The GWB: A Bridge to Manhattan, Yes, But for Others A Conduit to Finality

The George Washington Bridge. That vital trans-Hudson span and architectural wonder has been in the news quite a lot lately. Of course the bridge’s Fort Lee approaches are at the center of several investigations concerning whether or not they were purposely bottlenecked last September at the behest of Governor Christie (though certainly, members of his office were at the center of the bottleneck). Whether or not the Bridge will bring down the governor, time will tell.

Ever since I was a kid, “The Bridge” has always been at the center of a dramatic trip. Coming from New Jersey, you don’t really see the span until you’re right upon it. While traversing it, one can really take in its majesty as it launches from the Jersey Palisades, over the wide, blue Hudson waters and into the world’s principal metropolis. For millions of motorists and travelers, it is a bridge to wonders, to opportunities, to the Yankee Game, to an evening in the Big City.

Still, since its completion in 1928 the bridge has served a more nefarious, disheartening purpose. For so many people, the bridge has been a final destination, a conduit, an otherworldly span, and a terrifying shortcut to the

The GWB has long been a destination

 for those seeking a way out of this world

Afterlife.

A glance at area news sources prove that, just over the past two weeks, leaping from the span has been the primary method of attempted and successful suicide attempts. On May 1 of this year a couple jumped to their death in the waters far below; several others have tried and been ‘talked down’ by police and passersby. In these difficult financial times, some people are finding themselves especially desperate. The lack of affordable, prompt, comprehensive care for the mentally ill doesn’t help either. And thus, The Bridge lurks, always nearby, twinkling at night, always accessible.

The bridge was finished in 1928, seemingly just in time for the Great Depression which followed a year later. The Depression years took a devastating financial and personal toll on millions, and some of them made their way to The Bridge in a distressed effort to escape the times.

As a local historian and history teacher, I try to remind my readers and students that history is more than just wars and diseases and assassinations. It’s the story of real people coping with real challenges that, from their point of view, might have no end. For many of The Bridge’s early jumpers of the 1930’s, this was certainly the case. Depressed, broke, alienated…during this era, research shows us that too many leapt to their demise – even when, apparently, under a doctor’s care.

One of the most touching and disturbing examples that I found occurred in late October 1932, when The Bridge was still new. Elizabeth Trivett, aged 28, walked to the span’s center and jumped into the Hudson. After a short investigation Police had found she drove in from Glen Ridge in Essex County. Her note was especially poignant, as well as disturbing:

“Telephone Bloomfield 2-0116 and tell the doctor I’ve done it. Made up my mind and gone ‘somewhere.’ I know dad and mother’s hearts will not survive this shock, so please give them something at once to ease their going. My way of going is lovely.” 

As the Depression wore on, The Bridge successfully tempted jumpers from the flailing financial industry. In August 1935, Manhattan resident and bank vice president Claude Allnutt, 56, took his final leap. His story is particularly interesting. A self-made Maryland man, Allnutt was a highly educated college grad who worked himself up in the world, from clerk to bank executive. He was being treated for depression at the time, but apparently that did not stop him from making his tragic end. He left behind five children. The police officer that witnessed the jump claimed that Allnutt was particularly directed in his goal and did not hesitate for a moment before leaping. Others sometimes waited and wailed for hours, but not Allnutt.

Then there was April 19, 1938. On that infamous day two men jumped from the bridge, apparently unrelated to one another. Reports on the first jumper were hard to come by, but the second man, who could not be immediately identified, was about 65. The only clues to his identity and motive were the fact that upon paying his five cent pedestrian toll, he mentioned that he had broken his last dollar. His suicide note could not be immediately deciphered, as it was scribbled in Yiddish.  

The bridge continues to attract those who seek a final end. In 2012 alone 18 went to their deaths, with 43 more trying.

