The New Yorker view of the world, so the joke goes, sees the five boroughs in great details, then a very thin New Jersey across the Hudson with a vague California somewhere out west.Having worked in New York City for nearly a decade now, I know that such a view is exaggerated, but has a small glimmer of the truth.We can only pay attention to so much and things are constantly coming at you in Gotham.I sometimes forget, now that I’m in Pennsylvania again, just how diverse my home state is.I’m not from old Pennsylvania stock—neither of my parents were born here and neither of my mother’s parents were born in the same state she was.Still, when you’re born in a place it’s natural to feel that’s where you belong.You inherit the outlook.I inherited Pennsylvania.
Pennsylvania is a bit unusual in being a commonwealth divided in two by a mountain range.Laid out with an horizontal orientation, it’s about 280 miles across, and once you’re over the Appalachians, you’re into a different subculture.On our way into Pittsburgh, signs for Evans City reminded me that among its many contributions to American culture, the Steel City also gave us zombies.Now from a history of religions point of view, zombies came from Caribbean religions that fused indigenous African beliefs with Catholicism.A religion that arose among people commodified as slaves.A zombie was a body with no will.It took George Romero, living in Pittsburgh, to give us the movie zombie with The Night of the Living Dead.Pittsburgh, among some, is glad to claim the title of zombie capital of the world.Its zombie walk is a thing of legend.
Ironically, the western end of the state, beyond the mountains, tends to be more conservative than the side closer to the seaboard.(Pennsylvania is the only of the original thirteen colonies not to have direct Atlantic Ocean water frontage.)Yet it has adopted the most egalitarian of monsters—the living dead.Romero tapped into the universal fear of unsettled death to make what were later to appear as “zombies” the unnamed monsters of his most famous film.Everyone has to die, and no matter our religious outlook (or lack thereof) the question of what comes after is asked on both sides of the Appalachians.And even by those across the Hudson in New York City.There may be even something between the two.
The Pine Barrens of New Jersey strike the first-time visitor as eerily odd, even today.Stunted trees grow from sandy soil, crowded close together and growing hard up to the edge of the road.You can see the sky above, but dwarf trees of uniform height block your lateral views over any distance.It feels claustrophobic.Add to this tales of inhospitable residents and an actual profusion of tree-climbing lizards, and you’ve got the grounds for wondering what else might lurk in the deciduous woods.Brian Regal and Frank J. Esposito aren’t so easily frightened.Their fascinating book, The Secret History of the Jersey Devil: How Quakers, Hucksters, and Benjamin Franklin Created a Monster is a bit of a chimera on its own.The subtitle gives a pretty good idea of what you’ll find in the book.For someone who had lived in Jersey for a dozen years, and who loves monsters, it was a must-read.
Not to provide too many spoilers, Regal and Esposito spend some time in colonial New Jersey sketching the little that can be known of the rather prominent Daniel Leeds.Anyone from Jersey knows that its eponymous state demon is also known as the Leeds Devil.This particular family had good connections despite being Quakers—a capital crime in some parts of the British Empire.Daniel, however, had a falling out from the Friends and made his name by publishing an almanac.This almanac and the proximity of Philadelphia to the Barrens brings Benjamin Franklin into the story.Franklin competed with the Leeds almanac, and Poor Richard eventually won out in this war of the words.Demonized by their former Friends and gently satirized by Franklin, the Leeds family was eventually all but forgotten.Then stories began to emerge of a dragon-like monster in southern Jersey.
To get the details you’ll need to read the book.Particularly interesting for this blog is the way religion and monsters interplay.There’s a good bit of history of monsters in the story, including Quakers and early attempts among scientists to understand birth defects.The very word “monster” is, in its “word cloud,” related to ideas such as revelation and portents.Early scientists resorted to divine anger when they couldn’t explain what nature had wrought.And of course folklore is a very potent lubricant.There are some gaps in the story here, but this is an enchanting exploration of whence monsters might come.The Jersey Devil has international fame now, and its birth may have begun with insults flashed back and forth among religious believers that eventually were taken literally.The devil’s in these details.Or at least in the spooky topography of the Barrens.
Thirty years ago today, my wife and I were penniless grad students.Trying to be logical about when to marry—I’d been accepted at Edinburgh University shortly after we’d decided on a May wedding and the latest I could matriculate was April—we decided the holidays would be the best time.Not Christmas, of course.Or New Year’s Day.As students we held to the illusion that others observed the natural caesura between the two.We considered it from the feast of Stephen to New Year’s Eve, days when everyone is recovering from the intensity of Christmas or staying up late to welcome in 1989.We settled on December 30.The church was already decorated for Christmas, saving that expense.Having moved up the date by some five months we did ask them to remove the banner that read “For unto us a child is born.”Our reasons were purely academic.
