Allen Place is Radburn’s cradle. It’s where the new community’s first residents settled in 1929 when it was still a construction site, cacophonous by day and forlorn at night.

Radburn’s very first citizens were Jim and Emma Wright of Paterson, who moved into 2 Allen Place on April 25, 1929. Two days later, they got company: Howard and Lillian Zeller at 14 Allen, and Fred and Kathy Veile at No. 8.

 “We used to argue about who got there first’’ -- the Veiles or the Zellers, Kathy Veile recalled in 1978. “We always said our moving van passed the Zellers’’ en route to Allen.

Kathy recalled the three couples’ first night on the unfinished, isolated cul- de-sac, surrounded for miles of dark woods and fields.

 

That evening, “we all went to the Wrights’ house and became acquainted,’’ she said. Beverages were consumed. And, as a lark, Kathy said, “We elected Jimmy Wright mayor, Howard Zeller chief of police and Freddy the fire chief.’’

Radburn, of course, never had such offices. But Jim Wright would become the first president of the Citizens Association and the first resident on the Board of Trustees.

Heady days

It was the beginning of an exciting time.

 

As Kathy put it, “You felt like you were pioneering. It was an interesting little community to start, and we all felt that we started it, that we were very important people. We went to meetings every night on every little subject, and used to fight like cats and dogs, and end up best friends.’’

Harriet Roeder, who moved into No. 4 Allen in August 1929 with her husband Bill, recalled it as being “like an extension of college. Most of us were young, many were professionals or young people who wanted something different. And this was it!’’

But, she added: “We were all new and going around finding people with similar interests. A lot of friendships formed too quickly, and neighborhood battles ensued.’’

Life on the suburban frontier

If the first Allen residents felt like pioneers, they also lived like them. They lacked:

n  Privacy. “You’d be sitting in your dining room eating with the window open and neighbors would come by and talk to you through the window,’’ Harriet recalled.” It was all very informal.’’

n  Shade. Not only did homes have no air conditioning, they had no shade trees. “They were just these little houses sitting in this expanse of what had been farms,’’ Harriet said. “We had spinach (from the farms) growing in what should have been our lawn for quite a while … little spinaches growing up in the grass.’’

n  Shopping. Residents had to go to Paterson to buy a roast or do banking. Many essentials were delivered -- milk, bread, fish, etc. -- by vendors who parked their vehicles and sold their goods in the street, the sort of thing that Radburn’s auto-phobic design had sought to discourage. Unlike most stay-at-home wives, Kathy Veile had a car, and would fill neighbors’ grocery orders on runs to the market in Ridgewood.

n  Public transportation. Fred Veile commuted by train to Manhattan before the Radburn passenger station was finished. In the evening the train would stop specially to let him (and only him) off near the Radburn freight depot. (Buses to New York ran through Paterson.)

n  Pavement. Allen was alternately muddy and dusty, depending on the weather.

n  Water pressure. When construction crews used water, reported the Radburn Bulletin of March 25, 1948, “you got caught in the bath with your shower down.’’

The hunter’s paradise

There were advantages to living in the middle of nowhere: good hunting and scary sledding.

 

In hunting season Fred Veile would rise before 6 A.M., get his rifle, and walk east from Allen Place in the general direction of the Saddle River. “He’d come home with two pheasants all the time,’’ Kathy recalled.

Cathy Roeder, Bill and Harriet’s daughter, said that some of her school friends “had to wear red in fall, because there were hunters out.’’

In fact, a Radburn Citizens Association meeting in 1930 was told that the Garden Committee wanted the community’s parks to be posted: NO HUNTING.

Party town for the motor age

An unusually high percentage of residents of early Radburn had attended or graduated from college. But college isn’t all work – then or now – and it seems another side of campus life was reflected in the new community.

 

On weekends, Allen’s raucous house parties would go late into the night, and sometimes spill into the street.

Robert Turner, Radburn’s second manager, recalled that dances sponsored by groups such as the Bridge Club and the Fire Company were on the wild side. “Although there were many stories about these functions,’’ he said, “the general rule was ‘hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil.’’’ 

But the Great Depression, which followed the stock market crash of October 1929, put a damper on the festivities – sort of.

 

 “We couldn’t have parties, so we had a ‘Depression Party,’’’ Harriet Roeder recalled. “You’d invite a bunch of people who’d bring whatever they had. … Everybody brought (some kind of alcohol) and dumped it into the punch bowl. How we survived, I don’t know!’’

B pool: The cold open

Radburn’s first swimming pool, known today as B Pool, was scheduled to open on Memorial Day 1930. The City Housing Corp., eager to publicize its new community’s lavish amenities, had invited the press.

Kathy Veile said it was the coldest Memorial Day in memory. But the show had to go on. Radburn manager John O. Walker implored Radburn residents to come and swim.

Walker “had the press and the movie cameras there,’’ Kathy recalled. “People came from all over the world to see ‘The Town for the Motor Age.’ This was a big publicity deal.’’

Residents dutifully showed up in bathing suits – and refused to get in the water. Finally, to appease Walker, Kathy and Fred each dove in and swam a quick lap. Then they got the hell out of the water.

“We were both blue,’’ she said, shivering at the memory. “It’s good they weren’t color cameras.’’