"In the Ramapos"

Home , Albert Payson Terhune, Black Caesar (pirate), Pompton River, Ramapo Mountains, The Years of the Locust

"In The Ramapos"

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A TRUE STORY OF THE TERHUNES AND THE LITTLE TOWN THEY LOVED

FOR RPFFRENCE RINGWOOD PUBLIC LIBRARY, NJ - )Pt 3 6047 09045387 8 NOT TO BE 1 Alters

CAT. NO. 13 012 "In The Ramapos"

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REFERENCE Please do not remove from this room

A TRUE STORY OF THE TERHUNES AND THE LITTLE TOWN THEY LOVED

Information about the Terhune Family has been taken from articles, written by Evelin Armstrong Struble under her pen name of "Susan Royal", and previously published in series form in the Suburban Trends News- paper, Route 23, Riverdale, N. J.

This book is lovingly dedicated to my husband, Vincent, whose assistance in obtaining material has been invaluable; and to our two wonderful sons, Michael and Jim.

The puppy's howls of pain broke the stillness of the summer day, as the small boy calmly swung it back and forth by its long floppy ears. Suddenly, from out of nowhere, the child's father appeared, and without speaking, picked his young son up by the ears and swung him back and forth, twice. Still not speaking, the man set the boy down, and left him there with tears flowing and rage in his heart. The outraged little boy was Albert Payson Terhune, and the Rev. Dr. Edward Payson Terhune had just taught his young son more about kindness to animals than a lengthy lecture could have. Bert Terhune, noted author, breeder of thoroughbred collies, and lover of all wildlife, remembered well the lesson learned that summer's day on the Terhune homestead. The homestead was such a lovely place, with its forty acres of wooded mountains, meadows and lakefront. The rambling house sat on a grassy plateau above the blue waters of Pompton Lake, in Wayne Township, New Jersey. A house of native oak whose solid beams would defy the bite of today's axe blade. The natural beauty of the spot had attracted the Reverend and his wife, the former Mary Virginia Hawes, when they were visiting Pompton in the 1850's. While riding near the lake, one day, they chanced upon the property; and the beauty of the great expanse of forest that ended at the lake front, captured their hearts at once. The sound of axes drew them from the twisting trail above, to a group of men who were busily chopping down some beautiful old oak trees on the hillside, and Edward Terhune gave the men a dollar to stop work while he hunted up the owner. Within an hour, the property was his, and the destruction of the mighty oaks was halted. A few weeks after the purchase of the property, workmen had broken ground for the foundations of the Terhune home, and were hewing beams and joists from the fallen trees. That was the birth of "Sunnybank" . . . home of the Terhunes for over a century. The name of Terhune has come down through the years since Albert Albertse, an immigrant Huguenot, founded the Terhune family in America in 1642. Albert Albertse, son of Albert, was probably born circa 1619, and came from Hunen (Huynen), Holland in 1642. He was the sixth- great-grandfather of author Albert Payson Terhune . . . the small boy who was swung by his ears that summer day at Sunnybank.

- 1 - The first record of Albert Albertse in America is in New Amster- dam (New York) where in February 1654 he was carrying on his trade as a ribbon weaver. In 1657 he rented and cultivated a farm in New Utrecht, Long Island. There he built a rude home, consisting of a dugout cellar covered with a heavy thatch of rye straw, but the shelter was considered unsafe from Indian attacks, and the Albertse family was forced to move into the village of New Utrecht where Albert became the owner of one of the first 12 houses built in the village. The same year, Albert bought land in the village of Flatlands. In 1664 he sold the lease of his New Utrecht farm, and the following year purchased more land in Flatlands. About ten years later, Albert joined with others in the purchase of the Aquaekanock (Passaick) Patent of five thousand acres of land on the Passaic River in Bergen County, East New Jersey; and this purchase was the beginning of the settlement that resulted in the town of Hackensack. The Albertse family settled then in Polifly (later known as Hasbrouck Heights) and while there, took the name of Terhune. Probably from the name of Hunen in Holland, making it Albert from Hunen, or Albert Terhune. Abraham Terhune, great-grandfather of author Albert Payson Terhune, was an officer of the American army in the Revolutionary War, serving as Lieutenant, and had command of his company at the battle of Springfield, Union County, N. J., June 23, 1780. He was also with George Washington at Valley Forge, and at Newburgh, New York. Lieutenant Terhune was said to have greatly resembled George Washington in looks and figure, and as a member of Washington's bodyguard he is seen in Emanuel Leutze's famous painting of "Wash- ington Crossing The Delaware". Abraham is pulling the starboard bow oar, nearest the viewer, and it was he who gave the artist a description of the eventful crossing; and Emanuel Leutze painted him in the same position he had occupied that night of December 25, 1776, in Washington's scow. Abraham was only twenty at the time of the crossiing, and had not yet gained his lieutenancy. He was a giant of a man, with splendid physique. Abraham's great-grandson, the author, evidently inherited some of his great-grandfather's physical traits; since he, too, was a giant of a man ... a splendid athlete. Albert Payson Terhune's first memory of Sunnybank was a ride on "Hunter", his father's chestnut stallion. With his father behind him in the saddle, the small boy was so impressed with his first ride, that it was indelibly imprinted on his mind.

- 2 - Years later, as a man, he could recall the feel of the animal's body moving beneath him, and remembered the great distance from the stallion's back to the ground. Though not yet three years old, the experience left such an impression that he even remembered the way his brown knees stuck out from beneath his little white dress. His second memory, of Sunnybank, was seeing his mother and father walking slowly through the rose garden, towards the blue waters of Pompton Lake; and of telling his nurse-maid, Rose O'Neill, that God was walking between them. Bert had been told how God had walked with Adam and Eve in the Garden, and to the small boy the beautiful rose-garden, at the Terhune homestead, was that same garden. In 1876 Bert's mother became very ill with tuberculosis and was given three months to live. Rev. Terhune took his wife and family to Italy to live, hoping that the wonderful climate would cure her lung trouble. Though Bert was just four years old, his young mind retained the memory of seeing King Victor Emanuel ride by with Crown Princess Margharita, Crown Prince Humbert, and Humbert's young son. He recalled also, seeing a short, stout man, with a beard ride by, and had been told that this was the great Giuseppe Garibaldi. It is interesting to note that when Bert Terhune was twenty-one, he re-visited Italy, and again saw Humbert and Margharita; but this time they rode by in the royal carriage as King Humbert and Queen Margharita. (In 1900 King Humbert was assassinated by an anarchist, named Gaetano Bresci, of Paterson, New Jersey; a city just a short distance from Sunnybank. Bresci, a silk weaver, quit his job in a Paterson mill to return to his native land to kill the king whom he considered a tyrant. For months the Paterson Anarchist had practiced target shooting in his backyard until he became an excellent marksman. On July 29, 1900, as King Humbert was awarding medals at an Athletic Meet at Monza, Italy, he was assassinated by Bresci, who was thrown in prison and tortured. To escape the unbearable torture, Bresci hanged himself ten months later with a rope made from torn strips of his underwear.) Bert's mother's health improved in Italy, and within two years the illness that had threatened her life was conquered, and the family returned to America, and Pompton, N. J. Once again, Bert could run and play on the lawns of the homestead. Great lawns of velvety green carpeting that sloped down to meet the sparkling blue waters of the lake.

- 3 - The rambling house nestled amongst the ancient oaks . . . oaks that had been spared from the woodsmen's axes by the Reverend that day in the 1850's. The house that had begun with eleven rooms, and ended with sixteen, was almost hidden from view by the wisteria vines that covered it. Wisteria vines, planted at the edge of the veranda by Bert's grandmother when his mother and father first built Sunnybank. Vines that framed the windows, and bathed the house in a lavender glow when in blossom. Bert was glad to be home again and spent many happy hours with his father . . . fishing, rowing on the lake, and hiking in the Ramapo Mountains. He learned to shoot a gun when he was so small that he could scarcely hold it to his shoulder, and learned to row when he was so young that he had to stand to get the full sweep of the oars. The Reverend was pastor of a Dutch Reformed Church in Newark, New Jersey, a city some twenty miles away; and drove back and forth behind a pair of spirited horses. In 1878, Reverend Terhune was called to the Old First Congre- gational Church in Springfield, Massachusetts; and for awhile his family remained at Sunnybank, with the reverend returning home once a week. However, later the family moved up to Springfield and lived at 151 Maple Street for five years; going back to Sunnybank every summer. It was in Springfield that Bert and Annis Morris Stockton first met, and her first sight of him was in his father's church. He was a solemn grey-eyed boy, who sat there drawing pictures with pencil and paper furnished by his mother. At other times the boy, with his brown face contrasting sharply with his broad white collar and red Windsor tie, sat and chewed the brim of his straw hat. That is ... until his mother gave the hat an alum bath! Anice and Bert became good friends and played together during the Terhune's stay in Springfield; although dainty little Anice did not approve of the boyish pranks he indulged in with other boys. Boyish pranks brought on by his interest in reading. Between the years of six and twelve, Bert delved deep into the books of his father's library; and without knowing that he was getting into the classics, he waded through books that few youngsters ever open. Shakespeare, Longfellow, Scott, Bryant, Tennyson and others. You would think that this type of literature would have helped Bert develop along the proper lines, but he was known throughout the district as a troublesome boy. A ringleader of a gang that made itself as distasteful as possible to the community.

- 4 - As the leader he led the boys on twilight raids, trying to dupli- cate the acts that he had read about. The feats of Falstaff, Prince Hal, and Robinhood stirred the boy's imagination. The "robbing" that the boys did was of clotheslines to be used for lariats, and clothespoles for lances, or they raided the orchards in the district. As some of Robinhood's men they broke windows of supposedly "robber barons", for which Bert's father received bills for damage done. It was just before the Terhune family left Springfield in 1884, to go to Brooklyn, New York where the Reverend had been called, that a resident had Bert arrested for ruining his wife's bedsheets. Bert had tried to change the woman's sheets into pirate flags, as they hung on her clothesline, by throwing tomatoes and ink at them. The only admirers of the band of boys were the small girls of the neighborhood, however, there was one little girl who did not share their admiration. Little Anice, the smallest and prettiest of them all. Anice was the youngest pupil at Miss Kimball's School, on Mul- berry Street, that Bert attended before entering Blake's Military Institute for boys, and Bert did not know how to act with her. So, he alternated between bragging and becoming sheepish in her presence. For all his boyish pranks, he showed little Anice a different type of boy ... a gentler boy. The troublesome streak persisted, though, and before leaving Springfield, Bert climbed to the belfry of his father's church and stole fourteen of the white pigeons that roosted there. He said that he wanted them to have a home at Sunnybank, and didn't feel that he was stealing because, since it was his father's church, the pigeons must be his father's too. The Reverend and the sexton of the church judged Bert, and allowed him to keep the pigeons, and by 1934 there were seventy snow-white pigeons fluttering over the Terhune homestead at Pompton. Yes, it was in Springfield that Bert got into more trouble than during the rest of his life. When his first book was published, at nearly twenty-three years of age, a Springfield newspaper prefaced their review of his work with the words "Bert Terhune is remembered by the people of this city as the worst boy we ever had here . . . now he has written a book". Leaving Springfield in 1884, the Terhune family moved to Brook- lyn, N. Y. where the Reverend had been called to the First Reformed Church, an enormous red brick structure in the Eastern district. The church was run down, in debt, and the congregation had dwindled to almost nothing. It took six years of hard work to build it up again, but the reverend succeeded, though it broke his health.

- 5 - In 1890 he was called to the Puritan Church on Marcy and Lafa- yette Avenues in Brooklyn, and after five successful years there, retired from regular pastoral service at the age of sixty-four; and returned to Sunnybank to live year around, instead of just spending the summers on the homestead. Reverend Terhune and his wife had many friends from all fields of life. The clergyman knew and loved Abraham Lincoln. He knew Ulysses Grant and James Blaine, and an endless list of noted persons. The Reverend's wife, who was an authoress, knew persons in the literary world and music world, and was famous for the gatherings she held. Mrs. Terhune often told her children how Edgar Allen Poe had visited her parents home when she was a little girl, and the pride in her voice told them of the great honor it had been for her. The Terhunes had five other children besides Bert. There were Edward Hawes, Christina, Alice Hawes, Virginia Belle, and Myrtle. When the family had moved from Massachusetts, Christina, who had married a Mr. Herrick, stayed on in Springfield. In 1889, when the Reverend was still pastor of the Brooklyn First Reformed Church in the Eastern District, Bert entered Colum- bia University in New York City, from which he graduated in 1893. During Bert's Junior year at the university, he began to write when he entered, and won, a contest for the best short story by an undergraduate. His father had wanted him to become a clergyman, and his mother had always wanted him to become a lawyer; but early in life Bert made up his mind that, although he did not know what he wanted to become, it would be neither of those two profes- sions. It was during those years in Brooklyn that Bert learned to fence, and to box. He loved boxing, and received lessons from Professor Me Dermott (the "Daddy of footwork") three times a week, for years. Long summers were spent at Sunnybank, and Bert often ran up on weekends during the winter months. As a college boy, he used to do his vacation studying in the woods where he had rigged up a hammock in a secluded spot. From his secret "study" he could look down through the trees to view the cool blue waters of Pompton Lake. A quiet, ideal spot, beautified by Mother Nature. On his way to his private studying place, Bert always picked apples from the orchard as he passed through, to help "lighten" his scholastic work. It was there, in his secret spot, that he became acquainted with three little red squirrels. They were timid at first, and would climb onto the branches above and chatter away at him; then, becoming

- 6 - bolder, would creep very carefully down the tree trunk until quite close to the boy before scampering back up to their perch among the leaves. Bert used to throw them bits of apples which, after some hesi- tancy, they would snatch up and carry back to the safety of the branch above; and they seldom failed to drop bits of chewed apple skin onto the boy's head. As time passed, the furry trio lost all fear of Bert and would climb down into the hammock with him and eat pieces of apple from his hand, and always ran to meet him when he neared the edge of the woods. With summer vacation over, Bert returned to the university. Long after, when he came to Sunnybank for a winter weekend, he found his friendly little trio gone. He thought that they might have gone deeper into the woods to live, but a school boy who lived on adjoining property, boastfully told Bert how he had gone hunting in the Sunnybank woods one day, and three red squirrels came scampering towards him without a sign of fear . . . and how he had got all three with one shot. Bert's little friends were gone, killed by the neighbor boy . . . Cecil B. De Mille. Cecil B. De Mille and his brother, William, were friends of Bert's. Their father, Henry C. De Mille, had bought the place next to Sunny- bank, at Pompton, and his two sons joined with Bert and other boys to form a swimming club which had its headquarters in a room at the top of the De Mille boathouse. Besides Bert and the De Mille boys there were Charles Brainerd, John Bartholf, Arthur Porter, Amzi Steele, Ed Everitt. Morris Hawes, and one or two other boys. Every summer afternoon, for years, the boys met at the boathouse, and after an hour of boxing and fencing, went swimming in Pompton Lake. Bert was an excellent swimmer and swordsman, an all-around athlete who had won many prizes for the hundred yard dash. In those days, Cecil B. De Mille v/as a slender, curly-headed boy; a boy who was destined to become one of the greatest motion picture directors and producers of all times. It was in 1891 that Cecil's father had come upon Pompton Lake for the first time, and the beauty of the lake, framed by the Ramapo Mountains, impressed him so that he bought 76 acres on a hill above the lake. Late that summer, Cecil and his brother Bill broke ground for the De Mille home. While the home was being built, the De Mille family lived nearby, in an old house that had belonged to the Ryerson's ... a mining family of Pompton.

- 7 - The De Mille home was a three-story house, with wide porch and turrets, and was given the name of "Pamlico" by Cecil's father. Mr. De Mille became associated with the Episcopal parish of the Christ Church at Pompton, becoming senior warden and delegate to the diocesan convention. The congregation of the struggling church consisted mostly of families of the steelworkers, and the parish was so poor that is could not support a resident clergyman, so Mr. De Mille helped out by conducting services, as a lay reader, during 1892. Mr. De Mille, a teacher, had become interested in religion, and spent eight years studying for priesthood, before turning away to become a playwright; but he loved his work at the church. He was a religious man, and every evening read to his two sons; a chapter from the Old Testament, a chapter from the New, and often some American, English or European history, or some of the classics. Cecil was eleven at the time, and it was there . . . under the light of the old lamp . . . listening to his father's beautiful voice . . . that the "King of Kings" and "The Ten Commandments" were born in Cecil's young mind and heart. Tragedy struck at the De Mille family when Mr. De Mille contracted typhoid early in 1893, and died on February 10th, leaving his widow with three small children. William Churchill was just fifteen, Cecil Blount was twelve, and baby Agnes Beatrice was not yet two years old. Mrs. De Mille was a brave, resourceful woman, and set about making a living for her family. Prior to the death of her husband, Mrs. De Mille had been instrumental in the development of a school in Pompton. She had rented ypace in a local store near the Susquehanna Railroad, and later moved the school to a space over Durling's grocery store. She had hired a Miss Acker as a teacher, and had canvassed the area for pupils. Upon becoming a widow, Mrs. De Mille moved the school from Durling's building to "Pamlico", so that she could take charge of it herself; since she had been a school teacher before her marriage. A school building was erected across the road from the De Mille home, and an addition was added to the large house so that she could board pupils from out of town. A tennis court was built and a baseball diamond laid out, and a carriage was purchased to carry local day-students to and from school. The advertisement in the Pequannock Valley Argus newspaper read that the Henry C. De Mille Preparatory Boarding and Day School, for boys and girls, offered full classical and scientific courses . . . The modern languages, theory of music, drawing, painting and physical culture. Available were tennis, base-ball, rowing, skating and coasting. The grounds contained 76 acres and the location was ideal for health and beauty.

- 8 - Mrs. De Mille was named as Principal, and by April, 1893, the the school was ready, and the pupils arrived. One of the most famous pupils of the De Mille School was a beautiful sixteen-year old girl who had been sent to the school by a New York business man, who had taken an interest in her. The girl, Evelyn Nesbit, was sent to the school at Pompton to remove her from the attentions of a well known actor; however, he soon discovered her whereabouts and appeared at the school to see her. When Miss Nesbitt refused to see him, he left passionate love notes, addressed to her, about the grounds. Tragedy struck the De Milles again, when in 1895 Baby Agnes died after an illness of only 24 hours. Death from the grippe, claimed the little girl on February 12, and a saddened mother took the child's body to Long Island for cremation. The week before had been one of hardship and severe cold when a snow storm struck the area. A snowstorm that most folks said sur- passed that of the blizzard of 1888. The storm raged on February 7th and 8th, and roads were blocked and trains derailed. Pompton Plains was drifted in, its inhabitants isolated, with snow banks covering some of the houses. The drifts on Boonton roads were fifteen feet deep . . . roads v/ere blocked in all directions. Gale winds swirled the snow into huge piles of gleaming whiteness, and hurled icy particles against the windows of the snowbound residents. All communities in the surrounding area were affected. West Milford, Newfoundland, Butler, Bloomingdale, etc., in all directions roads were blocked for several days. Cellars, filled with winter stores of potatoes, apples and other perishable foods, became so cold that all foods were frozen. The loss was great. This coldest of all cold waves, ever known to the oldest of inhabitants, lingered in the area until the eleventh. Each town suffered the same fate, and it was days before many residents got out of their homes. When the storm struck and raged about the farmlands, farmers fastened great ropes from house to barn, so that they could find their way through the blinding storm to the nearby building1 to care for their animals. In Newark, about twenty miles away, during the height of the storm ten fires broke out between Thursday evening (February 7th) and Friday morning; and the cold was so severe that the clothing of several fireman became so stiffly frozen, that they were unable to take a step and had to carried away.

— 9 — The icy weather that chilled all outdoors, and much of the indoors, chilled Baby Agnes too; then swept on by to leave her eternally cold. A few months later, the De Mille home was once again filled with sorrow when the widow's brother died at Pamlico, in June. He had arrived, from Staten Island, on Saturday, having come to Pompton for his health; and became worse and passed away on Monday. Mrs. De Mille struggled on, courageously, for the sake of her two boys. In Bert Terhune, Cecil had found an idol; and though Bert was nine years older, he always found time to share his knowledge of nature with Cecil and William. And he taught them how to defend theirselves with their fists. He was a good friend for a fatherless boy to have, and his kindness and friendship brought forth an ido- lizing love from the boys. Years later, as a man, Cecil used to recall those days at Pompton. Remembering, too, how one of their neighbors used to shoot at mud balls he tossed into the air. The neighbor was Annie Oakley, famous American markswoman. Marksmanship with a rifle and shotgun earned her world-wide fame. Born Phoebe Ann Moses, August 13, 1861 at Woodland, Ohio, Phoebe learned to use a gun as a youngster and was with Buffalo Bill Cody's Wild West Show for 17 years. She was known as Miss Annie Oakley, even after her marriage to an expert marksman, Frank Butler. Annie could slice a playing card with the thin edge towards her, at thirty paces; and could hit a dime thrown in the air. A playing card, tossed in the air, would be perforated a dozen times before it touched the ground. Touring abroad with the show, Annie gave a Command perfor- mance before Queen Victoria; and in a match between Grand Duke Michael of Russia and Annie, the American markswoman beat him. The De Mille family, mother and two sons, parted when William left to attend school in Germany to prepare him for college, and when in 1896 Cecil left to attend a military college in Pennsylvania. In those days, when Bert and the boys were neighbors, Pompton Lakes was filled with fish and the forests were full of game. Most of the ostentatious homes in the area had slave quarters in the back gardens, and several churches held services in Dutch. In the early 1890's the powder works came to Pompton. Powder houses were built in the meadows across the lake from the homestead, and their many deafening explosions shattered the peace of the countryside.

- 10 - When Rev. Terhune had bought the property, years before, the nearest railroad* station was nine miles away at Paterson, New Jersey; and a twisting trail ran through the homestead. • (The New Jersey Midland Railroad came through Pompton in the early 1870's. Early in the 1880's reorganization brought forth the name that we know today . . . the New York, Susquehanna & Western Railroad.) A twisting trail, lined with century-old oaks, that was later to become the highway that Albert Payson Terhune hated so ... a highway that was to be given the name of Terhune Drive, in his honor. The rambling old Terhune house was originally painted gray, but the paint soon peeled off to reveal a prime coat of bright rose- pink color; and for some reason the house was not repainted. So for nearly nineteen years the house of rosy hue nestled among the great oaks like a brilliant blossom. When Bert was a young boy, the house was painted a dull choco- late brown color, and was left that way until he stuccoed it in gray after the house became his in 1909. To the south of the lake, Reverend Terhune had a meadow cleared of brambles, drained, and planted an orchard. While digging there, a few shreds of rotted blue cloth were unearthed, and alongside them lay a sheathed sword whose rusted scabbard had protected the swordblade from the elements. During the hard winter of 1777-78 of the Revolutionary War, Lt. Colonel Van Cortlandt's Regiment had encamped there; and when pneumonia claimed the life of one of the officers, he was buried with military honors and his sidearms. Our Revolutionary Army had few swords except those taken from captured British; and the sword, found in the shallow grave at Sunnybank, contained the insignia of a British engineer regiment. Rev. Terhune had the bones removed to consecrated ground, and the sword was placed upon the wall at Sunnybank. The American and British armies fought back and forth across New Jersey for years, during the Revolutionary War, and General George Washington stayed at several New Jersey homes, including the Yellow Cottage at Pompton. Some historians say that it was his headquarters during his journeys to and from Morristown. The Yellow Cottage stood in a grove of trees at the turn where the road from Pompton to Bloomingdale left the Wanaque Road. We know that spot today as Federal Square ... (or as some of the residents refer to it, "The Cannon") ... at the intersection of Ham- burg Turnpike and Wanaque Avenue. The main part of the cottage was two stories high in front, thirty feet across and twenty-four feet deep, with a sloping roof that nearly reached the ground at the rear. There was a small covered porch in the middle of the house at the front, and a kitchen extension on the east end, which was about sixteen feet square, had a covered porch running all along the front of it.

- 11 - It is understood that to this cottage Martin J. Ryerson brought his bride, Vroutje (Sophronia) Van Winkle, whom he married in 1778. The newly married couple soon learned that the privacy of their little home was to be invaded by weary travelers, since it was so conveniently located on a line that connected Morristown, West Point, the forges and other places. Civilian, as well as military travelers stopped at the Yellow Cottage so often that the young couple moved out and it was used as a tavern for the duration of the war, under the management of a Mr. Curtis of Morristown. (Often referred to as a Mr. Courtheath, because of a difference in pronunciation by Marquis Francis Jean de Chastellux, a friend of Lafayette). It was here that some historians say General George Washington was quartered from July 11 to 13th, 1777. In 1782 Washington and his wife, Martha, stayed at the Yellow Tavern from March 28 until March 31, as the guests of Colonel Van Cortlandt. It has been written that Col. Van Cortlandt made the Yellow Tavern his headquarters while in command of the troops at Pompton, and that the tavern was visited by Washington, Lafayette and others, including the Marquis de Chastellux. A silver spur, dug up in the garden in 1878, was believed to have belonged to Gen. Washington, but proof of it was not established. After the Revolution, the Ryersons returned to their cottage and lived there until they moved into the white house, at the junction of Hamburg Road and Wanaque Road, that was built in 1750 by Jacob Van Houten and stood on a tract of 160 acres. (Other sources say that in the early part of the war, the Yellow Cottage was the residence of Casparus Schuyler, grandson of Arent Schuyler who settled at Pompton about 1700. When Casparus moved out is not known, since some historians say that it was his residence when Washington visited there with one of his favorite officers, Captain William Coif ax.) Martin J. Ryerson, was the great grandson of Martin Ryerson who emigrated to America with his brother, Adriaen, in 1646 from Amsterdam. Martin J. became one of the largest individual landowners in the country, buying mines, forges, furnaces, in the upper part of what is now Passaic County, until he owned most of the mining region in Pompton and West Milford. At his death in 1839, his son, Peter M. Ryerson, inherited the mines and iron works at Pompton and Wanaque, N. J.; and under his management thousands of men were employed. However, the tariff of 1847 and the panic of 1857 ruined him, and he surrendered his property to his creditors.

- 12 - Peter M. then moved to Newark, and during the Civil War was captain of Company A, Eighth New Jersey Volunteers. At the battle of Williamsburg, in May 1862, he was shot by rebel sharpshooters and died the same day. The Yellow Cottage was torn down in the 1890's, due to the changing of the roads, and in its spot a monument was erected in 1914 to honor the men who had lost their lives in the Spanish Ameri- can War. Atop the pink granite monument is a bullet battered ventilator from the battleship "Maine" that was sunk in Havana Harbor on February 15, 1898. In this sinking, 266 of the ship's 353 men perished and the monument is a reminder of those men who gave their lives for our country. As the years have passed, other memorials have been placed there in memory of those who have served in the same tradition as the Maine Men. The cannon is a field-piece that was used by Grant in his wilderness campaign in the Civil War of 1861-65; the cannonballs were taken from the Confederates when Petersburg fell; the Freedom Bell was placed at the site in 1953 in memory of World War II and the Korean War dead. At Sunnybank, the British sword was joined years later by a rusted cannonball that Bert found during one of his hikes through the Ramapo mountains. It evidently had been jostled from a cart as it made its way over the secret "Cannonball Road" during the Revolutionary War which was from 1775-1783. When the colonists, in America, revolted against England's rule and taxes, the war developed, and with the help of the French, the colonies won. In 1776 when the English pushed into New Jersey, and General George Washington retreated with his men across Jersey, and into Pennsylvania; Pompton was busy turning out cannonballs as fast as it could, as were nearby forges. Getting the 181b. cannonballs and the mortar shells to West Point was almost impossible. Wagons were few, and English raiding parties discouraged all attempts made to get the ammunition through. To stop the great losses, due to the raiders, a new road was ordered built. It was to run along the northeastern slope of the Ramapo Mountains and on to West Point, and Hudson River where the French ships lay. So that the enemy would not learn of the whereabouts of the road, it was not allowed to be traced on any map, and this was the famous Cannonball Road over which thousands of cannonballs were transported in secrecy.

