Roebling: Company Town: Steel, Immigrants, Moonshine and Crap Tables

By Louis Borbi

Steel--the backbone of a growing industrial nation.
Roebling--John A. Roebling and Sons Company, well-known for building the iconic Brooklyn Bridge, was ready to expand into the steel-making business.
Land--the right piece of property was located alongside the Delaware River just eleven miles south of its Trenton, NJ plant.
Workforce--it was an era when immigrants were welcomed for the labor they could provide.
In ROEBLING: Company Town 1905-1947, discover how these major components worked together to build the unique community of Roebling, NJ.
Louis Borbi, a life-long resident of Roebling with a keen interest and passion for its history, meticulously compiled a wealth of information over the past fifty years. He interviewed hundreds of residents, collected news articles and pictures of bygone days, and searched through century-old employment records. His family members, at one time numbering over fifty people, all lived in Roebling and many worked in the plant. The author also worked in many departments of the plant during summer breaks while teaching at the Roebling Public School.
Through vivid descriptions and dialogue influenced by these reference materials, Borbi enables readers to step into the past and learn about everyday life in ethnic neighborhoods. He follows the journey of the impoverished Eastern European immigrants to America where a job and a home awaited. It is their story. Discover how they worked around open-hearth furnaces with the temperature fluctuating near 3,000 degrees to make the wire for the George Washington Bridge and Golden Gate Bridge and the wire cables to help win two World Wars.
Read about the epidemics, Prohibition and moonshine, the Great Depression, Blue Center football, and the town Walter Winchell proclaimed as having the biggest gambling joint east of the Mississippi River in 1947.
With their faith and perseverance, the immigrants and their children adapted to the American way of life while preserving their distinct ethnic traditions which added to the unique flavor of the melting pot that formed in Roebling.
Nurtured by the Roebling Company, a community was built where pride in their workmanship and the contributions they made to their newly-adopted country, America, flourished.
Roebling was a great place to grow up. Roebling took care of its people, while they were busy taking care of the world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Feb 1, 2024
• ISBN: 9798350933666

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Mr. Roebling, Jacob D. Hoffner

Kinkora! Kinkora Station, next stop!

The brassy announcement startled Charles G. Roebling, President of the John A. Roebling and Sons Company. For the past twenty-five minutes, he had been stewing over what would become the biggest decision he would ever make in his life. The future of the John A. Roebling and Sons Company could be determined by this forthcoming encounter. Charles was traveling by train with his brother Ferdinand, vice president of the company, and George Gauck, an engineer who oversaw all plant construction. They had boarded the Camden and Amboy branch of the Pennsylvania Railroad Company at Broad Street Station in Trenton, a short walking distance from the office building of the John A. Roebling and Sons Company.

The three businessmen were scheduled to meet Jacob D. Hoffner at nine o’clock at the Kinkora Station, a whistle stop south of Bordentown. This meeting on March 3, 1904, had been arranged by his father’s old work associate Arthur Updike, President of the A. Updike and Sons Real Estate Company of Trenton, a firm that dealt in matters of insurance, mortgages, and city property. The meeting on this cool, sunny morning would give the three Roebling personnel the opportunity to meet Jacob Hoffner and evaluate his property, which they were contemplating purchasing.

As the call Kinkora Station was shouted out in the conductor’s booming voice, the train came to a complete stop alongside a large wooden building with brown and yellow trim. Charles pulled out his gold pocket watch from his brown trousers.

Nine o’clock. Right on time, Charles said brightly, although still weary from a restless night. He adjusted his spectacles and turned toward his two companions sitting across the aisle.

As Charles stood up, he waited until an elderly couple seated in front of him gathered their possessions to leave. Upon identifying the language, they were conversing in Hungarian, the left side of Charles’ mouth quirked upwards into a slight smirk of pleasure. Years of overhearing the conversations of the Hungarians who worked for him in the Trenton plant had resulted in Charles developing a rudimentary understanding of the language, of which he was perhaps overly proud. When the old man swung his small duffle bag from his lap over his shoulder, a gust of air hit Charles in the face and filled his nostrils with the familiar smells of cabbage and garlic. This only served to confirm the couple’s nationality, as in Charles’ experience, the pungent scent seemed to seep from pores of every Hungarian Charles had ever met. With Italians, it would be a tomato and olive oil aroma, and with Russians, borscht. Charles didn’t need to see a man to determine his nationality, or even hear him speak. One whiff would make a birth certificate all but unnecessary. Charles stood by as the elderly lady, a yellow and blue babushka tied tightly under her chin covering her head, and her husband, whose oily gray hair was slicked down to look tidy, carried their tattered sacks cautiously off the train.

Charles followed behind and turned to his brother. I hope Hoffner is on time, he said, stroking his mustache.

I’m sure he will be, Ferdinand said as he looked out the sooty windows where several people were mingling.

Stepping onto the platform of the station, they were greeted by a man wearing faded blue work overalls. He stood erect, shoulders pulled back and had a weatherworn face and a bushy mustache. His thin, graying hair was worn long, curling around his ears, and he had piercing eyes. Reaching out his hand, he said, Mr. Roebling, Jacob D. Hoffner.

How he picked me out, I do not know, Charles thought.

The rough calluses on Hoffner’s thick knuckled fingers chafed against Charles’ palm. The few seconds of contact allowed Charles to deduce that Jacob had spent much of his life involved in physical labor. For a man of fifty-eight, Hoffner had a muscular physique. The man’s face had the leather look and color of someone who spent most of his time outside. His dusty boots were well worn from toiling in the fields.

Charles introduced Ferdinand and George. Mr. Hoffner then directed the two men to sit on the freshly cut hay bales in the back of his wagon. Charles was asked to sit alongside him in the driver’s seat. Charles glanced behind him, laughing as he noticed the crate with a half-dozen chickens, Are these chickens for sale also?

