There’s a WWII-Era Submarine Stuck in the New Jersey Mud

Jay Serafino
Jay Serafino

During the rainy weekend of Saturday, August 11, 2018, as massive flash floods swept through Bergen County, New Jersey, a group of vandals broke into the USS Ling, a World War II-era submarine that sits on the banks of the Hackensack River. According to NorthJersey.com, hatches throughout the sub were forced open, allowing water to rush in and flood the interior. Worse yet, four plaques were stolen from the property, which paid tribute to the 52 subs that were lost during the war.

The Ling becoming the scene of a crime is just the latest act in a series of misfortunes that turned this once-proud piece of naval history into a sad site caked with rust and scarred by corrosion. The vessel was supposed to honor the United States’s proud military tradition, while serving as an educational showpiece for Hackensack area residents. Over the last few years, however, acts of both nature and bureaucracy have left the ship quite literally stuck in the New Jersey mud.

Construction began on the Ling in November 1942 at the Cramp Shipbuilding Company in Philadelphia; the craft was officially commissioned in June 1945 at the Boston Navy Yard. By then, though, the final shots of World War II were being fired, and the Ling made just one patrol in the Atlantic before the conflict was officially over.

The 312-foot-long ship was kept in reserve after the war before being recommissioned in the 1960s, where it was used as a training vessel in the Brooklyn Navy Yard. Rather than send the sub to a scrap pile, the Navy donated it to members of the local Submarine Memorial Association in 1972, who placed it in Hackensack, New Jersey, to serve as the main showpiece of the New Jersey Naval Museum—which otherwise consisted only of a trailer containing photos and other Navy memorabilia, as well as a few pieces of artillery displayed on the grass in front of the ship.

A sign for the New Jersey Naval Museum
A sign for the New Jersey Naval Museum off River Street in Hackensack, New Jersey.
Jay Serafino

For a $12 entrance fee, you could roam the ship’s cramped hallways to explore the Ling’s engine room, walk through the crew’s sleeping quarters, and come face-to-face with a torpedo launcher. There was even an ice cream maker onboard, a common amenity on WWII submarines. One of the perks of captaining the ship was also apparently being in charge of choosing which flavor to make.

Though the Ling never had the big city money or pristine polish of the USS Intrepid—which is docked just about 15 miles away on Manhattan's West Side—it was a reasonably priced way for locals to explore a piece of naval pride in their own backyard.

Until Hurricane Sandy literally cut the Ling off from land in 2012.

“The storm kind of shifted or broke the connection between the dock and the boat,” Captain Hugh Carola, program director for the Hackensack Riverkeeper—a nonprofit environmental organization aimed at preserving the Hackensack River—tells Mental Floss. “There’s no way to safely and correctly access the boat from the shore anymore.”

The ship briefly reopened for tours following a cleanup effort, but in 2015 it was deemed inaccessible and permanently closed when the already damaged pier finally broke away from the shore. With its centerpiece out of commission, the museum—which still owns the ship itself—closed up shop as well.

Sadly, that was just the beginning of the Ling’s problems. Over the years, the river around the ship has filled with silt, leaving only 3 feet of water in the region at low tide. “The river has silted in so much over there, there hasn’t been any vessel past the Court Street bridge, I believe, since the Ling was put there,” Carola explains.

Complicating matters further, the land the museum occupied is being redeveloped. It was originally the property of the Borg family, owners of The Record newspaper, who leased the space to the museum for $1 a year. But when the family sold the paper and decided to redevelop the 20 acres of land, the museum’s lease was terminated. Demolition on the site will begin in September 2018; the museum packed up its remains and left in mid-August, according to NorthJersey.com. The museum hopes to find a new home, but since the sub is technically still in the river, it’s on public land—and no one is quite sure how to proceed.

“Hackensack has no jurisdiction,” Carola tells Mental Floss. “Private owners have no jurisdiction, because they don’t own where the boat is sitting. That’s a public trust resource. That’s tide land. You and I own that.”

So why can’t the Ling just be moved? Well, it’s complicated.

