Arthur A. Zimmerman “Zimmie” was the best sprint bicyclist in the world in the 1890s. He was American Champion three times and was the first World Champion crowned in 1893. Called the “Jersey Skeeter”, he was born in Camden, and raised in Freehold, but moved to Manasquan after he started riding penny-farthing bikes or big wheelers.
Raleigh Bicycle Poster 1894
In Manasquan, he switched to the new safety bikes where both wheels were the same size. Zimmie rode to practice each day from his home in Manasquan to Asbury Park. He raced with the Asbury Wheelmen and met his wife Blanche in Asbury Park. He was often away at fairgrounds and meets. Every town had dirt trotter courses and bicycle racing was the new rage at fairgrounds. While he was technically an amateur, Zimmie lived off of the silver cups, bicycles, and watches awarded to the winner of amateur races. He set records after switching to new air-filled tires. His power was unmatched.
He traveled to England, the home of competitive cycling, and outclassed the competition easily winning the British 5 and 10 mile championship in 1892 under the New York Athletic Club banner. Upon his return, at the Asbury Park pier, he was greeted to the music of two marching bands playing Yankee Doodle Dandy, cheers from hundreds and a big hug and smile by the City’s founder James Bradley.
After winning an incredible 101 of 110 races he entered in 1893, and winning the first World Championships at the World’s Columbian Exposition in Chicago, the British had him classified as a professional, pointing to all the hardware he had won. Unable to compete in Britain, he took the French professional sprints with such ease, that the organizers asked him to please narrow the margin of victory so that the crowd would not be so bored.
In the next race, a three-lap sprint, Zimmie lingered in last place until the bell lap. He shot like a rocket, making up a quarter of the track to easily beat the French and Scottish champions. He once won 47 races in one week, and won over 1000 races in a year. Loved as a working man’s son defeating the ‘gentlemen’ sportsmen of his day, Zimmerman was sought after for endorsements.
He was a product endorser for bikes and equipment. He advertised Raleigh Bicycles which featured Zimmerman on their posters, and he was also a popular tobacco collector’s card.
Cigarette cards preceded bubble gum cards. A 1902 Zimmy, from after his prime, is worth about $15
After visiting Australia in 1896 and Europe again in 1897 he was no longer able to surpass the best in the sport, but he was still a draw as a star in exhibitions.
He invested his endorsements and prize money into a Point Pleasant year-round hotel. The Marion, or A.A. Zimmerman’s hotel at 605 Bay Avenue, had 50 rooms and the building still stands and is called the Valentine house. He also opened a bicycle shop in Freehold where they made the “Zimmie” custom models. Copake auctions collected $15,210 for an 1896 model in 2014.
The Marion is still standing.
Zimmie tended bar and Blanche ran the house in Point. While nowhere near as glamorous as the high life in Paris and London, Zimmie was entertained by the stories told by the Squan and Point Pleasant Fishermen who frequented his place.
In 1901 he told a reporter from the Asbury Park Journal a story about a funny fish left behind in his bar.
Divine Compton, a Point Pleasant netman thought he had hit upon his get-rich-quick scheme. He was holding a fish. He had been fishing the waters off of Manasquan Inlet for over 40 years and had little to show for it but a leaky boat and a home in Wall Township. After filling his boat with weakfish one Saturday about 1,000 yards from shore on drop lines, he pulled up the last fish, and it had a bleeding hole right between the eyes. Devine brought the fish with him to Zimmerman’s hotel lounge where the fishermen gathered and discussed the morning’s catch.
The old salts debated the reason for the hole in the head over drinks. Finally, Dave Allgor, took a knife and cut into the fish removing a lead bullet from the fish's head. Nathaniel White who also fished off Sea Girt noted that it probably came from the rifle range, and he recalled bullets hitting the water around his boat.
Devine was thunderstruck with a great idea. . "I'm goin' to stop fishin' for a spell." he remarked along toward dusk, "An' take a turn at lead minin'. There's big money in it, an' I'm the feller to git it. The rifle range was opened nigh onto sixteen years ago ‘ef I remember it 'zactly. My pal Billy , who works lor "George Height sez the soldiers shoot off 'bout 100,000 cartridges a year over there. Sixteen times that is 1,600,000.”
“A bullet in a Springfield cartridge weighs somewhat near an ounce. Now let me figur' up. That's 1,600,000 ounces, which means 'bout 100,000 pounds of old lead worth five cents a pound. That's just $5,000 worth which is buried in the sand around the rifle pits an' in a straight path a few hundred yards out to sea."
Sea Girt Rifle Range Postcard from around 1900
“How about the bullets what hit the targets?" interrupted Cale Morris, "That's so," replied Devine, "didn't think a that. But, say, what might be the matter with buyin' all the old lumber in the rifle pits and and gougin' out the lead an diggin' up the sand on the beach, and scoppin' it out of the sea and siftin' out the bullets? You want to reckon that every sixteen bullets you get means five cents.
That's better'n fishin', ain't it?" They were talking about the wealth of spent bullets buried in the sand when Zimmerman closed up for the night. At 1 o'clock Zimmerman's doorbell rang violently, and thinking it might be a Fourth Regiment officer he hurried downstairs. Devine was bounced up against the door and fell inside when the landlord opened it. He had driven his old gray mare back some half dozen miles to get his bullet-killed fish. "Zim" found it back of a chair and brought it out.
Then he slammed the front door and cut short Devine's attempt to tell him about how he was going to secure riparian rights, organize a stock company and get rich on the lead mine that the State has so long neglected to work.
Zimmerman continued to ride until 1907, mostly in exhibitions, when age and arthritis slowed him up. Prohibition in 1919 was supposed to close down the bar, but a raid by federal agents in 1923 captured 50 quarts of whisky and 10 gallons of beer, truly closing down drinking at the Marion. After a failed bid to become County Clerk in Ocean County, the Zimmermans retired to 11th Ave in Asbury Park and traveled. Zimmie died of a heart attack in Georgia 1936 at the age of 69, and Blanche remained in Asbury until she died in 1962.
The Monmouth County Historical Society has a collection of Zimmerman memorabilia. A great article by Mark Wallinger is here. https://monmouthtimeline.org/timeline/a-a-zimmerman/
A promotional shot from the early 1890’s