Mr. Hoffner laughed and replied, No. They’re for my neighbor, John, in exchange for the sturgeon he caught last night. Get me some darn good caviar from them.

Yes, nice sized sturgeons come up this river as far as Trenton to spawn, called out Ferdinand from the back, who was an avid fisherman. I caught several myself last week.

Prior to climbing up on the wagon, Hoffner pulled out his pipe from his shirt pocket, dipped it into his shabby leather tobacco pouch, struck a wooden match against the side of his seat, and pressed the flaming sulfur to the tobacco. Surrounded in a puff of smoke, he stepped briskly up into the driver’s seat. Charles, who did not smoke, turned the other way in annoyance, seeking fresher air.

Mr. Hoffner grabbed the reins tightly with his ham-like hands. The two plow horses responded to the quick snap of the reins as they had in his fields for the past twelve years. The wagon lurched forward, and the men began the one-mile trek alongside the railroad tracks to the future site of the plant and village that Charles envisioned.

As they bumped along the rutted dirt road, Mr. Roebling asked Hoffner about his life and how he acquired the property. There was silence. And then Jacob Hoffner began to speak slowly in detail.

"I was born in December 1846. My ma said it was the 28th, but she wasn’t sure. There was nine of us kids. Four girls and five boys. One died at birth. His name was James. Named after my Pa. They all have their own family now. Haven’t heard from some in a long time.

"Anyway, my ma’s name was Katherine. Everybody called her Kate though. I got my middle name from her, Dickhart. My pa died young, only forty-one or so. He wasn’t sure when he was born neither.

"When he died, I was only nine years old. They were tough times back then for our family, ‘specially ma. But we made it though.

After two years, my ma married again. My step-daddy’s name was James Young. He’s gone, too. Died about eight years ago. Was thrown by a horse. He was hurt real bad and never recovered.

Hoffner fell silent. Charles looked over to see that he was staring into the distance ahead at something not part of the physical landscape. For a while, the only sound was that of plodding hooves, a rattling wagon, and disgruntled chickens.

What kind of work did he do? Charles asked in an attempt to liven up the mood. After all, Hoffner would be less amiable about selling his land if he was in a bad mood.

My step-daddy ran a cesspool business. Done darn good for himself. When my ma and him got hitched, they moved into a big house as tenants in the Neck. Neck is a section of South Philadelphia. The house was owned by Mr. Girard. Ever hear of him?

Yes, I heard a lot of Mr. Girard. He was in the banking business, founded a college, and was a renowned philanthropist in his life time. I reckon he owned most of the land and buildings in Philadelphia at one time. He was also one of the first millionaires in America. Shrewd businessman. The Roebling Company deals with the Girard Trust today. They use a lot of our pre-stressed wire in building construction and cables for the Otis elevators.

Never been in an elevator, Jacob drawled. Don’t think I want to. Those buildings they make today go too high. Way up in the sky. Too high for me, he said shaking his head.

Sorry to have caused you to think about something unpleasant earlier, but I really would like to hear more about how you came to own such a fine piece of land, Charles said.

It’s okay. When I was twelve, I began helping my step-daddy clean out privy wells in the nearby area. It was hard work, but I didn’t mind.

What about schooling? Charles queried again.

"I attended a one room school house till I was twelve. That’s when my step-daddy told me I had enough education and should quit. I didn’t care much for schooling anyway, so I just quit. My step-daddy made good money back then. He charged one dollar twenty-five cents a foot for removal and most of the time he made between twenty and twenty-five dollars a well. Good money!

"Anyway, when the Civil War started, I was just fifteen. My step-daddy was angry as hell at those southerners for starting that there war. I was ready to enlist, but I was too young then. But when I turned eighteen, I joined Company L of the Pennsylvania Militia Infantry. I had training at Camp Curtin near Harrisburg. Did you know it was the largest Federal camp during the Civil War?

"After training, I was assigned to the U. S. S. Powhatan.¹ This ship was a Navy side-wheeler that was built in 1850. At the start of the fighting, the Powhatan was used to transport soldiers and supplies to federal locations in the south. We continued with these duties while I was stationed aboard.

I served on board the Powhatan for ten months. Didn’t see one Confederate ship the whole time…Us Yankees were looking for a good fight. After I got me an honorable discharge I came home. Glad to be among family again.

What did you do when you got back home? asked Charles, finding Hoffner’s tale very interesting.

I continued working in the septic business. Done pretty good for myself.

Charles cringed. A man could only discuss human excrement for so long, he thought.

How long have you been married now? Charles asked, in an attempt to change the subject.

Long time ago. Back in 1871. Now have four children. Wallace, who is the oldest, Catherine, John, and Ida. My wife Sarah and me moved here in 1883. Sold the septic business and went into farming for myself. Bought me two parcels of land.

Where did you live? asked George Gauck, who had been following the conversation from the hay bales in the back.

"We first rented a house on Pope’s farm across the Bordentown-Burlington Road. Potts Mill Road in fact. Large farm house.² Anyway, we planted fruit trees and different vegetables we could sell to people we knew back in Philadelphia. You’ll see when we get there. The soil is so sandy you wouldn’t believe. I had to purchase eighty dollars of manure from farmers outside of Philadelphia to fertilize where I was gonna plant. Filled four railroad cars. Had it delivered to the Dobbins Station, y’know, the next stop up. It took me, my young son Wallace, and my neighbor John to load it into wagons and haul it to the fields to spread. It was darn hard work," Hoffner said, shaking his head.

After maneuvering the wagon around several large potholes and taking deep puffs on his pipe, Hoffner related how he bought the Ivins’ Hotel for $4800 in 1895 from Carroll Carty Ivins. It was ideally located across from the Dobbins Station on the corner of Delaware and Railroad Avenues.³

The hotel was a stagecoach stop in the seventeen and eighteen hundreds. It served folks traveling from New York City to Philadelphia. Had itself a reputation for serving good meals and a good night’s rest.

