This past Tuesday was International Holocaust Remembrance Day. In recognition of that, I am reposting a piece I wrote in October 2013 about Greenwood Cemetery’s Holocaust Memorial. I am not Jewish but the Holocaust has always had a great significance for me. You can find out why in this post.

In the mid 90s, I visited my friend (and fellow Church Chick) Megan in Washington, D.C. The U.S. Holocaust Museum had not been open very long so we went to see it. That day changed my life.

At the beginning of the tour, each guest is given a passport of a real person who lived during the Holocaust and was sent to a concentration camp. It briefly describes their life and what happened to them. When I opened mine, I was stunned.

The name inside my passport was Hana Mueller. My niece’s name is Hannah. And my maiden name is Muller. That’s when it became real to me.

Born in Prague in 1922, Hana was reading John Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath in her apartment when she was taken by the Nazis. Despite enduring months in two different concentration camps, Hana was freed when her work crew was abandoned by the SS as liberators approached in May 1945. To watch videos from 1990 of Hana talking about her experiences, you can visit the museum’s website.

My father’s roots are in Germany. The Mullers came from the town of Konz in the Rheinland, in the Southwest. My great-great grandfather, John Henry Muller, arrived in the United States in 1866. He was a carpenter and a Catholic. Despite the fact Hana was from Prague and a Jew, I thought that girl could have been me.

Ever since then, my interest to learn as much as possible about the Holocaust has been almost obsessive. I’ve read countless memoirs written by Holocaust survivors and seen over a hundred hours of documentaries. I’ve read The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich all the way through. It’s a subject I never tire of learning more about.

When I found out that Atlanta had a cemetery with its own Holocaust Memorial, I knew I had to visit it. That’s when I discovered Greenwood Cemetery, located off Cascade Road in Southwest Atlanta.

Greenwood Cemetery opened in 1907. Its diversity is worth noting. Hundreds of graves are for Jews who made Atlanta their home. I had never seen Jewish headstones up close before, except at Oakland Cemetery. There’s also an entire section for those of the Greek Orthodox faith, complete with a small chapel. A very small area belongs to the Chinese, perhaps 20 graves in all.

But what truly separates Greenwood Cemetery from others is its Holocaust memorial. Built in 1965, the “Memorial to The Six Million” is a small granite open-air structure. The funds to build it came from a group of 100 Holocaust survivors living in Atlanta. In 2008, the Memorial was added to the National Register of Historic Places. It is the only Holocaust memorial in Georgia to have that distinction.

What catches your eye immediately are the six 19-foot tall pillars in the middle of it. They represent the estimated six million Jews who perished as a result of the atrocities of the Holocaust. During special ceremonies at the Memorial, these “candles” are lit as an act of remembrance for those who died.

Inside, on the walls, are plaques inscribed with the names of hundreds of people (with surviving family members and descendants that reside in Atlanta) who died in the concentration camps scattered across Europe. Entire families are listed, their lives snuffed out by the Nazi regime. The pillars are anchored by a large, black base that resembles a casket.

On the day I visited Greenwood and the Memorial, it was a stunningly beautiful sunny day with a hint of fall in the air. Nobody else was around as I quietly entered. It is a place of reverence and remembrance. As I scanned the names on the wall, it was like being back at the Holocaust Museum in D.C. The huge number of six million becomes much more personal when you see the actual names of people who died.

Also within the memorial is an urn containing human ashes brought from the concentration camp at Dachau.

There is a little bit of controversy attached to the Memorial. Outside of it are buried four bars of soap that are purported to have been made by Nazis from the fat of Jewish Holocaust victims. A Jewish soldier who was part of a U.S. force that liberated a concentration camp brought them home after the war. They were forgotten until his wife found them in their Dekalb County basement in 1970. They are stamped “RIF”.

Historians say the initials stand for Reich Industrial Fat. But when the bars were found, the “I” was widely interpreted as a “J,” and some people thought the initials stood for the German translation of Pure Jewish Fat.

After the bars were discovered, the couple called a local rabbi who consulted with Jewish scholars and planned a burial at Greenwood. The bars remain buried there, although I could not find the flat stone marker where they are located. The picture below was taken by someone else.

In 2000, a Jewish architect from Atlanta named Ben Hirsch (his parents and two siblings died in concentration camps) wrote a book that put forth his belief that the Nazis did indeed make soap from Jewish victims. Hirsch’s uncle’s unpublished writings describe how he was forced to work in the concentration camp crematories and saw it himself.

