Conscientious Objector: A Journey of Peace, Justice, Culture, and Environment

By Wayne R. Ferren Jr.

What would you do if you were drafted to fight in a war?

As a conscientious objector opposed to all wars, Wayne R. Ferren Jr. had to answer that question during the Vietnam War.

He called on his religious and scientific backgrounds as well as his environmental activism to argue that he should be excluded from fighting in, or supporting this war. Following a successful defense of his claim, Wayne served two years of alternative civilian service, which influenced his professional and personal life for the next fifty years.

Decades after his service, he was shocked to find his name on the Vietnam War Memorial, which turned out to be that of another young man with a similar name born the same year Wayne was born. That man died in 1968 when his plane was hit by artillery fire and crash landed at Khe Sanh Marine Combat Base. He will forever remain a teenage father killed in a senseless war.

To this day, the duality haunts the author, and in this multifaceted memoir, he looks back at a lifetime and how his background, scientific training, and transcendentalism have guided him on a path of conscientious objection, service, and conservation, believing all things are sacred.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Mar 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9781480897045

Wayne R. Ferren Jr.

Wayne R. Ferren Jr. is a conscientious objector who performed alternative civilian service during the Vietnam War at the Academy of Natural Sciences of Philadelphia. He earned a bachelor of geology and a master of biology from Rutgers University. He worked as a botanist at the University of California, Santa Barbara, for twenty-six years, serving in various capacities, including the executive director of the Museum of Systematics and Ecology; director of the Carpinteria Salt Marsh Reserve; and assistant director of the UCSB Natural Reserve System. He is the author of numerous scientific articles and the recipient of many environmental awards and acknowledgments.

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Copyright © 2021 Wayne R. Ferren Jr.

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People of Peace Original Cover Art by DigitalStorm, iStock | Getty Images Plus

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ISBN: 978-1-4808-9705-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-9703-8 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-9704-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020919081

Archway Publishing rev. date: 03/09/2021

To

Larry Howard Snyder, Jerry Wayne Ferren,

Edie Minturn Sedgwick,

Debbie Lynn Stultz, and

all whose tragic circumstances cut short

their potential.

May they have peace.

CONTENTS

Author’s Note

Acknowledgments

Who Am I?

Chapter 1: Context Is Everything—Well, Almost

My Life

Genesis

Dad and the Ferrens

Mom and the Bowers

The Lake—Summer Escapes

Game Hunting

Chapter 2: Dinosaurs to Dylan

Fossil Hunter

Science Fairs

Monmouth, West Point, and Oppenheimer

Auslander-Rose and Churchill

Woodrow Wilson and Adlai Stevenson II

My Friend Larry Snyder

Chapter 3: Existential and Wondering Why

Charlie Brown

Slap Down and Recovery

Dad and His Bigotry

Independence

The Psychedelic Experience

Enlightenment and Buddhism

American Transcendentalism

Chapter 4: A Convergence of Rights, Civil and Otherwise

Cultural Change

Assassinations and Violence

My Hometown

Camden, Race, and Walt Whitman

The Camden 28—Acquitted Heroes

Vietnam—It’s (Not) Complicated

Chapter 5: Vietnam—More Than a War

Why Vietnam?

The Climate

A Varied Landscape

Geology and Plate Tectonics

Mineral Wealth

A Rich and Diverse Vegetation and Flora

Endemic, Rare, and Endangered Fauna—Vertebrates

Macroinvertebrates

Homo Sapiens

Ancient Cultures

Self-Determination

Chapter 6: The Vietnam Wars—A Perspective

What I Find True

Feudalism and Beyond

France—Three Centuries of Discrimination and Exploitation

America in the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries

United States—Our Vietnam War

Chapter 7: Panel 42 Vietnam War Memorial—A Different and Tragic Path

Jerry Wayne Ferren (1948–1968)

Khe Sanh, the Bru, and Poilane

The Battle of Khe Sanh

February 10, 1968

Exit Khe Sanh

Return to Khe Sanh

Global Context

Haunted

Milestones, Pop Culture, and the Draft

Chapter 8: 1969—Oil Spill, Moon Landing, Music Festivals, and the Draft

Santa Barbara Oil Spill

We Land on the Moon!

Edie, Warhol, and the Velvet Underground

Atlantic City Pop Festival

Woodstock Music and Art Festival

More Serious Matters

The Draft Lottery—Luck of the Draw!