I generally avoid writing too much about my personal life on this blog, but a thirty-year wedding anniversary is somewhat extraordinary.Being a working-class kid I told my wife when I proposed that I couldn’t promise much but I could assure her our life together would be interesting.That slippery qualifier has proven correct time and again.Our first three years as a couple were spent in Edinburgh, and quite unexpectedly, the next fourteen at Nashotah House.The first two of those years involved being apart from Sunday through Wednesday as I commuted from Champaign-Urbana to Delafield to teach my courses.And, of course, to attend chapel.Our daughter was born while we lived at the seminary and a Fundamentalist takeover led to the loss of my first (and to date only) full-time academic job.
The academic job market had been tough when I started and it had tanked in the meantime.We had to uproot and move to New Jersey to find any work at all.Publishing proved remarkably unstable and yet we stuck together.This year we bought a house and moved to Pennsylvania.It took three decades, but we’ve finally achieved what some would term normalcy.The fact is, though, that long-term marriages are to be celebrated.Many of the vicissitudes we’ve faced could easily have capsized our little boat.Looking back over the years I can see that we never did prosper in any kind of financial or career situation.Life has indeed been interesting.I don’t blog much about my personal life, but today I can’t help but think of how incredibly fortunate I am to have found a soul-mate willing to stick with a guy who still thinks like a penniless grad student.Thirty years of schooling and it’s not nearly enough.
I think I was driving through Montclair, New Jersey when I first noticed one.A “little free library” in someone’s front yard.Then I began to notice them around elsewhere.Neat little outdoor kiosks filled with books.Despite my love of literacy I’m not inclined to take books from such places.For one thing my reading tastes are odd, and for another I want other people to catch the interest in reading.And “free” is a great motivator.The idea is simple: set up a little free library on your property, seed it with books, and watch it work.People are encouraged to take what’s there for free.And leave books they want to donate, if so inclined.Now that we’re in Pennsylvania we discovered one in a nearby park.A community feels more homey with books.
Searching for the concept online, I came to LittleFreeLibrary.org.I’m not sure if they started the trend, but it provides the basic idea.They even have plans for how to build your own and get your neighborhood reading.If anyone wants a clue for making America great, here’s a free hint: it will involve books.They’re a commodity unlike any other.Mass-produced (often too enthusiastically so) they are generally inexpensive and can be used over and over again.One of the biggest headaches for publishers is the used book market—since a book is a handful of ideas, once they’re released they’re difficult to control.They can be sold again for less than market value, and yes, even given away.Those who read see the value in giveaways, even if there’s no personal profit in it.
Early in our tenure here we decided to take a book to donate each time we go to the park.Sometimes we forget, of course.Our first donation was there for two weeks, but then found a new home.A strange kind of joy accompanied finding the book gone.Perhaps we’d done some good simply by opening a door and leaving something we were no longer using.Then something unexpected happened—I saw a book from my reading list in the local.Should I take it?I have a list of books to seek in used bookstores, for, to the chagrin of my own industry, I participate in the used book market.I had been looking for this tome for a few years, reluctant to pay full market value since it has been around since the sixties.In the end I couldn’t resist.Next week, I told myself, I’ll take two books to give back.Literacy’s that way—it’s something even introverts can share.
When does the day start?Years of awaking around 3 a.m. may have distorted my perceptions a bit, I suppose.Here in the mid-Atlantic states, the sun is never up that early.Year round I get out of bed when it’s still dark.I’m not complaining—this is generally a peaceful time, a rarity in New Jersey.If the bus didn’t come so early I’d get an awful lot done in a day.But when does the day really begin?I rise early to write.Computers have changed my writing style quite a bit.I used to write everything by hand.Even as a kid with a second-hand typewriter, I preferred longhand first.I still do, truth be told.It’s slow, though, morning’d gone before I got too far.
So I get up and boot up.I’m not sure that I’m crazy about my computer knowing so much about my personal life, but one thing it simply can’t understand is that I’m an early riser.Many days my laptop will condescendingly ask me if I mind if it reboots—it’s been updating software when it thinks I’m asleep.For the computer, day doesn’t begin this early.Sometimes I worry that my blog doesn’t get readers because the new posts come up around 5 a.m., before I jump in the shower and head for the bus.If things don’t appear in the feed at the top of the page, well, they’re old news.I admit to being guilty of that myself; yet knowing when it’s day has consequences. Maybe I should be posting a bit later?
