Last year, I wrote about Adeline Bagley Buice, a brave woman who was sent north by the Union Army during the Civil War (along with many other Roswell woolen mill workers) and spent five years walking home. She’s buried in Sharon Baptist Church Cemetery in Forsyth County, Ga.

At some point during the two occasions I visited that cemetery last spring, I took a lot of random photos. I looked to see if any were already posted on Find a Grave. For those without a memorial, I created one and posted the photo.

Most of the time after I do this, nothing happens. Once in a blue moon, I get an e-mail from someone thanking me for helping them locate a family member they’d been looking for. The amazing story of Carrie Turner is one of those occasions.

A few weeks ago I got an e-mail from a woman named Jenn. She wanted to thank me for photographing a grave and creating a memorial for a young man named Joshua Stulick.

The name was not familiar to me so I looked him up. He had died in 1992 at the age of 19 for reasons I didn’t know at the time. I do remember his tender age had stood out to me.

Jenn wrote:

Thank you so very much for your post of a grave for Joshua Stulick. I have looked for so very long to find him. At last I have it because of you. There was no goodbye when he was tragically killed. Now at least I can visit. Thank you! It means a lot.

Whoa.

I took a moment to Google Joshua’s name to find out what happened. Tragically, he was murdered late at night in a park in Staten Island, N.Y. in April 1992. His murder remained unsolved for many years.

According to an article in The Staten Island Advance, Joshua went to a friend’s house for drinks after finishing his shift in the hospital cafeteria where he worked. From there, he and some other people went to Ingram Woods (a nearby park) to continue drinking.

On April 28, 1992, Joshua’s body was found by a man walking his dog. It was covered in the park’s underbrush. He had a fatal stab wound to the throat and was wrapped in the interior lining of a car trunk.

Suspicion quickly fell on James Russell, a co-worker Joshua knew from the hospital. Russell was on probation for a felony assault conviction when Joshua was killed. In that case, Russell had plead guilty to a 1989 attack.

The trunk lining Joshua was found wrapped in was thought to have belonged to Russell’s 1986 Pontiac Grand Am, which was impounded. But no other evidence was found. Russell claimed he knew nothing about what had happened, was released and the case froze up. Russell went on to become an oncology radiologist at the hospital and he got married.

In 2005, after 13 years, an anonymous female witness came forward. Based on what she said, Russell was arrested and later charged with second degree murder. He initially plead not guilty.

In December 2007, after spending several months in jail, Russell changed his story. He claimed that he and Stulick were drinking and doing drugs that April day before they took their party to Ingram Park. There, he said, the two of them started to “fool around with knives that we each had, playing karate moves and lunging and sparring with each other.”

“Joshua lunged at me as I was swinging my arm with the knife, and I cut him,” Russell admitted. “To my horror, the knife cut into Joshua Stulick’s throat.”

He said he covered the body in Ingram Woods and left after realizing that “everyone would blame me no matter what I said.”

Justice Stephen J. Rooney sent Russell to prison for a minimum of three and a half years up to a maximum seven years under an agreement by which Russell pleaded guilty to second-degree manslaughter. Had he been found guilty of second-degree murder, he might have faced a lifetime jail sentence. As part of the deal, he was not allowed to appeal his sentence.

Joshua’s mother, Kathleen Melchers, was justifiably outraged and said so at James Russell’s sentencing:

Your actions of cold violence not only took my son’s life, but to drag his body onto a car trunk liner and lay him on the ground behind a rock for two days until being found by someone walking a dog, is an act of sensitivity coming from a wicked heart and extreme lack of respect for the human body and soul.

As a mother of a son myself, I felt disbelief and anger when I read about James Russell’s plea deal. Yes, he was finally brought to justice but it is bittersweet. His sentencing took place in 2007 so he’s probably out walking the streets again as I write this.

There are few articles about Joshua online. I think Kathleen lives in North Georgia, which explains why he’s buried in Forsyth County. I emailed Jenn back to ask her if she would like to share some of her memories of Joshua. She said she might be able to do so at a later time. The memories are still very painful.

By reading the comments following an article about the trial, I learned that Joshua was in a band called Section 8. One of his friends left this comment:

I can’t stop thinking of his father waiting for Josh to come home from work and not knowing his son was dead. How could James Russell just leave his FRIEND there? If he was afraid, how about an anonymous call to the police and save Josh’s family and friends 15 years of wondering why?

