ThistlefMfflbum-Short Hilb tHistorical Society

P.O. Box 843'Short Hltt»,2U 07078

Vol. XXX Fail 2001

I Remember Millburn and Short Hills in the 1940sby Steve Henkel

I remember...in 1938, when I was only alad of five, coming from East Orange to

what was then "the country" in ShortHills. I moved with my parents and olderbrother Joel into a rented house some-where close to 600 White Oak Ridge Road(WORR), near South Orange Avenue,almost on the Livingston border. Theexact address is now forgotten, though 1imagine an old town directory could beused to find it.

(386 White Oak Ridge Road, SH, circa 1940)

About a year later, we bought a house acouple of miles away, at 386 WORR, aplace that eventually became the Wee

Folk Nursery School. We lived there until1952, when my parents bought land in thewoods and built the house now standing (thelast time I checked anyway) at 272Hartshorn Drive, on the road's then-newly-paved extension. Robert Drive, on thecorner of our lot, was then nothing morethan a 100-foot stub running off HartshornDrive. I still have photos of these houses inthe old days and even constructionblueprints of our Hartshorn Drive house.

1 remember... attending Hobart Avenue(Short Hills) School all the way throughfrom first grade in September 1939 tograduation in June 1945. I skipped kin-dergarten only because there was no mid-day school bus and our family only had onecar, which my father took to work inNewark. My Hobart Avenue Schooldiploma, signed by my sixth grade teacherAnna Dale and principal Eugene Wilkens,hangs now on the wall by my computer,behind glass in a dignified wood frame. 1regret no longer being able to pay my oldschool a visit, which might have joggedadditional memories, but it was torn downmany years ago. Still 1 remember the odorof varnished wood, paste-waxed floors,

1

I Remember Millbum and Short Hills, conVd

and wet wool in the "cloakrooms" behindeach classroom. I remember the particu-larly kindly school janitor, "Mr. Van", ashort, sad-looking man who seemed to bethe building engineer, maintenance man,coal stoker for the steam plant, painter andsweeper all wrapped up in one. I remem-ber making pencil drawings of B- 17s andP-38s -airplanes used in the war - andtrading some of them for toy ships toclassmate Charles "Bus15 Bishop. Muchlater I became a sailor and Bus, apparentlyinto war, became a Marine Corps general.Were those early trades a precursor of"coming attractions"?

I remember.. .singing at school"assembly" from an orange-coveredsongbook called "SING!" A batteredcopy of this venerable tome, stamped"Short Hills School, Millburn, N.J., Apr.29, 1940", stands open before me now, soI can accurately recite the names of someof our favorites - and we were permittedto choose them by shouted acclamation,though only if we had been well-behaved.Some of the best were: Ivan SkizavitskvSkivar; Nelly Blv: Some Folks Do: Oh,Susanna; Camptown Races: Dixie;Alouette; Shorfnin* Bread: Good-Bve MyLover Good-Bve: The Erie Canal (slow-beat but suitably masculine); The Ar-kansas Traveler; She'll Be Comin' Roundthe Mountain; and When I Was a Lad. Itseems to me that at least the boys, if notthe girls, too, groaned when we wereasked to sing slow-beat sentimental songslike Silver Threads Among the Gold; In

the Gloaming: Jeanie With the Light BrownHair; Old Folks at Home; and Juanita. Iwonder whether the kids still sing thesejoyous, historical and moving songs, orwould even recognize their titles. Whatabout America the Beautiful and even theStar Spangled Banner? It would be nice if allthese songs were still sung in Millburn andShort Hills grammar schools.

I remember...in the 1940s the neighbor'sspotted cow (whether Holstein, Jersey, orGuernsey either I don't remember or neverknew). The cow was tethered to a stake in apasture along WORR. We periodicallymoved her so we could play sandlot baseballin her space, with the kids in the neighbor-hood... Gerry Dale, Bobby Berberich, theGinty sisters (Mary Jo and Frances), SteveFleming, Al Paulsen...Most of our fathersspent the day at work away from home,taking the single family car and leaving ourmothers - and us - without automotivetransportation. We made our way aroundthe neighborhood, and just about every-where else, on bicycles - even the threemiles or so down to Millburn center andback. Of course, there was a lot less trafficthen - perhaps due to wartime gas rationing.I remember one woman driver, though, whowas unaffected by gas rationing - Mrs. CarlBadenhausen, the Ballantine Beer king'swife, who lived in the big house at thecorner of Old Short Hills Road and Parson-age Hill Road, and who drove an electric carthat even in the 1940s was an antique.

(continued on page 10)

Recent Acquisitions

The society is very grateful to receive local artifacts and memorabiliafrom generous residents and/or members. We are happy to be able to preserve,share and use for reference these relics of Millburn-Short Hills history.

