This is a continuation to my earlier post describing New Jersey's revolutionary war history. The goal of my recounting is to deepen our understanding and so respect for Englewood and New Jersey.

At the outbreak of the war, many American colonists favoring independence believed their fight for independence would be a short one. Poorly versed in British politics, pro-independence colonists misread England's tenacity. England had little stomach for another North American military campaign, so the American thinking went, after the 1754-63 French and Indian War. On the contrary, England was in no mood to let its American colonies slip away, with its barely tapped natural resources, as well as its colonists, who were a captive market for British products. Moreover, it had spent a fortune defending its North American  colonies during the French and Indian war, and expected its grateful American subjects to pay its fair share of this war debt [thus the stamp act and tea tax, which it turns out raised more hell than income].

The events of the summer and fall 1776 quashed the rebels' hopes for a quick war. England responded to the American Declaration of Independence by sending a massive naval and ground force into New York harbor. As any seasoned military officer would have expected, within weeks, George Washington's [who was not then a veteran commander] Continental Army was torn to pieces and routed from New York. The city, its superb port, and the strategic Hudson River all fell into England's, hands, where they remained for much of the war [Staten Island never being given up by the British]. The British were ecstatic, for their plan to split the American colonies in two was starting to tale hold: with New York harbor under English control, the Hudson River could be effectively manipulated as a Berlin wall of sorts, partitioning New England off from the mid-Atlantic and southern colonies.

None of this course of events boded well for New Jersey. Its residents needed look no further than across the Hudson to see well-fortified, enemy territory. Likewise for the British forces, they could plainly see New Jersey, and what they saw, with its expansive cultivated farm and ranch lands, was a ready food-source for its 40,000+ man force. This precious resource of food was not the only cause of misfortune for New Jersey during the revolutionary war. Washington and his command learned many a bitter lesson from their "sharp" encounters with the British in New York. At the early stages of the war, Washington, while not a seasoned officer, did show he could learn from his mistakes. He knew his forces were pitifully weak in comparison to his adversaries', and they would remain outgunned for years. Before the Americans could ever hope to defeat the British, they would first have to learn to survive and, in other words, devise a plan to avoid slaughter.

So, Washington reasoned, the fight for independence would have to become what our parents' generation would call a guerrilla war: a war of attrition. The historian Thomas Fleming judged this decision by Washington a "stroke of strategic genius."

Washington's successful execution of his war of attrition strategy was dependent on New Jersey's natural landscape. Western New Jersey's uneven terrain, dense forests, and broad rivers let Washington's army avoid being drawn into the open. Had the Americans been caught in the open, they may well have sustained a war-ending defeat. But, to Washington's great credit, they never were.

The Americans were always able to stay just ever so slightly out of reach of a large British force. New Jerseyians should feel great pride in knowing that it was their state, with its rugged landscape, that aided Washington's army, letting it carry out a near-continuous assault on the British through small-scale skirmishes. These hit and run battles -- ambushes, really -- seriously demoralized the British. Their effect tended to sequester British troops in cramped, fortified camps. This in turn led to outbreaks of cholera and other maladies at the camps. It also put stress on the troops' mental health: when the British ventured outside of their camps, every stranger -- whether professed loyalist or rebel -- was viewed with nervous suspicion.

Over time, Washington's early-war strategy was successful: the British never could exploit New Jersey as they did New York. New Jersey's farms never functioned as a reliable food-source for British troops. They were instead left no choice but to import food via a trans-Atlantic system of naval shipments. And these were at the mercy of the caprices of nature and looting by French and rebel privateers.

But while Washington's strategy was ultimately a success, it didn't happen overnight. it occurred gradually, and as it slowly achieved its results, the British attitude toward new jersey's inhabitants likewise turned. At the war's outbreak, most New Jersyians were still given privileges of loyal subjects by the British. Over time, these courtesies became rare. IF not stolen outright, crops were burned, and livestock slaughtered. Women were ravished, men hung, or forced into military service. And it was not only the British that made life hard on New Jerseyians. Rebel forces were also vengeful, and just as desperate for food, water, shelter; and rum.