Nothing will ever bring Josh back, will never pay for the life that was taken-so much potential wasted-what he could have become, and he would have grown up to be. I hope his family finds peace and takes some comfort that some justice was finally served.

There’s a lot about Joshua Stulick I will never know. I do know that he deserved more time on this earth than he got.

Nineteen years is not enough.

I am blessed with friends. Even more so because one of them lives in Savannah, which is a cemetery hopper’s paradise.

Frank and I have been friends since junior high. We were in church youth group together (along with our pal Steve Reagin) and our fathers were both deacons. He was in his senior year and editor of the school newspaper when I came on board as a staff writer. Thanks to Facebook, we got caught up last year and met for lunch at the Colonnade (one of the best places in Atlanta for fried chicken!).

I found out about Savannah’s Jewish roots when I visited with my husband some years back. We toured the Temple Mikve Israel, the only Gothic Revival-style synagogue (consecrated in 1878) in the country. Our tour guide, a Holocaust survivor, filled us in on Savannah’s history of having an active Jewish community.

On July 11, 1733, 43 Jewish immigrants from Europe arrived in Savannah on the ship the William and Sarah. Their trip was paid for by members of a London synagogue. Of the 43, 34 were Sephardic Jews, of Spanish and Portuguese heritage. The rest were of Ashkenazic (German) German descent. Europe was a difficult place for Jews to practice their faith, so while setting sail for an untamed land was a bit scarey, it had to be better than their current situation.

Only five months before this, on orders from England’s King George II, James Oglethorpe founded Savannah as a garrison and military buffer between the English settlements farther north and Spanish Florida. Although some protested their arrival, the Jewish immigrants’ timing proved to be perfect.

One of the group was a Portuguese doctor named Samuel Nunez (I’ve also seen it spelled Nunes). The colony’s only doctor had died recently and a yellow fever epidemic was taking its toll on the city. Oglethorpe allowed Dr. Nunez to begin caring for patients and when the number of deaths dropped dramatically soon after, local protests against the Jews staying in Savannah subsided.

When my niece and I went to visit Frank recently, he told me that his friend, Alice, who is a cemetery enthusiast like me, knew of two very old Jewish cemeteries on the outskirts of town. The only problem was that Alice couldn’t remember exactly where they were. Trailing her in Frank’s car, we took a circuitous route through some rough parts of town and pulled several illegal traffic maneuvers in the process. It was one wild ride.

Situated beside a school and the remains of a decrepit railroad building are the Levi Sheftall Family Cemetery and the Mordecai Sheftall Cemetery (Jewish Burial Grounds). Both are enclosed by high walls and locked so you can’t go inside.

Established in 1773. the Levi Sheftall Family Cemetery was used for about 80 years. There aren’t many graves inside but there are several square stone-bordered graves and a few gravestones still standing. The walls are made out of rough stone bricks and because a few on the top have come loose over the years, Frank and I temporarily removed a few from the top and he took a few pictures for me.

Across the way is the Old Jewish Burial Ground established in 1773 by Levi’s brother, Mordecai Sheftall. This cemetery contains many more graves because it was a community cemetery and not a family one. The land parcel was granted to Mordecai by King George III in 1762. Its walls are thicker because the cemetery was involved in battle during an ill-fated French attempt to take control of Savannah from the British in 1779.

Unfortunately, seeing inside the cemetery was impossible. I don’t hop fences or trespass to get pictures. But when Alice suggested standing on top of her car to see over into the cemetery, I was only momentarily deterred. With Frank’s help, after Alice pulled her car up beside a wall, I climbed up and took some pictures.

Most of the graves are of the above the ground brick box-style variety. There’s one large monument surrounded by a fence. An estimated 80 or so people are buried here, but many graves are unmarked. Several metal plaques list names from the various families with members probably buried there.

One of those names is Andre Daniel Nunez, son of Dr. Samuel Nunez (whose burial site is unknown). I found this out thanks to a Savannah Find a Grave volunteer who got to go inside the cemetery when Congregation Temple Mikve led a tour there.

Life for Jews in Savannah was not smooth sailing. In 1742, the Spanish invaded and many Jews who had hidden under the guise of Catholicism back in Europe feared persecution. Most fled the city but some eventually returned after the Spanish were defeated at the Battle of Bloody Marsh.

Despite many setbacks, the Jewish community in Savannah began to expand and thrive. In 1895, Herman Myers became the city’s first Jewish mayor. Today, there are three Jewish congregations in Savannah, with Congregation Mikve Israel (Reform) being one of them.

