Monday, September 25, 2023

A History of Trinity and St. Philip's Cathedral: Slavery, Racism, and Renewal in "God's House"

 A History of Trinity and St. Philp's Cathedral: Slavery, Racism, and Renewal in "God's House"

Address delivered by Anne Calloway, Historian

Diocese of Newark Racial History Committee 

Stations of Reparations Service, March 25, 2023

St. Peter’s Church, Freehold, New Jersey

Edited by Jolyon G. R. Pruszinski


Hello everyone. Thank you for joining us today. I just want to preface this by saying I’m not a “legal beagle” historian, but when your bishop sends you a letter out of nowhere and says you have to do something, you just do it! So, I got a letter from Bishop Carlye and she said, “I want you to serve on the racial history committee.” I said, “What does that mean?” She [said], “You’re going to do the history of Trinity and St. Philip’s.” And I said, “Ohhhhh!” 

Now I’ve been a member of Trinity Cathedral for over fifty years. I’ll be eighty-seven this year. I’ve been an Episcopalian since 1936… So, I’ve seen a lot of history. I originate from the Diocese of Los Angeles. I attended a small Community Church. Our black churches were always named St. Martin, St. Philip, or St. Barnabas. I attended St. Martin. And back in those days, we too had priests in charge and we also had… supply priests... So, that means this is something we’ve been going through a lot, okay?[1] At any rate, I came to New Jersey and I joined the Church of the Epiphany. That was the first Black church I joined that wasn’t named St. Martin, St. Philip’s, or St. Barnabas. And when I left there, I joined Trinity Cathedral. 

 

In 1733 Newark suffered a torrential rainstorm that lasted several days. It was after this storm that Colonel Josiah Ogden, a faithful member of the First… Presbyterian Church (which is our neighbor down the street), hitched up his horse and harvested his wheat. If not harvested the wheat would have spoiled. Unfortunately, it was Sunday and the word of this deed quickly got around. Colonel Ogden was disciplined for Sabbath-breaking. Ogden, the son of Elizabeth Swaine, did not take this harsh criticism and punishment lightly. The controversy was long and bitter. Finally, Colonel Ogden withdrew from the church stating “I’ll have a church to attend if I have to build one myself.”[2]

 

Thus, Trinity Church became Trinity Church. And that’s the beginning of Trinity and St. Philip’s Cathedral.

Colonel Ogden was a very rich man. He… owned… mines… [including] one in Boonton [and one in Ringwood], which [he jointly] owned [with various family members][3]…  I’m still trying to figure out [which] is which… [in] this historical game … You read [about something] and the next week you go and you read [about] it again [and] it’s something totally different [in a different source]! Because we’ve had wheat, corn, and tobacco [recorded in different sources as the crop] that Colonel Ogden had, and nobody knows which one it really was. So I just go with wheat and call it a day. And the reason I do is because on the spire of our Steeple, there is a [sheaf of] wheat… that was… carved there, in remembrance of Colonel Ogden because he actually was the first founder of Trinity Church.

Trinity Church has such a rich history. But when you think about slavery… it is a proven fact… that slavery was apparent and slavery was there. And we know that Colonel Ogden didn’t take that wheat out of those fields himself and take it to his barn. We also know that Colonel Ogden did not work his own mines. So all that was done by slaves. 

We also know that the balcony that was built in the cathedral, was not built to house extra communicants, but was built for the slaves of the owners who owned the pews in the Cathedral. Because, you see, they bought pews. They paid money. They took care of those pews. And, of course, they had to buy the box that the slaves [sat in too]… So if you ever come to our church and look up at our balcony, you will see that it’s like boxes in the theater. And each slave owner owned one of those boxes where his slaves sat. So the church welcomed the slaves and their families. They baptized over a thousand children, five hundred and-some-odd families, during that time. But they condoned slavery. That’s very interesting. They condoned it, but they welcomed you. 


Figure 1: Slave balconies at Trinity Cathedral, Trinity Cathedral Church, Rector and Broad Streets, Newark, Essex County, NJ HABS NJ,7-NEARK,4- (sheet 1 of 10)National Parks Service, Historic American Buildings Survey (HABS), marked as public domain, more details on Wikimedia Commons


And so the rich history of Trinity [is]… so huge that it would take me three and a half days ([and] we’re not going to be here that long) to tell you everything that I found. But I would like to invite you to something that I found very interesting, and that is the exposé Dr. Pruszinski has on your New Jersey reparations website.[4] The exposé he’s done of Trinity and St. Philip’s Cathedral is absolutely on point and absolutely beautiful, and I invite you to read it because it is your history. You see, at that time, Trinity and St. Philip’s was under the diocese of New Jersey. There was no Newark diocese. Everybody was [in] one place. And so I also found that many of the other churches had slaves too [and] many of the ministers had slaves. So slaves were everywhere. I tell you, we [Episcopalians] were very powerful people. I think we still are. At any rate, the slavery continued. 

