Tuesday, November 22, 2016

the life and death of every man


“In the stars is written
the death of every man.”

~ Chaucer

Just a few weekends ago, I organized a Meetup for the River City Cemetarians group to visit Richmond National Cemetery. Historian, retired teacher, and local author JoAnn Meaker has conducted extensive research of those buried in the cemetery and she agreed to share this with the group. This was exciting for me because it was the first event that was exclusive for our Meetup and we were also Ms. Meaker’s first audience/ test run.

JoAnn Meaker
Richmond National Cemetery is located in Henrico County, Va and is about three miles outside of Richmond city limits. During the American Civil War, the land associated with this cemetery was just within the Confederate’s fortification lines when they were attempting to defend Richmond. It isn’t a spoiler alert that the city burned but that’s another story.

The cemetery is 10 acres in size. Some of the land was purchased in 1867 with additional acreage being purchased in 1868 and then in 1906.
The initial burials were re-interments from other locations including one of my favorite places, Hollywood Cemetery.  Bodies also came from Belle Isle, or Belle Island Confederate Prison which was the location to around 30,000 prisoners of war, Cold Harbor battlefield, and Seven Pines. Many war historians recognize the names of these locations but for me they’re all places from home. I used to walk frequently at Cold Harbor (eek! They have the worst horseflies!); I previously posted about Seven Pines, and Belle Isle is a place where I hung-out in undergrad. It took me many, many moons to make peace with the land from where I’m raised but posts like this one have a way of being a bit haunting. It’s hard to process that THIS is WHERE it happened.
A tree consuming a stone

Meaker is originally from New York where she spent the majority of her life. After retirement, she and her husband moved to the area to be closer to her grandchildren. Her connection with the greater Richmond area goes a bit deeper though. While she is currently doing research about Richmond National Cemetery for a forthcoming book, she already has done some research in the area after finding a Civil War ID tag, which she explains is a precursor to the dog tags military personnel wear today, in her late father-in-law’s coin collection. The ID, which looks very much like a coin, reads “Union Against Rebellion 1861” on one side and “A.J. Beardsley” along with his division on the other.  This one token from Beardsley, a relative of her husband, started her entire journey of research for a fictional novel My Dear Emma, which includes a storyline that follows the real life experiences of Addison Beardsley who fought in the 10th New York Cavalry. All of her research eventually led to her forthcoming publication as well.

Meaker explains that before dog tags many of the soldiers would pin their names to their uniforms; seeing the number of “unknown” soldier listed on the gravestones is a reminder that so many of the dead were never identified. Richmond National Cemetery includes 9,322 soldiers of which 5,706 are unknown.

What I most enjoyed about Meaker’s tour of the cemetery was that she told stories of everyday men. The focus was not on their ranks or in which battles they fought. She shared stories of her husband’s family member, of two men who were struck by lightning, and even of writers. There are actually two known poets resting in the cemetery. This grave is that of Adelbert Older. While it is hard to read the inscription, it is alright because it is incorrect anyway. Older was a subscriber to the children's magazine called Robert Merry's Museum. Pat Pflieger argues, “Robert Merry’s Museum was a popular—though now forgotten—American children’s periodical. Founded in 1841, it offered entertainment and information to readers of all ages during the antebellum years, the Civil War, and Reconstruction, finally merging with the Youth’s Companion after the Boston Fire in 1872” (http://www.merrycoz.org/papers/LURE.xhtml).

Here is a description that I found on Pflieger’s website. Pflieger is an academic who writes, “My research is in a pretty obscure corner of 19th-century American culture, so this is where I organize the little bits of information as I gather it.” Considering my other blog is devoted to posting my own academic research, I tip my hat to the other scholars who construct similar havens.