- 13 - The Cannonball Road, of today, ends for us at the Du Pont plant about a half mile from the main street of Pompton Lakes, but traces of it are still visible at it winds its way through the Ramapos. At one time part of it was rebuilt by Jacob S. Rogers who had erected a dam to increase the area of Rotten Pond (then called Le Grand Lake), from eight acres to one-hundred-and-two-acres. The road, with its outlet near Sunnybank, ended at the furnace and forge which was in operation in the 1700's. Built circa 1700 (one historian states that in a foreclosure against the Ogden family, in the late 1600's, a furnace at the site was noted) * a typical iron works manor grew up about the furnace and forge. A casting house, charcoal house and other necessary buildings were erected. Homes for the employees were constructed, as were a store, church, woodworking shop, blacksmith shop, stables and such. • Ed Turse, of Pompton Lakes brought to our attention the remains of the old Ogden blast furnace that was located along the Ramapo Fdver, just below the falls. A Sunday afternoon hike revealed the location, perhaps a half mile below the dam; along the Ramapo River on the William Whitmore property, near the Wayne Animal Hospital. This iron works was located about a mile from the center of our present day town of Pompton Lakes, and a dam and sluiceway were built to supply power for the water-wheels. Iron ore was first obtained from nearby mines in the present-day Pines Lake area. Old Pompton Furnace was made of red sandstone and the remains of the furnace are still visible today as it stands against the side of a hill, near Pompton Falls, above the Paterson-Hamburg Turnpike. Heat for the furnace was furnished by burning charcoal and the charcoal itself was made in "burning pits" which were really not pits at all, but were flat ground. First the ground was cleared of all brush, small trees, stumps, etc, and was then leveled. Cut lengths of wood were piled in a pattern on the leveled ground, in a spot from 16' to 20' in diameter. After (he wood was piled up until it reached a height of about 8', a ring of dirt was piled all about the base of the pile. About every four feet around the base, peeled 3' long sticks were set with their smaller ends pointing inwards, and the remainder of each stick extending out- wards beyond the ring of dirt. These sticks were about an inch or so thick and when they were withdrawn they supplied air draft holes for the burning wood inside, and were the regulators of the rate of combustion. In charcoal burning, if the fire becomes too active, the gasses created by the burning of the wood escape too quickly and the pit explodes, sending burning wood in all directions. After the peeled sticks were arranged about the base, the entire pile of wood was covered with a couple of feet of either sod or dirt;

- 14 - and a small hole, about 2" or so, was left at the top for the escape of smoke and gasses. After lighting the fire, through small holes left in the base, the holes were then covered with dirt. The burning of the wood took about ten days before it was sufficiently burned, after which time the air inlets were closed, and later the hole at the top was closed. Several more days passed before the fire was out and the pit cooled enough for the dirt or sod to be removed, and the charcoal carted away in wagons. One pit of this size made many wagonloads of charcoal. Early ownership, of the Pompton Furnace, has not been clearly established. Some say that the Schuylers were the first to own and work the furnace, while others believe that the Ryersons were the original owners. In the early seventeen hundreds there were few white families living at Pompton. There were names such as Schuyler, Brockholst, George Ryerson, Samuel Berrie, John Mead, and Hendrick Mandeville. Historians differ in their findings as to the ironmaster at the time of the Revolutionary War. One stated that Gabriel Ogden was running the works at that time, while others insist that the Ryersons were in possession of it. However, early in 1777, General George Washington directed the ironmasters of Pompton and Hibernia works to fill General Schuyler's request for munitions. An order, in May 1777, stated that Mr. Gabriel Ogden, of the Pompton Iron Works, had been hired to cast cannonballs and grape shot. We know that Martin J. Ryerson, one of the largest, individual landowners in the county, was running it in 1812; and that at his death, in 1839, the works was inherited by his son, Peter M. Ryerson. Under Peter M's management, the works flourished and for years he was the largest iron manufacturer in the United States; however, financial difficulties forced him to surrender the works in the late 1850's. James Horner had come into the company in the middle 1850's, and James Ludlum soon after. With the coming of Ludlum, all Ryerson interests were bought out, and eventually the works became known as the Ludlum Steel Company, and steel products of the highest quality were being turned out. When the Morris Canal was built, a feeder canal was dug from Pompton to Mountain View, and Pompton was then able to use the

- 15 - waterway for transportation of its iron products, and could obtain coal for its furnace and forge from the Pennsylvania coal fields. Construction on the Morris Canal was begun in 1825, and the waterway was opened to traffic six years later. It extended from Phillipsburg, N. J. on the Delaware River, (opposite Easton, Penn- sylvania) to Newark Bay; and by the time the canal crossed the water supply, in Mountain View, it was ten feet or more over river level. Replenishing the water supply was a necessity and the feeder canal from Pompton to Mountain View was dug. The river was dredged from the furnace to what is now the Pompton Falls, water was backed up by the feeder dam, and was then taken by the dug canal, 4.2 miles before emptying into the main canal at Mountain View. The lock gates at the river, at the feeder dam, were known as Lock 13, and had an elevation of 121.7'. A Mr. Taylor lived in the gate house at the lock gate, and it was his job to open the gates when necessary; and it was also his responsibility to make sure that the banks of the canal had not been undermined by muskrats. This necessitated his walking along the waterway from Pompton to Mountain View early every morning. By 1836 the canal had been extended to the Hudson River at Jersey City, and the total length of the canal was 101.95 miles. The canal had been constructed, in the first place, because of the great need for better means of transportation of heavy goods from the interior to the Atlantic seaboard manufacturing centers, and from the Pennsylvania coal-fields to the forges and furnaces. Along the proposed route of the canal, most of the 56 forges in a single stretch of 15 miles, between Rockaway and Andover, had been forced to shut down because they had practically exhausted the local supply of wood for fuel. Transporting by v/agon and draft animals was slow, hard, and expensive. It took a strong team of animals to pull a wagonload up the hills, and one ton was the most a wagon carried. It cost as much to haul iron from Dover, New Jersey, to New York City, as it did to transport it from a Russian Port on the White Sea to New York. Until the coming of the railroads, and the building of better roads, the canal afforded the best means of cheap transportation of products and the cheapest way of obtaining fuel for the furnaces and forges. However, trouble came to the canal when the railroads began building into the interior, and in 1835 the Morris and Essex Railroad was chartered and built a line running parallel to the canal from one end to the other. Three railroad cars could carry as much as one of the largest canal boats, and the trip by rail took from 5 to 8 hours, whereas the trip down the waterway took five days.

- 16 - Also, the trains ran all year long, while winter ice in the canal made the suspension of water traffic necessary. With more and more railroad lines being built, the canal's traffic lessened until it was no longer practical to keep it in use, and the canal was closed down early in 1900. The rusted cannonball, at Sunnybank, was a memento of Pomp- ton's Revolutionary War days, just as a pair of Hessian handcuffs were. On another hike, Bert had come across the handcuffs, high in the mountains and had brought them back to add to his collection at Sunnybank. The Hessian soldiers had been brought over to America, to help the British fight the War. Great Britain had sent agents to Germany to "hire" men for service in the war with the colonies; and many mercenaries found themselves fighting in the front ranks of someone else's war in which they had no interest, in a country far from their homes. They were treated badly by the English, and as the war continued and they fought back and forth across New Jersey, many of them deserted and made their way to the Ramapo Mountains, where they hid, and stayed. The Ramapo Mountains held a mixture of people, including Tuscarora Indians, German mercenaries, Dutch adventurers, British sympathizers, and negroes. Many of the "Jackson Whites" joined the others, in the Ramapos, after the war; and through the years various nationalities and colors intermixed until finally all of the Ramapo Mountain folks were spoken of as Jackson Whites. The real "Jackson Whites" were the women brought over from Europe by a man named Jackson, who had been contracted to supply the restless British forces in New York City, with camp followers. The women were locked in a stockade for the duration, and at the end of the war when the British sailed away, the women were left to their own devices. Many of them left the stockade with babies in their arms, and tiny tots clinging to their skirts. Many of them had been decent girls who had been "shanghaied" when English brothels failed to fill the quota contracted for. It has been written that when one of the ships, carrying the women to America, sank; a boatload of women from the West Indies was obtained to fill their places. Their lives shattered, with illegitimate children clinging to them, the unfortunate women straggled through New Jersey, and most of them ended up in the Ramapo Mountains.

- 17 - Much has been said about the Albinos that lived in the hills. The cause of their white hair and eyebrows, their colorless looking skin, and pink eyes, was never satisfactorily explained. Whether it was from recurring inbreeding or lack of copper sulfate was not known, but ethnologists came from various lands to study the albinos of the Ramapos. Both the Rev. Edward Payson Terhune, and author Albert Pay- son Terhune were allowed to roam the mountains unmolested by the "Jackson Whites". Perhaps because the Terhunes did nothing to invoke fear in the unfortunate mountain people, and told nothing of what they saw in the hills. On Sunnybank's grounds, many arrowheads and crude stone utensils were found. Reminders of the Indian encampments and villages of this area before the invasion of the white settlers. The Redmen usually located along river banks or near lakes, and many of the towns, rivers and lakes in the Pompton area have Indian names. Wanaque . . . Pequannock . . . Ramapo . . . Singac . . . Totowa . . . are but a few. Pompton was named for the Indians who lived here before the white man came, and the Indians had taken their name from the river along which they lived. To them the crooked stream was "Pomp- ton", meaning "the river with the wry mouth", referring to the winding way in which it ran. When Europeans first came to New Jersey they found the Lenni Lenape Indians living here. Lenni Lenape means "Real men" or "Original people", and the Redmen were divided into three groups; the Minsi, Unalachtigo, and the Unamis. The Pompton Indian was a sub-tribe of the Minsi who lived in the north. Locating along water courses and lakes, the men built their homes, and the squaws worked in the gardens that were planted just outside of the village. The houses were most always small, about ten by twelve feet, and they were either circular or rectangular in shape, with very low doorways. The Indians cut saplings from the nearby forests and drove them into the ground, two or three feet apart, to outline their house; then the slender tops were bent and lashed together with thongs, but gathered loosely at the top to provide an opening through which smoke could escape. Saplings were tied crosswise over the upright poles to make the framework more sturdy. If the structure was to be temporary, the framework was covered with woven mats; but the more permanent houses were covered with

- 18 - large bark shingles, or with overlapping bundles of reed, grass, corn husks, or with animal skins. Platforms, about waist high, usually ran around three sides of the house, upon which the Indians slept; using the space beneath for storage purposes. Their beds were skins, or mats made of corn husks, laid on the platform; with skins, or turkey feather blankets, for covers. A fire in the center of the house furnished heat and light, as well as being used for cooking their food. It was the duty of the Indian man to hunt, fish, and defend his family; and the woman took care of the children, home and garden. The men prepared the ground for the garden, but it was the women who cultivated the crops. The men would burn the brush and then turn the ashes under to help fertilize the soil; and sometimes they used small fish as fertilizer, and would catch many of them in the river with their nets. The squaws had very crude tools to work with, using crooked sticks, or chipped stones fastened to sticks to use as hoes. When fish was used as a fertilizer, the squaw first dug a hole, then dropped a fish into it, and hoed up the soil into a low hill. The hills were about four or five feet apart; and when they were all made the squaw punched a hole in the top with a sharp stick, dropped four or five kernels of corn in the hole, and then covered it over with soil. After the corn began to grow, beans were planted so that they could climb the cornstalks; and squash and pumpkin seeds were planted so that their vines would cover the ground between the hills. The squaws also planted sunflower seeds, but these were planted along one side of the planting-field, instead of in it. Since the man furnished just the meat and fish, the woman had to furnish the corn, beans, squash, pumpkin, roots, nuts, berries and such foods. Women, boys and girls went in parties into the forest to gather nuts which were used in corn bread, or as a flavoring after grinding them with a little water and straining them to obtain a milky fluid. Some Indian women boiled the pulp and skimmed off the oil for future use. In the summer, red and black berries were gathered, and most of them were placed in large, flat baskets which were set up on the shed roofs to dry for use in winter. Some would be used in the bread dough, while others would be boiled and eaten hot or cold. When the corn was ripe in the autumn, it was gathered in baskets; the husks were stripped back but left on the ears so that they could be braided together into strings.

- 19 - There were five different kinds of corn, and the most perfect ears were kept for seed for next year's garden, while the imperfect ears were set aside for early use. The remaining ears were braided together into strings which were then tied together and hung over a horizontal pole to dry. Beans, of which there were six different kinds, were shelled, stored in flat baskets, and placed on the shed roofs to dry in the sun, just as the berries were. Squash and pumpkin were kept inside the shed; and since the round, flat, scalloped squash did not keep long, they were baked and eaten early. The long-necked, green and white striped squashes were cut into pieces and boiled or roasted; and one kind was cut into strips that were then hung up to dry. Sometimes, pumpkins were cut round and round into strips, woven into square mats and dried for use later on. When they were needed during the winter, they were broken up and boiled. Some Indians buried their squashes and pumpkins in deep pits to keep them from freezing. The sunflower seeds were also dried in the sun for use in winter. It is interesting to note that the squaw owned the garden while she worked in it, and the home and furnishings also belonged to her; as did the skins and meat that the man brought home for the family. The papoose was always near the mother, watching patiently from his cradleboard while she worked in the planting field; or worked with clay, fibres, skins, splints, reed, cornhusks, shell beads, feathers, deer hair and porcupine quills. Indian men worked with stone, copper, wood, shells and bone. tin The Indians loved children and welcomed them with love. Soon after birth, the papoose was wrapped in deerskins, with soft forest moss or finely shredded cedar bark for his "diapers". He was then fastened securely to a cradleboard which was then fastened to his mother's back, and he went everywhere with her. It is easy to visualize the papoose in his cradleboard, hanging from the limb of a nearby tree while his mother worked in the planting field. How peaceful it must have been, the squaw tending to the crops in the warm sunshine; while the papoose watched, with interest, everything that came within his range of view. Watching silently, until finally the quietness, which was broken only by the scratching of the crude tools, and the sounds of the birds, lulled him to sleep in his gently swaying "bed". The cradleboard was between two and three feet long and about ten inches wide. Near one end was a thin, flat wooden piece that was bent in the form of an arch. Thong loops ran down both sides of the mainboard, and near the bottom of the board was a small shelf for baby's feet to rest against.

- 20 - A papoose stayed in the cradleboard until he was able to walk, which was about at the age of nine months. The calm, patient Indian mother raised her children with love and kindness. They were taught to be silent, because silence was often a necessity for their security; but they were taught with kindness. From babyhood, the papoose was taught by example how to act. Little discipline was needed and the Indian baby learned to with- stand hardships in silence, with patience. He learned to forgive small wrongdoings, learned generosity, and learned to live with others, happily. As a young boy he raced over the village with wolf dogs at his side, and learned at an early age to swim and dive, to climb trees, and use bow and arrows. He was taught the habits of all animals, and Iheir uses. He learned to stalk game in the forest, to trap, to catch fish by building a weir in the stream. Evidence of Indian villages and encampments in the Pompton area is found in the arrowheads, tomahawks and crude utensils that have been unearthed, and are still being found. Across the lake from Sunnybank, beyond the mountain, a few miles away is Pompton Plains ... so named because that spot is where the valley broadens out into a broad plain. It was there that the Indians used to go from great distances, to attend pow-wows and religious ceremonies. At harvest time, the annual meeting of worship was held in the Big House, and prayers were offered to the gods. The Big House was decorated inside with twelve carved, painted masks on posts around the sides of the house; and on a wooden pillar in the center, a carved face represented the main God. The Delaware Indians (Lenni Lenape) believed that there were twelve, superimposed heavens with a God in each; and a supreme Being ("Manito") at the top. The ceremonies included telling the story of the creation of the world, and of the Indian way of life, their wars, their harvests, etc. Young boys who had gone into the forest to wait the coming of their guardian spirit, told of the visions they had received; and there were special dances and prayers. The Bear Dance was performed by an Indian wearing a mask and a bear skin. He appeared to represent a spirit supposed to be the guardian of deer and all game animals. In reciting, it was necessary to shout twelve times, since the Manito resided in the uppermost heaven, and their words must get through to him.

- 21 - Many traces of the old ceremonial ground could be seen when Pompton Plains was still farmland. Many arrowheads and ceremonial stones have been found in that locality. The Terhune homestead gave forth evidence of both Indian encampment, and encampment of the Revolutionary War American troops. Bert Terhune finished his last year at Columbia University, and after his graduation, in 1893, he and his mother went abroad to gather information for a book that Mrs. Terhune had been contracted to write. The book "The Home Of The Bible" was written in the Holy Land, and it was during this trip that Bert traveled through Syria and Egypt on horseback. Mrs. Terhune wrote under the pen name "Marion Harland", and had been writing since she was a young girl. At the age of fourteen she had written a story called "Marrying Through Pru- dential Motives" which was published under the pen name, since girls of that time were not supposed to do anything so unladylike as to write professionally. Her mother, the former Judith Smith, was shocked when she discovered that her daughter had been writing; but her father, Samuel Pierce Hawes, read all of her manuscripts and encouraged her to go on with her writing . . . telling her that God had given her a gift and that she should make use of it. At eighteen, she finished her first novel "Alone", and during her ninety-two years of life, wrote many articles, short stories, and books. Among her books were "Hidden Path" (1856) . . . "Loiterings In Pleasant Paths" (1880) . . . "Moss Side" (1858) . . . "Nemesis" (1860) . . . "At Last" (1863) . . . "Helen Gardner" (1864) . . . "True As Steel" (1865) . . . "Sunnybank" (1867) . . . "Husbands and Homes" (1868) . . . "Phemie's Temptation" (1868) . . . "The Empty Heart" (1869) . . . "Ruby's Husband" (1870) . . . "Jessamine" (1871) . . . "My Little Love" (1876) . . . "Handicapped" (1882) . . . "Judith" (1883) ... "A Gallant Fight" (1888) . . . "His Great Self" (1892) . . . "The Home Of The Bible" (1894) . . . "Some Colonial Homesteads and their Stories" (1897) . . . "Where Ghosts Walk" (1898) . . . "More Colonial Homesteads and Their Stories" (1899). Books on domestic life and home training were "Common Sense in the Household" (1872) . . . "Breakfast, Luncheon and Tea" (1874) . . . "The Dinner Year Book" (1877) . . . "Eve's Daughters" (1882) . . . "Common Sense In The Nursery" (1885) . . . and other books oc this type. In one of her most important books on cookery, she collaborated with her daughter, Mrs. Christine Terhune Herrick, also well known as a writer.

- 22 - Another daughter, Mrs. Virginia Terhune Van De Water, earned a reputation as a brilliant writer of short stories and essays. In 1900, Mrs. Terhune collaborated with her son, Albert Payson Terhune, on the book "Dr. Dale: A Story Without a Moral", and it was the first known collaboration of a mother and son. Aboard, after graduation from the university, Bert and his mother gathered material for her book "The Home of The Bible" and Bert was a great help to her since there were many places that she was not allowed to visit. In her place, he visited the leper settlements, the Bedouin camps, and several other places for the information she needed. Each time he returned to her, he told her of everything he had seen and done, then went off again in search of more material. He traveled through Syria and Egypt on horseback, crossing part of Syria in the rainy season; and for a week at a time his clothing was never dry, regardless of raincoat, helmet and high boots. The ground became a sea of mud from the weeks of nearly constant rain, and a light gust of wind would pull the tent pegs and center pole from the mud, and leave Bert buried beneath the soggy mass. Wandering into the Land of Moab, Bert went "native" for awhile and lived with the outlaw El Kanah tribe of Bedouins; who enjoyed him so much that they wanted to make him a member of the tribe. It was there that he learned to dip pieces of bread into a public bowl of clotted milk and honey, which was then swallowed whole. This was the same type of bowl that was used in the time of Christ; and when Bert and his wife, Anice, visited Algeria years later, they found a similar bowl which they brought back to Sunnybank. It was shallow and large . . . perhaps 30" in diameter ... an antique copper bowl, inlaid with silver, and many centuries old. The bowl had an honored place at Sunnybank, on a table between the living room and music room; and was filled with beauty in every season of the year, from the earliest blooms of spring to the clumps of holly and berries in the winter. Sprays of pink and white Dogwood were heaped in the bowl in Springtime, and Florentine Iris, tulips and bridal wreath; then summer roses of pink, red, and white. Bert loved the small white June roses best of all and called them "Little country roses". Late summer brought dahlias and gladioli; autumn the giant chrysanthemums from the greenhouse. Clumps of holly leaves and red berries filled the bowl in winter, adding a bright note to the dark months of the year. From the Bedouins, in the desert, Bert brought back two evil looking blunderbusses that hung on the library wall at Sunnybank, through the years.

- 23 - While in the Holy Land he swam the River Jordan; and, from it, brought back a canteen filled with its sacred water which was kept untouched until some of it was used, years later, to baptize his little daughter, Lorraine. He swam in the Dead Sea where his hair and beard turned white with salt. He came upon a young shepherd, on a hillock near the Sea of Galilee, who was playing a pipe as he tended his flock of baby camels . . . and Bert brought that pipe home to take its place on Sunnybank's wall. On Christmas morning, in Bethlehem, he bought a mother-of- pearl crucifix which he wore under his shirt for several years until his marriage to Anice Stockton and then, soon after their marrige, he gave it to her to wear; which she did . . . always. Of all his experiences abroad, two left him with memories he would have liked to forget. One was when he visited the Namaan House of Lepers near Damascus, the other when he visited a Moslem shrine near Hebron. The horse that he rode across Syria, was a little Arabian stallion named "Massoud" who used to follow him about like a dog when he was not being ridden; but once the saddle was placed on his back, friendship ceased between man and beast. The stallion seemed to be forever looking for a way to harm the man; and managed, one day, to kick Bert as he came near. Kicked him hard, catching him in the right side, near the hip, and knocking him flat. Seeming none the worse for it, Bert started on again in a few days, but the blow had done something that developed into a case of appendicitis and peronitis. After spending nearly a month at Lucerne, Switzerland, under a doctor's care, Bert was told by the Swiss doctor, to go home to America and stop all form of strenuous exercise for at least six months; so since Bert's mother had finished her book, the two returned to Sunnybank in 1894. To pass away some of the time that hung so heavy on his hands during his "resting" period, Bert wrote a book called "Syria From The Saddle" which was published in Boston in 1896. That winter, after his return from the Holy Land, Bert and Anice Stockton met at a friend's home. Many years had passed since they had played together, as children in Springfield, Massachusetts; but during those years they had kept track of each other through relatives and friends, and were happy to renew their warm friendship. It had been more than friendship, even as children. A deeper feeling had existed between the children, and remained with them.

- 24 - Bert and Anice made plans to meet again soon, but through a misunderstanding they drifted apart . . . hurt . . . neither one willing to make the first move to get together, for fear of learning that the other was not really interested. Bert had called at Anice's house, but was told that she was ill and was asked to please call again. Later, when he visited her home, he was told that she was not at home. He gave his card to the maid, who promptly threw it away, instead of giving it to her mistress when she returned from the doctor's office where she had gone for a checkup. A misunderstanding developed with Anice thinking that Bert was not interested enough to call again as asked, and Bert felt that she had deliberately refused to see him since it happened twice in such a short time. During the following years both kept busy with their work. Bert was working on the "Evening World", a New York City newspaper; and Anice was occupied with her music for she was studying to become a concert pianist. It was an unfortunate turn of events . . . the misunderstanding . . . the drifting apart ... for it was during those years that Bert Terhune, a hurt, discouraged man, turned to another woman and on January 10, 1898, married Lorraine Marguerite Bryson, daughter of Gilbert Bryson of Baltimore, Maryland. The couple was married in Cazenovia, New York, but within all too short a time, Albert Payson Terhune became a husband, father, and widower . . . for the young wife died on October 9, 1898, four days after giving birth to Lorraine Virginia. The young wife died at just 23 years of age, and left Bert a widower at 26, father of a motherless child. The following year, Bert Terhune and Anice Stockton met again when he called at her home one evening while she was entertaining guests with her piano playing. He waited until the guests had gone, then he and Anice straightened out their past differences and began their warm association anew. Bert was working on the "Evening World" newspaper in N. Y. C, having started with it on November 12, 1894, with the intentions of staying just two weeks while waiting for a promised job with a publishing firm to become available. The position never did materialize, so Bert stayed on at the newspaper, although he disliked the work. He was working nights at the time he and Anice met again, but they were together nearly every day; and before long were making plans to marry. However, because Bert's work kept him in New York, and Anice had several musical obligations to fill, they could not be married at once as Bert wished.

- 25 - When he began with the Evening World, as a cub reporter, he was earning $15 a week, but within three months his pay was raised to $20. Although he stayed on at the office until May 13, 1916, he never stopped disliking newspaper work. During the years since he had last seen Anice, Bert had written another book "Columbia Stories" and had done many serials for the paper as a "ghost writer". It was about 1897 when the Evening World began publishing a series of ten installments that were written by "Ten Beautiful Shopgirls". It was an advertising trick, and Bert was all ten of the beautiful shopgirls who were supposed to have written the installments. Later he wrote a series called "Ten Popular Actresses", ghosting as before. < i:'.t\ Serials followed, presumably written by famous person, but Bert Terhune wrote them all. About 1889 he was Lillian Russell, then Mrs. Leslie Carter (the most talked of woman in America in 1889, being connected with a divorce case in Chicago, then later seeking a career on the stage). He was Jim Jeffries with a prizefight series; and Terry McGovern with a sporting page series. As Jim Corbett he wrote a series about muscle-building. Later he was David Belasco when he wrote the novelization of a play called "The Return of Peter Grimm". The idea of the play had been Cecil B. De Mille's (according to De Mille), who being poor at the time, sold the idea to Belasco for $500. When Bert was asked to write the novelization of the play, Belasco insisted on using his own name as author of the novel; but anyone who reads the book will recognize it as Albert Payson Ter- hune's. Woven through the book are names of Sunnybank collies, Pompton Lakes residents, etc., that David Belasco himself could never have known. In 1899 Bert had been raised to $40 a week at the paper. In 1900 he wrote a book titled "Dr. Dale: A Story Without A Moral" in collaboration with his mother. It was in June 1900 that Anice was invited, by her future mother and father-in-law, to visit Sunnybank, and on June 6th they gave her a party in honor of the coming wedding, with between three and four hundred guests present. The evening after the party an odd thing happened. It was Sunday, and the Reverend was staying in New York City (having preached in one of the New York churches that day) and was to return to Sunnybank the following morning.