Clenching his pipe tightly between his teeth, Jacob Hoffner directed the horses along the bumpy road shaded by a canopy of oak and sassafras trees. He then twisted his thickset neck toward Charles and asked as his pipe bobbed up and down, What brought you down here in the first place?

Well, Charles said a bit taken back by the question, "we needed more space for our growing wire rope business, so we looked at property near our factory. Our first choice for expansion was a tract of land a short distance from us owned by the Lalor family. We thought a deal was wrapped up until the Lalors learned we were the other party and raised the price substantially. There was no way we could agree to such an unethical deal…and there were no other suitable sites in Trenton. So, at that point I had Ferdinand, who by the way handles all business aspects of our company, look elsewhere. We needed a site that would suit all our needs: water, transportation, and a large area to erect all the buildings.

Well… my property seems to suit all your needs, Hoffner replied with a nod.

We’ll see when we get there, Charles sniffed. We do have other sites elsewhere that we are interested in, he murmured as his attention was momentarily drawn to a large brown hare that dashed in front of the rumbling wagon and into the thicket. He then looked out the corner of his eyes watching Hoffner as he snapped the reins causing the hooves of the horses to pound faster and louder.

If you decide to build a plant on this property, Hoffner said, scratching his head, where you gonna get all these workers you’ll be needin’? There’s just us farmers living here.

We’ll be relocating present employees working for us in Trenton down here along with the workers moving here from Worcester, Massachusetts.

Massachusetts! That’s a long way off from here, Hoffner scoffed, raising an eyebrow.

Yes, it is, but not as far as the people who will be coming from Eastern Europe.

Eastern Europe? Where’s all these here folks gonna live? I have room in my Inn for a few.

We’ll need more rooms than that, Charles replied without hesitation. Besides building a plant, we will be constructing homes for the workers and their families to live in.

Ya don’t say!

As they continued on their way, Ferdinand and George Gauck tried to listen to the conversation up front, but their attention was largely occupied by the chickens scratching inside the crate and spattering their shoes with feathers and waste.

Finally, after a bend in the dirt road, the canopy of trees opened up and Hoffner pulled back on the reins and said in a spirited voice, Here we are!

Directly in front of them was a landscape covered with undulating sand dunes, tangles of weeds, and rivulets meandering through it, and off in the distance a grove of fruit trees.

After sitting there speechless for a few moments, Charles grumbled, It’s not what I expected. From what I can see it doesn’t appear to be a suitable site for what we intend to build.

What you see here could all be leveled off and filled in, Hoffner said confidently. Heck, my son and me leveled parts up there, he continued, pointing toward the grove of trees, and you got that river over there. It’ll provide you with all the water you need…and use for transportation. Just three years ago, I built me a wharf there to ship my produce down to Philadelphia. You could do the same thing. I’ll be glad to take you up there.

That won’t be necessary, said Gauck. I was here two weeks ago with Mr. Updike. I know where it is.

We would like to walk around and see more for ourselves, Charles said.

Okay. I’ll let you off a short distance up the road, Hoffner said as he clucked his cheek and gave a quick snap of the reins.

Hoffner was beginning to get a sense that Charles’s negative talk about the property was a ploy to arrive at a better deal.

Even though I had very little formal education, I do have a keen business understanding…and I’ll be alookin out for my own interest, too, Hoffner thought as he rode away.

He directed the horses around a thicket of briars and up a sandy incline to a flat plain dotted with a few trees. As the wagon came to a halt Hoffner said, You can have all the time you want. Just be careful of the brown snakes, muskrats, raccoons…and we do have a family of red fox living in a den near the river.

Any rattlesnakes around here? Gauck asked in a high-pitched tone of voice.

No, replied Hoffner. Too far north for them.

Ferdinand, did you bring your shotgun? Charles asked with a snigger.

No need to worry. Those animals will be more scared of you, Hoffner said to ease their concern. What time you want me back?

Charles pulled out his pocket watch to check the time. It’s quarter to ten now. You mind picking us up at one o’clock and returning us to the Kinkora Station? That should give us plenty of opportunity to survey your land.

Sounds good to me.

Hoffner refilled his pipe and watched Charles climb down slowly from the wagon.

Don’t forget your chickens back here, George Gauck called out as he and Ferdinand stepped down from behind and purposely stamped their feet, shaking off feathers from their pant legs.

Damn city boys, Hoffner thought, shaking his head, an amused smile on his face. Gonna deliver ‘em now.

Hoffner realized that Charles was strong-willed. What Charles thought of him was a matter of conjecture.

Charles and Ferdinand Roebling and George Gauck stood and watched as Jacob Hoffner headed toward the Knickerbocker Road that paralleled the trolley tracks and led him back home.

The three men began to trek through the knee-high weeds still wet with dew and tramp over and around the sand dunes trying to visualize the location of the mills and homes for the workers. The trio made frequent stops to allow George Gauck to make sketches in his leather-bound notebook for future reference. Charles, on the other hand, registered everything in his receptive brain. This was the sort of situation in which Charles excelled. With his keen eye, he made detailed observations that would be stored in his memory unaltered by time. Utilizing his engineering background, Charles pictured the design of the buildings to be erected and the machinery needed to fulfill the business growth created by his visionary brother Ferdinand. The brothers were quite a formidable team.

Ferdinand stood alongside his brother atop one of the sand dunes and asked, What are your impressions of this site?

It can be done. From what I’ve seen so far, the mill buildings would be located here and the homes for the workers up on the bluff over there, Charles said pointing to the west. With the river here, we will have all the water we need for the operations in the mills and transportation purposes as well.

If we decide not to build a Steel Plant here, we can make it into a golf course, said Ferdinand, who was a member of the Trenton Country Club, with a gleam in his eye. There’s plenty of sand for the bunkers.

