The Old Essex County Prison (AKA the Newark Street Jail)
It was an
unusual day - When filming it's not often we find ourselves in a
group setting, and it's even less frequent that we aren't the ones
tasked with driving, so from the onset this was a unique venture for
us. It was an enjoyable change of pace, as we were in good
company and enjoyed the downtime lazily gazing out from the windows
of the SUV as we made our journey. Eventually our ride made a final
turn and slowly proceeded down the rough pavement of Newark Street,
creeping to a stop alongside a curb. “We're here”, said the
driver as he put the vehicle into park and killed the ignition. We
paused as we exited the truck into the warm summer sun, taking a
moment to stare at the plum of greenery across the street. A small
forest in the middle of Newark, and within it lie the old city jail.
Though decades-abandoned today, the
Newark Street Jail enjoyed a long history as the city jail to Newark,
New Jersey. A history which begins with its construction along the
bank of the then newly completed Morris Canal in 1837, a canal which
no longer exists today. This prison was built to replace the former
city jail, which had burnt to the ground in the summer of 1835, any
remains of which are now sealed away beneath what is today Newark's
Grace Episcopal Church. The Newark Street Jail was a standalone
prison, and is several blocks removed from the courthouse, whereas
the previous building had housed both functions.
Built of brick and local brownstone,
the initial structure was little more than a two-story square,
attached to a single wing of cells, and did not see further
renovation until the 1890s when several additions were made to the
base structure. 1907 saw the largest expansion to jail, with 112 new
cells added and all the older blocks equipped with running water and
toilets. The aging prison continued to see service as a jail until
1970, when it was abandoned in favor of a newer and larger facility.
By this point it had expanded to contain more than 300 cells within
its stone walls. For a short time after closing as a jail the complex
served to house the Essex County Narcotics Bureau. When they
relocated in 1989 the jail was left without use.
Our first steps on the property were
not unlike the beginnings of a nature hike - We sought out a foot
path in the woods and followed it onward. These urban woods are
shallow though, a natural facade of twisting forms which hides away
man-made geometry. Within minutes we were inside, and the transition
was jolting. Even after one's eyes adjust, it took a few moments for
the mind to comprehend where you stand. We had entered beneath a wall
of cell blocks several stories high. Far above, light spilled through
holes in the rot-pocked wooden ceiling. Where it reached the floor,
it shimmered off embossed decorative ceiling panels that had let
loose their moorings. Their brothers that remained above were
tenuously suspended, like rust-filigreed guillotine blades over our
heads.
One often takes for granted that cities are sterile places, as if their souls are made of asphalt and brick, and thick concrete blood will spill forth to clot any wound. In truth though, the urban landscape is just a thin skin over something much more primal, and without constant maintenance, nature is quick to reclaim what has been taken. The Newark Street Jail could serve as a textbook illustration of this principle at work. In the subsequent decades of disuse the jail has seen both tremendous decay and verdant new growth. Light catches and dances through the limbs of the trees, throwing silhouettes of color and shadow down the cavernous cell blocks. Cell blocks which, upon closer examination, proved to be far from vacant. As it would turn out, our time within the jail proved far more social than we had anticipated. We crossed paths with many others during our few hours inside, some were “just passing through” while others clearly resided here, their homes made within the old cells. It was evident from the personal effects strewn about that many more people called the old jail home than just those we had met that day.
One often takes for granted that cities are sterile places, as if their souls are made of asphalt and brick, and thick concrete blood will spill forth to clot any wound. In truth though, the urban landscape is just a thin skin over something much more primal, and without constant maintenance, nature is quick to reclaim what has been taken. The Newark Street Jail could serve as a textbook illustration of this principle at work. In the subsequent decades of disuse the jail has seen both tremendous decay and verdant new growth. Light catches and dances through the limbs of the trees, throwing silhouettes of color and shadow down the cavernous cell blocks. Cell blocks which, upon closer examination, proved to be far from vacant. As it would turn out, our time within the jail proved far more social than we had anticipated. We crossed paths with many others during our few hours inside, some were “just passing through” while others clearly resided here, their homes made within the old cells. It was evident from the personal effects strewn about that many more people called the old jail home than just those we had met that day.
Perhaps the most visually arresting
sights of the jail awaited in the wings. To one side was wall of
cells, again four stories high, the opposite wall was once home to a
series of tall, arched windows. Their exteriors were steel framed
and barred to prevent any possibility of escape, but the inner faces
were constructed of a grid of glass panels in a wooden frame. Time
has taken little toll on the steel or brick, but the wooden frames
had fared badly - When the wood no longer had the strength to hold
the massive window in the wall, it gave way, but most did not fall
far. Nearly every window had tipped backward in its frame to rest
against the highest tier of cells, forming a series of archways from
which dangle countless panes of glass. The floor is littered with
the remains of those that have already fallen, and the sunlight
piercing the ceiling reveals a subtle beauty here, as it is captured
and refracted in every direction by these fixed, dangling, and
shattered squares.
Exiting the building we once again
found ourselves in the forest, and though brief, it's impact is
nonetheless intense as you pass through and back to the streets of
Newark. Unfortunately our first sight upon re-entering the city was
that of a police car parked next to the SUV we had arrived in. With
our heads hung low in defeat we slowly made our way to the cruiser.
When we reached the car two officers got out to greet us. They
weren't here about our trespassing, rather they had just gotten on
the scene in regards to someone having broken into our ride. Glass
was everywhere, and on the passenger seat lay a large chunk of
cement, which was obviously the culprits 'tool' of entry. All of our
belongings were safely stowed in the bags we were carrying upon our
backs all day, but the others we were with didn't fair so luckily.
Asking if we should make a report one of the officers replied “You
can, but I doubt much will come of it.”, noting that this was far
from an unusual occurrence. In the end we passed on conducting any
official paperwork, and decided to part ways with Newark as quickly
as possible.
It was an unusual day.
The courtyard, as it were in the 1940's
The courtyard today.
Several of these mechanisms controlled the locks on the cell blocks.
