From the early 1800s until after the turn of
the 20th Century, Camden was a city of community districts with long
since forgotten names and locations. Wrightsville, Bridgeville,
Fettersville and Cooper Hill were just a few of many long established
community districts throughout the City of Camden. The section called
Kaighnton encompassed an area of some twenty square blocks from Front
Street to the west; east along Chestnut Street to Union Avenue (5th
St.) at the Cooper Creek Road (Newton Ave.); and south along Fourth
Street from Atlantic Avenue west to the river. The principal thorofare
in the district of Kaighnton was a road that would be later called
Kaighns Avenue named after Kaighn's Point, a major commercial and
transportation terminus on the Delaware River founded by Joseph Kaighn
on or about 1803. Among other subsequent streets and highways, the
Kaighn's Point Road was known as the first road to Kaighnton.
In 1879 the Kaighns Point Road ended at the
city limits at what is presently the intersection of Mt. Ephraim
Avenue. By 1900 and the annexation of adjoining territories from
Newton Township, the road to Kaighnton traversed all of South Camden,
from the Delaware River eastward to the current municipal boundaries
of what would later become the Airport Circle - the first traffic
rotary in the United States. With the advent of the City's industrial
revolution amid booming growth in both population and new residential
construction, the old road to Kaighnton soon became one of the City's
most prominent boulevards. Rapid growth posed extraordinary demands
for fire services and precipitated the organization of several fire
companies and two firehouses. These are the stories of a century old
relationship between the men in those firehouses and the community
that lived, worked, played, and often died - along the road to
Kaighnton.
A Moment of Truth
Foggy Bottom as it was called, was an area of
lower Kaighns Avenue from the Delaware River to about Locust Street.
Thanksgiving Day on Hyde Park dawned as a gray November morning with
freezing drizzle and a damp, biting cold that was more seasonal to
early January rather than late autumn. The Marshals said the fire
started near a can of bunker oil at the entrance to the basement under
the first floor stairs. The flames roared up the open stairway
trapping and killing the occupants of the building. A father, mother
and three children were incinerated in the path of the vicious
onslaught. At the scene of the killing grounds, there was little left
for fire fighters to do after the blaze was extinguished, except to
wait patiently by for the Marshals to complete their investigation, to
be followed by the gruesome task of removing the dead. The Captain
sensed the tragic uneasiness in his new man who had joined the company
just three weeks before. When the Marshals were finished, the Captain
held the rest of the company outside and took the Probie upstairs for
his first look. It was evident that the remains of at least two
children were so badly burned that they no longer resembled human
beings in form. The Captain allowed the new man a brief glimpse at the
terrible carnage, and then promptly dispatched him to the street with
a reassuring grasp of the shoulder as the other men of the company
quietly put on their gloves and entered the dark ruins to perform
their ghastly duties.
Despite the Best Laid Plans
The Fourth of July was a sunny, warm Sunday
morning with cloudless blue skies and a light breeze blowing along the
avenue. The Captain was on vacation and command of the company was
entrusted to a senior Fireman in acting status. Residents from the
neighborhoods beyond Louis Street and Haddon Avenue could be seen
walking up Kaighns Avenue in clustering waves, passed the firehouse on
their way to Sunday Mass at Saint Joseph's. Between Rose Street and
the firehouse the avenue was spanned by a railroad bridge that carried
the elevated train line. Hanging from the underside of the trestle was
an enormous hornet's nest, the hive some three to four feet long and
containing thousands of swarming, menacing wasps. That several
churchgoers were strafed and at least one badly stung while walking
under the bridge, caused concern on the part of the firemen. Because
it happened to be both a Sunday and a holiday, a phone call to the
Fire Dispatcher hoping to summon some pest control agency proved
fruitless. Clearly as action oriented people, the firemen would not
allow the situation to go unmitigated. They were duty bound to protect
the community and a decision was made to rid the neighborhood of the
scourge. The means would be a powerful turret stream of water from the
apparatus. That the apparatus was connected to a hydrant almost
immediately adjoining the overhead span proved early on, to be a
serious "tactical" error.