The location seems to be ideal… George Gauck added, pausing to catch his breath as he joined the two men at the top of the dune. "Especially with that railroad on one side and the Delaware River on the other. And we have the trolley line passing straight through the property.

For the next hour and a half, the three men crossed and recrossed rivulets, walked around rocks covered with lichen, and trekked through expanses of muck. Signs of deer, fox, and rabbit tracks were all over.

Okay. We’ve seen enough, Charles interjected, looking at his pocket watch on the end of a gold chain. He was never one to dawdle once a consensus was reached. It’s time we start heading back to meet Hoffner.

When they returned three hours later to the designated spot, sweaty, tired, and their gaits noticeably slowed, Hoffner was waiting patiently. He was using his penknife to scrape the hardened tobacco from inside his pipe sticking it under his upper lip to use as snuff.

Well, what do ya think now? Hoffner asked, affecting studied nonchalance.

It has possibilities…and we’ll discuss what we’ve seen today back in Trenton. Charles savored the image of Hoffner fidgeting in front of him. He planned to make him sweat until he cracked under pressure and gave in to Charles’ demands. Charles would not be the loser in his negotiations with this country bumpkin. After all, a man must have his pride.

Hoffner stared silently at Charles, and Charles stared back.

Finally, Hoffner grabbed his pipe, removed it quickly from his clenched teeth and spit in a perturbed tone, Well, maybe I’ll just hold onto this here piece of property a little bit longer.

Charles’s chin dropped but he made no reply. Hoffner had more brains than Charles had given him credit for. He might have to reevaluate his approach. With the three men back on board the wagon, they headed to Kinkora Station in silence, each man deep in his own thoughts.

*      *      *

Jacob waited. May passed and still no word from Charles. In the beginning of June 1904, the Roebling Company’s interest in the Hoffner property became more pronounced. Finally, discussion began between Charles Roebling and Jacob Hoffner regarding the purchase of a 115-acre site by the Roebling Company. Charles felt a decision had to be made soon if the company wanted to remain ahead in the wire rope business in America.

One muggy morning Hoffner received a letter.⁴ Its official exterior belied its contents. Jacob sighed as he slowly peeled it open, unsure he wanted to know what news it held regarding his property.

June 18, 1904

Mr. Jacob D. Hoffner

Dear Sir:

I have nothing new to write you I wish I had. I reported what you said but they would not entertain it they said the price was to high but if they concluded to make any higher offer then $15,000.00 for your whole farm they would do it on Friday yesterday. They have not done it, if you were to offer to sell about 90 acres of your farm for $15,000.00 I might be able to sell it to them but am not certain they are offered plenty of sites for less than that if I owned your farm and owned as much other land around there I would never let the price keep them from locating there and make my money from my other land, now this is all guess work with me Mr. Roebling has not mentioned any offer to make you but I have always found it to move quick with them if you conclude to make a better offer let me know as soon as possible.

A Updike and Son

Real Estate Company of Trenton

That evening over supper, Jacob and his wife Sarah began to chat about the possible sale to the Roebling Company.

Jacob, it’s up to you, Sarah said while tapping her fork against her plate. We have plenty of other farmland. Maybe you could lower the asking price a little.

No! he shouted, slamming his hands on the table and jumping from his seat. Not a penny! Those Roeblings have a hellava lot more money than we do!

Okay. Don’t shout, Sarah murmured in a soothing tone, rising from her own chair to walk around the table to Jacob’s side. He turned to face her and she placed her hands on his shoulders. Everyone in the Inn will hear you. Jacob grumbled, but he settled himself back down into his chair. Sarah crossed behind him and gently rubbed his shoulders in an attempt to ease some of the tension that had gathered there. Now, what was it you wanted to say? Sarah queried, once Jacob’s breathing had returned to normal.

Jacob reached his right hand up to grab hold of Sarah’s left forearm and guided her out from behind his back to continue their conversation. Taking a deep breath, Jacob raised his eyes to meet those of his concerned wife. Grabbing hold of her hands in each of his own, Jacob tried to explain his frustration in a subdued tone.

You got the river right here that will provide all the water for the plant operations and means of shippin’ and receivin’ goods. Heck, you got the trolley of the Camden and Trenton Railway that’s been running right through our property the last two years. You got the Pennsylvania Railroad right here…and it’s only eleven miles from their Trenton plant.

Just then, their son Wallace walked into the kitchen with his four-year-old daughter Mary. What’s going on in here? Wallace asked as he looked into the cast iron pot on the stove. I heard you all the way outside.

Just talkin’ about the Roeblings, Jacob said as he looked over at his granddaughter scuffing her bare feet against the kitchen floor. Looking at his young granddaughter, Jacob knew what he needed to do. He would ease up on his demands and sell the land. Its value would be more significant in a monetary state that could be used to support his descendents.

You gonna sell it to them?

We’ll see.

After several days, Charles and Hoffner agreed to terms. On Friday morning, the day of settlement, Jacob Hoffner left his house at 8:00 AM sharp and walked north on Delaware Avenue toward the Kinsman’s Turnout to get the trolley to Trenton. He had a ten o’clock appointment at the office of Andrew Updike and Son with Charles Roebling to sign the papers of sale.

When Hoffner walked into the office at 10:10, he saw Charles pacing the floor with clenched teeth, alternating his gaze between the scuff-marked wooden floor and his pocket watch. Charles was annoyed that precious time was being wasted. Charles recalled his father’s rule of thumb, which was to cancel any meeting if the dilatory person did not show up within five minutes of the appointed time.⁵ Charles felt the same way!

Hoffner quietly apologized for being late. I’m sorry I got off at the wrong station. I then had to wait for the next trolley.⁶

Hoffner knew that the only surefire way to get Charles to overlook his tardiness would be to stroke his ego–get him thinking about his past accomplishments, and ultimately, his future goals which could be accomplished with the acquisition of Jacob’s land.

