My jaw dropped this week on the train as I was flipping through the March 1 issue of
The New Yorker. I came upon a lengthy feature by local correspondent Ben McGrath, which discusses the Ramapough Mountain Indians, an infamous and socially isolated group that resides in my old town (where my parents still live), Ringwood, and also in the woods of Mahwah, NJ.
"Strangers on the Mountain" begins with a brief look at illegal riding of A.T.V.s in the mountains (Stag Hill) of Mahwah, and transitions into the story of Emil Mann, a resident of the area who was shot and killed by a New Jersey forest ranger back in 2006 apparently out of self-defense.
McGrath explores the history and questionable origins of the people, known as the Ramapough Mountain Indians, or the Ramapo Lenape Nation. He writes, "The Ramapoughs number a few thousand, marry largely among themselves, and are concentrated in three primary settlements: on and around Stag Hill, in Mahwah; in the village of Hillburn, New York... in Ringwood, New Jersey, in the remains of an old, iron-mining complex." He tries to simplify their genetic make-up: Lenape and Tuscarora Native Americans, Afro-Dutch slaves, and possibly Italian and Irish immigrants in the early 20th-century.
McGrath gets the point across rather quickly that this is a marginalized group, often subject to avid racisim of the mostly white, middle-class surrounding communities. For example, where I grew up (nearby Oakland, NJ), they were known as "mountain people", or the "Jackson Whites" - a term which carries heavy racist sentiments.
I first heard about them from my father. I was very young (maybe 10?) and my brother and I were hiking with him in some type of woods. We were on a road, and he told us we had to turn around, because he was afraid to run into the "Jackson Whites". We asked him what he was talking about. I remember he said he had a mountain biker friend who went to far up this road, and he saw a man with a shotgun who told him to get off his property. Something like that. I think he also said it was a black man, with blue eyes. For some reason I picture overalls. (Of course, we all probably picture overalls).
When my family moved to Ringwood several years ago, the hostility became more evident. I attended high school with students with names like Van Dunk, Mann, De Groat. I always thought they were African American from their complexions, but some kids referred to them as "mineys", which I never really got. They usually kept to themselves, were not the best students, and got into trouble a lot with administration. Many of them were cousins. You could tell they didn't have a lot of money. The other problem was the concentration of white students who somewhat considered themselves "rednecks" (not kidding), so there was a generally understood (and even accepted) racism amongst them.
A couple of years ago, the Bergen
Record printed an investigative series on the Ford superfund site in upper-Ringwood, and it's toxic impact on the Ramapough Indians. This was, at least for me, the first time I ever saw an attempt at full understanding of the people, their impoverished lifestyle, their situation. McGrath brings this to light in the article: tons of paint sludge from a Ford plant in the 1960's was dumped in the vicinity of the Ramapoughs, and has since then plagued the area with various types of cancers and serious illnesses (very much ala
Erin Brockovich). Their legal struggle with Ford, the E.P.A., and the cleanup of the site still continues today, but is slow, sometimes forgotten, virtually put on the back-burner.
The situation is unfortunate, and in my opinion, undoubtedly the product of social marginalization. McGrath presents the facts and history as they stand. After reading the article, you can see there is no doubt local racism is the culprit for these people's plight.
Interestingly, though not suprisingly, McGrath's article contained no images of the upper-Ringwood area and its people who he describes so vividly. Even in our local newspapers, the photos seem abstract, distant, and non-descript. This mirrors the mysetry and thus isolation of these people, who are very much real and, I believe, should be more accessible, instead of being considered an element of "Weird New Jersey".
Here's a few links for further reading:A blurb about the article on
The New Yorker website (this just happens to be one that you need a subscription to see, so maybe go buy a copy?):
http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2010/03/01/100301fa_fact_mcgrath"Toxic Legacy", the 5-part series on the Ringwood superfund site by the Bergen Record:
http://www.northjersey.com/specialreports/toxiclegacy.htmlThe trusy Wikipedia article:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ramapough_Mountain_IndiansThe Ramapough Lenape Nation website:
http://www.ramapoughlenapenation.org/
We all know it takes a real man to make a good cookie. So when Dan says, "I'm going to make Snickerdoodles", there's no getting in his way. Next thing you know, the mixer is out and the game face is on. COOKIE TIME, MOTHERF****** (no bad words - my grandma just discovered my blog).
Roll the little batter balls (hehe) in the cinnamon-sugar mixture
The city was most beautiful at night. I felt pretty safe walking around alone at the touristy spots, which I don't even like to do in NY. I eventually ran into the Chicago river (or at least it might have been the Chicago river).
I mean it now: Dave Eggers is infallible. He is part God. I love his books.