The powerful stream emerged from the deckpipe
with great force. Almost immediately, the hive detached from the
elevated and fell to the pavement with a heavy clunk, splitting wide
open like a watermelon and catapulting hordes of angry hornets
everywhere. Izzy Fox, the upholstering man who was exiting his shop
near the corner of Mt. Ephraim Avenue, said that the unleashed swarm
of ascending insects resembled a plague of locusts of Biblical
proportion. As the apparatus was hastily abandoned by the dumb struck
fire fighters running for cover, at least two members and a boy on a
passing bicycle were badly stung. The angry swarm fanned out over the
avenue with reports of innocent bystanders being assailed as far as
four blocks away. When the storm had finally subsided, the apparatus
was promptly withdrawn to the firehouse along with the men who were
left to lick their wounds. For sure, nothing remarkable was reported
to the Captain upon his return from vacation leave.
The Characters of Kaighnton
The neighborhoods adjoining the boulevard
called Kaighns Avenue contained a diverse population of people from
all walks of life. Among its share of urban professionals including
doctors, lawyers and expert tradesmen, there was also a large blue
collar community working among so many of the City's diverse
industries. As well, the neighborhood also harbored a segment of
society's permanent underclass. Her name was Zelda and she was a 250
pound Prostitute that darkened many a doorway along Kaighns Avenue for
nearly two decades. Her haunt included nearly the entire length and
breadth of the avenue from the Green Goose Cafe at Locust Street, all
the way up to the S & S Public Tavern near Haddon Avenue. Not
surprisingly, a host of other flavorful and no less forgettable
characters also made their home along the sidewalks of the avenue.
Many of these less fortunate souls shared a long and enduring
friendship with neighborhood fire fighters as each other's lives were
unalterably intertwined within the environment that they shared.
He was affectionately known as Scaramouche
among the fire fighters and he was seldom seen sober, regardless of
the day or night. While he was inherently a trust worthy soul, his
exorbitant dependency upon alcohol certainly affected his demeanor and
judgement to say the least. As fire fighters would occasionally toss
him a tip for running some brief errand to a nearby store,
"Mooch" would occasionally get half way up the block and
then legitimately forget the purpose of his assigned mission. On some
other occasions, Mooch would endeavor to seek refuge in the firehouse
particularly during the late night hours as he scared more than a few
half-dozing Housewatchmen, while climbing through a side alley window.
Another character of the avenue was known as
"Old Soldier" although no one ever knew if he held any
former military service. In winter he could be seen shuffling up the
street, rags bundled about his feet, wearing a wool olive drab ankle
length overcoat that resembled World War I issue. He would walk
several paces and call out marching cadence in vigorous form: "Hee-Yup!
Hee-Yup!" and then would abruptly stop and engage in a screaming
monologue with some invisible person. If challenged in his boisterous
tirade, he would holler and throw rocks or bottles at the front of the
firehouse.
A Long Lost Comrade
His name was Friday and he was a fixture
along the avenue for as long as anyone could remember. A decorated and
disabled veteran of the Second World War, he had been seriously
wounded in the Solomon Islands and in later years, had no known
family. During the cold winter months he was said to occupy an
unheated garage somewhere along Baxter Street. But in summer, he was
the undisputed Ester Williams of Kaighns Avenue. For more than fifty
years, the nine and ten hundred blocks of the avenue would flood under
as much as five feet of water during heavy summer storms. The cellars,
basements and ground floors of buildings along the block would be
inundated with filthy sewer water. A floating flotsam of trash,
sewage, hypodermic needles and terrible organisms that fostered
potential diseases like typhoid, tetanus and polio, were always awash
in the rising tide. Children who were among the poorest of the poor,
would frolic in the impromptu lake and were mesmerized by Friday who
in best form, could be seen out in the center of the avenue doing back
strokes and belly flops.