Suicide is an extremely personal and individual act. I really cannot suggest how the bridge might be made safer for those who are absolutely determined to end their lives. For those who are not contemplating that final act, The Bridge provides a spectacular pedestrian journey between New Jersey and New York. And the bridge is a long one; I don’t know how responsible we can hold local and Port Authority Police for patrolling every inch of it, looking for people who are seeking to end their lives. There are other, more pressing concerns for them, like preventing massive acts of terror and monitoring millions of motorists. But I know that many law enforcement officers who work in and on the span have received special training in dealing with the suicidal.

In the end, The Bridge will continue to stand. It will stand for progress, for the links that bring us together, and, unfortunately, for death.

  

The Plot Against Newark: The Great Depression-Era Scheme to Deport A Brick City Minority

New Jersey’s history is more interesting, tragic, triumphant and fascinating than most people know. As a history teacher my students know little about the state’s past, apart from where Washington slept and a few Revolutionary War battles. The more I study the pages of old newspapers, journals and letters the more I realize that the Garden State’s epic and sometimes disturbing past is

Newark charity soup kitchen, 1930's

worth writing about.

When it comes to great writers, Philip Roth is one of Jersey’s treasures. In 2004 Roth published an astounding masterpiece, a novel titled The Plot Against America. Set in a familiar alternate universe of the 1930’s and 40’s, Roth imagines Newark and the U.S. under the presidency of the isolationist Charles Lindbergh, and traces, in suspenseful and masterful style how conditions for Essex County’s Jews deteriorate as Lindbergh’s fortunes rise. Scary stuff, to be sure, but just fiction, right? No one ever, of course, in real life proposed sending a large portion of a state minority off to camps or distant locales?

Tragically enough, various forms of ethnic deportation and cleansing were widely and publicly proposed, from some of the highest levels of Newark’s city government, in the summer of 1932. It was, in short, Newark’s own plot against America. Had it actually worked, sights similar to the coming Holocaust in Germany would have surely panned out on the streets of New Jersey’s largest city, with African-Americans as the target.

We need to paint the scene here, to understand the context of a horrifying proposal that almost came to be. In 1932 the Depression was already in its grinding third year, and Newark, as one of the East Coast’s industrial hubs, was hit particularly hard. The New Deal was still over a year away and no end to the troubles were in sight. Factories closed. The number of the unemployed ballooned and urban aid programs were scant. There was no unemployment insurance, Social Security or Medicaid to speak of. In Newark, most aid to the poor was in the form of free distribution of flour.

Within the Brick City’s economic cauldron, racial hatred festered. New Jersey’s African-American population had grown dramatically in the 1920’s as hundreds of thousands of blacks had fled violence and Jim Crowism in the South for opportunities in the North. In the booming economy of the 20’s many men did find jobs and a better life, but with the Depression, the ebbing tide stranded all ships. Black and White in Newark faced a new, seemingly permanent world of joblessness and desperation.

It was in this atmosphere that Owen A. Malady, Newark’s official “Overseer of the Poor,” along with several allies, proposed a terrifying plan. The city of Newark would act to “deport” or “resettle” most of its African-American residents “back” to the South. More specifically, the plot was that all black residents living in Newark for less than five years would be removed from the city and forced “back to Dixie.”

The scheme was publicly discussed and debated behind the doors of Newark’s stately city hall building on Broad Street. Some of the city’s commissioners wanted prompt action taken by the police, who would apparently engage in mass arrests, processing and forceful relocations. How the city would determine who was to be deported/arrested was never fleshed out. It probably would not have mattered anyway; I’m sure every African-American living in Newark would have been a target.

Though he rejected ‘force’, Malady was intensely determined to make his deportation plan work. He told one paper that he had written public officials, including governors, in Georgia, Florida, Alabama and Mississippi. He even called on local Essex County churches to assist him in his efforts.