While walkin’ here, Hoffner cleared his throat and continued, I was wonderin’ if the electric lines for the trolleys were made by the Roebling Company.

Yes, indeed they are, Charles replied proudly and launched into a technical description detailing the mechanics of trolleys’ electric lines.

Hoffner nodded along, providing hums of affirmation or feigned understanding whenever Charles paused to take a breath. The sound of creaking wood and a slight groan of protest from door hinges filled Hoffner with a sense of profound relief.

I’m glad you are both here now, Mr. Updike said from his office door, so we can begin going over the contract.

As Hoffner and Charles sat down with Mr. Updike to scrutinize the contract, Hoffner brought to their attention that the crops he had planted in the beginning of May would be ready to harvest in a few months. He told Charles that the potatoes and corn crops were promised delivery to the Warehouse Market on Dock Street in Philadelphia and questioned if he could have them. He also asked if it would be okay to take twenty-five loads of sand because he needed it to fill in the side of the road near his house that was washed away in the spring.

Charles agreed to both requests as long as it did not interfere with his plans. He then had amendments written into the agreement by hand.

The contract was accepted, agreed to, and executed on June 25, 1904.⁷ The contract stated:

Buyer: John A. Roebling’s Sons, Co., Trenton, NJ

Seller: Jacob D. Hoffner, Florence, NJ

The Buyer has bought and the Seller has sold all that tract of land and promises consisting of about one hundred and fifteen (115) acres, located, lying and being in the Township of Florence, Burlington County,State of New Jersey; bounded on the North by the Delaware River, on theEast by property belonging to the American Ice Co., on the South by land belonging to the American Ice Co., the Pennsylvania Railroad Co. and property of John E. Lucas, and on the West by land of John E. Lucas and Harry Webster, all as per map 0-42 attached hereto.

The Seller hereby acknowledges the receipt from the Buyer of the sum of Five hundred dollars ($500.00) on account of the purchase price to be paid for said land and premises, said purchase price being the sum of Seventeen thousand dollars ($17,000.00). The balance of the amount due on account of said purchase price, is to be paid by the Buyer to the Seller upon the delivery by said Seller to said Buyer of the searches and properly executed warranty deed.

The above is accepted, agreed to and executed in duplicate this 25th day of June, A. D., 1904.

After signing the contract, Charles and Hoffner agreed to meet again in two weeks at the future Roebling Plant site. Jacob would pick him up at the Kinkora Station and bring the bundle of stakes and mallets that Charles requested.

The searches and properly executed warranty took Hoffner some time to gather, and the agreement appeared to be in jeopardy according to the Updike and Son Company. On July 5th, Hoffner received the following letter:⁸

Mr. Jacob D. Hoffner

Dear Sir

When will you have your papers ready please let me know the day before you bring them up. I think that you had better get them ready as soon as possible and you get your money Mr. Roeblings change there minds very quickly sometimes. I thought I had them fixed once before and they sent me word to drop it as they had changed there minds and they might do the same thing again of course they would lose there $500.00 if they did but that would not hurt them.

Truly yours,

Updike & Son

The required documents were gathered by the following week, and Hoffner took his second trip to Trenton, this time arriving promptly, and delivered them to Mr. Updike.

*      *      *

Two weeks had passed since the closing on the sale and Hoffner was due to pick up Charles at the Kinkora Station. Both Hoffner and Charles were very busy, each in his own way. Hoffner was occupied planting his late fall crop of potatoes and lima beans in fields on the other side of the Pennsylvania Railroad. Charles spent each day from early morning until late at night considering the best possible solutions to the problems of leveling the land, deciding where the mill buildings should be located and the machinery necessary to run them, and the types of homes that must be built to accommodate the workers.

As the train pulled into the station that morning, Charles could see Hoffner sitting in the wagon, his face enveloped in puffs of drifting smoke as he sucked on his pipe.

There’s Hoffner. Somewhere behind that smoke screen, Charles said, shaking his head.

Charles and his three assistants, George Gauck, Ferdinand Monard, and John H. Janeway, Jr., each carrying rolled up blueprints and sketches, ambled down the station steps and toward the wagon. After introducing Monard and Janeway, whom Hoffner was meeting for the first time, Charles climbed up to the front seat, making sure he wiped all of the ashes and tobacco off with his hand before sitting down.

As the other three men were clambering into the back, Hoffner warned them, Be careful of the scythe and pitchfork there. I got me some grain to harvest.

Charles was again annoyed by Hoffner’s pipe smoke drifting his way but remained hushed, not wanting to upset him.

See you gentlemen come to do some work, said Hoffner looking up and down at Charles’ garb.

Charles was not dressed in his customary shirt and tie but looked more casual in attire he wore while working in his greenhouse on Sundays. He was well-known for his orchid-growing and would often disburse large amounts of money to acquire the rarest specimens. His hybridizing of orchids gained him fame and awards from Philadelphia to Boston.

Yes, we have our work cut out for us today. First, we’re going to mark out how we want the site leveled. We’ll need to fill in areas eight to twenty-three feet deep. We expect to grade over a million cubic yards of earth from the bluffs and dunes to the low-lying area along the river. This should increase the acreage suitable to build on from one hundred fifteen to well over two hundred acres.

Sure is a lot a dirt to move, Hoffner said clearing his throat. I got plenty wooden stakes in the back. My son Wallace cut ‘em.

Appreciate it.

A couple mallets back there, too.

Thanks, said Charles, his attention focused on the sand dunes and rivulets visible in the distance.

What you gonna build first?

The first building project will be the brick water supply tunnel leading from the wharf next to the Government Jetty to the center of the future plant. We’ll have steam driven pumps to supply the water for heating and cooling as well as fire protection.

What building will go up first?

