Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.

You’ve probably seen this poem before. It was written in 1932 by Mary Elizabeth Frye. She had never written any poetry before this. But the story of a young German Jewish woman, Margaret Schwarzkopf, inspired her to start.

Margaret was staying with Mary and her husband in their Baltimore home. She had been concerned about her mother, who was ill in Germany. Despite her desire to see her mother, Margaret was too afraid to return to Germany because of increasing anti-Semitic unrest. When her mother died, Margaret told Mary that she never had the chance to “stand by my mother’s grave and shed a tear”.

Greatly moved, Mary began writing a piece of verse on a brown paper shopping bag. Later, she said the words expressed what she felt about life and death. The result is a beautiful poem that just about everyone can relate to when they lose a loved one.

I thought about this poem a few months ago when I visited Westview Cemetery. On that day, I was looking for the grave of a mother and her adult son, but it was proving to be a challenge. As I “hopped” down the rows looking, I encountered two different graves where a body was not actually interred. That was because both young men had perished at sea in World War II.

The first one was Guyton Christopher. The only son of a homemaker and a fire insurance salesman, Guyton attended Georgia Tech. According to the 1940 yearbook, The Blueprint, he was on the track team. His best event was the long jump. He was also in the marching band. When he enlisted on September 4, 1941 at Fort McPherson, he wrote that he had attended college for three years and his profession is listed as “actor”. He would enter as an aviation cadet in the Army Air Corps, later known as the U.S. Air Force.

Guyton entered his training and became a member of the 64th Bomber Squadron, 43rd Bomber Group. They were deployed to Australia in February 1942 and went into combat that September. The squadron operated in support of the campaign in Papua New Guinea, first from Australia, then from New Guinea and Owi Island. They were concentrated, in particular, in attacks on shipping.

Guyton was piloting a B-17F “Flying Fortress” as part of a nine-man crew on the day he died. They took off from Port Moresby on a bombing mission against a Japanese convoy bound for Lae, New Guinea. Returning from the mission low on fuel, they attempted to ditch into the Gulf of Papua. Three of the crew members were later rescued but the other six, including Guyton, were never found.

He was posthumously awarded the Purple Heart Medal, two Silver Star Medals, the Distinguished Service Cross, and additional Army awards. His name is listed on the Tablets of the Missing at Manilla American Cemetery and Memorial in Fort William McKinley, the Philippines.

On the same day, I found another monument that told the story of a merchant mariner. Richard Barge was also from Atlanta, the middle son of James and Delia Mae Barge. He attended Technological “Tech” High School. Some famous graduates include legendary golfer Bobby Jones and Chickfila founder Truett Cathy. In 1943, Richard was in Company B of the ROTC. While he never served in the U.S. military, he did lose his life as part of the World War II conflict.

Richard signed on to the U.S. Merchant Marines, which is responsible for transporting cargo and passengers during peace time. During times of war, the Merchant Marine serves as an auxiliary to the Navy, and can be called upon to deliver troops and supplies for the military. While the Merchant Marine does not have a role in combat, they protect any precious cargo.

About 3.1 million tons of merchant ships were lost in World War II. Mariners died at a rate of 1 in 24, which was the highest rate of casualties of any service. An estimated 733 American cargo ships were lost and 8,651 of the 215,000 who served perished in troubled waters and off enemy shores.

Richard served as a messman on the steam tanker SS Oklahoma. Ironically, the Oklahoma had already been hit by a German U-Boat in March 1942 off the shallow waters of Georgia’s St. Simons’ Island. Nineteen men died as a result. The boat was towed to Chester, Pennsylvania to be refitted and put back into service.

In the early hours of March 28, 1945, the Oklahoma was in the Atlantic when it was torpedoed by the German U-boat U-532, captained by Ottoheinrich Junker. It was reported that flames surrounded the ship for a distance of 500 feet and the flaming cargo blazed on the water a mile astern. While 22 men survived, Barge was one of 50 men who perished as the tanker sank.

Two young men, two very different lives. They both died at sea, their bodies lost to the ocean’s harsh waves. Their parents didn’t have the chance to bring their sons home. Although their graves are empty, their sacrifices are not forgotten. Their lives meant something.

They may not be here physically, but their spirits remain.

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there; I do not sleep.

Whenever I’m asked why Southern writers particularly have a penchant for writing about freaks, I say it is because we are still able to recognize one.— Flannery O’Connor

Flannery O’Connor is one of my favorite authors. She was born and raised in Georgia, but I think she would have found plenty of freakish things in the cemeteries of Charleston. I know I did.

In the South, we revel in the unique and bizarre. Eccentricities are embraced, not shunned. You can see that in the Charleston style of what is called funerary art, which is basically anything having to do with burials or funerals.