- 26 - After supper, that evening, Anice was sitting on the veranda with the rest of the family when she suddenly spied the Reverend walking quickly around the driveway that circled the lawn. Frightened, she got Bert aside and told him what she had seen. Bert became alarmed because he knew that his father was still in New York, consequently both he and Anice felt that something terrible had happened to the Reverend. Bert told Anice that his father always took a brisk walk around the driveway early every evening, and liked to wear the old clothing that she had described. The young couple waited for tragic news to reach them that evening, but none came; and the Reverend arrived . . . hale and hearty. Mystified, the couple decided that it must have been a meta- physical happening. They felt that at that certain time of evening, Reverend Terhune must have been thinking how he would like to be at Sunnybank, taking his evening walk, dressed in his comfortable old coat and hat; and that somehow, Anice's mind must have been the negative that received the picture sent out by his thoughts. The following year, on September 2, 1901, Bert and Anice were married in New England. The ceremony was to take place in the Congregational Church in Hampden, Massachusetts, and the town started to redecorate the church in honor of the occasion. However, when half finished, the work was halted because of a steel strike, and the young couple had to be married elsewhere. Reverend Terhune was to marry them, yet, since it was necessary to have a clergyman from Massachusetts to make the ceremony legal; they ended up with the marriage being performed in a Methodist Church by a Dutch Reformed clergyman, and a Congregational clergyman, using the Episcopal marriage service. After a honeymoon, in the Whiteface Mountains, the bride and groom stayed at Sunnybank for several weeks, with Bert taking the Commuter train to work every morning. Anice drove him to the station every morning, and picked him up every evening, using "Fritz" the chestnut gelding to pull the carriage. Sunnybank was a heavenly spot, and Anice loved it as the Ter- hunes did. The sleepy little village of Pompton had become a borough in 1895 and was known as Pompton Lakes now, and Anice liked to visit the village stores where friendly people made each trip a pleasure. Then there were no paved streets, no cars whizzing by, no super- markets and variety of stores. No noise, confusion and congested traffic. Bert and Anice liked to spend their early evenings on the lake, with Bert rowing while Anice strummed her guitar and sang to him.

- 27 - The soft music floated over the quiet waters of Pompton Lake, and the surrounding mountains glowed in the fading sunlight. Autumn brought glorious, vivid colors to the mountains. As summer left, and wintertime drew nearer, autumn stepped in and dressed the community in one last colorful raiment before the cloak of winter spread over the sleeping earth. She brought various shades of yellow, orange, and red; inter- mingled with greens and browns. Trees of fire, and of gold, glowed from the mountains and brightened the countryside. Framed against the clear, azure blue skies of autumn, they were a delight to the eye and struck a chord in the heart. Bert showed Anice all of his favorite spots of the homestead, and together they explored the mountains and surrounding countryside. It was difficult to believe that many, many years before, this beautiful spot with its lush valleys and heavily wooded mountains was covered with glacial ice a mile or more thick. Ice that had its beginning in Canada, where snow fell in great quantities and became packed into a large sheet from one to two miles thick. A sheet, or glacier, that moved slowly southward, making many geological changes as it carried large boulders along, grinding up rocks, scraping soil from the mountain tops, scooping out huge holes in the softer rock, building up ridges, dumping soil, rock dust, and clay over the land. Great quantities of boulders were piled high in places, rocks of all sizes were scattered over the land, valleys were formed, large masses of clay and gravel formed natural dams behind which waters backed up to make lakes, streams had to carve out new beds for themselves as they flowed over rocks in their search for an outlet. Floors of lakes were scraped by the glacier, and shells were carried along with it on its southward move. It was just as hard to believe that, prior to the Great Ice Age, our land was ruled by strange creatures; and our waters dominated by just-as-strange water creatures. It is said that in the sea that covered our land, the ancestor of our modern shark swam. This would lead us to believe that it was one of the fish-lizards that grew to incredible lengths, some being forty feet long. On land, roaming the valleys, was the Trachodon, the duck- billed dinosaur that walked on its hind legs, holding its shorter fore- legs in front, in the manner of our kangaroo. These huge reptiles grew to be thirty feet or more in length; and while swimming, used their tails as propellers. Their duck-like bills were used in gathering the water plants on which they fed.

- 28 - Historians tell us of the fossil remains that have been found in our section of the land. They tell of the extinct horse that was found in New Jersey. As time passed, and the fish-lizards and dinosaurs disappeared from our lands, better developed mammals appeared. One of these was the small horse of the Eocene period of the Cenozoic era. Perhaps these historians refer to the Eohippus; which was a small horse about 16" high, doglike in shape, with a long head and large eyes. These small animals had four toes on their front feet, and three toes on their hind feet. They had hoofs, and lived in the forests of North America, and just before the end of the Ice Age, these horses disappeared. Gone now are the fish-lizards, the dinosaurs, the extinct horse, and the mammoths and mastodons that lived here so many years ago. Man is still unearthing marks that were left here years and years ago, in the form of fern fronds, bones and shells imprinted in the stone. In some parts of our land there is evidence that deposits from the Gulf of Mexico were left here. Probably left here when the Gulf of Mexico overflowed and covered most of the southern United States, during the Cretaceous period; and Texas, Oklahoma, Kansas, and Wyoming gradually sank; and waters crept across the land . . . and deposits were washed in from the northwestern part of the United States, also. This great inland sea was more than a thousand miles across. As time passed, and geological changes came, it is logical that the waters of this great sea washed deposits onto our section of the land. In 1894 Daniel Cassady of Sussex County, not far from Pompton Lakes, discovered a petrified oyster near where he lived, between Coleville and Deckertown (now Sussex). The gigantic oyster was 12" by 8" in size and weighed twenty pounds or more. It has been said that this is one of the remains of the great sea that spread our way. Glacial ice visited us four or five times, and at one time a glacial lake covered most of the Upper Passaic Valley. A lake some 30 miles long and 10 miles wide, which in some places reached a depth of 240 feet. Eventually the waters receded and the remaining waters cut their way to the sea and a river was all that remained of the great lake ... a river called Passaic. There is much to wonder about, much to marvel at, in this world of ours, in this county of ours. Bert and Anice roamed the mountains . . . marveling . . . wonder- ing.

- 29 - For Anice, the days sped by and it seemed all too soon that it was time for her and Bert to leave the beautiful Terhune homestead and begin housekeeping in New York City. With the honeymoon over, and the Sunnybank visit over, the couple settled down in a fifth floor walkup apartment, with $18 to their name. Work at the Evening World continued, and a chance to earn extra money writing bright anecdotes of well-known New Yorkers, for which Bert was paid one dollar apiece. He telephoned several local celebrities, asking permission to use their names with his anecdotes, and then bought a ten-cent joke book, revised the stories, using local names of importance. He added an extra $20 to his weekly income in this manner for awhile. Next he wrote short editorial comments for which he received 50c apiece, which gave him about thirteen dollars extra each week. This continued for about a year. After that came jokes to go with comical pictures in the Sunday Edition, and verse for use with decorative pictures that they printed. Bert was paid fifty cents for each joke (he used the same ten- cent joke book), and one dollar for each verse. Other extras followed . . . ghosting for other columns that brought Bert seven dollars and fifty cents a column; feature work that was rewritten or translated from foreign newspapers; so that for awhile Bert was earning quite a sizeable weekly pay, as high as $103 alto- gether. Eventually, this extra work was discontinued and Bert was back to a regular pay which was $45 a week by that time. It was in the early 1900's that one of the most interesting phases of Bert's newspaper work came when his editor arranged for him to box three rounds a day, for six days, with each of the six greatest professional boxers of that time . . . James Corbett, Bob Fitzsim- mons, Jim Jeffries, Tom Sharkey, Kid McCoy, and Gus Ruhlin . . . after which he was to write of each experience. Bert was surprised at the viciousness with which the boxers fought. Never before had they shown such a streak to him, and it was fortunate that he was in excellent condition. As it was, he emerged from the six bouts of unmerciful pounding minus two teeth, lips in ribbons, with numerous bruises and cuts, and a broken hand; but he had not been knocked out, or even knocked down. Months later he learned why the fighters had fought so brutually ... the editor had promised the fighters that whoever should knock Bert out would receive a half-page "special" on the Saturday sports page. In January 1905, Anice became dangerously ill with pneumonia, and being hard up financially, Bert had to stay home with her for a

- 30 - few days because she needed constant care and they could not afford a nurse. He would sit by her bed and read to her in a monotone until she fell asleep, then he would get out his paper and pencil and begin writing jokes to earn extra money. Jokes that were dragged from his worried mind as he sat beside his sick wife. Jokes that earned him enough to hire a trained nurse for her, after two nights of rack- ing his frightened brain for them. Anice's doctor told Bert that she had tuberculosis, and that they should move to Denver, or some such place with similar climate. Bert was ready to go anywheres to save her life, but she refused to let him give up his job. Anice promised to spend most of her time on the roof, in the fresh air, and told the doctor that if she was not better within a year, she would do whatever he advised. So Anice spent most of her winter on the roof, warmly protected by plenty of coverings, and in summer she and Bert lived in a tent in the Adirondack Mountains, during his vacation. By the end of the year she had improved so much that moving away was unnecessary. For seven years, Bert and his wife spent their summer vacations living outdoors in the Adirondacks. After the grueling ordeal of those nights he had sat beside his wife's sickbed, writing jokes, Bert Terhune took stock of himself. At thirty-two years of age he didn't have $100 that he could call his own, his weekly pay was now $47.50, and he was thousands of dollars in debt. Right then and there, he set a schedule for himself that he kept for several years. Bert set aside five hours a night, five nights a week, for writing. He had to make good as a fiction writer if he and his family were to have any financial security. Each night he came home from the office, after spending nine hours working on the paper, and after dinner, shower and rubdown, began writing. After months of "evening" writing, he sold a 60,000 words serial "The Secret of The Blue House" to the All-Story magazine for $125. His next serial, of the same length, was sold to the Argosy magazine for $180, and the third serial for $250. By degrees, the editor of the magazine raised the price until Bert was receiving $500 for each serial. Bert wrote for both the All-Story and the Argosy, writing serials, and short stories for which he received $50.

- 31 - One serial, "The Frontier of The Stars", which was sold to All- Story magazine, became a motion picture a few years later; and the author received $1,000 for his share of the picture rights. He worked hard, those nights at his desk, turning out story after story, and serial after serial. Besides writing for Argosy and All-Story, he was also writing for Top Notch, Ainslee's, Popular, and other pub- lications. In 1906 he met Frank Lovell, who was working on a scheme for selling serials, written by prominent authors, to newspapers in large cities. Lovell asked Bert to do the presswork, writing announcements to be placed in the papers in advance of the serials, and then reviews of the books themselves. The work was easy for Bert, taking but an hour's work each evening, and he was paid well for it. During the assignment, one of the authors was unable to supply his serial, and Lovell chose Winston Churchill as the succeeding author to fill the spot. Knowing how very busy Churchill was at that time, Lovell thought it would expedite the work if he had a synopsis prepared for Churchill to go by, and Bert was hired to do the job. Bert gave the synopsis the title of "Caleb Conover, Railroader" (at that time, Churchill was writing books about railroad financial methods, and his titles all began with "C"). However, Winston Chur- chill would not agree to do the serial and the time was growing short. Rert offered to write the necessary 60,000 words serial within 30 days if Lovell would make it worth his while, since the missing novel was needed in order to keep the contract with the string of newspapers. The novel was finished on time and Bert was paid $1,500 for his efforts. "Caleb Conover, Railroader" did well, and was made into a motion picture later. Later, Lovell went into the publishing business and Bert wrote another novel for him . . . "The Fighter", which the author felt was the best thing he had ever written. It sold well, being on the Best Sellers lists in some cities for awhile. However, Lovell's firm col- lapsed and Bert didn't even receive the royalties due him. He earned a small amount from the book when another company reprinted it later, and when it was made into a motion picture. At this time Bert was writing historical sketches that ran in the Evening World for ten years. In 1910, Bert, Anice and his daughter Lorraine moved into a new apartment, which was on the third floor, where they lived for ten years. The author and his wife went to the grand opera three times a week, during the season, for four years. It cost them nothing, since

- 32 - the music critic of the newspaper gave them the tickets in exchange for a write-up for each opera they attended. Both Bert and his wife were writing for a syndicate in Chicago then, Bert's were essays about nearly everything and everybody; while Anice's were articles of home musical education for children (which were later republished in book form under the name "Music Study for Children"). By 1912, Bert had jacked his prices up to $100 for each short story, and $1,400 for most serials. He was writing twenty or more short stories a year, five or more 60,000 word serials, as well as working on the newspaper where his pay had increased to $80 a week. By then, the author, his wife, and his daughter were living at Sunnybank, spending but two or three of the winter months at their New York City apartment each year. Sunnybank . . . lovely, beloved Sunnybank had become his when his mother deeded the estate to him in 1909, two years after the death of his father, the Reverend Edward Payson Terhune. Bert had been assistant to the head of the editorial and magazine department since the previous year. The head of the department had poor health and was an invalid for a long time before his death; so Bert often had to do his work, besides his own. He worked out a system in which he could do all of the necessary office work in three hours, and then spend the rest of the time with his own writing. Eight days out of ten, he could edit the copy, make up two pages, write his own articles, and do the other necessary jobs, in three hours. This left six hours in which he could work on his magazine writings, since he was working a nine-hour day, and this made his evening writing (from 8 P.M. to 1 A.M.) unnecessary. The author was making three times as much money on outside work, as he was on newspaper work; and planned to leave the office within a few years so that he could live his life as he wished, and write when he wished to. He was working towards the day when he would be free to live at Sunnybank all the time, and doing all of his writing there. It was about 1912 that he Anice had a large lily-and-goldfish-pool dug in the woods at Sunnybank. They stocked it with goldfish and tad- poles, and even miniature turtles; they planted water-lilies in it, and several varities of plants around it. Something happened to one of the young frogs that year. They found him one day, with one eye clouded over with a white film, and a triangular white scar on the top of his head. The Mistress called him "Jack" and he became a pet of the estate; becoming as tame as the collies and came to have his back scratched and to be fed flies. Every autumn Jack used to burrow into the mud at the bottom of the pool and stay there until Spring. He grew fast and grew to be

- 33 - a huge bullfrog; then one day in 1932 (when Jack was twenty years old), he disappeared. Never before, that was known, had he ventured further than six feet from the pool; yet the author found his flattened body outside Sunnybank's gates . . . about 220 yards uphill from the pool. Whether, or not, he was carried there by some "souvenir hunting" visitor who decided he did not want Jack after all, no one ever knew. The little pet of twenty years was missed in the years that followed. In 1912 Bert enrolled as a charter member of the Adventurers Ciub. In 1913, when the head of the editorial-and-magazine-depart- inent died, Bert was given the job; and just as he was getting ready to resign in 1914, the war came ... so he waited nearly two years longer until he felt that the magazine field would not be too depressed by the war. In 1913 the editor of Smart Set magazine ordered a series of yarns about the underworld and the series was variously known as "The Raegan Stories" and "Daughters of Rahab". Among the Raegan stories were "The Girl Who Couldn't Go Wrong", "The Merchant of Venus", "An Actress of Promise", "The Dogwhip", "Accident Ward Number Seven", etc. For each of the stories in the series he was paid $75. There were no canine characters in the Raegan stories, yet this series led to Bert's writing of his famous dog stories years later. One time when Bert sent in a story called "The Temporary Tri- angle", the editor was ill and a substitute opened the story and rejected it. Bert then sent it to editor Ray Long, of Red Book magazine, who accepted it and published it under the title "Whose Wife?", and that was the beginning of a business contract that lasted for many years. The author wrote story after story for Ray Long who published them in Red Book, Blue Book, and Green Book magazines. Some months Bert had a story in each of the magazines, and the editor kept raising the price steadily. He published Bert's serial novels "Dollars and Cents" and "The Years of The Locust" and before long both of them were made into motion pictures. (Later, after Ray Long left Red Book magazine, to become editor- in-chief for Hearst magazine in New York, Bert continued to write for him.) Whenever Long was East on business for Red Book, he would run out to Sunnybank for a visit. He had a way with animals and the collies at Pompton took to him at once. Before long, even Lad accepted him as a friend, which was unusual because Lad had always stood apart from everyone but the Mistress and the Master of Sunnybank.

- 34 - One day, when the editor was visiting, Lad went up to him and put his paw and head on the man's knee. Long was extremely pleased and, not long after, the editor asked Bert to write him a story about Lad, and Bert refused. He said that for ten years he had been trying to get an editor to allow him to write a dog story, but they always refused, so there was no use in writing one now. At Long's insistence, Bert Terhune wrote the story and called it "His Mate". The story told of Lad's clash with another collie that was visiting Sunnybank ... a collie that tried to win over Lad's mate. "His Mate" was published in the January 1915 issue of Red Book magazine, and within a few months four other editors were asking for dog stories. For the first 6,000 word dog story that Bert had written, at Ray Long's insistence, he received $200. (For the last dog story of the same length that he wrote at Ray Long's order in 1923, he received $2,000). Since joining the Adventurers Club in 1912, Bert had joined others . . . the Explorers Club, Lambs, Players, Dutch Treat Club. He and Anice were making yearly trips, taking time out from the New York months to go abroad, or to travel within the United States. From 1911 to 1916, Bert was averaging three hours a day on actual work for the Evening World, and was making from $12,000 to $30,000 a year on outside work. Only $80 a week of this was from the newspaper work, the rest was from doing what he loved to do. During those years, Bert was offered better jobs with other papers, but declined them all so that he could continue working under the ideal arrangement that he had made for himself. By 1915 he was writing several serials a year, and money v/as coming in from a new source. Motion picture serials were becoming extremely popular, and to get people still more interested in them, some of the motion picture companies wanted some of the serials made into novels which were to be printed in various newspapers. Bert was chosen to do most of this writing and for each one he received $4,000. After paying 20% to the man who had made the work available to him, Bert cleared $3,200 on each serial. No longer did he have financial worries. He was doing the work he loved, and getting paid well for it. On May 13, 1916 Bert Terhune retired from newspaper work and began working on his own at Sunnybank. At last, Albert Payson Terhune was home to stay. Home at Sunny- bank in Pompton, in the month of May.

- 35 - Maytime in the country! That wonderful time of the year when the earth awakens from her winter's sleep and dresses the countryside in lacy garments of various shades of green. A lacy network of leaves framed against the clear azure skies above . . . the orchard fragrant with blossoms . . . the humming of the bees in the orchard soothing you, easing the tensions within you, and the beauty of the white doves of Sunnybank that appear as drifting white blossoms above the estate. Lacy green, and splashes of color as nature sends forth spring flowers to brighten the countryside. Pompton Lakes was a growing town. A scenic town, with its picturesque lakes, its winding rivers, and wooded mountains. Nestled in the valley of the Ramapos, this friendly little town welcomed the Albert Payson Terhunes as full-time residents. Pompton Lakes grew from the settlement that began in the area where the Pompton dam and falls are located today. The settlement made at Pompton in the 1690's by Captain Arent Schuyler and Major Anthony Brockholst (Brockholls) was the second settlement made in Passaic County. Captain Schuyler had come across the beautiful, lush valley, with its clear streams, while on an expedition to New York to observe the French who were believed to be inciting the Indians to raid the English and Dutch settlements. Schuyler and Brockholst became land owners in the Pompton area when they were connected with the company that was formed in 1695 to purchase land from the Indians. Others associated with the company were Samuel Bayard, George Ryerson, John Mead, Samuel Berrie, David Mandeville and Hendrick Mandeville. The Schuyler and Brockholst homes were built in Pompton before 1700, and the Schuyler home still stands today, at 2343 Paterson- Hamburg Turnpike; just outside of the Borough of Pompton Lakes, in Wayne Township near the Pompton Falls. After the marriage of Hester Schuyler (daughter of Casparus Schuyler, and great-grand-daughter of the first Arent), to Captain William Colfax on August 27, 1783, the house became known as the Schuyler-Colfax House, and later as the Colfax House. William Colfax, a Connecticut boy, was a favorite officer of Gen- eral George Washington. As Commander of the corps that was formed as the General's Life Guards, he met Hester while he and the General were visiting the Schuyler residence in Pompton. Captain Colfax and Hester became parents for the first time in November 1784, and the baby was named George Washington Colfax, with General George Washington named as Godfather.

- 36 - The Brockholst home was built across the road, near the present falls, and near this site stood the Brockholst mill. When the Brockholst home burned down, it was not rebuilt; but later when the Schuylers acquired the property, a home was built on the old foundation. In later years, the home became a summer boarding place, and then a tavern called "The Norton Inn". The Inn was torn down, and the old Brockholst home site is now occupied by a Grand Union store. Arent Schuyler the second, (grandson of the first Arent, son of Philip and Hester Kingsland Schuyler), purchased the Hendrick Gar- ritse Van Wagenen farm in 1739. He employed Indian men to work on the farm, and their squaws worked in the house, while outdoors their children played freely with Arent Schuyler's children. It was to this house that General George Washington and his staff came to attend the wedding of Peter Schuyler, Washington's aide. The house has been remodeled a few times, but still stands on Perrin Avenue by Pompton Lake, near the Schuyler Bridge. Known now as the Elks Lodge, it was once used as a Boxers' Training Camp. Dr. Joseph Bier founded the camp in 1920, and practically all of the world champions trained at the establishment. Fighters who trained there included Joe Louis, Primo Camera, Max Baer, Buddy Baer, Sugar Ray Robinson, Jack Sharkey, Tommy Farr and Luis Angel Firpo. The Terhune estate is close by to this old site. If you drive across the Schuyler Bridge, up the hill, and follow Terhune Drive to the right a very short distance, you will come to the gates of Sunnybank on your right. Continuing on Terhune Drive, the Brockholst site, where the Grand Union Store now stands, is on the left at the intersection of Terhune Drive and the Paterson-Hamburg Turnpike. At Sunnybank, when Bert first left the newspaper, he made up his mind that he was going to begin writing each day, right after breakfast, and not let anything interfere with his work. He felt that if he gave in to the urge to go fishing, or driving, some fine morning; it would be disastrous to his writing. He needed to make himself spend so many hours a day at his work, or in no time at all he would become an incurable loafer, so every morning, right after breakfast, he went to his desk to write, and Anice to hers. They worked steadily until lunch; after which they sat on the veranda talking or reading for an hour before returning to their respective desks. They worked until the middle of the afternoon, or later, depending upon how deeply involved they became in their work. A walk or drive before dinner was the usual routine, but sometimes they preferred to go swimming or rowing. The author had four spots at Sunnybank where he did his writing. The little study on the main floor was his favorite indoor spot, since it

- 37 - was close to Anice. She was always at her desk in the library, or at the piano in the music room. The study on the third floor, where he sometimes worked, was much larger and very comfortable; but he did not like being shut away from the rest of the house and only worked there when it was necessary to work on a serial, and house guests made it impossible for him to use the main floor study. The third special spot was on the south veranda, where he wrote at a table shaded by the wisteria vine in which birds fluttered, or perched to sing their songs to him as he worked. The author's outdoor workshop was down on the point, over- looking the lake, where two crab-apple trees spread their sheiteiing branches over him as he sat at his crude desk. His "chair" was a large hammock and was usually occupied by one or two golden collies besides himself; and he wrote with several other collies lying at his feet. Bert concentrated best at this spot because he was far enough away from the house to be free of interruptions from humans and telephone. Though collies often romped around the desk, and laid their paws and heads on his knee, it did not disturb his trend of thought and he enjoyed having his canine friends with him while he wrote. Unfortunately, a short time after leaving the newspaper, the author's right hand gave out and was useless for months. It had been broken in a fight years before, and had been further injured when a knifeblade slashed some of the muscles, as well as having been grazed by a bullet at one time. Between that and the years of writing by hand, it had finally given out. It began slowly. At first the author could no longer use a pen, so he turned to writing with a pencil. Eventually he had to fasten the pencil between his first and second fingers, but before long that method failed also. So there he was, a man who had driven himself unmercifully for years, striving for financial freedom so he could retire from newspaper work and do his writing at Sunnybank. Write to his heart's content, in his own way, in his own place. A man, who after gaining that financial security and retirement, found himself with a useless hand. Useless for months, and never again v/as he able to write even twenty-five consecutive words v/ithout stopping in between. Bert had never learned to use a typewriter. At the time he began work with the Evening World there was just one typewriter in the office, and just one man used it; the rest of them wrote by hand. When he left the paper in 1916, Bert was just about the only man left writing by hand.

- 38 - Being a writer who could no longer write, Bert bought a typewriter and tried to teach himself to type; but impatience brought him nothing more than a broken typewriter. One day as he struggled to type, he brought his fist down on its intricate network of wires and keys and reduced it to a twisted jumble. The fingers of that right hand might not work, but the old power of its fist remained. Ashamed of his tempermental outburst, the author bought another typewriter and spent a month becoming acquainted with the placement of its keys before attempting to type a story on it. Bert Terhune had been able to handwrite about twelve hundred words an hour, and doing his best on the typewriter, never improved on that record. But how could he when his typing method was that of the "hunt and peck" system! Later, after nearly two decades of almost constant typing, he was still using this method; using two forefingers, and resting the remaining eight. The first story that he typed "Wildcat" was 7,000 words long and took him nearly a week to type in the rough form; and another two weeks to complete it for submission to the publisher. This was the first story of a series of four or five, and by the time the author had finished typing the last of the series, he had become used to writing by typewriter. His heavy touch put the machine out of order so often, that he bought others; and when four of them were out of condition, he would send to New York for a mechanic to come to Sunnybank to fix them. At the Terhune estate, besides the collies, there was a giant crossbreed named Rex. He was larger than the collies and had short fawn-colored hair; the only short-haired dog at Sunnybank, and had been devoted to Bert since early puppyhood. Everywhere the author went, Rex followed. If Bert changed from one chair to another, Rex moved too; and lay alongside, looking up at the man. Almost always, when near his master, Rex kept his eyes on the author's face. The giant dog was not allowed in the dining-room and at mealtime used to stand outside the long French windows that v/ere in back of Bert's chair, and stare through at him. When the author was absent, Rex used to lie on a patch of floor to the left of the door to his master's study. For years, that was HIS spot. In 1916 Rex died. In the autumn of 1917 a business man spent an evening at Sunny- bank and he and the author sat in front of the living room fireplace talking.

- 39 - The guest was a level-headed man, and had always been rather amused at Rex's devotion to his master, and impressed with the dog's great size. As he was preparing to leave he told Bert that he wished he had an animal that was as devoted to him as Rex was to Bert, and that he had been watching the dog all evening as he lay beside the author's chair staring up into his face. When Bert Terhune reminded the man that Rex was dead, the guest was bewildered and mumbled "Why so he is" . . . then, with a puzzled expression, insisted that he had seen the dog lying there all evening. In the summer of 1918, the Reverend Grannis spent a week at Sunnybank, his first visit in years, and he and Bert were sitting in the dining room one afternoon; Bert in his usual place with his back to the windows, with his guest facing him. As they left the room, later, Reverend Grannis asked the name of the dog that had been standing on the veranda, looking in at Bert for the past hour. When the author named a few of his collies that it could have been, his guest told him that it was a big dog that he had never seen before ... a large, short-haired dog with fawn-colored coat, and a crooked scar across his nose (just like Rex had)! For years, Bert and Anice kept at their work, he with his stories, articles, serials and verse. She with her articles and great quantities of music. Bert was writing for American, Cosmopolitan, Country Gentleman, Ladies Home Journal, Good Housekeeping . . . the list was long. He wrote forty stories, in succession, for the Saturday Evening Post. Their life was full. They both had their work, they were living on the estate they both loved, and they took time off each year to take a trip. Every year or so, they went abroad, and always Bert treated his wife as though she was something special. Each ocean voyage became another honeymoon. Bert filled their cabins with flowers, and had something special brought aboard ship at each port they touched. Baskets of fresh violets at Madeira, roses from Lisbon, shawls at Cadiz, cameos at Naples, the list of gifts was endless, the thoughtful attentions never ceased. They traveled to Egypt, Syria, England, Scotland, Switzerland, Africa, there were few places that they missed, but they were always glad to return to America and Pompton Lakes. Glad to return to Sunnybank and their writing. After their work was done for the day, they often took hikes, with eight or ten collies romping alongside, as they crossed the highway, walked past the Dogwood trees and on up into the forest.

