Thanks to the World Wide Web, public digitization initiatives, and the growth of social media, researchers and curious types have almost unlimited, convenient access to an enormous array of rare historical maps. As these old cartographic renderings, many seldom used or seen, come out of storage vaults and are made available virtually, they allow a vast audience to enjoy, learn, and become more engaged with the past.
The amount of excellent material we have on-demand continues to amaze me. This is thanks to forward-looking heritage organizations and individuals who leverage these 21st-century tools to share materials that wouldn’t be widely seen or used.
There are many substantial, searchable collections online, the holding institutions providing free open access to the public. In line with this, I consulted the David Rumsey Map Collection for some New Jersey Maps, as I am doing fieldwork there.
Old New Jersey Map in Book of Penmanship
While searching for detailed New Jersey county maps, I found several helpful items. But one attractive 1819 illustration of the Garden State caught my attention. It came from Harriet E. Baker’s Book of Penmanship & Maps, produced at Mr. Dunham’s School in Windsor, Vermont, on March 31, 1819. Harriet’s book contains some exquisite illustrations, including this old New Jersey Map.
After pausing to examine it, I located several more helpful old New Jersey Maps on the David Rumsey Map Collection site. The curator of rare materials started digitizing his 150,000 maps in 1996 — now, over 116,000 items are online. The curators add new material regularly.
More Old New Jersey Maps
As for those New Jersey County maps, here is one example. It is the Smith & Wistar 1849 map of Salem and Gloucester counties, available on the Library of Congress website. Users may download high-quality scans of this detailed map.
For more high-quality maps, here’s a link to a section of my webpage that I use as a resource finder. This page provides links to digital repositories which have richly organized, mostly free information.
An article about a Salem County Cold Case, a murder in 1874, published in the Salem County Historical Society Newsletter.
While studying the array of officials who made up New Jersey’s 19th-century criminal justice system, I often pore over aging coroner’s reports, trial transcripts, and police blotters. While doing that in South Jersey, I came across an unsettling Salem County Cold Case, the murder of Abigail Dilks in 1874.
From the beginning, the mystifying case stumped 19th-century lawmen and prosecutors. They swept the fields and marsh for evidence and interrogated the “usual types,” but the investigators failed to find a motive. Also, no one provided even the slightest information that might lead to a credible suspect, so the killer escaped.
The questions that stumped law enforcement lingered for decades, but those faded as one generation gave way to another. Still, the coroner’s verdict remains in the aging book of inquests at the Salem County Clerk’s Office. Abigail Dilks died at the hands of an unknown person in a lonely area of Lower Penns Neck near Harrisonville nearly 150 years ago.
Since true crime stories and unsolved mysteries are popular these days, I wrote a piece about this horrendous murder for the summer 2022 edition of the quarterly newsletter of the Salem County Historical Society. The case had mostly been lost in the recorded histories and written records of Salem County.
As today marks the 80th anniversary of the Feb. 19, 1942, presidential order authorizing the internment of Americans with Japanese ancestry, I recalled an April day in 2016 in Bridgeton, NJ. On that Wednesday as spring got underway, I spent a delightful morning talking with 92-year-old Frank Hitoshi Ono.
Mr. Ono greeted me as I arrived at his home on a Wednesday in April 2016 (Photo: Dixon)
At the time I was doing some fieldwork related to developing a program for the Seabrook Educational and Cultural Center in Cumberland County, NJ. The Center presents the stories of relocated Japanese Americans, wartime refugees, and migrant laborers to the “largest vegetable factory on earth.” As part of the research, I met with a number of people including Mr. Ono.
When Japan bombed Pearl Harbor, Mr. Ono, 18, was living in San Pedro, CA, where his family had a tuna fishing business. Worried that people of Japanese ancestry would act as spies, the United States Government ordered about 120,000 people, mostly U.S. citizens, placed in internment camps.
This forced relocation included the Ono family, the teenage college student ending up at Camp Manzanar, CA. As the war dragged on, a large-scale commercial agricultural enterprise in South Jersey, Seabrook Farms, needed employees due to the wartime labor shortage. Consequently, about 2,500 residents of the relocation centers were permitted to come to the fields of Cumberland County to help harvest crops and support processing operations. Mr. Ono’s family was in that group.
18-year-old Frank Ono at the Manzanar Relocation Center. He was working as a mailman at the camp. (Source: Ono)
After the war, Mr. Ono got a job with a radio sales and service company in Bridgeton and within a couple of years, he established his own business in Millville, the Arrow Radio & TV Sales & Service Company. As television came in and tubes gave way to transistors and other things he kept up with the times. He operated the business for about 40 years, eventually selling it when he retired in 1985.