Trinity and St. Philip’s was built in [1743], and it was finished in one year. “It was made of hewn stone. It was 63 feet long by 45 feet wide, 27 feet high. The steeple was 95 feet high.”[5] It is now 190 feet high today. And it’s twenty feet square, so you can see how big it is. I was sharing with Father George this morning the reason that the steeple can be seen from an airplane or any place you come [from] as you come into Newark, is [that] back in the day they were fighting the [Presbyterians]. And so they built that (this is Josiah Ogden now)… they built that steeple [so high, as a sort of competitive threat] to let the [Presbyterians] know they were out of business in Newark… I found that to be very funny and [so] I [said] “let me share that with you today.” 

Colonel Ogden had a [cousin][6] who was a minister… and he almost became the first bishop of New Jersey… There were three times that he was put up for bishop, and three times he was voted down, and each time [it] was for the same reason: they said he was too Methodist. So I said, “Well, gee, what was going on in those days?” Politics in the church, right? “He was too Methodist. We can’t have that,” because there was a lot of rivalry between the churches at the time. There’s a lot of history on that as well. 


Figure 2: Rev. Uzal Ogden (cropped), brother of Josiah Ogden, from Wheeler, William Ogden, 1837-1900. cn;
Van Alstyne, Lawrence, b. 1839, ed; Ogden, Charles Burr, 1855- joint ed, 
marked as public domain, more details on Wikimedia Commons

“Colonel Ogden died before the Revolutionary War and was buried somewhere in the Old Burying-ground.”[7] Now the old burial ground, of course, where slaves were buried as well, was the grounds behind 24 Rector Street, which was [where] the Cathedral house… was built, and it was covered over and became the parking lot. So once we sold the building to the New Jersey Performing Arts Center we had to go and exhume all the bodies. And Jim Churchman, maybe some of you… know the Churchman family who [were] the first black undertaker family (and still very much in business today) in the city of Newark; he [Jim Churchman] took it upon himself to get all the paperwork that was necessary [and] all the history that was necessary, [to] dig up all of those graves, all of those bodies. Some are in columbariums behind the Cathedral and some are buried in Fairmont Cemetery in Newark,[8] and that is where Josiah Ogden is now, in Newark in the Fairmont Cemetery. 

My most important piece for today is simple: that out of… slavery always comes a phoenix. And I’m also very happy to share this with you today because now we can’t say anything about Trinity without speaking about St. Philip’s because we are one church. And so when you speak of one, you must give the other one as much credit. 

There were several slaves who were communicants of Trinity Church [Newark]. They were of British origin, because most of the slaves came from the islands or from Africa, and interesting[ly] enough, you will find it in a lot of our Black churches, Episcopal churches, that they are predominantly island people. So when you go in, you have to know the dialect… so you understand what everyone is talking about. The names of the founders of St. Philip’s Church, [the historically Black church formed by former congregants at Trinity, Newark] confirmed their British origin: Rector, the Reverend James H. Tyng. The Reverend Tyng was, at the time, the first rector at Saint Philip’s and he was also the headmaster of Newark Academy. I don’t know if any of you know about Newark Academy, but it is a huge… campus now in Livingston, New Jersey across from the mall. It [at times has had as many as] three thousand students, but Mr. Tyng was the principal and the headmaster then. And he was also the CFO and CEO and all the other things. And [the local St. Philip’s church tradition holds that] Mr. Tyng was a black man.[9] Interestingly enough as I went into the historical [materials at] Newark Academy I never found his name listed. That’s not unusual. But he’s in so many other places that we know that he was there. 

[Among the founders of St. Philip’s were] also Nicholas Duffin, Samuel Thompkins, John and Peter O’Fake, Elias Ray, and George Mitchell. Now these all sound like English people don’t they? Those were the… names that the slaves took because they took their owners’ names… and the Anglican ancestry can be traced. [St. Philip’s… became a mission in 1847, and] Trinity Church made the difference for St. Philip’s. Trinity Church, because of Josiah Ogden and the other people that worked with him, was a very rich church... They had a lot of property. They owned everything in Newark. And they also supported any missions that they opened and quite a few of the missions, [which became] churches in the Diocese of Newark, were founded through Trinity Church. And they also supported them until they became a parish. And so, when St. Philip’s became a parish, of course, Trinity said, “you’re on your own now. Move it, we’ve somebody else we’ve got to help.” And so that is how Trinity became [critical for the formation of St. Philip’s]…

“The first charter [for Trinity itself] was granted [in] 1746 and a year later was suspended. The present charter was granted in 1748 by George II.”[10] And… the original church structure has been changed because there was a guy named George Washington that came along, and he needed a place for his troops in the hospital. And interestingly enough, the military park [which] was called a training ground, [was] what Josiah Ogden owned, and that’s how Trinity got there. It was there before the military park was a park. It was a training ground. And so he said, well we’re going to put our church right here. It wasn’t even supposed to go there. It wasn’t even supposed to be built the way it is because it wasn’t enough room. It’s one acre with this big church on it, but they put it up anyhow. They said, “we’re gonna do it.” 

