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What's so special about Paterson?

 

 

 

In this post I reflect on a question that's been on my mind for many years – the special nature of my hometown of Paterson, New Jersey – and briefly explore the reasons why people feel so deeply about the city. Given the shared nature of the question, I touch here upon psychogeography, which, coupled with what I believe are powerful and affecting symbolic forces in play at Paterson, help to create an authentically singular place.

 

A Chat with the Mayor

 

I've always felt that Paterson is a special place. An authentically singular place. While working on the Paterson project for the Library of Congress, I had the opportunity to meet with then-mayor Bill Pascrell, who has since gone on to Washington to serve in Congress. We met in his office that day of our meeting, and the first thing he asked was, "Why is Paterson so special?" At first I could only marvel that we two natives had separately arrived at a shared understanding of the city. I recovered, and tried to answer, though my reflections didn't satisfy either of us. Mayor Pascrell shook his head, I shrugged my shoulders, and we moved on.

 

"Psychogeography"

 

I've thought about that conversation quite a bit since then. Here's my current thinking. First, Paterson is relatively small – it's about two miles in any direction from the geographic center of the city. Second, it's clearly outlined by the Passaic River, which flows "over" Paterson. Meaning, that on reaching Paterson the river flows north, looping over the top of the city to form a kind of dome, then flowing south to form the eastern boundary before continuing onward towards its ultimate destination at Newark Bay.

 

This feature alone may qualify Paterson as a propitious locale. But there's also the Passaic Falls – the second highest waterfall east of the Mississippi. Those falls long ago convinced Alexander Hamilton to promote the Society for Establishing Useful Manufactures (S.U.M.) at Paterson, in 1791. Hamilton imagined that the falls would form the nucleus of a planned industrial city at that site. Pierre L'Enfant was enlisted to design an elaborate system of raceways to deliver waterpower to local manufactories, and the plan took on life.

 

The S.U.M had a rocky beginning, though it would eventually succeed quite well, and according to expectations. But I mention the falls for their symbolic power rather than their historical interest. The falls are more or less centrally located – a bit to the west of center – within the small geopolitical space of the city. Situated on the edge of downtown, overlooking the historic mill district, located within relatively easy walking, busing, or driving distance from every city neighborhood, they play a significant role in everyday life, but more specifically, in the formation of local consciousness. It's as though everyone is touched by the falls at a psychosensory level, and perhaps that, having once experienced the visceral impact of the falls at first hand, people can subsequently "hear" or "feel" them wherever they may be in the city. The Passaic Falls, cascading within the enclosure formed by the looping river, have been useful for power generation, but beyond that, they produce an intensity of experience that arises within the individual self, then radiates outward to form a widely shared experience.  

 

Of course, Paterson has its problems – poverty, crime, inadequate food and housing, lack of opportunity – but for the most part, other residents I've spoken with feel the way I do about the city. So what's so special about Paterson?

 

City in Shadow

 

After moving back to Philadelphia from Pittsburgh in 2003, I was determined to identify a local fieldwork project. I'd continue to travel, but I wanted to dig more deeply, and have the opportunity to follow up. To make a very long story short, I discovered that opportunity in Camden, just across the river from Philadelphia.

 

At that time, Camden had the highest homicide rate in the country. It was ravaged by poverty, by crime, and in my view, by corruption too. Development dollars had been pouring into the city, with little tangible result showing in the neighborhoods (Cooper Medical Center was benefiting, as it grew into a major regional provider around that time; so too had the waterfront been developed for tourists).

 

Meanwhile, I was hired by a local arts organization and began going over to Camden on a regular basis. I don't own a car, so most days I took the PATCO train across the river to Camden, or walked across the Ben Franklin Bridge. Once there I continued walking, from station or bridge, fanning outwards into the neighborhoods. Although the city may have been a dangerous and difficult place, people there still love, work, raise kids, gather, party, and garden. Which is to say that people carried on in the Camden neighborhoods pretty much as they do everywhere. The neighborhoods tended to be lively places, as in Paterson. I felt comfortable being there, and was soon able to develop a functional network of contacts.

 

The Likening

 

My first experience of the city was in North Camden, and the place at once seemed strikingly familiar. Examining that feeling, I quickly realized that Camden felt very much like Paterson! Maybe it had something to do with the layout of streets, the arrangement of houses, the people? I didn't know. But when I took bus or train through the city to some faraway destination, as I sometimes did, it was clear that, seen from a broader perspective, Camden is actually quite unlike Paterson. So what had produced that feeling of sameness, and recognition?

