Sunday, June 16, 2019

Photos of Dad

16 photos in remembrance of Dad on Father's Day 2019.

And here are a few life lessons from these rare photos.

You can also view these at this Google Photos album.








Thursday, June 13, 2019

'Everyone Knows That Place Is Haunted'

Annie's Road in Totowa
According to local legend, there are at least two haunted roads in Passaic County, NJ.

One is Annie's Road in Totowa, where I grew up.

"Annie" is supposedly the ghost, dressed in white, of a teenager killed by a pickup truck as she tried to find her way to safety along unlit Riverview Drive. The story goes that she fled her boyfriend's car after an argument on Prom Night.

All the locals call this stretch of Riverview Drive "Annie's Road," and roadside memorials keep her legend alive. A Halloween tradition is to spill red paint on the blacktop and guard rails so that drivers will think they see Annie's blood.

Annie's Road snakes behind a cemetery and bypasses an alcove of small homes called, with no pretense of political correctness, "Midget Village." All this is not too far from what every teenage boy calls "Doo-fus Road" -- Duffus Avenue -- behind The Bethwood, a popular hall for wedding receptions and school reunions.

It's easy to find one online post after another after another filled with stories about Annie sightings.

It's harder to find if there's any truth behind these stories. In Totowa, everyone knows someone who knew Annie... but there's no obituary or news story or even a last name to verify her identity.

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The second haunted highway -- Clinton Road -- is the setting of a movie by the same name that premieres this Friday, June 14, on premium video and in nine cities (none in New Jersey).

It stars Ice-T and Vincent Pastore, and tells yet a few more tales about the nearly 10-mile stretch of road that cuts through a thick forest in former iron-mining country in West Milford, in the less-populated part of the county.

Ghost stories abound about Clinton Road, and you've no doubt heard a few yourself if you grew up in the Garden State. As a character states in the movie trailer embed below, "Everyone knows that place is haunted!"

But is it?

A story a few weeks ago in the North Jersey Record is a little more skeptical. Reporter David Zimmer does a great job in detailing the backstory.



Is the truth really out there about either of these haunted roads?

Does anyone know what corroborating evidence exists?

I'm curious. I don't want to spoil the fun of a good ghost story, but I truly want to know, the next time I drive down Riverview Drive, if I'm guilty of whistling past the graveyard.

Sunday, June 2, 2019

Fatima in The Ironbound, A Love Story


Every time I tried to take a photo of Our Lady of Fatima Church a few weeks ago, someone would be standing in prayer in front of the statue above the main entrance.

Our Lady of Fatima on Jefferson Street
The church is on a side street in The Ironbound, a largely Portuguese neighborhood in Newark.

The statue is of the Virgin Mary, who appeared to three children in Fatima, Portugal, on the 13th of each month from May through October 1917. They saw what they believed to be the Mother of God hovering above an oak tree where they had been herding sheep.

Still today, it's a devoutly held belief among many people -- as I saw for myself in Newark -- that if you pray to Our Lady of Fatima, she will intercede with God on your behalf.

What do I believe?

I believe every picture tells a story.

For more than a year, I've been taking photos of churches in New Jersey to post on Instagram every Sunday:

  • Churches in Paterson and Jersey City that keep their doors unlocked to provide shelter for the homeless.
  • Awe-inspiring beauty inside the church where my parents were married.
  • A distant rural church with a gravel parking lot, where the pastor shooed me away and the sign on the front door read, "All Are Welcome."

In general, I think churches tell love stories.

Churches are monuments to the better angels in all of us. They challenge us, frustrate us, inspire us.

Even if you don't believe any of that, it's self-evident that they surround us. The iconography of faith is everywhere... even in suburban New Jersey.

On this gorgeous late-spring Sunday afternoon, I took a long walk around my home town. From front lawns and gardens on almost every street, I saw little statues of the Virgin Mary patiently waiting for our mighty prayers.

The Marys of New Milford, NJ

Monday, May 27, 2019

The Mystery of Bertha Reetz

Bertha Kruger Reetz's tombstone rests in the historic French Burying Ground in New Milford, NJ.

But where is her body buried?

Mrs. Reetz was at least 80 when she died in 1949. According to suburban legend, about three decades later her tombstone was found lying casually by the side of a road in New Milford, perhaps hundreds of miles from her home.