Now, I wonder who built that church? Again, an unanswered question. That’s why I put it to you that way. It wasn’t Josiah, he was not out there pushing the wheelbarrow, I’m sure. And neither were his communicants. So we know what happened. Some of those slaves built that church. That’s what we’re trying to find out now: Who they were, and how they were brought in. … I’m telling you this historian thing is a trip. I hope I live long enough to keep going, but I’m telling you, I don’t know. It is unbelievable. [Now] to make everything come together: 

 

The original church building was completed in [1743]. The site of the church, according to tradition, was granted by the town of Newark in the Training Place (Military Park). Its original structure was destroyed by fire in 1804, was rebuilt and refurbished in 1810. Its white steeple stood 168 feet facing Broad Street. The church became the cathedral of Newark Diocese in 1942. In 1966 it was united with St. Philip’s Episcopal Church, and became known as Trinity and St. Philip’s Cathedral in 1992.[11]

 

There is so much history… I find it with the New Jersey Historical Society. I find it in other churches. I have gone into other churches and found Trinity’s history. It is very sweet. I call her God’s house because it was built by the hands of his people. Because it has been destroyed and it’s still coming back up. It has been empty and it still lives. And I believe that Trinity Cathedral was especially anointed by God because it is now and always has been, but now especially, [one of] the oldest Episcopal Church building[s] in the United States of America.



[1] A “Priest in Charge” does not have long-term tenure like a Rector, but only a brief contractual term. “Supply priests” provide even shorter-term leadership. Often, having to rely on short-term leadership solutions like these has been indicative of a lack of support from the Diocesan administrative structures for historically Black churches.

[2] Glenn G. Geisheimer, “Trinity Episcopal Church,” at http://newarkreligion.com/episcopal/trinity.php (last accessed October 4, 2023). 

[3] And other business partners.

[5] Geisheimer, “Trinity Episcopal Church.”

[6] Rev. Uzal Ogden.

[7] Geisheimer, “Trinity Episcopal Church.”

[8] Geisheimer, “Trinity Episcopal Church.”

[9] Unfortunately Rev. Tyng was not in fact a Black man. There is no record of Rev. James H. Tyng in the scholarship on early Black Episcopalian clergy, and he served as the founding rector for several white congregations both in New Jersey and elsewhere at a time when a Black man holding that position was effectively unheard of. He was in fact the brother of the comparatively better-known Dr. Stephen H. Tyng. For a portrait of Dr. Stephen H. Tyng see https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Stephen_H._Tyng.jpg (last accessed October 3, 2023). The Rev. James Tyng was part of the early paternalistic oversight of St. Philip’s, Newark from the Diocese of New Jersey. Bishop Doane’s convention address of 1848 refers to his “disinterested zeal” in gathering the congregation, likely a reference to his ministry there being to those not of his own race. See: The Rt. Rev. George Washington Doane, D.D., LL.D., Diocese of New Jersey: The Episcopal Address to the Sixty-Fifth Annual Convention; in Grace Church, Newark, Ascension Day, June 1, 1848 (Burlington: Edmund Morris, at the Missionary Press, 1848), 10).

[10] Geisheimer, “Trinity Episcopal Church.”

[11] Geisheimer, “Trinity Episcopal Church.”

Monday, September 18, 2023

Jacob Van Wickle (1770-1854): Middlesex County Judge, Notorious Enslaver, and Respected Episcopalian Lay Leader

James Gigantino, in his recent book[1] about the gradual abolition era in New Jersey,[2] describes one enslaver’s actions as especially heinous: Middlesex County Judge Jacob Van Wickle, who used his standing as a judge to facilitate an illegal kidnapping and slave trading ring for his own family’s profit.[3] A number of scholars[4] and public history projects[5] have lately documented many aspects of his actions.

Judge Jacob Van Wickle, adapted artist's rendering by Jolyon Pruszinski of detail from
Jacob Van Wickle, by George H. Durie (1841), Reproduced in Louisiana Portraits,
comp. Mrs. Thomas Nelson Carter Bruns (New Orleans: National Society of the
Colonial Dames of America in the State of Louisiana, 1975), 292. 