Next week, I’ll share stories about the other cemeteries in Savannah I visited, including the one made famous by “The Book” from 1994 that turned the city into a tourist mecca. It’s also known as Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil.

Now that I’ve been blogging for over a year, I’ve begun to hear from some readers overseas. So when I recently received an e-mail from a British copywriter named Dean Ronnie, I was intrigued.

Among other clients, Dean works for a funeral director (Laurel Funerals) in the U.K. He asked if I’d like to share an article he’d written about unique funerals. Because I truly enjoy sharing the writing of others, I gave an almost immediate yes. Here it is.

The times are changing and with changing times come changing traditions. One place this is becoming more and more apparent is in tributes to dead. The past has shown us some very spectacular ways of honoring and remembering the dead.

From China’s Terracotta Army to the Great Pyramids of Giza in Egypt and the Taj Mahal in India, people have always found spectacular ways to honor those who have passed on.

Today, this hasn’t changed. Memorials and funeral planning are still about being personal to the deceased. Let’s take a look at some of the more unusual ways that the deceased have been honored.

The Guitar-Shaped Forest

After the love of Pedro Ureta’s life, Graciela, unexpectedly died in 1977 at the age of 25, the Argentine rancher decided to plant trees in her honor. But not just any trees. Ureta decided to create an entire guitar-shaped forest on his farmland.

Cultivated because of her love for the instrument, Pedro Ureta worked tirelessly to plant the forest, crafting the perfect guitar shape complete with a star-shaped hole in the middle. Using cypress trees to form the outline, Ureta used blue eucalyptus trees to accent the trees and make his dedication to his deceased wife visible to all who fly over it.

According to a Wall Street Journal article, Ureta has never seen the guitar from the sky himself. He’s afraid of flying.

Launching Gene Roddenberry’s Ashes into Outer Space

As the creator of the highly successful and internationally recognized television and film franchise Star Trek, what better way would there be to honor Gene Roddenberry than to send his ashes into outer space? The answer is no other way.

After being sent on a flight on the Space Shuttle Columbia mission STS-52 in 1992 and an unsuccessful previous attempt to have them sent into space permanently in 1997, the ashes of Gene Roddenberry and his wife Majel (who died in 2008) are set to be launched into space in 2014. A fitting tribute to an advocate of space exploration.

Jim Henson’s Muppet Memorial Service

Following the death of the Muppet’s creator Jim Henson in 1990, two incredibly distinct memorial services were held. Held in London and New York, both events were open to the public. Both services were held in famous cathedrals, both services were attended by no one wearing black, and both services featured a solo by Sesame Street character, Big Bird.

Following this was a gathered team of Muppets including Elmo, Gonzo, Scooter, Mokey Fraggle, Gobo Fraggle and Oscar the Grouch, who sang a medley of Henson’s favorite songs before ending with “Just One Person”.

Firing Hunter S. Thompson’s Ashes From a Cannon

In 2005, the father of gonzo journalism Hunter S. Thompson received a memorial that was equally fitting of his lifestyle, a memorial that saw his ashes fired from a cannon into the night’s sky.

The memorial which took place in Aspen, Colorado, saw Hunter S. Thompson’s ashes fired from a 150-foot tower, which was topped with a red fist with two thumbs — the symbol of Thompson’s first-person style of gonzo journalism. The tower was paid for by Johnny Depp, who played Thompson in the film adaptation of his book Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.

Following fireworks, friends at the memorial were then encouraged to remember him with the clink of ice in whiskey.

One of the enticements of cemetery hopping is discovering the ones I’ve never seen before. Especially those off the beaten path.

I recently purchased a copy of Cemetery Records of Tucker, Georgia and Environs by Ted O. Brooke. As I thumbed through it, I found some smaller cemeteries I’d never even heard of before.

My photographer friend, Jennifer (who wrote a guest post a while ago), also loves these hidden gems. We finally found time to venture out together to see some of them. She’d already seen most of them but like me, enjoys revisiting certain cemeteries over and over.

Nesbit Family Cemetery

Nesbit Family Cemetery sits on the edge of the Gwinnett County line near the busy intersection of Lawrenceville Highway and Jimmy Carter Boulevard. I must have passed by it several times (like many people) without even seeing it.