Most historians contend that while the atrocities enacted by the Nazis were horrific, there is no substantial proof that this soap making actually took place. Because of this sentiment, the U.S. Holocaust Museum barred a book signing for Hirsch there.

Regardless of who is right or wrong, the Memorial for the Six Million at Greenwood Cemetery is a sacred place that sends the message it creators originally hoped to get across. Such a tragedy must never be repeated. That’s why remembering it is so critical.

We must never forget.

NOTE: This post is in need of updating as some new information has come to light in recent years about other cast iron covers that preceded Abrams’ patented design. I hope to follow up on that very soon. Thank you!

I enjoy visiting all kinds of cemeteries because each one has something different to offer. As you’ve learned from this blog, you never know what you’ll find. That was the case when I visited Fairburn City Cemetery for the second time right after Christmas.

I first visited this cemetery in May 2014 when my best friend (who went on my first “hop” with me) Christi was visiting from Omaha. Her Dad still lives near Fairburn. She is always up for checking out a new cemetery with me.

Fairburn City Cemetery is located in South Fulton County, about 20 miles or so South of Atlanta. During this second visit, I saw something that I’d missed before. It was unlike any grave I’d ever seen before.

At first, I didn’t know if it was just some sort of cemetery decoration because there wasn’t a name or dates on it. Nor was there any kind of maker’s signature. You don’t usually see cast iron grave markers unless they are crosses or some kind of emblem for military service. But with the image of a sleeping child resting on top, I knew it had to be a grave of some sort.

When I got home, I started my research and learned that there are indeed others like this one and they exist mostly in the South. Unfortunately, many of them no longer have the sleeping child that rests on top like this one still does.

I discovered there’s another one at a cemetery in Canton. Two in Duluth and a few in Hampton. One in Americus. Another in Macon. More are in Alabama. There are a few in Texas, which seems a bit far flung.

Thanks to John Cox (whose photo is above), I discovered that one of them bore the mark “J. R. Abrams Pat’d Nov 4 73″. That’s 1873, by the way. That makes sense because the graves I found of this style usually bore an 1870s era date on them.

So who was J.R. Abrams?

Born in 1835 in South Carolina, Joseph R. Abrams’s parents were from England. In August 1856, he married Laura Porter in Marshall County, Ala. She was the daughter of an influential Alabama circuit court judge, Benjamin F. Porter. Joseph and Laura moved South to Greenville, Ala. and had several children together.

The 1860 Census indicates he was a railroad contractor while the 1870 Census lists him as a fire insurance agent. The 1870 Census also shows that his real estate holdings were worth $4,000 and his personal estate worth $2,000. So he was doing quite well during Reconstruction, a financially difficult era for most Southerners.

According to the book “Notable Men of Alabama: Personal and Genealogical, Vol. 1”, Joseph was a civil engineer. This may explain why he was keen on creating new inventions. After Googling my heart out, I found a copy of the patent for his iron grave cover and how it works. The illustration shows what his vision was.

As you can see in the diagram, his goal was to protect the small grave by covering it securely with an iron cover. The patent states: “The invention relates to mounds erected over graves; and consists in improving the present construction thereof.” Here’s the written patent so you can read it for yourself.

I’m not good at reading patents, but from what I can tell, Abrams’ design includes three arches to protect the grave that will then be covered. He describes it like this:

The arches A having been adjusted in position across the grave, the frame B C secured in position over it, and the plate D supported on the latter, the earth is filled into the grave, and rounded over the aperture d. A layer of hydraulic cement, containing embedded shells or any other ornamentation, is then placed over the mound.

I don’t know how Abrams went about having the covers made. But I’m willing to bet he had them made in Birmingham, about 130 miles north of Greenville. Birmingham was a major source of iron and is still known as the Iron City.

Another Abrams patent, this one for improvements in pavement, was published in 1876. He supposedly published several more but I was unable to find them. He died in 1893.

Greenville’s Pioneer Cemetery has several of Abrams’ iron grave covers. I noticed that Abrams’ home in 1870 was only a few blocks away from that cemetery. Here are two of them, featured on Ginger’s Deep Fried Kudzu website. Notice the shells on top.

Wanting to see more of these up close, I headed to Duluth (which isn’t far from my house). I wasn’t sure what type of condition they were in but I was eager to see them.

Unlike the Fairburn City Cemetery grave, these bear the first names of their occupants. Cora Lillian died in September 1872 and Phoebe died in October 1874. I did not see Abrams’ name on the covers. There appears to be no concrete layer beneath them.

