Middletown Township, Monmouth County - Most headlines you’ll read today are about stump speeches and caucuses in some far off land set between cornrows and, well, cornrows. We often forget that history is not made every four in some rural part of Iowa. It’s made every day and, right here, in our own backyard.

That’s why I started Main Street Musings, so that I could tell the stories of the current and future history makers right here in our home— and we are as abundant in legend and leadership as Iowa is in corn.

Middletown’s Reorganization Day this year is proof of this.

Avengers—Reorganize.

On a rainy Sunday, residents piled in to the newly-built municipal building. The local heroes of Monmouth County made their rounds. Commissioner Director Tom Arnone made his rounds with his signature affability. Sheriff Shaun Golden lead those in attendance in pledging allegiance to the “greatest symbol of freedom in the world.” Former Mayors Peter Carton, Tony Fiore, and now-Assemblymen Gerry Scharfenberger took their seats to witness the next in their lineage.

Mayor Tony Perry now stands behind the dais before a standing room-only crowd. He has again been named Mayor in the 360th year of Middletown, sworn in by former Assemblyman Jack Ciattarelli. For the former staffer and now mentee of former Senator Joe Kyrillos, seated in the crowd with a proud smile, this is not merely a tradition—this is a vocation.

Perry’s Mayoral Address was a departure from the administrative minutia that plagues most reorganization days—but Perry’s address focused on why this municipal exercise and its pomp and circumstance is important, and why it matters to America.

Referring to Travel and Leisure magazine’s listing of Middletown as one of the top ten best places to live, Perry noted that the accolade is not just a credit to the Township Committee alone.

“It’s a testament to our countless volunteers, to those who work tirelessly advocating for our students, and to every individual who does the small things that quietly transform Middletown into that shining city on a hill.”

A shining city on a hill.

Yes, the timeless adage of John Winthrop and Ronald Reagan derived from Matthew’s gospel, that which “cannot be hidden”— both a burden and blessing that Middletown knows all too well. It is in this city - rather, township - where history is born, raised, and lives evermore.

“I’ve spoken much about our history,” said Perry, having announced Middletown’s partaking in the America 250 celebration with Monmouth County and the preservation of the Murray farmhouse, where Joseph Murray’s stand against the redcoats is still local legend.

“But,” he continued, “Middletown is no stranger to being front and center.”

Perry’s speech harkened back to the devastation of September 11th and Superstorm Sandy, reflecting on the power of Middletown’s perseverance in a way that one reflects on an exorcism: celebrating the power of love, sacrifice, and hope that casts off the evils of the world.

“I inherited this history when I became Mayor,” he said, “thanks to the leaders before me and their wisdom, and I made sure that my legacy would be to leave Middletown better than I found it. I knew that it would not be possible without leaning on the storied strength of our community.”

That strength was leaned on heavily during the pandemic, when it was Perry’s turn to lead Middletown amidst global confusion that tested the neighborly legacy of the township.

“Middletown, once again, answered the call and we led,” said Perry. “We lead the way despite the seemingly endless punches thrown at us. We have witnessed our strength, our resilience, our fortitude.” Then, after a slight pause as he gazed upon the crowed, a confident profundity overcame him—

“I think America can take a page or two out of Middletown’s history.”

Perhaps alluding to his leadership in contrast to his fellow Middletown resident, Governor Phil Murphy—but rather than take shots at the man determined to make New Jersey the California of the east coast, Perry painted a vision of the America of recent history, with Middletown holding the brush.

We watched what happened in our schools and how our children were pawns in political gamesmanship and we took action. 

It’s easy to say that you’re for preserving history and our environment yet never yield to those who make overdevelopment their religion.

It’s easy to say you’ll head to Washington or Trenton to fight, but when politicians spend years, sometimes decades in office, and not deliver results for our communities, we the people need to tell those who are not willing to fight to hang up their gloves and put someone in who can take on the punches of the world and deliver them right back. 