Opponents quickly made themselves vocal in newspapers North and South. Writing in the Atlanta Daily World, one Jesse Thomas scorned the plan as regressive, unwise and blatantly unconstitutional. First, Thomas openly wondered why the City of Newark had discriminated in its deportation plans against African Americans? Hadn’t many white people settled in the city over the past half-decade? Additionally, from a logistical point of view, so-called “Southern Resettlement” wouldn’t help anyone, as:

“Practically every city in the South is already taxed to its limit in an effort to take care of those who are now unemployed and living on charity.”

And most importantly, Thomas wrote, why would it matter what region anyone came from who settled in Newark? Doesn’t every part of the nation belong to every inhabitant equally? Of course, Thomas was legally correct. The United States Constitution, in its "privileges and immunities clause," blatantly forbids this kind of regionally-based discrimination. 

Newark, to my knowledge, never did adopt this appalling mass deportation plan. And while the later New Deal programs of the Roosevelt administration certainly eased poverty in Essex County, none of the programs (such as the Civilian Conservation Corps) were ever specifically targeted to help African Americans. Many New Deal agencies actually engaged in racial discrimination themselves. It would take World War II to bring full employment and opportunity back to Newark, but in 1932 that was still almost a decade away (and nobody knew it was coming at the time either).

The Great Depression is over, but the Great Recession is not. Though such schemes for mass deportations of minorities are fortunately non-existent in the United States, they’re currently enjoying resurgence in Europe. There, in nations like Greece and Hungary, Fascists are again on the march and ruthlessly targeting immigrants and Jews. And these Fascists are gaining political power by winning local and national elections. We need to remember, such conspiracies did once visit our shores. We can never let such ideas gain a serious audience again. We’re all in this economic mess, yes, but we’re in it together.

Mr. Einstein Goes to Trenton

One of the great things about studying New Jersey’s history, and more specifically, Trenton’s history, is that most people simply don’t know it. Yes, my high school students know that our state and its capital city were at the “Crossroads of the Revolution.” Today numerous plaques and signs attest to where Washington slept, where his troops clashed and where they dashed – usually in retreat. But that’s about it. Otherwise, if you ask most Americans, they would tell you that New Jersey’s role in national or international history isn’t really worth noting. Sure, many surely tell you, though the state is old, its history doesn’t compare with the drama of, say, the Civil War inferno that decimated Virginia’s capital of Richmond or the Japanese 1941 Attack on Hawaii’scapital, Honolulu.

Our collective attitude towards Trenton is reflected in the dismal condition we find our state capital in. Though Trenton is a small city, aside from a five or six block long historic corridor along State Street, its schools are literally rotting, its streets are reeling from a violent crime wave, its people suffering from horrendous poverty and unemployment. And it’s only early March. Only God knows how much the situation will deteriorate in the unforgiveable Jersey heat of the coming summer months.

As a political center, politics in Trenton have always been a mess, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t invoke a sense of pride and dignity. We’ve had many slick governors in the past who have given in to a variety of temptations, both in finance and in flesh, but to my knowledge it’s never been this bad. We now have a governor who, along with his appointees, clearly engages in dangerous acts of undeserved and unpredictable collective punishment against the people of New Jersey for political reasons.  Two cases, of course, stand out prominently here, from the intentional blockage at the George Washington Bridge to the disgusting manipulation of Sandy aid.

It wasn’t always like this, and it could be great again. And I’m talking about Trenton, its streets, its politics. It was great. There were some truly astounding moments in history that took place there, some right within the walls of our State Capitol.

One of the most interesting examples occurred almost exactly 80 years ago, in April of 1934.

Like March 2014, April of 1934 was a tough year for New Jersey. The state was suffering from economic turmoil as a result of a nation-wide financial depression (and I don’t care what any government-paid economist says, we’re living in a depression right now). Jersey schools were suffering from budget cuts. Teachers went unpaid. Rutgers was firing professors by the dozen as its buildings deteriorated due to lack of proper maintenance. General unemployment continued to worsen as factories shut down, banks closed and politicians faltered.