- 40 - Usually one or two of the Sunnybank cats would tag along after them, and after awhile, man, woman, collies and feline companions would stop beneath a tall tree; and Anice would read to Bert while they rested. Lad and Bruce were the first of the Sunnybank collies, and the Terhunes knew that the time would come when they would die. (Lad, the estate's famous collie, died in 1918). The thought of replacing such wonderful animals with just any strange dog did not appeal to them; so in order to have sons of theirs to fill their places later, they began to breed collies. It soon became evident that they must sell some, or be overrun with dogs; and thus began the collie breeding business at Sunnybank. Close study of canine life gave the author an endless source of material for his writing; and he never had a dog, in his stories, perform an act that had not actually been performed by some dog, at some time. It wasn't until a magazine article stirred his anger, that he even considered exhibiting his dogs. The article questioned the author's appreciation of the collie's finer show points, stating that Bert Ter- hune's attachment to the dogs was merely a sentimental one. Bert began to exhibit his best dogs at some of the smaller shows and did very well. Then a second annoying article appeared, the writer of it commenting that until Bert Terhune had won a blue ribbon at the Westminster show in Madison Square Garden in N.Y.C., he should refrain from trying to write about such matters. Bert took two eleven-month-old homebred collies to the West- minster show that year . . . Sunnybank Sigurdson and Sunnybank Ex- plorer . . . and returned home that day with four blue ribbons, a reserve winner's rosette, several medals, and more than $150 in cash prizes. A third critic then said that winning a Westminster ribbon at a single show was easy, in comparison to the consistent winning that was needed for the making of a champion. Once again, the author set out to defend his dogs, and won the championship title for four of his collies in fast succession . . . Sigurd ("Treve") . . . Sigurdson . . . Explorer . . . Thane (Explorer's son). The author made champions of those Sunnybank collies in three successive generations . . . son . . . sire . . . grandsire. Having proved the quality of his dogs, he then withdrew from dog showing, almost completely. The Terhune kennels usually averaged 45 to 50 collies and a few litters of puppies. At the estate there were cows, horses, cats and dogs besides the numerous "Little People" ... a name that the author's small daughter had given to the birds and non-canine animals.

- 41 - Bert Terhune's dog stories brought hordes of tourists to his place . . . tourists who paid no attention to the "No Admittance Today" and "No Trespassing" signs. Ignoring the requests, they entered the estate; and heedless of "Please Drive Slowly" signs, sped down the driveway. Because of this inconsiderate attitude, some of Sunnybank's animals suffered. Little Sunnybank Jean, the friendliest of the collies, was crushed to death and dismembered by some motorists from another state. Another collie had her hip broken and was crippled for life. The leg of another was broken, and several kittens were killed. The tourists upset the routine of the estate so much that it was necessary to close the lodge gates while the author was working. One Sunday, at the plea of his wife, the author had the gates opened, and within two hours thirty-five cars had entered; cutting the turf at the edge of the drive as they sped down towards the house and kennels. Men, women and children poured from the cars . . . children who threw small stones and sticks at the friendly puppies, women who tore rosebushes up by their roots for souvenirs, men who left tobacco stains on the clean concrete of the veranda floor. Picnic fires were lighted beneath the mighty oaks, and men, women and children reached through open windows and stole books from the tables and shelves. The destructful visitors were asked to leave, and the lodge gates were closed. As long as the author was at home, the gates remained closed. Only when he was away from Sunnybank, were visitors allowed to enter. Bert's writing continued . . . one book followed another . . . "For- tune" . . . Wonder Women of History" . . . "Lad: A Dog" . . . "Bruce" . . . "The Pest" . . . "Buff: A Collie" . . . "The Man In The Dark" . . . "Black Gold" . . . "Further Adventures Of Lad" . . . "His Dog" . . . "Black Caesar's Clan" . . . "The Amateur Inn" . . . "Lochinvar Luck" . . . "Wolf" . . . "Treve" . . . "The Tiger's Claw" . . . "Now That I'm Fifty" . . . "The Runaway Bag" . . . "My Friend: The Dog" . . . "Treas- ure" . . . "The Faith of A Collie" . . . Life at Sunnybank was ideal ... the kind of life the author had dreamed of for so long. The estate was one of peace and loveliness, with the great lawns, the oaks and evergreens, the flowers and vines. Collies bounded over the grassy slopes and birds fluttered among the blooming vines that all but hid the rambling house from view. Sunnybank's flock of snow-white pigeons fluttered above the estate, silhouetted against the blue heavens like blossoms of the

- 42 - orchard. At feeding time they dropped down to the kennel yards to eat from the collie's food pans, which the beautiful dogs obligingly shared with their feathered friends; and evening found them cooing in their dovecotes above the old carriage house. Bert and Anice liked to stroll through the rose garden, and sit beside the pool in the woods, or rest down at the edge of the lake where, beyond the blossoming1 orchard, stood the graceful Weeping Willow trees that Bert's grandmother had planted when Sunnybank was young. It was in 1632 that an ancestor of Bert's grandmother had sailed to America, bringing along some Weeping Willow twigs from her English home, Olney. She planted them on her husband's plantation in Virginia (which she named Olney in memory of her birthplace). The willows grew well in the fertile American soil and Bert's grandmother brought some of their twigs to Sunnybank and planted them in a line at the lake front, where they thrived to form a lacy green bower between the orchard and the blue waters of Pompton Lake. Tubs and boxes of flowers brightened the veranda . . . the beauty of the smooth green lawns, was enhanced by bushes and beds of flowering plants. The graceful Summer House and the rustic boathouse added to Sunnybank's charm. The wisteria vines, that covered the house and filled the Spring1 air with their blossoms' fragrance, were grown from slips of the English vines. When Bert's grandmother moved from the Virginia plantation to a home in Richmond, she took with her some slips of the wisteria and woodbine; and soon her home on Leigh Street in Richmond was covered with their foliage. It was slips of the vines on Leigh Street that she took to Sunny- bank when she planted the Wisteria all along the edge of the newly built veranda. By 1924 the main stem had grown to a circumference of more than 35 inches, but was killed when one of its own suckers twined around it, strangling it. However, there were plenty of other suckers to take its place, and soon the house was covered with it again. Sunnybank's "Garden From Everywhere" was a spot of enchanting beauty, with its variety of plants and bushes from various parts of the world. Bulbs of the beautiful deep purple Florentine Iris, from the Medici garden in Florence, had been brought back in the 1890's when Bert

- 43 - and his mother visited Italy. Before long, hundreds of their royal purple blooms added to the beauty of the estate. From William Cowper's garden, in England, they brought back a sprig of the famed southernwood; and soon bushes of it were sending forth their scent to mingle with the combined fragrances of the unusual garden. From Pompeii came seed pods of Sweet Alyssum which soon formed borders for Sunnybank's paths. Rosemary, from Anne Hatha- way's garden at Shottery; ivy from the Black Prince's Well; a rose cutting from a Provence monastery garden; and a Cyclamen root from Palestine. Bert and Anice added to the "Garden From Everywhere", after they were married. Heather from Scotland; a violet plant from alongside Thomas Gray's tomb at Stokes Poges in England; Ice-vine from the tower of a castle at Majorca; golden wallflower seeds from atop a tower at the ruins of Kenilworth Castle. From Bermuda they brought a Life-Plant; Acanthus from the Acropolis at Athens; the list is endless. For years, Bert Terhune planted trees every year, to fill out the gaps left by the Chestnut Blight that had wiped out over a hundred Chestnut trees on the estate. He planted new shade trees, forest trees, trees of all kinds. The forest and grounds of Sunnybank held Oak, Hemlock, Locust, Elm, Poplar, Maple, Blue Spruce, Dogwood, and others besides the fruit trees in the orchard. There was one special grove of Oak trees, covering the woodland that sloped down toward the lake, that was a home for partridge and pheasant in winter, and for birds of many species in Spring and Summer. There were robins, sparrows, blue-jays, red-headed woodpeckers, thrushes, cat-birds, orioles, wrens, starlings, and blackbirds. Scarlet tanagers and cardinals added a brilliant flash of color to the woods, and there were whip-poor-wills, chicadees, tufted titmouse and gold- finch. Each day, at sunrise and sunset, a chorus of beautiful music would rise from the grove as songbirds filled the woods with songs from nearly bursting throats, to either greet the day or bid it goodbye. Of all the birds, at Sunnybank, the author liked the cat-bird best. The catbird that made up its songs as it went along, or stole notes from the songs of other birds. There was one catbird that used to serenade the author and his wife as they breakfasted on the veranda every morning. As soon as they sat down, he would fly to an oak branch nearby to sing for them. He used to practice the call of the oriole, and go slowly over and over the notes; stopping when he made a mistake, and starting over again.

- 44 - Slowly, with patience, he learned the song of the oriole so well, that one May morning orioles flew up from the orchard in answer to his call. Life at Sunnybank was wonderful ... it was peaceful ... it was close to nature ... it was close to God. Within the boundaries of the estate was a world all its own. At one time, two gorgeous peacocks paraded on the lawns of the estate, and followed Bert and Anice on their walks through the rose garden. Caruso and his mate were very tame and went to the Mistress to be petted. Tea was served every day at five o'clock on the veranda, and Caruso and Melba seemed to know just when that was; and came to stand at the foot of the steps, waiting for scraps of toast or cake to be tossed to them. They lived on the estate for years, and one Spring Melba came walking down the hill with five babies following behind. When the babies were about two months old, Bert and Anice heard the spitting crack of a neighbor boy's new rifle, one day. A few minutes later Caruso came walking majestically down the hill. Slowly he came towards the Mistress, and as he reached her he sank to the ground dead, with a 22 caliber-rifle ball through his throat. His mate made her way to where he lay and stood over his body, reaching down every now and then to touch it with her beak. From then on, Melba would not eat, and within ten days had pined herself to death. The little orphan chicks died, one by one, without their mother to care for them, although the Terhunes did all they could to save them. Bert and Anice were so attached to all of the animals and "Little People" of Sunnybank that the passing of one always left a blank spot in their lives. Though others came along to replace them in body, they could never quite fill the empty spots in their hearts. Though Bert and Anice continued with their writing, they found time to visit friends, as well as have visitors at Sunnybank, and made trips nearly every year. They were very happy and life was good to them. The rambling old house seemed to close its vine-clad arms about them, sheltering them from harm. The house that had begun with eleven rooms, and was enlarged by Bert's parents as children were born, or their finances permitted, had few large rooms. Perhaps two were good-sized rooms, and many were exceptionally small. The living-room and music room were actually one L-shaped room, divided by an arch; and the beams of the ceiling were of oak from

- 45 - the trees felled by the woodsmen in the 1850's and gave the room a look of strength and sturdiness. Bert's outsized couch, that Anice had ordered made especially for him so that he could have room to stretch his great size out on it in comfort, stood before the living-room fireplace. Nine feet long, and deeper than usual, it was of a dark brown color. The entire room was of a brown tone, and was filled with ancient furniture . . . Hepplewhite, Adam, and Chippendale chairs . . . Sheraton desk . . . and other antique articles. Old weapons, armor, silver trophies and mounted heads filled the brown wooden walls; and on the polished floor lay the skins of bears, tigers, and leopards. Bookcases, that reached from floor to the high windows, lined three sides of the room and were filled with a variety of books. Nearly every room and hall of Sunnybank held either shelves or cases of books. In the music room, between the long French windows, stood the Mistress's great concert piano; and whenever she began to play, birds flew from all directions to sit among the Wisteria vines on the veranda. Sometimes they were silent, but as the first notes of certain songs were struck, their bird songs filled the air. The polished brown floor of the music room was nearly completely covered with the skin of a huge white polar bear ... a skin upon which the collies were forbidden to lie. The Mistress's bedroom, of shell pink, was one of the larger rooms of the house, being 26 by 32 feet in size, with six wisteria-framed windows from which she could view the beautiful grounds. It was in that room in 1932 that she found a faded green card that had fallen behind a mantle shelf, and worked its way down behind the shelf until she discovered a corner of it protruding from the bottom one morning. Dark red letters told her that it was an admittance ticket to the Impeachment proceedings of President Andrew Johnson in 1868. One room that always held fond memories for the author was a little one-story, tin-roofed, store-room off the kitchen wing. As a boy, of five or six years, he used to sit on a stiff chair in the dark storeroom with his kitten "Antipathy" on his lap. With his own supper over, and the grown-ups dressing for dinner, Bert sat there listening to the sound of the voices as the maids prepared dinner. As delicious cooking odors were wafted to him, he became a king of a far-off island, sitting in a thatched hut; a king who was waiting while his servants prepared a feast for him. It wasn't rain beating down on a tin-roofed storeroom, it was a rain-swept tropical island, and "Antipathy" was a jungle cat that he had caught and tamed.

- 46 - It was those fond memories that kept the author from making any changes in the little room, and it was at his wish that the rickety old chair be left there. In 1923, Bert's daughter, Lorraine Virginia, was married to a Mr. Stevens in the Pompton Reformed Church, and a reception was held at Sunnybank. The bride and the Terhunes were so late getting to the church for the ceremony, due to Bert misplacing his trousers, that the organist played her whole preliminary program three times and was starting on the fourth time when they arrived. In 1926, on September 2, Bert and Anice celebrated their twenty- fifth wedding anniversary with a large reception at Sunnybank. Guests came from all over America, and one from Europe. The house was filled to overflowing with house guests, and Bert had to hire every room in a local hotel to accomodate the remaining guests. The party was to begin at four, and was to be held on the lawn. A catering service from New York City had arranged to have small tables, with gay umbrellas, placed all through the terraced garden; with a long buffet table on the upper terrace. There were silver monogrammed cigarettes, and wedding cake in silver monogrammed boxes, and an orchestra was hired to play all afternoon. It was a luxurious party with no expense spared. Preparations completed, happy anticipation filled them as they retired the night before the extravagant garden-party; anticipation that turned to dismay when torrential rain awakened them the following morning. The catering staff arrived by nine o'clock, and by ten it had stopped raining, but the sky was still dark and the grounds were rain soaked. A marquee was set up, and a friend of the Terhunes sent over seven hundred flame-colored gladioli, from her garden, which were arranged throughout the rooms of Sunnybank. The orchestra was put out on the veranda, and Bert and Anice took their places on the receiving line. Guests arrived and departed all afternoon . . . about three hundred and fifty came to celebrate . . . and it was after nine that night before the Terhunes and their twenty house guests sat down to dinner. For the next two years things went along smoothly at Sunnybank. Bert kept writing, and "Gray Dawn" was published. Then "Bumps" . . . "The Luck of The Laird" ... and "Loot". The author was honored by Columbia University (his alma mater) and in cap and gown he received the "University Medal of Excellence". The medal and parchment were framed and proudly hung on the study wall until someone remarked that it was a "Dog License".

- 47 - Hurt, Bert packed the medal and parchment away and never spoke of them again. On December 13, 1928, the author told Anice that he was going for a walk before working on a serial that evening, so she sat down to her Steinway to play while he was gone. An hour later Bert stood swaying before her, a bruised and battered mass of agony, victim of a hit-and-run driver. A young man, driving on the wrong side of the road at a high speed, had hit Bert and hurled him into the center of the road where he lay unconscious for some time. Regaining consciousness, the author discovered that he could not move his right side, but somehow managed to get out a white hander- chief which he waved to attract passing motorists. Car after car sped by the helpless author, until finally one young couple stopped and helped him into their little car, and took him home. Bert would not allow them to go into the house with him, fearing that it would shock his wife; so he dragged his battered body in to her, as she sat playing the piano. The hit-and-run driver went to Mrs. Terhune, after reading of it in the papers, and offered to give himself up to the police. He told her that he thought he had hit a tree. He had been hurrying to see a girl, and was late. The Terhunes let him go free, paying all bills themselves, and would not reveal the young man's identity to reporters or to the police. Bert spent weeks in bed, then walked with crutches. He grew stronger, but the ordeal had stretched his nerves taut and the doctor ordered an ocean voyage; so he and Anice sailed for Europe. In England, Bert improved, and Anice bought him a cane to replace the crutches, but he refused to use it. Wisely, his wife told her husband that the collies at home would be afraid of the crutches, so when they returned to Pompton he soon hung his crutches on the wall and began using the cane. Before long he was writing again, and his next book was "To The Best Of My Memory", which was followed by "The Son of God". The Little People still came to Bert and Anice. Two baby red squirrels, who had been left alone, adopted the Terhunes. Each day the tiny animals appeared while the author and his wife were breakfasting or lunching on the veranda, and waited for their share of the food. They climbed the vines to get nearer to the table, and would have eaten from the plates if allowed. Tiny creatures . . . with bodies no longer than your thumb . . they followed the laundress about on wash days, trying to climb her skirts, and forever getting under her feet.

- 48 - One day they did not appear for their breakfast or lunch, and the Terhunes never saw them again. Whether they were killed by some animal, or left their adopted home to go deeper into the woods, the author and his wife never knew. There were always cats at Sunnybank; and years ago there was one named Juliet who brought an offering of food to Bert every morning, and then sat there, evidently waiting for him to eat the offering. It usually was a very messy, unappetizing looking rat. Juliet was the cat which swam ten yards or more into the lake after Bert's boat when he went rowing or fishing. Peter Grimm, a cat that slept by Bert's bed for five years, was killed by a car as he crossed the roadway while following the author as he started on one of his hikes. There was Tippy, the Mistress's Persian cat that lived for over fifteen years. The list of feline friends at Sunnybank is long. Cats, dogs, birds, Little People ... all were welcomed at Sunny- bank. Of all the collies, Sunnybank Fair Ellen (daughter of Treve) was one of the happiest dogs that Bert had ever seen. Fair Ellen, the golden collie that was born blind. Her eyes opened a week later than the other pups in the litter, and hers were filmed with white. Vet after vet examined her, and finally an expert from Cornell University's Veterinary school was called. All reports were the same . . . the optic nerves were dead, and although the white film was removed, Ellen was never able to see the slightest ray of light. The author was ready to put a merciful end to the blind puppy, but Anice interfered and won a stay of execution for the pup . . . but only for so long as Fair Ellen continued to be happy. When, at six weeks, the pups were turned loose in the "puppy yard", the entire litter began exploring . . . Ellen included. With every few steps, the pup bumped sharply into something . . . the food dish, drinking pan, posts, wire fence, tree trunks, or some other object. She accepted the collisions without a whimper and picked herself up and continued with her explorations; tail wagging, plump body wriggling, and never bumped into the same object twice.

Within a week, Fair Ellen had become acquainted with every object in the yard, and could run at a gallop about the enclosure without one collision. Later, the author took the sightless collie for a walk every day to see if she could learn the locations of objects outside of her puppy yard.

- 49 - In some mysterious way, she was able to do just as she had in the puppy enclosure, and though the first few walks were filled with one collision after another, the perservering collie learned to detour around the obstacles that she had bumped into. As before, never did she bump into the same thing a second time. Little by little, the author allowed her to explore all of Sunny- bank, including the lakefront. Ellen learned well and could run at top speed over the lawns, through the orchard and woods, without a collision. She could trot along the kennel yards, and other buildings, making detours at just the right moment. (People came from all over America to witness this remarkable ability). One day, while running at a high speed, she ran into the waters of Pompton Lake and was up to her neck at once. Barking happily, she began to swim, and about a hundred feet from shore lifted her head as though trying to catch a familiar scent or hear a familiar sound. Her master called her name and Ellen turned and swam back to him. The sightless collie had several litters of puppies in the twelve years that she lived, and each healthy pup had perfect eyesight. Two of her brothers, Sunnybank Sigurdson and Sunnybank Ex- plorer, became champion show dogs and gained national fame. Another brother, Sunnybank Cavalier, won many show victories. Being blind, Ellen was not allowed to compete. One by one, Ellen's brothers died. Champion Sunnybank Sigurd- son, the collie whose head was published on a government pamphlet as the "Ideal Collie" developed a form of paralysis when he was ten years old that crippled his hindquarters and blinded him . . . and he had to be put out of his misery. Seldom did the author give sugar to his collies, since it was bad for their teeth and digestion. However, after victories at dog shows, or at other special times, Sigurdson had been given a lump of sugar, which he loved better than anything else. One morning in 1932 the author offered the paralyzed collie a dish filled with cubes of porterhouse steak, after which he filled the dish with a whole pound of sugar cubes. With delight the collie ate lump after lump, relishing each morsel; and as he swallowed the last lump and groped for another, the author put a bullet through his brain. In 1933 Sunnybank Ellen and the Master went for one of their daily walks, and though the length of the walks had been cut down, little by little, because of the collie's age; she romped around in gay spirits. Returning home from the walk, the collie trotted into her yard for her usual afternoon nap; and when the author walked by an hour

- 50 - later, for the first time in twelve years the golden collie did not rise to her feet to greet her master. Sunnybank Fair Ellen had gone to sleep forever . . . happily . . . without pain. Bert had been working on another book, and "The Book of Sunny- bank" was published in 1934. It was the last book that he wrote. Other books continued to be published under his name, but they were novels that had been published as serials earlier. Bert was able to take short walks, drives, and sometimes attend the theater, and do other things that did not require great physical effort. He was never well again though, and from the time of his accident, until his death, had to be under the care of physicians and was in and out of hospitals for operations and treatments. There were times when the author spent days in bed, there were times when he was strong enough to take motor trips. He continued to write, but not as before. Now he just kept up with his syndicate work, and occasionally wrote articles at the request of the Reader's Digest; but he gave up writing stories. Editors and publishers asked for them, but they received the same answer. Bert told them that he had retired and would write no more stories. The truth was that he was no longer physically strong enough to write them, or even think up any more plots. He was tired . . . completely tired . . . and ill. Bert and Anice spent many hours sitting on the wisteria-covered veranda, looking out across the roses towards the sapphire waters of the lake. The author liked to recall the years that had gone by ... happy years . . . years filled with a deep love for each other. Gazing across the lake at the wooded mountains, the author was filled with a deep feeling of peace. Those mountains had known the footsteps of Indians . . . and of the early white settlers . . . and of the soldiers during the Revolutionary War. The mountains had known trouble and bloodshed but now they were peaceful again. When one looks at the wooded hills and winding streams, he cannot help but wonder how the Redmen must have felt when the white settlers invaded his beautiful mountains. This whole territory was crisscrossed with a network of their trails, many of which have become our highways of today; since the Indians chose the easiest route, skirting watercourses, avoiding swampy land, and hills. Well worn paths led to the sea, over which the Indians traveled miles each summer for the shellfish that they dried and roasted before carrying it back to their villages to use as a seasoning in their cooking.

- 51 - The shellfish was roasted on hot stones, or in the hot ashes, or with clams and oysters was spitted on a stick and smoked in a smoke hut. While at the coast, shells were gathered for making beads, and for use in tempering their pottery. Making beads required patience, and the Indians used a species of large sea snail or conch for them. First the outer whorl had to be broken off until just the center core remained. It had to be done little by little, to prevent breaking the core, and then the cores were ground with bits of sandstone until they were round, smooth bars about a quarter of an inch thick, or less. Each bar had to be cut into quarter-inch lengths by grooving around and around the core with a flake or flint. The ends were then ground smooth and flat on a piece of sandstone, after which holes were drilled in the beads. Drilling holes through these small pieces of shell was a slow and tedious process. The bead had to be held tightly and the Indians managed this by placing the bead in a split stick which gripped it firmly. The "drill" was a shaft of wood to which was fastened a piece of flint. After a hole was started with a sharp piece of flint, the drill was used to finish the job, by rotating the stick between the palms of the hands. Shell beads were used in decorations on their clothing, moccasins, and short strings of them served as earrings. Some were used in their wampm . . . the Indians "money". The Indian women used skins to make the clothing . . . using deerskins for the breech-cloths, moccasins and hip-length leggings. Robes or mantles were made of skins sewn together, and draped around the body with the right arm exposed. Patterns were marked out with a bit of charcoal, skins were cut with flakes of flint, and thread made from dried deer sinew was used in "sewing". The BEST clothes were beautiful garments . . . embroidered with deer hair, shell beads, and porcupine quills that had been dyed different colors. Capes were made of thousands of soft feathers from the breasts of turkeys, which were fastened to a fine woven net. Winter clothing differed some. The moccasins were of a different pattern and were larger than the ordinary ones, since they were to be used as "overshoes". In winter the feet were first wrapped in soft, furry rabbit skins before putting on the moccasins. A sleeve was used on the exposed right arm and was usually made of otter or beaver skin, and the robe was much warmer than usual, being made of beaver or raccoon skins sewn together. The squaws had their fine clothing, their painted faces, earrings and beads of shells . . . shark's teeth ... or bear claws, a flat slate ornament for their hair, and they had their perfume. Sweet grass was braided and dried for use as perfume. It was laid in with the clothing and gave the garments a pleasant sweet fragrance.