Tug boats and barges likely wouldn’t be able to get to the ship’s location in the shallow river waters. And even if they could, dealing with the nearby Court Street Bridge would be another hurdle. If, by some miracle, all the logistics worked out, Carola questions whether the Ling itself could even float at this point due to its deteriorated condition. It seems like every possible solution runs into a problem that puts it just out of reach.

“If you want to take it out in pieces, hopefully to reassemble it someplace else, that could be done,” Carola says. “But, then again, you have to—what?—create a temporary shipyard to prevent oil and whatever fluid might still be in the boat from getting into the Earth. And who’s going to pay for all that?”

The USS Ling submarine in Hackensack, New Jersey
Jay Serafino

Even officials for the city of Hackensack, home to the Ling since the early 1970s, question whether or not this piece of history will be able to find a happy ending.

“We appreciated the significance of the site, but it’s become a liability at this point, and that’s a shame," Albert Dib, city historian and director of redevelopment for the City of Hackensack, told The New York Times.

Malcolm A. Borg, whose father leased the land to the museum in the 1970s, echoed Dib’s grim assessment while pointing out the complex bureaucracy of the situation, telling The New York Times: “It's tragic—it’s rusting through in a number of places. It would take a lot of permits to get that boat out of there.”

In addition to local government and private business, the community itself has been involved in the fight for the Ling with a GoFundMe campaign that launched in June 2017. It was started by the folks behind the New Jersey Naval Museum to help raise money for the restoration and the preservation of the discarded sub, but after more than a year online, the campaign has raised just over $20,000 of its $100,000 goal.

“Nobody cares about it,” Les Altschuler, vice president of the Submarine Memorial Association, told The New York Times.

While Altschuler may believe that no one cares about the ship, it doesn't seem as if anyone is looking to make an aggressive move to get rid of it, either. "We know it's important,” Bob Sommer, a spokesman for Macromedia, which owns the Record property, told NorthJersey.com. “Of course, it's under consideration as possibly part of the landscape."

As if there wasn’t enough stress surrounding the Ling, now locals have to wait for authorities to make progress finding the people who vandalized the ship. “It adds an additional burden of time and resources that this group so desperately needs,” Gilbert De Laat, the New Jersey Naval Museum president, said. “It’s unfortunate that someone took this fragile situation and made it worse.”

Despite hurricanes, vandals, and a multi-million-dollar land deal threatening its very existence, the ship seems to be staying put for now. Whether you want to call it resilient or stubborn, the USS Ling continues to be a staple of Hackensack—though probably not in the way anyone intended.

Eliza Leslie: The Most Influential Cookbook Writer of the 19th Century

American cookbook author Eliza Leslie
American cookbook author Eliza Leslie
Wikimedia // Public Domain

If it wasn't for Eliza Leslie, American recipes might look very different. Leslie wrote the most popular cookbook of the 19th century, published a recipe widely credited as being the first for chocolate cake in the United States, and authored fiction for both adults and children. Her nine cookbooks—as well as her domestic management and etiquette guides—made a significant mark in American history and society, despite the fact that she never ran a kitchen of her own.

Early Dreams

Born in Philadelphia on November 15, 1787, to Robert and Lydia Leslie, Eliza was an intelligent child and a voracious reader. Her dream of becoming a writer was nurtured by her father, a prosperous watchmaker, inventor, and intellectual who was friends with Benjamin Franklin and Thomas Jefferson. She once wrote that "the dream of my childhood [was] one day seeing my name in print."

Sadly, her father’s business failed around the turn of the 19th century and he died in 1803. The family took in boarders to make ends meet, and as the oldest of five, Leslie helped her mother in the kitchen. To gain culinary experience, she attended Mrs. Goodfellow’s Cooking School in Philadelphia, the first school of its kind in the United States. Urged by her brother Thomas—and after fielding numerous requests for recipes from friends and family—she compiled her first book, Seventy-Five Receipts for Pastry, Cakes, and Sweetmeats, in 1828. Notably, the book included the term cup cake, referring to Leslie's employment of a teacup as a measuring tool ("two large tea-cups full of molasses")—possibly the first-ever mention of a cup cake in print.

