It was July 12, 1916, and 12-year-old Joseph Dunn was sprinting toward Matawan Creek. Behind him were his 14-year-old brother, Michael, and their buddy Jerry Hollohan. They reached the dock and Joe leaped off. 

Splash! Joe hit the cool water, sinking down, down, down. He let his toes touch the mucky bottom before blasting himself back up to the surface. 

What could be better than this?

Joe and Michael lived in New York City, but they came to Cliffwood, New Jersey, as often as they could. Their aunt lived there, and lucky for Joe and Michael, she was always happy to have them. Cliffwood wasn’t a fancy place, not like those towns on the south New Jersey shore where rich people went for the summer. There were no hotels, no white-sand beaches with rolling waves. Matawan Creek was a muddy waterway whose banks were lined with brick and tile factories. But to Joe and Michael, Cliffwood was paradise, a happy escape from the misery of summer in New York City. 

And that summer had been blazing hot. The heat wave brought particular suffering to city dwellers, and not just the humans. Horses fainted in the streets. Dogs yelped as they walked along stove-hot sidewalks. Even the cockroaches in the Dunns’ apartment seemed to drag in the stifling air.

Out in Cliffwood, Joe and Michael could forget all that. They could play baseball with Jerry and other local kids. They could buy nickel ice-cream cones. Best of all, they could cool off in the creek. 

Joe was looking forward to an afternoon of swimming with the guys. But their carefree mood was interrupted by a shouting voice. A man appeared on the dock, sweat-soaked and out of breath. What he said next nearly stopped Joe’s heart: “There’s a shark in the creek !” 

A shark? In the creek? 

Frantically, Joe raced to shore. He made it to the dock, where Michael and Jerry were already out of the water. Michael was reaching down to help Joe climb out when Joe felt something grab his leg, like a giant pair of scissors. 

He felt a crunch. The water around him turned bright red. Time seemed to slow, and everything went dim.

Joseph Dunn had just become a victim of one of the most notorious series of shark attacks in history. By the time the terror was over, three men and one boy would be dead. But Joseph didn’t know what was happening to him. He had only one thought: that he was about to die.

It was July 12, 1916, and 12-year-old Joseph Dunn was sprinting toward Matawan Creek. Behind him were his 14-year-old brother, Michael, and their buddy Jerry Hollohan. They reached the dock and Joe leaped off. 

Splash! Joe hit the cool water. He sank down, down, down. He let his toes touch the mucky bottom before blasting himself back up to the surface. 

What could be better than this?

Joe and Michael lived in New York City, but they came to Cliffwood, New Jersey, as often as they could. Their aunt lived there, and lucky for Joe and Michael, she was always happy to have them. Cliffwood wasn’t a fancy place. It wasn’t like those towns on the south New Jersey shore where rich people went for the summer. There were no hotels or white-sand beaches with rolling waves. Matawan Creek was a muddy waterway whose banks were lined with factories. But to Joe and Michael, Cliffwood was paradise. It was a happy escape from the misery of summer in New York City. 

And that summer had been very hot. The heat wave brought particular suffering to city dwellers, and not just the humans. Horses fainted in the streets. Dogs yelped as they walked along stove-hot sidewalks. Even the cockroaches in the Dunns’ apartment seemed to drag in the stifling air. 

Out in Cliffwood, Joe and Michael could forget all that. They could play baseball with Jerry and other local kids. They could buy nickel ice-cream cones. Best of all, they could cool off in the creek. 

Joe was looking forward to an afternoon of swimming with the guys. But their good mood was interrupted by shouting. A man appeared on the dock soaked in sweat and out of breath. What he said next nearly stopped Joe’s heart: “There’s a shark in the creek !” 

A shark? In the creek? 

Joe raced to shore. He made it to the dock. Michael and Jerry were already out of the water. Michael was reaching down to help Joe climb out when Joe felt something grab his leg, like a giant pair of scissors. 

He felt a crunch. The water around him turned bright red. Time seemed to slow. Everything went dim.

Joseph Dunn had just become a victim of one of the most well-known series of shark attacks in history. By the time the terror was over, three men and one boy would be dead. But Joseph didn’t know what was happening to him. He had only one thought: that he was about to die.

In the months leading up to the summer of 1916, a mood of dread had gripped America. A brutal war—later called World War I—had been raging in Europe for two years, pitting England and France and other allied countries against Germany and its allies. 

Each morning, Joseph would watch his parents’ worried faces as they studied the newspaper, their toast and coffee growing cold. There were horrific descriptions of the fighting—of battlefields soaked in blood. With each passing week, it became more clear that American forces would have to join the fight. 