Located in the woods beside a Georgia Power building, Nesbit Cemetery is a collection of almost 20 graves surrounded by a low metal fence. There are a mix of grave styles, from the table variety to the box type. Although many of the tombstones are broken or off of their bases, it looks like someone is looking after the place.

William Nesbit’s grave is the oldest (1789-1863) and he has quite a history. A native of South Carolina, Nesbit fought in the war of 1812 and was one of the founding settlers of Gwinnett County. He was its first elected sheriff. Nesbit also served Gwinnett County in the Georgia State Senate for two sessions, first in 1829 and later in 1833. His 650-acre plantation was located near the Gwinnett/DeKalb County line. He and his wife, Mary Lawless Nesbit, had 12 children together. Some are buried near him.

Pounds Cemetery

Our next stop was a cemetery neither one of us had visited before. Pounds Cemetery is located down a pine-straw covered drive deep inside an industrial park off Mountain Industrial Boulevard. While only about 25 graves are marked, there are many more unmarked simple fieldstones scattered about to indicate others are buried there.

I don’t know anything about this particular cemetery. Members of the Pounds, Lankford, and Thompson families are represented. But the most stunning of the graves are the trio of unmarked cairn-style graves. Two are in rather sad shape but the third is in better condition.

The rest of the cemetery is a collection of fieldstones, table-style graves and upright tombstones. You can clearly see warehouses surrounding it. However, it’s not that difficult to picture what it might have been like a hundred years ago before most of the forest around it was cut down.

Double Springs Church Cemetery

Remember my writing about risking life and limb when I visited Old Greencastle Cemetery in Dayton, Ohio? When we went to Double Springs Church Cemetery in a Smokerise neighborhood, not far from Stone Mountain, it felt like deja vu.

This small cemetery is located behind two houses. Fortunately, there is a public easement between the two that enables visitors to see it without having to ask permission. I am sure most people haven’t due to the uneven terrain and difficulty in keeping one’s footing.

Atlanta’s foremost cemetery hopper, Franklin Garrett, surveyed this cemetery in 1932. His books are invaluable to researchers. In his survey, he noted that a non-denominational church adjoined the cemetery once, but had been torn down many years before.

Only nine marked graves seem to have survived and they are almost all from the Seay family. A number of unmarked stones are scattered about. Most were hidden under the leaves the day we visited. Jennifer knows more about the Seays than I do so I’ll have to pick her brain for more details.

Braden Family Cemetery

Our last stop was just down the road at Braden Family Cemetery. It consists of only four marked graves. However, unlike Double Springs Cemetery, this one is on the edge of a very upscale neighborhood and is well tended.

Four members of the Braden family are buried here. Mother Rhoda is buried between her sons, Minor and Rufus. On the far left end is a monument to Minor’s wife, Mary Jane Milligan Braden. The whereabouts of Robert Mansfield Braden’s grave, the husband of Rhoda and father of the Braden sons, is unknown. Rhoda was born a Lankford, many of whom are buried over in Pounds Cemetery.

By the end of our tour, I’d seen parts of Tucker I’d never seen before. But it made me eager to find more of these hidden gems tucked away in the neighborhoods around me. To glimpse the forgotten history of the place I now call home.

Because you never know what’s waiting in your own backyard.

This week, I decided to look through my growing collection of photos and choose some that have caught my imagination but that I have not shared with you yet. Some I know about and others remain a total mystery.

Near the entrance of Westview is a large panoramic sculpture of the Last Supper. It’s quite elaborate and detailed. German-born Fritz Paul Zimmer made Atlanta his home. He operated his own art school and was a professor at Oglethorpe University.

I don’t know anything about Walter Andrews (besides the fact he was a big wig in the Elks Lodge). But I really like the art deco style of his monument, from the font of the words to the clean lines. It’s something I don’t see often.

I don’t remember whose monument this anchor was on. But I was clearly taken with the detail on it. The authentic look of the rope and the iron makes it look almost real.

The day I took this picture the sky was a vivid white. From the angle I took it, the eyes look pensive and full of thought. It really stands out for me.

I could share a hundred photos from Oakland Cemetery, the grand dame of cemeteries in Atlanta, and still not get to them all. There are just too many interesting images to limit to a blog post.

When I took a tour of Oakland last spring, the guide told us that during the awful tornado of 2008, the monument pictured below sustained damage. The tall spire literally crashed to the ground. But with loving care, it was restored. The angel leaning on his trumpet is beautifully detailed.