 

I've always worked extensively with maps. And of course, doing fieldwork in the days before GPS, I relied on paper maps and atlases to navigate to various places, and find my way around once on site. I still do. I also use maps to plot any significant social, cultural or geographical features I've identified while doing fieldwork. When I first looked at the map of Camden, I was surprised to find that, like Paterson, it too was enclosed within a dome formed by a river – or in this case, two rivers. At Camden, the Delaware River flows in from the north, forming the western boundary, but also edges easterly, spreading out over the top of the city to meet the Cooper River, which flows in from the south and east. To the south, Newton Creek feeds into the Delaware, jabbing inland to form a truncated southern boundary. Newton Creek has silted up quite a bit over the years, but at one time it had formed a confluence with the Cooper River, forming Camden into an ad hoc island.

 

Two "Special" Places

 

In Camden, I found the same shared feeling among residents that I'd discovered in Paterson. But in Paterson, I hadn't associated that feeling with the doming river until I arrived at Camden and noticed that the geography, and the riverine context, were quite similar in both places. Both cities have roughly the same land area (just under 9 square miles, though Paterson is the more densely populated). Camden doesn't feature a significant waterfall, but the Philadelphia skyline is visible to the west, and exerts a palpable influence throughout the city. Perhaps that looming skyline, rising into view across the majestic river, provides the same symbolic punch that the waterfalls at Paterson do! That, and the two river "domes", may suggest an answer to my longstanding question.

 

The foregoing is speculative, and impressionistic. But my feeling is that everywhere, our sense of place touches some fundamental part of our humanity, and profoundly influences our experience of being-in-the-world. Which may suggest why the felt experience of living in Paterson — and Camden too — inspires a feeling of uniquity among the people who live in those places.

 

 

 

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Christopher Witt

Commonplace Book of William Bartram, opened to the page containing the Star Pills formula, at top left

 

 

Pushing the current thread a bit further, I want to mention another person who's been very supportive and helpful, and taken a genuine interest in the historical figure of Kelpius. Joel Fry is the archivist at Bartram's Garden in Philadelphia, where he has been working with the voluminous papers of John Bartram, and conducting his own research into that period of Philadelphia history. I should note that Joel was among those attending the McNeil Center meeting I wrote about in a previous post. I might also note that it was Joel who recommended I read Josephine Herbst's book on Bartram, wherein I discovered the brief reference to Kelpius, and which launched my ongoing interest in him. Witt is mentioned in the Herbst paragraph, and he's also mentioned by Bartram in several of his letters. For example, writing to Peter Collinson, the London-based naturalist, in 1743, Bartram recalls a recent visit with Christopher Witt:

 

I have lately been to visit our friend Doctor wit where I spent 4 or 5 hours very agreeable sometimes in his garden where I viewed every kind of plant I believe that grew therin which afforded me a Convenient opertunity of asking him whether he ever observed any kind of wild roses in this countrie that was double   he said he could not remember that he ever did  so being satisfied with this amusement we went into his study which was furnished with books containing different kinds of learning as Phylosophy natural Magic, Divinity, nay even Mystick divinity all of which was the subjects of our discourse within doors which alternately gave way to botany every time we walked in the garden…

 

What's striking about this paragraph is first, the description of Witt's library, with its books devoted to "different kinds of learning", but also Bartram's judgment that Witt seemed most at home in the environment of his garden.

 

John Watson, whose Annals provide an interesting perspective on Philadelphia history through the 19th century, provides a neat summary of Witt, taking note of the variety of his activity while also emphasizing the mystical pursuits of his subject:

 

DOCTOR CHRISTOPHER WITT  was born in England (in Wiltshire) in 1675; came to this country in 1704, and died in 1765, aged 90.  He was a skilful physician and a learned man; was reputed a `magus' or `diviner', or in grosser terms a `conjuror'; and was a student and a believer in all the learned absurdities and marvellous pretensions of the Rosicrucian philosophy.  The Germans of that day, and indeed many of the English, practised the casting of `nativities' -- and as this required mathematical and astronomical learning, it often followed that such a competent scholar was called "a fortune teller".  Doctor Witt "cast nativities", and was called a conjuror; while Christopher Lehman, who was a scholar and a friend of Witt, and could cast nativities, and did them for all of his own nine children, but never for hire, was called a notary public, a surveyor, and a gentleman.