Seventy-Five Receipts was a hit, and was reprinted numerous times. Encouraged by this success—and by her publisher, Munroe & Francis—Leslie moved on to her true desire: writing fiction. She penned short stories and storybooks for young readers as well as adult fiction and won several awards for her efforts. One of her prize-winning short stories, the humorous "Mrs. Washington Potts," appeared in Godey’s Lady’s Book, the popular 19th century magazine for which she also served as assistant editor. Leslie also contributed to Graham’s Magazine, the Saturday Gazette, and The Saturday Evening Post. At least one critic called her tales "perfect daguerreotypes of real life."

As much as Leslie loved writing fiction, however, it didn't always pay the bills. She wrote a second cookbook, Domestic French Cookery, in 1832, and achieved the pinnacle of her success in 1837 with Directions for Cookery. That work became the most beloved cookbook of the 1800s; it sold at least 150,000 copies and was republished 60 times by 1870. She offered pointers on procuring the best ingredients ("catfish that have been caught near the middle of the river are much nicer than those that are taken near the shore where they have access to impure food") and infused the book with wit. In a section discouraging the use of cold meat in soups, she wrote, "It is not true that French cooks have the art of producing excellent soups from cold scraps. There is much bad soup to be found in France, at inferior houses; but good French cooks are not, as is generally supposed, really in the practice of concocting any dishes out of the refuse of the table."

In The Taste of America, noted modern food historians John and Karen Hess called Directions for Cookery “one of the two best American cookbooks ever written," citing the book's precise directions, engaging tips, straightforward commentary, and diverse recipes—such as catfish soup and election cake—as the keys to its excellence.

Leslie is also credited with publishing America’s first printed recipe for chocolate cake, in her 1846 Lady’s Receipt Book. While chocolate had been used in baking in Europe as far back as the 1600s, Leslie’s recipe was probably obtained from a professional chef or pastry cook in Philadelphia. The recipe, which featured grated chocolate and a whole grated nutmeg, is quite different from most of today's chocolate cakes, with its strong overtones of spice and earthy, rather than sweet, flavors. (You can find the full recipe below.)

Later in life, while continuing to write cookbooks, Leslie edited The Gift: A Christmas and New Year’s Present, which included early publications by Edgar Allan Poe. She also edited her own magazine of literature and fashion, Miss Leslie’s Magazine. She wrote only one novel, 1848's Amelia; Or a Young Lady’s Vicissitudes, but once said that if she was to start her literary career over, she would have only written novels.

A Uniquely American Voice

Historians have argued that Leslie was successful because she crafted recipes to appeal to the young country’s desire for upward mobility as well as a uniquely American identity. At the time she began writing, women primarily used British cookbooks; Leslie appealed to them with a distinctly American work. (She noted in the preface to Seventy-Five Receipts, "There is frequently much difficulty in following directions in English and French Cookery Books, not only from their want of explicitness, but from the difference in the fuel, fire-places, and cooking utensils. ... The receipts in this little book are, in every sense of the word, American.")

Leslie included regional American dishes in her books, promoted the use of quality ingredients, and was the first to (sometimes) organize recipes by including ingredients at the beginning of each recipe instead of using a narrative form, setting the tone for modern recipe writing. Her books were considered a treasure trove of knowledge for young pioneer women who, frequently separated from their families for the first time, often relied on Leslie's works for guidance.

Unmarried herself, Leslie never managed her own kitchen, and often had others testing recipes for her. She maintained strong ties with her erudite, sophisticated family, and lived for a time with her brother Thomas while he was attending West Point. Another brother, Charles Leslie, was a well-regarded painter in England; her sister Anna was also an artist, and sister Patty was married to a publisher who produced some of Leslie’s work. As she got older, Leslie lived for years in the United States Hotel in Philadelphia, where she was something of a celebrity for her wit and strong opinions.