One of the first headstones that caught my attention during my cemetery hopping adventures was this stunner in St. Philip’s Episcopal Church’s Western Cemetery. A grinning skeleton reclines against a winged hourglass, symbolizing death’s power over time.

Why would anyone want a skeleton on their headstone?

Skull and skeleton imagery is a holdover from the colonists’ English past. Puritan preachers warned of the dangers of sin in a worldly society. The result could be eternal damnation. These macabre images were to serve as a lesson to the living to be mindful of where they might end up if they didn’t mend their ways.

To Charlestonians, this was not unusual. At this time, there was an inherent awareness of the fragility of life. Considering the number of epidemics (mostly yellow fever) that wiped out many lives in the fledgling city, death was an everyday event.

Another example was childbirth. Today, giving birth is a fairly risk-free event women go through with few complications. But in the 1700s and 1800s, it could easily mean death for both mother and child.

Buried in the Circular Congregational Church Burial Grounds, Jean Legare was one of countless women who died in childbirth. It is unknown if her baby survived. The poem at the bottom reads:

In Faith she Died, in Death she Lies
But Faith foresees that Death shall Rise.
When Jesus calls her hope assumes
And Boasts her joys among the Tombs.

For Christians, the skull has been a death symbol since Medieval times. When you add wings to it (as seen on Jean’s grave pictured above), it becomes a vivid symbol of the resurrection of the spirit.

Such intricately carved slate headstones were not purchased by the average Charleston resident. They were sought after by the wealthy who had the funds to show the world their status. Back in 1727, the cost for such a finely crafted piece of work might cost about $27. Adjust that for inflation and you’re looking at $30,000 today.

Some wealthy Charlestonians were so intent on impressing the living after they died that they ordered their headstones from a handful of known carvers from New England. Their handiwork can be seen in many Charleston cemeteries. Few were marked but some bear the name of these craftsmen, such as Boston’s Henry Emmes. Some carvers even traveled to Charleston to set up their own shops.

With the onset of the 1800s, funerary art began to take on a less macabre tone. This is due to, in part, to the Great Awakening taking place in New England. Salvation was the order of the day and not the Puritans’ Predestination. Angels and cherubs began to replace skulls and hourglasses. Some of the cherubs bore the facial features of the deceased.

Some headstones featured likenesses of the person themselves, as can be seen in the grave of Frances Prue. She shares it with the son she lost in infancy, Thomas. He is depicted as a cherub, his head having wings.

The fact that these headstones were being carved in New England but appearing so frequently in Charleston has raised a few questions for historians. Were these headstones a product of New England that a few Southerners sought for themselves? Years ago, I saw one of those winged skull headstones in a Boston cemetery so I knew the wealthy residents of New England favored them.

Evidence indicates that the high level of education and artistic sophistication of Charleston’s elite created a lucrative market for New England carvers. It was a unique group that most Southerners could not afford to belong to, but those that could provided a good living for those carvers willing to meet the demand.

With the onset of the Victorian era, headstones began to be made of different types of stone as opposed to slate. Carvings became less religious and more artistic in nature as religious tolerance took on more prominence. Images of urns, weeping willows, flowers and other motifs began to appear on headstones and monuments.

To finish up, I want to feature a tomb that is quite rare in American cemeteries. Magnolia Cemetery, on the outskirts of Charleston, is home to an Egyptian Revival-style pyramid tomb. It’s quite striking.

Actor Nicholas Cage actually commissioned his own pyramid-style tomb to be built in New Orleans’ St. Louis Cemetery #1 recently. It’s not very visually appealing, in my opinion, compared to the Smith/Whaley tomb at Magnolia. Cage does have a reputation for being rather eccentric, so it’s not entirely surprising.

I think he’d feel right at home in Charleston.

Divine appointments are meant to be kept. Especially when you’re in Charleston.

Chris and I had our anniversary recently so we planned a beach vacation to Charleston for just the two of us. I don’t think we’d been away from our son longer than two nights since he was born so it was a trip we were looking forward to. We chose Isle of Palms as our home base and were not disappointed.

Both of us had been to Charleston as children with our families. I had come back a few times as an adult so my memories were fresher. But I can still remember my first visit, riding a horse-drawn carriage through the streets as a tour guide expounded on the rich history of this enchanting city.

This time, I was returning as a cemetery hopper. This meant we were going to spend at least one of our three full days nosing around in cemeteries. Chris kindly consented as he has done in the past when we’re out of state. The fact that he enjoys photography doesn’t hurt. In fact, he took most of the photos you will see in this blog post.

One church I was determined to visit was St. Philip’s Episcopal Church. Established in 1681, it is the oldest church congregation in the state of South Carolina. The current building was constructed in 1835 and boasts a beautiful, tall steeple. The gentleman we spoke with there said there is a law on the books that no building in Charleston can be built taller than the steeple. At one point during the Civil War, it was used for sighting during the Union’s bombardment of the city. St. Philip’s chapel bells were actually melted down for the Confederate war effort.

