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Wednesday

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13
Nov 24

Walking around on campus

I put together a new look today. The classic gray sports coat, an off-setting light blue shirt. It came together pretty well, even as I struggled with the photo composition. I’m sure it was the natural light coming from the office window to my right.

The pocket square was a gift from my mother-in-law.

That poppy I got in Canada when The Yankee and I were in Ottawa for a conference in 2009. I wore that as we walked through the Canadian capital city. When we got home from that trip we stopped by a restaurant on the way home from the airport, a small little Italian restaurant. The guy that owned it still worked there every day, and he was at the register that night. When we went up to pay he choked up just a little bit, thanked me for wearing that flower, and pointed to the 8×10 photo on the counter. “My son,” he said, rubbing the top of the frame. The picture was of a U.S. Marine in his dress blues.

They all look the same, because they’re Marines, but they’re all different when you stare into the eyes. The modern Corps has only had so many changes to that photograph. They look just about the same, no matter the era. But that print was aged. Faded. The Marine, young and strong, but now gone. That man saw him every day at his store. And so now I wear that flower not just on Memorial Day, but throughout that week, to remember.

That tie was my uncle’s tie. His daughter, my cousin, sent it to me. After he died they gave a bunch of his ties to people at the funeral, but I couldn’t take one. She went through them later and found one for me. His preference in ties was louder than mine, and I don’t know how she worked all that out, but she pulled an understated one for me. I got it yesterday, somehow glad I hadn’t taken one then, but eternally proud for having received one now. And so I wore it today. That was a real gentleman’s tie.

On campus today we went to the university assembled, a regular presentation from the president. He’s a fascinating guy. Good at his job. A real leader — and that’s not a guarantee among university presidents. But Dr. Ali Houshmand is a real talent. He’s served in the role for 12 years, and has overseen a lot of growth, and continues to do so. The university assembled was an opportunity to talk a little about the future.

We sat on the front row.

On Wednesdays I usually talk about markers and local history, but today I thought I’d talk just a tiny bit about this campus’s history.

In the early 1900’s the state found they needed a third normal school — a school for teachers. The locals here lobbied for it to be housed in their community. By 1917, 107 residents raised more than $7,000 to purchase 25 acres. They told the state they’d give it to them if they picked their town for the school’s location. The 25 acres had belonged to the Whitney family, whp ran the famous Whitney Glass Works in the 19th century. On the property was the Whitney mansion and the carriage house.

The state saw the community’s enthusiasm, the free 25 acres, the beautiful location, the train lines and agriculture success and decided this was the right spot for a campus. And both buildings still stand. This is the back of the Carriage House, which we walked by after the big meeting.

The Carriage House is one of the oldest buildings on campus and is now used for our University Publications. You might think that’s why I liked it, but, really, I just enjoyed the texture of the cedar shake shingles.

Whitney Mansion is an Italianate architectural style. It was the president’s home until 1998, and is now it’s a museum and meeting center. I’ll show it to you one day, probably in the spring.

cycling / history / markers / photo / We Learn Wednesdays / Wednesday — Comments Off
6
Nov 24

Incomplete stories on two wheels

It was 80° on Nov. 5th, we have had three-tenths of an inch of rain since the end of August (and all of that in September).

The farmers are merely moving dust around in their fields. Nothing weird at all, here.

That was early in my ride today, and it looks over processed, but it’s an over-processed sort of day, isn’t it? Later in that same ride, when the colors were softer, and the breeze just a tiny bit cooler, and my legs a bit more tired and the sun challenging me to a race …

I’d gone down a road I usually come up, where I was passed by a giant ambulance and, soon after, almost watched a minivan almost drive itself into a head-on collision. I turned right instead of going all the way down that road, cutting across to another road that I went up this afternoon, rather than going down, as I usually do. I crossed a busy intersection and then had one long straight shot with a little breeze at my back. And then I took the longest, most sensible route home.

We won’t have too many more seasonably warm days this fall, best to eek every second out of it if you can. Anyway, that was today’s ride. Let’s talk about what I found on a different ride.

We return once again to We Learn Wednesdays, where the historical markers search continues, because from time-to-time I ride my bicycle around looking for them. This is the 53rd installment, and the 85th marker in the We Learn Wednesdays series. And we’re at the Friends Burial Ground.