Here in Middletown, the spirit of America has been thriving for 360 years, and it continues to flourish.

What does it mean to be American?

That was the age-old question that Mayor Perry posed to the audience. Throwaway terms like freedom, liberty, justice - sure, they’re precepts of America as a concept, but what is the identity of an American.

Perry wasted no time in providing an answer. This was his Joseph Murray moment:

As applause broke out, Perry took it all in. This was not just some great “Jimmy Stewart before the Senate” classic of American rhetoric. This was deeply held belief of everyone in Middletown- indeed, everyone in New Jersey.

Yes, those of us in the alleged “armpit of America” have pride in our home, because so much of what is great about America is found right here in places like Middletown.

Neil Peart was right.

I think a lot about the late-drummer from Rush. In my younger days, I thought about how incredibly awesome it would be to play that insane sixteenth-note, series of triplets, syncopated drum solo from Tom Sawyer.

Now, I think about his poetry. What moved him as the lyricist for the late 70s’ answer to titans like Cream and Led Zeppelin? Most drummers (myself included) just bang away and groove out. For Neil, and perhaps Tony Perry, their rhythm is more measured and intentional. The pulse of their groove lies in the people they met.

Neil Peart on a thousand-plus mile motorcycle traversing the world, Tony Perry traversing his beloved home - both men remain grounded by the people they meet and the stories they tell.

”As we embark on this journey to spearhead the great New Jersey comeback,” proclaimed Perry. “Let us remember that the strength of Middletown lies in each of us. Every small business owner, every student, and every volunteer contributes to the success of our community.”

Middletown’s strength lies in its people. With record droves of people being priced out of existence and moving out of New Jersey, those in Middletown choose to remain. Whether it be storms or pestilence, political uncertainty, national tragedy or enemies of free people cornering you outside your home and making you choose between fealty to tyranny or certain death — America’s people have overcome, and Middletown was proof of that.

Who knows what the next test of the American spirit may be, but Tony Perry gave the answer that rainy Sunday:

”This road ahead will be long and it will be filled with challenges, but remember, in Middletown, we don't just face challenges; we overcome them. We don't just dream; we achieve.”

Reorganization for Middletown was not merely just appointments and administrative minutia: it was an opportunity to pause, reflect on our country, and the role we all play. If we better understand why places like Middletown persevere and thrive, perhaps we can better understand — perhaps, reorganize — a broken New Jersey and a broken America.

Tony Perry believes that, so did Neil Peart in his own way, and I left Middletown feeling that way too.

LISTEN: Full audio of Mayor Perry’s 2024 Mayoral Address
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Who am I kidding? I just was straight up pissed off. Not just with the results themselves, but with everything - voters, strategists, consultants, candidates, and myself.

Pour some egg nog and I’ll explain why— and who can fix it.

An origin story.

Back in October of 2022, a lot of life happened at once. (Yes, we’ll go with that). I packed up my car and drove home to New Jersey. It was the only thing I could think off. (Not entirely what happened, but sure). I quit a job I loved, but left myself unfulfilled after a series of setbacks in my personal life. I cashed in my 401k, stayed with a dear family friend, reunited with old ones, and decided to form my own public affairs company catering to New Jerseyans.

If I could tell my former CEO, a gentleman by the name of Ryan Coyne, one thing right now it would be some amalgamation of curse-laden expression frustration that goers with starting a company: lost races, failed vendors, difficult clients, and the general stress of it all. Knowing Ryan, he’d respond with a smirk and a chuckle telling me that this is how anything good starts. He isn’t wrong, and he has four of the foremost authors of life to back him up in this regard.

For two and a half years, I essentially had a free MBA by shadowing Ryan. He’d be the first to tell you that CEO life is difficult, and he’s in good company with some of my other mentors who have said the same thing (oftentimes at the top of their lungs). Out of the chaos of my own life, my company was born, and I’ve never been happier as I found my purpose.

