I’m a Cemetery Enthusiast

The first time I recall being in a cemetery was in the summer of 1963 when I was 5 years old. We were burying uncle Jim who was the brother of my great grandmother’s late husband. It was about 3:00 in the afternoon and the sky was cloudy and thunder was rolling. The ground had rich red clay like mud that felt to me like quicksand. Since that day I’ve been in my home church family cemetery hundreds of times. Whenever I visited whether for a body being committed the ground or another reason my siblings, cousins and I would go on a trip down memory lane.

We would walk past the markers and headstones trying to find our deceased loved ones. We would discuss those burrows there and their relation to us. On Memorial Day people would clean the graves of their loved ones and replace faded artificial flowers. None of us ever went to talk to the deceased but only to bury more dead. This cemetery is a peaceful place that is connected to a horse farm on the other side of the fence. I don’t frequent graveyards so I’m not a taphophile but I am an enthusiast and history buff. I enjoy reading headstones and dates and researching the deceased when I can.

Unlike some people cemeteries don’t give me the creeps because I grew up understanding their purpose. I’ve watched television shows where people claim to have had supernatural encounters during the day and night in cemeteries. I don’t discount their experiences but only say that it’s not mine. Today my grandchildren and I went to Longwood Park, off Mainstreet in Salem Virginia where just up the hill is East Hill North Cemetery. What caught my eye were 3 gigantic crosses at the top of the hill that were dedicated in memory of a John H Branson.

In my search I found a John H Branson Jr., a black male who had lived in Salem Va. who died in 2012 and his body was in a different cemetery. I was curious as to why this large monument was in an area where the grave stones were toppled and many practically unreadable. These headstones were obviously very old and had turned dark. Some were lying backward while others were on their sides.

I saw one headstone that only had the first name on it. There was no last name or date of birth or death. Because John Branscom was African American, I assumed this must have been a cemetery where bodies of blacks were buried and based on the conditions of the grave markers I figured this cemetery must have been around since the days after the Civil War.

I did additional research and it revealed that my assumption were correct. The plot of land where I had been standing was purchased in 1968 by a Bernard Pitzer from the estate of Nathaniel Burwell. Pitzer used the land as an African American burial ground that was initially named East Hill Colored Cemetery. This soon became the most prominent black cemetery in the town.

I found out that among the prominent citizens who are buried in this location is the Reverend B.F. Fox who at one time pastored the city's two churches with African American congregants, Shiloh Baptist and First Baptist. I mentioned earlier that I found a number of unmarked graves and the records indicate that there are hundreds of them. 2021 marks 150 years since this burial ground was put in place and there is so much history on that land that we will never know.

As I stood there on top of the hill, looking at those graves I wondered what the stories were of the people whose remains are under the ground. Some, naturally had been slaves as the Civil War ended just 6 years prior to the cemetery's existence. I am certain that many of those in unmarked graves had family members who could not afford a headstone. Others may have died and not been identified and simply placed there.

My reason for randomly walking through burial grounds is not a fascination with the dead, but curiosity about the lives they may have lived, the era in which they were born, and the history tied to the deceased. I take note of how my curiosity about the crosses led me to all the other information and therein lies my fascination.