- 52 - A good-class Indian always had a clean house, a pleasant smelling house, with its wood smoke, and sweet grass odors mingling. The life of the Lenni Lenape was a happy one. The men hunted and fished, built the home and defended his family when necessary; while the woman worked in the garden, tended to the house and cared for the children. There was a custom among the Lenapes that every teenage Indian boy must go into the forest alone, to fast and to wait for an object . . . usually an animal, bird or fish ... to come to him in a dream to tell him what his future held. This object was to be the boy's guardian spirit that would remain with him forever as his guide through life. From then on, whenever the boy needed help he was to throw tobacco on a fire and pray to his guardian spirit. The guardian spirit was supposed to be a helper of the Creator, and tobacco was a special gift that was offered to the gods or spirits when advice or help was asked. The Indians had crude tools to work with, tools made from flint flakes, wooden shafts, animal bones, chipped stones, and even animal teeth such as a beaver tooth in a shaft that was used as a chisel. On their arrows, some of the Redmen used stone, bone, or antler points, as well as arrowheads of flint. They used Bear's grease in their cooking and it is said that it was sweeter than our butter. To make the grease, fat parts of the bear were boiled, and the grease that rose to the top was skimmed off. When it had cooled it was put into skin bags for future use. It was used in their favorite dish which was a stew made of meat, corn, other vegetables and either bear's grease or shellfish added as a seasoning. The Pompton Indians were a peace-loving people. They got along well with the white settlers and taught them many things. The Redman taught the white man the value of burning over swamps to make tender grass to attract the herds of deer. He showed him where minerals could be found, and taught him that certain vegetables could be grown together, successfully, in the same field. He taught him how to make maple sugar from the sap of the big sugar maple trees, showing him how to make a diagonal cut in the bark of each tree and then driving in a flat stick at the bottom of the cut so that the sap could follow it out and run down into bark troughs that were placed beneath the cuts. The Indians collected the sap and poured it into large bark barrels, and the women boiled the sap in clay kettles until it had cooked down to a sirup which they strained through a basket sieve. The strained sirup was then heated again until it became very thick upon which it was poured into a large bowl and worked with a paddle until it cooled and became coarse like meal. The sugar was then packed in bark boxes and a bark cover was sewed on. The Indian often used the

- 53 - sweet sap of the Butternut tree to add to their maple sugar for a change in flavor. Even the Redman had concentrated food. They ground roasted corn very fine to make a flour which was then mixed with maple sugar. A handful of this rich mixture, when mixed with hot or cold water, was adequate for a meal. Hunters could take it along easily and found it very nourishing. For use in traveling, or in winter, they also used a mixture of charred corn and bear grease. The Indians taught the white man the healing powers of various herbs. The white settler learned also of the many uses of various tree barks and roots, in medicines and dyes. Even the lovely woods flowers, and our field flowers, hold medi- cinal values which the Indian knew of and taught the white man to use. The Pompton Indian did much for the white man in teaching him how to get along in the wilderness, and how to make use of the things that Mother Nature provides. The sleeping mountains that circled the lake, their soft greens reflected in the sparkling waters, had known the footsteps of settler and soldier too. Soldiers of the Revolution were camped throughout the mountains, and even the site upon which Sunnybank grew had been used by the army. A flat section of land near the lake was once covered with thousands of flat stones as a paving for easier access to the lake front with their horses and wagons. It was in the winter of 1781 that the Pompton troops mutinied, and General Washington sent men from West Point to compel the mutineers to unconditional submission. The mutiny had followed great privation, and when some of the guilty mutineers were forced to join the firing squad that executed two of the ringleaders of the mutiny, it was heartrending; but the tragic happening stayed further mutinies. During the Revolution, the Krine Bartholf house was the rendezvous for the local militia. A cannon would boom from a mountain top some two miles away, as the signal for the rendezvous. The cannon was located on what is known as Federal Rock Hill ... or Federal Hill ... so named for the part it played in the Revolu- tionary War. Pompton was strategically located on the colonial roads that ran from the Hudson River to the Delaware, and from Newark and Eliza- beth to the country up north. Forges and furnaces were in operation in several spots along the way, and also with Pompton located on three rivers, the area was doubly important.

- 54 - From atop the hill, chosen as a lookout and signal mount, all accessible roads to and from this important key spot could be watched for enemy movements. Federal Rock Hill played an important part in the war as a guardian of the area, with troops stationed there throughout the war. An artillery emplacement rested on the southerntip of Federal Rock Hill. To transmit messages from headquarters, which were located at different places at times, a series of signal mounts had been prepared; and Federal Rock Hill played its part in relaying these important messages. Signals by smoke were sent during the day, and fire signals were used at night. The older portion of the Bartholf house consisted of a kitchen, dining room, cold room; and on the second floor were three bedrooms. The house was enlarged later, with the newer portion being well over a hundred years old now. The house is presently occupied by its owner, the local postmaster (Frank Magill) and his family, and stands at 322 Broadway. Through the years, the sleepy little village of Pompton has grown steadily. From bucket brigades, that formed when fires broke out, the fire- fighting means progressed to our present-day modern equipment. Before 1895, men on the bucket brigades got their water from the nearest stream or source of water, and their fire alarm was loco- motive tires that were struck with a small sledge to raise the people. In 1895 a fire unit was formed, and the first "firetruck" came into being ... a wagon that held barrels of water, and had buckets hung along its sides. In 1906 the initial personnel unit, the Engine and Hose Company, was organized, and in 1913 the Borough's first motorized equipment appeared. This consisted of a hook and ladder truck on a trailer cart, with two large chemical tanks. Since then, fire-fighting equipment has kept apace of the times. One of the originators of the Borough's fire company, and holder of Badge #1, was also the founder of the borough's first newspaper "The Bulletin" which was first published on March 17, 1894. He was Horace Lyman Wells, father of nine children . . . five boys and four girls . . . and all of the boys were members of the fire department at one time or another. One son, Raleigh, who held Badge #2, was postmaster of Pompton Lakes for several years; another son, Clarence, was tax assessor and member of the Board of Health. How- ard, youngest of the nine children, is the only living son and resides in the borough with his wife, the former Irene Armstrong. Howard is remembered by residents as the only Marine to enter World War I from Pompton Lakes, and also as a candidate for Mayor in 1963, who was forced to withdraw from the race because of business pressures.

- 55 - Passing time has seen the disappearance of the old "Pond Hole which was drained and turned into a municipal parking lot in the late 1930's. The Pond Hole, swimming hole in summer, skating pond in winter, is located in back of the stores that line Wanaque Avenue at the upper end of town. Approximately 350' long, 175' wide, and of varied depths, it was across from the old Roome homestead on which site stands the Washington building. Then, Wanaque Avenue, the main street of town, was just a good- sized dirt lane, bordered by trees, with a large Weeping Willow tree standing in the center of the lane at what is now called "Sharr's" corner. Near the Roome homestead used to stand the town whipping post and slave block, which were removed early, for New Jersey was among the first of the states to abolish slavery. "Shanks mare" . . . horses . . . carts . . . carriages and stage- coaches gave way to bicycles. The Commuter Train came to Pompton in the 1880's, then came the automobiles. Later, bus service that connected the villages, towns and cities. The Borough's modernized taxi companies, of today, use radio- dispatched cars which enable them to give faster service to their passengers. The old Union Academy, on Ringwood Avenue, held the first school pupils of Pompton. Opened in the early 1820's, it was established by Dr. Lambert Sythoff (teacher and physician) and the residents, and was used for educational purposes until the early 1890's; at which time it was condemned as unsafe, and the academy was dissolved. The school furniture and supplies were transferred to Durling's Hall on Wanaque Avenue, and the students were taught there until a fire destroyed the building in February 1894. All school records and equipment were lost in the fire, and leading citizens appealed for better educational facilities, but their pleas were mostly ignored by the Pompton Township Committee. To stir up interest in the building of a new school, Horace Lyman Wells started publication of "The Bulletin" newspaper to acquaint the people of the community with the facts. Eventually, a school building was under construction on property donated (sold for $1.00) by John J. Bartholf in 1894, and students were taught there until 1918 when the Lenox Elementary School was erected on adjoining property. Since that time, the former school has been used as the Borough Municipal Building.

- 56 - The educational system of Pompton Lakes has progressed until today there are the Lenox Elementary School, Lincoln Elementary School, and Pompton Lakes High School to which a twenty-three room, modern addition was made in 1959. A Parochial School completes the schools of Pompton Lakes. We cannot leave the subject of education without mentioning Thomas J. Hutton, one of the best principals the town has known. A wonderful man, whose unfailing interest in furthering the education of all boys and girls, of the Borough, kept the school system's attendance record at a high level. Mention must be made, also, of two women whose devotion to their profession kept them in the school system for 35 years. Two women . . . known by parent, child, and grandchild, of many families . . . Misses Marie St. Leger, school nurse; and Frances E. Reimann, educator. Their faithful service to the community will always be remembered. Henry Julius Smith, founder and manager of a fuze works, one time owner of a grocery business in Pompton, consultant to manufacturers of explosives, inventor, mechanical wizard, was the first Mayor of the Borough. Mr. Smith perfected an electrical blasting cap, and detonating machine. The fuze works located along the Wanaque River at the upper end of town, where a dam existed; since, years before, a pioneer had operated a grist mill at that spot. The lake, formed by the damming of the river, was named by H. Julius Smith . . . becoming "Lake Inez", in honor of his eldest daughter. The Smith residence, on the shore of Lake Inez, was the scene of the most fashionable wedding ever to be held in Pompton, when Inez and Allen Ainslee (of Boston) were married on June 12, 1895. The home had undergone extensive remodeling, and the grounds beautified, in 1894; at the expense of several thousand dollars, and was considered the most beautiful site in all of Pompton. Since the Smith family usually wintered at its Florida plantation, the Pompton home was spoken of as their summer residence. Though they enjoyed their stay in the south, they preferred New Jersey, where Mr. Smith was an extensive property owner. No expense was spared for the wedding celebration, and the town had never before known such a lavish display of floral decorations, and expenditure for the comfort of the guests. Special drawing room cars were attached to the noon train of the Susquehanna line to carry the guests from New York, Boston, Paterson and other points. Carriages met the train, at the Pompton depot, to take the guests to the flower filled home.

- 57 - The experienced hand of Mr. Joseph Tqwell, of Paterson, had wrought magic in the rooms of the Smith residence. The wedding ceremony was performed in the front parlor where Mr. Towell had constructed a large bower of bridal roses, vines and white satin ribbons. A large floral wedding bell hung from the center of the bower, beneath which Miss Smith and Mr. Ainslie exchanged their marriage vows. Mantles were banked with white roses, mirrors curtained with vines, and exotic plants were decoratively placed about the room. The floral decorations of the back parlor were of pink roses and carnations, their beauty enhanced with vines of various varieties. Each room and hall had been transformed into a spot of enchanting loveliness with flowers and vines. The dining room, in which a catered wedding dinner was served, offered an appearance of refresh- ing coolness with its tall palms and semi-tropical plants. The lovely bride, exquisite in her gown of white satin, and misty bridal veil, carried lilies of the valley and bridal roses. In attendance were her sisters. Miss Julia, in pale yellow, carried a bouquet of yellow roses; and Miss Bessie, in creamy white, carried white roses. Best man for the groom was Mr. Esterbrook, of Boston, with the bride's brothers . . . Henry Julius, Jr., and "Amzi" . . . performing as ushers, along with John Richards and George Mickens. After an extended wedding trip, the couple took up residence in Boston, where the groom was engaged in business. The Smith Fuze Works was in operation in the early 1890's and after Mr. Smith's death in 1901, his son, Henry Julius Jr., took over the management of the works. However, Smith Jr. died within four years of his father, and a second son, Amasa Smith, took over and sold out to the E. I. Du Pont de Nemours and Co., Inc., of Pompton Lakes. The Du Pont Company also bought the Laflin and Rand Powder Works of Haskell, and operated both companies independently for some years before consolidating them. The Artistic Weaving Company was another industry that had come to the borough, and was the largest manufacturer of woven silk labels in the world. They located at Lake Inez, and are still operating today. Lake Inez . . . Twin Lakes . . . Pompton Lake . . . the borough is proud of its beauty, which is enhanced by these three bodies of water. It is a town with three lakes and three rivers. The Pequannock River enters the borough from the West, the Wanaque River runs through Pompton Lakes from the North, and the

- 58 - Ramapo from the Northeast. The three rivers meet below town to form the Pompton River, which flows down to join the waters of the Passaic River. Pompton Lake, largest of the three, was just a river in the days of the early settlers. It wasn't until after the Revolutionary War that a clam was erected, near the Pompton Furnace; where the Ramapo River had a natural 15' fall over a reef of trap rock. Located a short way below the spot that became the Terhune homestead, the waters of the Ramapo backed up behind the dam to form a picturesque lake with wooded mountains reflected in its sparkling blue water. Early in the 1900's, the dam broke beneath raging flood waters and had to be rebuilt, and through the intervening years has presented a beautiful picture to those entering the borough from the south. As motorists, approaching Pompton Lakes, cross the bridge at the intersection of the Paterson-Hamburg Turnpike and Terhune Drive at the lower end of town, the view to the right is breathtaking. From the bridge to the dam, the foliage of trees and bushes is mirrored in the river . . . lacy light greens in Spring and various shades of cool greens in summer . . . Brilliant autumn foliage seems to drop balls of fire and gold into the waters, and their reflections make the scene twice as lovely . . . Winter's covering of snow transforms the trees and bushes into a fairyland that has no equal other than its own beauty mirrored in the icy waters. A scenic spot . . . and up ahead, water rushes over the dam in foaming cascades. Rushes down over the large rock formation in the center . . . foaming, churning, sending spray high into the air. The expanse of lake, beyond the dam, is of deep sapphire blue, and wooded mountains slope down to meet it ... casting THEIR reflections too ... adding to the beauty of the scene. The lake apperas to end within that expanse above the dam, as the mountains seem to close in on it, but the lake continues to the left . . . narrov/ing . . . widening . . . until it reaches far above the Schuyler Bridge. Beyond the dam, beyond the expanse of blue water above the foaming falls, beyond the curving waters to the left, lies Sunnybank on the right shoreline. Pushing out into the narrowed channel, just before the waters widen out to form a vast expanse of the lake, the lawns of Sunnybank slope down to meet the cool waters in a point. The willows trail their leafy arms into the gently rippling waters, and the cooling breezes from the lake spread up over the lawns, and gardens, to the veranda of the rambling home. Sitting on the wisteria-covered veranda, Bert and Anice recalled acquaintances they had known in years gone by, they spoke of trips they had made, and of their years together.

- 59 - Bert Terhune had always treated Anice with great tenderness. He was very gentle with her, and with children. Some people said that he was quick-tempered and overbearing; perhaps to some he was. He was an impulsive man, rather excitable at times; and often used language that could scorch the ears of those within earshot. He disliked that bad habit of his and tried to break himself of it, but never quite could; and once told his wife that he hoped God would know that he didn't mean it. Always master in his home, impatient at times over small things, he was calm and self-contained when important matters arose. His consideration for his wife, and for his mother also, was constant. When his mother was past eighty she was no longer able to attend church, and was so unhappy about it that Bert hired a retired clergyman to hold services at her home, every Sunday. Bert's mother was a woman of great ambition, of seemingly un- limited energy. When she broke her wrist at seventy years of age and could no longer write by hand, she taught herself to use a typewriter. And at 89, when an editor wanted an article in a hurry, she worked at her desk for nine straight hours to finish it. When she went blind at 90, she learned to dictate, and dictated the novel "The Carringtons of High Hill". Bert never failed to treat her with respectful, adoring attentive- ness. As the days at Sunnybank passed, the author told his wife that their previous years of happiness together were worth all the suffering he was then enduring. At times he was well enough to continue with some of the things he had done before, and on April 21, 1941, spoke over the radio as he had done so often. It was only a half hour program, but he had spent hours and hours at rehearsal, and was exhausted when it was all over; so Anice made him stay in bed the following day. The next day he felt so rested that he wanted to get started on a trip that they had planned for weeks. A trip, by car, to Williamsburg, Virginia. First, they were going to stop in Washington, D. C. to see the cherry blossoms, and spots of interest, before going on to Williamsburg. The weather was perfect, the car (a Century Club limousine with chauffeur) was very comfortable, and Bert was happy to be going on a trip. Along the way they stopped at a little wayside restaurant to dine and Bert ordered steak and mushrooms. That evening, in a Washington - 60 - hotel, he became violently ill with ptomaine poisoning from the mushrooms, and a doctor and nurses were summoned. By the next afternoon Bert was much better; however, that night he suffered a heart collapse and went into a coma. A heart specialist was consulted and Anice was told that her husband was dying, and could die at any moment. At her insistence they brought an oxygen tent to the hotel room and Bert stayed in it for two days, barely alive; but since he had lived the two days, the doctors felt that it was worth a try to move him to a hospital. After two days in the hospital, the author began to come out of the coma; and slowly improved until one day, in May, he was allowed to make the trip home to Sunnybank by ambulance. They reached Sunnybank in the late afternoon, and the wisteria- clad house was a lavender blur of loveliness as they viewed it from above. The author improved for awhile, but his heart never regained its strength. He was going downhill, and even eating, drinking, and smoking no longer interested him. Though ill and weak, he wanted to be downstairs where the activity of daily life took place, so regardless of the doctor's wish that he did not use the stairs, he came down to be with the others. Until the very last, Bert kept at his typewriter, writing little sketches called "Tales of Real Dogs". It was on the eve of his sixty-ninth birthday . . . December 20, 1941 . . . that Bert came home from the hospital after his latest operation. Anice had arranged for the lawn Christmas tree to be lighted, as well as the little table tree inside. It was a happy homecoming and, according to Bert, his birthday, the following day, was the nicest birthday of his life. On Christmas Eve, Anice trimmed the real tree in the library as Bert watched from his resting place on the couch. As he had always done, he placed the last decoration on the tree, and told his wife that he didn't know anyone could be as happy as they. The new year came . . . Bert's health was failing, and the one thing that concerned him was that he must leave Anice. All their life together he had looked after her, taken care of her. He had attended to the smallest detail of anything that had to be done. The author asked the doctor to take care of Anice after he was gone, and told Anice that he would always be with her. He promised that when she walked in the rose garden, he would be beside her; when she sat by the pool in the woods, he would be with her; he told

- 61 - her that no matter where she went she would not be alone ... he would be right there beside her. With that promise in his mind, and on his lips, the author passed from this life on February 18, 1942. After Albert Payson Terhune's death, his widow drifted aimlessly through the days that followed. She who had always been taken care of, who had never had to do a thing for herself; and depended on her husband to take care of the smallest detail, was now alone. Anice was almost completely lost without her beloved husband, who for forty-one years had directed their lives; so it is no wonder that she drifted through the days with no sense of direction . . . like a rudderless ship upon a stormy sea. Her grief was almost unbearable, and the days passed slowly; with her only companions the two faithful maids who had been with them for over thirty years. Except for their presence, she was alone. Alone? There are those who said she was not alone, after reading her notes and comments in the book "Across The Line", but others scoffed and said that Bert Terhune was gone. Definitely and eternally gone. We know that he died on February 18, 1942, and that his body was laid to rest in the Pompton Reformed Church Cemetery. As Bert lay dying, he had murmured over and over again to his wife, that he would be back. He PROMISED that he would return . . . and she believed him. Anice tolls of her experiences with Bert's "return", in the book "Across The Line". A book written from rough notes that Bert had started for an article. Soon after the author's death, she had been searching for certain papers that were urgently needed. Searching hopelessly, because Bert's two studies were in a state of confusion; due to his inability to take care of things properly during the last stage of his illness. He had forbade anyone to touch his papers, stating that if they were to be straightened he would never be able to find a thing1. The author was one of those persons who knew where everything was. regardless of the confusing mess it appeared to be. Anice hunted through drawers and boxes, searched the books on the shelves, she looked everywhere in both the small and the large study; but was unable to locate the necessary papers. Heartsick at her failure, she sat at his desk, silently admitting her ignorance of so many things, when suddenly his voice came clearly to her ... clearly . . . warmly . . . telling her where to find the papers that she was seeking.

- 62 - Then and there, Anice felt that her husband had come back . . . that he had returned to be with her at Sunnybank, just as he had promised. According to the widow, Bert talked with her many times, and on one occasion was revealed to her. She tells of his appearance before her in church one evening . . . with head bowed and tears flowing from her eyes, she sat grieving for the beloved husband who lay buried in the churchyard cemetery outside, when suddenly her head was jerked upwards as though by an unseen force, and slowly Bert appeared before her . . . dressed in a sort of gown, or surplice, with a soft radiance glowing about him. Anice Terhune stated that the vision had appeared to her so that she would know he was "not dead, but more alive than ever" . . . and that he had just discarded the "shell" that lay buried beneath the frozen ground outside. From that time on, Anice felt his presence often, and it was then that she began writing "The Bert Terhune I Knew". One day, not long after the manuscript was finished, she was contacted by a woman who asked if she could visit Sunnybank to meet the widow, because she knew that she could help her. In "Across The Line", Bert's widow tells of this woman who said that she was able to get word from (or about) the departed author from the "Other Side"; and according to Anice, both she and the woman received messages from Bert, many times. From that time on, Bert and his widow were "together" often (Anice said); and happy at her "reunion" with her loved one, Anice met each day with head high, and renewed courage to go on. The months passed slowly, lengthening into years. Anice did a lot of reading, and once a month visited the sick and shut-in members of the Pompton Reformed Church . . . reading to some, singing or playing the piano for others. She wrote many letters to servicemen during the war; warm letters to help keep their spirits up while they were away from their homes. For such a clinging, dependent woman, she did remarkably well in adjusting to life alone. She kept busy writing, composing music, visiting friends. She went into New York City, staying over at times to attend operas, special programs or dinners. She traveled by herself, finding her way through life, little by little. One of her dearest friends, the wife of a local doctor, lived in Pompton Lakes, and every Saturday afternoon a local taxi brought the woman to Sunnybank to visit with Anice.

- 63 - The routine was the same each week . . . when the taxi brought the friend to the estate, the driver picked up Anice's two maids who spent every Saturday afternoon at the Pompton Lakes Theater, en- joying the matinee. After the movie was over, the taxi returned the maids to Sunny- bank, and then drove Anice's friend to her home in Pompton Lakes. This routine was kept for years, being interrupted only by illness. Bert's widow listened to the radio a lot, mostly musical programs; and watched television. She filled her days, and months, and years well. Over the years the size of the estate had dwindled as Anice sold sections of land. Two acres one time. Eight, another. In the 1950's she sold fourteen acres to a local doctor. The Terhune homestead was going. Albert Payson Terhune had bought property as early as 1895, from William and Elizabeth Williams; and in 1909 had received Sunny- bank from his mother. Deeds of property passing from mother to son, are also recorded in 1918 and 1922. In 1922 Bert also purchased land from a Minnie Friedman. And land near the Alps road was purchased from Garret Houman, but Bert sold it in the late 1930's. The Terhune homestead had been started in the 1850's by Bert's father, who purchased land from several persons, over the years. Reverend Terhune bought land from William Washington Colfax and his wife, David Ryerson, Edward and Jane Ward, and Laura Hall. The Reverend sold property, some to Emanuel Einstein, Ernest Werner, and to his own daughter, Virginia Belle Terhune Van de Water, he sold two acres in the 1890's. After Bert's death, Sunnybank slowly deteriorated through the years, without the master to guide the running of the estate. Ceilings and walls in the old home were badly in need of repair; slowly, the once beautiful grounds lost much of their enchanting loveliness . . . but Anice lived on at the estate, the "heaven on earth" that she and Bert had shared for so many wonderful years. The widow kept up with world events, even after becoming bedridden a few years before her death. When old age began to set in, she forced herself to stay alert mentally, instead of drifting off into apathetic nothingness. Always well groomed, always femininely attired, she continued to take pride in her appearance; and becoming bed-jackets were insisted upon . . . dainty, feminine creations.

- 64 - Her hair was well cared for, her room brightened with fresh flowers; her mealtime trays attractively set with gleaming silver. Though confined to bed, and nearly blind and deaf towards the end, Anice Terhune remained an interesting woman; filled with fasci- nating tales to tell of her past life with Bert. Her intelligence, even in her nineties, was keen. She was a remarkable woman. Authoress, composer of music, writer of musical education books, concert pianist, brilliant conversationalist, a woman of rare charm. A woman who had been content to live in the shadow of her husband's fame; though she, herself, possessed great talent. Truly a remarkable woman . . . from a remarkable family. Anice Morris Stockton Terhune was from a family that had been famous in American history for generations. She was the grand-daughter of Senator John Potter Stockton, who was also U. S. Minister to Italy, and Attorney-General of New Jersey. Great grand-daughter of Commodore Robert Field Stockton, who was famous for the part he played in the capture of California during the war with Mexico. Her second great-grandfather, Richard (The "Duke") Stockton, became a Senator; and as a lawyer of great ability, won the praise of President John Adams. Anice's third great-grandfather, Richard Stockton, was a signer of the Declaration of Independence. Anice Terhune's family tree contains an imposing list of ancestors who filled state and other important offices here, as well as abroad; and her interesting tales of them held her listeners complete attention as she spoke. The Stockton family was founded in America before 1656 by Richard Stockton who came from England and settled with his wife, Abigail, and family, at Flushing, Long Island. In 1691 he moved to a Quaker settlement in West Jersey and bought a 2,000 acre plantation. Richard (The Founder) died in 1707, leaving a widow and nine children. Oldest of his three sons was Richard; and it is this son who became known in the family as the "Builder", since it was he who built the Stockton ancestral home "Morven" that still stands at Prince- ton, New Jersey, and is now used as the governor's mansion. Richard (The Builder) Stockton had been born in England in 1645, and when his father and family had moved to West Jersey from Long Island, the son Richard married Susannah Witham Robinson (widow of Thomas Robinson) and joined a Quaker settlement in Mid- dlesex county in New Jersey. In 1696 they moved to Wapowog Brook settlement where he bought 400 acres of land; and it was in 1701 that he bought a large

- 65 - tract of land from William Penn and began to build a fine, new house that became the ancestral home of the Stockton family. When Richard (The Builder) died in 1709, he was survived by his widow and six sons. At his death, the house was left to his son John; but since John was only eight years of age at the time, the widow also received the whole of the dwelling plantation until John should come of age. After that, she was to retain the use of half of the house and its improvements during her lifetime. John Stockton (son of Richard the Builder and Susannah Witham Robinson) was born in 1701, and in 1729 he married his cousin Abigail Phillips. He left the Quakers and joined his wife's church, the Presbyterian. The ancestral home was called the "Stockton House" than, and it was a center of hospitality and gaiety. John added one-story wings to the east and west of it, for better accomodation of his many distinguished guests. He became one of the presiding judges of the Court of Common Pleas of Somerset County under the Royal Government, and was ruling elder of his church, and played a leading part in bringing the college of New Jersey to Princeton. The college had opened at Elizabeth-town in 1747, and moved to New Ark that same year, and in 1752 John Stockton, Thomas Leonard, and John Horner signed a bond for a thousand pounds to secure its establishment at Princeton. The foundation was begun in July 1754, and President Aaron Burr and his seventy students moved into the finished college in Novem- ber 1756. Father of five sons and five daughters, before his death in 1757, John Stockton deeded the eastern part of the plantation to his eldest son, Richard. This Richard was known as Richard the Signer, for he was one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence. Born on October 1, 1730, Richard (The Signer) Stockton received preparatory education in Maryland, before entering the College of New Jersey as one of its first students. He was one of the six who made up its first class to graduate in 1748 while it was still located in New Ark. He studied law and was admitted to the bar in 1754 at the age of 24. Devoted to his profession, he lived at Princeton, had an office at New Ark, and his reputation as an attorney brought clients from neighboring colonies. About 1755, Richard married Annis Boudinot, a charming woman who was a most gracious mistress of the ancestral home.

- 66 - Inspired by a romantic poem of that time, it was she who gave the mansion the name of "Morven". Richard was a licensed counsellor in 1758, and became a sergeant at law in 1764. His health suffered so severely from overwork that, in 1766, his physician ordered a trip abroad. In 1768 Richard was made a member of the executive council of New Jersey, and in 1774 became a judge of the Supreme Court. Elected to Congress in 1776, Richard at first was doubtful of the policy of the Declaration of Independence; but later supported it and was one of its signers. In 1776 he declined the office of Chief Justice, to keep his seat in the Continental Congress; and that same year served on a committee that had been appointed to inspect the northern army. Returning to New Jersey, from the inspection tour, Richard and his family had to flee from the ancestral home at Princeton, but he was captured by the British and confined in the common prison at New York. As a Signer of the Declaration of Independence, he was treated with unusual brutality which resulted in broken strength and health, and which eventually caused his death. Richard was put in irons and given no food for the first twenty- four hours, then given only the coarsest fare. When Congress learned of the cruel treatment he had to endure, it directed Washington to protest against it to General Howe. However, by then, or shortly after, Richard was released from prison and given a full pardon; but only because he swore to "remain in a peaceful obedience to His Majesty and not take up arms, nor encourage others to take up arms, in opposition to His Authority." (Richard was so sick, so worn out from the hardships endured during his confinement in prison, and so torn with anxiety for his family's welfare, that he took the oath.) Early in January, he and his family were back in what was left of Morven. The British had occupied it, and the Stocktons returned to find the house, furniture and clothing in a deplorable condition. All that remained of the east wing was blackened walls. The valuable library that it had contained, was lost. Portraits of Richard and Annis had been torn from their frames, slashed, and thrown outdoors. Buried chests of silver and valuables had been found and looted. As Richard's health improved, his thoughts turned to his law practice which he eventually resumed.