Overseas the situation was even more menacing than today. In faraway democratic Germany, a new Chancellor had just been elected. Adolf Hitler and his party of “National Socialists” promised most Germans that a resurgent Fatherland was in the offing…but to get to that new apex, national fury would have to be turned on one of that nation’s oldest and most integrated of minorities, the Jews. And it was at this intersection of such diverse historical currents that Trenton witnessed one of its finest – and foretelling - moments. There’s no plaque – at least none that I’ve ever seen – commemorating the day, but there should be.

On April 10^th 1934 the New Jersey Legislature took time away from its usual wrangling and political machinations to welcome a special guest – a new immigrant – who had recently moved to the state. While no one probably knew it at the time, the lives of millions, the fates of entire nations and empires, weighed upon the small man’s shoulders.

When Albert Einstein took the podium of the Assembly Chamber in Trenton on that day, he was given a roaring welcome. The chamber was packed to capacity as members of both legislative houses, the governor and numerous onlookers marveled at the German genius. He had already accomplished so much.

First he thanked New Jersey’s highest elected body for welcoming him, calling

New Jersey's Assembly Chamber; as in Congress, 

great things happened here

our land “blessed.” The scientist, speaking in German though his translator (a Newark Rabbi), praised New Jersey and the nation, while at the same time possibly hinting at the legislative events in his native Germany:

“I consider myself happy to live and be permitted to labor in this blessed land. Many before me, who had found a new home and a safe refuge in this land, experienced the same sensation…

But this is not enough. I am today the recipient of a festive official welcome from those men in whose hands are entrusted the lawmaking and administration of the State of New Jersey. I appreciate this honor so much the more, since I am enabled to judge for myself how much depends especially in these times upon your activities.”

His vexation and fear at a rapidly Nazifying but still somewhat democratic Germany was obvious from that quote. When the illustrious scientist spoke of “these times,” I have little doubt that he was wasn’t pointing to a certain vicious, anti-Semitic but elected German leader. Einstein knew that Hitler was going to be a menace, even on that day on the floor of the New Jersey Assembly Chamber. And while Hitler had his own secret agenda, Einstein had his too (but more on that a bit later).

Einstein went on to thank the Legislature and claim that his stature did not deserve the attention already warranted. He applauded the state and the nation’s embracing of the sciences, and government sponsorship of scientific activity and experimentation. Einstein was already firmly aware of the wide extent of cooperation between the German government and its own scientific and academic communities; he was obviously glad to see that same relationships at work here.

Einstein then waved the elected representatives of the Garden State goodbye, got into a car and went back to his home in Princeton. There, along with many other designs and concepts, one in particular was rolling around in his head. It was a dangerous idea, to be sure, but one that he felt alarming enough by 1939 to warrant President Roosevelt's direct attention. After all, many in Europe – which by the late 30’s was increasingly shaking under the Nazi shadow - were already working on it. In August of 1939, just a few years after his hailing of the cooperation of science and government in the New Jersey Statehouse, Einstein, thinking of the almost supernatural power of the atomic energy, wrote this to the White House:

“This new phenomenon would also lead to the construction of bombs, and it is conceivable -- though much less certain -- that extremely powerful bombs of a new type may thus be constructed. A single bomb of this type, carried by boat and exploded in a port, might very well destroy the whole port together with some of the surrounding territory…”

A brilliant, eccentric scientist. The rise of a dictator out of a democracy. A Legislature acting against anti-Semitism. The specter of a Nazi super-weapon. The genesis of the Manhattan Project. World War II. Hiroshima. Nagasaki. Victory. So many events, so many paths, but for a moment in the early Spring of 1934, they all intersected – in Trenton.

So the next time you’re driving through Trenton, or dare I say, walking around in the vicinity of our State House, have some respect. You don’t have to be an Einstein to know that amazing things happened there.