Chapter 9: 1970—A Year That Changed Everything

Marriage

Earth Day

Social Awareness and Social Justice

Isla Vista—A Shot Heard across the Country

Invasion, Deceit, and Resignations

Murders, Resolutions, and Strikes

Rutgers Strike Committee and Free University

Graduation, Mankiewicz, and Armbands

Vietnam and Me

Chapter 10: Going Alone—My Argument for Conscientious Objection

My Application

Reference Letters—Treasured Testimony

Preparation for the Local Board Appearance

Wreck of the Dumaru

Chapter 11: Beliefs, Morals, and Ethics—The Subtleties Could Get You Killed!

Basis of My Beliefs

March 8, 1965—United States v. Seeger

June 12, 1970—Ferren Submittal toLocal Board No. 8

June 15, 1970—Welsh v. United States

June 28, 1971—Clay v. United States

Marriage of Faith, Ethics, Science, and Peace

Ecological and Cultural Impacts of War

A National Service Work Force

Chapter 12: Cannibalism—Appearance Before Local Board No. 8

In Defense of My Claim—A Courtesy Appearance

Alice’s Restaurant

Application Denied

Quantum Entanglements

Chapter 13: My Appeal, Success, and an Alternate Path to Service

The Appeal

Saint Thomas Aquinas—Does God Exist?

November 16, 1970—My Personal Appearance

Success—Board Approval of Conscientious Objection

Looking Back

John W. Braxton—An Alternative to Civilian Service

Statement to Sentencing Judge Alfred J. Luongo

The Power of One

Transition and New Beginning

Chapter 14: A Year of Waiting—Educating Our Youth

Temple University

A Summer Opportunity

Cherry Hill High School West

Ninth-Grade Earth Science

Ordered to Report for Service

Favorite Moments

Appreciation and Thanks

Another Path

Chapter 15: Alternative Civilian Service—More Than One Way to Serve

Fit to Serve

Ideal Civilian Service

But Not Eligible?

Where There Is a Will, There Is a Way!

What Next?

Epilogue Everything Is Okay in the End

Notes

AUTHOR’S NOTE

A fantastic thing about aging—it empowers you to use clichés such as reflect, perspective, and mellowed. Graying and keeping it gray gives those of us fortunate enough to reach this point in life an opportunity to explain ourselves as if someone cares and may gain something from what is said. However, because there is often more than one version of events, you may have to read between the lines to find a deeper truth. Nevertheless, I have strived to provide a truthful account of my life and the times in which I became an adult, offering some reflections, opinions, and suggestions along the way.

I think it worthwhile to ponder a path chosen and navigated before the traveler has completed his or her journey. As we reflect on the fiftieth anniversary of the many events marking the important period from the mid-1960s to the early 1970s, it is appropriate to celebrate again the lives and times that changed the world or were changed by the world and continue to have an impact. In particular, it is important to celebrate those who lost their lives fighting in the Vietnam War, or demonstrating on our campuses, or struggling to survive the urban core of our cities. My life is one of many paths through this maze.

The poetry and lyrics I include provide an additional, contemporaneous perspective. Actions inspired by them are important: what we say and how we act matter.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I could not have written this book without the support and understanding of my wife, Von (Yvonne Gray-Ferren). She served as my guide, reviewer, editor, and unofficial publicist during the six years it took me to bring this story to fruition. Tragically, Von died in 2020 following a brief illness before this memoir was published. I thank our sons Lance and Darion for their love during my dedication to this project. Darion, an army veteran, was helpful because of his interest in and knowledge of Vietnam. I also thank my brother, Howard, and his wife, Dyan, for their support and for their multiple review comments. I thank my mother for never losing faith in me, and my extended family members for their interest and support leading up to the publication of this memoir.

I thank the many friends and colleagues who provided support, amazing opportunities, mentoring, and comradery during my growth, education, and trials and tribulations, including the many highs and some lows along the way. In particular, I thank Drs. Ralph E. Good and Alfred (Ernie) Schuyler, without whom I would not have had the chance to perform my ideal civilian service. I thank Ralph for his mentoring while I was an undergraduate and graduate student at Rutgers-Camden and for introducing me to Ernie. I thank Ernie and the Academy of Natural Sciences of Philadelphia (now of Drexel University) for creating the opportunity for me to perform my civilian service. I especially thank my lifelong friend Bill Gallagher; Barry M. Millett, dean of students, and Berjoohy Haigazian, assistant dean of students at Rutgers-Camden in 1970; and Theodore K. Pitt, minister, Central Baptist Church in Woodbury, New Jersey. Their letters had positive impacts on Local Board 8 during the board’s review of my conscientious objector (CO) application. I also thank the members of Local Board 8 for taking the time to read my application, for listening to my reasoning, and the Appeal Board for approving my CO status. I am grateful for their participation in the process. In particular, I thank board chair, Mr. James A. Perrin, for his interest and assistance during my personal appearance and appeal.