- 67 - One bitter cold day, Richard's lips became severely chapped as he rode home from the Somerset Court House where he had been on legal business. A deep crack in the lower lip refused to heal, and became can- cerous. In December 1778 the malignant part of the lip was removed, but the cancer spread into his throat; and from 1779 until his death in 1781 he was never free from pain, unless under the influence of a pain-killing agent. Near the end of 1780, he was in agony, and died on Februray 28, 1781. Richard the Signer . . . third great-grandfather of Anice Terhune . . . had fathered six children, and Morven was passed down to his eldest son, Richard, when he became of age in 1785. After Richard the Signer's death, his widow, Annis, had done her best to conserve and restore the family fortunes; but they were sadly reduced when son Richard became of age. This son, Richard, was called Richard the "Duke", and had been born on April 17, 1764. Prepared for college by private tutors, he graduated from the college of New Jersey at fifteen years of age; studied law, and was admitted to the bar in 1784. In 1788 he married Mary Field. In 1796 he became a United States Senator. At Morven, the east wing had been rebuilt in 1780, but in 1821 there was a fire in it again; and though it was badly damaged, the books and furniture were saved this time. It was in April 1828 that Richard the "Duke" suffered a stroke, and died suddenly at 64 years of age. Morven was left to his widow during her natural life, and then to his eldest son, Robert Field Stockton. Robert was one of the nine children born to the "Duke" and Mary Field Stockton. Anice was proud of her family line. Her bedridden hours passed less slowly when she spoke of them to interested listeners, telling of the part each had played in our nation's history. Robert Field Stockton, her great-grandfather, was a famous Com- modore of the United States Navy, first Governor (Military) of the Territory of California, a United States Senator from New Jersey, and one of the first promoters of railroad building in New Jersey. Robert Field Stockton was born on August 20, 1795. He studied at Princeton, but left college early to join the navy; and saw service in the war with Great Britain in 1812. He distinguished himself in several naval combats during the war with Algeria in 1814 and 1815; and was given command of the "Spitfire" during the Algerian conflict.

- 68 - He was later transferred to a larger vessel and for some time was stationed at Gibraltar. In 1820, Robert had command of the "Alligator" when he sailed to Africa to secure territory for the establishment of a colony which was to be composed of negroes who had been slaves in the United States, but who had obtained their freedom. His mission was successful and the new colony of Liberia was born. At first, a colony of the United States, it grew and prospered and became an independent nation in 1847. In 1822, still in command of the Alligator, he joined a squadron which was engaged in clearing the pirates from the Caribbean area. The pirates withdrew to the bays and inlets of the Cuban coast, and the U. S. Navy was forbidden to follow them ashore. The squadron leader commanded that, under no circumstances, was any of his ships to disobey the Cuban order, but Robert Field Stockton, high-spirited naval officer, pursued the pirates, and even went ashore after them. For this act, he was relieved of his command and returned home on a prolonged leave. Back at Princeton, he became very active in his father's various projects; and in 1823 married Harriet Maria Potter of Charleston, South Carolina. Robert built a house for his bride, near the ancestral home, in Princeton. In 1824 he started the newspaper the "Princeton Courier", wrote many editorials and made many speeches in his support of John Quincy Adams for President of the United States. That same year he became active in organizing the New Jersey Colonization Society, and about this time (or before) left his church to join the Episcopalian faith of his wife. In 1826, at his request, he returned to active duty with the navy and spent two years surveying the harbors of Charleston; Savannah; and Brunswick, Georgia. 1828 saw him back at Princeton, where he became very active in business and politics; becoming a leader in the community and the state. About this time, he joined with his father-in-law, John Potter, and Mr. Potter's two sons (James and Thomas) in a project for a canal to connect the Delaware and Raritan Rivers. Robert Field Stockton invested $500,000 in the venture and became president of the canal company at a salary of $2,500 a year. It was in 1828 that his father, Richard (the "Duke") Stockton died. The ancestral home "Morven" was left to Robert's mother for

- 69 - the term of her natural life, and then was to go to the eldest surviving son (Robert Field Stockton), as well as property in North Carolina, New York and elsewhere in the west. Before his mother relinquished her claim as mistress of "Morven", Robert and his wife, Harriet Maria, began changing the old home to their liking. They tore out the wonderful old wooden mantlepieces that had been part of the home for 130 years, and replaced them with white marble. The garden was changed from its former exquisite beauty (wrought by Richard the Signer and his wife Annis) to flower beds of geometrical design, with edgings of box, and trees trimmed into animal shapes. Second stories were added to the two wings, and a bathroom (the first in Princeton) was put in at the back of the east wing. Robert Field Stockton was promoted to Commander in 1830, and declined offers to return to active service with the navy. In the 1830's he was away from home a lot, either on business or for amusement; for he had turned to horse racing and spent large sums of money on the horses, importing blooded stock from England, and traveling from one race track to another. Returning to active duty in 1838, Robert had command of the battleship "Ohio"; and after brief duty on the Mediterranean, spent several months in England, studying British naval architecture and the manufacture of heavy ordnance. It was (here that he met the Swedish inventor, John Ericsson, who had recently had his screw-propeller rejected by the British Admiralty since they felt that it would interfere with the steering of the vessels. Stockton had the inventor build him an iron tow-boat, equipped with a screw propeller; and in the Spring of 1839, the 70' long vessel crossed the Atlantic Ocean under sail with a crew of five. Named the "Robert F. Stockton", the boat was bought by the canal company and gave excellent service between New Brunswick and Trenton; since she was able to break her way through the ice in winter, when paddle-wheel steamers could not. Back in America after an absence of less than a year, Anice's great-grandfather was assigned to the Brooklyn Navy Yard. He tried to interest the Navy Department in building a screw-propeller frigate; but when they refused, he asked for a two-years leave of absence, and turned to politics again. Declining President Tyler's offer to appoint him Secretary of the Navy, he later returned to active service when the Navy Department called him to the Philadelphia Navy Yard, in 1841, to superintend the construction of a propeller-driven warship.

- 70 - The new administration liked his ideas for such a ship and wanted him to show them what he thought a modern war vessel should be like. So far, the Navy did not possess a single steamship. All were old style sailing vessels. Robert Stockton was against the use of paddle wheels which could easily be damaged with a well-placed cannonball. His idea was to put the engine and machinery deep down in the vessel, below the water line, so that they would be practically invulnerable to enemy fire; and to move the ships by means of a submerged screw. The result was the "Princeton", the first propeller-driven warship in the world. The engines and machinery were below the water line, as he wished, for greater protction from the enemy. Further security was gained by burning anthracite coal, to prevent tell-tale clouds of smoke that burning soft-coal produces. The Princeton proved herself well. In a race, from the Battery to Sandy Hook, she passed the trans-Atlantic record-holder, the liner "Great Western". In February 1844, the Princeton steamed down the Potomac River to demonstrate her excellent qualities to a group of notables. Aboard ship were the President of the United States, secretaries of State and Navy, other members of the Cabinet, many Senators, and other distinguished persons . . . totaling about 400 guests. The Princeton passed Fort Washington and Mount Vernon, then gave a thrilling demonstration of her armament. Two 12" guns, each weighing 10 tons, were fired. One, named the "Oregon" had been made of wrought iron in England. It was a new material for ordnance, and the other gun of wrought iron was made in America, and named the "Peacemaker". It was quite a sight to witness the great guns in action. Guns that could hurl their 212 pound shot a distance of three miles with a 35 pound powder charge. On the return trip up the Potomac, later that afternoon, the Secretary of the Navy, Gilmer, requested that the Peacemaker be fired again. Only 25 pounds of powder were used this time; but when fired, the gun burst at the breech, killing the Secretary of State and Secre- tary of War, as well as others close by. The President had been detained in the passageway, or else he too would have been killed. Captain Stockton was knocked to the deck, burned and nearly blinded. Needless to say, no more wrought iron guns were made, but the building of naval steamships continued.

- 71 - When war with Mexico seemed inevitable, Stockton was ordered west to relieve Commodore Sloat as commander of the U. S. Naval forces in the Pacific. So in 1845, with the rank of Commodore, Robert Field Stockton set out on a mission which won him fame for the part he played in the war. With the help of a body of adventurers and hunters, and Lt. Fremont's little band of explorers, Commodore Stockton conquered California, and organized a provisional government. Back home at Morven, his family spent two anxious years, receiving little news of the Commodore. One time the news came in letters that Kit Carson and other famous western scouts had carried across the mountains, and plains, in official dispatch bags. By 1847 Stockton was on his way home, overland, heading a party of 49. Along the way he had his share of western life when he killed many buffalo, and when he was shot by an Indian arrow. Reaching Washington, he cleared up his official business and then returned to his home at Princeton, and entered into politics again. He invested heavily in land in several states. Any land that he suspected of containing minerals fascinated him, and he couldn't resist buying it. In order to attend to business matters better, Commodore Stock- ton resigned from the Navy in 1850, after 39 years of service. It was in 1850 that he had gas illumination installed at Morven, replacing the wax candles that had cast their soft glow over the rooms for years. In 1851 he became Senator from New Jersey. In 1853 the Commodore added 900 acres more to his "gold-bear- ing" lands in Virginia, and in 1854 bought machinery for a gold mine in South Carolina. As the slavery problem became more acute, things became harder for Robert Stockton since he was married to a Southern woman, and his own sympathies were with the South. (He was for the Union, but against the means by which it was being restored). During the Civil War he stayed out of politics, keeping silent. His wife, Harriet Maria, died in 1862, and in 1864 Stockton retired from public life. Robert Field Stockton passed away on October 7, 1866, after a brief illness, at 72 years of age. He left his private affairs in a state of confusion due to his extravagant land speculations, his fondness for horses, and his political adventures. At his death, all of his properties passed on to his children (3 sons and 6 daughters); his wife being deceased.

- 72 - His three sons were all prosperous men, but none felt that he was in a position to accept the burden of running the ancestral home in its accustomed style; so in 1869 they conveyed it to their cousin, Samuel Witham Stockton (son of the Commodore's brother of that same name). Thus, for the first time in five generations, the direct succession of Morven from father to son was broken; which meant that the ancestral home would not come down to Anice Terhune's grandfather, and then to her father, and eventually to her brother. Anice's grandfather, John Potter Stockton, son of Commodore Robert Field and Harriet Maria Potter Stockton, was born in 1826. He was graduated from Princeton College at 17, studied law, and was admitted to the bar in 1846. Early in 1845, when he was nineteen years of age, John Potter Stockton married Sara Marks of New Orleans. Because Sara was a Jewess, and only seventeen years old, the family objected to the marriage, and the young couple eloped on May 15th. However, when the newlyweds returned to Princeton, the Stock- tons opened their doors to them, and made them welcome at Morven. About 1845, Commodore Stockton had a house built for his son, John Potter and daughter-in-law Sara, which was said to be the finest house in Princeton, and one of the finest in New Jersey. In 1858 Anice's grandfather was appointed United States Minister to the Papal States, by President Buchanan; and he and his family went to Rome where John kept his position at the Papal Court until 1861. He became Senator from New Jersey in 1868 and was credited, more than any other member of the Senate, with having blocked the impeachment of President Johnson. In 1877 he was made Attorney-General of New Jersey; an office he held until 1892. John Potter Stockton died January 22, 1900. He was the father of five children, one being Anice's father, John Potter Stockton II, who was born on February 2, 1852. Although his birthplace was Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, Anice's father spent most of his life in New Jersey. He received his preparatory education at the Charlier Institute in New York City, and for several years devoted his time to the study of railroads in New Jersey. For a long time he was connected with the Erie Railroad, the New Jersey Southern Railroad, and the New Jersey Central Railroad Company. In 1869 he married Elizabeth Morris Olmsted (Olmstead), and they became the parents of seven children. Anice's brothers and sis-

- 73 - ters were Henrietta, Elizabeth, Richard, Frances Louise, John Potter III, and Amy, who died in infancy. Her mother died young, at 32 years of age, in 1882, and her father later remarried. He and his second wife, Linda Lowe, were the parents of five children. In 1883 Anice's father took up the study of medicine, but the medical profession was not to his liking, and he turned to the study of law. He was admitted to the New Jersey bar as an attorney in 1895, and as a counsellor in 1899. He successfully practiced his profession in Jersey City, where he resided, and gained a reputation for his brilliant legal qualifications, and was greatly respected as a citizen. Musically inclined, he played the piano for which he wrote some marches, and also played a horn. As a successful author of several books, he was known best for his book "Zaphra". All of Anice's brothers and sisters are deceased, her sister, Eliza- beth, died but three months before the death of Anice. Just nieces, nephews and their families remain as living descendants. It will be of interest to note what happened to the Stockton ancestral home when it was conveyed to cousin Samuel Witham Stockton, by the heirs of Commodore Robert Field Stockton (Anice's great- grandfather). Samuel ran it very simply as a farm. He had entered the army and had distinguished himself as Captain in the Fourth Cavalry at First Bull Run in the Civil War, also as an aide to his uncle, Colonel David Hunter of the Sixth Cavalry in 1861, and later he had become a brigadier-general of volunteers. At the end of the war, Samuel retired from the army with the rank of Major, returned to Princeton, and married Sarah Hodge in 1866. With an increasing family, and lack of money, "Major Sam" ran the plantation very simply; with the result that it ran down in appearance, but for twenty years a happy way of life continued at Morven. When Major Sam was 56 years old, he was no longer able to struggle with the debts he had assumed with the ownership of the estate, and in 1890 deeded it to Casper Wistar Hodge, Richard S. Hunter, and John F. Hageman, Jr., apparently as trustees, for the sum of two thousand dollars (it being subject to certain mortgages and judgements). From Samuel Witham Stockton's trustees, Morven passed to Rev. Charles Woodruff Shields D.D. of Pennsylvania, in 1891 for the sum of thirty thousand dollars. However, the landed estate had been so reduced by bequests and sales, that where it once was counted by the hundreds of acres, it was now counted by the feet.

- 74 - At once, the new owner began to restore the wonderful old home to its former old-time beauty ... the home that, under different circumstances, would have come on down to Anice's father, and then to her brother. Doctor Shield's oldest daughter, Charlotte Julia, had married a Bayard Stockton (grandson of the Commodore) on May 19, 1881, and bore him two sons . . . Bayard Jr., and Richard III. Charlotte Julia loved Morven and expressed a strong desire for the ancestral home to later belong to her two sons. She died in 1891, and on July 12, 1892 her widowed husband married her half-sister Helen Hamilton Shields. Helen shared Charlotte's love for the ancestral home, and traced old pieces of Morven furniture that had been cast out when the Com- modore and his wife had changed the home to their liking; and little by little it took on the atmosphere it had known in the days of Richard the Signer, and his charming wife, Annis Boudinot. The white marble mantlepieces were taken out, and two of the original wooden mantlepieces were found and restored to their places of old. Outdoors, the gardens began to once again take on the look of exquisite beauty that had been theirs in the time of Richard the Signer and his wife. When Doctor Shields died in 19p4, he left the estate to Helen and his two grandsons (by Charlotte Julia), Bayard, Jr., and Richard 3rd. In the late 1920's Bayard Stockton died, and Morven was rented to Robert W. Johnson of New Brunswick, and for the first time in two centuries, there were no Stocktons in Morven. From 1928 to 1945 the former atmosphere of hospitality prevailed at Morven again, with dinners and dances held often. Extensive re- pairing and rehabilitation was done to both the house and grounds, and a tennis court and swimming pool were built. In 1945 the wonderful old house passed into other hands, when Helen Hamilton Shields Stockton, and the other heirs, deeded Morven to Walter E. Edge and his wife, Camilla. Governor and Mrs. Edge renovated the house and grounds anew, and in 1950 offered it to the state of New Jersey as a gift, to be used as a Governor's Mansion, or a state museum. The Legislature accepted it in June 1951. The Edges continued to live at Morven for eight years, leaving it in 1953, although later they returned for just a brief stay. And so the ancestral home of the famous Stockton family, ancestors of Anice Terhune, is now a Governor's Mansion. No longer do Stocktons occupy the family home, just as Terhunes no longer occupy Sunnybank . . . Terhune homestead at Pompton Lake.

- 75 - Gone are the days when Sunnybank was young, and the author was a boy romping on the great lawns that sloped down to meet the blue waters of the lake. Gone are the days when he was a college lad, doing his vacation studying in his secluded spot in the woods, where his trio of squirrel friends kept him company. Gone are the years that he and his beloved wife spent together at Sunnybank. Happy years spent in writing, and hiking in the Ramapo mountains with their collies, swimming in the cool lake waters, resting on the wisteria-covered veranda as they gazed beyond the beautiful rose garden . . . sweeping their eyes over the soft greens of the wooded hills that circled the rippling blue lake. No longer are barking collies heard, nor the clacking of the author's typewriter as he wrote story after story for all the world to read. No longer does he sit down by the lake at his crude outdoor desk; with collies at his feet, and with him in the hammock as he wrote. Beautiful music no longer floats through the long French windows . . . music that came from the Concert grand piano that the mistress played. Music that set the birds to singing . . . music that drifted over the estate and out across the waters at the edge of the sloping lawn. There is not even the sound of the mistress' voice speaking to her nurses, from the bedroom that was her world, those few remaining years. Even the clattering sounds from the kitchen are gone. No longer does the faithful maid "Fifine" prepare dainty trays for her mistress. The house is silent. The grounds are silent. There is a stillness about the place that brings sadness to your heart, and regret for the ending of such a beautiful way of life. Albert Payson Terhune and his wife lived an unusual life, con- sidering the way progress changed things about them. The yellow concrete highway that he hated so, cut a slash through their woodland; dividing their estate, bringing noise to their peaceful homestead. The coming of industry brought bustling activity to the serene countryside they had coveted. The growth of the sleepy little village of Pompton brought more and more people to the community, and bungalows sprang up among the hills ... the hills of untouched beauty that were awakened from their slumbering years by the increased population. Progress marched onward, and Sunnybank was surrounded by modernization; yet life on the estate remained as nearly the same as was possible. An automobile replaced the horse and carriage at Sunnybank, the old home was lighted with electricity, the telephone saved them many

- 76 - a long ride; but life itself went on in the same easy way. The same happy way. Bert and Anice were blessed with an undying love for each other that remained strong, and true, to the end. With the author's death in 1942, Anice was completely crushed, but after some time was able to face the future without her beloved husband. For twenty-two years the widow lived on at Sunnybank without him, until death came to her in November 1964. Death held no fear for her. Death, to her, meant complete reunion with Bert, a life eternal, with the loved one who waited for her just "Across The Line". The birds still flutter about the wisteria vines on the veranda, and perch in the mighty oaks, but their songs are no longer sung in accompaniment to the beautiful music of the grand piano of Sunnybank. The house is quiet. The windows dark. The cherished belongings are gone. Furniture, china, silverware, pictures, coats of arms, heirlooms, and other family relics are gone to Anice's nephew in Massachusetts. Her nieces in New England have more of her china, and linens, silverware, glass ware, etc. To one of them went the beautiful Steinway grand concert piano and all of the music in the three music cabinets. One of the nieces received an ancient Spanish Missal, and an Italian Missal. Anice's Hammond Organ was bequeathed to a woman in Suffern, New York; and a collection of dog trophies, prize ribbons, cups and medals, and pictures of Sunnybank collies, were left to the local doctor who bought property from Anice after Bert's death. The doctor, who later gave all of the wonderful mementos, of Sunnybank's famous champion collies, to a woman living in Bloomingdale, New Jersey. The author's collection of ancient firearms, weapons and armor were bequeathed to a friend in New York City, but he had died just before Anice passed away. A complete set of books, written by the author, were bequeathed to the Columbia University (Bert's Alma Mater), as well as the Oxford Dictionary in twelve volumes, Cambridge Shakespeare in 40 volumes with notes, and a de luxe edition of the Monograph of the Pheasants in four large volumes. To the Congressional Library in Washington, D. C. went a portrait of Bert, and a full set of books, written by Anice, consisting of twenty- one volumes. Gifts of money were left to several relatives and friends, including Anice's dear friend in Pompton Lakes. Money was also bequeathed to the Pompton Reformed Church, and to employees of the estate. In trust for the two loyal maids, Anice left $20,000; but one of the maids, Pauline Andrasse, had passed away a few years before.

-77 - Pauline's sister, Josephine ("Fifine") Andrasse lives, in a neighboring town, with one of the nurses who cared for Mrs. Terhune during those bedridden years. After everyone was taken care of, the remainder of the estate was left to the Albert Payson Terhune Foundation of Pompton Lakes; and the estate was to be used as a children's school, or a museum. However, those years of illness, towards the end of Anice's life, drained the finances of the estate to a mere nothing; making Anice's dream, of Sunnybank becoming a school or museum, an impossibility. The beloved estate has been put up for sale, and will soon pass into other hands. The Albert Payson Terhunes have gone from our community, leaving no heirs to carry on for them. All of the Terhunes have gone . . . the Reverend and his wife, the author and his wife, and even the author's daughter, Lorraine. All lie sleeping in the Pompton Reformed Church Cemetery. Another old family has passed from our town. Though many old names have passed from our community, some still linger in our midst as descendants live on in the area. Families prominent in the early days of Pompton Village include the names of Schuyler, Brockholst, Colfax, Ryerson, Mandeville, Berry, Bartholf, Haycock, Hopper, Mead, Post, Roome, Shippee, Van Orden, Vreeland, Whritenour, Boyd, Beam, Hennion and Romaine. Old families have gone . . . old landmarks have gone . . . old homes, buildings, churches. The first church built at Pompton was erected near the present- day Pompton Falls area. Built on a site between the Colfaxes and Pompton Lock, the church was dedicated on April 7, 1736. This little church, at the junction of the Pequannock and Pompton Rivers, was known as the Reformed (Dutch) Church of Pompton, and prior to its erection, services had been held at an old log church in the Ponds (Oakland), which had been the only church building in New Jersey above the Passaic River. When the old log church had fallen into disuse, the Reformed Church at Pompton was built and served the people from the Ponds too, and in 1738 had a membership of seventy-two. However, after a few years, the Ponds members decided that they wanted a church of their own again, and their second church was built. Rev. Johannes Van Driessen was the first pastor of the Pompton Church; with Peter Post and Paulus Van der Beck serving as Elders, and John Hennion and Martin Berry as Deacons. The Reverend was removed in 1748 and for four years the church was without a pastor. During those years, the Voorlezer attended to the church duties, and in 1752 Rev. David Marinus came to the Pomp-

- 78 - ton Church at the Steel Works to serve as pastor. (The Voorlezer was an important member of the community . . . teaching the children on weekdays, conducting church services on the Sabbath, besides visiting the sick). Trouble arose in the Pompton Church when the American churches differed on the country in which young men should be ordained to the ministry. For years, it had been the custom for the ordination to take place in Holland, but now some wanted the men to be ordained in America, instead. A division grew in the Reformed Church, with one side taking the name of the Coetus party, and their wish was for the ordinations to take place in America. The other side, which clung to the desire to have men ordained in Holland, took the name of the Conferentie party. Division in the church congregation was just part of the trouble, since even members of families divided against each other, and in 1762 members of the Coetus party of Pompton separated from the church and built one for themselves at Pompton Plains. When Rev. Marinus left the little church, with the Coetus party in 1762, and went to the Pompton Plains church to preach, the Con- ferentie party that was left in Pompton was then serviced by Dominie Blauw until he removed to Hackensack after five years or so. After the Dominie left, the church never had another pastor. The Pompton Reformed Church that we worship in today, was built and organized almost forty-five years later, and stands on the corner of Ringwood Avenue and the Paterson-Hamburg Turnpike, in Pompton Lakes, on land donated by Judge Martin J. Ryerson. It was about this time that the parties, into which the Reformed Church had divided, came together. It was settled that the Coetus party's wish for ordinations to take place in America, should be the rule, and a larger Pompton Plains church was built to accomodate Coetus and Conferentie parties which combined to form one congregation. The Pompton and Wanaque area people wanted a church of their own and took steps to have one organized. A Subscription list was cir- culated, and seventy-five subscribers obtained the sum of $1932 to erect the church. On February 20, 1812, subscribers met at the house, or hotel, kept by Martin G. Ryerson, and chose Martin J. Ryerson, Robert Colfax, Adrian Post, Anthony C. Beam, and John Beam, trustees to superintend the building of the church. On June 8, 1813, a certificate of incorporation of the Pompton and Wanaque Church was filed in the office of the county clerk at Hackensack. Known as the First Reformed Dutch Church of Winochqua and Pompton, it was dedicated on October 16, 1814, and the organization was completed by June 18, 1815. The congregation started with twenty-four names on the church roll at the beginning of the year of 1816.

- 79 - Then the inhabitants of the Wanaque and Ringwood District of the Pompton congregation asked for permission to build a church of their own near Colonel Board's (later Boardville), and by 1817 had completed its erection. On February 17, 1817, the church at Pompton filed a certificate at the Hackensack office, changing the name of their church to the "Pompton Church" (which was still later changed to "Pompton Re- formed Church", in 1906). The first pastor was Rev. Jacob Ten Eyck Field, who served the church at Pompton until 1827. Following him were Revs. Richard C. Shimeall 1828-1829; Isaac S. Demund 1830-1839; Horace Doolittle 1840-1852; John Gaston 1852-1862; John N. Janson 1833-1883; Tunis J. Kommers 1884-1886; John A. Trimmer 1886-1890; Ferdinand S. Wilson 1891-1902; Charles M. Dixon 1903-1923; George J. De Witt 1923-1931; and Gerrit Heemstra 1931-1965. The Rev. Gerrit Heemstra retired as pastor of the Pompton Re- formed Church in September 1965, after thirty-five years of faithful service to his congregation, and was succeeded by the Reverend Ar- mand Renskers. Episcopal services were held, at Pompton, as early as 1785; and on June 6, 1798 Dr. Isaac Haulenbeck presented his credentials, as lay delegate, to the annual Convention of the Protestant Episcopal Church of the State of New Jersey, as representative of the group which had been gathering at Pompton. The Convention was held that year in Trinity Church, Newark, N. J.; and Dr. Haulenbeck also attended a meeting of the Convention that was held, in August at New Brunswick, for the purpose of elect- ing a Bishop of New Jersey. He was the first lay delegate to sign the certificate of election. An English iron company owned many forges and furnaces on the Ramapo, Wynockie (Wanaque), and Pequannock Rivers, during the latter part of the 18th century. It established a church, for the workmen and their families, in one of its warehouses at Pompton, at or near the confluence of the three rivers; and services were held by a clergyman supplied by the Newark Trinity Church. Most were members of the Church of England, and the newly established church was called the "Christ Church". On June 5, 1799, Wm. Palmer was the lay delegate from Pompton to the Convention meeting in New Brunswick and, during the proceedings, his name was entered on the minutes as a Candidate for Holy Orders. A Rev. Mr. Rayner visited Pompton in 1799 to administer baptism, and returned once in 1800 to preach to the congregation. During 1801 and 1802, Dr. Uzal Ogden of Trinity Church in New- ark, visited Pompton and in 1802 administered the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper to the members.