Cora and Phoebe’s last name is unknown, although a couple with the last name of Mewborn is buried nearby. They could be their parents.

Duluth Cemetery is located next to railroad tracks and a train rumbled by as I was standing beside the graves of Cora Lillian and Phoebe. It reminded me that while time marches on, the past stays with us in small ways like these iron grave covers. They’re a remnant of a time when a creative man from Alabama came up with something new. Something unique and beautiful to protect the graves of children.

I hope to find more as my adventure continues.

Last week in Part I, I shared some of the colorful history of Bonaventure Cemetery in Savannah, Ga. This week, we’ll continue our ramble.

It’s hard to think of Savannah without remembering its native son, singer/composer/lyricist Johnny Mercer. Many think the famous Mercer Williams House on Monterey Square must have been his home but it never was.

The construction of the house was started by General Hugh Weedon Mercer in 1860. He didn’t finish it but the next owners of the house did. Neither the General nor Johnny Mercer ever lived there. Jim Williams purchased it in 1969 and restored it to its former glory.

The son of a prominent attorney and his second wife, Johnny Mercer was a music lover from his earliest years. The family’s summer home, Vernon View, was situated on the tidal waters and he spent long summers there among mossy trees and saltwater marshes. It may have inspired him to later write the lyrics to “Moon River” for the film Breakfast at Tiffany’s.

Johnny is buried in a plot that contains his parents and other relatives. His grave is beside that of his wife, Elizabeth “Ginger” Meltzer Mercer. Both of their gravestones are inscribed with lyrics from his songs.

Also in the same plot is a small bench with a sketch of Johnny’s profile inscribed on the seat. On the side are the titles of many of his much loved songs. He wrote so many good ones but I think “Old Fashioned” is my favorite. There’s no doubt that the man whom many call “The Poet of Savannah” made an indelible mark on the world.

On the top is a jaunty cartoon drawing of his profile.

The next two ladies are buried in adjoining plots but are no relation to each other. But you can’t see one without noticing the other.

The first one is in the Taliaferro family plot. A stunning angel hovers over a cross. It reminds me a great deal of the angel I love so much at Laurel Grove. She stands at the grave of Marie M. Barclay Taliaferro. Sadly, Marie’s angel has not held up as well as the one at Laurel Grove. Her wings and hands are damaged. But she is still lovely.

Charles Champe Taliaferro, Marie’s husband, outlived her by several years. He served in the Confederate Army during the Civil War. He is buried in Graham Cemetery in Orange, Va. Buried to her left are four of their children, all of whom died in infancy or childhood.

Located to the right of the Taliaferro angel is probably the most recognizable resident of Bonaventure. Gracie Watson is beloved by many, so much that a fence was put around her in the mid 1990s to keep her from being damaged. Shannon Scott, our evening tour guide, told us that the day after the fence was first put up, they found the lock on the gate destroyed with Gracie undisturbed inside.  His explanation was that Gracie didn’t want to be closed in but preferred to stay close to her visitors.

Gracie was the only child of W.J. And Frances Watson. Her father was the resident manager of the Pulaski House Hotel, where Gracie grew up. A friendly and precocious child, she was popular with the guests and considered the hotel as her playground.

At the age of six, Gracie developed pneumonia and died in April 1889. Initially, her grave was marked by a standard tombstone. Her father was said to have sunk into a dark depression, leaving Pulaski House, and then eventually Savannah.

Watson did commission a sculpture of Gracie from John Walz, a local artist who worked from a photograph of her. You may remember Walz from my post about Laurel Grove South, where another of his statues resides. You can see other examples of Walz’ work throughout Bonaventure.

Not far away from Gracie is this unique piece of Egyptian Revival architecture in the form of the Mongin family tomb. The death dates listed at the foot of the tomb range from 1815 to 1840, in keeping with the period that this style was popular. There’s another similar example nearby in Laurel Grove North.

It’s hard to miss the tall Celtic cross that rises from the Chisholm family plot.

Next to the Chisolms is the Anderson family plot. The largest monument features a bust of Confederate Brigadier General Robert Houston Anderson. An 1857 graduate of West Point, he later accepted a commission as a Confederate lieutenant of artillery.

Promoted to Major September 1861, he assumed the administrative post of assistant adjutant general to William Henry Talbot Walker, Major General of Georgia state troops, commanding on the Georgia coast. In January 1863 he was transferred to line duty but not before finally seeing action in coastal Georgia at Fort McAllister, where he helped repel assaults by Federal ironclad ships. His transfer came with a promotion to Colonel of the 5th Georgia Cavalry, which was serving in the Army of Tennessee.