Please contact us and tell us if we neglected to include your donationinformation here. We need the information for our records in addition tomaking sure we don't forget to thank you! Our sincerest thanks to the followingpeople for enriching the lives of all residents by their donations:

From Marian Nieder> courtesy of GailEngelschjon, 1928,1929,1930,1932 Millbum High SchoolMill wheel yearbooks

From Connie Brewer, 1935. 1936, 1937Millburn High School Millwheelyearbooks

• From American Legion Post 140,courtesy of Dan Pariso, 1945Daily News

• From Bea Hoffman, courtesy of JanetPacio-Pizar, numerous photos,including Mayflower Laundry,Casa Columbo, Fandango Mill,Main Street houses no longerstanding

From Naneen Levine, 1965-66 ChristChurch directory

From Mary Haggett, ca. 1933 photoof Chatham Rd (see below),spice box from Hobart Avestore

• From Lisa Goldman, copy of 1913postcard found in the wall ofher home

- From Bob and Joan Boiles, MillburnFeed memorabilia and a hatfrom Le Cloche in Millburn

- From Mrs. James Marsh, courtesy ofMaida Tansey, oil painting ofPrince home

The Romance and Tragedy of aWidely Known Business Man of

New York {Part Three)

In the prior two editions of the Thistle, WilliamIngraham Russell's life in Short Hills in the 1880swas introduced through his book "The Romance andTragedy of a Widely Known Business Man of NewYork", in which he recalls his prosperous businessventures, followed by darker days, when he felt hisShort Hills friends abandoned him. At the point atwhich part one ended, the Russells had purchased"Sunnyside", the house which they had been renting,at 39 Knollwood Road. As his business and familythrived, Mr. Russell began to consider building alarger home in Short Hills. Part two chronicled themove from "Sunnyside" into "Redstone" and a franklook at some of the Russells' Short Hills friends andneighbors. Part three of Russell's story will carrythe reader through to the imminent collapse of hisbusiness.

"The year 1883 was uneventful.At home, life moved on serenely in its accustomed

channels. We were very happy and did all we couldto make others so.

For the summer months, thinking that a changemight be good for the children, we rented a cottage atOyster Bay. This was a pleasant experience, but wewere glad to get home early in the rail. Our elder sonwas now nearly ten years old, the school atKnollwood was not satisfactory, and we entered himat the Academy at Media, Pennsylvania. His motherand I went over with him, and though the little fellowwas brave enough to keep a stiff upper lip when wesaid good-by, I knew he was homesick, and so werewe. It was a very hard strain to leave him behind us.

Business had fallen off a little during the first halfof the year, but this was made up later and I did aboutas well as in the year previous, making a little overtwenty-five thousand dollars."

While Russell never reveals to the reader theprecise nature of his business (but it seems fairlyobvious that he was a commodities broker or trader),he reveals much more about his business practicesand his income:

"At the beginning of 1884 our business wasincreasing so rapidly that it became necessary to havea larger office force to handle it. Orders poured in

4

day after day and it was evident we were gettingthe preference from all large and most of thesmall buyers throughout the country.

That die future had a much larger business instore for us we felt assured and we wanted to getready for it in advance of the coming. Graduallywe commenced to weed out the little fellows.

Some of these small concerns had become soaccustomed to sending us their orders and wereso well satisfied with the way we had treatedthem that they objected strongly to being turneddown. Still, we were in the line of progress andhad outgrown that class.

Now for the broader field. We had onethousand letters prepared and mailed at one time.These were addressed to a list of allegedlywealthy out-of-town investors, which we hadpurchased from an addressing agency. Not onesingle reply did we receive.

Then we took our <sBradstreet's" and atrandom selected the names of five hundredfirms, scattered over the United States, rating notless than five hundred thousand dollars. Theletters were addressed to the senior partner ofeach firm. Before the end of the year nearly twohundred of those men were on our books. Everyone of them made money.

Toward the latter part of the year there was afalling off in our trade with the consumers,owing to a period of dullness in themanufacturing industries; but what we lost inthis way was more than offset by the gainaccruing from the business with speculativeclients.

On December 31st I had the satisfaction ofknowing that for the first time my profits for asingle year exceeded thirty thousand dollars.

In my home life there had been nothing tomar in the slightest degree its serenity anddelight; indeed, our happiness had beenincreased on the ninth of June by the arrival ofour third daughter."

In chapter ten, Russell reveals some of the dipsin his road before the even bigger fall to come:

"Although the conditions of general businesswere unsatisfactory at the beginning of 1885 andI had much doubt of the year proving asprofitable as the one previous, I never dreamedof such a railing off as actually occurred.

Our clients had done well and we expectedthey would continue their operations. We didnot in our calculations make allowance for the

fact that these men were all in active business. As arule, such men do not go into outside matters whentheir own business is dull or unprofitable. It is ingood times, when they are making money, that theyenter the speculative field.

Before the winter was over our books werecleared of speculative contracts.

We thought of making efforts to secure newcustomers but decided it would at that time be uselessfor if men who knew the business and had mademoney at it were unwilling to go on, it was hardlypossible to enlist the interest of people who knewnothing about it.