Leslie died on January 1, 1858. Many of her recipes are still used today, but it's likely she’d be most pleased to know that many of her short stories are available online. Modern readers can appreciate the totality of her work: the fiction writing that was her passion, though for which she was lesser known, and her culinary writing, which guided generations.

Eliza Leslie's Recipe for Chocolate Cake

From The Lady's Receipt Book:

CHOCOLATE CAKE.—Scrape down three ounces of the best and purest chocolate, or prepared cocoa. Cut up, into a deep pan, three-quarters of a pound of fresh butter; add to it a pound of powdered loaf-sugar; and stir the butter and sugar together till very light and white. Have ready 14 ounces (two ounces less than a pound) of sifted flour; a powdered nutmeg; and a tea-spoonful of powdered cinnamon—mixed together. Beat the whites of ten eggs till they stand alone; then the yolks till they are very thick and smooth. Then mix the yolks and whites gradually together, beating very hard when they are all mixed. Add the eggs, by degrees, to the beaten butter and sugar, in turn with the flour and the scraped chocolate,—a little at a time of each; also the spice. Stir the whole very hard. Put the mixture into a buttered tin pan with straight sides, and bake it at least four hours. If nothing is to be baked afterwards, let it remain in till the oven becomes cool. When cold, ice it.

11 Facts About Johann Sebastian Bach

Illustration by Mental Floss. Image: Rischgitz, Getty Images
Illustration by Mental Floss. Image: Rischgitz, Getty Images

Johann Sebastian Bach is everywhere. Weddings? Bach. Haunted houses? Bach. Church? Bach. Shredding electric guitar solos? Look, it’s Bach! The Baroque composer produced more than 1100 works, from liturgical organ pieces to secular cantatas for orchestra, and his ideas about musical form and harmony continue to influence generations of music-makers. Here are 11 things you might not know about the man behind the music.

1. There's some disagreement about when he was actually born.

Some people celebrate Bach’s birthday on March 21. Other people light the candles on March 31. The correct date depends on whom you ask. Bach was born in Thuringia in 1685, when the German state was still observing the Julian calendar. Today, we use the Gregorian calendar, which shifted the dates by 11 days. And while most biographies opt for the March 31 date, Bach scholar Christopher Wolff firmly roots for Team 21. “True, his life was actually 11 days longer because Protestant Germany adopted the Gregorian calendar in 1700,” he told Classical MPR, “but with the legal stipulation that all dates prior to Dec. 31, 1699, remain valid.”

2. He was at the center of a musical dynasty.

Bach’s great-grandfather was a piper. His grandfather was a court musician. His father was a violinist, organist, court trumpeter, and kettledrum player. At least two of his uncles were composers. He had five brothers—all named Johann—and the three who lived to adulthood became musicians. J.S. Bach also had 20 children, and, of those who lived past childhood, at least five became professional composers. According to the Nekrolog, an obituary written by Bach’s son Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach, "[S]tarting with Veit Bach, the founding father of this family, all his descendants, down to the seventh generation, have dedicated themselves to the profession of music, with only a few exceptions."

3. He took a musical pilgrimage that puts every road trip to Woodstock to shame.

In 1705, 20-year-old Bach walked 280 miles—that's right, walked—from the city of Arnstadt to Lübeck in northern Germany to hear a concert by the influential organist and composer Dieterich Buxtehude. He stuck around for four months to study with the musician [PDF]. Bach hoped to succeed Buxtehude as the organist of Lübeck's St. Mary's Church, but marriage to one of Buxtehude's daughters was a prerequisite to taking over the job. Bach declined, and walked back home.

4. He brawled with his students.

One of Bach’s first jobs was as a church organist in Arnstadt. When he signed up for the role, nobody told him he also had to teach a student choir and orchestra, a responsibility Bach hated. Not one to mince words, Bach one day lost patience with a error-prone bassoonist, Johann Geyersbach, and called him a zippelfagottist—that is, a “nanny-goat bassoonist.” Those were fighting words. Days later, Geyersbach attacked Bach with a walking stick. Bach pulled a dagger. The rumble escalated into a full-blown scrum that required the two be pulled apart.