Anderson was raised to brigade command and made Brigadier General on July 1864. He took part in all of the operations in the Atlanta Campaign. After the war, he returned to Savannah and was the city’s chief of police from 1867 until his death.

My final stop was where my visit began, at the Lawton family plot. I wanted to visit the monument to Corinne Lawton, daughter of Alexander Lawton (whose large monument with the statue of Jesus I featured last week). The story of her brief life is steeped in much debate because many say she committed suicide while others claim she died of Yellow Fever.

A popular legend states that the beautiful Corinne fell in love with a young man several rungs below her on the socio-economic ladder and her parents forbade her to see him. Instead, they arranged her marriage to a more acceptable suitor. The story goes that Corrine drowned herself in the Wilmington River (upon whose banks Bonaventure is situated) on the eve of her wedding day to avoid spending her life with a man she didn’t love.

In contrast, the published diaries of Corinne’s mother, Sarah Lawton, explain how a lingering Yellow Fever epidemic (one of many Savannah suffered through) had shaken the city. Already suffering from a cold, Corrine fell victim to the illness.

According to Sarah, her daughter died in her bed, surrounded by family. Locals say the Lawton descendants who live in Savannah today are loyal to this version of events. As you can imagine, many favor the more romantic version.

The Lawtons commissioned Italian artist Benedetto Civiletti to create a sculpture to grace Corrinne’s grave. Her eyes, I must confess, spook me a bit. But I love the attention to detail he gave to the long, cascading locks down her back. The wreath on the steps is also skillfully done.

Around the time I was snapping these pictures of Corrinne’s statue, I heard the rumble of tour buses in the distance. In a few minutes, the tranquil peace of the place would be disturbed. After spending a little time at the water’s edge, I took a last look around and left.

But Bonaventure is not a place you visit once and forget. Despite my quibbles about the tourist hordes, I can’t deny the haunting beauty of the place. I know I’ll return for a third visit. If you are in Savannah, you can’t plan your travel itinerary without a visit to Bonaventure Cemetery.

But go on a Sunday morning. When the air is cool and the light is shining on the Wilmington River through the moss-covered trees.

My delay in writing about Bonaventure Cemetery was never intentional. I first visited in February 2014 and like many, was dazzled by it. I took lots of pictures with the intent of writing about that visit by spring.

Unfortunately, the hard drive of our desktop computer crashed a few months later and took with it all those lovely photos (except for a few I’d published on Facebook). It wasn’t until October that I returned to Savannah. Frankly, I think the pictures from that trip are even better since I got to spend more time there. But before I get into that, there’s quite a bit of history behind Bonaventure I want to share.

Bonaventure began as a vast plantation of nearly 600 acres, located three miles from Savannah on St. Augustine Creek. Owned by British loyalists John Mullryne and his son-in-law, Josiah Tattnall, the plantation’s name is French for “good fortune.” Altogether, they owned close to 10,000 acres in Georgia. A number of Tattnalls were buried in a family plot on the Bonaventure estate.

In 1777, all lands owned by British sympathizers were confiscated by the state and auctioned off. Mullryne, Tattnall and their families fled to England. Bonaventure was purchased by family friend John Habersham (a name still well known in Savannah). During the Siege of Savannah in 1779, the estate was used by French Admiral Charles Hector D’Estaing as a hospital. Upon their defeat, the French army and its allies departed from Bonaventure, probably after burying unidentified troops here.

Eventually, Eton-educated Josiah Tattnall, Jr. returned to Georgia and purchased Bonaventure back from Habersham. He went on to become a U.S. Senator and in 1801, Governor of Georgia. After his death in 1803, he was buried on the grounds of Bonaventure among other family members.

His son, Josiah Tattnall III, gained distinction as a Naval officer in the War of 1812. He commanded the Confederate ironclad Virginia (ex-Merrimac) after her battle with the USS Monitor. His command to have the Virginia blown up had him court-martialed, but he was later acquitted. His last years were spent in Savannah commanding that naval station there. He, too, is buried at Bonaventure.

Bonaventure didn’t truly become a cemetery until 1846 when Josiah Tattnall III sold it to wealthy hotelier Peter Wiltberger. He was the one who incorporated 70 acres of the property into what was called Evergreen Cemetery. It was designed around the ruins of the Tattnall mansion using the existing live oak tree-lined roadways to provide access and separate the major cemetery sections. In 1907, the City of Savannah purchased it and the place officially became Bonaventure Cemetery.

