THE LAST BRIDGE TENDER CONT.
 by Betty Scott

       1922 was an eventful year for the Feketes. Sandor became a naturalized citizen on April 13, and, later that year Theresa and Sandor were finally reunited with their two older children, Mary, then 19, and Sandor Jr., 16. How excited their parents must have been to be together with the children they had last seen when Sandor Jr. was an infant and Mary a toddler. Five more children had been born to the couple over the years, with the sixth yet to come. The family was to number ten.

       Sandor was never one to pass up an opportunity to put his time to good use and supplement his income. This was particularly true during the late 1920s when the stock market crashed. Frank, now in his early teens, had been working as a groundskeeper for the Joseph Sterling family, who owned a seven-acre tract a short distance down the road from the locks. Mr. Sterling was a well-to-do lawyer with offices in New York. Relatively unaffected by the financial chaos, the Sterlings were able to retain their large property, and even make improvements on it. Sandor, who had learned stonework during his years on the canal workboat, was contracted to build a wall along the property. Frank collected and transported the stones from the surrounding hills, and his father did the construction. That wall, along with the two pillars that mark the beginning of the driveway, are on the property today.

        The major depression that began in the late 1920s changed the lives of many, Sandor and his family among them. In 1928, in an effort to down-size expenses relative to the operation of the canal, the company determined that the Griggstown lock and swing bridge were close enough together so that one man could take care of both of them. As a result, Sandor became both the lock and bridge tender. They moved into the small house that still sits next to the bridge near the bank of the canal, across from the Mule Tenders Barracks. 

          In part, the lease for the Griggstown house reads, “This Agreement, made the second day of October, 192_  (sic) between the Pennsylvania Railroad Company, lessee of the works and property of the United New Jersey Railroad and Canal Company ----and Sandor Fekete, Bridge tender--,(description of property at drawbridge #19) --To hold the same until the lessee as tenant at will of this lessor at and for the rent or sum of One and 00/000 ($1.00) per year to begin in the First day of September, 1928, and to be paid annually in advance of the first day of September thereafter.”  A very interesting typewritten sentence was added to the paragraph in the lease describing the obligations of the Lessee. It reads, “That the lessee shall and will not use gasoline stoves or use or keep gasoline in any form on the said premises (sic).” Since gasoline stoves were non-existent, it can only be assumed that because Sandor had a Model T Ford at the time, the railroad company anticipated the possibility of extra gasoline for use in his car being stored in or near the house. 

          In 1930 Sandor was transferred to Blackwells Mills as its bridge tender, and the family moved again.   It was to be Sandor’s last move. Here, in the Blackwells Mills Canal House, he would live the remainder   of his life, and it is here that we see his last years clearly through the eyes of his friends and family.

          Six people comprised Sandor’s family when they moved into the Blackwells Mills Canal House. By   the time he was transferred to this location, some of his children had already left the nest. Four family members remained. Frank, his brother Sandor, and two of his sisters shared the home with their parents.

        Life during the depression was hard, but Sandor supplemented his income here as well by raising vegetables and flowers in the weed-free garden for which he became locally famous.

         With the advent of steam-powered vessels, a new form of traffic utilized the canal. Operators of pleasure boats used the waterway for recreational purposes. Commercial vessels moved all manner of goods across the state, including equipment for use in three wars. Seen passing down the canal were two sub chasers, an airplane and the Holland VI, the first successful United States submarine, built in Elizabethport in 1897. 

           Between about 1925 and 1932 there was still much activity on the canal. Nineteen twenty-nine was the peak   year for pleasure boats, when almost a thousand private vessels enjoyed the quiet waters of the canal. During this period Sandor probably waited in the little shack that still sits on the canal bank, watching for approaching vessels that would necessitate the opening of the bridge.

           A description of how the bridge operated is found in Franklin Township, Somerset County, N.J.- A History, by William B. Brahms. He explains: “When a bell rang, the gate on the west bank would be closed. Then, the tender would open the bridge by pushing a 10-foot pole and walking the bridge, which was balanced on three sets of 8-inch iron wheels. The wheels moved along a track on a turntable that swung the bridge to one side. Sometimes   the bridge needed a good push to get it started. The bridge itself served as a railing on the east side of the canal to prevent horses or carts from falling into the water.” No doubt it was one of Sandor’s duties to see that the swing bridge mechanism was in good working order, so that the need for the “a good push” was kept to a minimum.

            The little canalside shack has a historical significance of its own. It was once the railroad ticket office at Voorhees Station. Some years before Sandor’s arrival, it was brought to Blackwells Mills to replace the original bridgetender’s hut. During a period of renovation some years earlier, the original hut was moved across the street and   attached to the main house to provide storage space. The new hut, its small size notwithstanding, it did contain   some amenities, such as a pot-bellied stove and a comfortable chair. Sandor doubtless spent some quiet time here, enjoying the view from the bay windows that afforded him excellent visibility of the canal from both directions.

          At the end of 1932, with the railroad becoming a cheaper and more efficient means of transporting freight, the canal was closed. Soon its bridges were permanently fixed, and the bridgetender was out of a job. Sandor began a new career with the railroad, where he remained until his retirement at age 60 in 1939. Because the canal company and the railroad were joint companies, he was given a notarized document that gave him the right to remain on the property as long as the taxes were paid and the property kept in good condition. For many years he had been paying rent in the princely amount of $1.00 per year to the railroad. This continued for the remainder of his life. 