St. Philip’s has a churchyard and a cemetery. What’s the difference? The churchyard is on the immediate grounds around the church and is limited to members of the congregation. Across the street is the West Cemetery, which St. Philip’s is said to have opened for “strangers and transient white people.” Members, however, were later buried there as well. It is an active cemetery and St. Philip’s has a growing membership.

The Western Cemetery also holds a number of famous people. Countless founding fathers (and mothers) with surnames like Pinckney, Pringle, and Lowndes are buried here. But the most notable has to be U.S. Vice President John Caldwell Calhoun (1825-1832). He was strongly in favor of secession and slavery, earning himself the nickname “the Cast Iron Man” for his ideological rigidity.

According to the church’s history, when the Civil War began to break out, there was a great concern that due to Calhoun’s very vocal pro-secession views, invading Union troops might desecrate or totally destroy his grave. Under cover of darkness, his remains were quietly removed from the Western Cemetery and placed in an unmarked area in the church graveyard across the street. After the war, his remains were returned to their original place. His elaborate tomb was erected in 1880 by the South Carolina State Legislature.

I was also keen to see St. Philip’s because a fellow cemetery enthusiast had mentioned he needed a photo of the grave of South Carolina writer Herbert Ravenel Sass. I had never heard of him before but I was game for the challenge.

Sass was a man for all seasons. Among his titles were author, editor, reporter, novelist, ornithologist and naturalist. He wrote passionately about his beloved home state, his articles published in magazines like Harper’s Bazzar, Atlantic Monthly and National Geographic. Several of his stories were turned into movies, including The Raid and Anne of the Indies.

All I knew was that Sass’s grave was a flat marker, having seen a less than stellar photo of it on Find a Grave. I knew Chris and I had our work cut out for us. It was a hot, humid day, the kind Charleston is famous for, but we were determined to try.

That’s when I arrived for that divine appointment I mentioned.

When Chris and I entered the West Cemetery, we noticed two ladies chatting as one of them gently hosed off a grave marker in an attempt to get some mud off of it. After we greeted them, I headed away toward the front corner next to the wrought iron fence line to start looking.

I was so intent on what I was doing that when a gentle voice spoke, I nearly jumped out of my sandals. Turning, I saw one of the ladies smiling kindly at me through the fence as she stood on the sidewalk. She apologized for spooking me and mentioned that there was a particularly interesting grave close by, if I was interested.

We began chatting and she asked if there was anyone I was specifically looking for. I mentioned Sass and I could immediately see the shock in her face. God’s timing suddenly became very real.

Dotty (her full name is Dorothy Parkin Pratt-Thomas Leonard) began to share with me that her parents, now deceased, had been friends of Sass and had purchased his home from him. Her family had lived in it happily for many years, and Dotty had fond memories of the place. She had known the Sass family intimately and was in the process of writing a paper on Herbert Ravenel Sass for her book club.

Dotty then led me over to Sass’ grave, first pausing at playwright Dubose Heyward’s grave. Sass and Heyward had written the book Fort Sumter together. We stood at the Sass family graves as Chris took pictures. I was too stunned to be of much use in that department. I am not sure if I would have found them had Dotty not been there to show us.

Dotty also pointed out her parents’ graves nearby. Her mother had recently died in 2012. It was clear she missed them very much. She excused herself soon after. But I think our chance meeting that day was as special to her as it was to me. I hope it was.

I have no idea why I crossed paths with Dotty on that sweltering hot day. What I’m learning as this journey I am taking unfolds, is that it is better not to ask or to question too much. Some things are simply meant to be.

Because divine appointments are always right on time.

This week, I’m going to cheat a little and share something I recently wrote for another venue. When you’re on vacation, the urge to be a bit of a slacker is hard to resist.

For the last 13 or so years, I’ve written on a freelance basis for a quarterly magazine called Museum Store. Based in Denver, it’s published by an organization called the Museum Store Association (MSA). If you manage a gift shop at any kind of museum, aquarium, historic site, zoo or Presidential Library, chances are you are a member of MSA.

In that time, I’ve written about topics ranging from how to handle school groups to using Pinterest to boost sales to improving inventory management. Maybe it was inevitable that my passion for cemetery hopping would collide with my writing for MSA. When I pitched the idea of writing an article about cemeteries with gift shops, they went for it.

So take a moment to read about this new retail trend. Shopping at a cemetery may sound a bit strange but it seems to be catching on. I’m especially pleased that I got to talk with some of the wonderful staff at Atlanta’s Oakland Cemetery.

Gift Shops in Cemetery Stores – Museum Store, Fall 2013