Intensifying the effects of a drawn-out war of attrition was New Jersey's status as "neutral ground" throughout the long war. Unlike New York City, New Jersey was never under full control of any armed force. As a result, any unsubstantiated report of daytime bartering with the enemy could unleash a night time retribution. A long-held grudge, or envy of neighbor's productive wheat field, could spur a claim of treason. Nicholas Collin's eyewitness account paints a dark picture: "Everywhere distrust, fear, hatred, and abominable selfishness…Parents and children, brothers and sisters, wife and husband were enemies of one another."

Moreover, Massachusetts and Virginia's pro-independence radicalism did not exist in New Jersey. Its population was far from a single pro-independence group; certainly not the pacifist Quakers. The cumulative effect resulted in a fearful twilight zone of an often emotionally fragile military and civilian society.

The more dispassionate among us today might respond to this ordeal by saying, "yes, early New Jerseyians did suffer through what can accurately be called America's first civil war, but was it worth my owing them some debt of honor? Wasn't it just a human-caused disaster of no lasting purpose?" My response to such a statement is two-fold. The first is that we, the people of modern New Jersey have been so fortunate for so long a time, that our natural ability to grasp that at pivotal points in history, our individual fortunes, and indeed, our lives, must be placed at disposal to a larger, common purpose.

Of course, only a fool would relish going into battle. But revolutionary war New Jerseyians did this repeatedly. In fact, New Jersey by far saw more fighting than any of the other thirteen rebellious colonies. New Jersey was the main theater of the our long war for independence. In this sense, it can justly be called the crucible of American democracy.

And this claim brings me to my second response. Whatever one's political position was during the American Revolution, everyone—Briton, American, Hessian, Frenchman—added in some way to a renaissance of democratic government. At the time of the revolution, only one other place on earth—the Swiss Confederation—was governed by self-rule. The very idea itself seemed somewhat implausible to the framers of the constitution. And while the ideals set down in the American constitution are still far from being put into practice, its ideas serve as a noble goal, worthy of great sacrifice by centuries of Americans.

To end this post, I would like to relate one event from New Jersey's revolutionary war history close to home. In  Fall 1776, after the surrender of Fort Washington and New York City to the British, Washington and his army retreated to the Bergen County area of New Jersey. Washington had real concerns that the British would next cross the Hudson river and attack the American Ft. Lee. His concerns proved right. On 20 November 1776 English and German mercenary forces, under the command of Lord Charles Cornwallis, landed at the base of the Palisade escarpment. Historical records show the troops disembarked at Huyler's Landing, near the present day town of Closter.

Fortunately for the rebels, Washington, while at his camp near the village of Hackensack, received news of the British landing. He ordered an immediate evacuation of Fort Lee (he knew after the rapid fall of Fort Washington that Fort Lee could not be held). Orders were dispatched to Fort Lee troops to march northward along the King's Highway -- what is now Grand Avenue -- and rendezvous with Washington in Englewood.

Washington joined the Fort Lee troops, and began a march along what is our present day Liberty Road. A route that started in Englewood and eventually ended in Trenton, and the fateful American victory against the British (Germans mercenaries actually) on December 26, 1776. As was -- unbelievably -- often the case for the Americans during that time, luck was on their side. Washington's rendezvous with his troops in Englewood went peacefully, but it could of easily turned violent. Early that night, Cornwallis, upon crossing the Hudson, perhaps out of fear of a trap, doubted that Huyler's Landing was the best site from which to make an ascent up the Palisade escarpment. So Cornwallis consumed several hours looking for a more favorable site, before convincing himself the site was the best he could hope for. Had Cornwallis not spent hours scouting for an alternative landing, the British may well have reached Englewood before Washington's forces had retreated. Englewood may well have been one of the bloodiest of many military disasters for the Americans in 1776.

This post is somewhat of a parenthetic note, but important nonetheless.

My last post for The Englewood Report was written to put into context the history of New Jersey during the Revolutionary War. I had planned that this post would deal directly with New Jersey's experience during our war for independence.

But, given the comments I've received asking why I felt obliged as an architect to write about American history, I've decided to address these questions head on.

Isn't architecture, as an art, strictly about the design of buildings? Yes, it is about that; but, no, not only that.