Month after month I saw the business decrease,but took it philosophically. I could afford to wait forbetter times and meanwhile did not worry, knowingthat we were getting more than our share of whatbusiness there was.

These dull times were not without theircompensation.

They brought me the opportunity to go off withmy wife on little trips of a few days' duration. Whatdelightful trips those were! Newport, Narragansett,Nantasket, Swampscott, Manchester-by-the-sea,Newcastle, and all the pretty places accessible viaFall River boats - these were the most attractive, forwe enjoyed the sail and disliked train travel in warmweather. Frequently some of our friendsaccompanied us, but oftener we went alone.

What jolly times we had!Then too in this dull year I made my business

days shorter, a late train in the morning and an earlyone home in the afternoon giving me so much moretime with my family.

Oh, it was a great year!For better times I could wait with patience. 1 was

not money-mad, not eager for accumulation of greatwealth; my real fortune I had already gained in thewealth of love bestowed upon me by the woman 1adored. I valued money for the good it would do, thecomfort and pleasure it would bring to those I loved;but for the reputation of having it, not at all.

1 wanted to succeed. I felt I had succeeded.In my twentieth year under the largest salary 1 was

ever paid, my income was five hundred dollars - inmy thirty-fourth year it was thirty thousand andearned by my own efforts, out of a business that Ialone had created; for the business of that time boreno relation whatever to the one in which I hadsucceeded my old employer. Surely I had cause forcongratulation, no matter how dull business might befor the time being.

Knollwood had been growing these yearswith astonishing rapidity and our social circlewas now a fairly large one.

The characteristics, so attractive the first yearof our residence there, were still unchanged. Thenewcomers were all nice people and the righthand of good-fellowship was extended andaccepted in the true spirit.

In addition to the many beautiful new housesthere had been erected a small but very prettystone church of Episcopalian denomination.

At the time the building of the church wasplanned, I remember a conversation on thesubject that afterwards seemed prophetic.

1 was talking on the train with a gentleman,an officer of the New York Life InsuranceCompany, who, while he did not reside in thePark, lived in the vicinity and mingled sociallywith our people. I told him we were going tobuild a church. "What?" he said. "Don't do it;you have a charming social circle now that willsurely be ruined if you do." I expressed surpriseat his remark, and he only shook his head andwith more earnestness added, "Mark my words,that church will be the commencement oftrouble; cliques will form, friction and gossipwill arise, and your delightful social life will be athing of the past."

It is a fact that his words came true, and yet 1contributed to the cost of the building andsupport of the church, and under the sameconditions would do it again.

At the end of December I found my incomehad been cut in half. I had made but fifteenthousand dollars, but the year had been soenjoyable in my home life 1 was entirelysatisfied. The additional time dull business hadpermitted me to spend with my family was worthall it cost."

In 1886 Russell noted that the "dam" of "dullbusiness" finally gave way and "consumers anddealers again became liberal buyers and theirlead was soon followed by the speculativefraternity". He noted that long hours and hardwork once again became the rule as their".. .success had become known by this time, notonly to every one in the trade, but also to manyoutsiders." He adds:

"Business activity was maintained until theclose of the year and I again had made a record.My profits were thirty-six thousand dollars.

5 "

*:*;£• •**£*--*-

"?--" v.-,-->• it

Our social life at Knollwood tliis year had beengoing on at a rapid pace and its more formalcharacter began to take shape.

The frequent pleasant little dinner-parties of fourto six couples, where bright and entertainingconversation was general had gone through a courseof evolution and become functions where two orthree times the number sat at the board and struggledthrough so many courses that one became wearied ofsitting still. Those enjoyable amateur dramaticperformances, followed by light refreshment and acouple of hours' dancing,*had been replaced by thegrand ball with its elaborate supper. But there" stillremained one feature, unique and delightful:

The New Year reception - every New Year's dayfor many years a reception was held at the Casino(Editor's note: The Casino was where the Racquets Clubis now. The building was designed by noted architectStanford W)\ite, to serve as a social center for thecommunity. It was constructed in 1879 and destroyed byfire nearly 100years later). The residents, loaningfrom their homes rugs, draperies, paintings, statuary,and fine furniture, transformed that large auditoriuminto an immense drawing-room. The green-housescontributed palms and blooming plants in profusion.In the enormous fire-place burned great logs. At oneend of the room a long table from which was served,as wanted, all that could be desired by the inner man.The stage, set with a pretty garden scene and rattanfurniture, where the men lounged as they had theirsmoke. Music by a fine orchestra, interspersed withoccasional songs by our own local talent.

The reception was from six until nine, thenthe rugs were gathered up, the furniture movedfrom the center of the floor, and dancing wasenjoyed until midnight.

For miles around, every one that was eligiblenever foiled to be present on those occasions. Itwas the one great social event of each year, andlong after the circle was broken the custom wasstill kept up, until finally it died out owing to theindifference of the new-comers. For such acommunity it was a beautiful custom and in itsinception served to cement the spirit of cordialityand good-will."