- 80 - In 1803 and 1804 he returned to the warehouse at Pompton a few times, to baptize children, and preach. At the convention in 1803, Dr. Haulenbeck again represented Pompton; and in 1804 Edward Jones was the lay deputy to the convention meeting which was held in Perth Amboy. Although from that time until 1810 Missionaries were assigned to the Pompton Church, other activities made it impossible for the clergymen to fulfill their assignments; and the impending crisis between Great Britain and the United States brought about such a feeling of hostility against the local congregation, that the iron company was forced to discharge its workmen and dispose of the forges and furnaces. From that time on, there is no known record of the Christ Church at Pompton until in November 1864, when Mrs. Susan Hoffman Ludlum resolved to do something about the lack of religious services for the Pompton Episcopalians. Mrs. Ludlum, a New York girl, had married James Ludlum in 1858 and come to Pompton, during the Civil War years, where Mr. Ludlum had large interests in the iron founding industry which was the principal commercial activity in this area at that time. Being a devout Episcopalian, Mrs. Ludlum was shocked at the ignorance she found among the workers and their families, and set about rectifying the condition. Bishop Odenheimer visited Pompton to hold services in 1865 and reported to the Diocesan Convention of the vigorous Mission that had been started by Mrs. Ludlum. Mrs. Ludlum was paid $150 a year to promote the work, and Rev. C. M. A. Hewes, Deacon in charge of St. John's Church of Paterson, was assigned to visit the Mission. The schoolhouse was used as the first place of meeting until a plot of land was donated in 1867 by Messrs. J. Horner and J. Ludlum, and a church building erected. Services were held every Sunday morning and evening, by the Rev. Mr. Hewes, or Lay Readers under his direction, and he reported that there were over 40 children in the Sunday School. Members of the Christ Church met on April 6, 1874, to re-organize the Parish and elect Wardens and Vestrymen, and restoration to the Diocesan Convention was effected. The church edifice was consecrated on May 22, 1874 by Bishop Odenheimer and at that time the parish list included 35 communicants and 119 baptized persons, as well as a thriving Sunday school. Services were conducted by lay readers from the General Theological Seminary, under the direction of Rev. Mr. Hewes. Economic depression threatened the struggling parish and it was suggested that the Parish organization be discontinued, but it struggled on.

- 81 - On June 26, 1880, the Rev. Frederick Greaves, who had served as Lay Reader, was ordained Priest and became the first Rector of the Pompton Christ Church. During the next two decades, a procession of clergymen served the church, with Lay Readers helping out when the parish was unable to pay a clergyman. In 1892, services were conducted by a lay reader, Henry C. De Mille (father of Cecil B. De Mille), who had studied to become a priest of the Episcopal Church, but who had turned to playwrighting instead. In 1903, the Great Flood that destroyed the dam at Pompton, destroyed the little wooden church too, and services were carried on in the building of the Pompton Club until a new church was erected at the corner of Ramapo and Passaic Avenues. This new church, of stone, was completed and opened for services on September 21, 1904. Dr. C. K. Weaver, who had become Rector in 1902, assisted Bishop Lines at the opening ceremonies, together with Dr. Alexander Mann of Grace Church in Orange; and Dr. David S. Hamilton of St. Paul's of Paterson. Fate stepped in again to deal a smashing blow to the church, when on Christmas Day of 1904, a fire started in the Rectory, completely destroying that section, and burning away a portion of the church roof. Again without a meeting place, the congregation was aided by the Reformed Church of Pompton, which loaned its church for Epis- copalian services on Sunday afternoons until repairs were completed on Christ Church. Services were resumed in the restored Christ Church on February 11, 1905. Dr. Weaver resigned on Dec. 1, 1907, and was succeeded by the Rev. Edward Prescott Hooper who was Curate of Holy Innocents' at Hoboken, prior to coming to Pompton. Rectors of Christ Church of Pompton Lakes, New Jersey, have included Revs. Frederick Greaves 1880-1883; Frank A. Sanborn 1883- 1885; Joseph H. Smith 1886-1887; John F. Potter 1893 (who died suddenly one month after becoming Rector); Thomas Me Clintock 1893- 1894; Charles A. Kienzle 1895-1897; George G. Graham 1897-1900; Dr. C. H. Weaver 1902-1907; Edward Prescott Hooper 1908-1915; Theodore J. M. Van Duyne 1916-1917; J. Vernon Ashforth 1918; Frederick C. Price, Jr. 1920-1922; J. Warren Albinson 1923-1930 (during whose incumbency the mortgage debt was paid off); Kenneth O Miller 1930-1935; Albert F. Chillson 1935-1965, who though affection- ately known as the "Rector", was actually Vicar in Charge, under ap- pointment by the Bishop. The new Rector is Rev. Henry T. Folsom. Methodist services were first held in Pompton at the home of Thomas B. Steele, with Rev. Mr. Anderson serving for five years. After the erection of the school house, meetings were taken over by Rev. Moses Morris, a colored preacher, and as the congregation grew, need of a larger church was evident.

- 82 - The church was organized in 1871 with eleven members, Joseph J. Van Ness; Mrs. May Cox; David Drew; Conrad Haycock; Mrs. Eliza- beth Haycock; David B. Steele; Mr. R. V. Roat; Mrs. J. J. Van Ness; R. V. Roat; Mrs. David Drew; and Mrs. Eliza Nevens; and a church building was constructed in Pompton Village, near the Pompton Steel Works, on property deeded by Mr. William H. Graves. The cornerstone was laid by Rev. R. J. Van Horn, assisted by pastor Rev. Me Reed, and was dedicated in March 1872 by Rev. Wil- liam H. Tunison and William C. Dickinson. The first pastor of the church, Rev. Me Reed, came in 1872 and was followed by Rev. J. W. Cole in 1874, and Rev. James Robinson in 1877. Rev. Robinson was still serving as pastor in 1882, but information from that time on has been unavailable. It is not known whether the congregation disbanded, with some members going to the Meth- odist Church at Bloomingdale, or if some of the members joined local churches of other denominations, or what actually did happen. Roman Catholic services were held at Pompton as early as 1794, probably in private homes. However, there are records of Catholic Baptisms, at Pompton, as early as 1781 and 1782, among families such as Aussom, Osterhout, Haycock, and Strobel. In the early 1880's Mass was being said in a schoolhouse that was located just outside of the present town of Pompton Lakes, on a hill, a short distance from the O'Keefe Hotel (later known as the Norton Inn, and now the site of the Grand Union Supermarket). By the middle of the 1880's, few Catholic families remained in Pompton, due to the lack of work; and from that time on, Mass was said in the home of Major Colfax on the Paterson-Hamburg Turnpike, once a month, until 1906. Some of the priests who said Mass in those early days of Pompton were Fathers Ferdinand Farmer, Bonaventure Jahn, Peter Dernis, Francis Koch, and Clement Raab. Father Francis Koch (founder of Franciscan North Jersey Mis- sions) inaugurated the first regular Sunday Mass on January 28, 1906, over the blacksmith shop of Mathias Hennion, on Ringwood Avenue. (Mary Hennion, grandmother of the author's husband, was a first cousin to blacksmith Mathias Hennion. Mary's father, Joseph Hennion . . . and Mathias' father, John Hennion, being brothers. Mary and Mathias were great-grandchildren of John Hennion who married Sarah Bartholf, and who was deacon of the Reformed Dutch Church of Pompton in 1736-1737; and Elder in 1738). In May 1906, Father Koch purchased the Pompton Lakes Club House and, after being remodeled, it was used as the first parish church until 1935 when the present St. Mary's R. C. Church was erected. A stained glass window and interior decorations, for the first church, were gifts of Mayor Henry Grah Hershfield; and the bell in

- 83 - the steeple was donated by his wife and her sister, Mrs. Me Davitt, in memory of their brother, Alfred Lauterbach. The old bell still calls the congregation to worship. Pastors of St. Mary's Church since Father Koch, have been, Fathers Marcellus Kolmar 1921-1925; Kieran Me Grath 1925-1931; Philip Me Cool 1931-1935; Stephen Hartdegan 1935 (May to July); Bertin O'Neill 1935-1936; Roland Burke 1936-1937; Felix Reitlingshofer 1937 (February to July); Aidan Burns 1937-1949; Donatus Walsh 1949-1955; Arnold Walters 1955-1961; and Thomas J. Giblin, present Pastor. Technically speaking, the Church of Our Lady of the Assumption (St. Mary's), was a Mission, attended by priests residing at St. Antho- ny's Monastery in Butler, N. J., until 1944. Prior to 1944, the Official Pastor, of the Pompton Church, was the Religious Superior of the Butler Monastery (St. Anthony's). The priest in charge of the Pompton Lakes Church was, in reality, an assistant to the Superior of the Monastery, charged with the care of a particular area. On December 7, 1944, the Church at Pompton Lakes took on the character of a residential parish when Father Aidan Burns took up residence there, and the church became independent of St. Anthony's of Butler. Technically speaking, all priests who had charge of the Pompton Lakes Church prior to 1944, were assistants; yet, practically speaking, they operated with full delegated power. Father Burns became the first Official Pastor, as are those who have followed him . . . Official Pastors. These were the first old churches of Pompton. Others followed, and today in Pompton Lakes are the Pompton Reformed Church on the corner of Ringwood Avenue and Paterson-Hamburg Turnpike; Christ Episcopal Church at Passaic and Ramapo Avenues; St. Mary's Roman Catholic Church on Pompton Avenue; First Church of Christ, Scientist on the Paterson-Hamburg Turnpike; Jewish Community Cen- ter on the corner of Passaic and Wanaque Avenues; Chapel of Incarna- tion (Lutheran) on the Paterson-Hamburg Turnpike at James Ter- race; Jehovah's Witnesses on Willow Avenue. At Pompton's beginning, circa 1700, there were five or six white families living here. By 1850, there was a population of 1720 persons, and by the early 1930's the number had grown to a little over 3,000. Ever growing, ever advancing, Pompton Lakes now (1965) has a population of approximately 10,500. 3.2 square miles in size, it lies at an elevation of approximately 200 feet above sea level; the elevations varying with the heights of its low mountains.

- 84 - Always advancing, the town has progressed from Marshal Law, to the present police department that consists of a Chief, Captain, Lieutenant, three Sergeants, 9 patrolmen, 12 special officers, and about 30 reserves. Two patrol cars are connected by radio to headquarters, which is also in constant communication with police of other municipalities, and the Pompton Lakes First Aid Squad. Serving the Borough twenty-four hours a day, the police department has its headquarters in the Borough Municipal Building on Lenox Avenue; and its office, equipment, identification room, and records, comply with the highest standards. Organized in 1916, the department's first Chief of Police was Bert Miller. At that time, the chief served just part time and was paid $250 a year. There were five policemen; although, during those World War I years, five extra men were used as special police; and were paid by the E. I. Dupont de Nemours and Company, whose complex of dormitories, cafeteria and recreational center, occupied the site where the high school now stands on Lakeside Avenue. The town's first regular, full-time chief was Arthur Gilbert, who began his duties in 1927; and it was in that year that the first police cars were used. Headquarters used to be in the rear of the Fire house, on the first floor; but when the Lenox Elementary School was erected in 1918, the vacated school, next door, was used as a Borough Municipal Building and Police Headquarters located there. The present Chief of Police, William F. Charles, joined the force on June 1, 1937 and has served as chief for the past twenty-two years. Captain of the force is Dominick Lamberti; Lieutenant, Sandy Galacio; Sergeants, Henry Ackowicz, Robert Gordon (newly appointed), and Robert Fastiggi. Twelve working special officers help with traffic duty when needed; such as, on Thursday and Friday evenings when shoppers crowd into town and traffic is congested; in church areas on Sunday morning; during weddings and all special events that create traffic problems. About thirty reserves, trained by the department mainly for Civil Defense purposes, are used in emergencies such as floods, and similar disasters. Located in the Borough Municipal Building are five jail cells (three are used for prisoners, one for a dark room, and one for meter maintenance), and the Magistrate's Court. One policeman that the town will never forget is Patrolman "Pat" Ball, now retired.

- 85 - Always smiling, always ready with a word of cheer, "Pat" is remembered with affection by men, women, and children. Born Frank Leslie Ball, March 22, 1887, in Riverdale (a small town adjacent to Pompton Lakes), Pat joined the police force in 1917. Taking time out, during World War I, he spent thirteen months in service overseas, with the M.P.'s in France and Germany; before returning to the Borough Police Department. Nicknamed "Pat" by fellow workers who wanted an "Irishman" on the force, Officer Ball became one of the best loved servants of the people of the community, and holds Badge #1 ... a number that no one else will ever wear. He had his first ride in an automobile in 1900, joined the Borough Fire Department in 1917, and the American Legion in 1919. Awarded the "American Legion Certificate of Participation", by the Kimble Weatherwalks Legion Post #235, in appreciation and recog- nition for 46 years of active participation in the organization; he was also the recipient of a plaque, making him the only Honorary Member of the Chamber of Commerce of Pompton Lakes. Pat is also a Life Member of the New Jersey State P.B.A. His love for children made him the target of youthful adoration, and Pat still plays the part of Santa Claus, during the Holiday Season, at local stores and churches. Husband of the former Sophia Fingerle, father of two, and grandfather of six, Frank Ball resides at 219 Schuyler Avenue with his wife. The First Aid Squad, previously mentioned, is comprised of a group of volunteer workers, with its headquarters in the old Borough Pumping Station Building at the Hershfield Park entrance. The squad transfers residents of the community to hospitals in modern, radio- equipped ambulances, free of charge. The organization had its beginning in 1935 when a committee was formed after several fatal accidents in the local area showed the need for faster hospitalization. Mary Martoccia of Pompton Lakes recalls when the idea of a town ambulance and First Aid workers was born, prior to the forming of the committee. Police Chief Arthur Gilbert and Postmaster Harry Mason used to sit on the old flat-top desk in the back room of the post office and talk of various topics of the day, which included the subject of sick- ness . . . accidents . . . and the town's lack of transportation to distant hospitals. In time of need, ambulances had to come from Paterson hospitals, ten miles away, and then make the return trip with the patient; thus losing valuable, life-saving time. Miss Martoccia, postal clerk, used to park her big, seven-passenger Packard car in back of the post office; and one day the two men spoke

- 86 - of how they could convert it into an ambulance. However, before their idea took definite form and could be carried out, Roger Vreeland (of Vreeland and Kirkland Dodge Dealers) was struck with a car; and though not fatally injured, lost so much blood while waiting for the Paterson ambulance to come to transport him to the city, that he died in the hospital. That was the climax . . . that was the incident that spurred the town on to obtaining their own ambulance. The committee was formed of seven men, John T. Neal, Jr.; Police Chief Arthur Gilbert; Frank Rathburn; Ernest Guenter; Olaf Harold- son; Garret C. Houman; and Sgt. John Doyle of the New Jersey State Police Barracks at Pompton; and Miss Elsie Kirkland, business partner of Roger Vreeland, started the fund by giving $1,000 towards the purchase of a town ambulance. The townsfolk were aroused, and a few selected persons approached Joe Louis, famous boxer, who was in training at Pompton Lakes at the time, to solicit his aid in furthering the fund. Happy to help such a worthy cause, Mr. Louis put on a benefit exhibition match for the town, and raised $2,620.35. The first ambulance, a $2,985 Packard, was ordered on May 28, 1935 and was named for the late Roger Vreeland as a memorial. The Pompton Lakes First Aid Squad was incorporated on June 10, 1935, with John Neal as its first president, and Harold Saul as instructor. Most of the first members of the squad were employees of the Jersey Central Power and Light Company, since they had already received some First Aid training. By 1941 a new ambulance was in use, with the original one used as a standby. With two ambulances now in use, at all times, the squad has had thirteen ambulances in all. Today's 1965 Cadillac ambulances are equipped with the most modern set-up available. Oxygen can be administered to four patients at one time, and they are the only squad in the state that can administer oxygen up to a distance of 100 feet from the ambulance. Equipment of the squad includes a portable iron lung, portable oxygen tent, inhalators, oxygen tanks, wheelchairs, walkers, hydro- therapy baths, hospital beds, crutches, medcolator, and other supplies. Local civic and service organizations donated most of the equipment, although pieces of equipment are often given by private citizens. During the war years, when so many men were called into service, a ladies' auxiliary was formed to insure uninterrupted service by the First Aid Group. Begun on March 4, 1943, this group has eighteen active, trained members. The work done by this group of sixty volunteer workers is tre- mendous, and they are to be commended for the unselfish service they have given to the area over the past thirty years. The squad serves

- 87 - Haskell, Wanaque and Riverdale, besides Pompton Lakes; and depends entirely on gifts and annual canvassing as a means of paying all costs entailed. Thoroughly trained, the First Aid workers give the patients a feeling of confidence as they are transported to nearby hospitals, and three of the members have received awards for saving the lives of patients. Fred Specht saved the life of a seriously wounded man who would have bled to death without the First Aiders' ability to control the bleeding. Joseph Vendeni saved the life of a young boy, by rescuing him from drowning, and then giving artificial respiration for nearly an hour to revive him. Horace Wells, Chief Instructor, was recently given the Valor Award by the Local P.B.A. 161 for administering first aid to injured persons involved in an automobile accident; when he, himself, was severely injured in the same accident. His heroic act nearly cost him his life, since his own injuries were of such great severity as to make administering first aid to others, inconceivable. Complete records of each call are kept in a log book in each ambulance, listing pertinent information on the patient, date, supplies used, and who rode the ambulance. To date, a total of 13,759 calls have been answered, 15,638 patients transported, and a total of 386,670 miles covered. The community is proud of this group of workers who give so unselfishly of themselves, that others may be helped. Perhaps this would be the proper place in which to mention another of the unselfish citizens of our town, who, for thirty-five years, devoted her time to easing the sufferings of the residents. Known, respected, and appreciated by all, is Roberta G. Scott, former Borough Nurse. This is the town that the Terhunes loved. The town that was always named as their home town. You will find their address listed as "Sunnybank", Pompton Lakes, New Jersey in encyclopedias, bi- ographies, genealogies, Who's Who, fiction and non-fiction novels, etc. . . . although they actually lived in Wayne Township, N. J. Rev. Edward Payson Terhune, father of the author, occasionally preached in the little Pompton Reformed Church, and his entire family loved the sleepy little village of their time. As the author grew, his love for the homestead and the little town never lessened. If anything, it grew in strength until it became almost an obsession with him. It held a grip on him that would not let him rest when he was away from it. Always, no matter where he went, he looked forward to his return to Sunnybank at Pompton Lakes.

- 80 - Bert and Anice Terhune were members of the Pompton Reformed Church and attended services, regularly, unless illness prevented their doing so; and for years, Bert was a secret "Santa" to the poor children of the village. Each year, as the holiday season drew near, he asked Rev. Gerrit Heemstra, pastor of the church, to find out what gifts the children of the poor families were hoping Santa Claus would bring them. The little children opened their hearts to the friendly pastor, and told him of their dreams . . . told him, with shining eyes, of the gifts they wished Santa would leave for them at Christmas time. Each year the list was made up, and each year the children awoke to find the coveted presents waiting for them. Their happiness was all the author desired, and he remained their secret "Santa" until his death in 1942. At his death, his widow stepped into his place, and furnished the financial aid that was needed each year to make small children happy at such a beautiful season. Reverend Heemstra continued to make up the list, and excited tots arose each Christmas morning1 to discover that Santa had not forgotten them. Anice Terhune continued this kindly practice until just before her death, happy that she could bring joy to those less fortunate, financially. Bert loved the town most in its early days, when the low mountains were sparsely populated, and the village residents comparatively few . . . when the lake was filled with fish, and the forests full of game. When the streets were mere dirt lanes, and sidewalks were a thing of the distant future . . . and lanterns lighted the darkness of the night, and candles or lamps glowed inside the homes. Though Bert loved the village for its peacefulness, it has known violence . . . violence in the form of blizzards, hurricanes, earth tremors, explosions, fires and floods. In the flood of March 2, 1902, the Ramapo River was fourteen- and-a-half feet above its normal level. Rain and a sudden warm speil melted the snows on the mountains, increasing the volume of waters of the river to a dangerously high level. Above Pompton Lakes, bridges were swept away, homes and buildings flooded, lands inundated; and the waters swept on down to flood sections of Pompton. The Passaic River went on a rampage at the same time. Almost to the top of its embankments, the stream was further overburdened when a dam at Whippany burst and the raging river overflowed its banks and sent water rushing down onto the streets of Paterson. River and Water Streets became part of the raging stream, and the waters rose along the streets for a great distance. Paterson re-

- 89 - sembled Venice with its occupants using boats in several sections of the city. The city had not yet recovered from the great shock of the disastrous fire that had swept through it three weeks before when a fire in the trolley car sheds (of the Jersey City-Hoboken-and-Paterson Railway Company at the head of Mulberry Street) touched off fires in adjoining buildings and swept on towards the business center. Gale winds fanned the flames that roared through the wooden structures, and before the fire was out, about thirteen hours later, four hundred and fifty-nine buildings (not counting sheds and outbuildings) were destroyed. The destruction claimed large business houses, banks, the City Hall, five churches, Library etc. Five hundred families were home- less . . . the destruction was great . . . the fire was one of the biggest in the history of the United States. The flood of 1903, that destroyed the Pompton Dam, was the greatest and most destructive flood in the Passaic Valley. Throughout the summer months, precipitation had been far above normal, and the reservoirs and lakes were nearly full; providing little temporary storage of flood waters. A heavy rainstorm, that centered at Paterson, lasted from October 7th to 11th and reached a high intensity on October 9th when eleven inches of rain fell in twelve hours. With the ground-water storage above normal, the heavy rainfall swelled the brooks and rivers to overflowing; and the greatest flood on record in Passaic Valley occurred. Damage to the Pompton area was extensive, and before the gauge on the Ramapo River at Pompton was swept away (before the peak flow), it registered a flow of 7100 cubic feet per second. The report of the State Geologist for 1903 gives the peak flow of the Wanaque River, at Pompton, as 8,450 cubic feet per second, at noon on October 9th. The precipitation of the storms of August 5th and 6th, 1843, and September 20-26, 1882, equalled or exceeded that of the 1903 storm; but since both of those storms occurred at the end of a dry period, the resulting rise in the rivers did not cause as much damage as the Great Flood of 1903. With ground-water storage below normal, the absorptive powers were greater. The storm of 1882 did cause one of the major floods on the Passaic River though, and the rainfall averaged 13.56 inches. With the bursting of the dam at Pompton, in 1903, waters flooded the surrounding areas, and spread far and wide. Bridges were washed out, railroads undermined and rendered useless. The flood waters swept over everything in its path ... the original post office that served the Steel Works area was destroyed, as was the little wooden church. Farms were inundated, trees uprooted, and livestock drowned.

- 90 - It was devastating. It was a great disaster that struck at every hamlet, village, town and city in its path. Flood waters spread out over the Pompton Plain, Wayne, Mountain View, and on down as far as North Arlington, and Newark . . . sweeping bridges and buildings aside, like a monstrous hand. Once again, for the second time in nineteen months, the city of Paterson was flooded as rushing waters swept on down towards the city, causing havoc as it went along. Flooding was sudden when the Haledon dam broke, and Paterson suffered another disastrous blow from Mother Nature. Transportation was at a standstill. Towns were completely isolated, with their bridges and railroads useless, and their communities flooded. Edwin Merrill of Pompton Lakes, then a youth at school in New- ark, walked from that city to Pompton Lakes; a trip which took him three days, skirting flooded areas, making wide detours to reach home. At one time he crawled 150 feet on his hands and knees across a suspension bridge to escape the rushing waters. That was the flood of 1903 ... the Great Flood. Through all the years, though disasters struck, Pompton has progressed with the times. Its motto "Here the historic past meets the progressive future" is displayed on sign boards to greet all those who enter the Borough. Where once the business section was located on Wanaque Avenue (the main street of town), it has now spread onto adjoining Coif ax, Lakeside and Ringwood Avenues; as well as up along the famous Cannonball Road. The E. I. Dupont de Nemours and Co., Inc., and the Artistic Weav- ing Company (World's largest manufacturers of woven labels) remain the town's major industries; and recently the Du Pont Company has expanded into Metal Cladding. Prior to the new manufacture, the company, at Pompton, had mostly made electric blasting caps and other explosive devices. This year (1965) finds the company erecting a permanent complex which will house most of the cladding operations. Metal cladding is the bonding of metals with explosives, and with this method it is possible to join metals of different natures into a clad or unit. The company at Pompton Lakes does not make finished products of the cladded metal, they furnish other industries with finished clads to be used in their specific manufactures. The United States Mint is a recent customer, and the Pompton Plant will furnish some Du Pont Clad Metals for use in the new silverless dimes and quarters that are to be minted for circulation next year. Due to a silver shortage, Lyndon B. Johnson, President of the United States, asked Congress to reduce the silver content of half

- 91 - dollars; and to make silverless dimes and quarters, with the result that the new coin metal will be of copper and nickel. The Pompton Plant will blast a copper-nickel alloy to a pure copper core. The clad will resemble a sandwich, with the alloy as the "bread" . . . the pure copper core as the "filling", and the finished clad will be made into coins at the mint. The new complex at the Pompton plant is being built in the area of the old "Fowler Store", at the end of Poplar Street in the Du Pont Village off of Cannonball Road. Old-time residents of the village clearly recall the little Fowler house, with its one-room "store" in one of the front rooms, where the children came for their penny candies, candy bars and other goodies; while grownups visited it for canned goods, breads and other foods. It was the scene of bustling activity on weekends when baseball games were played on the adjoining diamond, and spectators came for their ice cream and soda. Residents of the village remember the "Du Pont Bears", a baseball team made up of Du Pont employees of the Pompton plant; and recall the participating players, whose families and friends cheered them on at each game. In the past years, the baseball field has been used by the Little League players, but with things progressing as they are . . . and the Du Pont Company expanding . . . soon the field may no longer feel the running feet of Little Leaguers and neighborhood children . . . soon it may be occupied by another building, or a parking lot. Then, the little boys of the neighborhood will have no place for their impromptu games, their kite flying, and their many other games that take place on the open field. I have watched a generation of boys and girls visit that little store that stood at the end of the street. The little store that nestled on a lawn among sheltering trees. Where flowers bloomed profusely, and a little bench on the small front porch invited you to "sit a spell". I have watched those boys and girls grow to manhood and womanhood, and marry. And now I have watched THEIR children growing up before my eyes ... so swiftly it seems. The second generation did not know the little store that was a gathering spot for all. It had been torn down to make way for the Du Pont parking lot that was so necessary during World War II when the plant was operating full blast and expansion necessitated another parking place for the added employees. But this generation has used the baseball field, as their parents before them did. As a ball field, as a battlefield, as a spot for impromptu football games, for kite flying, bicycle riding, marble games, as part of the safari that led them to the "Monkey Jungle" (a small grove of trees adjoining the diamond).