I thank Archway Publishing, their talented and professional staff, and their webinar contributors associated with the Author Learning Center for guiding me through the writing, editing, publishing, and marketing processes. I thank those who read and commented on the manuscript, including family members, friends, and colleagues Bari Gambacorta and Emmie Hantori, Jeanette Bowers-Altman, John Braxton, Bill Gallagher, Harry and Gail Corey, Mark Capelli, Tom Mulroy, Mary Carroll, Ken Owen, (Jo) Yun Y. Wang, and Holly Meyer. I also thank Tom Gery (Veterans for Peace) and Tim Farley (Vietnam Veterans Against the War) for reading the manuscript and for providing much-needed constructive criticism on essential elements of the book. It is an honor to have had the opportunity to communicate with them.

This memoir would not have been possible without the permission granted by many individuals, institutions, publishers, and others, which resulted in making available important detail, photographs, and documents. In particular, I thank the Harry Ransom Center at the University of Texas, Austin, for granting permission to use the photographs taken at Khe Sanh Marine Combat Base by photographer David Douglas Duncan, which first appeared in the magazine Life. I thank the Associated Press (AP) for granting permission to publish photographs from AP Images, and I thank iStock.com for permission to publish images from Getty Images; together they helped fill visual gaps in time and topic. I thank Jostens for permission to use the photographs from the 1966 Prexy, the yearbook for Woodrow Wilson High School, and for permission to use photographs from the 1970 Mneme, the yearbook for Rutgers-Camden. I also thank Christian E. Wurst Jr. (Rutgers-Camden, class of 1971) for permission to include his image from the 1970 Mneme. The 1970 Earth Week Committee of Philadelphia provided use of the images from earthweek1970.org. I especially thank the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Fund for permission to use the photograph of Jerry Wayne Ferren and for the rubbing of Jerry Wayne Ferren’s name from the Vietnam War Memorial.

I thank the many authors and witnesses I have quoted or referenced throughout this book, whose experiences and insights have been invaluable in my effort to portray with sincerity and accuracy the many aspects of this period of our history. In particular, I thank Jim E. Fulbrook, a high school acquaintance and friend of my brother, who served as a helicopter pilot during the Vietnam War (1970-71). Jim provided many personal and published accounts of the war and photographs, adding much-needed detail and perspective. I thank Arthur E. Bogan for information regarding freshwater mussels and for the photo of the Bang River. Notes and source citations for each chapter are located at the back of the book.

A number of individuals granted permission to use personal photographs, including Dr. Norma Good and her daughter, Karen Good, and Ernie Schuyler, Harry Corey, Bill Gallagher, John Braxton, and my brother, Howard. Family photographs are mostly from my personal collection. I thank Steve Patchin of Patchin Pictures for providing photographic services and advice, and Fred Roberts for preparing maps of the Philadelphia and Santa Barbara areas, and of Vietnam. Jordan Teisher, collections manager of the Botany Department, and the Academy of Natural Sciences of Drexel University granted permission to include a photograph (Catalogue No. PH00695314) of an herbarium specimen of Sagittaria calycina var. spongiosa. The University of California Natural Reserve System granted permission to use photographs taken at Sedgwick Ranch. Sherry Coben permitted use of the watercolor she painted of me at Cherry Hill High School West (CHHSW) in 1971. I also thank the students I taught at CHHSW for the many experiences we shared. I was not that much older than they; we grew together until the Selective Service System ordered me to start my alternative civilian service. I thank the administrators of Temple University and the Cherry Hill School District for their support during my CO application process and for offering to accept my return to their institutions after I completed my civilian service.

I especially thank John Braxton for granting permission to include documentation of his experiences as a peace activist. John is an American hero and someone for whom I have enormous respect and admiration. His personal accounts of visiting Vietnam and of his sentencing for refusing to participate in the Selective Service System help frame the alternatives to war. I also thank Angela Napoliello-Ivory for her support while I worked through the process of obtaining my CO status, and while I performed my alternative civilian service. I am grateful for her many contributions to this story.