5. He spent 30 days in jail for quitting his job.

When Bach took a job in 1708 as a chamber musician in the court of the Duke of Saxe-Weimar, he once again assumed a slew of responsibilities that he never signed up for. This time, he took it in stride, believing his hard work would lead to his promotion to kapellmeister (music director). But after five years, the top job was handed to the former kapellmeister’s son. Furious, Bach resigned and joined a rival court. As retribution, the duke jailed him for four weeks. Bach spent his time in the slammer writing preludes for organ.

6. The Brandenburg Concertos were a failed job application.

Around 1721, Bach was the head of court music for Prince Leopold of Anhalt-Köthen. Unfortunately, the composer reportedly didn’t get along with the prince’s new wife, and he started looking for a new gig. (Notice a pattern?) Bach polished some manuscripts that had been sitting around and mailed them to a potential employer, Christian Ludwig, the Margrave of Brandenburg. That package, which included the Brandenburg Concertos—now considered some of the most important orchestral compositions of the Baroque era—failed to get Bach the job [PDF].

7. He wrote an amazing coffee jingle.

Bach apparently loved coffee enough to write a song about it: "Schweigt stille, plaudert nicht" ("Be still, stop chattering"). Performed in 1735 at Zimmerman’s coffee house in Leipzig, the song is about a coffee-obsessed woman whose father wants her to stop drinking the caffeinated stuff. She rebels and sings this stanza:

Ah! How sweet coffee tastes
More delicious than a thousand kisses
Milder than muscatel wine.
Coffee, I have to have coffee,
And, if someone wants to pamper me,
Ah, then bring me coffee as a gift!

8. If Bach challenged you to a keyboard duel, you were guaranteed to be embarrassed.

In 1717, Louis Marchand, a harpsichordist from France, was invited to play for Augustus, Elector of Saxony, and performed so well that he was offered a position playing for the court. This annoyed the court’s concertmaster, who found Marchand arrogant and insufferable. To scare the French harpsichordist away, the concertmaster hatched a plan with his friend, J.S. Bach: a keyboard duel. Bach and Marchand would improvise over a number of different styles, and the winner would take home 500 talers. But when Marchand learned just how talented Bach was, he hightailed it out of town.

9. Some of his music may have been composed to help with insomnia.

Some people are ashamed to admit that classical music, especially the Baroque style, makes them sleepy. Be ashamed no more! According to Bach’s earliest biographer, the Goldberg Variations were composed to help Count Hermann Karl von Keyserling overcome insomnia. (This story, to be fair, is disputed.) Whatever the truth, it hasn’t stopped the Andersson Dance troupe from presenting a fantastic Goldberg-based tour of performances called “Ternary Patterns for Insomnia.” Sleep researchers have also suggested studying the tunes’ effects on sleeplessness [PDF].

10. A botched eye surgery blinded him.

When Bach was 65, he had eye surgery. The “couching” procedure, which was performed by a traveling surgeon named John Taylor, involved shoving the cataract deep into the eye with a blunt instrument. Post-op, Taylor gave the composer eye drops that contained pigeon blood, mercury, and pulverized sugar. It didn’t work. Bach went blind and died shortly after. Meanwhile, Taylor moved on to botch more musical surgeries. He would perform the same procedure on the composer George Frideric Handel, who also went blind.

11. Nobody is 100 percent confident that Bach is buried in his grave.

In 1894, the pastor of St. John’s Church in Leipzig wanted to move the composer’s body out of the church graveyard to a more dignified setting. There was one small problem: Bach had been buried in an unmarked grave, as was common for regular folks at the time. According to craniologist Wilhelm His, a dig crew tried its best to find the composer but instead found “heaps of bones, some in many layers lying on top of each other, some mixed in with the remains of coffins, others already smashed by the hacking of the diggers.” The team later claimed to find Bach’s box, but there’s doubt they found the right (de)composer. Today, Bach supposedly resides in Leipzig’s St. Thomas Church.

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