An Evening in Middletown but Morning in America
How a new town hall resurrected the spirit of community
MIDDLETOWN - If you were anywhere else other than Middletown last night, you were probably in your own home beating the heat. Had you been in Middletown it would have felt as if you had slipped into a time portal, circa summer of 2019 before the event horizon of the Covid pandemic.
Middletown residents descended up the brand new Town Hall for a bike parade, cornhole, food trucks, and a tour of the state-of-the-art Town Hall. Mayor Tony Perry had shaken just about every hand amid a heat index rivaled only by a Sahara sauna, and he could not have been more excited.
These were not “show up at the event, shake the hand, kiss the baby and slip away quietly” tidings commensurate of any politician who is fighting the heat and the burden it places on public appearances. His excitement and joy was palpable. It was clear that this grand opening was not just a crowning achievement of his administration—it was Middletown’s.
Surrogate Maureen Raisch, Board of Education President Frank Capone, and Assemblyman Gerry Scharfenberger made rounds on the new site at the intersection of Tindall Road and Kings Highway. Like Perry, they were just as excited to be there—
but something else was happening here, something so familiar yet so new.
We made our way into the new Town Hall where residents lined up to get ice cream from Nicholas Creamery before embarking on the tour of the Township’s crown jewel. The first stop was the municipal court, who the guide lamented bore the burden of supply chain issues with the latest gallery bench being installed merely a week prior.
The courtroom that moonlights as the town council chambers, where oversized leather chairs sat amid elegant woodwork, was arguably the most secure establishment. Kevlar supported the framework of the courtroom, a new state standard. While most municipal buildings have to decide between security or craftsmanship and sacrifice the other, Middletown neglected neither.
We made our way to an upstairs conference room. A large conference table one might find in West Elm or Crate and Barrel, not a government supply depot, sat in the middle of the room on the second floor. The windows gave folks a bird’s eye view of the event where kids ran wild, families hopped between food trucks, and folks danced to Joan Jett blasted out by the WRAT’s radio booth. A large webcam loomed over an 80-plus inch TV. While technologically impressive, it was one of the lasting impressions of the pandemic where web conferencing was the norm.
“Right, I forgot about that,” said the woman next to me of the two -year period that confined folks to their homes and in the prison of their own fear.
Up until this point of the tour, Covid was not on anyone’s mind until the guide pointed out the importance of the tech infrastructure.
The situation room where all township department heads convened was next. Three screens showed a live weather map, a traffic map, and an NJOEM portal. The multipurpose room once served as the main hub for first responders and agencies of all levels during Superstorm Sandy. The guide mentioned a 36 hour period where no one had left the room. It was command central during an uncertain epoch in New Jersey’s history.
Superstorm Sandy—like Covid, another wrinkle in time that faded into memory, but whose scars remain.
The Police wing of the building, slightly smaller in size to the situation room, served a much larger purpose than a mere roll call/breakout room. This was law enforcement ready for the 21st century. Body camera charges galore, frequent reference of the cloud that alleviated a share of manpower in meeting OPRA/community standards, and a joke about the trial lawyers who demand everything—it was a moment where the police and the community leveled with each other, the latter understanding how the former operates.
This was not merely a demo. Office Mahon was as excited as Mayor Perry and his contemporaries beyond the door, where we began to make our way.
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Growing hungry, we departed for the food trucks. Cousin’s Maine Lobster of Shark Tank fame parked next to No Limits Café, a modern eatery staffed by those with intellectual disabilities. Their fare was an homage to local heroes. The Ameri-Ken Hero grilled cheese honored Middletown resident Ken Tietjen, a Port Authority police officer who passed on September 11th—the third event in the series of tragedies (Sandy and Covid being the others). Their Big Country 235 grilled cheese honored Middletown police officer and firefighter Bill Kennelly.
A café with a purpose beyond slinging hash? Sign us up. The Hero was indescribably good, rivaled only by the purpose No Limits Café serves.
The evening fell and a clear sky welcomed a fireworks display. The show beyond the trees was as if the Fourth of July never ended, the only other illuminations being street lamps and EMS lights. Typical Americana songs— “God Bless the USA,” and “Battle Hymn of the Republic” — served as the soundtrack for the show.
Something was off .
Not in a bad way though. Folks were silent amid cracking fireworks and the occasional applause.
We looked around and saw Mayor Perry, his family, government officials, police, EMS, fire, and legions of families simply being idle. It was the pause in time similar to a surfer atop a wave, a guitarist latching on to a high E-string for dear life, a skateboarder at the edge of half-pipe: the moment in time where everything stops and the impact of the moment is never more clear and profound, only to be gone in a split second and relegated to archives of memory. The fleeting moments of familiarity lingering just a bit longer than usual here
We knew then what this feeling was. Many have been saying it, but Middletown was living it:
It was the return to normal.
A normal where neighbors celebrate their local community. A normal where political and social norms are shattered and folks simply abide with their neighbors. A normal where pride in our communities amid backdrop of a national pride—whether that be found in a bike parade, a new municipal building, or a delicious grilled cheese— all felt strangely familiar and delightfully new.
Covid, Sandy, even September 11th—tragedies where this town was at centerstage in a global drama—were chapters in the book of Middletown where the epilogue is simply neighbors and leaders abiding with each other and celebrating their shared love for country, and community.
Who knew a town hall could mean so much?
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CJN would like to congratulate Middletown Township and thanks the many folks who made this event possible. We look forward to returning.