This memoir and my life’s path also would not have been possible without the sacrifices made by the Americans, Vietnamese, Laotians, Cambodians, and others who served during or were innocent victims on either side of the Second Indochina War, America’s Vietnam War. I am grateful to have discovered the life of Jerry Wayne Ferren, especially his service during the War. I learned a lot about myself through him, although we never met. Our similar names and age have provided forever-lingering contrasts and conflicts. I am thankful for his life, which tragically was interrupted all too soon. I thank his cousin, Austin, for sharing family experiences regarding Jerry. Jerry Wayne Ferren is remembered for his service, selflessness, and sacrifice—another American hero.

Many individuals, institutions, and processes had to be aligned for me to publish this memoir on the fiftieth anniversary of so many profoundly important events in the history of the United States, Vietnam, and our planet. May there be peace and justice on earth for all and forever!

PART I

WHO AM I?

So I throw rocks at the stars in the middle of the night

trying to find a mobile Eden

where everything turns out right.

—William B. Gallagher, 1966

CHAPTER 1

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CONTEXT IS EVERYTHING—WELL, ALMOST

MY LIFE

T he internet makes connections, and it reveals things you never could have imagined. It also can affect your life in ways you never could have anticipated. In the early 2000s, a friend asked if I had ever looked up my name on the internet; there were hundreds of entries under Wayne Ferren. In response, I pointed out I’d worked at the University of California, Santa Barbara ( UCSB) for more than twenty years, and I had published various scientific articles and given lectures or led field trips for many environmental organizations. If every event in which I participated was announced somewhere on a website, the event would likely come up when my name was searched. Lots of folks would find this to be true.

Still, I occasionally wondered about the extent of information available online and if access to this information was useful or not. I was not particularly interested in or curious about what might be listed about me, and I considered my recurring reflection on the issue just a natural interest in the unknown. One night in 2002, while working on a report associated with my research on wetlands, I decided it was probably worthwhile to use a search engine and see what was listed, so I Googled ¹ my name.

On the first page of the search, among various listings of my activities and accomplishments, was the entry PANEL 42—VIETNAM WAR MEMORIAL. ², ³ My eyes settled immediately on this line. But, I thought, I am a living conscientious objector who in the early 1970s completed two years of alternative civilian service in lieu of military service as a result of being drafted during the Vietnam War. Is this posting some kind of sad joke? A mistake?

I thought for a moment longer. Perhaps it had been concocted by my father, with whom I had not spoken for more than twenty-five years. He disowned me the day he learned his white son, with whom he had a difficult relationship, was going to marry an African American / Puerto Rican mother with two sons, so he and I had quite a history! I moved from New Jersey to California with my new family in 1978 in part because of this family conflict, which intensified as a result of my decision to have an interracial relationship. I figured three thousand miles might just be far enough away to reduce the impact of his threats. I knew I was dead to him, but would he really go this far? How did I even come up with the silly idea? Was it even possible? Dad was not that inventive. My mind was reeling! What did it mean? How did it come about?

I read further. To my shock, Jerry Wayne Ferren from St. Louis, who also was born in 1948, had been shot down and critically burned in the crash-landing of his plane at Khe Sanh Marine Combat Base in Vietnam on February 10, 1968. He died from his injuries on March 1, 1968, while I was a sophomore at Rutgers University. ⁴, ⁵ I stared at the monitor in a darkened room. My mind raced through images of two young men who had faced similar situations with two astonishingly different paths. Jerry Wayne Ferren of St. Louis had volunteered to serve his country in

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A visitor pauses at the Vietnam War Memorial in Washington, DC, early in the morning on Veterans Day, November 11, 2013. (AP photo / J. David Ake, file)

the US Marines and was fatally injured in a foreign land during a controversial war. Wayne R. Ferren Jr. of Camden served his country as a drafted conscientious objector, a Selective Service classification obtained after a long defense of his beliefs during this same war. I completed my alternative service and lived a full, active, and productive life.

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Jerry Wayne Ferren, a tracing from the Vietnam War Memorial, provided by the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Fund, 2020.

I have been haunted by this duality ever since my discovery. Now, more than fifty years after Jerry’s death, I have written this memoir. I hope my account of these two young men, and a war forever binding them, will serve as a guide for those who find themselves facing a military draft, or another of life’s crossroads, and are uncertain of their path forward.