Fast forward to 2023.

We had this in the bag.

The Monmouth and FDU polls with overwhelming support for parental rights, the Orsted failure, the school funding debacle, the Board of Public Utilities letting the gas stove ban coming to fruition, the veteran’s death report— this was the red wave for New Jersey, but that voice in my head kept saying “remember the red wave last year?”

Not only that, but losing Ned Thomson’s seat in the 30th District, Brandon Umba’s seat in the 8th, and even Ed Durr’s in the 3rd (although that may be an outlier in candidate quality)? This was a monstrous failure.

Many New Jerseyans are packing up their car and heading for higher ground like I did. This was largely the impetus for the STAY NJ law, a bait and switch power grab for Democrats that preys upon seniors looking to spend their golden years in better-run states like Florida. Another two years of this—with a Democrat supermajority? Hell no.

This story, so far, is a lot - unmitigated chaos, setbacks, and epochs of despair forcing folks to expend their faith and move?

Sounds familiar to me.

The greatest story not yet told involves us-

-but unlike me and a bunch of senior citizens, we have to stay put for now.

Ignore the pomp and circumstance of Christmas and look at the context of the holiday. God did not decide to come to us in a time of peace - quite the opposite. God came into a world of chaos. The Roman empire was not some utopia, Jewish tribes were not necessarily the most peaceful among each other, and the Pax Romana between the two was no more than a parchment guarantee.

Did God come amidst the thunder of trumpets and the opening of the heavens? No, but when that time comes, our time is probably limited and running away won’t help us.

He came as a child, in a cave no less, after the Holy Family was shut out of every available inn. Even before that, St. Joseph wanted to - get this - leave Mary (Mt. 1:18). Guess we’re in good company there. It took the fear of God for him to stay, and look what happened.

After the birth of Christ, King Herod wasted no time in decreeing that all infants be put to death so as to capture God, forcing the family to flee in advance of the genocide (Mt. 2:16).

The Holy Family traversed a wasteland one that we find ourselves in.

Unlike a fed-up thirty-two-year old, they had no choice but to leave for Egypt. Some folks could argue that awful legislation and authoritarian edicts out of Trenton are forcing them to leave— made worse only by a failed election effort this past November. As far as dealing with a Herod goes, while Gov. Murphy and the Democrats may not be openly adopting a policy of pure infant murder, becoming a sanctuary state for abortion and transgender surgeries on minors is a pretty close second. (Sorry, had to sneak that in there).

The flight into Egypt was rife with marauders and murders. Hell, we even have some of those in our midst making plays for power while brokering a peace with our own Herod. Nevertheless, they ventured across the unknown.

We, friend, are in the unknown. I don’t know what’s going to happen next year, or the year after. I didn’t know what was going to happen when I left DC, but if the Christmas story is any indication— we’re in a good spot, we just need to have faith.

What’s the point of all this?

“O you of little faith, why did you doubt?” You’ve probably heard this line before. It’s even weirder to reflect on it while we all sing O Come All Ye Faithful today and tomorrow. Christ showed us his glory in brokenness and confusion, both as a baby in a manger and as an adult aboard a ship battered by supernatural weather (Mt. 14:31).

Nothing worth creating or fighting for is born out of comfort—it’s born of of despair and losing ourselves. I think it’s safe to say we’ve lost that in New Jersey. We can only win when we stay put, embrace the brokenness, and see who among us will step up to the plate, address our grievances, fight for our people, and save our home.

Is some politician going to save our souls? No, that’s the entire point of Christ and Christmas., indeed the entire purpose of life. But like Christ in a manger, full of innocence and promise, someone should embrace the better of our communities and our leaders and move us out of this wasteland.

I have to believe that someone or some group will break the still rock of despair we’re stuck in and bring forth water to replenish us. They can demand the freeing of our people to the powers that be. Their hopes and dreams for a better New Jersey could be childlike and innocent, as is it for anyone who dreams, but their call to serve could come from the better angels of our nature as Lincoln described- and just like Christ swaddled in a cave in Bethlehem, their birth will split time itself where we only know life as either Before of After them.