One spring morning, poor Friday was found
dead in the men's room of the old Merit Gas Station at the corner of
Mt. Ephraim and Kaighns Avenue. While awaiting burial in Potters
Field, the timely intervention of a fellow veteran and retired fire
fighter got Friday his last resting place of honor in a veteran's
cemetery. It was reported that a Marine Corp Honor Guard rendered a
final salute to its very long lost comrade.
Among Other Remarkable Characters
They called him Snake-eyes and he was very
much an anatomical wonder. Some said he was born with two stomachs and
a redundancy of other internal organs. His ability to consume food and
drink was nothing less than astounding as witnessed by more than just
a few neighborhood locals. It was reported that at the outbreak of the
Korean War, he arrived at the Army Reception Center and managed to
swallow 73 hot dogs while waiting for his induction interview.
Needless to say, he was promptly dismissed from the service of his
country. Whenever they would see him along the avenue, fire fighters
would routinely ask him what he had had during his most recent meal.
Snake-eyes would respond in a stuttering baritone voice:
"two...two...two loaves of bread four....four ....four fried
chicken, five...five...five pounds of potatoes and two
gal...gal...gallons of ice tea" - all while maintaining an
unremarkable body weight of about 185 Ibs. Along with his sidekick
named Magic - an Isaac Hayes look alike, who was also known to possess
an infinite capacity for port wine, Snake-eyes would seldom stray
farther than a block or two from the avenue.
Life, Liberty & Occasional Happiness
Every neighborhood along the avenue had its
local watering hole and some neighborhoods enjoyed several. At or near
the intersection of Mt. Ephraim Avenue, the resident clientele most
frequented the La Victoria; Winnie's Grove; or Pete Krouse's. Each
cafe harbored its own exclusive clique and the same faces patronized
their establishment of choice for many years. There was Ashie Cole, a
physically imposing man who was related to a neighborhood fire
fighter. He was employed as a night watchman in Parkside, and his
daily lunch parcel always contained one sandwich, one apple, and two
six packs of Ortliebs. Then there was Manny and the Queen. Manny was a
short and frail gentleman who had resided in Parkside many years
before when the community was of predominant Jewish faith. When the
neighborhood got rougher, he continued to live alone and over the
years had befriended many fire fighters along the avenue. His
companion of late was a woman who everyone called the Queen. Decades
of over indulgence in copious quantities of hard liquor had long taken
their toll. If one looked carefully however, the traces of a once
youthful beauty were still faintly discernible. Nevertheless the
Queen's style and comportment of risque attire appeared far better
suited to someone more than half her age, but it certainly didn't seem
to bother Manny.
During afternoons and evenings they could be
seen strolling in armful bliss, up the avenue toward the La Victoria.
That both were mugged and bludgeoned on more than one occasion clearly
testified to the hostility and meanness that now pervaded the old
neighborhood. But it would not dissuade their presence nor curtail
their personal freedom to conduct their chosen lives within the long
since changed environment.
With Justice For All
The brawl started near Tenth Street outside
of Hoskin's Dry Cleaners and worked its way up the avenue to the
sidewalk in front of the B & G Bar. Zelda was locked in mortal
combat with another maiden named Arlene who slashed her with a
barber's straight razor, opening a nasty wound from the armpit to the
elbow. Zelda vigorously responded in kind and was well along to
finishing off her opponent with a metal milk crate, when the cavalry
arrived. It took three Cops, two Firemen and Babe Bobiak from the TV
repair shop, to separate the carnivores. One poor Policeman who was
slashed on the hand while attempting to quell the altercation,
provided ample cause to exert reasonable force upon the combatants.
That the use of such force produced a highly negative response from an
arriving Lieutenant of Police, was quite understandable as he observed
at least one fire fighter wielding a two foot long nightstick that had
been commandeered from a nearby patrol wagon. Several hours and many
sutures later, Zelda sought shelter along the avenue and made access
to the firehouse by way of the rear hose tower door while the company
was out. Upon their return to quarters, the startled fire fighters
found her comfortably asleep and snoring loudly at the housewatch
desk.