 

The persistence of these sources in identifying Witt with natural magic is significant. And in fact, Witt was probably among that small but significant group of distinguished individuals known as "cunning folk". As English historian Owen Davies explains in his book Popular Magic, Cunning-folk in English History:

 

The cunning element of cunning-folk comes from the Anglo-Saxon cunnan, meaning to know. Wizard similarly derives from the Old English wis, meaning wise, so can be seen as a variant of wise-man. Both definitions tell us something fundamental about how these people were perceived. They were individuals who stood out in society for possessing more knowledge than those around them, knowledge that was acquired either from a supernatural source, from an innate, hereditary ability, or from being able to understand writing.

 

The reference to writing is interesting, but I'll not pursue it here, not just yet. However, and to continue, Witt is widely believed to have been a doctor specializing in herbal medicine -- which is why a recent discovery by Joel Fry is of such great interest. Working with a Commonplace Book kept by William Bartram (son of John Bartram), Joel came across a reference, in William Bartram's handwriting, to an herbal formula which Bartram attributed to Christopher Witt. He noted this down as the "star pill" formula, and then gave the recipe.*

 

The ingredients of Witt's Star Pill formula appear to be as follows: "colicynth" (probably colocynthus citrullus); "gamb" (possibly gamboge, or garcinia hanbury); and "ol mentha", (possibly oleum menthae, or essential oil of mint).  The fourth and final ingredient in this formula, written here as "Fenicis" is probably fennel, whose botanical name is foeniculum vulgare.  Fennel is a carminative herb, and possibly operating in conjunction with mint, might be present to ameliorate the potentially toxic effects of the main ingredients.

 

These four ingredients are first prepared in some way not specified by the formula, or have already been so prepared, and are then combined with three parts (indicated in the formula by "xxx") "syr", (possibly indicating a syrup), "enough to make the whole into a Mass for Pills".  Witt's formula (as reported by William Bartram) continues: "Divid [divide] it into 24 gr. pcs. each of which divide into 4 pills.  Dose 3 Pills, lye 2 hours on the left side to prevent being sick.  This most excellent, to purge off Water.".

 

The formula can thus be divided into six parts: 1. the initiation of the process (indicated  by the opening word of the formula, "take"); 2. a list of ingredients and their proportions; 3. the mixing of ingredients and forming of the pills; 4. dosage ("dose 3 Pills");  5. special instructions for the patient ("lye 2 hours on the left side"); and finally, 6. a clear indication of the efficacy of the pills ("most excellent to purge off water").   

 

At some point I may want to revisit this subject, to describe the formula ingredients in greater detail. I present it here, however, as a tantalizing fragment pointing to Witt's activity as herbalist, and to the Bartram family's continuing relationship with him.

 

*In a personal communication dated 27 October 2011, Joel Fry suggested that if I were to publish the star pill formula, I use the following credit:

 

Private collection, John Bartram Association, Bartram's Garden digital copy

 

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More Kelpius

The "Kelpius Cave" of legend. The monument visible at right was erected by AMORC (Ancient Mystical Order Rosae Crucis). The group dedicated the monument to Kelpius, in recognition of the deep historical relationship between Kelpius and the Rosicrucian community.

 

 

Okay, maybe the Kelpius thread on this blog has a little more life remaining than I'd thought. I've mentioned Jim Green at the Library Company in a previous post, but failed to mention that Jim has been very supportive of the Kelpius Society. He's hosted meetings and programs of TKS, gathered Kelpius-related materials in the collections of the Library Company and displayed them there, and has always been responsive to requests for information or guidance in doing research on Kelpius. My aforementioned meeting with Jim involved a project I was attempting to organize that would explore the multi-faceted Kelpius story in conjunction with scholars, museum professionals, librarians, archivists, and interested others, resulting in an evolving schedule of programming -- exhibits, symposia, special events -- that would tell that story in more detail, and with more authority than has been generally available to the public.