What nobody knew was that another threat lurked that summer, one far closer to home, in the waters along the New Jersey coast.

In the months leading up to the summer of 1916, a mood of dread had spread across America. 

A brutal war had been raging in Europe for two years. England and France and other allied countries were fighting against Germany and its allies. The war would come to be called World War I.

Each morning, Joseph would watch his parents’ worried faces as they studied the newspaper, their toast and coffee growing cold. There were horrific descriptions of the fighting—of battlefields soaked in blood. With each passing week, it became more clear that America would have to join the fight. 

What nobody knew was that there was another threat that summer. And this threat was far closer to home, in the waters along the New Jersey coast.

The terror began 11 days before the attack on Joseph Dunn, in Beach Haven, a resort town about 75 miles south of Cliffwood. Charles Vansant, 25, was swimming not far from shore when shouts echoed from the beach. 

“Look out!”

A few people at the shoreline could see what Vansant could not: a fin knifing through the water. 

Vansant must have glimpsed the shark seconds before it clamped down on his left thigh. It was massive, eight or nine feet long. 

Six men rushed into the water. Mustering all their strength, they pulled Vansant—and the shark attached to his leg—into shallower water. The shark’s belly was dragging against the sandy bottom when it finally unlocked its jaws and swam away. A doctor tried to stop the bleeding, but Vansant died an hour later. 

Witnesses had no doubt what had happened. Many saw the shark with their own eyes.

Yet as the story spread, few believed it. Yes, Charles Vansant had been attacked by a sea creature. But a shark? That seemed impossible. Most believed it was a swordfish, whose blade-like nose could slice through human flesh, or a snapping turtle, a giant reptile with jaws powerful enough to snap a human bone in half.

Only a few newspapers reported the incident. Some stories didn’t even include the word shark. “Dies After Attack by Fish” was the headline of a short article in The New York Times on July 3.

Why did people have such doubts?

The terror began 11 days before the attack on Joseph Dunn, in a resort town about 75 miles south of Cliffwood. The town was called Beach Haven. Charles Vansant, 25, was swimming not far from shore when shouts came from the beach. 

“Look out!”

A few people at the shoreline could see what Vansant could not: a fin moving through the water. 

Vansant must have seen the shark seconds before it clamped down on his left thigh. The creature was massive. 

Six men rushed into the water. Mustering all their strength, they pulled Vansant into shallower water. The shark was still attached to his leg. The shark’s belly was dragging against the sandy bottom when it finally unlocked its jaws and swam away. A doctor tried to stop the bleeding, but Vansant died an hour later. 

Witnesses had no doubt what had happened. Many saw the shark with their own eyes.

Yet as the story spread, few believed it. Yes, Charles Vansant had been attacked by a sea creature. But a shark? That seemed impossible. Most believed it was a swordfish. Swordfish have noses like a blade that can slice through human flesh. Others believed it was a snapping turtle. This giant reptile has powerful jaws that can snap human bone in half.

Only a few newspapers reported the attack. Some stories didn’t even include the word shark. The headline of a short article in The New York Times on July 3 was: “Dies After Attack by Fish.” 

Why did people have such doubts?

For most Americans in 1916, the ocean was as mysterious as a distant galaxy. The study of ocean life, known as marine biology, was a new science. The ocean’s depths were unexplored, a world where mermaids might very well be living in sunken cities, where tentacled sea monsters could be guarding treasure chests filled with jewels. Almost nothing was known about large sharks or any sea creatures that weren’t routinely captured by fishermen or easily observed close to shore. 

But there was one “fact” about sharks of which most everyone was certain: No shark would bite a live human being. Even the most respected scientists mistakenly believed that sharks were shy creatures with weak jaws and small appetites. 

Never had there been a proven case of a living person being bitten by a shark. In 1916, the idea that a shark had killed Charles Vansant was as far-fetched as the idea of a deer attacking a man strolling through the woods. 

News of Vansant’s death didn’t spread far, and those who heard rumors figured it was a freak accident. Americans had enough to worry about with the war in Europe. A man being killed by a fish wasn’t big news. 

Until five days later, when it happened again.

For most Americans in 1916, the ocean was as mysterious as a faraway galaxy. The study of ocean life, known as marine biology, was a new science. The ocean’s depths were unexplored. It was a world where mermaids might very well be living in sunken cities. A world where sea monsters could be guarding treasure chests filled with jewels. Almost nothing was known about large sharks or any sea creatures that weren’t often captured by fishermen or seen near shore. 