One largely neglected part of this story, however, is that Van Wickle acted as he did while serving as a committed and influential leader at St. Peter’s Episcopal Church in Spotswood, New Jersey. Neither he, nor his immediate church community saw anything wrong with what he was doing from the standpoint of Episcopal faith practice at the time. He was never removed from church leadership and there is no record of any church censure for his actions. In fact, other leaders from his church helped to cover up his actions. What he did is not only appalling in retrospect, but the public outcry at the time shows that many, at least outside of his church, considered it a sensational transgression even then.

            In 1795 Van Wickle married Sarah Morgan and thereafter became inextricably connected with Morgan family financial concerns related to plantation ownership in Pointe Coupee Parish Louisiana. His professional life of many decades was spent as a judge in Middlesex County, New Jersey. 

During this time, the New Jersey legislature passed its gradual abolition legislation in 1804, limiting the number of years enslaved persons born after that date could remain enslaved to at most 25 years (for men).[6] Soon after, in 1808, federal law ended the legal importation of enslaved persons to the United States.[7] One effect of this change was to increase the volume of domestic inter-state slave trading, since no additional enslaved persons could be brought into the U.S. This limitation on supply, combined with the increase in interstate slave trading, created a problem for enslaved persons in New Jersey. They were now in the very great danger of being sold or moved to states that had no gradual abolition law and where their promise of ultimate emancipation would not be upheld. The New Jersey legislature responded to this issue by passing further legislation in 1812 preventing the sale out-of-state of enslaved persons without their express consent.[8] This legislation, combined with the gradual abolition law, depressed the sale value of the enslaved in New Jersey markets since their enslavement was legally temporary and they were not easily transferrable to other markets. Meanwhile, the federal ban on importation had dramatically increased the value of already enslaved persons in the South. Van Wickle and his family saw this valuation discrepancy between the local slave markets as an opportunity for massive profit through arbitrage.

            The consent required by law in New Jersey to transfer an enslaved person out-of-state had to be verified by a judge of the county Court of Common Pleas. In Middlesex County, that was Van Wickle. His family members and co-conspirators canvassed their contacts, including many politically connected individuals in the state, soliciting the sale of enslaved Blacks. When they wanted to acquire more Blacks, they engaged their henchmen in kidnapping, deceitful recruiting through promises of paid labor, and by the purchase of imprisoned free blacks being held by local jails for being apprehended without papers. They kept the entrapped at the Van Wickle compound in South River, which was described by one visitor as “like a garrison.”[9] Then Van Wickle would use the authority of his office to forge papers of acquiescence to allow the export of these enslaved Blacks, under color of law, to the Morgan family plantations in Louisiana. He even claimed that the cries of infants constituted consent.[10]

Van Wickle was never indicted, even though some of his indicted co-conspirators were found guilty after public outcry came to a head in 1818.[11] However, the sentences these co-conspirators received were exceedingly mild. Citizen petitions and legislative action[12] put an end to the operation of the ring, but not before at least 137 enslaved and free Blacks had been removed from the state against their will and sold into a lifetime of slavery by Van Wickle and his cronies.[13]

Van Wickle’s notoriety among slavery researchers is one thing. Less well known is the fact that he was a devoted and celebrated Episcopalian and an integral member of St. Peter’s Episcopal Church in Spotswood, New Jersey for well over half a century, including the entire period of the operation of the “ring.” 

Van Wickle was baptized as an infant,[14]  but it seems unlikely that this was a pro forma baptism since as a very young adult[15] he was already serving on the vestry of St. Peter’s. This began coincident with his older brother Evert’s service as church clerk in 1787.[16] Spotswood was very clearly their family church. Jacob’s wife and children were later baptized at St. Peter’s, and he and his family are listed first on the parish list of communicants in 1823.[17] Such pride of place on the list indicates that he was held in high regard in the church, even in the immediate aftermath of the slavery ring controversy. He served on the vestry periodically during his time at St. Peter’s, but most consistently held the office of church warden starting in 1810. He continued  in this role without interruption to the time of his death in 1854.[18]  In summary, he was a very central member of the church lay leadership well before the slave ring affair, during it, and long after it. Just before his death he gave a very large sum of money for the building of the second church building,[19] which is the building in use by St. Peter’s today.


St. Peters Church Spotswood, photo by Ben McLaughlin
modified by Jolyon Pruszinski, CC BY-SA 3.0

He, his wife, and many of his children are buried in the graveyard,[20] an exclusive honor typically allowed only to those who were highly regarded in the church and involved heavily in its financial support. The funerial entry made in the parish register at the time of his death, likely by the rector, reads: per multos annos sacrorum ustor dem in aedem sacram,[21] or “for the sake of many years of sacrifice I, the cremator, commit [van Wickle] to a holy grave.” This note may explain the rationale for interring his remains in the particularly honored burial place of the church graveyard. 

