Friday the 13th in Blairstown

VISITOR is a column about how museums influence culture designed in collaboration with Visitor Beer. 

Today, Isle McElroy on the commemoration of Friday the 13th as a marker of hometown pride in Blairstown, New Jersey.

Last month, my mom sent me a photo of her dinner: a Kevin Bacon Cheeseburger. The burger was named after the actor—not made from his flesh, as far as I know–to commemorate his role in the 1980 film Friday the 13th. 

It was Friday, September 13th in Blairstown, a small town in rural New Jersey where the opening scenes of the movie were filmed. Fans had converged on Main Street, as seen in the film, when a camp counselor named Annie walks down the street looking to hitch a ride to Camp Crystal Lake. My mom wasn’t there because she’s a fan—she, like me, is a townie, born and raised. Unlike me, she has remained.

Since the aughts, the festivities have been an annual celebration in Blairstown (and occasionally bi- and tri-annual, depending on how many Friday the 13ths fall on the calendar). The town transforms into an interactive museum. Roy’s Hall, a playhouse closed for most of my youth, screens two showings of the film. Visitors can sign up for tours—13 people per trip—of the famous landmarks in town. I’m using landmarks loosely. A diner appears, as does a waterfall and a nearby historical society building. The fun of the tour, I imagine, is the long drive between the historical society and Main Street in Blairstown. In the film, Annie crosses that stretch in a matter of seconds. Not so in real life!

If I’m being glib, it’s because I’m embarrassed by how easily I, too, have latched onto these blips of trivia as proof of my hometown’s importance. There’s something humiliating about shouldering close to fame. Even more humiliating when the fame you’re pursuing isn’t that famous. I’ve told hundreds of people that “Kevin Bacon drove on my road,” with more pride than I’d like to admit. 

Friday the 13th is not a good movie. Gene Siskel gave it zero stars when it was released and intentionally spoiled its twist. He wasn’t alone in hating the film. It lacks the cachet and appeal of most horror classics. Halloween revolved around Jamie Lee Curtis's resilient magnetism and John Carpenter’s vision. The stranger danger fear mongering of Nightmare on Elm Street—that a killer will come for your children where parents cannot protect them—tapped into something deeper in the American psyche than Friday the 13th ever has. 

Sometimes, the film seems less a quintessential horror movie than a trick question. Spoiler alert: Jason Voorhees, the undead man in the hockey mask, wasn't even the killer! His mother was taking revenge because past counselors were boning as the boy drowned in the lake.

The truth is that I’m not as embarrassed as I want to be. I’m just as eager to bask in the dull shine of the movie. Anytime someone asks where I’m from, I ask if they’ve seen Friday the 13th. When they haven’t, I sheepishly explain that the movie was filmed in my town. I might even complain about the credits, which I’ve pored over multiple times. The filmmakers thank the fire department and the camp and the police. Who they don’t thank is my grandfather, even though he, an electrician, helped the crew with their lighting. 

Why would they thank your grandfather? Someone might ask. Surely they had lighting techs on the crew?

Because they couldn’t have made the movie without him, I would reply. Who cares whether it’s true.

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Growing up, I never saw tourists flocking to town to celebrate the occasion. In the early 2010s, though, a man named Matt Keller appointed himself Blairstown’s official Jason impersonator. He stalked the town in a mask, machete in hand, posing with the occasional tourist. Perhaps his presence made him a one man Field of Dreams. The playhouse opened for screenings. 

In 2019, Jeannette and Frank Iurato opened the Friday the 13th Museum on Main Street. Actors from the movie showed up to cut the ribbon. I lived at home for a few months in 2020, before the pandemic began. This was the height of Jason-mania. In a yoga studio, you could buy T-shirts featuring his hockey-masked face hovering over the phrase corpse pose. 

The museum, like many a fictional counselor in town, was not long for this world. It shuttered in 2022, proving that the most enduring museum will always be the town itself. This year, the town appeared even more committed to the bit. Spirit Halloween set up a tent to give out free gifts. The playhouse sold out of its screenings. Fans dressed as their favorite murderers from cinema–Michael Myers, Leatherface, many a Jason. Even Kevin Bacon, it was rumored, was somewhere in town, albeit behind a mask. Kevin Bacon could’ve been anyone. 🗓️

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