So, our journey begins. Along the way, we meet other young lives and experience many milestones chronicling this important period of history.

GENESIS

I was born on August 18, 1948, in Camden, New Jersey, to parents who had been married the year before. ⁶ My father, Wayne R. Ferren Sr., had served in the US Navy as a boatswain’s mate second class ⁷ on the LST 547 in the Pacific theater during World War II. My mother had worked as secretary for the head timekeeper at the Campbell Soup Company until I was born. ⁸ The headquarters of Campbell Soup was located in Camden, as were several other major corporations at the time, such as the Victor Talking Machine Company ⁹ and the Radio Corporation of America (RCA). ¹⁰ New Jersey is known as the Garden State largely due to the extensive farmland in the southern and central part of the state. The rich soils of the Inner Coastal Plain support many row crops and orchards grown for corporations such as Seabrook Farms. ¹¹ The sterile, sandy soils and wetlands of the Outer Coastal Plain, however, are famous for the New Jersey Pine Barrens, ¹², ¹³ which support a unique combination of plants and animals as well as blueberry farms and cranberry bogs maintained for agricultural cooperatives such as Ocean Spray. ¹⁴ In 1978, the region would become the New Jersey Pinelands National Reserve, ¹⁵ established by the US Congress as the first national ecological reserve in the country.

New Jersey also played an important role in the Industrial Revolution, including the location of the home and laboratory of Thomas Edison in Menlo Park in the northern part of the state. ¹⁶ The Paterson Great Falls National Historic Park ¹⁷ was designated to protect and recognize the importance of the role Paterson played in this national and global revolution. Paterson, the first planned industrial city in the United States, was founded in 1792 by Alexander Hamilton and the Society for Establishing Useful Manufacturers. ¹⁸ The city flourished into the twentieth century. The use of waterpower at the Great Falls along the Passaic River and the development of textile mills and other power-dependent industries came together at this location. Camden, ¹⁹ however, would become the most economically depressed city in the country, but this topic of economic reality and social injustice comes later in my story. The United States had yet to enter the Korean War when I was born, and President Truman had two more years in office.

Until I was nineteen, I lived on Waldorf Avenue in what is known as East Camden, which at the time was an all-white, mostly blue-collar portion of the city of Camden. It was not until I attended Henry H. Davis Junior High School ²⁰ that I interacted with any African American or Puerto Rican students. My childhood home was a duplex, and my best friend, Harry Corey, a year older than I, lived next door. I also was fortunate to have a brother, Howard, younger by nearly two years, so I had a happy but sheltered childhood. When I was nine, my mother gave birth to my sister, Debbie, who would be a very important but tragic person in my life. She died too young and broken, deserving a much better life. I loved her and gladly give her a voice in this story.

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The Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, area, including

southern New Jersey and northeastern Delaware;

with the permission of Fred Roberts.

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Howard, Debbie, and I are ready for Sunday school; in front of our home on Waldorf Avenue in Camden, New Jersey (1960).

My mother loved animals, and my father was an avid hunter and fisherman. I grew up seeing bird feeders in the backyard, eating fish and shellfish we caught and game we shot, and learning to use a gun and bow and arrow. These activities may not have been typical for an urban family back then, but my father had spent time as a young man at Camp Ockanickon, ²¹ a YMCA camp founded in 1914 in the Pine Barrens. Perhaps as a result of attending the camp, he enjoyed the outdoors his entire life. Ockanickon (or Okenhocking) refers to a local tribe of Delaware Indians who belong to the Lenni-Lenape of the region, ²²– ²⁴ now part of the Nanticoke tribe of the Delmarva Penninsula. ²⁵ Many locations in the mid-Atlantic states still bear their Indian names. This contrasts with my experience in California, where most of the names are Spanish, which is symbolic of the cultural assimilation or extirpation of native people. Perhaps to the astonishment of many except the native people themselves, the Delaware, the Ramapough Lenape Nation (in the north), and other tribes in New Jersey still dwell in the state. ²⁶, ²⁷ They are persistent despite the odds, or are resettled elsewhere after dispersal across North America. Their presence is encouraging news for cultural diversity and the future of New Jersey’s cultural resources. I had the very good fortune to meet the chief of the Ramapough Lenape Nation while working on a planning project in Bergen County. I have enormous respect for all he and the elders are trying to do to save their ancestral lands in the Ramapo Mountains despite continued urbanization and gentrification of the region. Sadly, formal recognition by the state and federal governments remains elusive for some native people.

