Raised in Bridgeton's South Side

This is a blog of personal memories by Jeanette Stephens-El (Jan. 2026), which happens only to have been posted by me (FA) . I hope she will add more!

I grew up in what I referred to as a charming 2-bedroom, 1 bath, 2-story colonial, fenced in duplex corner home where the side street is a short quiet avenue of well-kept homes, one block from the scenic Cohansey River. Before selling this--my childhood home, a realtor’s narrative was: “Discover a piece of history with this delightful 2-bedroom, 1-bathroom home, lovingly maintained by the same family for over fifty years.” No matter the description, you got the impression that this was a quaint neighborhood near a meandering waterway.

The Cohansey River that ran behind my house streamed through downtown Bridgeton, from our location first flowing underneath the Broad Street Bridge, then past the Commerce Street Bridge, and finally barreling past the Water Street Bridge before cascading through the raceway of the Bridgeton City Park, a place for exploration.* What else could the town be called when the founding fathers were trying to decide on a name? Oh yeah – Bridge Town! Of course, for some reason it had to be shortened to Bridgeton. But of course.

For the active imagination of a little girl with a penchant for writing and a curiosity about history, the presence of the river alone sparked visions of past adventures in a colonial town that I would later learn had its own liberty bell and published the first newspaper in the state. Having no idea of the journeys yet to come, I recall playing out some of those adventures by stealing away to the riverside next to Hunt’s, a tomato processing company. I’d swing out over the water hanging precariously from the vines of a weeping willow. Since I was only a whisper of girl, I was obviously an easy hold for the willow branches, although I thank the water spirits for keeping me safe. Had my mother – or any of my family members for that matter – known I had snuck down to the river to play they would’ve killed me! – with love, of course.

The South Side of Bridgeton in the early 1960s was in transition. When I entered kindergarten at the big red brick South Avenue School across the street, it was next to a church that’s still there. That school was where my writer's journey began, initially with my first teacher Mrs. Fairchild who looked like Jackie Kennedy; then my First- Grade teacher Miss Miller, who lived down the street; and finally Miss Campbell – a tall statuesque teacher from Mississippi who reminded me of Marlo Thomas on the “That Girl” tv show, but Miss Campbell was Black American. Her house was a nice mid-century 2-story green and white home with a front facade that resembled a barn. In her class I was inspired to write poetry, reading high school books that she provided to stave off boredom for an active second-grader.

I would say Miss Miller resembled a hobbit, and all the kids thought she was mean. But she wasn’t. She was just alone. When I’d see her peering out her front door, I’d stop by sometimes. “Hi Miss Miller!” I’d shout. Somehow the smile that warmed her face at home was quite different than the scowl across her brow at school. She was an early life-influencer, who now seems more a character in a fable than an educator. But to me it was nice that the teachers lived in the neighborhoods of the students they taught.

*The Cohansey is a tidal river. The described direction would be inbound, of course, but every day it also flows in the opposite direction too, out to Delaware Bay, on what we might call a moon-managed schedule. (FA)

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