What Is Past Is Prologue
While few could ever remember his last name,
old Lou spent nearly his entire life residing along the avenue. He was
born an only child and occupied his parents home since before the turn
of the century. His absence to participate in the First World War was
the only time his lifelong tenure was broken. A bachelor, Lou would
survive his parents and mark the passing of an eightieth birthday,
while living alone in the same building of his birth. Born in a
radically different time so very long ago, life both in America and
along the avenue of his youth reflected a much kinder, more gentile
society. With remarkable clarity, Lou would recall the incessant drive
of the steam shovel as it excavated the foundation for the new
firehouse across the street from his home. It was the spring of 1909.
And the following summer when a grand inauguration of the new facility
was held amid colorful bunting and speeches by the Mayor and other
City Officials. He recalled the presentation of four handsome horses
in matching pairs to the Captain of the new company. And how so very
little would change in the street scenes along the avenue more than
fifty years later. That a fire alarm in the nineteen sixties would
summon at least six pieces of apparatus roaring out Kaighns Avenue
toward Parkside, first the Dodge hose wagon and American La France
pumper of Engine 7, soon followed by the CMC hose wagon and La France
pumper of Engine 8. Close behind was the imposing Pirsch apparatus of
Ladder Company 2, finally followed by Battalion 3's bright red station
wagon with sirens wailing.
And how some fifty years earlier, the scene
was nearly identical despite a radically different technology. How
Engine 7's double horse hitch pulled the hose wagon out of the
firehouse; the magnificent steamer right behind it with a pair of
matching grays straining at the harness. How a few minutes later
Engine Company 8 would come clattering up the avenue, the chugging of
the apparatus belching sparks and smoke. Followed by the four big
horses of the Hook & Ladder Company in coupled tandem, the
chauffeur with the reins firmly in his hands sitting shoulder to
shoulder with the Officer, and the tillerman at the rear perched
precariously in his seat upon the swaying apparatus. And finally after
a few minutes, the clanging bell in the distance emerging ever louder
that would finally herald a single black horse pulling a sleek black
buggy as the Battalion Chief and his Aide went quickly trotting by.
Lost and Found
Then there was "little Benji", a
tyke of about three or four years old who came from a very poor home
somewhere over near Warnock Place. In summer he could be seen running
along the dirty sidewalks of the avenue in bare feet, sometimes clad
in only his underwear. The men of the firehouse would treat him to a
cold soda or a much appreciated sandwich, and little Benji would grin
an angelic smile that could melt the heart of the most hardened fire
fighter. He would come by the firehouse several times a week and would
grasp in his tiny hands, a bottle of pop that looked almost as big as
himself. When he was finished drinking the refreshing treat, he would
shyly lower his eyes to the floor and quietly say thank you, or he
might embrace the legs of a fire fighter with a big hug and then
quickly run out of the firehouse. When the companies would turnout for
an alarm, Benji could be seen waving frantically to his heros near the
corner of 8th Street as the Engine and the Truck went roaring out
Kaighns Avenue.
Then one day the fire fighters noted that
little Benji had stopped coming around. While some wondered what
became of the little boy, the weeks turned into months and the years
quickly passed. Then one summer night, the Elks Lodge adjoining the
firehouse was hosting a gala event and the fire fighters watched with
interest, as scores of persons finely attired in evening wear, arrived
in caravans of luxurious automobiles. A very handsome young black man
accompanied by a stunningly beautiful woman, paused briefly before
going into the hall. The gentleman left his escort speaking to some
other arrivals and walked briskly to where the fire fighters were
sitting on a bench in front of the firehouse. He asked how the men
were doing and said it had been years since he was in the
neighborhood. He asked for at least one fire fighter by name who had
long since retired and then said, "my name is Benjamin and I just
wanted to say hello". In an instant the years came rushing back
and several senior members immediately recognized the ragged little
boy who had grown into the remarkable young man before them. As the
men firmly exchanged handshakes, the eyes of the veteran fire fighters
were filled with pride and affection while the young man demonstrated
a genuine respect and gratitude for his old friends. Indeed, Benji had
come back one last time to honor the heros of his childhood.
A Making of
Angels
