he Eighth Avenue express impelled me onward with effortless speed toward the
George Washington Bridge Bus Station, a less celebrated cousin in the Port
Authority Family. Though a relative stranger to the New York City subway
system, I'd nonetheless mastered it with considerable ease over the course of the
last several days, till now at last I found myself with my camera concealed
beneath my jacket, en route to Tenafly, New Jersey.
Through the windows flickered patches of shadow and light, as the car whisked beneath the western edge of Central Park, and silently onward under Harlem. I was on a mission, the scope of which was largely unknown to me at the moment, driven simply by the desire to help preserve a piece of history that might otherwise be swallowed up by the passage of time. Today I wanted to capture, as best I could, the nuances of the town that had produced Jon-Erik Hexum. I wanted to see the images he'd known, to put faces on the people who'd helped to inspire him, to see the substance of the person behind the Hollywood tinsel--a person known around these parts simply as "Jack"... It wasn't without a little dread that I approached this task; I'd conjured up images of tight-lipped New Englandy townsfolk who don't take kindly to strangers nosin' around, but curiosity had won out in the end, and here I was on my way to Tenafly.
I wasn't actually a complete stranger, there, I reasoned. I had after all, given it a quick gander by car once in 1986 during my very first trip to New York. I'd spent only a couple of hours there back then, yet had had the luck, nonetheless, of finding the '76 Tenakin (Tenafly High yearbook) in the town library, and of meeting up with Marilyn Cooper, mother of Juliet Cooper, one of Jack's childhood friends. Jack had played magician at Juliet's birthday parties, and much later, hosted their 1982 West Coast vacation. They'd watched as he played Phineas Bogg, who, in western garb, was busy rescuing young Jeffrey from the wiles of Billy the Kid during the filming of a Voyagers! episode . Mrs. Cooper had graciously invited me over to mull through a box they had of Jack's old letters and photos detailing his arrival and early successes in Hollywood.
By 12:20, the train had come to its stop at 175th St; a series of escalators led me out of the bowels of the Earth up to track 21, where the 84-14 Red and Tan bus service departed at thirty minute intervals (every 15 minutes during rush hour) into the New Jersey towns of Englewood, Tenafly, Cresskill, and Demarest. This itself was the route Jack himself had undoubtedly used routinely as he scurried back and forth between Manhattan auditions and his Bergen County digs.
After shelling out a paltry $2.60, I was soon on my way across the George
Washington Bridge into the Garden State. The bus itself had the feel of an
upscale Greyhound, with those metallic ventilation strips running along side
beneath the windows, ensuring a constant supply of fresh oxygen. Off to the
left side of the bus, the skyscrapers of Manhattan glistened in the midday
sunshine; to the right, the palisades of New Jersey arose from the waters of
the churning Hudson, their color a dull beige which blended into the barren
trees that lined them. Spring up here didn't spring quite as quickly as it
did back in my hometown of New Orleans. Only the tiniest of buds had begun to
sprout on these northern trees, though the grass was at least on its way to
being green.
The bus gradually wound its way up the side streets of Englewood as it pressed
northward. Englewood was a fairly well-kept city of red-brick depression era
buildings, at least the part of it that was visible from Engle St, which the
bus was presently following. This was the place where John Travolta had been
spotted by manager Bob Le Mond while doing dinner theatre in his late teens.
It was Bob Le Mond as well who'd discovered Jon-Erik, (though through mutual
acquaintances in Manhattan) and Englewood was also the place Jon-Erik had been
born--on a chilly November morning in 1957. The surroundings were now taking
on a decidedly New England flavor; the crowded tenements and mismatching
aluminum siding so prevalent in Hackensack and Newark were not to be found
here. White wood-frame houses spaced well apart sat on manicured green lawns.
If the bios were accurate, and Gretha Hexum had brought up her two sons with
very little financial resources, she'd no doubt done well to keep them all
afloat in this upper middle-class environment.
24 short minutes from my departure from the less-than-comely Port Authority Station in Manhattan, I'd reached my destination. I stepped off the bus into what I found to be the quintessential image of small-town America, complete with rustic Victorian railroad station and signpost welcome by the Tenafly Chamber of Commerce. (INSERT WELCOME TO TENAFLY SIGN TO THE LEFT OF PARAGRAPH, AND VIEW OF RR STATION FEATURING TRACK AT LOWER RIGHT CORNER OF PHOTO --THE ONE NOT SHOWING PAGE FENCE--TO THE RIGHT SIDE OF PARAGRAPH) I was smack dab in the middle of town, at the junction of River Edge Road and West Railroad Avenue. Along the surrounding streets were homey store fronts, consisting of drug stores, hair salons and numerous real estate offices. One particular name stood out in my mind--"Saydah Realty." Mrs. Cooper had mentioned during my last visit that Steve Saydah had been Jack's best friend growing up; apparently the Saydah name was well-emblazoned in the list of prominent Tenaflians.
