A word to my fellow fools...If you ever find yourself using a belt sander to sand off globs of fiberglass, forget the macho stuff, and wear a respirator. I don't know the clinical effects of breathing microsopic glass particles in a confined space for a half hour, but I do know that my entire respiratory tract was messed up for a week, and for a month I fought the reflex to put on a mask when i heard the word "fiberglass," or even "glass."
To be continued....
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