The Unmarked Grave

Allow me to introduce to you my guest author for this post, 

George Hofmann. 

The Unmarked Grave

There’s a small plot of grass on a gently sloping field dotted with granite markers; memorials to people who were loved and too soon lost. But this plot, wedged between black stones with etchings of people now passed, sits unmarked, barren though covered with lush, freshly cut grass, anonymous. Beneath it, for nearly five years, has lain the remains of an eight-year-old girl. She was in the news once. Now you can’t find her.

I work in the shop that made many of the monuments and grave markers that radiate out in rows from this lonely place. Some of the stones are carved in other plants, but a lot of them we carve ourselves. I draw the inscription on tracing paper on a drafting table, cover a stone with a stencil pad, transfer the image from the drafting paper to the stencil, and carefully, with a steady and respectful hand, cut out each letter and number. We sandblast the stone, so that the name and dates will last longer than the very people who remember the deceased. The stencil pad keeps the stone unscarred. Only the exposed memorial inscription speaks. Then a crew takes the marker to the cemetery and sets it at the grave. Most of the time.

When I first started the job I walked around the stones in the yard, all of them waiting to be set. I noticed some of them were old, with death dates of 2017, 2007, 2003. I asked my boss why they were still there, and he told me they weren’t paid for yet.

There was one marker, a medium-sized one, crammed between several others. It was covered with stained and weather-beaten cardboard and wrapped in steel bands. The cardboard was torn in the center, so I stepped over another stone and bent down to see what was there. Through the frayed and tattered hole gazed a very young girl on a porcelain badge, her face a shy smile, her hands held in front of her in the shape of a heart.

I pulled apart a bit of the cardboard. It was old and wet and it nearly disintegrated. I saw that the girl died in 2016, and in 2021 the red granite meant to keep her memory alive sat hidden on boards like a cenotaph while a mother, a mother surely still grieving, made monthly payments meant to turn that small plot of grass in the cemetery across the street into a proper memorial.

And so she sits there. When working in the yard I walk to her and think of my daughter and thank God… After a few months of glimpsing the photo of the girl silently straining to be seen the stone was moved to another part of the yard, the cardboard and steel cut off, and she finally saw the sun. But there she remains, still a receivable, not scheduled to be set.

A few days ago I Googled her name and saw the news articles. She was killed in a hit and run. At the sentencing of the driver, in 2018, the mother cried that her baby was buried in the ground while the driver could still hug his child. But today when the mother visits the ground where her baby is buried she finds only grass. Grass that grows unaware of what it covers. Grass, green and damp with dew, that lives.

When I’m moving markers in the yard with the two-ton crane and it starts to rain I have to bring the electric crane inside. I stand in the plant and look out at the downpour. The yard becomes muddy around the stones set aside waiting for payment. Over time grass grows up around the splattered granite. You’d think the people that work here would be full of gallows humor, but they’re not. They’re reverent, and I clean the dirty stones and trim the grass pushing up between them.

The girl waits behind a couple to be remembered together and in front of a young man also taken early in a life that surely held promise. She will, eventually, stand on the grass plot where her body lay. People will come to see her and remember, finally. Her monument with her image will join the rows of stones laid out for mourning that declare that a life passed is worth clinging to and never really ends. Those left behind never fully move on. Her small plot a place of reverence for the living covered with grass that will always grow as she will in her mother’s memory - the girl’s picture looking out over the field to stand there longer than any of us will ever be.

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George Hofmann is the author of Resilience: Handling Anxiety in a Time of Crisis. He lives in Pennsylvania with his wife, their daughter and two poorly behaved dogs.

Pottstown, Pennsylvania Cemeteries

Edgewood Cemetery, Pottstown, Pennsylvania

If you travel from one geographic region to another in America, you’re likely to notice subtle differences in architecture. You’ll see differences not just in bridges and buildings, but in cemetery monuments, mausoleums, and grave markers. Headstones themselves vary by shape, inscription lettering styles, and other aspects of design. When I say this varies by geographic region, this may entail areas only fifty miles apart. Different stone carvers, different quarries, different religious sects are but a few of the variables that contribute to differences in stone memorials. This was certainly the case in three cemeteries I visited recently in Pottstown, Pennsylvania – a rural town about forty miles northwest of Philadelphia.

Edgewood Cemetery, Pottstown, Pennsylvania

The main objective of my trip was to see Edgewood Cemetery (on High Street, see map), a twelve-acre property that had been abandoned and recently adopted by a group of concerned citizens, a Friends group. I arrived in Pottstown a bit early so I decided to try out my new Apple iPhone 6 by using it to find other local cemeteries. There were several. The closest one to me was Saint Aloysius Parish’s “Old” Cemetery on High Street on the east side of town. (The Parish has a “New” cemetery in another section of Pottstown.)

Saint Aloysius is wonderfully quaint and wonderfully old – I would guess it was established around the same year the parish was established – 1856. Marvelous decorative iron gates hang from massive stone entrance pillars, giving the impression of total security. However, even with no fence whatsoever at the residential end of the property, I saw no evidence of vandalism or disarray. This was in fact the case in all three cemeteries I visited.