The honor in which he was held, and the leadership he was allowed to exercise, were not a result of Van Wickle’s actions in the ring being unknown to his church community. The court case was very high profile, being both initiated by printed newspaper allegations and covered extensively thereafter.[22] Moreover, Van Wickle’s fellow church leaders actually helped him cover up his crimes. A former St. Peter’s vestryman, Cornelius Johnson,[23] testified before a Justice of the Peace that he was “well acquainted with the house of Jacob Van Wickle” and the condition of the “colored people” there, claiming that he “never saw anything like a garrison or a guard, or cruel treatment, but the reverse, they all appeared to have their liberty and to be well-satisfied.”[24] His testimony, and that of five other men, was taken by Oliver Johnston,[25] who was a then- and long-serving, vestryman at St. Peter’s Episcopal Church.[26] Johnston submitted this testimony to the New Brunswick Fredonian for printing alongside Van Wickle’s aforementioned public statement disavowing any illegal activity. 

It is clear from the complicity of fellow church leaders in the cover-up, and from his seamless participation in St. Peter’s leadership before, during, and after the affair, that Jacob Van Wickle’s horrific actions against free and enslaved African-Americans in New Jersey for the sake of his own family’s profit were not widely considered untoward or unchristian in the Episcopal Church in New Jersey at the time.

 

Jolyon G. R. Pruszinski, Ph.D.

Reparations Commission Research Historian

Episcopal Diocese of New Jersey



[1] James J. Gigantino, II, The Ragged Road to Abolition: Slavery and Freedom in New Jersey, 1775-1865 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2015).

[2] That is, the period in New Jersey after the passing of the 1804 bill which “gradually” abolished slavery (children born into slavery after the passing of the bill had to serve as a slave 21 years if female or 25 years if male before the law required that they be freed) and 1865 when the ratification by the states of the 13th amendment to the U.S. Constitution made slavery illegal except as punishment for a crime throughout the United States.

[3] Also known as “Van Wicklen,” “Van Winkle,” “Van Sickle,” etc.

[4] Some excellent documentation of primary sources related to Van Wickle and the slave ring are available through the Rutgers University Scarlet and Black Research Center which hosts New Jersey slavery records. See “Jacob Van Wickle (1770-1854)” at https://records.njslavery.org/s/doc/item/1284, accessed September 26, 2023. See also Francis Pingeon, “An Abominable Business: The New Jersey Slave Trade, 1818,” New Jersey History 109.3 (1991): 15-35; James J. Gigantino, II, “Trading in Jersey Souls: New Jersey and the Interstate Slave Trade,” Pennsylvania History: A Journal of Mid-Atlantic Studies 77.3 (2010): 281-302; Calvin Schermerhorn, The Business of Slavery and the Rise of American Capitalism (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2015), 69-80; Graham Russell Gao Hodges, Black New Jersey: 1664 to the Present Day(New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2019), 79; and Gigantino, The Ragged Road to Abolition, 157-160.

[5] See the presentation from the Lost Souls Memorial Project (“Inside the Van Wickle’s Slave Ring: ‘Exposing a Scene of Villany’” at https://lostsoulsmemorialnj.org/wp-content/uploads/Inside-Van-Wickles-Slave-Ring.pdf, accessed September 25, 2023); the material published by the East Brunswick Historical Society (“Van Wickle and Morgan Slave Ring Leaders East Brunswick, NJ (1818)” at https://purehistory.org/van-wickle-and-morgan-slave-ring-leaders-east-brunswick-new-jersey-1818/, accessed September 26, 2023); “The 1619 Project” article by Anne C. Bailey, “They Sold Human Beings Here,” New York Times, February 12, 2020 at https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2020/02/12/magazine/1619-project-slave-auction-sites.html, accessed September 26, 2023; the Rutgers University Scarlet and Black Research Center article “Removal to Louisiana: The Van Wickle Slave Ring,” at https://scarletandblack.rutgers.edu/archive/exhibits/show/hub-city/removal-to-louisiana, accessed September 26, 2023); Regina Fitzpatrick “New Jersey State Archives Van Wickle Slave Ring Free Digital Collection,” at https://www.njstatelib.org/news/vanwickleslaveringcollection/, accessed September 26, 2023; and the State of New Jersey, “Documents at the New Jersey State Archives relating to the Van Wickle Slave Ring,” at https://www.nj.gov/state/darm/WebCatalogPDF/VanWickle/VanWickleTableOfContents.pdf, accessed September 26, 2023.