We’ll talk about the tree in the next installment. The burial ground dates back almost to the beginning of the white settlement. (A few Dutch had set up nearby, but they got outnumbered pretty quickly.) The English Quakers showed up in 1675, even before William Penn arrived. This was Fenwick’s Colony. A cavalry in Cromwell’s army in England, a Quaker convert and a lawyer, Fenwick advertised this place, “if there be any terrestrial “Canaan” ’tis surely here, where the land floweth with Milk and Honey.”

We learned about Fenwick earlier this year (here and here) and when people back in England learned about his vision, they started pouring in.

It’d take another decade or so for the settlers to build their first meeting house, but the people were firmly rooted. Some of the old names on these markers still have descendants around here. And a lot of the local names are repeated here in the stonework. There are more than 1,000 markers here now sitting behind this low brick walk alongside one of the busy modern downtown streets.

There have been three dozen interments here this century, the most recent in 2020. She was from right nearby, and had worked at Penn State for a quarter of a century. She started as a secretary and eventually became an assistant dean.

Not all of the notable stories are deep in the past.

The next time we return to the marker series, though, we’ll go back to the 17th century one more time, and we’ll learn about that Salem Oak. If you have missed any markers so far, you can find them all right here.

markers / photo / Rowan / We Learn Wednesdays / Wednesday — Comments Off
30
Oct 24

We all feel that poem

Spent the day on campus, where I had a delightful meeting with a student. Also I met with a colleague. And then I graded stuff. After that I sat in the back of a classroom and listened to a presentation on digital marketing. And then we went to the big kids’ pool and I swam 2,000 yards, which was ragged and slow and will surely leave me sore tomorrow for reasons I won’t understand.

Now, I’m back to grading things.

Or I was.

Because now there’s this.

I’ve decided to release an album. The inspiration came on suddenly. Monday, tonight. Now I just have to write the music.

The good news is the art is already done. This may look like someone using a camera to try to look behind a heavy piece of furniture, but it’s really the cover.

And this, to the untrained eye, may look like a pocket photograph, but it is, in fact, the liner notes concept.

The art looks like a hasty independent release, meaning I need to come up with some sufficiently song titles. If only I knew anything about music, I could be on to something. But, alas and alack, I have no musical talent.

We return once again to We Learn Wednesdays, where the historical markers search continues. This is the 52nd installment, and the 84th marker in the We Learn Wednesdays series.

And today we’re learning about Hetty Saunders.

The last four years have been rough on that marker, done in a style which doesn’t hold up very well to the weather. It reads …

Esther “Hetty” Saunders was a remarkable woman of color who began her life in the early 1790s as a slave in Delaware. In 1800, her father saw an opportunity to escape to freedom with his children, crossing the Delaware River into Elsinboro, Salem County. Hetty was left in the care of Joseph and Ann Brick Hall, who were members of the Religious Society of Friends.

Saunders lived virtually her entire life in Elsinboro and Mannington, and would have remained anonymous if not for a collection of her poetry that survived after her death in 1862. Through this collection of poems, Saunders contributed to American literature and provided insights into 19th century African-American life in southern New Jersey. Hers is a voice rarely heard – that of a free woman of color in pre-Civil War America – and her poems provide glimpses of what her life was like and how she perceived and addressed inequities that surrounded her. Her works reveal an independent spirit, largely shielded by the outside, yet quietly prevailing over forces otherwise overwhelming.

The collection of poems written by Esther “Hetty” Saunders and related items are housed within the Salem County Historical Society archives. These materials and the publication I Love to Live Alone: The Poems of Esther “Hetty” Saunders (Donald L. Pierce, editor) are available to researchers at the Society’s library located at 83 Market Street in Salem. Esther “Hetty” Saunders was buried here in the Friends Burial Ground beside her friend Judy Wrying, who she wrote about in her best-known poem, “The Hill of Age.”

Come tell me ancient traveler
Whence thou did engage
How long its been since thou began
To climb the “hill of Age.”

Thou more than fourscore years hast seen
Yet thou art traveling still
I looked up when a little child,
And saw thee on the hill.

I gazed upon thee carelessly
For little then thought I
That I should ever be as old
Or have to climb as high.

Hetty Saunders’ gravesite at Salem Friends Burial Ground is on the New Jersey Women’s Heritage Trail because of the lasting contributions of poet Esther “Hetty” Saunders to the arts and culture in New Jersey.

Her dad brought Hetty and her brothers across the river and to freedom when she was just 7 years old. The modern telling has it that the Hall family convinced Saunders’ father to let her stay with them when he returned, and so she spent the rest of her 70 years with them or near them. She saved enough money to buy a bit of property from the Halls and she built herself a home.