DAD AND THE FERRENS

At an early age, Dad engaged in outdoor activities and nature adventures through Camp Ockanickon in Medford, and later at a Boy Scout camp at Wilson’s Lake in Clayton, ²⁸ where in the 1950s we would set up a summer place for most of my childhood. ²⁹ I recall years ago learning his camp experiences were likely paid for by one of his older brothers, due to Dad’s behavioral problems. Camp Ockanickon focuses on the individual growth and development of skills and talents distinctive to boys. ³⁰ Dad and his younger sister, Nancy (Nance), were born about twenty years after their five older siblings: four sons (three of whom survived childhood) and a daughter.

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Dad in his youth, fishing on Rancocas Creek.

Photo was taken by his brother, Howard, in the early 1930s.

Dad was known his entire life as Rick by family and friends, a nickname derived from his middle name, Richter, which was the last name of one of my grandmother’s best friends I knew as Mom-Mom Richter. During my first years, I was called Ricky, which I guess was appropriate because I had my father’s name. The suffix Jr. would become an essential element of my individuality as time went on. When I entered kindergarten, the teacher called me Wayne, which somehow seemed natural to me, and it stuck as my personal and professional name. Only a few very close friends and family would continue to call me Ricky, or eventually Rick as I got older. Looking back, I guess accepting Wayne as my preferred name and always using Jr. to complete my full name was my way of staking out my territory.

I knew my paternal grandparents only as old folks because of this gap in their children’s ages. It was hard for me to imagine my strict, German, very Methodist Mom-Mom (Rose) making love with my docile and kindly Pop-Pop (Harry), but immaculate conception is out of the question, so who knows? Some things cannot be imagined or explained.

Harry, who was born Harry Howard McFerren (1881-1970), was long retired from the Campbell Soup Company when I knew him. He dropped the Mc early on, so we Ferrens apparently would not be identified as Irish, or as I recall him saying, I don’t want to be identified with the rest of the family, who are horse thieves. It was not uncommon for families at the time to subtract or change prefixes or spellings to lessen impacts from immigration. In our case, my McFerren, MacFerren, and Ferren relatives seem to have decided what their names would be at will. There are Ferrens in North America with various spellings (e.g., Farren, Ferrin, Pheron), however, who never had the Irish or Scottish prefix and are not related to our clan in any direct way but come from mainland Europe. As far as I know, Jerry Wayne Ferren, the young man from St. Louis, and I are not related, which makes our story all the more fascinating.

Mom-Mom was somewhat of a mystery to me; she was old enough to be my great-grandmother. We often had Sunday dinner at her house on Westfield Avenue in Camden. Her oldest child, Jessie, lived with my grandparents, and she helped care for them. Aunt Jessie was a sweet, sincere, and loving person. She never married and worked as a doctor’s assistant in the office of one of her younger brothers, Edwin.

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Harry and Rose Ferren on their fiftieth wedding anniversary

in August 1951, Dudley Grange Park, Camden, New Jersey.

Mom-Mom had a difficult childhood, I gather, due in part to her alcoholic father (John Bossler, 1850–1895), who lost the family bakery as a result of his drinking (so the story goes). While researching this memoir, I came across Mom-Mom’s mother’s Bible, which is written in German and published in two volumes bound as one by the American Bible Society. ³¹, ³² The Bosslers had emigrated from Germany, and my great-grandmother (Amelia Bossler, 1851–1898) spoke and wrote mostly German throughout her life. As one might predict, inside the front cover of the Bible and also under Familien Register in the back of the first volume are two lists of names and birthdates, one of which is Mom-Mom: Rosa Bossler geboren Juni 14, 1885.

Intriguingly, I found two sheets of paper folded inside the bound volumes. One document was an article titled Drunkenness Cure—How One Woman Rescued her Husband from the Wretched Life He Led, followed by the subtitle Trial Package of This Marvelous Home Remedy Mailed Free to All Who Write for It. Must be Given in Tea, Coffee, or Food, Thus Absolutely and Secretly, the Patient will Respond in a Short Time Without His Knowledge. I don’t know whether my great-grandmother or grandmother cut this advertisement from a newspaper. It seems one of them was desperate enough regarding my great-grandfather’s drinking to try anything! It was accompanied by a similarly aged, one-page calendar for April 1880, the birth month and year of my great-grandparent’s first child, as listed in the Holy Bible.