Off to the side of the railroad station was a sign proclaiming the history of the station. (Insert picture of Railroad Station Historical Marker) As I consulted my Bergen County map, I realized that the track, part of the Conrail system, skewered the center of Tenafly through the north and south; A car hardly seemed necessary, my two main destinations being Jack's house and Tenafly High School. The tracks made the task of finding my way around substantially easier: Tenafly High was located about five blocks to the north of my present location, about a block to the west of the tracks, off Mahan Street; Jack's house was about five rather leisurely blocks to the south of where I was, about a block to the east of the tracks, at the juncture of Elm Street and Serpentine Road. After a hearty lunch of lox and bagels at a nearby deli, I set off on my expedition.
Beside the Railroad tracks was a pleasant walking path, which led its ambulatory guests on a tree-laden stroll past the some of the town's main landmarks, including the Tenafly Diner, (INSERT DINER PHOTO) and a bit further down, The Clinton Inn, the town's main lodging place. The Clinton Inn was said by Mrs. Cooper to have once had Gretha Hexum in its employ. Some obligatory chirping birds and playful squirrels added to the ambiance, as well as the occasional dog-walker. (INSERT PATHWAY PHOTO LOOKING SOUTH -- THE ONE WITH THE YELLOW BUSHES ON THE LEFT SIDE OF THE PHOTO) The greatest significance of the pathway, however, was that it was a route the Hexums would have certainly known well. Jack would have used this to jog to school or other places of local interest in the absence of a car. In the mid-70's, as he dreamed of participating in future Olympic decathlon competitions [see Paulsen article], this surely would've been a place to train.
Along the pathway to the left of a long cluster of trees ran Dean Road, which, along with the railroad track was on the verge of leading its unsuspecting travelers back into the city limits of Englewood, when quite suddenly, off to the left, appeared Elm St. It was Elm Street I was looking for, specifically number 35. The first block--between Dean Road and Serpentine--appeared to be the personification of suburban bliss, with its wood-frame homes and tree-lined street. (INSERT PHOTO OF ELM ST HEXUM HOUSE NOT YET VISIBLE --CAR ON LEFT, HOMES ON RIGHT) A little further up ahead was the junction of Elm and Serpentine, and in the distance on the northeast corner sat the Hexum house, a bit more quaint and simpler than the rest, yet certainly not lacking in character. It had been refurbished quite a bit since my first encounter with it back in '86. But now, even that memory was faded by time, and as I stood here once again in front of the Hexum homestead, I wondered to myself if its present neighbors even knew now who'd once lived there. Gretha and Jack were now long gone, as well as Thorleif, who'd bought it with Gretha back in the summer of '63, not long before their divorce. Jack's brother Gunnar was the only surviving member of the immediate family, and he'd long since moved on to Boston. (INSERT A PICTURE OR TWO OF JACK'S HOUSE, DEFINITELY THE ONE WITH THE STREET SIGN IN THE FOREGROUND!)
I stood there for a few moments, perchance to hear the whispers of the past blowing in the breezes amid the chirping of the birds and the occasional hum of a passing car. However, the desire not to be the guest of honor in a Neighborhood Watch round-up, as well as the lateness of the hour (nearly 2:15 p.m.) convinced me to head back toward the railway path. After all, I wanted to arrive at Tenafly High before everyone left for the afternoon. I debated whether I should introduce myself to Mr. Mullin or not. I certainly didn't want him to feel intruded upon. Yet on the other hand, J.P. Mullin, as Western Civ teacher and Senior class advisor had perhaps had the most influence on the scholastic life of young Jack Hexum. People Magazine had recounted an amusing anecdote of Mr. Mullins' where Jack, as drum-major, had blocked him from leaving the parking lot one afternoon by marching the school band in front of his car. Also, pictured in the '76 Tenakin was a prominent photo of J.P. in a tiger costume atop a table, roaring at the camera. Resolving that his roar was probably worse than his bite, I decided to take my chances and go ahead with my impromptu meeting.
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