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 10th
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
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:
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New Jersey's Assembly Chamber; as in Congress,
great things happened here
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“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.