Last spring, I spent several days photographing Sugar Hill Baptist Church Cemetery up in northern Gwinnett County. This grave is a modern one and I’ve seen a few other examples of it but it still grabs at my heart when I see it.

Joseph “Jody” Paul Domingue wasn’t even 20 when he died. He was on a construction site digging a deep trench that wasn’t properly braced. It collapsed on him and he was killed. The angel crying over his grave seems very fitting for this young man’s short life.

Over the summer, I spent a few days photographing Fellowship Primitive Baptist Church Cemetery in Tucker (near my home). While nosing around in the wooded edge of the property, I found this little plaque.

I don’t find pet graves in human cemeteries very often. There are a few at Oakland. I think Cooter was probably buried in secret without anyone seeking permission. But even if they had, I don’t think anyone would have said no. Having lived a long life, Cooter was clearly loved.

I’ve seen hundreds of monuments for little children who have died far too young. But the one of six-year-old Mary Ruth Britt sticks with me. The downcast face of the angel, her folded hands. It’s one of the most interesting in the cemetery.

The symbol of the dove is quite common in grave symbolism. But I still find the differing styles very interesting. This one is at Phillips Cemetery in rural Fayette County.

Lucy Pharr is buried at Decatur Cemetery. Her grave has no dates on it. But the carving of a delicate dove clutching an olive branch in its beak speaks volumes.

Military-themed monuments can be many styles. But this one from World War I is unlike any I have seen before or since.

I see monuments with the image of clasped hands on them a lot. But this one from a church cemetery in North Georgia is especially well done. The detail on the lady’s dress cuff and the gentleman’s sleeve is unique.

I love visiting cemeteries in other states because I get to observe monument styles and cultural differences that I don’t find in Georgia. This was evident at St. Mary’s Mount Cemetery in Kansas City, Mo. A Catholic cemetery dominated by Italian and Irish families, there’s a lot to look at.

There were a few examples of this temple-shadow box type of headstone at St. Mary’s. I don’t know what the cultural significance of it is. I don’t know if it’s Italian or of Hispanic origin. But it got my attention.

St. Mary’s also has many Italian graves that feature portraits of the deceased. Some of the faces are dour and serious. Others are more lighthearted. But it’s a wonderful way to get a better sense of who the person was. Here are two of an Italian couple.

Charleston, frankly, blew me away. There’s enough for a cemetery hopper like me to absorb to last for years. I could visit often and never see it all. Still, there are some other images I want to share. Magnolia Cemetery is especially interesting.

As you can see, the intricate wrought iron fencing around this plot is falling to pieces. The elements and lack of care are part of it. Magnolia is a large, old cemetery with not many people to care for it. Or money to restore parts of it.

The detail that was put into this mental work was astounding. It’s sad to know that it’s slowly falling into disrepair, never to be restored.

At Decatur Cemetery here in Atlanta, they did something about a much loved grave whose surrounding iron fence was falling apart. With support from the Friends of Decatur Cemetery, a local blacksmith restored the beautiful iron work.

I could keep on sharing photos for hours but I’ll end here. I hope you’ve enjoyed this pictorial journey of different monuments, unique styles.

I’ll do it again (with new photos) another time.

Golf is truly a goddess and must be wooed accordingly, with due meekness and humility, but at the same time with boldness and determination. — J. Douglas Edgar

When you think of golf and Atlanta, the first name that pops into your head is Bobby Jones. His grave at Oakland Cemetery is visited by thousands each year. Some even leave golf balls in homage to the legendary sportsman.

But Jones is not the only golfing great to spend time in Atlanta. Englishman J. Douglas Edgar was his close friend and mentor. While you’ve probably never heard of him, his name was in the headlines next to Jones’ quite often. Edgar won the Canadian Open in 1919 by a record 16 strokes (a winning margin that still stands for a PGA Tour event), while Jones came in second. Edgar won it again in 1920.

Unfortunately, the last time Edgar’s name would appear on the front page would be in a 1921 article about how he was discovered lying in a pool of his own blood in the middle of Atlanta’s West Peachtree Street.

J. Douglas Edgar was born in Newcastle upon Tyne in England in 1884. His family was not well off. At the age of 13, he found himself caddying to make money, although he had never played himself. One day a golfer invited him to give it a try and after swinging and missing it seven times, Edgar finally hit the ball. He was hooked on the game from that day on.