Local police tried in vain in the pre-Internet era to identify its owner. Eventually, the borough's Department of Public Works unlocked a fence protecting the historic grounds -- last used for a burial in 1928 -- and placed Bertha's marker there for safe-keeping.

This Mystery of Bertha Reetz came up in conversation this past weekend as the borough, which recently took ownership of the cemetery, held its annual Memorial Day Weekend ceremony to honor the memory of the veterans buried there.

This year was a special occasion. Attending the ceremony were relatives of Cornelius Bogert, a private in the New Jersey Militia during the Revolutionary War who was buried in 1825.

Terry McQuillin honoring her ancestor's grave
On Friday evening, Bogert's grave received a flag and a flower from a long-lost relative, Terry McQuillin, who traveled with her husband, Lee, from Branchville in Sussex County.

According to this northjersey.com story, McQuillin is related to Bogert and 12 others buried in the cemetery, since her family descends from David Demarest, the French Huguenot settler of northern New Jersey who founded New Milford.

One person attending the ceremony noted that Bertha's tombstone was more modern than the others. It also haphazardly faces north, on top of a tree root, while all the older gravestones face east.

What we know:
  • The cemetery fence didn't exist until the early 1980s, lending some credence to the date and manner of the stone's placement. Several long-time residents who commented when the northjersey.com story was shared on Facebook's "You Know You're From New Milford If..." page noted that they freely roamed and played on the cemetery grounds through the 1970s.
  • The last person verifiably buried there is Martha Gustafson Demarest, who died right before her 25th birthday in 1928.

Bertha's gravestone, facing north
According to historical records, the French Burying Ground is the oldest cemetery in Bergen County. It's the final resting place for many members of prominent French-Huguenot and Dutch families who settled in the area in the 18th and 19th centuries.

It was first used in the Spring of 1677, after the family of David Demarest -- who fled his homeland to escape religious persecution -- sailed up the Hackensack River to settle into a new home. David's wife, Marie, fill ill with smallpox during that voyage and died. She was the first person buried here, on a bluff overlooking the river.

There are two inventories of the graves at the site. A 1902 inventory by John Neafie does not, of course, include Bertha, who would have been 34 at the time. One hundred years later, a 2002 inventory by the New Milford Girl Scouts identified approximately 175 tombstone inscriptions. Bertha is listed there, 53 years after her death.

What we don't know:
  • Who is Bertha Kruger Reetz, and why is her tombstone in New Milford?

A few people interested in local history have tried researching her name, to no avail. Internet searches lead to sites such as "Find a Grave," which only notes that she is buried in the French cemetery.

Not true.

As one borough resident noted, "We're happy to have given Bertha a home, and she's always welcome here. But we'd appreciate any help in returning her gravestone to its proper place."

Can anyone help solve the mystery of where Mrs. Reetz is really buried?

Panoramic French Cemetery view; Bertha's stone is in the lower right corner





Sunday, May 19, 2019

If You Believed They Put a Man on the Moon...

Blue moon over Paterson, NJ, last night.
Two news items this week attracted the interest of the little-boy-who-wanted-to-be-an-astronomer in me.

First, this nj.com article explained that last night's full moon -- which glowed huge and distant overhead -- was a rare type of blue moon, since it was the third of four full moons appearing during the spring season of 2019.

Many also refer to May's full moon as the "flower moon," because it's the time of year when many flowers bloom.

Second, this engadget article explained that if you were fortunate enough to watch the Apollo 11 Moon landing as it happened in 1969, NASA wants to hear from you.

Here's the info: "NASA recently launched a story program that asks the public to submit audio recordings of their Apollo 11 memories in a bid to create an oral history of the event in sync with its 50th anniversary. All you have to do is record a story or interview... shorter ones are preferred, email it and details to a special address (apollostories@mail.nasa.gov), and check your inbox in case NASA wants a follow-up."