That will be the Rod Mill. We’ll stake that out first and then the site for the Steel Mill.

What about homes for the workers? Hoffner asked expelling brown spittle as he spoke.

Home construction will start next year.

Whoa! Whoa! Hoffner hollered as he pulled back on the well-worn leather reins causing the horse to throw his head back and snort. This here is a good spot to let you off.

The wagon came to a stop among peach trees. They had reached the place Charles had envisioned as the location for the #2 Gate of the plant.

Hoffner stepped nonchalantly off the wagon and reloaded his pipe before moving to the back to retrieve the stakes and mallets.

We have them, George Gauck said as he handed Monard and Janeway each a bundle of stakes. Should be plenty for today.

Charles stepped gingerly off the wagon and unrolled a large blueprint, one of many he had made back in the Trenton office in the last two weeks. Facing northward toward the river, he visualized the buildings as they appeared on the blueprint.

What time you want me back here? Hoffner drawled, using his sleeved forearm to wipe away the sweat dripping from his forehead. It was early, but the sun’s rays beat down relentlessly. Hoffner did not envy the work Charles and his constituents would be executing that hot summer day.

Charles pulled out his pocket watch. Seeing that the time was nine fifteen, he answered, How about one thirty? Should give us plenty of time.

Sounds good. See ya then. And don’t forget. Watch out for them foxes.

As the wagon pulled away Charles said, We’ll begin by the wharf and work our way back here.

He then led the three adventurous men through the overgrown fields and rutted gullies and around the numerous sand dunes toward the river. Charles moved cautiously around the rocks and stepped slowly, making each move hesitantly. For the next four hours the sounds of loud voices calling instructions to each other and pounding of mallets on wooden stakes filled the still, humid air.

Charles paced off distances with inhuman accuracy. As he did so, he yelled again and again, To the left a little… back up… closer… on the other side. Right there. Drive a stake in.

The men toiled wearily non-stop until Charles realized it was time to head back to meet Jacob Hoffner. Hoffner was waiting as the four fatigued men came walking toward him at a snail’s pace, shoes and pants covered in mud, shirts splattered with muck, faces flushed and sweaty, and hair in disarray.

I see you got a lot of work done today, Hoffner said laughing to himself.

Accomplished most of what we set out to do, Gauck said wiping his high forehead with his already dirty white handkerchief leaving a muddy streak in its wake. Charles really pushed us today.

I got some water and sandwiches the Missus made for ya in the back. Help yourselves.

Appreciate it, Jacob. You’re going to be a good neighbor, Gauck remarked wholeheartedly.

Having quenched their thirst with cool water from a weathered oak cask and filled their bellies with juicy roasted chicken slices piled between thick slabs of homemade bread, the enervated men settled into the now familiar wagon for the trip back to the Kinkora Station.

On the train ride back to Trenton, Charles sat next to John Janeway, one of his most trusted assistants. For a while, the two sat in comfortable silence, each man wrapped up in his own thoughts. It was Charles who eventually broke the silence.

I understand now what my father went through, Charles reflected. But his outset was much more challenging.

How’s that? John asked, pulling his gaze away from the passing scenery.

When he began in ‘41’ it was just an idea. No one in America had ever made wire rope. He started behind his farm house in Saxonburg, and here we are starting on Hoffner’s farm.

Where’d he get his help?

Neighbors mostly. Just like my father, we’re going to ask neighbors in this area to help us.

What made him come to Trenton in 1848?

It was near the eastern markets. The Delaware River was nearby as well as the Raritan Canal and the Camden and Amboy Railroad making it convenient for shipping.

Land expensive?

I guess at that time it was. The deal showed he paid three thousand dollars for twenty-five acres of undeveloped farm land, he added, and it was a mile from the center of Trenton.

And here you are building on Jacob Hoffner’s farm. I do think you picked the best site available in this area.

Time will tell, John. Time will tell!

As the train was approaching Trenton, Charles, despite being mentally and physically exhausted, decided to stop in the office to check on the day’s operations instead of going directly home. He sat at his mahogany desk, cluttered with papers, and began reading the memos left to him by different supervisors in the mills. Nothing was of such major concern that it could not wait until tomorrow morning to be addressed. Then he came across an agitating report from the day foreman in the wire mill.

The foreman reported that a few Italians were stirring up the other workers over the meager wages they were being paid. For some time now, the same group had been pestering the company with their threats to start a workers’ union, but the company had always been able to quash any movement before it made any headway.

These instigating Italians, Charles may have thought, are creating problems which are unnecessary. They should be damn happy for the wages they receive. Where else could they go in Trenton to find a job that pays ten cents an hour? Or even fourteen cents an hour for some positions? Where? They should be damn happy to work here. When we build this new plant in Kinkora, we’re not going to employ any of them, and as long as I’m alive, they’ll be banned from living in the Village as well!⁹

He then began to think of the many challenges he would face in the next few years. He realized that if the Roebling Company was to continue to be the leader in bridge construction in the United States, he had to move forward with all his energy and wisdom to see this expansion to completion.

When he heard the Seth Thomas chime ten times, he turned off the office light and left to catch the last trolley of the night downtown to his home on West State Street.

Getting up early the next morning as he normally did, Charles sat with Mrs. Cornelius W. Hook at the kitchen table and perfunctorily skimmed through the local newspaper while they had breakfast.¹⁰ Charles enjoyed this time which allowed him to discuss the activities of his four children: Harrison, Emily, Washington A. Roebling II, and Helen.

I heard you come in late last night, Mrs. Hook said in a disquieted tone.

Eliza, Charles replied while folding the newspaper, when I first started in this business in 1871, my responsibilities were small. Now that I’m president, everything falls on my shoulders.

I understand. You inherited the same characteristics as your father. Your temperament, inventiveness, and drive to work all the time comes from him. But you are wearing yourself out, Eliza said, straightening the tablecloth and rearranging the table setting. She hated confronting Charles and felt it wasn’t her place to question his work methods; however, she knew that if she didn’t look out for Charles’ health and well-being, nobody would.

