- Back in the late '70s, the owner of a Heights pizza parlor wanted to buy the bar down the block. The dough slinger saw the neighborhood pub as a diamond-in-the-rough, ready to be polished into a fine eatery. The tavern's shamrock-toting proprietor nixed the deal. Behind the bar, he told his customers that the -- here using a colloquial expression -- could do something anatomically impossible with the money.
Still dreaming of establishing a beachhead for the culinary arts in the Jersey City Heights, the pizza man kept upping the ante. He finally reached the then wildly extravagant figure of $40,000.
As luck would have it, that New Year's Eve, a Fire Captain just happened to be celebrating in the bar. His trained and honed senses alerted him to a discordant smell amongst the wafting odors of liquor, beer, and tobacco. The fire fighter rushed to the basement. There he observed that a heating fuel pipe had (somehow or other) come loose from its fitting and was sending a spray of combustible fluid about the premises. Perhaps escorted by a squadron of green-winged guardian angels, this heroic individual ran upstairs. The Fire Captain announced the situation to the revelers and led them out to safety. Immediately afterwards, the place ignited and quickly burnt to the ground.
The pizza parlor owner offered the same $40,000 just for the empty lot and the liquor license. A saloon -- not a restaurant -- is there today.
- Sarge and Hope were the couple of Union City's Transfer Station. Hope of the shoulder-length raven black hair performed in the clubs. A very large boa constrictor was her dance partner.
Sarge, with his shaved-head and height of well over six feet, brought Darth Vader to Earth for a visit to Hudson County. A story told about him involved an armed robbery of a supermarket. Sarge was going from checkout to checkout demanding the contents of the cash registers. Suddenly, he realised that everyone's attention was focused on the large front glass. Glancing in that direction, Sarge saw that someone was watching the robbery in progress by peeking through the BUY ONE GET ONE FREE! and DOUBLE COUPONS! signs. Sarge pointed the weapon at the sidewalk superintendent and pulled the trigger. The gun jammed. But, the curious cat had a heart attack, dropping dead right then and there.
- In a former Hudson County incarnation, political consultant Julie Roginsky managed to shock the locals (no mean feat) by proving to be the oratorical equal of Bob Grant. Client Joe Doria then struggled on alone for the rest of the campaign.
- The last time "Newsboy" Moriarty was arrested, Jersey City's top bookmaker was going to pick up number slips from my uncle Gus. They were in back of Rt. 440 by Ege Avenue. My uncle got away because he was riding a bicycle! The cops came after him in the car. But, they forgot about the steel poles that made the block into a dead end. (You can't go to or from 440 by way of Ege.) The bike fit through the spaces in the poles. The police car had to stop. The cops backed up and went around the corner. My uncle rode the bike through empty lots. He was long gone by time the police car sped up the block.
- When Robert Menendez was Mayor of Union City, one resident named Eddy made it a point to attend public appearances of Mayor Menendez. Eddy, through a bullhorn, commented on Menendez's weight – and other things.
Union City brought a legal action against Eddy. Acting as his own attorney, the gadfly used the proceedings to put Menendez on the stand for questioning. Eddy then recited the list of provocative remarks, asking Menendez what he thought.
Menendez had the last laugh.
The court ruled against Eddy. The municipality then sued to recover the legal costs. To counterbalance the hefty bill, Union City seized a number of houses that Eddy owned.
- During the depths of the Depression, Old Man Tiedemann was the maintenance man at a Jersey City Catholic parish. The priest got a number of bids on the job of painting the church. The pastor asked what Old Man Tiedemann thought of the prices. He replied that he'd paint the building for half of the lowest bid. The priest wanted to know how that could be possible. Old Man Tiedemann refused to supply any details, but gave his word that – even at the reduced rate – he'd finish the task on time. The priest agreed to the deal.
Most of the cost involved in painting a church was the setting up of scafolding. Old Man Tiedemann put planks on the church steps and drove a jeep right into the building. Then, he built a platform on the jeep, in effect creating a mobile scaffold. One of his sons did the actual painting. Old Man Tiedemann moved the vehicle as the job progressed.
The priest was so impressed by the maintenance man's ingenuity that he persuaded the bishop to name Old Man Tiedemann Maintenance Director for the Archdiocese. Old Man Tiedemann quickly exchanged driving around Downtown Jersey City in an old jeep for travelling in a chauffeured limousine. He brought over craftsmen from Germany to build a castle on the shore of Lake Hopatcong.
- While pursuing George Washington, in 1776 British troops led by General Cornwallis came to Bergen (just south of today's Journal Square). Cornwallis spent the night in the Sip Manor (the southeast corner of Bergen and Academy Streets). Before departing the next morning, Lord Cornwallis hanged three spies from a Willow tree in the garden of the inn.
- Kevin Sluka, City of Jersey City DPW Director in the administration of Bret Schundler, to hint at a planned run for Mayor, took out a number of billboards that touted Mr. Sluka as the "Millenium Man." The ads went up in the dead of winter, months before the election. Though 2001 was technically the beginning of the new millenium, most people thought that 2000 was the start of the new era. Many assumed that the signs were left over from the year just ended. The posters didn't state that Kevin Sluka was running for office or when the election was to be held. The advertising not only failed to communicate the desired message, the signage actually confused the general public.
- On the northwest corner of Sussex and Hudson Streets in Paulus Hook, once stood a three-story brick structure called the "White House." Aaron Burr took up residence there starting in the summer of 1830. This Jersey City location was his home for nearly three years while he wrote his memoirs.
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Back in the early '90s, the newspapers alledged that the owner of a retail business across the street from my computer repair shop was a Capo in the Genovese Family.
This reputed mobster certainly bore no resemblance to Don Corleone -- or any other movie criminal. Dressed in work clothes, the small businessman tended the shop alongside his employees. I also remember that he'd do carpentry, roofing, and electrical work himself.
There were a few hints that not everything was as it seemed.
Though once widely known by a nickname (reported by the press), now all the local people that knew him referred to this individual just by a dimunitive form of a first name. Also, visitors exhibited respect, even deference; I actually saw one bow.
Another unusual feature was that the store didn't have a phone. The neighbor would cross the street to use the pay phone in front of my shop. When not working on a computer, I often sat outside reading. When the Cosa Nostra figure was making a call, I'd go inside, turn on the radio, and set the volume to loud. This way, there'd be no reason for anyone to suspect that I'd ever overheard anything. The public telephone was next to the fence. Often, my large attack dog would bound over growling in an extremely threatening manner. Most people were startled. Some became upset and angry. This shopkeeper just smiled and said, "She's beautiful." Seemingly sensing a kindred spirit, the dog wagged her tail and went back to sleep.
I never spoke with the owner, but I chatted with the employees every day. They often had a unique take on the day's events. One of the most memorable comments was just after the arrest of the Blind Sheikh for plotting the first attack on the World Trade Center: "Don't worry about him; he's a CIA man. They've got his penthouse all ready for him."
- "God put it there. God'll take it away."
Then Jersey City Mayor Thomas Gangemi describing his plans for snow removal after a blizzard.
- On Monday, October 9, 1769. Cornelius Van Vorst opened a race track at Paulus Hook. "Sportsmen" from New York City took the ferry over to partake in gambling, cock-fighting, bull-baiting, and riotous alcoholic excess. Michael Cornelisen ran a hotel at the foot of Grand Street. He also operated a horse and carriage line that was known as the “flying machines.” The route ran from Jersey City, to Elizabethtown, then to Trenton, and finally to Philadelphia. The trip from Jersey City to Philadelphia lasted three days.