Bonaventure didn’t come to national attention until the 1994 publication of a book by John Berendt called Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. The Book (as it is often called by fans) became a best-selling novel. The movie based on The Book was directed by Clint Eastwood in 1997 and starred Kevin Spacey and John Cussack.

I haven’t read the book yet but I tried watching the movie. The fakeness of the Southern accents in some scenes was so bad I couldn’t watch the whole thing. However, the scenes including Bonaventure Cemetery and the “Bird Girl” statue on The Book’s cover (she is now safely ensconced in the Telfair Art Museum) captured the interest of fans from the start. Savannah, and the cemetery, have been inundated with tourists ever since.

About 30 different tours wind their way through Bonaventure every week, bringing in buses filled with hundreds of visitors. You can drive your car through the cemetery. There’s only one night tour at Bonaventure (led by Shannon Scott) that takes place after the gates close. I went on that one in October. Unlike Cussack and Spacey’s characters in the movie, you can walk through the place as the sun sets without breaking the law.

Unlike most of the cemeteries I visit, Bonaventure is usually crawling with living people. For an introvert like me, that’s not a pleasant experience. When I visit nearby Laurel Grove Cemetery, there’s hardly a (breathing) soul around and I can amble amid the tombs and rusting iron gates in peace. I feel more at home there because it’s just me and the graves.

With that said, I did get a taste of that quiet I crave when I visited Bonaventure on a Sunday morning in October. There weren’t many people around (yet) and I could enjoy it for the beautiful, reverent place it was meant to be. There were moments I can only describe as worshipful because God’s handiwork was so apparent.

One of my first stops was the grave of Brigadier General Alexander Robert Lawton, who was president of the Augusta and Savannah Railroad, a president of the American Bar Association and U. S. Minister to Austria. With the Wilmington River flowing in the background, the statue of Christ seemed to welcome me like a special guest.

My next stop was meant to be Gracie, one of Bonaventure’s most photographed and beloved residents, but a couple was already there. Instead, I found this monument to Nannie “Ann” Herndon Mercer (a relative of composer Johnny Mercer, who is buried nearby). For some reason, her delicate feet got my attention as well.

One of my favorite statues from my February visit was nearby so I stopped to see her again. I think the photograph I took back then (one of the few that survived) is much better than the one I took on my second visit. This picture is on the cover photo of my Adventures in Cemetery Hopping Facebook page. The pensive lady sits atop the grave of Elizabeth Wilhelmina Theus, wife of a Confederate soldier who died in 1895.

I was also eager to revisit another monument, this one a child. Some call her the “Shell Girl” and she’s unlike any of the other ladies at Bonaventure. The graves of George Johnson Baldwin and his wife, Lucy Harvie Baldwin, rest in front of her.

I did not realize until recently when I saw the verse inscribed on the wall behind the statue of “Shell Girl” why a child was represented. I’d initially thought the couple had lost a child but instead, the reason they chose a little girl was to emphasize the importance of having a child-like faith.

I’ll be back next week with Part II of my visit to Bonaventure. You’ll get to meet Gracie and a few other famous residents.

This month marks the second anniversary of my blog! When I started Adventures in Cemetery Hopping, I didn’t know if I’d even last six months. It’s hard to believe I’ve made it this far.

These six posts are among my favorites for 2014. I also have updates on what happened after I wrote them. Do you have a favorite?

The Elephant in the Room (or Under the University)

Looking strictly at the numbers, this blog post was by far the most read in 2014 and for good reason. How often do you get to learn about how a circus elephant ended up buried on the campus of a prestigious Atlanta college like Oglethorpe University?

The elephant story attracted a lot of attention from Oglethorpe alums (like my husband) and current students who themselves enjoy re-telling the tale to friends and family. As I pointed out then, it’s highly unlikely today that two college students could drive downtown, pick up an elephant carcass and haul it back to campus to dissect it as part of their anatomy class. But it really did happen!

I did get a chance to ask Oglethorpe President Dr. Larry Schall what he thought of my idea of putting up a plaque to commemorate the elephant, but I think he thought I was either joking or crazy. Maybe someday I can make that wish come true.

Alkaline Hydrolysis: Water Cremation and the “Ick Factor”

After I wrote my post about alkaline hydrolysis, also known as water cremation, it got the attention of one of my heroes, Caleb Wilde (who writes a blog called Confessions of a Funeral Director). To get an email from someone of his standing, asking to reprint my post on his blog was something I’d only dreamed about. Yes, I literally screamed when I read it! I think it was so bizarre a topic that it struck a chord with a number of his readers.