[6] “An act for the Gradual Abolition of Slavery,” February 15, 1804, Acts 28th G.A. 2nd sitting. https://dspace.njstatelib.org/xmlui/handle/10929/68964, accessed September 26, 2023.

[7] See “An Act to prohibit the importation of Slaves into any port or place within the jurisdiction of the United States, from and after the first day of January, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and eight,” passed March 2, 1807, at https://govtrackus.s3.amazonaws.com/legislink/pdf/stat/2/STATUTE-2-Pg426.pdf, accessed September 26, 2023.

[8] “An act supplemental to the act entitled ‘An act respecting slaves,’” at https://www.nj.gov/state/darm/WebCatalogPDF/VanWickle/1812_An%20Act%20Supplemental%20to%20the%20Act%20entitled%20An%20Act%20Respecting%20Slaves_29%20January%201812.pdf, accessed September 26, 2023.

[9] As reported in the Philadelphia Franklin Gazette, May 22, 1818.

[10] Gigantino, The Ragged Road to Abolition, 158.

[11] It is possible that this was due to his practice of attributing ownership of the enslaved Blacks held on his property to his family members rather than to himself. It is also possible that he was not indicted simply because he was a sitting judge and such an indictment would have tarnished the reputation of the justice system generally. But he also turned on his fellow conspirators and testified against Charles Morgan and others in the ring in the trial, all the while publicly claiming that nothing illegal had been done. See Gigantino, The Ragged Road to Abolition, 160. Van Wickle’s public letter to this effect was published in the New Brunswick Freedonian on August 13, 1818.

[12] “An act to prohibit the exportation of slaves or people of color out of this State,” November 4, 1818, at https://www.nj.gov/state/darm/WebCatalogPDF/VanWickle/1818_An%20act%20to%20prohibit%20the%20exportation%20of%20slaves%20or%20servants%20of%20color%20out%20of%20this%20State_5%20November%201818.pdf, accessed September 26, 2023.

[13] According to the documentation of The Lost Souls Memorial Project.

[14] Beyond of course the record of his infant baptism on June 24, 1770 (less than two months after birth); See L. Irving Reichner, “Nicasius de Sille Bible,” Publications of the Genealogical Society of Pennsylvania, 7.2 (1919): 128.

[15] Today he would be considered a minor (sixteen or seventeen) at the age when he began to serve on the vestry of St. Peter’s. Beatrice Grace, History of St. Peter’s Episcopal Church, Spotswood, New Jersey (Spotswood, NJ: St. Peter’s Episcopal Church, 1956), 78.

[16] He was the first clerk listed in the vestry minutes according to Grace, History of St. Peter’s, 12. At the close of the eighteenth century, the church had also purchased a home from Evert to be used as the rectory; Grace, History of St. Peter’s, 14.

[17] According to Macy’s notes on the parish register in Harry Macy, Jr., “The Van Wicklen/Van Wickle Family: Including its Frisian Origin and Connections to Minnerly and Kranchheyt,” The New York Genealogical and Biographical Record 128.4 (1997): 241-51.

[18] Grace, History of St. Peter’s, 73.

[19] Grace, History of St. Peter’s, 20.

[20] Macy, “The Van Wicklen/Van Wickle Family,” 241-51. 

[21] According to the flawed transcription reported in John Van Wicklin’s “Family of Jacob^5 Charles Van Wickle,” (https://facultysites.houghton.edu/JohnVanWicklin/Home%20page/Genealogy/FamPages/jacob^5charles.htm, accessed September 24, 2023), the parish register entry reads per nultos annos sacrorum oustordem in aedem sacram but this cannot be entirely correct. It is unlikely that the priest knew enough Latin to make the note but mistakenly wrote “nultos” for what should clearly be multos. The text “oustordem” may be a correct transcription but should probably be understood as ustor dem and could indicate a variant spelling used by the priest.

[22] Including in The True American (Trenton, NJ), the Trenton Federalist (Trenton, NJ), The Fredonian (New Brunswick, NJ), and The Times and New-Brunswick General Advertiser (New Brunswick, NJ).

[23] Grace, History of St. Peter’s, 75.

[24] The Fredonian, New Brunswick, NJ, August 13, 1818.

[25] That is, the aforementioned Justice of the Peace.

[26] Grace, History of St. Peter’s, 76.

Friday, September 15, 2023

NEWS: First Public Session of the History of Slavery in New Jersey Committee, 9/26/23 at 6:30pm


The History of Slavery in New Jersey Committee of the New Jersey Reparations Council, convened by the New Jersey Institute for Social Justice (NJISJ), will hold its first remote public meeting on September 26, 2023 at 6:30pm, Eastern time. The Committee will share details about its work and receive input from stakeholders and community members. This will be the first of nine planned sessions.