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Inspired by the sight of last night's big blue flower moon, that's exactly what I did. Here's the SoundCloud version:



And here's the text (and maybe you could listen to this great R.E.M. song while reading):
The morning after Neil Armstrong took his first step on the Moon, our family visited my nearly 100-year-old great grandmother in a nursing home. We called her Bisnonna. She had lived most of her life in Ferno, Italy — "ferno" being the Italian word for "Hell." She was spending her final years in New Jersey. 
We were all excited about the moon landing, and her daughter, my grandmother, tried to explain to her -- in the soft, melodic, mostly-Italian, part-English language they had developed between themselves -- what a spaceship was. But the words didn't yet exist in either the English they commonly understood or in Italian. 
So, much to our frustration, we couldn't make Bisnonna comprehend how it was possible for a man to ride on a rocket that was launched into space, and eventually set foot on the moon. To Bisnonna, such a thing was beyond her experience and beyond her capacity for faith. She died just a few weeks later, believing in eternal life.

Do you have a memory of the moon landing? I'd love to hear it. So would NASA!

Friday, May 10, 2019

Mom vs. Deer in Totowa: What Would You Do?

This is the redevelopment project adjacent to Echo Glen in May 2019:
 paved roads, a power station, expanses of dirt -- no trees.

My elderly, widowed mother is fighting her own Battle of Winterfell -- and she needs our help.

Call it The Battle of Echo Glen, which is a residential subdivision of Totowa, NJ, that abuts a formerly abandoned asylum.

Unlike the fictional "Game of Thrones" blood fest, this combat is real and began quite innocently. It has evolved into a story of pinwheels and soap flakes.

Our noble quest? Protect the flowers in Mom's beloved garden.

Here's the story of how we arrived at this desperate place.

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"Bobby," said Mom on the phone several months ago, "there are reindeer visiting me in the backyard!"

Her voice was breathless, full of awe and wonder. One deer, a buck with regal antlers, seemed to her a particularly magical sight.

The Developmental Center main entrance in 2016.
I can't be precise about the date of this call, but it was likely around June 2018, after construction began to level the North Jersey Developmental Center, a 188-acre compound of buildings permanently closed in 2014.

I've written about this abandoned asylum before.

This center had opened in 1928, preceding Echo Glen's construction by 30 years. Originally called the North Jersey Training School, by 1953 the center served 625 women with neuro-developmental disorders and included a 275-bed nursery, making it the only one in the state that housed children. The total of residents dwindled over the years, numbering 190 before the center was shuttered.

Last May, 35 buildings on the site were demolished to make way for a 257,000-square-foot data center for J.P. Morgan, a 590,000-square-foot assisted living facility, a medical office, a research and development facility, and associated parking lots.

This demolition was the opening salvo of The Battle of Echo Glen, since it was followed by the leveling and removal of countless trees. The woods there had not been cut or disturbed since the property was acquired in 1916, more than 90 years ago.

The Developmental Center main entrance in 2019.
On a recent Sunday, after a visit to Mom, I saw newly paved, open roads at the site, so I took a brief detour and was astounded by what I saw. There's now hardly a tree to be found. It's as if every square inch of the property is being developed, as the Boro of Totowa seeks as much ratable property tax income from the site as municipally possible.

When the trees disappeared here, displaced deer began foraging in neighboring Echo Glen.

As the months have passed, these deer have ruined my mother's prized garden and other plantings. This has left her heart-broken.

She is not a lone casualty, either. Deer infestation is now a constant source of chatter at the weekly Monday meetings of Totowa's senior group.

Neighbors have devised their own strategies to fight back. One popular tactic has been to shave cakes of mint-scented Irish Spring soap and scatter the flakes on leaves and branches.

Bottom branches chewed away; plastic ivy on the shed.
(And, yes, ironically, that's a decorative ceramic deer.)
Mom's weapons have ranged from inexpensively hopeful (installing twirling pinwheels from the Dollar Store in her garden to try to frighten the deer when the wind blows) to disappointingly costly (a monthly fee to have her lawn and garden sprayed with deer repellent, and to have deer droppings removed). Not to mention two strategically placed $69.95 solar-powered devices that are supposed to emit a deer-offending sound undetectable to humans.

All to no avail.

Families of deer routinely find gaps around the low fences in her neighborhood to feast on her garden. Along Mom's back fence, arborvitae branches have been neatly chewed clean from the ground to the jawline level of a deer. The natural green ivy that once graced Mom's back shed has been replaced with plastic green ivy she purchased at Hobby Lobby.