The following year, a single venture into thespeculative purchase of one hundred tons ofRussell's commodity netted him a profit oftwenty thousand dollars almost overnight. Itboosted his earnings for the year to sixty-onethousand dollars and be notes:

"On February fourteenth, as a valentine, therecame to 'Redstone' our fourth daughter and thefamily was complete. With two sons and fourdaughters, the ban of 'race suicide,' theory ofPresident Roosevelt, rests not on us."

In the following chapter, titled "ExcitingTimes", Russell notes: "The year 1888 from startto finish was one whirl of excitement in mybusiness life. The mental effort of handling theenormous business - it must be remembered thatours was a one-man concern -was mostexhausting. I became weary of making moneyand longed for a dull period that I might rest."But there was no dull period that year."

His observations on some of his businesstransactions at that point indicate a great dealabout the gentle side of Russell's character - andthe iess-than-admirable side of some of hisclients:

"As previously explained we guaranteed allsales, and whenever a customer defaulted we atonce sold double the quantity we had sold him,to some strong concern. This made us short ofthe market, and while we made some loss on theinitial transaction, our profit on the second salealways more than extinguished it.

The first man who defaulted brought to ouroffice a deed for a farm in Pennsylvania andoffered it to us for the four thousand dollars heowed, 1 handed it back to him, told him to giveit to his wife, and forgave the debt.

The next man was a bigger fish. He owed usnineteen thousand eight hundred dollars. We

6

made up the account, and when I handed him thestatement I told him we would not press him and ifhe was ever able to pay us twenty-five cents on thedollar we would give him a receipt in full. In lateryears he was worth a good deal of money, though Ibelieve he has since lost it, but he never paid us adollar.

After him came a few small men, who altogetherowed us perhaps ten thousand dollars. We told themall if they ever felt able to pay we would be glad tohave the money, but would never press them for it.

Of the whole lot, only one ever paid. His accountwas only a few hundred dollars, and I had forgottenit, when one day he called at the office, said hisfather had died, leaving him a little money, and hewanted to pay us. He asked, "What rate of interestdo you charge me?" I replied, tsNothing; and if youcannot afford it, you may leave us out entirely." Heinsisted on paying the principal.

Our treatment of these people was not goodbusiness in the general sense.. .but they had oursympathy in their trouble and we could afford to losethe money."

In spite of these events, Russell reported that: "Atthe end of the year, after charging off all the losses,amounting to about one hundred thousand dollars,(he) had made a net profit of one hundred and twentythousand dollars."

That very comfortable income apparently allowedthe Russell family to enjoy the status of the mostaffluent family in "the Park" at the time and theyshared that comfort with their friends and neighbors:"Although very fond of horses and driving it was notuntil 1888 that we indulged ourselves in thatdirection.

When we built 'Redstone' we planned where wewould put the stable when ready for it, but were in nohurry about building.

For fast horses I had no liking. My taste was forhigh-stepping carriage horses. A pair that could pulla heavy T-cart (Editor's note: Defined as "a kind offashionable two seated wagon for pleasure driving. ) withfour people eight or nine miles an hour and keep it upwithout urging, were fast enough in my opinion. Iwanted high-spirited, blooded animals, fine carriagesand perfect appointments. Until I could afford such,I preferred to go without.

hi the spring I bought a pair of black VermontMorgans. They were beauties and the whole familyfell in love with them at once. For the summer Isecured the use of a neighbor's un-occupied stableand then commenced the erection of my own. After

this was finished I matched my first horses withanother pair exactly like them and also bought asmall pony for the younger children and a largerone for the boys.

It was not long before I had trained my horsesto drive either tandem {Editor's note: Defined as"Hitching two or more horses in a line, not abreast"),four-in-hand (Editor's note: "The first four-in-handwas a four-horse carriage, introduced in England inthe late I9h century and rigged in such a way that asingle driver could handle all four horses by himselfThis was significant, because before the four-in-handcame along, you needed two drivers to handle fourhorses. In fact, this solo driver could handle all fourhorses by holding the reins of all four in one hand,thus the name four-in-hand), or three abreast, andwith an assortment of various styles of carriagesmy equipment was complete.

From the Paris-built drag (Editor's note: Alarge-capacity enclosed carriage-with a roof andsides) carrying eight passengers besides my twomen, down to the pony cart, everything was ofthe best.

My combination carriage-house and stablewas architecturally a very handsome building,and in its interior every detail, useful andornamental, had received careful attention. Thebuilding cost me about seven thousand dollars,but judging from its appearance and size myneighbors thought that my investment waslarger. As it approached completion I suggestedto my wife the idea of giving a barn-dance,something unique in the annals of Knollwood.We immediately went into a committee of twoon plans and scope and as a result evolved anevening of surprise and delight for our friends.

