This was not the original seventy foot high light house, of course, since the original location has long been under water. The first lighthouse was slightly less than six feet in diameter its base and made of brick with funds issued by the Federal Government in 1821. It had fifteen lamps and rotated. In 1847, when the original location began to erode into the sea, the lighthouse was relocated to a bluff overlooking where the Delaware River meets the Atlantic Ocean at the southern most tip of Cape May.
The existing lighthouse was built nearby in 1859, but had become something of a mess by the 1980s.
“No one was allowed up inside it,” said Ted, one of the people who sell tickets in its base. He and several others had petitioned its opening to the public in the late 1980s so that reckless fools like me could make their way up its 157 feet to a metal platform just short of the light at the top. “The door had a huge lock on it so nobody could get in.”
My wife, Sharon – who was preoccupied with reading this notes on the original oil storage room near the front door (people originally had to carry oil to the top for the light) – missed the parade of colors that crossed my face when I confronted the warning sign that suggested people with heart conditions or fear of heights refrain from making the climb.
I paid the five bucks for each of us, and we began the climb.
Fortunately, hand rails had been installed along the center post, providing me with some measure of comfort – since prior to their installation in the early 1990s, I would have been forced to cling to the wall the whole way up.
This was not a straight climb. Since people came down by the same stair well, we were forced to pause at small window alcoves where we more signs were posted detailing the history of the place.
We learned that the state currently owned the light house and that it was constructed by the Army Corps of Engineer. During World War II the lighthouse was kept dark due to the German submarines prowling the coast.
We did not know the half of the history especially about people who tended to come here, like Lighthouse Bob who routinely climbed the stairs for exercise, and Jerry (who I kept calling Jenny) who spent three to four hours at the top talking about the lighthouse and its history.
Although the light house has been one of the chief attractions of Cape May throughout the Victorian era, it became automated in the 1930s with the U.S. Coast Guard maintaining its working and its light – basically shutting off the view to the ordinary public.
An agreement in 1986 between the Coast Guard the State’s Forestry Service allowed for the eventual opening of the doors. The lighthouse was leased to the Mid-Atlantic Center for the Arts, which assumed the responsibility for restoring it as well.
Restoration is still ongoing thanks to $2 million in grants from various entities.
We also learned that we were two among the almost 100,000 who made the trek to the top yearly.
Safety tucked inside the belly of the beast, I didn’t feel the least bit fearful until I stepped out onto the platform near the top. While the view was spectacular, I kept checking to for a parachute, and kept as close to the inside wall as psychically possible, despite the fact that it would have taken an act of God to make me fall: the walkway was totally sealed by bars.
I grew braver and circled (with back pressed against the wall) the tower, taking in the views of the marsh land, Lilly Lake, the beach, parking lot and other sights.
A moment later, Jerry appeared – a short, amiable women, -- who along with Ted volunteered to provide tourist information. But she was a walking history of Cape May as well. She knew families and had once conversed with a 97-year-old woman who had known and spoke with frequently, one of Cape May’s most historic characters, Dr. Physick.
Jerry pointed out this sight and that, and then inside the light house again, pointed to the lamp, lens and other features of the lighthouse we might have overlooked had she not been there.
She loved the place, but also loved Cape May, and had an intimate knowledge of Cape May’s families – who owned what house, what hotel and when. Although we struggled to keep up with the names, listening to Jerry was like listening to an oral history we could find no place else – a history she was more than willing to convey, though after a time, we needed to make our way down again – leaving me sad for several reasons. First, we would not likely see Jerry for a whole year to learn more. Second, I realized, I never brought a parachute for the trip back to the ground.