The 82-year-old walks without the shelter of an umbrella -- in fact, the only thing protecting his head from the storm is a baseball cap identifying him as a World War II veteran. He's barely aware of the rain, he says, too wrapped up in thoughts of those who have gone before.

The cemetery association president finally stops near the rear of the burial ground, where the tops of minimansions can be seen peering over the surrounding fence. It is here, before a large headstone bearing so many names of those who died so young, that Wade expresses disbelief.

The children of Jonathan and Jane Smith -- four daughters and one son, bearing the name Isaac Newton -- all perished within days and months of one another in 1863.

"Diphtheria," declares Wade, referring to the deadly epidemic that ravaged Franklin residents more than a century ago. "This is important ... this is a tragic story."

He walks among the graves, some bearing broken, crumbling stones, some, he points out, bearing none at all. Over there, Wade says, pointing to one corner that Boy Scouts cleared of brush, is where he believes at least one slave was laid to rest.

"The place looks so much better than it used to," he remarks, looking out over the property.

Occasionally, Wade speaks as though he knows the dead personally. And some of them he does -- three generations of his mother's family, the Tottens, lay here, as do a smaller number of the Wade family, including his brother.

And then there are those whose names seem familiar: The DeMotts. The Van Dorens. The Skillmans. The Bennetts. Franklin residents all, indeed, but also unique in being the namesakes of township roads.

Wade pauses in front of another headstone with a curious inscription: "Col. Routh Goshen, 1837-1889. Middlebush Giant." Wade explains that the man buried there was billed as "The World's Largest Living Man" by Phineas T. Barnum in the mid-1800s. Goshen, believed to have stood 7 feet 5 inches and weighed close to 600 pounds, retired to Franklin after leaving the circus. Fearing grave robbers, the giant requested his burial spot remain unmarked, which is why the headstone was only placed in the vicinity of the actual plot.

While Wade recalls hearing his wife speak of living in the Middlebush Giant's home on Amwell Road, it is recollections of his own childhood that cause his eyes to crinkle in a smile.

The grandfather of four recounts his years growing up on the Wilson farm on Amwell Road, and attending Middlebush School as a first-grader in the late 1920s. It is that history, he says, that makes him feel so strongly about the Cedar Grove Cemetery.

"I feel not only did I live next door on the farm, (but) my personal ties pre-date my existence," Wade says.

Wade says he occasionally receives phone calls from people across the country who have questions about their relatives' final resting places. "Some woman in Missouri think she's in some way related to the Middlebush Giant," he says.

Although the association has maps that denote burial plots, Wade says they're not always accurate. The group recently had someone come out with ground radar to detect what ground was disturbed or used as a grave. That beats the old method which, Wade explains, involved probing the ground with a metal rod.

The cemetery still conducts burials and plots are for sale. Wade says the land is "still the cheapest in the area."

In addition to regularly visiting the cemetery, Wade keeps busy by volunteering his services at the Second Reformed Church in New Brunswick, working around his home and making plans for the yearly reunion of his New Brunswick High School graduating class. He also hopes to publish a book about the history of the cemetery.

Judging by his schedule, Wade doesn't seem too concerned about his own mortality.

"I don't have time to die," he says matter-of-factly, "so I'm going to be around for a long time."