I don’t know who among us is up to the task, but I entreat all of you to take a hint from Christmas, my own foibles, and our shared struggled: have faith and whatever hope you have lost, allow for it to be reborn within you.

The best is yet to come. Merry Christmas.

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Life is noisy.

Political gridlock, threats of war, global unrest, and whatever the hell they call music lately—all of this is just noise. It’s everywhere: on the way to and from work, at lunch, at night, and definitely on Facebook or X (guilty as charged there).

Like the old Maxell commercial, the volume of the world is on full blast and we just let it blow us back in our chair.

Then we have the silence of our lives: the things that we have to deal with that seem so minimal against the backdrop of national of global goings-on.

Somewhere in the last few years, or even decades, we lost ourselves. The matters of the world became the numbing agent for the unrest in our own lives, only paying attention to those when its convenient.

I have the distinct pleasure of having a diverse group of friends and clients, all of whom are living different versions of the human experience. Some have welcomed new life. Others have had to bid farewell. Some have children that are cherishing these first few years, while others lament them growing up all too fast. Some, like me, spend the morning graveside, grateful for God’s providence that we of faith—often times so little—will one day see our loved ones again, then shuttling off to see and celebrate those who remain with us.

St. Matthew’s gospel tells us that paradise itself is a feast akin to a wedding banquet (Mt. 22:2). Indeed, the presence of God is marked by feasts: Passover, First Fruits, the Wedding at Cana, the Last Supper. That goes for any religion—the abundance of food and family shows the presence of God.

Personally, I think that’s what we’ve strayed from: God. I’ll spare you the hot topics. Those can be debated another day. I’m talking about the general humanity we all share: that all of us are created in the image of God; that our families, through whatever type of divine matchmaking, are ours for a reason—not just randomly sorted out name tags in some ethereal fishbowl and now, all of a sudden, you have Uncle Dave.

If you stuck with me this far, I’m willing to be your mind is quiet. You’re thinking about dinner later, excited to see family and partake in what  traditions you hold dear.

Hold on to this feeling.

As for me, I’ll get to see my Dad graveside this beautiful morning to reflect on the love he had for those his family, friends, and for Thanksgiving. (The man made one hell of a Turkey). I’m excited to see my Mother who is visiting from South Carolina.  Seeing her has been the excitement that has kept me going recently. She brought her canine companion, a miniature goldendoodle named Scout, who my recently adopted pal, Pirate, will meet tomorrow. Whether it results in cuteness or chaos, I’m just grateful to spend time with her.

My Aunt and Uncle are hosting us in their quiet, scenic suburb of Lambertville. My Uncle recently became a Buddhist preacher which I’m fascinated to hear about. My cousin, whose photography has been featured by The Washington Post throughout the last year, will not be home for the holiday, but I’m still excited to hear about how his photojournalism career is growing. My sister is in Los Angeles where she has become a media titan through grit and effort that none of us would have thought she had. Im exceptionally proud of her, and look forward to FaceTiming her today too.

Last night I spent time with two of my best friends and my two year old goddaughter, and later this week I’ll see more friends and my cousins for some post-holiday traditions.

I share this in hopes that you also take a moment to see and celebrate the people in your lives. They make it all worth it. Whether their presence is daily, touch-and-go, or distant, we have an entire day dedicated to abiding with and celebrating those we love who God has given to us.

This Thanksgiving, enjoy the silence of life and those in it.

Ignore the politics of the world and trying to figure out the societal ills that beset us. When I take the time to celebrate and abide with those I love, the noise of the world gets quieter and the presence of God becomes clearer. I need to do more of this, and I’m willing to bet you do too.

Life is too short to become deaf to the things that matter most: faith, family, friends, and the love that binds us all together.