Architecture, like mathematics, is in many, many ways whatever you want to make of it; which is to say, architecture has its roots in everything. Vitruvius, the gifted Roman polymath, alluded to this when he wrote in his De Architectura that for a thing to be architecture, it must possess "firmitas, utilitas, venustas" -- firmness, utility, and beauty. I take him to mean that for a building to rise above simple building-ness and reach the status of architecture it must, first of all, be well constructed -- that is, be structurally sound, have a roof that successfully keeps the rain out, and have windows that bring fresh air and light into the interior. Second, the building must competently serve a function -- if a fortification, be well fortified; if a bath house, be well plumbed and heated. And third, the building must possess a beauty that touches both inhabitant and visitor alike.

By Vitruvius' own standards, I would surmise (leaving questions of beauty aside) that he would criticize Englewood's new parking garage as architecture, because it apparently serves its purpose poorly: people aren't choosing to park in the garage! Nor would Vitruvius praise Englewood's Palisade Avenue "Towne Centre" as architecture, since a significant number of its residents are dissatisfied with its construction quality, calling it "uninhabitable." But these are simply two of a number of buildings in our town that fail Vitruvius' prescriptive test, and what's more, a footnote to the central purpose of this article.

Of course, Architecture is art, but it doesn't usually tend towards the social commentary that we are accustomed to seeing in the art of our day. On the other hand, while architecture can passively comment on our society, architecture is itself an active ingredient, an almost living agent that is involved in shaping our society.

We, the people, in turn make the decisions which lead to the building of various types of architecture. Casino, school, cathedral or prison: each of these are a type of architecture that we choose or don't choose to construct and to shape our world.

This point -- that you and I help to shape the architecture that in turn shapes our city -- does not by itself give a good accounting of why I am writing about the American Revolution as part of a blog intended to focus on architecture. For us to intelligently choose what our city's architecture should be, we need to be knowledgeable of the environmental, political, and historical ground that our city has sprouted from. Why know this? Because there's no point in building an ice palace in the desert, or a hospital in a cemetery, they're out of place.

By bringing to light the historical context out of which Englewood has emerged, I hope to give each of us a more complete sense of where we have been, where we are now, and where we may be headed.

I for one feel deeply that we are selling our city and ourselves out; we can do much better. We must do better, if those future builders of architecture are to view us as wise and not foolish.

In my last posting for the Englewood Report, I stated that Englewood and New Jersey are hallowed ground, worthy of "being nurtured with a high degree of financial and creative resources."  Before I present what I mean by this kind of quality stewardship, I wish to present the case for the national significance of our City, County and State.

As Americans, our American War of Independence is engraved into our psyches as the preeminent defining, transcendent event of our nation.  Abraham Lincoln certainly believed this. In November 1863, at the site of the Battle of Gettysburg, Lincoln delivered his immortal Address to a gathering of families who had lost brothers, sons and fathers, to assembled soldiers and, undoubtedly, a cadre of wealthy and powerful officials. Lincoln sought to console his listeners and to strengthen their resolve by making sense of the great loss — 50,000 casualties — that had so recently scarred our nation.

Lincoln began with words we all remember being taught in school:

Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth upon this continent a new nation...

Four score and seven years —87— from 1863 would bring us to 1776: the birth year of our country. Why would Lincoln, in the midst of a violent fratricidal war, begin his address by citing the nation's founding? Clearly, Lincoln believed that the sacrifices that his generation was making were in the same sanctifying spirit as those made by colonial Americans.

So, in fact, did the level of fighting that took place in Englewood and New Jersey during in our War of Independence make these places national sacred ground? And, other than the sacrifice of armed conflict, did our ancestral townsfolk and New Jerseyans sustain a heavy hardships during this war?

Historians of New Jersey often cite the term "Cockpit of the Revolution" to describe the calamitous condition our state was in at that time. New Jersey was the site of more fighting that any of the other 13 colonies.  Estimates range to over seven hundred episodes, from small skirmishes to large battles. ["Crossroads of The American Revolution", Fleming, New Jersey in the American Revolution]

A study of New Jersey's geographic place in colonial America begins to explain why the state was the epicenter of military action. With the colonies' largest city, Philadelphia, to its southwest, and its second largest city, New York, to its northeast, New Jersey inevitably was the de facto central player in these cities' defenses. New Jersey not only became a major battleground, but also a home to a large number of armed camps, both Whig and Tory.