I understand your feelings, but this is the position I’m in, and I enjoy what I’m doing, Charles replied, quickly silencing Eliza’s concerns.

More coffee, Mr. Roebling? Mrs. Seeger, their long-time maid, asked while sensing it was time to change the subject.

No, thank you. I’ll be leaving soon. Your omelet was delicious.

The conversation returned to the children and his late hours were never mentioned again.

After finishing the hearty breakfast and going over some correspondence from the night before, Charles told Eliza he was going to walk over to his brother Washington’s house to discuss what had transpired the day before in Kinkora.

While walking down West State Street, he first had to pass Ferdinand’s home. His brother was leaving to go to the plant office at his regular hour. In Charles’ eyes, his brother’s organization and punctuality were his best qualities.

I’m heading over to see Wash. I’ll be in after that, Charles said, as he neared Ferdinand.

All right. Tell him I’ll be over to see him this evening after work.

Charles nodded and continued walking down the street which was busy with passing trolleys loaded with young and old people going to work. The air was filled with sounds. The horses clip-clopped as they pulled wagons of hucksters selling their farm produce. The people scurried along with greetings of Good morning, and the newspaper boys stood on the street corners and bellowed, Extra! Extra! Read all about it! U. S. Republican Party nominates Theodore Roosevelt for President! Third Modern Olympics Games to Open in St. Louis!

As he neared Washington’s mansion that overlooked the Delaware River and Stacy Park, he admired the acclaimed stained glass window glinting in the morning sun. Its intricate design was by Tiffany and depicted the Brooklyn Bridge, not only Washington’s greatest engineering achievement, but also the source of his present health condition.

Charles and officials of the Roebling Company quite often would visit Washington to consult him on important matters that pertained to the operation and business of the company. Charles was greeted at the front door by one of the hired servants who have been helping Washington since his wife Emily’s death in February 1903.

Charles was led upstairs to the second floor and Wash’s study, his favorite room, that contained his world renown mineral collection.¹¹ Washington was sitting at the table set aside for the jigsaw puzzles he enjoyed doing. He could put a one thousand piece puzzle together in two or three days, often sitting for hours on end, a welcome diversion that helped to take his mind off the torturous pain in his nerves and muscles…and the escalating blindness and deafness that confined him to his home most of the time since that diabolical afternoon in the summer of 1872.

After a quick greeting, Charles cut right to the point of his visit, Well, Wash, the Hoffner property I visited yesterday appears to be quite a challenge to transform to a suitable building site. The terrain is very hilly and sandy with swampland near the river, and much of it is covered in peach orchards, potatoes, and lima beans…There is a great deal of grading to be done in order to fill in some of the deeper areas.

Charles, Washington interrupted, we have no other option that I can see if we want to remain the leaders in bridge construction in this country. Cooper Iron Works no longer wants to sell us the rods they produce, and the rods we get from England are of inferior quality, not to mention the tariff placed on them which increases the cost substantially.

Charles, Ferdinand, and Washington had realized that in order to control their own destiny, they would have to produce their own steel.

You have met many challenges head-on in your career and succeeded in finding solutions to the most difficult situations, Washington said, looking down at his clasped hands. You’re at the office every day, first to arrive and last to leave. Your knowledge of draftsmanship and machinery has moved our company forward to where we are today. I see no reason why this endeavor cannot move forward to a successful conclusion under your leadership."

Washington was not given to flattery. He believed it made people soft. However, he knew at this crucial point in the project that Charles needed some encouragement and to be reminded of his own capabilities.

I appreciate your confidence in me, Charles said, surprised by his brother’s words.

I will always look for your input to help me make the proper judgment.

Washington ended the conversation by stating, One thing I suggest you do immediately is hire Randall H. Carty, Hutch, as most people call him, to do the mason work on the homes and buildings. He is the preeminent mason in the area. I have witnessed first-hand the fine work he does. He built my home, as you well know, and prior to that, the Mercer Hospital and the Lawrenceville School. Additionally, he worked on the canal you see as you enter Cadwalader Park. I’ll get in touch with him forthwith and discuss the matter.

Charles agreed wholeheartedly and bid his brother a good day and proceeded to his office with the knowledge that his brother trusted him and would continue to offer support from behind the scenes. Washington was not physically able to help, but with his astute mind, he would offer advice on any problem they may face. Charles looked forward to meeting the challenges that lay ahead.

After watching his brother walk up West State Street, Washington Roebling turned his eyes to the large portrait of his wife Emily. He still dearly missed her and the affable conversations they would have after dinner as they sat by the fireplace or looked out over their beautifully landscaped garden. Emily loved to hear him reminisce about his childhood, his father, and his relationship with her brother, General Gouverneur K. Warren, during the Civil War.

He thought back on the conversation he and Emily had two days before her passing. They had been sitting in front of a crackling fire, bathed in its warm glow. The rich ebony of their matching armchairs glittered in the subdued light of the flickering fire. Each chair was upholstered in plush purple velvet that Emily had painstakingly chosen years before.

They had just finished dinner and Washington could see that his wife was struggling to keep her eyelids from closing. She had been so tired recently and Washington was worried that she was nearing the end. Emily had grown quite thin, and although she had taken to wearing thick shawls and sweaters, her gaunt, sallow cheeks betrayed that the cancer was taking its toll. Being as weakened as she was, it was difficult for Emily to carry on any sort of spirited conversation. For that reason, perhaps Washington began passing the evenings by telling stories of his past.