The invitations, engraved in usual note-sheetform, had on the upper half of the page a fineengraving of the front of the stable, and beneathin old English, "Come and dance in the barn."We received our guests in the hall and drawing-room fragrant with blooming plants. From a rearpiazza a carpeted and canvas-enclosed platformextended across the lawn to the carriage-house.The floor had been covered with canvas for thedancers. Brilliantly illuminated, in addition tothe permanent decorations, a life-sized jockey inbronze bas-relief and numerous coachingpictures, was the work of the florist. The largeorchestra was upstairs surrounding the opencarriage trap, which was concealed from belowby masses of smilax.

In the stable each of the six stalls had beenconverted into a cozy nook where soft light fromshaded lamps fell on rugs and draperies. On eachstaU post was a massive floral horseshoe. The ordersof dancing, besides the usual gold-embossedmonogram, bore an engraving of a tandem cart withhigh-stepping horses and driver snapping his longwhip. Attached to each was a sterling silver pencilrepresenting the foreleg of a horse in action, the shoebeing of gold. Supper was served in the dining roomfrom a table decorated in keeping with the event, thecenter-piece being a model in sugar of the tandemdesign on the order of dancing.

The affair was a great success in every way, andthe following evening we allowed our coloredservants to entertain their friends at the stable. Witha few of our neighbors we witnessed the "cake-walk"and found much fun in it. The next day the horseswere in possession."

Willvui RiLv«il was votv prouJ «rt hh ji-T-hl.itk IHIOK*. Thev alwav* Jrcw attention in :mvnvvlicii dtK<f went to he rc-ihoJ. A eruup pu«» itt .in i»jvn ctctw^c tin ;i picture before a Sundaydrive.

(This photo is from the historical society's newestbook, Arcadia Publishing's Images of America;Millburn-Short Hills, written by Owen Lampe.Pictured here are the horses of which WilliamRussell wrote and of which he was so proud. Wepresume this carriage might be his "heavy T-cart",of which he was also proud. They are seen hereposing before the Russells' house, Redstone. Thisbook is available from the society for $20)

The story of the Russells' stay in Short Hills willcontinue in the next edition of the Thistle, when theRussells decide to leave Knollwood and their beloved'Redstone'. Redstone, which is no longerstanding, was at Wells Lane and Knollwood Road. Itsuccumbed to fire in 1934.

GLENWOOD

During the monthsof November and December

the society will have on exhibit

MEMORABILIA ANDPHOTOSOF THE GLENWOOD AREAAND GLENWOOD SCHOOL

Please come on Tuesdays 5:30-7:30,Wednesdays 3:30-5:30,

or the first Sunday of the month 2-4to see

Glenwood class photos & report cards,real estate maps and information,

Chatham Road circa 1933and more...

D HISTORICAL SOCIETYOFFICERS AND TRUSTEES

2001-2002

PRESIDENT:David Siegfried

VICE PRESIDENTS:Thomas BoioLynneRanieri

CORRESPONDING SECRETARY:Valerie Midtbo

RECORDING SECRETARY:Leigh Giffbrd

TREASURER:George Goffe

TRUSTEES:Vaclav BenesKaren Eastman BigosJeff CurryLois EppingerRosalie FarberMonique HoogenboomBrian KobbergerJennifer Nichols

ADVISORS:Valerie BleierOwen LampeMichelle Miller

A Tribute to Tom Collins

This past June the historical society and theresidents of Millbum and Short Hills lost amuch-loved and valuable friend and resource.Tom Collins, one of the finest gentlemen wehave ever had the pleasure of knowing, passedaway in June. He left us a legacy of wonderfulmemories and enriched our lives and archiveswith his reminiscences and research.

When Tom was a young man growing up onthe Hartshorn estate (his father was StewartHartshorn's driver), he remembered watching theartist William Rowell Derrick painting scenes ofthe estate. Those vivid memories stayed withhim throughout his life and grew into adetermination to find as much about the artist ashe could. It was with more than a grain of truththat Tom said many times that he knew moreabout Derrick's history and life than the artisthimself probably knew.

That life-long absorption finally broughtTom to the fulfillment of his dream when heself-published a wonderful book about Derrick.The book features beautiful color photos ofDerrick's work, on almost every other of its 45pages of text (a total of 57 pages with thebibliography and notes). In addition, it has adelightful chapter of memories and photos ofShort Hills in the mid-20s to mid-30s.

For those society members or townshipresidents who have asked about a small donationin Tom's memory, the society would like tosuggest the purchase of his book. The beautifullittle hardcover book is $45. Checks can bemade out to the society and the money will beforwarded to Tom's wife, Ginny. A few Derrickbooks can be picked up at the museum and therest will be sent by Ginny. For moreinformation, call the museum at 564-9519.