And it was not just the amount of military activity that took place in New Jersey, but its importance to the overall history of the Revolutionary War that vouches for the state's pivotal role. Let's think back to the events of 1776. The Continental Congress, meeting in Philadelphia, had declared the country's independence. George Washington, appointed by the congress as the commander of American forces, had in some respects bluffed the British into surrendering Boston. Seeing their position as suddenly un-defendable, the British depart for Nova Scotia to regroup. These and other fortuitous events, along with inexperience on our part, lead many Americans to conclude that the British had no desire for a long and costly conflict, and that the war would be over in short order.

There was scarcely a militia man who did not think himself equal to two or three of the British.
[McCullough, 1776, 117]

Such miscalculations quite nearly brought an end to a group of revolutionaries who had just five-months earlier declared their sovereignty as a political body, and along with them, the end of an experiment in modern democratic statehood.

How this near collapse happened can be summarized so: following the British evacuation of Boston, Congress ordered the Continental Army to New York to defend the city and the crucial waterway, the Hudson. While General Washington and his staff were well aware of the difficulty of defending the city, they were also ill equipped and grossly inexperienced. The British, on the other hand, were advantaged. With their return to the colonies on June 29, the British brought a large naval force and, with it, 30,000+ troops. In rapid succession, the British occupied Staten Island, landed at Gravesend Bay, Long Island and proceeded to drive the rebels from Flatbush, Brooklyn, Bushwick, Kips Bay, Harlem Heights and White Plains. Then, Fort Washington, with 3000 American defenders, fell.

In a disastrous campaign for New York in which Washington's army had suffered one humiliating, costly reverse after another, this, the surrender of Fort Washington on Saturday, November 16, was the most devastating blow of all, an utter catastrophe.
[McCullough, 1776,  242]

With New York lost, the war's fighting shifted to New Jersey.

In this way, our nation's history shows just how much our City, County and State are worth fighting for. But, does our stewardship of these places reflect this worthiness?

Stay tuned for my next entry.

Related reading:
• Gerlach, Larry R., The Road to Revolution: New Jersey's Revolutionary Experience. Trenton: New Jersey Historical Society, 1975.
• Lefkowitz, Arthur S., The Long Retreat: The Calamitous American Defense of New Jersey, 1776. New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 1998.
• Lundin, Leonard. Cockpit of the Revolution: The War for Independence in New Jersey. New York: Octagon Books, 1972.
• McCullough, David. 1776. New York: Simon & Schuster, 2005.
• Pomfret, John E., Colonial New Jersey: a History. New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1973.

John Clagett worked as a senior designer at the office of Frank Gehry and Associates and is the principal of the firm John Clagett, Architect.  The director of the Center for Ecumenical Research in the Arts and Sciences, Mr. Clagett was awarded a Fulbright Commission Senior Research Grant for his ongoing research into the philosophical and mathematical meaning in the religious architecture of the west. Mr. Clagett is an avid naturalist, photographer and 4-year resident of Englewood.

I have been asked to contribute a column to The Englewood Report. I take this invitation by the paper's editors as a great privilege: it offers me the opportunity to share my thoughts and observations with my close and not so close Englewood neighbors, and in turn to hear their reactions.  But I take the Englewood Report's invitation also as a solemn responsibility. I say this, for Englewood is now facing a number of crises, each of which have the potential to desecrate our town.

I admit that it might seem highfalutin to describe the current fix that Englewood, New Jersey is in as a "desecration" of the city.  For if what our eyes tell us is reality, we may accept that Englewood is nothing more than another small city to be aesthetically ignored and economically exploited.  After all, Englewood is in a state whose residents are called the "bridge and tunnel crowd" and whose most well known family is the emblematic Sopranos. And then there's the sarcastic joke: "Which Jersey Turnpike exit do you live off?" All these and plenty more socio-pop dismissals of NJ municipalities render Englewood as the civic equivalent of a cup of Dunkin Donuts coffee. This metaphorical stimulant, with its styrofoam cup being disposable, is meant just to keep you awake and on the phone, preferably on the way to an Atlantic City casino.

In my next blog, I will take on such derisive slurs of our city and our state. I will counter that Englewood and New Jersey should instead be held as hallowed ground by all Americans and deserving of great care, worthy of being nurtured with a high degree of financial and creative resources. This is surely an idea whose time has come for Englewood, as it is for the rest of our state and country.

Related viewing:
James Howard Kunstler – The Tragedy of Suburbia

Related reading:
Le Corbusier – When the Cathedrals Were White
Plato – The Republic