Mom's resolve is not broken, however. On a recent Monday she heard a rumor at the Totowa senior club that deer do not like the taste of vinca. She now intends to purchase an arsenal of these flowering plants at Home Depot to restore some color to her garden.

As Mother's Day 2019 approaches, I vow to better serve at the side of The Queen of Echo Glen and Protector of Her Realm as she fights this never-ending battle.

Don't get me wrong. I have nothing against deer. Can we all get along?

Laurel Grove Cemetery elk.
The Boro of Totowa has nothing against deer and other wildlife either:

  • On the other side of town, local firefighters rescued a deer whose head had become stuck in the gates of Holy Sepulchre Cemetery on the eve of Halloween 2016.
  • One of the most notable memorial sites at another nearby cemetery, Laurel Grove, features a large, majestic elk that overlooks Route 80.
  • During a "Mother's Day Clean-Up" last week, well-wooded Laurel Grove (where Dad is buried) even issued this gentle reminder: "Please remember, resident deer live on the property and feed on flowers that are not deer-resistant."

The thing is, I love Mom more than I love deer, and more than Totowa loves deer. Also, I now fear that Mom might get bitten by a tic when she ventures out to try to repair her garden.

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So I'm enlisting your support.

What do you advise that we do in this situation?

Like Jon Snow, I'm struggling to do the right and honorable thing. I already know I can't save the trees. I just want to help Mom -- in fact, help all the residents of Echo Glen.

They deserve a better fate. All their property tax dollars saved by the massive redevelopment of a former asylum should not be spent instead on mint-scented soap, pinwheels, ultrasonic sound machines, vinca plants and deer repellent.

Mom's garden last year, before the war began.

Any suggestions?

Sunday, April 28, 2019

In Memory of Anne Buckley

Anne M. Buckley, the retired editor-in-chief of Catholic New York, died April 23, 2019.

I've mentioned Anne here before, reprinting a column she wrote about the courtship and wedding of Bob and Nancy Varettoni.

Anne's reporting of it was typically wonderful, and I've previously bemoaned that since much of her career was in the pre-web days, much of her work can't be found online.

So I'm happy to report that, in Anne's memory, CNY editor John Woods is now reprinting a number of her Editor's Report columns on its website. (The photo here, by the-one-and-only Chris Sheridan, is the familiar one printed for years alongside her CNY columns.)

Here's "Two Fathers, Two Sons" about Steven McDonald, the hero NYC detective who was shot in Central Park and paralyzed from the neck down. And here's "The Double Standard" about the hot-button issue of religion and politics. 

I won't... I can't... recount the many accomplishments of this trail-blazing Catholic journalist, writer and editor. But there are many details in the obituary in The Star-Ledger, which also includes a full reprint of her CNY obituary.

Here's a personal insight, though:

With Nancy due to be out of town with our daughter last night, I had been debating how I would spend my evening alone. A few days ago, before Anne's death, I told Nancy that I might attend a concert by Dan Schutte, a popular composer of liturgical music who was scheduled to appear at a parish in Roseland, NJ.

Reading up on Dan, I discovered that he's an ex-Jesuit -- and that my favorite song of his, "Here I Am, Lord," has been characterized by some as a rebellious anthem. Which only makes me like the song even more.

So it did not surprise me that at the funeral Mass for Anne Buckley yesterday in Caldwell, NJ, we all stood to sing "Here I Am, Lord" as her casket was carried into St. Aloysius Church.

After Mass, Nancy and I spoke to former colleagues -- most who continued at CNY for years after us -- about Anne's lasting impact. In a Facebook Messenger group chat, some of us even recalled colorful phrases she had used in her columns when we all worked together more than 30 years ago: "As clean as a convent parlor..." "Like eggs on a Teflon pan..." "Delft-saucer eyes..."

Here's a 30-second snippet from the 10-minute memorial video posted by Prout Funeral Home. It features photos of Anne, later in her career, surrounded by awards and CNY colleagues:


Finally, here's another personal story:

When I originally posted Anne's column to mark Bob and Nancy Varettoni's 30th wedding anniversary, Nancy was uneasy about it. She told me something that I never knew: that when she told Anne she was going to marry me, Anne expressed reservations.

She thought Nancy could have done better.

As always, Anne was right about that too.

Saturday, April 13, 2019

About Those Photos...