Edgar worked at various golf clubs over the next few years, his golf game mediocre at best. He had an ailing hip that limited his swing, something he tried to overcome with little success. His charm, however, won him many friends and golfing companions around the area.

Finally, with little in his pockets, he stumbled upon what came to be known as the Movement. While experimenting with various swings at High Gosforth Park Race Course, he decided to give his aching hip a break and not take full swings. Randomly, he decided to take an even more abbreviated swing, locking his upper arms against the muscles in his chest. He wanted to see how well he could hit it without turning his hip on the backswing.

When the ball clicked, Edgar knew at once that the shot was solid. Not only did the ball fly exactly as he had intended, it went farther than any shot he had hit in a year. Edgar had no idea that his discovery would become a cornerstone of golf instruction for the next century.

As Edgar shared his new technique with his fellow golfers, he began to get noticed. He started participating in high-level tournaments and rubbing elbows with pro golfers like fellow Englishman Harry Vardon. World War I curtailed Edgar’s rise briefly. When it was over, golf was certainly not uppermost in the minds of its shellshocked survivors in Europe.

Despite having a wife and two children, Edgar decided to try his luck in America, leaving for New York City in March 1919. Thanks to the growing popularity of golf and the shortage of available pros to teach, Edgar quickly got a job at the Druid Hills Golf Club outside of Atlanta.

Shortly after arriving in Atlanta, Edgar teamed with Perry Adair (known as one of the “Dixie Whiz Kids”), in a foursomes match against Bobby Jones and Willie Ogg. The match went down to the wire with Jones and Ogg winning, one up, when Jones sank a putt on the final green. It was one of the few times Jones would beat Edgar that year or the year after.

The following matches between Jones and Edgar were private and plentiful. Years later, Jones said, “We played 36 holes together every Monday at East Lake. He was a marvelous teacher.” At a critical stage in his career, Jones turned to Edgar for advice and coaching. It helped jump start his stagnating performance.

Edgar’s wife, Meg, and their children eventually joined Edgar in Atlanta but it did not go well. Mrs. Edgar did not like the hot Atlanta summers or the incessant gossip she encountered as the wife of a successful golfer. Edgar was not home much, playing in tournaments around the country or working at Druid Hills. Among his many notable Atlanta pupils was Coca-Cola magnate Asa Candler.

Edgar also enjoyed the company of women and was known to love a good drink, despite Prohibition. Left with their children in their Atlanta cottage, it wasn’t long before Meg packed her trunks and took the children home to England, never to return. She would never see Edgar again.

Some say that one of Edgar’s love interests was Alexa Stirling. Despite her high-class pedigree, Stirling preferred hunting and fishing to attending balls. A childhood chum of Bobby Jones, she met Edgar in 1920 and began taking lessons from him at Druid Hills. Already one of the top-ranked amateur female golfers in the country, her game improved even more under his guidance.

Edgar’s fortunes continued to rise until a sweltering night in August would change everything. A passing car of reporters came upon Edgar’s bleeding body, on the verge of death. Because he was found lying in the street, most people assumed he’d been hit by a car. But his injuries indicated otherwise.

The only mark found on Edgar’s body was a deep wound near his groin, not from a bullet. He bled out, unable to hang on until medical help could arrive. Some theorized that a wound of that nature meant only one thing. A vengeful husband had punished Edgar for trifling with his wife.

While never proven, some believe Edgar was having an affair with the stunning young wife of prominent Japanese florist, William Abbey. Owner of the Nikko Inn, he’d already been tried and acquitted of shooting someone previously. Perhaps Abbey had taken out his anger on his wife’s lover.

The mystery of J. Douglas Edgar’s murder remains unsolved. A blossoming career was cut short in its prime. His name has since faded into obscurity. However, his book, The Gift of Golf, remains a classic for all golfers seeking to improve their performance.

Edgar is buried in Atlanta’s Westview Cemetery. A beautiful, mysterious Japanese woman was spotted visiting his grave soon after his death.

Edgar’s tombstone states the simple truth: “James Douglas Edgar, Native of England, One of the Great Golfers of the Age”.

And he was.

Last year, I wrote about a grave I found in Sugar Hill, Ga. It turned out to be the final resting place of a victim of an infamous police murder in 1964. It was incredibly random, but this is the kind of experience I’m getting used to.

It happened again this week when I visited Arlington Memorial Park in Sandy Springs, Ga. It’s a huge cemetery with many different sections. Find a Grave lists 120 photo requests for Arlington but I was hoping to find just one.