To watch only: Visit youtube.com/@dosocialjustice

 

To comment live during the event: Register at bit.ly/NJRCPublicSession1 (link is case sensitive; copy and paste link into your browser). Commentary is limited to three minutes and should be related to the History of Slavery in New Jersey.

 

To submit longer commentary: You may write, submit audio or video, or another form of commentary to be considered by Committee members at bit.ly/NJRCPublicComment (link is case sensitive; copy and paste link into your browser).

 

If you are not able to attend live, a recording will be made available after the event on the NJISJ youtube channel: youtube.com/@dosocialjustice




Thursday, September 14, 2023

NEWS: Georgetown U. and Jesuits Commit Initial $27 Million to Reparations Fund


The Descendants Truth and Reconciliation Foundation (DTRF)[1] has recently announced commitments from Georgetown University of $10 million and from the Jesuits of $17 million in reparation for wrongs committed when slavery was legal in the United States, specifically, the 1838 sale by the Jesuits of 272 enslaved persons. The Foundation is a “first-of-its-kind initiative” involving both descendants of the enslaved, and descendants of the enslavers. According to the press release:
The contributions announced today will add to the capitalization of the Descendants Truth & Reconciliation Trust, bringing the Trust total to $42 million. Earnings from the Trust will support programming in the Foundation's three core focus areas: supporting the educational aspirations of Descendants from early childhood education through post-secondary education; investing in truth, racial healing and reconciliation in communities and organizations throughout America; and supporting elderly and infirm Descendants.[2]

Much of the reporting around this financial commitment is inaccurately referring to the transfer as a “gift.”[3] Such language perpetuates the idea that reparations are not owed, required, or a bare-minimum ethical standard, but are somehow a charitable benevolence. Especially in a religious context, reparations are penitential, designed to make restitution for and repair previous or  ongoing wrongs. Reparations are not a gift, and the language used affects whether the action actually repairs the wrongs committed. According to Monique Trusclair Maddox, the CEO of DTRF, 

These contributions from Georgetown University and the Jesuits are a clear indication of the role Jesuits and other institutions of higher education can play in supporting our mission to heal the wounds of racism in the United States, as well as a call to action for all of the Catholic Church to take meaningful steps to address the harm done through centuries of slaveholding.

The announced financial commitments are only an initial portion of the stated intention of Georgetown and the Jesuits, which is ultimately to fund the foundation at an amount of one billion dollars.

 

Jolyon G. R. Pruszinski, Ph.D.

Reparations Commission Research Historian

Episcopal Diocese of New Jersey

Monday, September 11, 2023

NEWS: Reparations for Descendants of the Enslaved Gaining Support

The State of California Reparations Task Force findings released earlier this year have received a lot of press, some of which has been referenced here.[1] But now some polling has been conducted to determine what California voters themselves think of the idea of cash reparations. Among registered voters the recently released Berkeley Institute of Government Studies poll[2] found that 28 percent favor “cash payments to the Black descendants of slaves now living in California” as reparation. Those opposed made up 59 percent of those surveyed, while 13 percent had “no opinion.” 

Much of the press surrounding this survey has emphasized the number of those polled who opposed the idea of cash reparations (a majority), however, it should be noted that a total of 41 percent of those polled not being actively opposed to the proposal is impressively high. California is no outlier either. Recent polling from the Pew Center suggests that approximately 30 percent of Americans actively support reparations for the descendants of enslaved peoples.[3]

This truly massive level of public support, though not yet constituting a democratic majority, suggests that the idea has gained serious traction in recent years, and has the potential to gain a democratic majority soon. Younger California voters are more likely to support reparations (18-29 years old: 34%), while older voters are less likely (>65 years old: %23). In fact, the percent of 18-29 year-olds not opposed to cash reparations in the Berkeley IGS poll constituted a majority at 53 percent. Seeing as how reparations for enslavers were often a part of the legal measures implemented when slavery was (even only partly) ended (including in New Jersey), the current polling represents a sea-change in opinion in just a few generations.


Jolyon G. R. Pruszinski, Ph.D.
Reparations Commission Research Historian
Episcopal Diocese of New Jersey

Monday, September 4, 2023

Sourland Region African-Americans who left the Episcopal Church

 In the aftermath of the American Revolution, many African-Americans who had been involved to some degree with the Anglican (or after the War, Episcopal) Church moved away from the denomination in New Jersey, and elsewhere. There were many reasons for this, including ongoing Episcopal support for slavery, continued horrific treatment by White enslavers, segregation of even emancipated Blacks in the church, and limited opportunities for Black leadership. These factors often were more important than the ostensible, but at best paternalistic, welcome and educational attention offered by the Episcopal Churches. Other denominations, such as Baptists and Methodists, often permitted greater freedoms of participation, and the various Black churches that were founded during the early Republic, such as the African Methodist Episcopal (AME) Church, afforded complete affirmation of Black religious leadership.