"Adelbert, a tall Wisconsin farm boy with gray eyes and brown hair, was one of the poets among the subscribers to the Museum: 16 of his poems appeared in the magazine between 1857 and 1865. He enlisted immediately in the Union army when the Civil War broke out, but was discharged within the year due to illness; Adelbert re-elisted with his younger brother, Wallace (born c1842), in February 1864. Both were wounded in a skirmish at Turner’s Farm, in Virginia, on May 31 or June 1, 1864. Wallace died almost immediately; but Adelbert lay all night on the battlefield, and was taken to Richmond as a prisoner of war on June 2. Though on June 5 he wrote a cheerful note to his parents, making light of his injuries (they received the note July 27), Adelbert died three days later. The memorial page featured Belle’s poem in the left column and Adelbert’s poem in the right, with a stanza from “Mustered Out” at the bottom of the page. The patriotic image contains a “liberty cap” against a sword and a scroll, crowned with 13 stars probably emblematic of the 13 original states. The verse beginning “I’m mustered out!” is the last stanza of “Mustered Out,” a poem by the Rev. William E. Miller." http://www.merrycoz.org/museum/OLDER.xhtml

Meaker’s book is set to be published in 2017 on the sesquicentennial of the establishment of the Richmond National Cemetery. From her tour and some of the details which she shared about her book, it’s going to be very interesting. What is striking is how you can walk into a national cemetery and you pretty much see the same marker repeated again and again. Meaker has found a way both to unite the soldiers and to share their individual stories.
Chris in front of my camera!

This picture is taken by the talented Chris Beasley, my cemetarian-brother-from-another-mother ;) If I look awkward, it’s because mid-conversation, Chris says, “Move a bit to your left.” He sees a picture in everything, while my fella says that I see a blog post in everything.
 
The familiar-looking lodge was constructed in 1870 from a design by Quartermaster General Montgomery C. Meigs. Similar lodges are located at Poplar Grove, Seven Pines, and Fredericksburg National Cemeteries.

Sunday, September 4, 2016

A behind the scenes/ hard hat tour of Poplar Grove Cemetery... and the Tombstone House

“You cannot go to the cemetery
and ask to be enlightened on matters of this kind,
though it would ease my mind considerably
if you could.”
~ William Maxwell

 
Last week I went on a *hard hat tour* of Poplar Grove National Cemetery.
 

I love seeing rehabilitation efforts in cemeteries that are in progress and I love (legally) entering cemeteries that are closed to the public like that time last year when I got to go into Odd Fellows Rest in New Orleans.

The top number is the listing; the bottom represents the number of unknown soldiers buried here.
I found this tour on the National Parks Service website when I was browsing for adventures for my cemeterians Meet-Up group to attend. The tour was a “behind the scenes” look at the rehabilitation project at Poplar Grove National Cemetery. Poplar Grove is one of 14 National Cemeteries administered by the National Park Service. It is closed for burials and due to a rehabilitation project the cemetery will be closed into 2017.

A bit of history about this cemetery is that in 1862 Congress passed legislation giving the President of the United States the authority to purchase land for the establishment of cemeteries for soldiers who gave their lives for the country aka who fought for the Union during the Civil War. This legislation began the National Cemetery system.

During the Siege of Petersburg, Union soldiers who were killed in battle were hastily buried near where the battles took place in the form of mass graves or even shallow graves. There was a civil war going on so it wasn’t like there were many men who could take their time in these matters.  

This land had been the campsite for the 50th New York Volunteer Engineers. During the war they constructed a Gothic Revival pine-log church called Poplar Grove. When looking for a location for a national cemetery, this seemed like a good place.
When the bodies were disinterred from their hastily buried plots, many were difficult to identify. After all, the headstones, if there were any, had been made of wood. This was a similar fate to the 30,000 Confederate dead buried at Blandford Cemetery in Petersburg, of whom only about 2,000 names are known.

Here comes a somewhat eerie tale that leads to the renovation project of today. During the 1930s (read that as the Great Depression), the superintendent of the cemetery decided to cut (pun intended) costs by removing the upright grave markers in Poplar Grove National Cemetery, cutting off the bottoms which had been in the ground, and replacing the top portions by lying them down flat. This helped grounds crew with maintenance which has been an ongoing battle in many cemeteries. The 2,220 bottom portions of the markers were sold to a gentleman who proceeded to build his dream house out of the materials.  Today you can see this house in Petersburg, Virginia.

the Tombstone house
When doing a little research on this house, I found a Facebook page which shows a picture of the fireplace mantle which had been constructed by the bottom portion of the tombstones. Personally, I find this a little bit crass but I suppose during that time when the country's economy had crashed that one had to make do.

