Executive Disorder: Grover Cleveland’s Shuttered Service Area

President Cleveland is hungry! Too bad his namesake service area has been out of service since Hurricane Sandy.

Illustration by Michael Witte

In 1883, a reporter for the Albany Evening Journal captured Grover Cleveland’s lifestyle in a nutshell: “He remains indoors constantly, eats and works, eats and works, works and eats.” For the proud and portly 22nd and 24th president of the United States, food was an essential impetus to success.

The only president born in New Jersey, Cleveland is also buried in the Garden State. Nonetheless, he has lived with me for several years as I completed a novel in which he is the gargantuan centerpiece. Imagine my horror (and his outrage) when, on a journey from his post-presidential home in Princeton to his birthplace in Caldwell, I see that his most prized in-state tribute is out of operation, affording no provisions to future statesmen.

I speak, of course, of the Grover Cleveland Service Area on the northbound New Jersey Turnpike between exits 11 and 12. To the undiscerning, it may have looked like the same old lineup of Nathan’s, Burger King, TCBY and Cinnabon found at other service areas. But they fail to perceive the profundity, rotundity and import of both Mr. Cleveland and the shuttered collection of eateries that bears his name. Cleveland—who hovered around 300 pounds—was no foodie. Foodies relish tastes, textures and gastronomic nuances. They savor every bite and wrap the rest for tomorrow’s lunch. Cleveland had neither the time nor the inclination to meditate on what was going into his mouth. Palates were not meant to be cultivated, especially his (he had a covert operation for mouth cancer in 1893). The aim was to get food into his ample stomach without delay.

So contemptuous of gourmet fare was the porcine president that he icily referred to the French chef in the White House as “that man who cooks.” The chef was later fired in favor of a fry cook, evidence that fast food is the perfect memorial to the chunky chief exec. It is easy, therefore, to understand his posthumous pique at the long wait since Hurricane Sandy rendered inoperative his eponymous rest stop in October 2012. A Sunoco station is all that stands to represent a man who rode only in horse-drawn carriages (no doubt taxing the horses to the limit).

To mollify him (yes, he speaks to me now), I contact the Turnpike Authority for an update on the future of the service area. Grover reminds me that, as mayor of Buffalo, New York, he eliminated kickbacks and cronyism regarding municipal contracts in favor of a just and competitive bidding process. Should he intervene now? I reply that things are under control. Turnpike officials bickered  with their insurers, who finally agreed the flood-damaged building should be replaced.

Cleveland’s sound management of Buffalo’s affairs earned him the nomination for governor of New York and, later, the presidency. For a fat man, he toiled for long hours on surprisingly little sleep. For an uneducated man, he had a knack for sniffing out inefficiencies. If this rest-area project takes much longer, he may have a few withering words for the powers that be, including his present-day brother-in-girth in Trenton.

I try to soothe him with good news: the rebuilt service area is projected for completion in December. In the meantime, we can grab a bite at Joyce Kilmer.

“Who’s that?” my large-and-in-charge muse asks gruffly. “An inspirational poet,” I tell him, “who wrote about trees.”

“Trees,” he mutters. “God help us!”

John Clifford Gregory is the author of The Schombürgk Line, a novel about Grover Cleveland. He lives in Wyckoff.

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  1. Sandra Carrington

    What a wonderful, witty and insightful read! The only thing I have known about Cleveland for the past couple decades that he was born in Caldwell. There’s a marker/sign/something right out on Bloomfield Ave. What really knocked me out was “his present-day brother-in-girth in Trenton”. I’m sure you could hear me LOL up in Wyckoff – and I’m here in Parsippany – a good half-hour drive if 287 & 208 aren’t too busy!