 

To that end, we organized a meeting which was hosted by Dan Richter, director of the McNeil Center for Early American Studies (MCEAS) at the University of Pennsylvania. Here's the major portion of the letter of invitation I sent out prior to that meeting, which provides an outline of the scope and the potential for an in-depth exploration of the Kelpius story. I should add that the project was initially conceived as a transatlantic exhibit project with counterparts in Germany, as I note in the first paragraph of the letter:

 

Dear Friends and Colleagues,

 

During the past few months I've met with a number of you, and reached out to others, to discuss a project that we at the Kelpius Society are planning with a group of scholars and art historians located in Bonn, Germany, that would be devoted to Johannes Kelpius and his community. Our ostensible, initial objective had been more narrowly focused on developing a trans-Atlantic exhibit (with related programming) that would address Kelpius's early years and education in Transylvania and his later activities in Germany before emigrating to North America, while we for our part would clarify the historical experience of the Kelpius community on this side of the Atlantic, touching on the significance of that group in the historical development of Philadelphia and on related matters.

 

As you know, Kelpius as historical figure suggests many and varied subjects, beginning with his establishment of a utopian community along Wissahickon Creek, but incorporating diverse interests such as early music, herbalism and herbal medicine (with possible implications for the Pennsylvania German powwow tradition), art history, astronomy and astrology, pietism and Rosicrucianism, early American millennial movements, alchemy and divination, and so forth. In addition, the Kelpius narrative may also touch the broader domains of Native American studies, German and German-American studies, and religious studies. Given the scholarly and varied

professional identities of Kelpius and his followers, and that they maintained ongoing communications with friends and colleagues in Europe, their history may also align with contemporary scholarly interest in the more encompassing area of Atlantic studies.

 

This broad array of topics — and there may well be others not mentioned here — I think suggests the potential richness of a more systematic exploration and presentation of Kelpius at this time. And of course, there is also the broadly folkloric dimension of Kelpius, who, popularly known in his legendary role as "Wizard of the Wissahickon", is a significant component of the more "fabulous" or legendary aspect of Philadelphia history and culture.

 

I'm providing this excerpt here to indicate the scope of a possible Kelpius studies project, and also to affirm that there has been wide interest and support for this idea among the professional community. As I mentioned, the meeting was well-attended, the discussion was productive, and a shared feeling of opportunity and expectation resulted from that exchange.

 

In the intervening period between that meeting and this writing, I relocated to Vermont and found it more difficult than I'd anticipated to continue with the project, what with packing, moving, and resettling. However, I'll make an effort to revive the project in coming months.

 

 

 

 

 

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Kelpius Postscript

Newton in 1702 by Godfrey Kneller

 

 

I feel that this thread of posts has run its course for now, though I may decide to return to the subject in future posts. Frankly, I'd not intended to take the story this far, and in as great a detail as I've done here despite the fact that there's quite a bit more to write about Kelpius and the other distinguished members of his group, as well as the contemporary Kelpius Society as well.

 

That said, I would add one more thing here. I met about two years ago with Jim Green, head archivist at the Library Company in Philadelphia (an organization founded by Ben Franklin and associates, by the way). At that meeting, which was devoted to a discussion of Kelpius, Jim took a very old volume down from  a bookshelf in his office. That book turned out to be a copy of Isaac Newton's Principia Mathematica. Jim explained that the Library Company had recently obtained a batch of books, and this volume was among them. And it appears that this particular book may have been the very first copy of the Principia to have been brought to North America.

 

But how did the book come to Philadelphia? Jim explained that Anthony Grafton, preeminent Renaissance historian and historian of ideas, had become interested in the book. Grafton's faculty profile on the Princeton University website notes that his, "special interests lie in the cultural history of Renaissance Europe, the history of books and readers, the history of scholarship and education in the West from Antiquity to the 19th century, and the history of science from Antiquity to the Renaissance." According to Jim Green, Grafton has been investigating marginalia – the notes written in the margins of books by their owners – and along with that, has been doing close and careful analyses of that handwriting. Having examined quite a bit of material from the 17th century, he's often able to identify who might have owned a given book, and who might have written the margin notes. To the point -- Grafton believes that the marginalia in the Library Company's copy of the Principia were written by none other than Johann Jakob Zimmerman! This was Zimmerman’s copy of the Principia!

 

Recall that Zimmerman was the erstwhile leader of the Kelpius group, but had died at London just prior to the scheduled departure for America. Tracing the provenance of the book, Grafton surmises that it was likely brought here along with a small collection of other books by Zimmerman's widow, who stayed on and sailed with Kelpius following the death of her husband. The Library Company has acquired those books.

