South Jersey house that survived Revolutionary War falls to a stealth attack

"We fought a good fight," says the Rev. Vince Kovlak, who helped rally Bellmawr behind saving the Hugg-Harrison-Glover house, a Colonial-era structure that until Friday was the oldest in the borough and among the oldest in Camden County.

"But we lost the battle."

Despite the diligent efforts of Kovlak, pastor of the Bellmawr Baptist Church, along with historians and elected officials, including U.S. Rep. Donald Norcross -- as well as a last-ditch legal challenge by the Camden County Historical Society --  the State of New Jersey tore the 253-year-old structure to pieces early Friday morning.

What struck preservation advocates, and this columnist, as a rushed, hush-hush stealth attack took place despite the fact that a new site on nearby Anderson Avenue, as well as partial funding for moving the house, had been identified.

"I couldn't believe it," says Bellmawr Mayor Frank Filipek, who helped find the new location for the house. The borough had issued a demolition permit for a vacant garage near the house on Thursday; a crew arrived about 6 a.m. Friday, complete with a state police escort.

"They weren't supposed to touch the house. They knocked it down without notifying anybody," Filipek says. "I spoke to the (transportation) commissioner's office later and they told me they had the right to do whatever (with) their property."

After receiving a text from another preservation advocate who'd been alerted about activity underway at the house, Kovlak arrived at the Hugg-Harrison-Glover site inside New St. Mary's Cemetery on West Browning Road about 8:30 a.m.

But the venerable patterned-brick structure that had survived the Revolutionary War -- and inspired thousands of local people to sign Kovlak's preservation petitions -- had been heedlessly and needlessly reduced to rubble.

The DOT took possession of the house and six nearby acres from the cemetery's owner, the Diocese of Camden, about six years ago to make way for the eventual completion of the Direct Connection project. The  $900 million effort will reconstruct the dangerously convoluted confluence of I-76, I-295, and Route 55.

But with the project not set for completion until 2021, why the rush to tear the house down?

On Friday, the DOT communications office, which has been ducking questions about the house from elected officials, preservationists, and journalists, issued a post-demolition statement  extolling the benefits of the Direct Connection. Which, needless to say, should be numerous and welcome.

But DOT also insisted that Hugg-Harrison-Glover had been remodeled and water-damaged beyond salvation, and lacked historical significance. The latter seems to me preposterous: Capt. William Harrison, the owner of the house, lived there while commanding a militia that was involved in two Revolutionary War battles.

"The state didn't want to save the house," says Haddon Heights historical architect Margaret Westfield, who became aware of its vulnerability to demolition after reading a column I wrote about the Direct Connection project in 2014. "They didn't want to admit they made a mistake."

A departmental evaluation of the structure that began in 2003 ignored readily available maps, deeds, and other information, and "minds [were] made up" that the building was not eligible before a historian on the team could complete his research,  longtime Haddonfield historian Garry Wheeler Stone tells me.

The building's destruction "is kind of a fitting end to this whole sad story," Westfield adds. "The state railroaded this house to demolition, even though there was a movement and support to save it. They knew a request for an injunction had been filed, so they railroaded this house to demolition."

Sitting in the church office Friday a few blocks from the demolition site, Kovlak says, "This whole battle has been an emotional roller coaster. But when I took a look at [what had been] the house this morning, I knew the battle was over."

I ask Kovlak what he felt when he saw the ruins. He sighs. "I can't put it into words."

But the fact that New Jersey tossed a priceless piece of history in the trash to make way for a highway noise barrier pretty much says it all.