In 1735, the legend goes, a woman known as Mother Leeds went into labor with her thirteenth child during a howling storm, and she already hated the baby. It didn't arrive the regular way. It wrenched itself free with cloven hooves, clawed hands, leathery wings and a forked tail, lashed the cowering children, and scrambled up the brick chimney into the dark. That was the birth of the Jersey Devil, and the kids of South Jersey have been sleeping with one eye open ever since.
The creature made its home in the Pine Barrens, New Jersey's vast and forbidding wilderness. But the forest was never empty. Real people lived there too, and for more than a century, outsiders treated them like monsters.
A llama with wings
In October 2015, David Black was driving on Route 9 in Galloway Township around 6 p.m. when he spotted what looked like a llama weaving along the tree line of a golf course. He snapped a photo. Then the animal spread an enormous pair of wings. Black was rattled, since, as the story has it, llamas don't fly. His sighting made national news, and a few days later a woman named Emily Martin caught her own sighting on video just a few miles away.
Barnacles upon our civilization
People have lived in the Pine Barrens since the first century BCE. The Lenni Lenape were the first to grow its native cranberries, for food, medicine and dye. Later, European and African settlers learned the bogs and the game. Loyalists to the British crown hid there, and so did Native Americans fleeing genocide and Black people escaping slavery. Over generations they grew self-sufficient and apart, living by their own laws. Outsiders called them pineys.
The contempt started early. In 1859 the Atlantic Monthly branded them pine rats, thieves of wood, game and cranberries. Then, in 1913, Elizabeth Kite, a special investigator for the New Jersey State Department of Charities and Corrections, teamed up with Dr. Henry Goddard, a fervent believer in eugenics (the pseudoscience of improving society by controlling who gets to reproduce). Their report, The Pineys, was packed with lurid tales of drunkenness and incest, plus half-truths and outright lies. It called the Piney a degenerate who had become one of the "barnacles upon our civilization." Even the town names struck Kite as proof of rot. Of Hog Wallow and Sows Crotch, she wrote that "no decent person would consent to live in such a place."
Governor Woodrow Wilson, about to be sworn in as president, shoved the report aside. Acting Governor James Fielder picked it up. He had never been elected to the job and needed a cause to rally voters, and a vulnerable population outside the mainstream made an easy target. Fielder toured the Barrens and declared that the people there had become "a race of imbeciles, criminals and defectives." Where others saw a working life of hunting, fishing and independence, he saw laziness. The conclusion was blunt: "The state must consider segregation and sterilization."
A sermon with a collection plate
Every campaign like this needs a preacher, and the Reverend A.W. Bostwick of Grace Church in Madison, New Jersey, was happy to oblige. From the pulpit, he claimed some 4,000 feeble-minded children lived in the region and begged his congregation for money to build them a hospital. He described taking the governor to meet a grown man called Joe boy, who said, "I've just been kicked around from one place to another and never had a chance." Asked to name the months, Joe boy offered only one: "I remember the fourth of July." Of the pineys generally, Bostwick said, "I don't think I've ever seen them above 12 years old mentally."
Fielder would have forcibly sterilized the pineys if the New Jersey State Supreme Court hadn't struck the plan down as unconstitutional. Institutions came anyway. Within a year, the New Lisbon Development Center opened in the heart of the Barrens, and in 1916 the state took over the Burlington County colony for feeble-minded boys. Professor E.R. Johnstone of the Vineland home for the feeble-minded wrote of the children, "They have not the minds to become farmers." They were the descendants of generations of subsistence farmers.
Iron from the Pine Barrens helped build America's Industrial Revolution. A century later, New Jersey's acting governor wanted the people living there forcibly sterilized, partly because they refused to join it.
Clearing the pines
In 1940 the Army at Fort Dix ordered everyone living in the zone for a new artillery range out by Monday, December 2, because it planned to clear the land by setting a forest fire. Many pineys flatly refused. The local press joked that "even tough skin pineys can't stand that much heat." The Central New Jersey Home News defended them: "They are poor, but they are happy. They are also independent." By January 1941, 155-millimeter howitzers were pounding the Barrens.
It took until 1967, and John McPhee's book The Pine Barrens, for anyone to paint a more nuanced picture. The prejudice has lasted. In May 2024, Natalie Stone resigned as deputy mayor of Tabernacle, New Jersey, six months into a three-year term, after South Jersey dug up her 2020 Facebook post calling pineys inbred imbeciles. New Lisbon is still running too, under a cloud. A 2002 Department of Justice investigation found conditions there that violated residents' rights, and two boys vanished near a baseball field on its grounds in 1975. Neither was ever seen again.
The devil's family tree
The Leeds family was real. Daniel Leeds published an almanac and was the sworn rival of Benjamin Franklin. His wife had nine children, not a dozen. The Quakers shunned Leeds for printing astrology, so he doubled down with occultism and demonology, then left them for the Anglican church. The Quakers fired back with Satan's Harbinger Encountered, accusing him of working with the devil. His son Titan took over the almanac, and Franklin mocked him in Poor Richard's Almanack by predicting his death. Over time, the idea of a Leeds ghost may have turned into the Leeds devil, then the Jersey Devil.
Maybe. An 1887 newspaper quoted a colonel who swore the creature had been hunted by men and dogs and shot by South Jersey's best marksmen, but "could not be killed."