Even as a free woman, it seems she had something of a life of isolation as a black woman in a community largely filled with white Quakers. So she turned to poetry. None were published in her lifetime, but the Hall family preserved the works. And, in 2001, a handful were published by the local historical society. She died in 1862, having apparently never married or having children. Her poetry, the web tells me, is now praised as a rare and remarkable literary legacy.

The next time we return to the marker series we’ll learn a bit about the cemetery where she was buried. If you have missed any markers so far, you can find them all right here.

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23
Oct 24

Have I found a character for you today

You’re going to want to stick with this. I made an error, caught the error, corrected the error, and the story below got immensely better because of it.

Spent the morning grading at home — because it is another week with plenty of things to grade, and that’s what I did yesterday, what I’m doing today and what I’ll do tomorrow. This week we’re reading a critical analysis from a Dutch scholar.

But we spent the afternoon on campus. Sandwich lunch in the office. I read student assignments in the office. There was a marketing meeting. From the office of The More Things Change, someone explained SEO and we discussed WordPress. We had a nice time.

So after a lovely afternoon with colleagues, my lovely bride and I went over to the big kids’ pool. It was my first swim in four weeks.

And it felt surprisingly decent. Good, even, in places. And before I knew it, I was in that weird vacant groove and the lengths and laps just started disappearing. And then, suddenly (OK, slowly) I had an easy 2,000-yard workout under my belt.

Did not see the comet on the drive home. Mostly, we were busy chatting about class strategies and research. And now, after dinner, I’ll have to get back to grading.

But first!

We return once again to We Learn Wednesdays. The point is, riding my bike around the county, tracking down historical markers, sharing them here and trying to add a bit more context that what the signs offer us. This is the 51st installment, and the 83rd marker in the We Learn Wednesdays series.

And this time we’re going to Thomas Sinnickson’s house.

Thomas Sinnickson was born in 1797, and he blends right in with a large family, one that uses the same names over and over. Lots of Thomas Sinnicksons. Lots of Andrew Sinnicksons. Some of his elders had been in the state militia and in the Continental Army. There are two of his ancestors who served in both the state and U.S. legislature. A later Sinnickson went to Congress as well.

But those people aren’t the Thomas who built this house.

Our guy is maybe the third most famous Thomas in his family, which is to say, he’s not. His was a family that dates back to the original Swedish settlers. I spent a fair amount of time trying to trace my way through the Sinnicksons, deleting about five paragraphs of summary when I found I’d made a big generational error. But now we have it right. And it’s even more entertaining.

Thomas died at just 45, in 1842. Searches don’t tell me much about him, in part, perhaps, because of the other Thomas Sinnicksons that preceded. But we do know this. He and Clarissa had five daughters and three sons. The youngest died at just 21, in an asylum. One of the sons was a poet. One daughter moved across the country, to Oregon. (By way of sail, around Cape Horn, a six-month journey.) And in that woman there is a tale.

There’s a bit more about her, here, in the far right column. I would watch the movie about that woman’s life.

The rest of the family stayed much closer to home. Two of Thomas and Clarissa’s children made it into their 80s. All told, four of them lived into the 20th century. And this is where they grew up, surely steeped in their family’s history, and definitely in the midst of their community’s history, as we’ll see in the coming weeks.

The building was sold last year. From what I can tell, it’s been used as converted office space for quite some time.

Speaking of poets, the next time we return to the marker series we’ll learn a bit about a former slave turned poet. If you have missed any markers so far, you can find them all right here.

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16
Oct 24

At least I didn’t pick the em dash

There are days with things, and there are days that are full. And the fullness of our days defines us, creates the meaning of our time.

Or at least punctuates it.

And we get to choose the punctuation! Today, I chose the ellipses.

We had two meetings on campus today. One committee-type meeting at mid-day, where a committee was loosely formed to do committee things. In the afternoon we had a department meeting, where faculty came together to discuss faculty things. In between those two meetings we had lunch. We re-arranged the office.

I returned to grading things. Then I wrote a proposal for one of our running projects. It’ll get rolled into two or three things, hopefully.

Also I wrote some syllabus language and saw some colleagues.

After the meeting, it was back home, where I worked on another project. And then returned to the grading. I’m getting that all done tonight, even if I have to do it in the morning. You’ll understand if this wraps quickly, I’ve already written a few thousand words today, some of them were pretty good.

I did not use the first ellipses.