While this was the story the NPS ranger shared, there are some who believe that the entire markers were removed and that the names inscribed face inward hidden from the outside. Some believe that the markers are a bit too large to only be the bottom portions of the grave markers. Since some believe that desecration is involved, the property is considered to be haunted. When I drove by, I didn't notice it being creepy but that it was beautifully landscaped.

Today, the cemetery is being completely redone with new tombstones. It's difficult to tell from the pictures how far this place has come. As it is nearing the end of the renovation project, the grounds look amazing with sparkling white marble stones in place. While we were there, there was even a dedication for one of the interred. I'm certainly going to try to return for the dedication. The cemetery is about an hour from my home but there is the first time in US history that any project of this caliber has been attempted. For the most part, I see cemeteries that are dilapidated; and, I see individuals trying to make do with resources. This is a government-funded project that competed for funding. It's beautiful what they're doing. I wish more cemeteries could receive such support. 
Pictures taken in bathrooms

Since the controversial 1930s occurrence, today the US government requires that all grave markers that are removed from a national cemetery be destroyed to the point that they cannot be recognized.

Because this was an active construction site, we were required to wear hard hats. It was a crazy hot day but I took a moment to take a picture with the newly renovated bathroom to go in my Facebook album, Pictures Taken in Bathrooms because apparently that is a thing that I do *shrug*.

Monday, September 21, 2015

Meeting Ella Howard Bryan


I “met” Ella Howard Bryan earlier this year during a walking tour. Yesterday when I desperately needed a long walk, I headed out on my journey and ended up at Woodland Cemetery. I stopped to visit Bryan’s grave. Born in 1872 and passing in 1954, Bryan was born a little over 100 years before I was on this earth. Somehow I feel a bit connected to her… especially lately.

Bryan was a writer who used the pseudonym *Clinton Dangerfield* to publish poems, novels and short stories. She is probably best known as a writer of Westerns and pulp fiction.

Born in Savannah, Georgia, on February 19th to Confederate Army Major Henry Bryan and Jane Howard Bryan, she was born in an era when the Civil War was still on most Americans’ minds. Without question, Bryan would have been raised with nostalgia and discussions of the conflict during the antebellum period.

Like many women of her time, Bryan was home-schooled and later served as a governess in the North from 1897 until 1901 when her first story, "Behind the Veil" was published.

Bryan worked as a writer throughout her life. She returned to the South and died in Richmond, Virginia, on February 13, 1954, just shy of her eighty-second birthday.

Bryan was also somewhat of an introvert. At the end of her life, she purchased five plots. Upon her death, her will requested that she be buried in the middle plot. In Virginia, the cemetery is allowed to contact the next of kin to repurchase the inactive plots after a certain period of time; however, out of respect for Ms. Bryan’s wishes to be left alone, the cemetery has chosen to leave the neighboring plots vacant. 

Woodland Cemetery has a Confederate Section. It appears that there has recently been some surveying going on.





Saturday, July 18, 2015

a poet's sacred space transforms me


*

Earth, I thank you
for the pleasure of your language
You’ve had a hard time
bringing it to me
from the ground
to grunt thru the noun
To all the way
feeling seeing smelling touching
—awareness
I am here!
~ Anne Spencer

Anne Spencer (1882-1975) was an American poet and a civil rights activist heavily involved in the “New Negro Movement” and with over thirty poems being published during her lifetime she was an important figure of the black literary and cultural movement during the Harlem Renaissance period. She was also the first Virginian and second African-American poet to be included in the Norton Anthology of American Poetry.

Spencer was a teacher and a host to renowned public figures such as Langston Hughes, George Washington Carver, Thurgood Marshall, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., and W. E. B. Du Bois.

She even helped found a local chapter of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) from her home in 1919.
Today her home and workspace remain a museum in Lynchburg, Virginia. Spencer was a gardener. Her garden “Edankraal” is named after the combination of her husband Edward’s name; her first name; and kraal, the Afrikaans word for enclosure or corral. The garden also included a “one-room retreat” which was a converted garage. This is where Spencer did much of her writing.