Remarkably, the other sheet contained a typed poem dated June 6, 1944, followed by the name Rose M. Ferren, my grandmother, who died more than fifty years ago. I checked with my brother and a cousin, neither of whom had ever seen it. As I read the poem, it occurred to me she wrote it when my father was in the navy during World War II. On September 23, 1943, Dad entered active service. He served in the Pacific Theater as a boatswain’s mate second class, and his ship was among those scheduled to land in Japan. The war ended, however, following the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki—the unprecedented, tragic, and only wartime use of nuclear bombs. Hence, an invasion was no longer necessary.

Dad never spoke of war or his involvement in it, except perhaps playing his guitar on board his ship. He had a scrapbook, in my brother’s possession, containing mostly pictures of his buddies; a duffel bag of Japanese souvenirs stored in the basement of my childhood home; and a picture of his ship, the LST 547, which hung prominently on the staircase wall. But my brother and I have no recollection of any serious conversations with him. Dad’s wartime experience died with him sixty years later. His discharge papers, dated April 14, 1946, include mention of his participation: Pacific Theater Ribbon, American Theater Ribbon, Victory Medal, and Philippine Liberation Ribbon.

I had no idea Mom-Mom had written poems, but I think in her anguish about the war and my father in harm’s way in the Pacific theater, she was compelled to write. I have a Christmas card the family sent out in 1945, stating, Christmas Greetings from the Harry Ferrens. It shows my grandparents and my father’s two sisters, Jessie and Nancy, in front of the family place, petting the family dog. Two photos of my father in uniform were on the mantel, and on the back of the card is written Rick’s dog Queenie. They missed him.

I have included my grandmother’s poem in the form I discovered it. The poem appears to be a mixture of well-known phrases and religious references, as well as my grandmother’s own experiences, fears, and the fears of others, including gold star parents. Her Christian faith rings loud and clear. I share her poem with others in this current time of war. Although I reveal my beliefs throughout this memoir, including poems I have written, I honor her unwavering commitment to her Methodist approach to God and religion until her death in December 1966, the year I graduated from high school.

There is a lot more detail and drama to be told about my father’s side of our family, but that is for another day.

MOM AND THE BOWERS

Mom was born Lois Weeks Bowers in Riverton, New Jersey, in 1926, and grew up in the Parry section of Cinnaminson, New Jersey. Dr. Weeks was her mother’s female pediatrician, who was novel back then. Mom’s ancestors included a long line of old New Jersey families, such as the Lovegroves, Hudsons, Cranmers (Cramers/Crammers), Brittons, Yarnells, and Bowers, mostly of English descent. Mom worked after graduating from Palmyra High School in 1945 before becoming a full-time mom and housewife after she married Dad. Mom had a lifelong love of animals and nature.

Mom passed away in 2016 at age eighty-nine while living in an assisted-living home near where my wife and I lived at the time. We buried her ashes in Lakeview Memorial Park, ³³ a short distance from the site of the old family home, the Gable on Route 130 in Cinnaminson. The Jersey girl returned to Jersey! As children, Mom and her three sisters and brother attended the Asbury United Methodist Church overlooking the cemetery, and they once played on the rolling hills that surround the lake. The family buried many Ferrens and Bowers at Lakeview, including my younger sister under her married name Deborah Lynn Ferren Stultz. Debbie’s ashes are interred with my aunt Jessie, my father’s oldest sibling, a dear soul with a very kind heart. A remarkable decision on my mother’s part and a safe and loving resting place for my sister.

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Poem by Rose M. Ferren, my paternal

grandmother, dated June 6, 1944.

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Four generations of the Bowers: Great-Grandmom, Roxanna

Cranmer Bowers; Grandpop, Cecil Albert Bowers; Mom,

Lois Weeks Ferren; and me, Wayne R. Ferren Jr. (1949).