8

I Remember Millburn and Short Hills, cont 'd

I remember.. .the frail, elderly Mrs. Parsil nextdoor, who was probably the sole remaining heir tothe Parsil family acreage in our neighborhood (withthe possible exception of the Reverend Leroy Parsil,then the old and almost totally deaf pastor of the tinyWhite Oak Ridge chapel on Parsonage Hill Road,just down the hill from the corner of White OakRidge Road). I imagine that Mrs. Parsil's ancestors -some of them Revolutionary officers who foughtbravely in the Battle of Springfield - and perhaps sheherself- had gradually sold off the land. By the timewe moved in next door, she was living alone in asmall wood-frame house that, as I picture it today,might have been as aged as the Revolutionary-eraParsil family cemetery just a few hundred yards southof us, at the comer of White Oak Ridge Road andParsonage Hill Road. Her house, I think, by nowmust have long since been bulldozed away. (Editor'snote: Happily> we can report that it still stands onWhite Oak Ridge Road).

I remember.. .the two-man wooden bobsled,complete with a spoked steel steering wheel, leftabandoned in the back shed at 386 WORR by aformer owner. We kids used bent-over nails to attacha pair of previously-junked "Radio Flyer" wagonaxles and hard-rubber wheels under the runners, and- presto-chango! - we had a go-cart, admittedly witha rather high center of gravity. It didn't have anykind of brakes, but we figured we could drag our feetto slow it down if necessary. One day, alone andbored, I pushed the go-cart to the top of ParsonageHill Road, jumped aboard, and began coasting downthe hill. Only when it was too late did I realize thatthe cart was going much too fast for my foot-dragging to work. When a critical speed wasreached, the steering wheel started to oscillate wildly,and the cart and I went totally out of control. Thecart turned over and I slid along the gravel strip at theedge of the road, acquiring a classic "sidewalk burn"as I tumbled and skidded down the hill.

I remember.. .that sidewalk bum being thereason I visited the big old house at the comer ofForest Drive and Park Place, where DoctorThayer Smith kept an office in his home. Dr.Smith was a tall, angular man with a shock ofsnow-white hair and bushy eyebrows thatreached way out into space. He had a no-nonsense manner, and smeared iodine on mybackside with what seemed at the time likecoarse sandpaper. Meanwhile I wailed andstruggled, and was held down on an examiningtable by my father. The experience did nothingto endear me to doctors, iodine, or go-carts withno brakes. After that, the kid designers gottogether and devised a pair of wood levers,attached to the go-cart's frame, one on each sideabove the wheels, which would rub against thetires when firmly tugged. They worked wellenough to avoid the need for anymore visits toThayer Smith - especially since thereafter I wasquick to reach for the brakes at the merest hint oftoo much speed.

I remember.. .going swimming (skinny-dipping, actually) in the old swimming hole atFourth Pond, and later at Third Pond, in the daysbefore the lakes were filled in and a new prepschool campus was built.

At that time, a babbling brook of crystal clearwater flowed northeast from Fourth Pond, intoThird, Second, and First Ponds (as we kids calledthe ponds then, though they may have had othernames). The stream proceeded northeast,through a culvert under Parsonage Hill Road,paralleling WORR a hundred and fifty yards orso to the southeast of the roadway. It flowedright along the back edge of our long, narrow,roughly one-acre lot, and served a purpose inflood control, filling right up to the brim inheavy rains, and going almost dry in droughts.

I remember.. .the fish pond in the back yardof 386 WORR. One of the property's earlierowners had created a round pond by wideningthe brook, to perhaps thirty feet in diameter,

10

I Remember Millburn and Short Hills, cont 'd

building masonry walls using cement mortar andfield stones almost certainly borrowed" from theplentiful old stone walls back in the woods, anddamming up the brook at the northeast end of theproperty. This was done by using wood plankswhich fitted into slots made for the purpose in thesluiceway where the brook flowed out. Some formerowner - probably the fish pond builder - hadabandoned what appeared to be a waterwheel rig,complete with bearings, shafts, pulleys, belts, andother nondescript parts, stored in a shed used mainlyby us kids as a place to play. We found most of theparts to the water wheel, but never figured out how toset it up, or what it had powered, if anything.

1 remember.. .the woods - a couple of squaremiles of them - behind 386 WORR in the 1940s,which were part of the vast holdings of the HartshornEstate. The woods seemed totally untouched by thehand of man, except for low stone walls that criss-crossed the area. These walls were built perhaps ahundred or two hundred years before, when the areawas open farmland, rather than covered with trees.The edge of the woods began at our property line,right at the brook. A sturdy wood foot bridge archedthe flood on the downstream side of our fish pond.

I remember.. .my brother buying his first two"junk" cars, for junk prices, from neighbors rightafter the war ended in 1945, when he was 16 and 1was 13. We were both too young to drive on publicroads, but not too young to drive around in thepristine woods behind our house, with nobody aroundto stop us. Though old, the cars were big, solid andtough, with heavy-duty bumpers and big wheels.They had no trouble crashing through the underbrush,knocking down saplings and bumping over the lowstone walls. One was a 1927 Willys Knight, with ahuge engine - 1 think it had twelve cylinders - withrotary valves and a gigantic truck-like body. TTieother was a 1932 Willys Overland. Eventually thebodies on both cars disintegrated, but both would beworth a fortune today if only we had preserved them.