My parents named me Washington after our first President when I was born in 1837, Washington began. My father held him in high esteem and greatly admired his strong character and foresight for the nation. I guess my father wanted me to grow up with those same characteristics, but he was never around much in my early years to influence me, Washington wistfully recalled. He was always working on different bridge projects far from home. It was painful for me to see the other boys in the neighborhood enjoying good times with their fathers fishing in the lake at the edge of town or just walking along together talking and laughing. I didn’t have that opportunity. Fortunately, my mother nurtured me through those difficult times in Saxonburg, Pennsylvania, with her loving care and affection.

Don’t you have any happy memories of your father? Emily had asked softly.

Washington’s face had lit up when he answered, There is one moment that stands out in my mind. I was just a little tyke about five years of age when my father sent me running to our neighbors. It was my job to bring the men back to help my father make the wire rope in the wheat field behind our house. I took great pride in being able to help.

What about your schooling? Emily asked, eager to hear the story again.

Washington paused and looked over at his wife. He could have sworn he told this story before, but the way Emily’s eyes shined and inclined her head forward in interest encouraged him to continue.

My formal education began when I turned seven and my parents sent me to boarding school in Pittsburgh until our family moved to Trenton, New Jersey. My father enrolled me in the Trenton Academy which was one of the most distinguished private schools in the area. Some of my classmates were sons of prominent politicians, judges, senators, educators, and authors. After four years of study there, I matriculated at Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute in Troy, New York, the foremost engineering school in the country. In three years I mastered nearly a hundred subjects including Analytical Geometry, Calculus of Variations, Geology of Mining, Machine Design and Engineering, and Architectural Design.

Was there any time for you to socialize? Emily coyly interjected.

Not much, Washington replied with a smile, I pretty much kept to myself. After graduation I returned home to Trenton. I was twenty-eight years old by then and was immediately put in charge of the mills since my father was away working on several bridge-related projects. The first bridge I had the opportunity to work on was the suspension bridge over the Allegheny River in Pittsburgh in the summer of 1859 as my father’s assistant. All that schooling was finally being put to practical use!

Why don’t you tell me about your experiences during the Civil War? Emily asked, in an attempt to save the evening. She knew Washington wouldn’t be able to resist her invitation to reminisce on his glory days.

Did you know I met Abraham Lincoln back in 1861?

Emily smiled as he took the bait and snuggled deeper into her chair. What was your impression of him?

"Well, that day changed my life and started me on my journey to meet you. My father and I went to hear President-elect Lincoln speak when his train stopped in Trenton on the way to his inauguration in Washington, D.C. in February. We both came away very impressed by Lincoln’s sincerity and passion, renewing our faith in preserving the Union.

"That evening during dinner my father stopped eating, looked directly at me and stated, ‘Don’t you think you have stretched your legs under my mahogany about long enough?’

I didn’t say a word in reply but excused myself from the table and left the room. The next morning I enlisted as a private in Company A of the New Jersey State Militia, and for the next four years I neither saw nor communicated with my father."

Washington fell silent for a moment, staring into the smoldering embers of the fire. Emily knew Washington had always regretted the lack of communication over the course of those four years. After all, Washington prided himself in being a good son and father. The snap of one log collapsing under the heat of the fire broke Washington out of his reverie. He rose from his chair to place another log on the fire, prodded it a few times with a poker, and then resumed his story.

Because of my background working on suspension bridges, in 1862 I was appointed the rank of lieutenant and assigned the important task of planning and supervising the construction of bridges for the Union forces. I remember the first bridge I designed and built was the road bridge over the Rappahannock at Fredericksburg. I built several more bridges during the war…and helped direct the building of fortifications at the Second Battle of Bull Run, Antietam, and South Mountain.

My brother spoke very highly of you as a member of his staff, Emily smiled, tucking a strand that had fallen from her graying chignon behind her ear. He said your service was especially exemplary at Gettysburg during those crucial hours of the second day of battle when the Confederate Army was trying to outflank the Union forces on Little Round Top.

It is what I was trained to do, Washington said trying not to be priggish. I noticed that General Hood was hell-bent on leading the rebels around ‘Devil’s Den’ and working their way up our exposed left flank, so I immediately informed your brother about this precarious situation. There was no possible way to maneuver the cannons up the hill using horses, so I gathered some troops and with our own hands and willpower dragged the large guns and caissons up the rugged hillside.

Many historians say this was the turning point in the war, Emily added, with a note of pride in her voice. If the Confederates gained control of Little Round Top, the results of this battle and the war may have been altogether different. My brother told me you were the most able and brave soldier he had ever known.

Washington’s eyes clouded over as he remembered, I was just doing my duty as were all the Union men that day. Embedded in my mind is the scene when the onslaught of Confederates ceased and retreat commenced. The basin below Little Round Top was filled with fire and smoke, riderless horses, and the shouts and groans of wounded adversaries. The battlefield was strewn with thousands of bodies and there were places you could walk for some distance without ever stepping on the ground.

How terrible, Emily said, as she used her white lace handkerchief to dry her dewy eyes.

The fire popped and sizzled as Emily and Washington wordlessly recalled the accident that dramatically changed his life in the summer of 1869. Washington’s father had been appointed Chief Engineer in the construction of the Brooklyn Bridge connecting Brooklyn and Manhattan. While taking observations for the location of the Brooklyn tower, a ferry boat crashed into the pilings at the Fulton Ferry slip where John A. Roebling was standing. His foot was crushed between the pilings, and as a result, toes were amputated. Lockjaw set in, despite being treated with his own home remedy, and John A. Roebling passed away on the morning of July 22, 1869.

After my father’s death I was appointed Chief Engineer, Washington resumed in a low voice. "It was up to me to fulfill the dream my father had been chasing after since 1857– crossing the East River. However, as you well know, there would be serious trials and consequences.

"The first arduous task I encountered was building the bridge foundations on solid bedrock forty feet underwater. This was necessary to support the tremendous weight of each masonry tower, a whopping eighty thousand tons! The construction method required the work of a pneumatic caisson which was a new idea in our country