The grave I was hunting for was in the Menorah Garden, a Jewish section. I haven’t visited many Jewish cemeteries but this one was different than ones I’m used to seeing. Colorful painted rocks left by family and friends edge many of the graves. It dispells a lot of gloom some cemeteries have. There’s even have a bowl of unpainted rocks that guests are invited to use to leave at the grave they have come to visit.

After finding the grave I was looking for, I took some photos of the graves around it to upload to Find a Grave. When I got home, I started uploading the photos. One person didn’t have a memorial page yet so I created one and uploaded the photo. The name Simon Kornblit meant nothing to me. The words “He Made a Difference” caught my attention.

When I did a Google search on his name, immediately a lengthy bio came up for him. Much of what I learned about him is from a profile in the Atlanta Jewish Times.

Simon “Si” Kornblit was born to Jewish parents in Antwerp, Belgium in 1933. His father was a diamond cutter from Poland and his mother came from Russia. Belgium was not exempt from Nazi Germany’s oppressive edicts. In 1940, Si and his family fled Antwerp for America in a freighter ship that was blown up on its way back to Europe. The Kornblits settled in New York City and Si eventually graduated from Stuyvesant High School.

A summer job Si got in the mail room at advertising agency Doyle Dane Bernbach (DDB) turned into a 35-year career. While at DDB, Kornblit attended the School of Commerce and Management at New York University. He took a break from work to serve in the U.S. Army during the Korean War. Ultimately, he became executive vice-president, general manager of the Los Angeles branch of DDB.

One of Si’s most famous ad campaigns was known as the 1970 “Angry Gorilla” ad for American Tourister luggage. It involved a real-life king chimpanzee (not a gorilla) named Oofie trying to destroy one of their suitcases. It proved to be extremely popular and American Tourister sales jumped. The story behind the filming of that first ad is pretty funny.

Si’s wife, Bobbi, said that although her husband was gentle in nature, he was “an original ‘Madman from Madison Avenue.’”

Si and Bobbi moved to Los Angeles to be closer to his movie-making clients, 20th Century Fox and Universal Pictures. He helped oversee the advertising campaign for Fox’s Star Wars. Later, he left DDB and joined Universal. From 1987-1993, Si marketed over 100 films. They include Jurassic Park, Field of Dreams, Fried Green Tomatoes, and Back to the Future. He was also named a voting member of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences for the Academy Awards for his work.

In 1994, after the Northridge earthquake in California, Si retired and he and Bobbi moved to Atlanta. He helped establish a film institute for continuing education at Kennesaw State University and served as its director from 2001-2003. He lectured on movie marketing to students at the Goizueta School of Business at Emory University, Georgia State, and other colleges. He never stopped sharing his wisdom with those just entering the industry.

Si also served on the Board of Governors for the Atlanta Chapter of the National Academy of Television Arts and Sciences as well as the Georgia Film, Video & Music Advisory Commission; co-chaired the Photo Forum at the Atlanta High Museum of Art; and was a member of the executive committee of the Atlanta Jewish Film Festival. In Atlanta, he also continued his three-decade involvement with the March of Dimes. On top of that, he was named a torch bearer for the 1996 Atlanta Olympic Games.

You would think after an incredible career like that, Si would have been happy to rest on his laurels but he didn’t. At age 70, he decided to pursue a long-held dream. Become an actor! And he did just that. After just six weeks of classes, Si secured a talent agent. He landed roles in local community theater productions, independent films and television pilots.

“He had warmth and was real,” said Steve Coulter, an actor, writer and director, who coached him. “Simon was good,” he added. “People asked to work with him.”

Actor Doug Mason was in Days of Vengeance with Si. He said,”We had no idea of the accomplished life that Simon had…until we got to know him visiting at his home for a rehearsal. There we saw a glimpse of how much of a big wig he really was.”

“When you read his bio, which is amazing, I still can’t believe we had the honor to have him in our little no-budget movie. But it was Simon who led us to believe that the honor was all his.”

At the bottom of Si’s gravestone are the words “He Made A Difference”. That’s what really drew me to take a picture of his grave in the first place. Because that’s what I hope to do with my life. That’s what I want people to say about me when I’m gone.

Most of us will never be world-famous film executives. But we can make a difference in the world around us, even in small, daily gestures. As 2014 gets off the ground, I hope we can all work toward that goal. It’s a New year’s resolution worth trying.

Thanks, Si, for the difference you made.