I remember...meeting "Stewie" Hartshorn (thethird) and later his wife, Ernestine, who werefriends of my parents. When my father firstintroduced me to Stewie. he was a bachelor, andhe soon befriended my brother and me. He wasa good craftsman, with all kinds of power toolsin the workshop at his big house on HighlandAvenue, where he lived alone except for a coupleof his house staff. My brother and I had acquiredan old one-cylinder motorcycle engine, andwanted to build a powered sidecar to clamp ontoour bicycles, with the engine as motive power.We drew up plans, and Stewie agreed to weld forus a frame of galvanized pipe, and to machinesome parts on his metal-cutting lathe accordingto our specifications. The sidecar ran. butunfortunately pulled strongly to the left side,opposite the powered side wheel, requiringconsiderable strength to steer the contraption in astraight line. We soon learned to plan aheadduring our road tests, because we knew we didn'thave the strength to turn right - only left.

i

(The sidecar that "Steivie" Hartshorn helped build.View is looking northeast on WORR. Note theempty land on the left - the cornfield where MarshallWilder had his radio tower)

11

• • . . -^i. ft";

I

Q

- • >-• - - —

1• * *J>

I

(The 6th grade at Glenwood School in June,1946:

L to R, front row: Harry Richardson, JohnPfalt%, PeteSkipman, Art Schmauder, MaryBeth Ward, Anne Von Thaden, Joan Smith,Tina Coyle, Ruth Jean Philips, Carol Pippitt,Betsey A If ord.

Secofid row: Roger Woodruff, Andy Anderson,JaneFreund, Maty Lou Harter, Sally St. John,Dottie Kenlan, JndithReiitlinger, BarbaraKoch, Karin Peterson.

3rd row: Bill Klehm, John Power, BillHollister, Spencer Letts, Peter Van Orman, BillBlemings. Bach Mr S.Henrietta Birmingham.

Missing: Nadia Zahodiakin.)

(Carol Pippitt Henkel's Glenwood Schooldiploma)

E I ? L 0 Jl A

i i t i t o i e t U f [ t o s t

5 * » tUUtot t i e « 0 r k o f t e e O i x t b

S r a d o i s U i S & o r * K i l l s S o f c a o i R r. d

l a n o w r e « <2 y t o e s t e r e e v o n t s £ r a a c

i n t h e J u n i o r H i g h S c h o o l .

B e t a

(My Hobart Ave School 6th grade diploma,showing how they did it in the old days.)

12

Remember Millbum and Short Hills* cont'd

I remember.. .the old Racquets Club in the 1940s,before it burned down. I didn't appreciate it then, asI would now, the magnificent Stanford White design,particularly the wide, balustraded circular staircaseleading dramatically from the first-floor receptionarea to the theater-cum-badminton court on thesecond floor. I remember Hugo, the club steward, arotund, but not particularly jolly man with apronounced German accent. His wife (Anna?Hannah? Frieda? Does anyone remember?) seemedmuch nicer to us pre-teen boys when we hung aroundthe club. My friends and I would walk over from theHobart Avenue school after classes, and play pool inthe sky-lighted game room, or play hide-and-seek allover the clubhouse, from the pits behind the bowlingalleys to the wings behind the upstairs stage.

My lather taught me to play squash and tennisthere (supplemented by some lessons from TommyIanicelli, who moonlighted from his job at the ShortHills Club). It was at the Racquets Club, too, that Iattempted to learn how to dance, under the stern andwatchful eyes of Mrs. Chaliffe and Mrs. Wells.

My time at trying to dance was not well spent. Iwas among the shortest boys in those days (and amsomewhat vertically challenged even today), and iflife was always fair, I should have been paired withshort girls. But life is not always fair, and it seems tome that I danced mainly with girls who wereexcessively - 1 am tempted to say "grotesquely" -tall, towering above me. Furthermore, the girls Iended up with, I think, may have been as shy andsilent as I was in those days, if not more so. If thereis such a thing as a male wallflower, I was it.

I remember.. .the Wilder girls, Keita and Ginger,who lived across WORR in the pre-Revolutionary-War-era house that George Washington wassupposed to have slept in. The house, at 365 WORR,was allegedly built in 1709 by Thomas Parsil, and issaid to be the oldest dwelling in town. Ginger was inmy class at school (and would have been a welcomepartner at dancing school, being of reasonable sizeand vivacious personality, but she didn't attend). Thegirls' father, Marshall Wilder, was an electronics

inventor who worked for RCA, and had a handin the development of television. He was also aradio hobbyist, and had built a radio antennatower, perhaps a hundred feet high, behind hishouse in what had been a cornfield. The antennawas wired into a room full of ham radioequipment, with which he was able to talk topeople in other states, and even other countries,whenever he felt the urge. To us kids, this was atrue miracle.

