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The Blast of Eighty-Eight

(Attributed to Clint Wilson, probably from a newspaper column in the Beacon circa 1970's)

To this day, we hear tales of the terrible blizzard of eighty-eight, but seldom do we hear of the quarry blast of the same year far more horrible, that shook the entire county and wrecked Stockton.

At that time, the area outside of the present Stockton on the Rosemont road was known as Prallsville. Joseph Smith & Co. had a flour mill there, and the houses of John and Thomas Smith were nearby along with several other houses and a store. Several yards beyond the mill was Twinnings Brownstone Quarry where about 140 men worked.

One morning in May, Foreman James Wafer, who had worked at the quarry about 20 years, went in the powder magazine to get a can of fine powder. The powder magazine was a building about twelve foot square and ten foot high and it contained about three hundred cans of powder and 250 dynamite cartridges. Evidently, Wafer spilled some of the powder, ground it under the heel of his foot and ignited it. There was a terrible explosion, the worst the county has ever had to this day. His body was blown into a thousand pieces and the building was shattered into toothpicks. His moustache and upper lip was found in the afternoon in an apple orchard 500 yards away. The explosion left a hole ten feet deep and twelve feet square. A dozen building within a radius of a quarter of a mile were completely wrecked. It was a miracle that no one else was killed and only six were injured.

Up in Stockton, every window was shattered, nearly every dish broken, terrific damage done to most of the homes, and the streets were covered with broken glass. The explosion was at twenty-five minutes after seven in the morning and half dressed citizens of Stockton poured in the streets crying and dazed. The women ran through the town to the hill above the quarry crying expecting to find their husbands, fathers, sons, and brothers dead.

Washington, N.J. and New Brunswick 36 miles away were shaken by the explosion. A window sash in a grocery store four miles away in Lambertville was shattered. Houses in Center Bridge across the Delaware were left without any glass.

Joseph Smith & Co. flour mill was gutted with every window sash and door shattered into fragments. The floors of Thomas Smith's home was blown into splinters. There wasn't a whole piece of furniture in his home. Bed clothes were torn into shreds. The slates of the roof were cracked into small pieces. A barn back of the house was blown out of sight. How Joseph Smith, his wife and five children, were hurled around the sitting room and escaped with only cuts from flying dishes and broken glass, is a miracle. John Smith's house was completely wrecked. The heavy stone steps were carried more than half a mile, and one stone buried itself only two feet away from Thomas Lenker.

Up in Stockton the men gathered up barrels and barrels of window glass. C.D. Mason the local hardware dealer ordered three carloads of window glass from Trenton. It took 25 men a month to replace the new panes and sash.

There were many miracles of the explosion, but none more dramatic than that of James Brown who was running a derrick engine about 500 yards away. He was picked up, blown over the engine shed that was demolished and landed on his head in a sand bank about 50 feet away. He wasn't hurt.

Foreman Wafer, who was killed, was to be married to a Lambertville girl in a few days. The wedding ring he had bought for his sweetheart did not fit and he was going to exchange it. He put in on a finger and was wearing it at the time of the explosion. The ring was found and identified down in Stockton, three quarters of a mile away.

Until I read about the quarry blast in my Aunt's diary, I had never heard about the tragedy. Stockton has had many disasters such as the floods, the Main street fire, the rubber mill fire, the bridge fire, Shuck's Garage fire, etc. but the blast of eight-eight was probably the most horrible. One realizes that time can even erase memories and the highlights of past generations are completely forgotten.

End of Article

(Attributed to Clint Wilson, probably from a newspaper column in the Beacon circa 1970's)