            One documented example of free Blacks choosing to leave the Episcopal Church comes from the Sourland Mountain region of New Jersey as described by Elaine Buck and Beverly Mills, founders of the Stoutsburg  Sourland African American Museum, in their recently published book If These Stones Could Talk: African American Presence in the Hopewell Valley, Sourland Mountain, and Surrounding Regions of New Jersey (Lambertville, NJ: Wild River Books, 2018). They describe details of the religious affiliations of some of the earliest free Black landowners in the region, William Stives and Catherine Vanois.

            Stives settled in the region as a free Black man following his decorated service in the Revolutionary War. Soon after, he married Catherine, who was likely previously enslaved by the Vanois family (also spelled Vannoy), who locally owned a great deal of agricultural land. The two were married November 15, 1789 by the Rev. William Frazer at St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church in Ringoes, New Jersey.[1] Ten years later, William Stiver (another name Stives sometimes went by) was listed as a member of the Old School Baptist Church of Hopewell, New Jersey. He remained a faithful member there until his death in 1839,[2] but there is no record of the reason for his change in congregations. It is possible that Stives left St. Andrew’s because of the death of Frazer in 1795, after which the congregation never again had a regular minister in that location.[3]

            However, it is also possible that Stives’ affiliation with the Old School Baptist Church predates his listing in the rolls and may have occurred for other reasons. The Rev. Joseph Vannoy was born in Hopewell in 1716 and went on to become a Baptist minister, indicating the Baptist leanings of the Vannoy family. Such family affiliation may have led William also to affiliate with the local Baptist Church due to his wife’s likely connections there.

            Another possibility is that Stives chose to be married by the Rev. Frazer at St. Andrew’s in order to ensure that his marriage to Catherine was fully and legally recognized by the courts, and by powerful Whites in the area. Frazer served simultaneously at St. Michael’s Episcopal Church in Trenton, and was politically connected in the state capital. Free blacks in the region at times used this kind of strategy as a way of protecting their, often highly contingent, legal rights.[4]

            Whatever the reason, Stives left the Episcopal Church and remained a Baptist thereafter. The limited historical records of his church life provide an example of a very common change in religious affiliation at the time for African Americans in New Jersey, even if our suppositions about the reasons for the change can only be conjectural. For those seeking additional information, Elaine Buck and Beverly Mills’ book is an excellent resource for further explorations of the African American history of the Sourland Mountain region in New Jersey.

 

Jolyon G. R. Pruszinski, Ph.D.

Reparations Commission Research Historian

Episcopal Diocese of New Jersey



[1] Elaine Buck and Beverly Mills, If These Stones Could Talk: African American Presence in the Hopewell Valley, Sourland Mountain, and Surrounding Regions of New Jersey (Lambertville, NJ: Wild River Books, 2018), 58-60. See also Henry Race and William Frazer, “Rev. William Frazer’s Three Parishes, St. Thomas’s, St. Andrew’s, and Musconetcong, N.J., 1768-70,” Pennsylvania Magazine of History & Biography 12.2 (1888): 212-32. The Church was sometimes known as St. Andrew’s Church, Amwell, and has since moved to Lambertville, New Jersey.

[2] See Buck and Mills, If These Stones Could Talk, 125-26. See also Lisa Cokefair Gedney, “Town Records of Hopewell, New Jersey,” in The New Jersey Society of the Colonial Dames of America. Old School Baptist Church, by Authority of the Board of Managers of the New Jersey Society of the Colonial Dames of America (Hopewell, NJ: Little & Ives, 1931).

[3] Nelson K. Burr, The Anglican Church in New Jersey (Philadelphia: The Church Historical Society, 1954), 526-529.

[4] This kind of tactic may have been used by another local free Black man, Samson Adams, as seen in his will, preserved in the Samson Adams papers (https://quod.lib.umich.edu/a/adams/index.html). In his will, which is dated to the same period and which implicates the same clergyman (as Frazer also served St. Michael’s in Trenton), he left a modest amount of money to St. Michael’s Episcopal Church in Trenton, while leaving the majority of his estate to his sister. It is likely the gift to St. Michael’s would ensure that the politically connected Whites at St. Michael’s Church would insist on the legal legitimacy of the document in order to claim their church’s portion of the estate, and by extension protect Adams’ sister’s right to the bulk of the estate.