 

Recall too that Zimmerman was a highly educated man, as was everyone in his group, but Zimmerman had a special expertise in comets, and in astronomy more generally. In his work, he combined careful observation within a framework of science, but translated his observations into religious or astrological terms. This wasn't unusual during Zimmerman's lifetime, which was a transitional moment in the development of modern science. In fact, looked at from the other side, Newton himself maintained an interest in alchemy, and is the author, alongside the Principia, of a number of alchemical writings and notes -- some of which, by the way, are held in the collections of the Chemical Heritage Society at Philadelphia.  

 

I've reconstructed my conversation with Jim Green from memory, and believe I've rendered it accurately. I should add that at this point I don’t know whether Anthony Grafton has been able to definitively verify that Zimmerman was the owner of the book discussed here.

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The Kelpius Society

1871 Map of Fairmount Park showing approximate location of Kelpius Site

 

Once I'd learned a little more about Kelpius, I determined to find out whether anyone else was interested too. In retrospect, I'd say that I had vastly underestimated this interest. As I soon learned, given the widespread legendary status of Kelpius in the Philadelphia region (and beyond), some people there had in fact formed and organized a Kelpius Society. Indeed, one of their members had recently published a book about Kelpius and his community.That book is Woman in the Wilderness by Jonathan Scott, who as I say was then a member of the Kelpius Society (hereafter referred to as "TKS"). I right away got a copy of the book out of the Philadelphia Free Library, and read it. I also looked for and found contact information for TKS and got in touch with them. And then, of course, I joined the organization and later signed on to their site committee.

 

A word about "Woman of the Wilderness". I'd mentioned in my most recent post that Kelpius and his group were inclined toward mysticism, and believed that the Second Coming was imminent. A key text for them, apart from the work of Boehme and others, was the very last book of the Bible – the Book of Revelation. Chapter 12 of that book has a reference to the "Woman of the Wilderness", or sometimes, "Woman of the Apocalypse", who moreover is often understood to be Mary, the mother of God, but situated within the dramatic and apocalyptic setting of Revelations. In any case, the term "Woman of the Wilderness" was often used to refer to Kelpius and his followers, possibly due to their millennialism.  But they did not apply that name to themselves.

 

I should quickly add, with all possible emphasis, that TKS is not a religious organization, though individual members may indeed belong to one or another religions or churches. Nor is it a "secret society" of any kind, though some members do indeed belong to one or another of the contemporary Rosicrucian organizations. My view as president – and yes! I did assume that role several years after becoming a member – was to adhere very strictly to a more secular vision, and I was careful to represent and promote TKS as strictly an historical and cultural organization.

 

At that time, TKS maintained an active meeting schedule, presented various programs around the city and region, and had an active publications and research component. In addition, TKS had identified a site, located in what is now Fairmount Park, as the site of the original Kelpius settlement, and was actively seeking resources and other means to develop and interpret the site. In fact, TKS was successful, after several years of careful preparation and persistent advocacy, in having an historic marker placed at the entrance to the site by the Pennsylvania Historical and Museums Commission.

 

TKS had other goals as well – to establish and maintain a botanical herb garden as much like the original as possible, establish effective  interpretive signage throughout the site, further develop the site for visitors by establishing and maintaining a system of trails, along with sitting or rest areas, and schedule regular programming at the site itself. TKS also provided tours of the site and surrounding area of Wissahickon Park, which is rich in history, and made the tours available to all interested parties at their request. Our goal was to promote the site, but also to educate the public about Kelpius and the other members of his community, who in our view had made significant contributions to the historical development of the city.

 

As I mentioned in my first post on this subject, people think of Ben Franklin when they think of Philadelphia. That's fine. Franklin was a major historical figure. But what about Kelpius? His utopian vision was hardly realized – he died young, and his community gradually dispersed following his death. :One of those followers, Conrad Beissel, had emigrated from Germany and sailed to Philadelphia in order to join Kelpius, but arrived after Kelpius had already died. Beissel moved on, settling here and there until finally he established a sectarian community on the banks of the Cocalico Creek, in what is now Ephrata, Pennsylvania. He, like Kelpius and his followers, adopted the life of a hermit, and he too devoted himself to devout preparation for the Second Coming. However, unlike that of Kelpius, Beisell's community grew, and survived. Ephrata Cloister is now an historic site operated and maintained by the Pennsylvania Historical and Museums Commission.

 

The Kelpius website address is kelpius.org.

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