Jersey Journal/1963/Mrs. Rose's Forecast

by Richard Sapir

Mrs. Rose's Forecast. 'Newkirk Castle' Empty in a Week. By Richard Sapir. Mrs. Dessa Rose plans to evacuate her "castle" at 117 Newkirk St., Jersey City, within a week. This is what she told The Jersey Journal after a reporter and a liaison man penetrated what remains of the two-story frame house. The 64-year-old widow said she will leave because by then her real estate agent will have found her a suitable place to live. She made it clear that she was not leaving because the Hudson County Sheriff's Office reportedly tricked her into accepting a court summons; or because of the pressure of the Newkirk Realty Corp., of Jersey City, which bought the house, and the crew of wreckers which almost demolished the adjoining house at 115 Newkirk St. "I'll leave when I find a suitable place to live," she said. "Not before. But now I expect to have a place within a week." Mrs. Rose's determination forced a crew of wreckers, hired by the realty corporation, to discontinue demolition plans Thursday for fear of bringing the remains of the house down on her head. A deputy sheriff convinced a friend of Mrs. Rose to knock at the door for him. When Mrs. Rose opened it, he served the summons calling for her to appear in court and explain why she refused to move. Since then, she trusts only one person, her real estate a agent, Arthur O. Freudenberg. She uses him not only to find her a house, but as a liaison man and pipe line to the outside world. Yesterday, Freudenberg led a Jersey Journal reporter into the "castle." He stood on the wooden doorstep and knocked twice on a post. A window shade barely lifted. A few moments later, the outside door opened. He disappeared. He was back in two minutes. "Follow me," he said. He went through two doors. But instead of stopping at the third one as the sheriff's men had done, he continued down a hallway strewn with rubble. At a seemingly dead end, he turned right. There was a passageway. It led to another door where garbage was stacked. He knocked. "Dessa," he said. "It's me, with the reporter." A few clicks and the door slowly opened. Mrs. Rose wore a housecoat over a pair of trousers. The heating has been shut off for more than a week. Four pots bubbled on an old gas stove. "Provides warmth," Mrs. Rose said. After she closed the door, she placed an aluminum ironing board against it. How did it feel living in two rooms while the sheriff's men and workers had waited outside? "It was rough, but where else could I go?" she said. "I'm not going to move into any place that isn't right. The toughest part of this ordeal, though, was when President Kennedy died. I wanted to run out and speak to someone. But I couldn't leave." Mrs. Rose still has electricity. She watches television 14 hours a day. She was married at 13. Her husband was killed in the First World War. door. Be this "War one, war two, what difference does it make?" she said. "I've got enough of a war right here." Then she said goodbye. And as we left, she carefully shut the door.