I remember the Wilders' TV set, which was abox about the size of a modern washing machineor dryer, with a hinged lid featuring a mirror onits underside. A tiny TV screen, perhaps threeinches by three inches, faced upward, andprojected an image onto the mirror. Only theperson sitting directly in front of the mirror couldwatch the shows, which were few and farbetween in those early days of TV broadcasting.And I remember Marshall Wilder giving us kidsold radio parts from his "junk box" so we couldbuild a crystal set to get WOR and WJZ, thelocal (Newark and New York) stations, withoutmuch success.

I remember.. .the barbershop where mybrother and I would get our hair cut on Saturdayafternoon, and then walk across the street to takein a matinee at the Millbum Movie Theater. Thiswould be an all-aftemoon affair, with a LoneRanger (or Tom Mix?) short, the latestMovietone News with Lowell Thomas (and StanLomax?), and a double feature, all in black andwhite on the big screen.

I remember.. .that Millbum was more like avillage than a town in those days. And Iremember so many Millbum people from the1940s who helped shape my way of looking atthe world, and contributed to my growing upstraight (if not tall) and becoming a happy adult.For some reason, Frank Tighe, proprietor of theGulf station at the comer of Essex and MainStreets, comes to mind, though I never saw theman outside his place of business, nor ever formore time than it takes to gas up a car. Yet I

13'

[The house my parents (Marv and Jean Henkel)built at 272 Hartshorn Drive in 1952.]

believe he helped me to understand the world, insome way I can't remember, or even imagine now.Perhaps it is the way I remember his face, alwayssrniUng and jolly, as if he didn't have a care in theworld - a good face for anyone to put on for theworld to see.

And I remember Mr. Miller, at Miller's Marketacross the street from Tighe's gas station, when Iwent with my mother to do grocery shopping. Mr.Miller amazed me by adding up the prices of dozenor more grocery items in pencil on the flattened sideof a paper bag, and doing it almost instantaneously.(This,, of course, was in the days before electric, letalone electronic, calculators.) It was an inspirationand a challenge to any seven-year-old to try toaccelerate his calculations to Mr. Miller's lightningspeed.

And I think of Mr. Fruchtman, the owner of thelocal cigar and newspaper store at the comer ofMillburn Avenue and Main Street, who I seem toremember mainly because he objected to my reading,but not buying, comics and model airplane magazinesin his shop. For some reason he made a lastingimpression on me. though I can't define it now.unless, perhaps, that was where I learned that there isNo Free Lunch.

. The good ones were often the disciplinarians:Mrs. Rechnitzer, Mrs. McCollum, Mr. Denninger.Mr. Shannon More definable help in shaping myways might be expected from teachers, both goodand bad ("I can be a good friend but a hardtaskmaster") - or they were easy-going but good

. 14

explainers: Mr. Salisbury, Mrs. Wirsz, Mr.Focht, Mr. Ridgeway - or just hard-charging,like Mr. Toan ("Hustle! Hustle! Time'sawasthr !M). I won't name the bad ones, but inthe long run, they too contributed to my view ofthings. All of them - good and bad - taughtlessons that I have never forgotten.

The author of the above reminiscence,Ste\>e Henkel, greM> up in Short Hills, andgraduated from Hobart Avenue School in 1945and Millburn High School in 1951. In 1955, aweek after graduating from Princeton with adegree in mechanical engineering, he married aShort Hills girl Carol Pippin (Glenwood '46,Millburn High School '52). After a year ofresidence in Manhattan, the couple returned toShort Hills and lived in a garage apartment (nowa separate house) at 68 Hemlock Road, behindwhat was then known as the Carrington Estate.In 1961 the Henkels decided to take up sailing,and after determining that neither North norSouth Pond was large enough for extensivena\>igation, they moved to Darien, CT, on LongIsland Sound. There they resided for 3 0 years,raised two sons, and were shipmates with morethan 30 different boats. In 1990 they movedsouth to Osprey, FL, where they now live. Steveis currently working on his fourth book, and thethird on boats and boating.

(100 South Terrace, home of the Pippin familyfrom 1940 to 1983.)

Dues Renewals

If you have not yet renewed your membership in the historical society, please sendyour check to, and made payable to, the Millburn-Short Hills Historical Society, PO Box243, Short Hills, NJ 07078 with the form below.

If you aren't sure if your dues need to be renewed, you are welcome to call LynneRanieri at 973-379-5032 or e-mail her at LKRanieri@home.com and she will look it up foryou.

DUES RENEWAL FORM

Name

Address

Phone

(City/State/Zip)

e-mail

Annual Dues

$15 (Individual)

$25 (Family)

Addt'l Contribution/Museum Restoration

$50 (Donor)

$50 Patron)

$50 (Business)

$200 (Life)

$100 (Sponsor)

$250 (Patron)

$500 (Benefactor)

$ (Other)

Short HillsHistorical Society

P.O. BOX 243Shore HiOs, NJ 07078

U.S. PostagePAID

Permit No. 21Short Hills,NJ

07078

16