Miracle Monday

Monday, Monday, so good to me

Monday mornin’, it was all I hoped it would be

Oh Monday mornin’, Monday mornin’ couldn’t guarantee

That Monday evenin’ you would still be here with me

-The Mamas and the Papas

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I knew it would be dangerous. On the event horizon, something bad was likely to happen. It did happen, but I survived to tell the tale. This was a Monday with all its usual dread; but a bit of promise, and it ended with a small miracle.

A while back I wrote about South Jersey’s psychic black hole. Where the Black Horse Pike crosses over North Branch Big Timber Creek is an area that seems cursed. So much bad has happened there it almost emanates evil, and being there has always given me the willies.

Looking north on the Black Horse Pike, the dismal bridge over North Branch Big Timber Creek.

My original story left me with questions. So I kept researching. Why, in that area, is there a nearly parallel road called “Old Black Horse Pike”? A friend suggested that before the current Black Horse Pike bridge was built, travelers turned at this place and crossed just upstream at what was likely a shallower and more hospitable landing. From there the road turned south again on what is now called the Old Black Horse Pike. So, when did this change take place? And why?

My friend has family with long history in the area. He suggested the steep downhill traveling south on the Black Horse Pike required a sharp left turn at the creek shoreline. Many, he said, didn’t make it and ended up in the drink, a steep drop. Headlights, tires and brakes in the early days of motoring were often not sufficient for the roads of the times. That may have prompted the building of the new bridge, which provides a straight-line shot over the creek. So I began researching when this new bridge was built, and while the answer was not altogether surprising, it has a weird twist.

My research hours in local newspaper archives suggested references to an “Old Black Horse Pike” after the 1920s. But there was nothing about the construction of the bridge — either when or why. Finally, I decided the only option left was old-fashioned primary research. The bridge no doubt had a cornerstone date so I’d have to go there and look. The Monday weather forecast promised warm sunshine and not much wind, so I planned for that.

The apartment building where a miracle happened.

Monday morning broke as promised, sunny, bright and warm. As I sat here finishing up my preparations, checking weather, traffic, fresh camera battery, etc. I noticed a woman working outside my window. She lives here in the apartments and seems to do a bit of work for the landlords as needed. She was cleaning up the front parking areas. She is not a young woman, and I think she lives with her grown son. She is attractive, although a little overweight (as are most of us in this country) and as I watched her work, my ancient loins were a bit stirred. But, back to business, kiddo.

I drove down to the psychic black hole and parked as safely as possible; there is a lot of traffic on the road. Camera in hand, I walked onto the bridge’s east side, fortunately there is a good shoulder. I kept an eagle eye on traffic as I suspected that’s where the black hole would come at me. Immediately, there was the answer  — the cornerstone (looking more like a tombstone) and date I’d hoped to find.

STATE

NEW

JERSEY

1929

The bridge had been put in place in 1929. While that was the approximate era I suspected, the year 1929 was a shocker. That was the commencement year for the U.S. Great Depression. Was there a causal link? Did the South Jersey psychic black hole cause the Great Depression? Probably not, but I’m going to add it to the list of bad stuff linked to it.

Looking more like a tombstone than a cornerstone, the bridge is dated 1929, most remembered as the year the U.S. launched into the “Great Depression.”

After photographing the east side of the bridge, I carefully crossed the road to look at the west side. Not much there beyond a sticker warning about a fiber-optic cable inside. I took a few more pictures then turned to go — and that’s when it tried to get me. I had gotten careless and forgot there was a curb to step down into the roadway. I didn’t see it and stumbled, wildly off balance as you are when you miss a step down. I nearly tumbled into the roadway, but managed to stay upright and get safely back to the car.

On the way home I made a couple of stops, doing typical errands. Back home the little Monday miracle happened just after parking the car. Miracles, by my definition, are not only beyond ordinary human explanation, but they also have an element of pain removal. I am an aphorist of sorts, as detailed in my Short Form piece a while back. And one of my  most practiced aphorisms is “If you don’t say it, they don’t hear it.”

Looking west, downstream of North Branch Big Timber Creek from the Black Horse Pike bridge.

The woman I had seen in the morning was leaving her apartment; going to her work, I presume. I don’t know what she does, but she seems to work a swing shift. She gave me a friendly hello as she always does. She stopped when I told her I had something to tell her. I told her I had seen her working outside that morning, and I said, “As I watched you out there I thought, ‘If I were 20 years younger, I’d be working to get you in my bed.’” She sort of gasped and lit up like all the sunrises since the first “Let there be light.” As I looked at her face, there was the miracle; I actually saw a dark residue of old pains and hurts literally wash away. Her face was renewed and lovely, sort of like the white purity the nuns used to talk about when the soul was cleansed of all sin. I have to suspect my little admission made her day. I hope so. She’s a good person.

If you don’t say it, they don’t hear it. And when you do say it, you may see a little miracle, even on a Monday. And such good may score one against the evil of that psychic black hole down there.

Sunrise at the Jersey Shore. Let there be light!