I’m grateful for the many special people in my life, for the CJN team, and for you, dear reader. I hope you can turn down the noise and celebrate with your family today.

On behalf of myself and CJN, I wish you and your family a happy and safe Thanksgiving.
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According to Summit Police: “[Officer Rivera] advised the kids (and parents) why he was there, but had a really great time chatting with the artists and checking out their creations. Watch out world — these kids are talented!”

A pleasant surprise yes, but one person was not surprised: Me. To know Ian is to know a humble, family man and a patriot.

Now, I’d like you to meet Officer Ian Rivera.

Florida roots. Central Jersey raised.

Officer River was born in June of 1991 to Colleen and Rod Rivera in New Smyrna Beach, Florida. By the time Ian had made it to third grade, their family settled on Allen Street in Monmouth’s Rumson. One day on the Deane Porter playground, I saw a kid chasing after a silver-and-black basketball in camouflage chino pants. Thinking they were the coolest pants ever (it takes little to impress me, still), we became fast friends.

That was age 9 or 10. We’re 32 now.

A proud RFH Bulldawg, Ian was a letterman in Football (and one time knocked me into the next week). He was also devoted artist having learned guitar by himself. We then began to terrorize our families by having “band practice” in our respective basements.

This wasn’t just picking around either. We were actually pretty good. Van Halen, Cream, Ozzy Osbourne, Michael Jackson….if it was the 1980’s or heavy ass blues, we played it - loud. I recall my mother reluctantly asking us to play Cream’s “White Room” a little quieter. (We didn’t).

A call to arms.

I’ll probably get in trouble for telling this story, but it was formative for me, and for Ian. Sorry in advance.

When September 11th happened, we were in 5th grade. Ian’s mother was due for a visit to the World Trade Center that day. Folks descended upon my mother’s house, including my late father. They had since been divorced, but amidst national tragedy and wanting to support their son’s friend and his family, they put their differences aside. We had not yet heard from his mom.

Thanks be to God, we got in touch with her and all was well. Ian and I don’t talk about that day much, but I could tell that it was formative for him.

Fast forward to 2010 during our stint at Brookdale Community College. Ian had enlisted in the US Marine Corps. I selfishly didn’t want him to go, given that I (still) have very staunch views on foreign policy and how our military is treated. Ian’s calm nature suggested that this was something he had to do. I still don’t know what it was, and I don’t need to know. I knew he had the call to serve.

This wasn’t an easy decision. The Riveras are your typical tight-knit, Irish Catholic family. One being out of the picture for months, let alone in a foreign land, is something out of the peaceful order of their lives. Ian was still dating his high school sweetheart, Kaela Lemke.

When Kaela, who I had known for about three years at this point, not only decided to stay with him but also stood by him in this event horizon, I knew I had to get my selfish ass in order and trust my friend.

Tours. College. Death. Marriage.

I had gone down to Washington DC. Ian went to Parris Island. Come his first tour, Ian and his comrades needed a care package. When I told my Dad, he made plans to go to Costco the next day.

A quick bit about my late Dad— this was not a mere “oh, lets do something nice.” My Dad took everything to its absolute maximum. He not only took it upon himself as his sworn duty to provide for our nation’s heroes — he saw it as a challenge.

$500-plus later, Costco was left a barren wasteland and the US Postal Service probably spent the weekend lathering themselves in Bengay. This Oppenheimer atom bomb sized package (had to do that for the algorithm) could have crippled the common man.

Ian and Kaela visited me at college multiple times after his return home, one time announcing their engagement. The three of us celebrated in DC that evening. That is all we remember.

Come March of 2015, two months before their wedding of the century, I got a call that one of our brothers, Officer Robert Henne of Fair Haven, had passed away. I was slinging hash at the time and almost passed out at work. I called Ian’s Dad hoping that he would tell Ian. I couldn’t tell him that one of our crew had gone on to his eternal reward. We did, and he was devastated.