In November, I wrote a post about fulfilling my hundredth Find a Grave photo request. That was a big milestone for me! But since I started cemetery hopping in earnest last December, it’s resulted in so much more than that. It’s changed me in ways I was not expecting.

Telling Their Stories

I’m not into the paranormal. My faith is in Jesus Christ, not Ouija boards. Some people visit cemeteries in hopes of making contact with the “other side”. And that’s fine. But it’s not my goal.

However, I have become more willing to believe in the unexplained. I do think some individuals whose graves I have discovered wanted me to find them. They almost tug on my sleeve to get my attention. It isn’t a coincidence that I found slain police officer Ralph K. Davis’ grave amid hundreds of others at Sugar Hill Baptist Church Cemetery. Something about it urged me to find out more.

When I discovered Ralph was at the center of one of the biggest murder cases in Gwinnet County history, I knew I had to write about it. By sharing the story of Ralph and his brother officers Marvin Jesse Gravitt and Jerry Everett, I educated a new generation about a forgotten slice of history. It’s hard not to feel a jolt when you realize that you frequently, unknowingly, travel a road that was once a murder scene.

The same goes for Adeline Bagley Buice, who while pregnant not only survived arrest by the Union Army and transportation to the North, she spent five years making her way to the only home she had ever known. That kind of spirit is stunning. I’m glad I was able to share her story to a fresh audience.

But my favorite so far has to be children’s author Madge Bigham. I literally had to dig up her gravestone because it was so covered by sod and grass clippings. She was waiting patiently for someone to uncover it.

In discovering Madge, I found a kindred spirit who loved writing as much as I do. Her love for children and her desire to improve their lives in an era when women were supposed to get married and stay quietly at home is impressive.

Since then, I’ve swapped emails with some of Madge’s relatives and learned more about her. When I visit Westview Cemetery, I always stop by her grave (and those of her three siblings) to make sure it’s not getting covered up again. To say hello and assure her she’s not forgotten.

Making New Friends and Reconnecting With Old Ones

I’m an introvert by nature. Talking to people I don’t know is a struggle. By getting into cemetery hopping and writing this blog, I have met or reconnected with some great people.

Sharon Smith Patterson is a perfect example. I didn’t know her well in high school but we met up again this year when she started reading my blog. By accepting her invitation to visit an almost hidden Davis Cemetery, I discovered a wealth of history I’d never known. Thanks to my new hobby, I got to spend some time with Sharon and get to know her better.

The same goes for helping my buddy Steve Reagin find his ancestors in Lithonia. We hadn’t seen each other in years but once we started talking, it felt like it had only been a few months.

I’ve also made new friends in my community who read my blog. One of them is Jennifer Graham, a fellow “hopper” and talented photographer. It’s great fun to sit and talk with someone else who shares my passion for history and cemeteries.

One thing that’s surprised me is how many people want to talk to me about their own affinity for cemeteries. Martin, the friend who helped me find Westivew Cemetery, is one of them. He and I have talked about how he finds comfort by visiting his mother’s grave. How visiting cemeteries is a positive experience for him. I like knowing that I’m not the only one.

The Sweet Sound of Silence

I’m not outdoorsy. At. All. I have gone real tent camping exactly twice in my life. A cabin is more my comfort zone than a sleeping bag on the ground.

However, now that I spend a good bit of my time under the open sky of a cemetery, my comfort level with the great outdoors has shifted.

When I’m in a cemetery, especially one out in the country, I enter a different world. No cars honking, no music blaring, nobody talking on cell phones. It’s just me, nature and the dead. The only background noises are the squirrels and birds going on about their business.

With the lack of distractions, I can let myself relax. My anxiety level drops and I find a peace that’s beyond words. I can appreciate God’s handiwork and the lives of those He created, all of them unique.

Finding My Voice

A few years ago when I first considered blogging, I knew I didn’t want to write a “mommy blog.” Many other talented ladies have that covered and do it well. I wanted to write about something unique and quirky. Something different.

With Adventures in Cemetery Hopping, I’ve found my true voice. A platform for my writing, which is something for which I’ve sought for quite a while. It releases something in my soul that makes me feel heard. Not necessarily understood, but heard.

As 2013 ends, I issue you an invitation. If there’s a cemetery you would like me to visit, please let me know. I already have a long list but I’m always happy to add to it. Just contact me at traci.rylands@gmail.com.

So many cemeteries. So little time!