For some reason my computer likes to send me notices.Like I’m not already paying attention.I’m sure there a setting someplace I could change, but I’m busy most of the time and figuring that sort of thing out takes longer than I have time for.Birthday notices for complete strangers—maybe they’re connected on LinkedIn?—appear, at 9:00 a.m.I’m at work already by then.I think this is my devices’ way of letting me know that it’s a nine-to-five world.As an erstwhile academic I never cottoned onto that.I started getting out of bed at 4 a.m. when I was teaching so I would have time to write before daily chapel.I also taught classes that ran from six-to-ten (p.m.) while at Rutgers.When does the day start?When does it end?The decision’s not mine, as my laptop’s only too happy to remind me.
Montclair, New Jersey, is a diverting place. At least it is for me. I used to teach—strictly as an adjunct of course—at Montclair State University. And like many other diverting towns, Montclair has multiple bookstores. On the occasions my wife has to spend a Saturday working in Montclair I often accompany her. If the weather is decent I can walk to both bookstores and have a leisurely browse. Since anything leisurely is rare these days, I eagerly anticipate such trips. Typically I’ll sit in my wife’s work place counting off the minutes until I can leave to get to the Montclair Book Center just as it opens. Used bookstores are a bit like archaeology—you never know what you’ll find, and some of the treasures may be unique. I often have the store mostly to myself, for private browsing.
This time, however, I had another task to accomplish first, before I could go to the first bookstore. By the time I arrived, it had been open for over an hour and there were, surprisingly, plenty of people there. We’re accustomed to hearing that people no longer care for books. While it’s true they won’t bring in the numbers of, say, those wanting the latest video game, it’s also true that on a pleasant Saturday morning an independent bookstore can be a crowded place. It warmed my heart to see so many readers out. And they weren’t all old like me. Younger people talking about the merits of this or that author, browsing in the sections I frequently haunt. Although I found none of the books on my list, I still had that blessed feeling you have when you discover you’re not really alone.
The other store, Watchung Booksellers, is a couple miles to the north, at least by the walking route I use. A small indie, it typically has what modern-day people might be expected to be interested in. I arrived to find it crowded as well. I’ve been there a number of times in the past and usually there are two or three others browsing. This time it was actually a little difficult to get around the small space. Seeing children there made me especially glad. A crowded bookstore is a sign of hope. As we struggle against the forces of ignorance and hatred that seem to have gripped the privileged classes, Saturdays at bookstores doing brisk business are an indication that the future may correct such ill-informed sentiments. Bookstores are termometers of national health, and seeing them busy made my Saturday. It’s worth getting up early just to spend such a day in Montclair.
I’m standing in a haunted place. There was an act of violence here this week. Gun violence. A man died in this restaurant where I sat with my wife and had lunch just a couple of months ago. I’m in Princeton for a rally organized by a teenager. We’re here to tell the government we the people want sensible gun control laws. The website said they were expecting 500. Five thousand turned out instead. Princeton’s not the kind of town where you expect gun violence. Affluent and privileged, it’s the kind of place many of us go to get away from real life for a while—they’ve got the best bookstore around and you can still find DVDs at the Princeton Record Exchange. You don’t expect people to be shot dead here.
America’s perverse affair with firearms goes hand-in-hand with its refusal to ensure adequate treatment for the mentally ill. We give them firearms and wonder what could possibly go wrong. We elect the mentally deficient to highest office in the land and instead of reining him in, the GOP reigns with terror. They have shown time and again that they prefer NRA money to our children. They have sold out. And the word appropriately used to describe such a party good manners prevent me from inscribing on this blog. Republicans, true republicans, need a new party. Instead they refuse to call this aberration in Washington what it truly is. Thousands took to the streets yet again this weekend. This was my fourth rally or march since January of last year, and hey, government—they keep getting bigger.
“Woe to the inhabiters of the earth and of the sea! for the devil is come down unto you, having great wrath, because he knoweth that he hath but a short time.” So saith the Good Book. It’s a book the Republican Party has forgotten how to read. Especially the “evangelicals” who’ve betrayed their saintly name. While I’m here in Princeton, a few hours away in the sullied capitol of this once reasonable nation, half a million are on the march. And just as women led the way last January we’re being shown the truth that anyone can lead better then old white men. And the fact that the organizers of these protests are high schoolers, I am inclined to leave the last words to the prophet Isaiah, whom, for any Republicans who might be reading, is in the Bible: “The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid; and the calf and the young lion and the fatling together; and a little child shall lead them.”