But there was one “fact” about sharks that almost everyone was certain about. No shark would bite a live human being. Even the most respected scientists mistakenly believed that sharks were shy creatures with weak jaws and small appetites. 

There had never been a proven case of a living person being bitten by a shark. In 1916, the idea that a shark had killed Charles Vansant was as unbelievable as the idea of a deer attacking a man strolling through the woods. 

News of Vansant’s death didn’t spread far. Those who heard rumors figured it was a freak accident. Americans had enough to worry about with the war in Europe. A man being killed by a fish wasn’t big news. 

Until five days later, when it happened again.

On July 6, Charles Bruder, 27, was swimming off a beach in Spring Lake, a vacation town about 45 miles north of Beach Haven. Suddenly, without warning, he was savagely attacked by a large shark. 

This time, there were few doubts about what had happened. Within the hour, every beach up and down the shore was closed. And by the next morning, headlines blared from the front pages of newspapers around the world.

“Monster Shark Kills Again!” 

Overnight, people’s image of sharks was transformed. The “tame” creatures were suddenly seen as bloodthirsty monsters. 

As scientists would eventually realize, though, this image of sharks was also incorrect. Large predatory sharks can and do eat just about anything. But sharks do not deliberately seek out humans as prey. Many bites happen when a shark mistakes a swimmer or surfer for a seal or sea lion.

Perhaps the shark that killed Vansant and Bruder was injured or weakened and unable to hunt its usual prey. We can never know what caused this shark to attack humans. But the “man-eater of New Jersey” would soon kill again. 

On July 6, Charles Bruder, 27, was swimming off a beach in Spring Lake. Spring Lake was a vacation town about 45 miles north of Beach Haven. Suddenly, Bruder was attacked by a large shark. 

This time, there were few doubts about what had happened. Within the hour, every beach up and down the shore was closed. And by the next morning, headlines blared from the front pages of newspapers around the world.

“Monster Shark Kills Again!” 

Overnight, people’s image of sharks was changed. The “tame” creatures were suddenly seen as vicious monsters. 

As scientists would eventually realize, though, this image of sharks was also wrong. Large predatory sharks can and do eat just about anything. But sharks do not deliberately seek out humans as prey. Many bites happen when a shark mistakes a swimmer or surfer for a seal or sea lion.

Perhaps the shark that killed Vansant and Bruder was injured or weakened and unable to hunt its usual prey. We can never know what caused this shark to attack humans. But the “man-eater of New Jersey” would soon kill again. 

By July 12, when Joseph, Michael, and Jerry jumped into Matawan Creek, the panic had subsided. The boys must have heard about the attacks, listening to the grisly stories with pounding hearts and wide­-eyed fascination. But why would they worry? Matawan Creek was 15 miles inland. It seemed as safe as a bathtub. 

In fact, the creek is connected to the Atlantic Ocean. Area fishermen routinely traveled into the creek from the Atlantic. If a boat could make that journey, why not a shark? 

One of the few people who understood this was retired sea captain Thomas Cottrell. He had been walking along the creek that day, about a mile and a half from Cliffwood, when his eyes locked on a chilling sight: a large fin slicing through the mud-brown waters. Cottrell stared, dumbstruck. 

At first he thought his vision was playing tricks on him. But as the creature came closer, he had no doubt about what it was. 

The captain raced to the town’s main street and into a crowded barbershop. 

“There’s a shark in the creek !” he boomed.

Cottrell expected everyone to jump up and follow him to the creek. But nobody budged. Some of the men smirked. 

Then he understood: These people thought he was just a confused old man. 

Cottrell had spent years fishing the world’s oceans. He had come face-to-face with some of the fiercest beasts in the sea. He was certain there was a shark in the creek, in the same waters where local kids loved to swim. 

He rushed to the dock and fired up his motorboat, steering it up the creek and shouting out warnings. 

By July 12, when Joseph, Michael, and Jerry jumped into Matawan Creek, the panic had subsided. The boys must have heard about the attacks. They must have listened to the horrible stories with pounding hearts and wide-eyed fascination. But why would they worry? Matawan Creek was 15 miles inland. It seemed as safe as a bathtub. 

In fact, the creek is connected to the Atlantic Ocean. Fishermen often traveled into the creek from the Atlantic. If a boat could make that journey, why not a shark? 

One of the few people who understood this was retired sea captain Thomas Cottrell. He had been walking along the creek that day, not too far from Cliffwood, when his eyes locked on a chilling sight: a large fin slicing through the mud-brown waters. Cottrell stared, dumbstruck. 

At first he thought he was seeing things. But as the creature came closer, he had no doubt about what it was. 