Today, I returned to Sacred Heart in Newark to take my 50th photo of a church in New Jersey. Below is a collage of all of them, all taken since last Easter. I've posted these, along with three churches from others, on Instagram at either @bvarphotos or @foundinnj.


Also last week, I posted the photo on top of this page on Facebook. It's about an exhibit I participated in as part of the Black Glass Gallery, which, according to its website (where you can view great photos from a collection of photographers), is...

"A dynamic, social media-based photography community. Founded in New Jersey, we gather weekly for meet-ups at locations that offer inspiring settings. We showcase the beauty we discover through our lenses on both Instagram and Facebook. A diverse and friendly group, we have varying levels of photography experience: amateurs; hobbyists; professionals. Follow us on our photographic journey and see the magic we capture."

Our second annual showcase opened earlier this month at the Middletown Arts Center (36 Church Street). It's available for viewing any time through April 26. Stop by if you're in the area... no tickets needed. All photos on display were taken at one of our meetups.

Here are the six photos I chose to exhibit, and a little bit about each.

This is my sentimental favorite because it's the from the first meetup I went on with the group, at Liberty State Park. I can thank the Snapseed HDR filter and the New York City skyline for this sleight of hand... since I'm clearly outmatched in photography skills by others in the group. A few months later, I was invited to display a large print of this on a wall near the men's room of a bar called The Iron Room in Atlantic City -- until it mysteriously disappeared one day. But that's OK. I like mysteries.


This is just a typical Jersey Shore sunset from the time we went to Island Beach State Park. The group had arranged for a bonfire, and some night photographers who escaped notice by packing fishing poles took great photos of the Milky Way. I got thrown off the island by a park ranger for not being a fisherman, who are the only people technically allowed in the park after dark. To me, this is a reminder that all "typical Jersey Shore sunsets" are beautiful. I also like the reminder that I wasn't jailed that evening!


I work a lot in Manhattan, so I felt I had the home field advantage during this meetup -- which featured a private tour of the Woolworth Building and a visit to The Oculus and surrounding neighborhood. While walking down the street, I turned to Suzanne, our intrepid leader, and quipped, "The photos here just take themselves!" -- before grabbing this reflective image with my iPhone.

This was in Princeton. I wandered away from the group and went into the chapel and up to the choir loft. I don't know if I was really supposed to be there. But this photo tells me I was.

This was in Brooklyn, in the DUMBO section, near the bridge. It was twilight, and the light was just right. Thank you, Brooklyn.
I wandered away from the group again one evening when we were in New York. Did I ever tell you? I love New York.




Monday, April 8, 2019

A Year of Inspiration in New Jersey

Yesterday, on my @foundinnj Instagram account, I posted a 52nd consecutive Sunday photo of a church in New Jersey.

You can see all 52 in this Google Photos folder, or by searching the #njchurcheverysunday hashtag in Instagram.

I was inspired to do this last April, after visiting Newark’s Cathedral Basilica of the Sacred Heart (pictured here). I had been taking photos at the Cherry Blossom Festival in nearby Branch Brook Park and took the opportunity to visit, for the first time, the church where Mom and Dad were married in 1955.

That magnificent church is one of New Jersey’s true treasures. Aesthetically, it rivals the cherry blossoms. My fascination with churches over the past year has centered around how the two things — one natural, one man-made — differ so radically.

The fleeting beauty of the cherry blossoms mirrors our lives. On Saturday, I attended a memorial service in Philadelphia for a work colleague, Joellen Brown, who I wrote about last week. On Sunday, I took Mom to place a palm wreath beside Dad’s gravestone in Totowa, NJ.

“I’m getting tired, Bob,” she said to the ground, not to me, for both our names are the same. “I want to go home.”

In real life, nothing lasts forever.

Meanwhile, our church buildings aspire to permanence, which is something unobtainable. No matter the religion, churches are monuments to longing and redemption and our innate belief that love lasts forever.

Next weekend, I plan to visit Branch Brook Park again and consider the fleeting beauty of the cherry blossoms. I also plan to visit Sacred Heart again, marvel at its architectural grandeur and existential folly, and say a prayer for Mom and Dad and Joellen.

This, I hope, will become an annual pilgrimage, as I seek just one more year of inspiration. Again and again and again.