          Life for the Feketes was proceeding at its normal pace until one morning in 1940 when an event occurred that devastated Sandor, and changed his life forever. As his wife rose and began to dress for the day, she suddenly collapsed and fell to the floor. Sandor ran across the street to the home of Hap Heins to call the doctor, asking him to come quickly, as he feared his wife was dead. Upon examination, Doctor Cooper, whom it seems was sadly lacking in bedside manner, commented, “Yep, she’s dead, all right. Dead as a doornail.” Apparently 59-year-old Theresa was the victim of a blood clot resulting from phlebitis. Shortly thereafter, Sandor found himself alone. Sandor Jr. (who had returned home following a divorce) remarried, and Margaret (who was the last to leave the nest and the first of his children to die), moved out. Perhaps he preferred it that way.   
           
        Sandor had grown up without any of the modern amenities and maintained the same simple lifestyle to the end of his days. Even though the previous residents had wired the house for electricity and used a generator, he refused to take advantage of the convenience, preferring to maintain the old ways. His sanitary facility remained the “necessary,” his brooms and fly swatters were hand made, and his vegetables were home preserved. He made wine from the grapes he grew. His one concession to modern conveniences was his Model T Ford.

        Sandor went to bed at dusk and rose with the sun. Many of us require coffee or tea to start the day, but Sandor’s beverage of choice was a glass of his homemade wine; it contained extra sugar that increased its potency and was laced with black pepper. He lived off the land, trapping muskrats for their pelts, which he cured and sold, and other animals for their meat. He probed the swampy ground in search of turtles that were destined for the soup pot.

        There were times, however, when these practices posed some dangers. His daughter-in-law told of an incident when he got stuck in mud almost up to his waist, but managed to extricate himself. Checking his traps could have cost him his life one winter when he fell into the canal near his grapevines. Somehow stuck, he was rescued some time later by Biff Heins. The grounds and wooded surroundings held dangers as well. Sandor’s son Frank said his father was once attacked and injured by a deer. He was found and driven home by passers-by. And his granddaughter, Theresa, described the scar that Sandor said came from the bite of a copperhead snake. (This may have been a slight exaggeration, however, since, while his son Frank remembers the snakebite, he saiditwasagartersnake.)

        In any case, Sandor was extremely annoyed that the snake got away. His remarkable resilience became apparent again when he suffered an attack of appendicitis and passed out in the garden from the pain. He was taken to the hospital, but refused to stay. As soon as he felt better, he got dressed and walked all the way home, contending that if he was going to die, he wanted to do it at home. But that was not his time. He would go on and outlive his youngest child by three years. His daughter, Margaret, was killed in an auto accident in 1967.

            Even in his later years, Sandor remained somewhat of a workaholic. His gardens were immaculate. When he wasn’t working there, he found other tasks, one of which is difficult for us, with our modern machines and mechanical tools, to conceive of. At the age of 50, he dug out, by hand, a large section of the hill beside the Heins home. This excavation was done to make room for the construction of the barn that still stands near the house, nestled against the hillside. Sandor used a pick and shovel to loosen the dirt, and then pushed it in a wheelbarrow across the gravel roadway, where he spread it over the swampy ground. This provided enough fill to support an art studio for Hap Heins. The barn still stands, as does the artist’s studio, built by Hap from the lumber in two dilapidated structures that were on the property when it was purchased. The studio is now used by Biff Heins, Hap’s equally talented and renowned son. 

        Sandor had a forceful personality and was quick to anger, especially in his younger years. Frank remembers an incident in which his father became upset with him and began chasing him around the house. Frank ran upstairs and out onto the roof, and began talking down through the chimney. He was very much amused when his Dad couldn’t figure out where the voice was coming from.

         When the children married and the grandchildren arrived, the family used the Canal House as their personal playground. They enjoyed what they called “the swimming hole” by the culvert across from today’s park headquarters, and fished from the bridge.

          The water was clean and clear, suitable for both swimming and fishing in the summer and skating in the winter. Sandor’s disposition had mellowed by then, but he was still possessive of his property and careful with his tools. He intimidated one grandson who was severely reprimanded for not cleaning and putting away the gardening tools.

          With his family, Sandor remained something of an outside observer. He carefully supervised the children, but did not participate in their activities. But fishermen who frequented the canal and people who came to purchase his exceptional home grown vegetables found him friendly and pleasant.  (Perhaps because he knew he wouldn’t have to put up with them for long.)
Once the children had moved away, Sandor’s only companion was his dog. There was always one at his heels. It is uncertain how many he had over the years, but he named each of them “Tootsie.” One dog, of whom Sandor was particularly fond, fell into the canal and drowned; Sandor never replaced him.  
His life style and solitude may have given rise to a rumor that this weird old man had money secreted in the house. Anne Fekete, during her interview with Jim Moise in 1988, described how someone broke into the house, robbed Sandor, and left him bound and tied to a chair. Biff Heins found him in that condition the following day.

          The proximity of the house to the canal, while convenient for the bridge tenders, also could lead to problems. Flooding was an ever-present concern, whether it was the basement crawl space, where Sandor kept at least one turtle ready to be prepared for consumption, or of the house itself. During the severe flooding resulting from Tropical Storm Doria, Sandor was, with extreme reluctance, removed from the house by boat. By the time the storm ended, the water had risen to the second step of the staircase leading to the second floor.

          In 1970, the end of an era came with the death of Sandor Fekete, the last bridge tender, at the age of 92. He succumbed to mouth cancer, no doubt caused by the homegrown tobacco that he cured and smoked, and exacerbated by the pulling of his own tooth. Memories of him survive, as does his home, now carefully tended by the dedicated members of the Blackwells Mills Canal House Association and the Meadows Foundation.

       Thanks to Betty Scott for sharing this story of the last bridgetender on the Delaware & Raritan Canal.
                                               
                                                                                    
Thanks to Linda and Robert Barth and Susan Poremba for their fine editing.