AH is a process in which you put a corpse in a long, metal tube, pulverize it with a mixture of lye and water at a high temperature, then capture the leftover bone fragments. Those are crushed into a powder similar to cremation ashes. The other bi-product, a dark petroleum-like ooze, goes right back into the water.

That “ick factor” makes many people uncomfortable. It’s not a process I’d choose myself. Also, it’s still only legal in a handful of states. Despite the “ick factor” of AH, I don’t think we’ve seen the last of it just yet.

A Climb Up The Wedding Cake: Visiting Myrtle Hill Cemetery

Another favorite post was about my visit to Myrtle Hill Cemetery in Rome, Ga. People had been telling me about it for months but when I finally did get there, it was obvious what a treasure it is. Many of my readers told me they also enjoyed visiting it via Facebook. I also reunited with my good friend, Valerie.

Not only did Myrtle Hill serve as a Confederate stronghold during the Civil War, the wedding cake-like tiers that ring the sides of the hill are fascinating to climb. Situated high above Rome, it has a landscape unlike most cemeteries. Myrtle Hill is also home to the only First Lady buried in Georgia: President Woodrow Wilson’s wife, Ellen Axson Wilson.

I hope to return to Myrtle Hill Cemetery again in 2015. It’s the kind of place you want to go back to over and over again.

Finding Grave #153: The Athens Asylum Cemeteries

The story of my ancestor’s final resting place at the Athens Asylum Cemeteries on the campus of Ohio University was one I’d wanted to write for quite a while. So many graves like Levi’s, bearing only a number, are the only memorial to a a life lived.

There’s still so much I wish I knew about Levi Mercer’s life. How he ended up being categorized as “insane” after many years of being a husband, father and farmer. Things I’ll probably never know.

I’m still trying to find out how to get a marker with Levi’s name on it placed at his grave. I got an email from someone who promised to call me about it but she never did. Regardless of whether it ever gets resolved, I plan on traveling to Athens, Ohio to pay homage to Levi. He may have been forgotten back then, but he isn’t now.

Nineteen Years is Not Enough: The Short Life of Joshua Stulick

Hearing from Joshua Stulick’s mother after I wrote about him was one of the most moving events for me in 2014. Rarely do I take a photo of a grave knowing nothing about the person only to be contacted later to be told the rest of the story. His murder was a heinous act that still affects many of his friends and family to this day.

As a result of this post, I was contacted by Joshua’s mother, Kathleen. I’ve thought about her often since I’d heard Joshua’s story, hoping she had found some kind of peace in the years following his murder. Her words touched me deeply:

I wanted to say thank you for this story. Knowing Joshua’s life touched many is a blessing that God continues to touch my heart…The God I serve took care of the judgement, hurting hearts, and the ability to forgive. I will see him in heaven; no tears or hurts every again. I have learned to love others in a special way as I know that is what Joshua would want me to do.

Thank you, Kathleen, for showing me what true love looks like.

When a Cemetery is Reborn: A Happy Ending For Old Greencastle Cemetery

The fate of Dayton’s Old Greencastle Cemetery had been on my mind from the day I visited in 2012 and again when I first wrote about it in 2013. It alarmed me that a cemetery that I now know is the final resting place for several of my ancestors was sliding into a state of ruin. I’ve seen it happen to many cemeteries over the years and I didn’t want it to happen to this one.

Now I can happily report that Old Greenscastle is no longer in sad shape.

Thankfully, the Sons of Union Veterans of the Civil War, General William T. Sherman Camp #93, were already working to turn this sad situation around. For years, they’d been taking care of the section where many veterans were buried.

Not long after I wrote about Old Greencastle the first time in 2013, things began to happen. The city sent a work crew over to start cleaning it up. A landscaping company offered their services free of charge. The Sherman Camp members played a huge part in the clean up, also resetting some of the headstones that were in a sad state. I wrote about that in January 2014.

When I saw the pictures of the Veterans Day rededication at Old Greencastle that I could not attend, I felt such peace. Knowing that my ancestors are being looked after by wonderful people who care is a huge relief. My goal is to visit in the spring and to thank the Sherman Camp members in person.

So what’s in store for 2015? I’m excited about visiting more cemeteries, helping people find lost loves ones, explaining funeral customs and exploring new trends in the death care industry.

Want to come along?

Visiting Colonial Cemetery in Savannah in February 2014 was a big highlight of my year.