The captain raced to the town’s main street and into a crowded barbershop. 

“There’s a shark in the creek !” he boomed.

Cottrell expected everyone to jump up and follow him to the creek. But nobody moved. Some of the men smirked. 

Then he understood: These people thought he was just a confused old man. 

Cottrell had spent years fishing the world’s oceans. He had come face-to-face with some of the fiercest beasts in the sea. He was certain there was a shark in the creek, in the same waters where local kids loved to swim. 

He rushed to the dock and started his motorboat. He steered it up the creek and shouted out warnings. 

When Joe, Michael, and Jerry started their swim, they had no idea what was happening up the creek. Nor did they know that a few minutes earlier, a shark had fatally attacked its third and fourth victims: Lester Stillwell, 11, and Stanley Fisher, 24. It wasn’t until the shouts of warning shattered their joyful afternoon that the three boys knew they were in danger.

By then, of course, it was too late. 

The shark pulled Joe under the water. Michael and Jerry dove in and tried to wrestle Joe free, but the shark was too strong. 

It seemed hopeless.

Then a sputtering motorboat appeared. It was Captain Cottrell and two other men. Those men jumped into the water and were soon part of the terrible tug-of-war with the shark. Joe was sure he’d be ripped in two. But suddenly, the shark opened its jaws. 

Joe was free.

In the boat, Michael gripped his brother’s hand as Captain Cottrell drove up the creek. Back on land, Joe was rushed to the hospital. Joe’s leg was badly mangled and bleeding.

Nobody believed he would survive. 

When Joe, Michael, and Jerry started their swim, they had no idea what was happening up the creek. Nor did they know that a few minutes earlier, a shark had attacked and killed its third and fourth victims: Lester Stillwell, 11, and Stanley Fisher, 24. It wasn’t until the shouts of warning shattered their joyful afternoon that the three boys knew they were in danger.

By then, of course, it was too late. 

The shark pulled Joe under the water. Michael and Jerry dove in and tried to wrestle Joe free. The shark was too strong. It seemed hopeless.

Then a motorboat appeared. It was Captain Cottrell and two other men. Those men jumped into the water. Soon they were part of the terrible tug-of-war with the shark. Joe was sure he’d be ripped in two. But suddenly, the shark opened its jaws. 

Joe was free.

In the boat, Michael held his brother’s hand as Captain Cottrell drove up the creek. Back on land, Joe was rushed to the hospital. His leg was badly hurt and bleeding.

Nobody believed he would survive. 

There were no more shark attacks that summer, and sharks soon faded from headlines as Americans geared up for a far bigger conflict: World War I. By the following spring, the first American troops were in Europe. 

Yet the shark attacks of 1916 have not been forgotten. Many questions remain about what happened during those 12 days of terror. Was Schleisser’s shark really the killer? Or might it have been not one shark but several? If it was one shark, what caused it to stalk humans with such unnatural ferocity? 

One thing is certain, though. For the Dunn family, that summer of 1916 ended on a joyful note: On September 15, Joe was released from the hospital. As the months went by, he fully recovered. 

Joe lived into old age. He rarely talked about his experiences in the summer of 1916. But those who knew him said he always considered himself a lucky man. After all, he alone had escaped from the jaws of the New Jersey man-eater.

There were no more shark attacks that summer. Sharks soon faded from headlines as Americans prepared for a far bigger conflict: World War I. By the following spring, the first American troops were in Europe. 

Yet the shark attacks of 1916 have not been forgotten. Many questions remain about what happened during those 12 days of terror. Was Schleisser’s shark really the killer? Or might it have been not one shark but several? If it was one shark, what caused it to stalk humans with such unnatural ferocity? 

One thing is certain, though. For the Dunn family, that summer of 1916 ended on a joyful note: On September 15, Joe was released from the hospital. As the months went by, he fully recovered. 

Joe lived into old age. He rarely talked about his experiences in the summer of 1916. But those who knew him said he always considered himself a lucky man. After all, he alone had escaped from the jaws of the New Jersey man-eater. 

^{Adapted from I SURVIVED: THE SHARK ATTACKS OF 1916 by Lauren Tarshis. Copyright ©2010 by Lauren Tarshis. Used by permission of the author and Scholastic Inc.}

^{Adapted from I SURVIVED: THE SHARK ATTACKS OF 1916 by Lauren Tarshis. Copyright ©2010 by Lauren Tarshis. Used by permission of the author and Scholastic Inc.}

^{This article was originally published in the April 2022 issue.}

^{This article was originally published in the April 2022 issue.}