He had many talents and hobbies, but in retirement, he focused on educating people about this period of history, and he was deeply involved with the Seabrook Educational and Cultural Center.
I thoroughly enjoyed that spring morning six years ago and still recall his rich, vivid stories. I was fortunate to have met Mr. Ono, and have the opportunity to directly learn about a different time and place in our nation’s past. It’s an experience I will never forget so as my newsfeed alerted me to the 80th anniversary of Japanese Internment the conversation from some years earlier was still fresh in my mind. As Mr. Ono remarked, this is a story that more people need to know, and I was thankful that he shared the accounts and his photos with me.
Two years ago, I spent a fine summer day in South Jersey, becoming familiar with Salem City while contemplating research strategies for investigating the community’s recent past. My interest focused on seeking out narratives associated with the City’s transformations in the post-World War II decades, so I concentrated on identifying archived materials and interviewing sources.
It was the first time I had walked the streets of this intriguing place, and it was a productive, enjoyable day. I talked to helpful officials, paged through aging newspapers, and dug into old bound volumes of public records while visiting the Register of Wills, Clerk of the Court, County Archives, Sheriff, District Attorney, and Historical Society.
These are all methods I have honed over decades of rummaging around small towns, seeking to understand the distinctive sense of place that gives a community its rich, deep, and varied heritage. However, history isn’t confined to the archives, so part of my orientation involved strolling around the old Quaker community, visually sorting out the landscape of the past.
While exploring the remarkable built and natural environment, the close-at-hand markers of yesteryear intrigued me. Broad streets lined with historic homes, which the WPA Writers Guide remarked “would stir the envy in a Williamsburg reconstruction,” and so much more caught my attention in a community that was brimming with history.
The WCTU’s temperance fountain in Salem City.
Then, I discovered a water fountain across from the old courthouse in Martin Luther King, Jr., Memorial Park. Chiseled into the uniquely designed stone were the words, “Let him that is thirsty come. W.C.T.U. 1901.” Hundreds of strollers pass this relic off Market Street daily, paying scant attention. Perhaps one or two pause to contemplate the unique artifact, a survivor of the passage of generations, and its inscription.
But I wondered about the 115-year-old-monument in the center of the bustling courthouse town and what it symbolized. Who put it there, what was its story, and what did its sponsors want us to remember?
To delve into those questions, I returned to the Historical Society in a few weeks for a second visit as I was becoming Salem County curious. There I discovered a wonderfully resourced organization, staffed by helpful professionals and dedicated volunteers. This amazing team promptly oriented me to a strong group of resources for my little investigation, so I was off digging for evidentiary traces of the past.
Here is how my little inquiry unfolded. The Woman’s Christian Temperance Union urged its network of local unions to erect drinking fountains in 1874 so “men could get a drink of water without entering saloons and staying for stronger drinks 1. Designed to do more than quench thirst, it was hoped they would serve as a substitute for the temptation to visit dark saloons or seek out the stronger drink.
Around this time in Salem County, the sentiment against the liquor trade was growing as people worked to close saloons. A chapter was organized in the county seat in February 1884, when “a little band” of twenty-four ladies met at the Broadway Methodist Episcopal Church 1.
A Victorian-era trade card for beer. source: Boston Public Library Online Digital Collection
The municipality had several barrooms and saloons at this time. In 1886, for example, the City granted licenses under protest to J. G. Garwood, C. C. Ford of the Nelson House, and Schaefer’s Hotel, later known as Johnson’s Hotel. Licenses to sell liquor by the quart were granted to Reeves Stretch, Peter Prendergast, and Daniel Brown. Also in 1886, licenses to sell malt liquor were granted to J. P. Robinson, the Kirkwood House., and Thomas A. Newkirk.
The Union annually “agitated” against new and old licenses, and they regularly canvased for voters and women opposed to the liquor business. This vigorous crusading finally caused the City Council to exercise the power of its corporate charter in 1887, which provided complete local control over the retail liquor business. Promptly at noon on the 25th of March, hotels and saloons in the municipality closed their bars and stopped selling intoxicating beverages, the Salem Sunbeam observed.
Salem City Tavern Licenses from March 25, 1896. Signed by Jonathan W. Acton From the collection of the Salem County Historical Society
New jug taverns or quart places located conveniently near the city line bustled with trade, during this brief dry spell. Some of the popular watering-places included the “Whistlin’ Buoy,” just across from the Penn’s Neck Bridge, Reeves Stretch’s place on the Hancock’s Bridge road, Oakwood Beach, Sam McLoughlin’s and Wilks Willet’s place in Claysville 2. And there were rumors about floating barrooms.