Yet, when devastation faced Ian, he ran into the storm. I haven’t done that. I still don’t.

In March of 2018, when my father suddenly died, I was just empty. I couldn’t feel. I got a call at 5:00 am a few hours after Dad was taken away on the gurney. It was Ian.

“Hey,” he said nervously.
“Yea,” me not knowing what to say.
“Is it true?” Shit. I have to tell him. I can’t do this.
“Yup.”

I could hear Kaela crying in the background. I could feel Ian fighting back tears amidst a choked “we…we’ll talk about this tomorrow. I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t just myself, my mother, and my sister. Ian and Kaela lost him too. Ian and Kaela set their now three-year wed life together aside to care for me and my family.

Service to country and community.

A lot of people do that “service to God and Country” bullshit as some throwaway phrase to sound macho and don’t truly examine the difficult life decisions people have to make in order to remain fixated on the eternal and live their vocation of service to honor the Lord. St. Thomas More’s last words before his death were “I die the king’s good servant and God’s first.”

I don’t do my patron saint enough justice - but Ian does. Service to God and country is in his DNA.

Ian sponsored himself through Camden County Police Academy. Most counties and municipalities sponsor their recruits, but every department applied to passed on Ian. Why they would pass on a Marine? I don’t know. He graduated with flying colors. (Again, no surprise).

Here’s what I recall about that day: Ian’s smile. Surrounded by family and friends, Ian seemed to be at total peace. He had finally bound what he was born to do: serve. An extension of his call to service first inculcated at Parris Island? Homage to Henne? I don’t know, but he was at peace.

Yet again, while the country’s warring camps debated and demeaned (and destroyed) police across the nation, Ian dove in head first to serve. At times the media and politicians attempt to tear down the police weighed on him, yet he still showed up to work with a positive attitude and eager to serve.

Life now.

On November 1st, Kaela and Ian welcomed their daughter Elise Brigida into the world. I have seen Ian and his wife at many roles in their life, but nothing suits them better than “mom and dad.” Happily employed in the city of Summit, Ian now sees the future benefactor of his service to God, country, and community in Elise.

Moving, careers, and enjoying family life in Point Pleasant Beach is Officer Rivera’s life now. Usually once or twice a month, I take a drive down there and have breakfast or lunch with Ian, Kaela, and my darling goddaughter. It’s as much a blessing as it is a reminder.

How in the hell have I maintained my friendship with these people? Why did they entrust their child’s spiritual development to me?

They’re my source of inspiration and accountability. They keep me honest and on my feet. Most importantly, they’re a constant example of good in this world.

Our culture is decaying. Respect for our institutions has plummeted. God, the family, and the American Dream are under attack from movements and systems that put hedonism before sacrifice.

Kaela’s vocation as a nurse and Ian’s vocation as police officer, and their vocations as parents (and their part-time jobs of keeping me in line) are proof that the cultural and political nightmares we find ourselves in will be awakened by their radical acts of serving others.

So yes, while Officer Rivera’s local efforts set a national example for police and community engagement, I just call that June 30th afternoon a Friday. Not to diminish my dear friend and his service, but because it’s what he does. This seemingly standout example is an extension of a life of service fostered by his family, his wife, and his perpetual call to stand in the breach for everyone.

Whether it’s providing cover fire in Afghanistan, navigating loss, holding your wife’s hand unsure of what’s next as your baby girl enters the world, or a random complaint by some Karen that turns into a young entrepreneur’s best day ever, Officer Rivera is just a synonym for “devotion.”

Officer Ian Rivera - a veteran, New Jerseyan, husband, father, brother, and friend - is what makes Central Jersey the true heart of our home. These are the Main Street stories corporate media masquerading as independent press neglect. These are the stories you’ll find here.

I’m honored that for my first piece, you all got to meet my best friend.

Summit and New Jersey should be proud of Ian. Kaela and Elise are proud. His family is proud. Dad and Henne would be proud.

I am proud.