Gold painted marble headstone, St. Aloysius

Saint Aloysius Cemetery is only a few acres, and you can get an appreciation for the cemetery by simply driving around its well-maintained roads. I did get out of my car a number of times, however, to examine more closely some of the grave stones. It became evident to me that simply forty miles from Philadelphia (where I live), there were marked differences in the styles of headstones here compared to what I am used to seeing in the Greater Philadelphia area. For instance, I think I’ve only ever seen one headstone painted like this gold one.

Marble headstone, St. Aloysius Cemetery, Pottstown, PA

Local artisans left their unique and indelible mark on many shapes and styles of headstones. Also, the vicinity may be less susceptible to acid rain as many examples of white marble sculpture seemed oddly well-preserved. Lettering and other engraved designs were clearly recognizable, something I’m not used to seeing in this part of the country.

Rock of Ages headstone with cut sheaves of wheat (symbolizing death)

After a half hour or so in Saint Aloysius, I drove about ten minutes west on High Street to meet my friend at Edgewood Cemetery. He’s one of the volunteers who helps keep the place maintained and getting groups of volunteers to cut grass, clear trees, etc. Edgewood doesn’t have the quaintness quotient of Saint Aloysius, but it is well-maintained and boasts some rather unique memorial sculpture. I don’t remember ever seeing “Rock of Ages” inscribed on a memorial ANYWHERE. The stone is rather old, so I don’t think it refers to the Def Leppard song of that name. More likely the 1763 Christian hymn that refers to the rock that shelters Christians from the storm.

I was surprised to see, as I walked around, a small headstone with a carved angel atop, about six inches wide. Such detail, along with most lettering, is usually eroded away. Established in 1862, the Edgewood Cemetery was abandoned in the 1930s. Local volunteers keep it tidy, and there seem to be occasional burials. There is some damage, apparently from ground subsidence. Some headstones have eroded off their bases, some have fallen due to groundhogs burrowing beneath them. A few have been uprighted and repaired.

Recent burial, Edgewood Cemetery

In the 2014 article, "Pottstown council ponders the future of Edgewood Cemetery," “Todd Dawson of Todd’s Tree Service, became so upset about the overgrown conditions at the cemetery, that he volunteered over the course of several days to cut the grass.” In addition, “Some citizens, who have asked to remain anonymous for now, have expressed an interest in forming a non-profit organization to take possession and responsibility for the cemetery ….”

Whatever its future, Edgewood seems stable for now. Enough people are devoted to keeping it maintained and intact until a more formal arrangement can be made. If the local government can declare it abandoned, progress would have greater potential. Walking through the cemetery is a lesson in stone carving, monument craftsmanship, and history. Maintaining the history of these stones, along with that of the people beneath them, is of great importance to the volunteer group (see the Facebook Group page, “Edgewood Historic Cemetery”).

This amazing white marble arch, which stands about six feet high and spans about ten feet marking the entry to a family plot, is inscribed with the words, “In Death They Are Not Divided.” I thought this to be a good motto for the Friends group – in death, the deceased should not be divided from, or forgotten by, the living.

Elks Club, Pottstown, Pennsylvania

My third and final stop in the area was Pottstown Cemetery, after grabbing a coffee at the lovely “Potts and Penn Family Diner” nearby, across High Street from the Elks Club (there are a lot of Victorian structures like this in the vicinity). I got the feeling that the Pottstown Cemetery was a factory cemetery, as there is an old factory next to it. Similar to cemeteries next to coal breakers, one can only assume that many who had toiled in the factory in the late 1800s and early 1900s ended up dead and buried next to it. This angel on a high pedestal next to the factory seemed to bear witness to such difficult lives.

Factory Angel, Pottstown Cemetery

The “old” cemetery (next to the factory) is on a hill directly across N. Hanover Street from the “new” Pottstown Cemetery. The old one has quite a bit more character. The sun was low on the horizon when I got there as it was just around noon and close to the winter solstice. I have a thing for silhouettes and driving up the hill into the cemetery I was presented with this lovely silhouette (below) directly in front of me.

Pottstown Cemetery, Pottstown, Pennsylvania

The simple fact that such fine detail remains on these soft marble grave markers is uncommon in this geographic area – an area of harsh winters and dramatic seasonal climate swings. I was surprised to see, as I walked around, a headstone with this little carved cherub, about four inches in diameter. Such detail, along with most lettering, is usually eroded away.  In the base of the factory angel was the three-dimensional marble scene below, about fourteen inches long and eight inches high. Tree symbolism – the weeping willow, along with a burial crypt with cover removed – the symbol for resurrection, and a heavenly afterlife.

The headstones in these Pottstown cemeteries are much more ornate and interesting than most headstones made in the past hundred years. Check out this marble tree stump memorial from 1892, for instance. I saw several examples of this – with the roots of the stump carved out very plainly. The symbolism is intense – not only has the life been cut short (a severed tree), but the stump itself has been torn away, uprooted, from the mortal earth. Reminds me of the Emily Dickinson quote,“To be remembered is next to being loved, and to be loved is Heaven.”