When a new Common Council organized following the election of 1888, the officials ended the drought 3. But the strong group of united women continued the crusade against the evils of drink. By 1894, the chapter discussed the need for a public pump near Market Street to provide drinking water. The members met with Mayor Acton, hoping the City would allow the Union to at least attach a cup and chain to a public pump.
As time passed, the Union became more interested in a dedicated fountain, and a committee of Mary J. Pancoast, Mary E. Lawrence, Letitia Fogg and President Sarah J. Wagg were directed to provide stewardship on this important matter. The Salem Sunbeam observed that the temperance group seemed to be applying the practical illustration of “I was thirsty and ye gave me drink.”
A Temperance Fountain for the City
The time had arrived for the city to have a convenient refreshment for thirsty individuals, a published history noted 1. It was supposed that many would like to share in the expense to “smarten up this city and take pride in doing here what other citizens had accomplished in an adjacent town, the history noted. However, this met with only “slender results” so the WCTU developed a new money-making approach, rummage sales. The first one was held on April 24, 1901 and there was a hunt for rummage in general and gifts of merchants and families added fresh stock to the ongoing event.
As cash came in, the ladies examined models and perfected plans to erect the town’s “own source of public drinking water.” The Sunbeam reported that Anne W. Maylin reminded the eager ladies that one was also needed for horses. The decision was made in favor of a stone fountain, and Foster Bros.’s offer was accepted. It included everything except the plumbing for $135, less a $3 gift of the marble firm for the inscription.
The stone column was placed in front of the Surrogate’s Office on September 9, 1901. A triple-plated silver cup and strong, unbreakable chain were added as the gift of Thomas Hilliard Sr. “The cup was handsomely inscribed “W.C.T.U.” But it was stolen inside of nine months for which “theft a liberal dose of Jersey Justice was hinted as applicable.”
In October 1901, the Union appeared at a council meeting to officially present “to the city the beautiful drinking foundation now in placement on the pavement in front of the county building.” Mayor Gwynne accepted the gift, “saying that the city would prize it not merely for its intrinsic worth and it utility for the beautiful spirt, which promoted it. He had no doubt that for “many years thirsty wayfarers would bless the members of the WCTU for their thoughtfulness. The city accepted it gratefully and would guard it carefully, not the least of their duty, and they would plenty of water and good water,” the Sunbeam reported on October 4, 1901
As the nation edged slowly toward totally outlawing alcohol, the local WCTU had made its mark (a cup of free cold water at all hours) with a permanent monument as the ladies continued to wage war on spirits. This fountain helped conquer thirst, perhaps competing with the saloons. Sometime not too long before December 21, 1978, It was moved “to Salem’s new little park on Market Street,” the Sunbeam reported.
A Symbol of the Temperance Movement in Salem City
Thus my little mystery, a venture into yesteryear, was solved. It wasn’t just any water fountain. It was one of thousands erected nationwide by the Woman’s Christian Temperance Union as the group that got prohibition passed sought to encourage people to drink water instead of alcohol. Salem had an active union.
But now I was hooked. Salem County curious, if you will. During my brief visits, I became intrigued with the multifaceted history around me in the county, as well as how the past and present intersected. There were surviving traces of earlier times wherever I turned — grand cemeteries, public spaces, old houses and buildings, churches, and monuments — and these survivors of the passage of centuries all stimulated my inquisitiveness.
Along the way, I learned where to turn for the best help for unlocking the secrets of time. The Salem County Historical Society has an enormous treasure trove of photographs, newspapers, manuscripts, books, and ephemera. This vibrant organization was doing a wonderful job of fulfilling its mission, serving as the heritage keepers in the South Jersey county while helpfully sharing the area’s stories with inquisitive types. It is the place to learn more about the past, the culture, and the people.
So if you are Salem County curious – for whatever reason your interest is sparked — be sure to visit the Society. A group of helpful volunteers will help you mine a comprehensive collection of sources for nuggets of information as you piece together your puzzle. Since that time two years ago, I have been back many times working on my broader investigation, but now that I am curious all sorts of things are constantly distracting me.
Harriet F. Van Meter, “First Quarter Century of the Woman’s Christian Temperance Union, Salem, New Jersey,” Google Books, 1909, |PAGE|, accessed October 01, 2020, https://www.google.com/books/edition/First_Quarter_Century_of_the_Woman_s_Chr/iRwyAQAAMAAJ?hl=en&gbpv=1&bsq=salem[↩][↩][↩]