I’ve been thinking of Edankraal a great deal since I visited her garden a few weeks ago. For starters, her garden was amazing but as an English professor I am also quite interested in seeing where writers work and escape the realities of the day. Spencer was fighting the good fight so she especially needed a place that would comfort her. Spencer worked and, in many ways, recuperated in her garden. This is somewhat a big deal considering the heat and humidity of Virginia summers but what she created for herself was twofold; she created a beautiful workspace along with the help of her husband, and then she created a beautiful legacy of writing that has transformed so many. 

When I visited her home and garden it was mostly because it was recommended by Lynchburg Tourism and by Connie of Hartwood Roses but also because it was close to the cemetery I was visiting. I mean, I was already in the area. Sadly, even though she was a Virginian like me, I did not learn about her in high school or even in college. My first encounter with Ms. Spencer’s work was a few years as a college professor outside of Virginia. Okay, so I’m a professor in D.C. but still it is outside of Spencer and my home state. While the ability to continually be exposed to learning is one of the aspects that I adore about my career, it still saddens me that so many educators in my educational journey missed the opportunity to introduce me to Ms. Spencer or her work.
While I was in the Old City Cemetery’s gift shop, I picked up a copy of Jane Baber White's book, Lessons Learned from a Poet's Garden (2011) about the Anne Spencer garden. The book intrigued me because it was the story of how a space was transformed back into what it originally was. Plus, the title alone had me wonder what I, too, could learn. 

I visited Spencer's garden on a rainy day. In fact, just before and after I walked through her garden space it poured. I couldn't help but be grateful because it made the temperature a bit cooler although it only encouraged the humidity. The garden was much smaller than I expected. In fact, I drove around the block and completely missed her home because there wasn't a grand sign but a subtle one. It was a house in a neighborhood after all. I even felt as though I was trespassing a bit since one must walk down the driveway to reach the garden. There is a small sign that reads, "garden entrance."


I was pleasantly surprised to find boxes where I was able to push and hear an audio of the significance of each spot. From the workspace, to the name of the garden, to even the cast iron head named "Prince Ebo" in the pond that was a gift from W.E. DuBois, I felt I was actually in someone’s private space. It increasingly started to sink in that this was where history was made and this was a memorial in the same way as a historic grave marker. This was Spencer’s life. It moved me.


I’ve been considering my own “secret garden” lately and noticing how it could use some sprucing up. The patio furniture cushions have become drab and practically destroyed by the exposure to the sun for so many years. The other day I touched one and the fabric completely tore. It was time for some new life. It was also a work-from-home day but I’ve *received* a new assignment from work. Some would call it a promotion (without any monetary increase) but I see it only as something that will be benefiting our English department while simultaneously taking me away from home. That translates to my one research day where I was able to work from home is gone. Now I will be making the trek to and from work more often and with longer hours. I’m purposely being cryptic because it officially hasn’t been announced. AND, I also don’t want to talk much about it because I’m going for my ongoing psychology experiment here just as I do my commute—don’t say anything bad about it because once I do, I internalize the sadness/frustration/misery etc. I’m just going to keep telling myself that it will look good on a resume (which doesn’t matter because I’m a tenured full professor and I hope to retire from my university) and I can do anything for a year.

Once the world was young
For I was twenty and very old
And you and I knew all the answers
What the day was, how the hours would turn
One dial was there to see
Now the world is old and I am still young
For the young know nothing, nothing


But back to my work-from-home day… I took a lunch break and headed to Home Depot. I meant to buy some patio chair cushions and maybe a few flowers. I ended up with a cartload. That evening, I spend time in my garden. All that is left is that I’m waiting for a new patio umbrella. It had also seen too much time in nature and some dirt divers (which is a type of wasp for those of you who don’t know) were seriously certain that the umbrella was their new home no matter how many times I knocked down their nests. So the what-became-drab-red umbrella has been replaced for a monster green (some call it lime… whateves!) one. It should arrive on Monday. In this refreshed place, I will sit and be rejuvenated. I will be thankful for opportunities even if they aren’t the ones that I want. When I’m sitting outside everything seems right in the world. Edankraal also gives me a refreshed vision of what I can do. Spencer’s garden isn’t large. While I only have about a third of the space Spencer had in her yard, I, too, am able to do amazing things that enlivens my soul. 

*
This small garden is half my world
I am nothing to it-when all is said,
I plant the thorn and kiss the rose,
But they will grow when I am dead.