My maternal grandmother (Elsie Mabel Lovegrove) ran the Gable Motel, a cluster of small cottages behind the gabled and once-grand, late Victorian. She also was a part-time justice of the peace. My grandfather (Cecil Albert Bowers) was a rural magistrate who held court in a converted front parlor of the Gable. Grandpop had a weak left arm and walked with a limp, the results of a stroke in his forties. However, he was larger than life—a crusty and colorful character who smoked, drank, and cursed at will. The state troopers would bring traffic violators directly to his court, where Judge Bowers would levy fines accordingly. It was quite a buddy system. I have read much about my grandfather, and I gather most of it is true, even the most colorful parts! ³⁴- ³⁷

One story revolves around Cecil in the early years, ³⁸ as a police recorder for Cinnaminson Township before becoming a magistrate and eventually a magistrate of the municipal court appointed by the state Senate, as recommended by Governor Robert B. Meyers. ³⁹, ⁴⁰ At the time, he also operated the police and fire switchboard and police radio set. My grandmother is said to have assisted him. For years, he accepted security in place of cash fines (usually fifteen to twenty-five dollars per ticket), which he would pay himself. Most of the motorists never returned, and the securities turned out to be nearly worthless rings, watches, and other items. In some cases, women ticketed were supposedly in a rush to a nearby hospital because they were about to give birth. Grandpop stated, Funny thing is … they really had to speed! Most of them were bound for hospitals in Washington, DC, Virginia, North Carolina, or Florida! ⁴¹ Among the few things I have belonging to my grandfather is one of the rings he accepted as security all those years ago. The aquamarine is well worn, and the 10-karat gold band is bent, bearing the imprinted name Jason on the inside. One can only imagine the story behind this security item that was never retrieved!

My grandfather was self-taught without a formal education in law. He was very proud of his knowledge of civil and criminal law. He purchased hundreds of books on all phases of law and is known to have burned the midnight oil, learning about legal issues. There was a deep respect for his knowledge, evidenced by the fact he operated a school for police officers of Riverton and the three townships where he served as municipal judge. The course he taught included all phases of criminal law, elements of crime, police investigation,

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Postcard photo: "The Gable—Route 25

and US 130—Parry, NJ."

and arrest procedures. ⁴² Grandpop has acknowledged, When I was young, a college education with degrees wasn’t important. It was not required until after I got married and had children. Not being able to afford such an education, I bought every book on law I could afford … and he affirmed, [I] was educated in much the same style as Abe Lincoln. ⁴³ Although I did not realize it at the time I was initially exposed to his library, some of my grandfather’s books became helpful to me throughout my education, as well as my application and appeal for the status of conscientious objector.

Perhaps the most high-profile case my grandfather tried was known as The Maple Shade Gambling Casino. ⁴⁴, ⁴⁵ A raid took place early the morning of July 28, 1949, during which there was an arrest of 187 men. Judge Bowers held fourteen of those arrested as principals and five as material witnesses. ⁴⁶ Grandpop stated, By 10:00 a.m., when the cases had been heard, I had over $100,000 in fines and bail on my desk. ⁴⁷

The most problematic incident, however, was one in which my grandfather was a defendant. The case is known as James v. State, Municipal Court of Maple Shade, Cinnaminson and Delran, in the County of Burlington, and Cecil A. Bowers, Magistrate of the Municipal Court of the Townships of Maple Shade, Cinnaminson and Delran, Respondents. ⁴⁸ As reported in the Superior Court record: ⁴⁹

The matter came before us on defendant’s application for leave to appeal from his municipal court conviction on a drunken-driving charge. Defendant was arrested early in the evening of February 10, 1959 and charged with driving while under the influence of intoxicating liquors. He pleaded not guilty. The municipal magistrate thereafter heard testimony at two evening sessions … Defendant produced a witness who had seen him just prior to his arrest, and also a doctor who, in answer to hypothetical questions, said that defendant was probably not under the influence of intoxicating liquor at the time and place of the alleged offense, but was suffering from shock.

After both sides had summed up, the magistrate announced that he had no doubt of defendant’s guilt. He said that any doubt that might have been engendered by the testimony was completely dissipated by the fact that he himself had seen the defendant at police headquarters shortly after the arrest and so knew of his condition at the time … It appears that defendant … nor did his attorney know the magistrate had such information, or had reached any private conclusion or was in anyway disqualified from sitting in judgment, until he announced what he had observed the evening of the arrest. The moment the magistrate did so, defense counsel requested that he disqualify himself. He declined to do so, proceeded to fine the defendant guilty, and impose a fine of $200 and $25 costs. Motion for leave to appeal followed …

The magistrate should have immediately disqualified himself because of his personal knowledge of defendant’s condition … A judge should not preside over a trial where he possesses privately acquired knowledge of the central, determinative fact of a case knowledge never revealed to the parties until the judgment is about to be announced …

We do not question the representation made by the State that the magistrate here was without actual bias and tried