- 92 - Fathers and sons have flown gasoline-powered model airplanes there . . . fathers have taught their sons to "pitch and catch" on that field. Children have climbed the wire fencing of the backstop behind home plate . . . against all rules of course . . . and some have fallen from it, learning their lesson the hard way. Others, equally as disobedient, have climbed upon the row of garages that stand along Poplar Street, adjoining the field, and have run along the top that covers all ten garages . . . the metal roofing and sides giving forth loud noises as they ran and banged on it with sticks. Some have fallen from it ... but have not learned a lesson it seems, since another day would find them climbing an open garage door to reach the roof again. Now this generation is growing to manhood and womanhood, and I wonder if their children will have a field to run and play on, a "Monkey Jungle" to hide away in ... or will they find buildings on the spots so dear to the childhood memories of so many? Our own two sons played ball, and games, on the field, with their childhood chums Freddie and Jeff. Though Jim is younger, he soon joined in the games and "safaris", and played "Army" when he was so small that the rifle he carried threatened to trip him. And now these boys have grown, with just Jim left in High School, while the other three are out working, and one is soon to be married. The sounds of trucks, bulldozers, steam shovel and steam roller, fill my ears as I sit writing. Across the street, just beyond the tiny section of the baseball diamond that they have left us (so far), men work, large shovels clank, and bulldozers add to the confusion of noise that reaches us. Trucks rumble by, in a seemingly endless stream . . . carting away un- wanted dirt and stones, returning with loads of other soil. Trucks loaded with lumber, pipes, and other necessities, roll up and down the street. Telephone poles are going up to carry heavy lines to the new complex that is under way, and the scene is one of great activity. It is surprising how quickly they advance. I hope that the buildings do not rise so high that they shut off our view of the low mountains beyond . . . the mountains whose trees are already turning color . . . the mountains that will soon blaze with a riot of colors as autumn dresses them for a final display of beauty before winter sets in. I watch those mountains daily. First for the lacy loveliness that covers them in Spring, and watch as the unfolding greens of many shades fill the mountains until you can no longer pick out individual trees or tree trunks. I like to gaze out at their cool greens when summer heat is with us. And after autumn's beauty has faded . . . and the dreary brief

- 93 - period, when trees are bare and bleak, passes; I marvel at the trans- formation that takes place overnight as winter creates a sparkling fairyland in the mountains. Those mountains are part of my daily life; and I hope ... so very strongly . . . that the buildings being erected, will not hide them from our view. But . . . that is progress . . . isn't it! The telephone service of Pompton has advanced from the seven customers that it had when the service first came to Pompton Lakes in 1896, to the present day number of 12,000 customers, (which includes a small part of Wayne, Pompton Plains, and Pequannock under the 835 and 839 exchange). The telephones in those days were large, magneto-serviced "boxes" that hung upon the wall, with two uncovered bells at the top, and a hand crank on the side. A "Gooseneck" type mouthpiece protruded from the front of it, and a receiver hung at the side. When a customer wanted to make a call, he cranked the handle, and a bell would ring at the switchboard to let the operator know that he (or she) was needed. Upon completion of the call, the customer "rang off" by hanging up the receiver and then turning the crank handle three times. This was to signal that he had finished; whereupon the operator would break the connection by pulling out the plug. This handcrank method was in use until 1928, and batteries had to be replaced as needed. In 1896 the switchboard was located in Theodore F. Durling's store on Wanaque Avenue, and he and his two sons operated it. The numbers were much different than ours of today, as can be seen from the following first seven numbers of our town. 2 was the number of J. J. Me Davitt; 3A the number of H. Julius Smith, Blasting Batteries; 4A, William L. Teusch who ran a hotel (Norton Inn) on the turnpike; 7A, Captain H. C. Aspinwall on Wana- que Avenue; 7B and 7F were numbers of the American Smokeless Powder Company; and number 20 was that of Theodore Durling at the store itself. In those days a customer usually asked for the one he wanted by name, or by name and number; such as ... "Give me H. J. Smith" or "Give me H. J. Smith at 3A". With just seven customers there was no problem for the operator of the switchboard, and answering the request for connection with a person, by name only, was a simple matter. Dial system opened here in 1958, and advances have been made since that time, with the new push-button phones now available. Thus making dialing unnecessary, since you merely tap buttons lightly to place a call.

- 94 - "Henry Julius Smith at #3A" was the man who was instrumental in bringing electricity to the people of Pompton in the 1890's. It wasn't until the 1920's that the Jersey Central Power and Light Company took over the task of supplying the residents of Pompton Lakes with electricity. Prior to that time, the town had its own generating facilities at the Pompton Falls where water power enabled them to generate enough electricity to serve the town's residents. However, as the population increased, the generating facilities were no longer adequate and the Jersey Central Power and Light Company took over the increasing task of servicing the town. Theodore F. Durling, first switchboard operator of Pompton Lakes, was also its first Postmaster; with the post office located in his store on Wanaque Avenue. Mail service in the area, years ago, was very different from the excellent service we receive today. In this day and age of airmail which brings a letter, from far-off countries, within a few days; it is interesting to note the so-called mail service of those early years in the area. In the days of the Indians and early white settlers, the settlers depended upon travelers to carry mail for them. In designated places, posts were set up where mail could be left, and picked up, by such travelers. Indians were also used, because they knew the area and trails so well, and they were paid in merchandise; receiving their pay at the completion of the return trip to insure fast service. Prior to the location of the post office in Theodore Durling's store (after the Borough was formed), a post office was located in a little store down in the "Steel Works" section, in the present-day Pompton Falls area. Records of the exact location of the little store are unavailable, and older residents of the town disagree as to its site. It has been said that the store stood on the right side of the Paterson-Hamburg Turn- pike, just across the bridge in the Falls area, and that it was run by a Mr. Norton; but others say that the store was located on this side of the bridge, on the left side of the road in Mitchell's Store, which was later known as the Furnace Inn. Residents disagree, also, as to which man was the first postmaster at the Steel Works post office, and names such as Ludlum, Steele, and Dufford are given. We do know that a James Ludlum was postmaster there, prior to his death in 1894, at which time a J. G. Ludlum became the next postmaster. _ Also a matter of dispute is whether Amaza ("Manny") Card, who delivered the mail to the post office from the railroad station, picked

- 95 - it up at the Riverdale Railroad Station in the very early days, or whether he always picked it up at the station in Pompton Lakes where our present-day station stands. (Several of the older residents say they remember Manny going in his horse and buggy to the Riverdale station, to meet the train and pick up the mail which he then delivered to the post office, in the Falls area). After the Borough was formed in 1895, a post office was opened in the Durling Store on Wanaque Avenue, and Theodore F. Durling became the first postmaster of Pompton Lakes. The next location of the post office was in a store run by George W. Mickens, in a building erected by H. Julius Smith, at the upper end of Wanaque Avenue. It stood just across the Susquehanna Railroad tracks, on the left side; and residents of today will know it as "Frank's Market" which burned down not long ago, and on which site is now located a row of stores that set back off of the road. With the post office located in his store, George Washington Mickens became the Borough's second postmaster. The next move was back across the railroad tracks, and across the street into an end building erected by Postmaster Mickens. Today's residents will know this building as the one that houses Dr. Harvey Cohen, Watson Jewelers, and the Modern Barber Shop. Postmaster Mickens was succeeded by J. Frank Beardsley who ran a store, Western Union Service, and Post Office all in the end building that Mr. Mickens had built. (Information about the early postmasters is scanty, and although we know that a W. E. Ludlum was postmaster in 1896, we do not definitely know where his post office was located at that time. We presume that he was postmaster of the little Steel Works Post Office which was now a sub-station to the Borough's post office.) During the World War I years, the space provided for the post office in Beardsley's store was inadequate, and another move was made a few doors down Wanaque Ayenue; when a bank building was erected by Mr. Jacobs, George W. Mickens, and J. Frank Beardsley. The post office located in the left half of the new building, while the First National Bank and Trust Company utilized the right. Later, the Bank built . . . and moved into ... its own building, which is the present day structure at 115 Wanaque Avenue. The post office remained where it was, and Arthur Reidel Sr., and Henry G. Hershfield moved into the vacated spot, in the right half of the building, with their Real Estate and Insurance Agency. We know this building today as the Pompton Federal Savings and Loan Association. The next move was made back to the end building, its former location, when Postmaster Beardsley made a clean sweep and disposed of his store, and Western Union Service; thus allowing adequate room for the fast growing post office.

- 96 - (The telephone exchange was located above the post office, at this address, since it had become too large for Theodore Durling to handle in his store.) With the death of Mr. Beardsley, Harry Mason took over the duties of Borough Postmaster, and still served in that capacity when the post office moved to its present location on Lakeside Avenue, in 1938. Shortly after the move was made, he was succeeded by Mr. Raleigh Wells, who was postmaster of the new building when it was dedicated on Saturday, April 23, 1938. Mr. Wells served in that office for four years, at which time Harry Mason again became postmaster. With Harry Mason's death, a Mr. John Nichol took over the office until succeeded by Frank Magill, who has been the Borough's postmaster since August 1, 1957. Mail delivery to the homes began on March 1, 1928, with Fred Bockmann and George Post as the town's first two letter carriers; and the service has grown with the town until now there are eleven regular carriers to deliver our mail to us. Mr. Bockmann had been commuting to New York City, daily, where he was employed as postal clerk at the Grand Central Post Office; but when home deliveries were to begin in the Borough, Post- master Mason arranged his transfer to the Pompton Lakes office, and Mr. Post was hired as a second letter carrier. Mr. Bockmann, retired now and living in California, recalls the first day of carrier service as hectic! Most of the houses were not yet numbered, especially in the Du Pont Village where none had a street number, but were just numbered in the order of their erection. Mailman Bockmann had to walk back and forth so many times, trying to locate the addresses, that he was only able to make one mail delivery, and finished up around six o'clock in the evening. Poor health necessitated Postman Bockmann's disability retirement after eighteen years of letter carrying; and from measurements taken with a pedometer, he found that in those years of service to the community, he had walked approximately 90,000 miles. Mary Martoccia, retired postal clerk, has been a great help to me in my search for information about the Borough's postal system, as have Harry Cornelius, Edwin and Mary Merrill, Ed Turse, Fred Bock- mann, Mrs. Florence Davison, and Mr. and Mrs. David Lank, Sr. Some residents may remember having heard of Mr. Samuel R. Smith, a stocky little man with whiskered chin, who carried the mail, on foot, in the 1880's and early 1890's to some of the residents of Pompton. It has been said that he was paid by the government, but it has also been said that he was paid by the people he serviced; and verifi- cation of neither has been obtained.

- 97 - Samuel Smith and his wife came to Pompton, from Long Island, N. Y., in the 1870's. Mrs. Smith was a dressmaker, and it was said that Mr. Smith was a painter; but no one ever knew of him following that trade. He was a strange man, evidently very uneducated, with the manner of an oaf; who though willing to stop and pass the time of day with everyone, was very uncommunicative about giving out information about himself. He earned a meager pay through hunting and trapping, acting as guide for hunting parties, breeding gamecocks and fighting them il- legally; and because of these illicit doings he was given the nickname of "Chicken Smith". Chicken Smith used to call for his mail daily, and neighbors began to ask him to pick theirs up also. Others joined in asking this favor, until Chicken Smith soon had quite a mail route; and it has been said that at the time of his death he was carrying the mail for most of the people of the village. Albert Payson Terhune knew of the quaint little man, and told of the day he met up with Chicken Smith in the woods. Bert was sitting beneath a tree studying Latin and Greek, since he had some requirements to make up in those subjects during the summer, before going to college. While Bert was reading, Chicken Smith came through the underbrush, with a hound pup at his heels, and stopped to talk. Smelling strongly of liquor, the little man peered at the books in Bert's hands, and reaching out, took the copy of Anthon's "Lexicon" from him. Leafing through the pages, he handed it back and took the copy of the "Odyssey" from Bert's hands. Opening the book aimlessly, he suddenly began to read in deep, rich tones . . . then translated the lines, volubly. Bert Terhune stood silent, shocked speechless, while Chicken Smith glanced again at the Lexicon and mumbled, "Good old Doctor Anthon" . . . continuing on with talk of how Professor Anthon had often struck him with a brassbound ruler when he didn't know his Greek. Suddenly the liquor-soaked man seemed to notice Bert standing there, staring at him, and shoved the books back to Bert, and said that he never did think much of book "l'arnin", and couldn't read a word himself. Mumbling, with the manner of a dolt, he asked what "furrin" language they "be writ" in, and shuffled off through the woods, cursing at his dog. Though seemingly illiterate, and a little strange, Chicken Smith was a good man in the woods, and did surprisingly well at training dogs. When a series of small burglaries (that had been taking place from time to time for a matter of years) had the neighborhood up in

- 98 - arms, Chicken Smith directed an unconventional posse that had formed. The burglar seemed to be extremely clever, much too adept at his trade to be a country boy; and though the posse members watched various homes at various times, in expectation of a robbery, their efforts were in vain. The robberies continued and local families were relieved of small cash, silverware and small articles. One night in 1880, when two local men saw a light in a house, late at night, they became suspicious and rounded up some other men and went to investigate. Included in the group were John J. Bartholf, Joseph B. Hill, Nicholas Jones, Edward Richards, John F. Post, and Anthony Beam. As the men approached the house, they realized that they had no definite plan in mind as to just what they were going to do, so stopped beneath one of the large trees there, and talked it over. The men finally decided that they would surround the house, and call out to the intruder to give himself up. Just in case the robber should make a break for it, a password was chosen so that the men could quickly identify themselves, if challenged by another member of the group. The word chosen was "bricks" and each man was warned to answer quickly, if halted, lest he be filled full of lead. With the men in their places, Nicholas Jones strode up to the door and pounded on it, demanding that the burglar give himself up since the house was surrounded. The light in the house vanished and a few minutes later a figure was seen running away from the house. When commanded to halt, the figure quickly answered "bricks", and continued on his way. When all of the men had been accounted for, it was discovered that the challenged man had been the robber; but how he knew to answer "bricks" was never known. Needless to say, the petty robberies continued, the posse kept watch on homes that were expected to be visited next, but Chicken Smith's advice did no good. He may have been good in the woods, but as a director of a posse he was practically useless. In 1892 Chicken Smith contracted pneumonia, and within a week \ms dead. His ramshackle little home on the river bank was sold and life went on as usual. Four years later, Mr. William H. Talmadge was remodeling the old outhouse that had been built, on Chicken Smith's property near his little home, some twenty years before. The outhouse had been moved to a different location on the property several times, but had never before been remodeled. During the remodeling, Mr. Talmadge discovered a secret pocket just inside the wall, under the seat.

- 99 - The entire seat (with one opening) was constructed so that it could be moved forward in grooves. The riser was stationary, but the seat board could be moved forward to reveal a secret pocket against the rear wall, just below the seatboard level. To escape discovery, of the secret compartment, the seat board was held firmly in place with a lock that was fastened inside the seat section, at the top of the riser. In order to get to the secret spot, it was necessary to reach through the one-hole opening and insert a key in a lock, so that the entire seatboard could slide forward in the grooves . .. thus making the secret pocket accessible. William Talmadge's remodeling of the outhouse brought to light the contents of the secret compartment, which was a complete burglar kit and some of the stolen articles! Besides the burglar kit and stolen goods, Mr. Talmadge found between thirty and forty keys, neatly arranged in a special compartment within the secret spot. They ranged in size from the smallest key to a satchel, to large old-fashioned store door keys. Included were keys to padlocks, bureau drawers, chest locks, trunk locks, regular door keys and skeleton keys of every description. There was also a piece of soap or wax which held the impression of a large key, evidently one to fit a store door lock. With it was a blank brass key, large enough to fit the impression. With this evidence uncovered, and memories of Chicken Smith's "failure" as director of the posse, people drew their own conclusions; which, quite logically, were that Chicken Smith had been the burglar of all (or nearly all) the petty robberies of the past. Samuel R. Smith ... a well educated man who posed as an illiterate oaf ... a seemingly helpful man who evidently robbed those he befriended . . . lies sleeping in the Pompton Reformed Church Cemetery. Date of birth on his tombstone is January 19, 1832, and date of death January 29, 1892. The Dr. Anthon that he spoke so warmly of was Charles Anthon, adjunct professor of Greek and Latin at Columbia University in New York City, later full professor and head master of the grammar school connected v/ith the college; who in 1835 projected a "Classical Series" to include the works used in academies, preparatory schools and colleges. And so, the little "unofficial" mail carrier has gone, the Post Office has made its many moves through the years before coming to its permanent brick building on Lakeside Avenue; and progress of the Borough marches on. Ever advancing, Pompton Lakes is proud of the radio station that located in the Borough last year. Susan Krasnomowitz, Miss New Jersey of 1964, signed the station on the air, Saturday, October 3, 1964, at seven a.m., and the broadcast-

- 100 - ing day and opening ceremonies began with an inspirational message from Rev. Albert Manus of the West Milford Presbyterian Church. Radio Station WKER, "The Voice of the Ramapo Valley" operates on an assigned frequency of 1500 Kilocycles, with a power of 500 watts, as authorized by the Federal Communications Commission; and serves forty-three communities, parts of two counties, and the whole of one. WKER studios, offices and transmitter are located at Kerradio Park, alongside the Borough's sanitation treatment plant, in the lower end of the Borough. WKER's first day of broadcasting was the culmination of five years of planning and building by the Robert Kerr Organization of West Milford, N. J. and New York City. Following Rev. Manus' inspirational message, were New Jersey's Senator Clifford Case who welcomed the station to the air; and Gov- ernor Richard Hughes who offered his congratulations and welcome. Pompton Lakes' Mayor, Isadore Gelman, spoke next, telling the listeners that he looked upon that day as a step forward in the history of this borough and the entire North Jersey area. He said that WKER will perform an important public service function along with its commercial enterprises, and feels sure that the borough and the entire area will benefit from the installation of Radio Station WKER. Representing Passaic County's Largest Municipality, Paterson's Mayor, Frank Graves Jr. told the listeners that he feels WKER will do much to increase the neighborhood spirit throughout the counties that will be served. Robert and Joan (Brooks) Kerr offer the listeners a continuous flow of music, news, sports, time, weather, traffic announcements, information of community events, and other features from "sun up to sundown". Nearly one year later, WKER is still giving away free record al- bums, hourly, to lucky winners who are called on the telephone. Yes, the town has progressed, the population increased, but the wooded mountains and flowing blue rivers are the same that the Indians and early settlers knew. The forests through which the Redmen glided noiselessly, remain, with their varying shades of soft, cool greens to rest the viewer's eyes in the spring and summer, and to delight the heart as they blaze forth in glorious, brilliant colors in autumn. And when winter clothes the trees in dazzling whiteness, the mountains sparkle as with countless diamonds. Glittering, glowing . . . sending forth a myriad of tiny lights that vie with the brilliance of the stars of the heavens. These are the mountains that those before us knew. These are the mountains whose loveliness, we fervently pray, will remain for those ahead of us to enjoy.

- 101 - Let the town progress, let modernization keep us apace with the world, but do not take away its beauty. Do not destroy the forests and mountains, as you advance. Let God's handiwork remain, untouched. And on the shore of Pompton Lake, let someone find the wonderful old home that waits for a new Mistress and Master. Vacant, silent, bleak ... it stands on a grassy plateau above the waters, devoid of all earthly sounds. There is nothing but the moaning of the wind in the treetops, lamenting the loss of the master and mistress who made Sunnybank a Utopia. Let it be found by someone who will love it as the Terhunes did, someone who will awaken it from its deep sleep, and fill it with life again. Someone who will perpetuate the memory of the author and his wife, as they make Sunnybank a "heaven on earth" once again.

- 102 - -:- TERHUNE FAMILY -:- The name of Terhune has come down through the years since Albert Albertse, an immigrant Huguenot, founded the Terhune family in America, in 1642. Albert Albertse, son of Albert, born probably circa 1619, came from Hunen (Huynen), Holland, in 1642. He was the sixth great-grandfather of author Albert Payson Terhune. In 1654 Albert Albertse resided in New Amsterdam (New York). In 1657 he rented and cultivated a farm on the Nyack (or Najack) tract in New Utrecht, L. I., owned by Cornelius Van Werckhoven, and held for the heirs cf the estate by Jacques Cortelyou. In 1660, he purchased fifty acres of land in the village of Flatlands, from Jacob Van Couwenhoven; and obtained a deed for more land there, from Jacob Stendman. In 1664 he sold the lease of his New Utrecht farm to Nathaniel Britton, and in 1665 purchased more of the Couwenhoven tract from Elbert Elbertse Stoothoff. About 1675 Albert Albertse joined with Jacques Cortelyou and other residents of Flatlands (including the Gerretsons, Van Winkles and Speirs) in the purchase of the Aquaekanock (Passaick) patent of five thousand acres of land on the Passaic River in Bergen County, East New Jersey. This purchase was the beginning of the settlement that resulted in the town of Hackensack. The Albert Albertse family settled in Polifly (later known as Has- brouck Heights), and while there, took the name of Terhune. Probably from the name of Hunen or Huynen in Holland, making it Albert Al- bertse from Hunen, or Terhune. Albert and his wife Geertje had seven children. They were: Jan Albertse, Heyltje, Albert, Annetje, Styntje, Sachie (Sarah), and Gerrit. Albert Albertse died in Flatlands, L. I., New Amsterdam, in 1685. His widow, Geertje, died in 1693. Jan Albertse (eldest son of Albert Albertse and Geertje) was born in Flatlands, L. I., New Amsterdam, but there is no known record of his date of birth. The first record of his name is among the names listed as members of the Dutch Reformed Church in Flatlands in 1677. His first wife was Annatje Schenck, who was born circa 1663, and died October 16, 1688. Their children were: Roelof, Albert who was baptized April 13, 1684. Jan Albertse married a second wife, Margrettje Van Sychellen of Flatlands on June 6, 1691. Their children were: Anche, and Jerrebreg. Jan Albertse died about 1708. Albert (second child of Jan Albertse Terhune and Annatje Schenck) was born in Flatlands, L. I., and baptized in the Flatlands Dutch Re- formed Church on April 13, 1684. He married Aaltje Nevius, of Flat- lands, on December 17, 1708. (Aaltje was baptized October 4, 1685 at Flatlands, and was the daughter of Peter Nevius). Their children were: John, Gerret, Anna, Willemtje, and Sarah. Albert Terhune died in 1722. John (eldest son of Albert Terhune and Aaltje Nevius) was born in Flatlands, L. I., N. Y., in 1709 or 1710. He was brought up on his father's farm, which he inherited. He married first, Nelly Denyse Duryee (daughter of Abraham Duryee and Elizabeth Polhemus). Their children were: Albert II, born September 1733; Gerret, born December 1, 1737; Altje, died 1786; Neeltje, baptized May 20, 1748 in Marlboro Reformed Church in Monmouth County, N. J.; John, Baptized August 25, 1751 at Six-Mile Run (died young); Magdalen, baptized April 20, 1755 at Six-Mile Run. John Terhune (the father) married second, Ellenor. Their children were: Elenor, Anne, and Elizabeth. John Terhune died in 1786. Albert II (son of John Terhune and Nelly Denyse Duryee) was born in Flatlands, L. I., N. Y. in September 1733. He married Elizabeth • and they lived in Middlesex County, N. J. Albert II served as a Pri- vate in the Bergen County Militia from March 15 to April 10, 1779.

- 103 - His three sons also served in the Revolution. After the war, Albert II took his family to Fleming County, Kentucky. (One son, Lt. Abraham Terhune, remained in New Jersey). Children were: John, born 1757 in Middlesex County, N. J.; Daniel, born December 29, 1758 in Middlesex County, N. J.; Abraham, born August 15, 1760 at Princeton, N. J.; Garret; Albert, born August 21, 1765; Elizabeth, born October 12, 1767 in Middle- sex County, N. J.; Jacob; Stephen; Isaac; Caroline; twins Luke and Joshua, born March 15, 1780. Abraham (son of Albert Terhune II and Elizabeth ), great- grandfather of author Albert Payson Terhune, was born on his father s farm near Princeton, on August 15, 1760. He married Marcia Williams and they lived on the farm three miles from Princeton, where their children were born. Children were: Albert, born May 4, 1787 (died young); Albert, born 1790; Samuel, born 1792; John, born May 4, 1793. Abraham was an officer of the American army in the Revolutionary War, serving as lieutenant, and had command of his company at the battle of Springfield, Union County, N. J., June 23, 1780. He was also with George Washington at Valley Forge, and at Newburgh, N. Y. Lieutenant Terhune was said to have greatly resembled George Wash- ington in looks and figure. As a member of Washington's bodyguard, he is seen in Emanuel Leutze's famous painting of "Washington Crossing The Delaware". Abraham is pulling the starboard bow oar, nearest the viewer. It was he who gave the artist a description of the eventful crossing, and Emanuel Leutze painted him in the same position he had occupied that night of December 25, 1776, in Washington's scow. (Abraham was only twenty, at the time of the crossing, and had not yet gained his lieutenancy. He died in 1854, near Princeton, N. J. John (fourth son of Abraham Terhune and Marcia Williams) was born May 4, 1793 on the Terhune farm near Princeton, Mercer County, N. J. He married first, Etta Letson (his cousin, daughter of John and Christina Letson) of Raritan Landing, N. J. Their children were: Wil- liam Letson; Mary; Lewis; Anna Louisa, born December 8, 1826; John, born September 26, 1828; Edward Payson, born in 1830; Christina; Mar- garet. Three children died in infancy and were not named. After Etta's death, John married again, to Mary Jane Davidson of Maryland. They had one child, Howard, who was born December 16, 1859 in New Bruns- wick, N. J. Edward Payson (son of John Terhune and Etta Letson) was born in 1830. He married Mary Virginia Hawes of Virginia, in 1856. Their children were: Edward Hawes, born September 9, 1857, died September 14, 1861; Christina, born June 13, 1859, died December 2, 1944; Alice Hawes, born March 7, 1863, died January 1, 1874; Virginia Belle, born May 21, 1865, died October 17, 1945; Albert Payson, born December 21, 1872, died February 18, 1942; Myrtle, date of birth and death unknown. Edward Payson Terhune became a clergyman. His wife, Mary Vir- ginia Hawes, was a novelist and writer who wrote under the name of "Marion Harland". Reverend Dr. Edward Payson Terhune died in 1907. His widow, who was born on December 21, 1830, died June 3, 1922. Albert Payson Terhune (son of Rev. Dr. Edward Payson Terhune and Mary Virginia Hawes) was born December 21, 1872 at Newark, N. J. He married first, Lorraine Marguerite (daughter of Gilbert Bryson of Baltimore, Maryland) in Cazenovia, N. Y. on January 10, 1898. They had one child, Lorraine Virginia, who was born October 5, 1898 and died January 14, 1956. After his first wife's death, October 9, 1898, Albert Payson married again. He and Anice Morris Stockton, of Hampden, Massachusetts (daughter of John Potter Stockton and Elizabeth Morris Olmstead) were married September 2, 1901. There were no children from this marriage. Albert Payson Terhune died February 18, 1942. His widow, Anice who was born October 27, 1873, died November 9, 1964. Both died at the Terhune homestead "Sunnybank", Pompton Lakes, New Jersey.

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3 The Rocco Preis—Pttenon, New Jeney