Cemetery Walk

Not too long ago, on my way to one of the 21st Michigan's (my Civil War reenacting unit) drills, I stopped at an old cemetery not far from my house. I had both time and my camera. I love cemeteries. I like spending time there. Old ones most especially. With all the varied, old headstones. With all the histories and all the stories. I dislike the new kind with identical markers all flush with the ground. We've got three of those kinds around the corner from our house. I've never visited any of them. They have no personality. Happily, I won't be buried in one. I’d hate to spend eternity in a "Memorial Park". I find comfort in the knowledge that I'm being buried with one of my Civil War ancestors.

I especially love to visit cemeteries where I know someone. Family. Know their stories - if only in part - beyond the inscriptions. But all my people are in Upstate New York. So I don't get any of that here in Metro-Detroit. But I make do. I still very much like to walk slowly up and down the rows and pray and ponder. I like to think that someone is walking through my family's burying grounds pondering and praying too. Reading the inscriptions. Wondering. Who were those people, that family? What are their stories? What were they like? What did they see? Do they have family around today? Do they know or do they remember? Do they care? There are cemeteries all over the countryside and in cities. Most people don't take notice them. I do. "Cemetery! I win!" is my favorite car-trip game [The rules are simple. It's not how many cemeteries you spot - or if you see one first, but who first sees the last one before you arrive at your destination. You never know when or where the last one will be, so you have to keep your eyes peeled. For more of a challenge, you must be the first to shout the name of the cemetery and then "I win". I often am the champ. Not only because I have a sharp and trained eye, but because I am driving and I purposely take routes past cemeteries!].

And like I said, I like old graves and old gravestones. The fresh ones' loss and grief is too new and too, well, fresh. In my time as pastor, I've buried far too many people and stood amongst those mourning at the gravesides to find anything comfortable or comforting in that posture.

I am sure at one time it was all farmland, but today this old cemetery is suburbanly tucked in amongst a strip mall and one of those medical office centers. Across the street is an auto parts store. The traffic zipping by unseeing. The day was cold, gray and gloomy to begin with. And as I walked through the cemetery, my spirit grew cold, gray and gloomy to match. The cemetery wasn't well taken care of, I suppose, because of the winter months. There was bits of trash, dead branches fallen from bare trees, and the stones showed evidence of vandalism. And what punk kids didn't do, Mother Nature, with her freezes and thaws did. The headstones looked a lot like the "before" picture in an orthodontist's office. I regretted stopping.

But there I was, camera in hand, so I stayed. I figured I was there for a purpose and I looked for it. And so, I looked for a Civil War veteran. Many I suppose could have been, but there wasn't any real way of knowing. Birth and death dates suggested that some were occasional within the realm of possibility. Sometimes there is an obvious clue inscribed on the marker. Or a brass flag holder. But I wasn't finding either. There were several US flags, but almost all were lying on the ground, either having been blown over or kicked over. So I busied myself in picking them back up and pushing them in the ground, hopefully in close proximity to their owners. That chore cheered me up considerably.

One flag, quite sun-faded and a bit tattered, was lying atop a piece of trash. But when I went to pick it up, I found that the trash was attached, by a length of silver gift wrap ribbon, to the flag. And that it wasn't trash, but a small laminated placard. It told of a man named Abner Delos Austin who had been in the Civil War; his grave a few feet away. Abner had served, it proudly told me, in the 24th Michigan Infantry - the Iron Brigade - and had been wounded at Gettysburg. It - the flag and sign - had been placed there "with loving admiration and great respect from his great great granddaughter Kristina Austin Scarcelli - Mrs. Michigan 2006" last Memorial Day.

Later when I got home, I "Googled" Abner and up popped up a link to Kristina's website
(www.kristinascarcelli.com) and to more information on Abner. I learned that he was born in 1846, perhaps in New York State, his family moving here to Michigan shortly after his birth. He was orphaned at four when both his parents died in Detroit of cholera. Older brother Charles was six. Abner was taken in and raised by the Milroy family on Five Mile in Redford. Abner lost track of his brother, who had been taken in by another family elsewhere.

He enlisted in the Union Army in August 1862, claiming to be 19 years old while he was, in actuality, just 16. Abner was shot in the left hand on July 1, 1863 at Gettysburg. According to the website, "the mine ball entered somewhere between the fingers and the knuckles and split the hand in two and exited at the back of the wrist." The hand was to be amputated but Abner was sent to a hospital in Philadelphia, where doctors were able to save it and so he served out the rest of the war in the Invalid Corps. However, he never regained full use of his hand; it never healed properly and it was never much more than a claw. After his discharge, Abner returned to Michigan, married and had two sons.

Later, when applying for the Veterans' Bounty, his name was included on an eligibility list in the Post Office with other Michigan Civil War veterans. Abner found his brother, Charles' name just below his. They hadn't seen or heard from the other since their parents' death. So they were reunited. Abner died in 1901, at the age of 55, ultimately, from his injury from Gettysburg.

I wrote to Kristina Austin Scarcelli, introducing and explaining myself. She told me that she has been leaving these placards on Abner's grave every Memorial Day for many years… ever since, at age 16, she discovered this ancestor - Civil War and genealogy as well - while working on a history project in high school. Kristina is terribly excited to be going to the 145th Gettysburg and cannot wait to have her picture taken at the 24th's monument!
(www.hometown.aol.com/michigan24th)

She wrote, "I share your sadness each time I visit Abner's grave and wonder why so many who fought to protect our freedom could be so easily forgotten. But I can also understand how easily our ancestors can be lost. I would never have known that Abner existed had it not been for my high school history teacher, who impressed so strongly upon me how important it is to have a "relationship" with those who came distantly before me."

Reenacting and genealogy are two wonderful and enjoyable ways of remembering those who've come before us. This story of Abner, which Kristina had found and shared, is a story of every soul who once breathed and is now buried 'neath the sod. Cemeteries are so numerous that we pay little attention to them. Some are small and almost lost - indeed, some are lost and forgotten - ill-tended. Others are massively huge and well-taken care of. But each one, and each grave, has a story. Not all can be told. But we must do what we can with those we can. We've Civil War reenactors have chosen to specialize in the Civil War Era. Some militarily and some as civilians. But all with a reverence and a love for the time and of the people.

Reenactors tend to be people with love of Family, of Faith and of Country. It's certainly true of the 21st. It's isn't mandatory, of course, but the three seems to goes hand-in-hand with reenacting. It is right and good that our official reenacting "season" begins with the big Memorial Day Weekend event - Memorial Day began as a way of honoring Civil War Veterans - Civil War Remembrance at Greenfield Village (www.thehenryford.org/events/civilwarremembrance). part of the Henry Ford Museums in Dearborn. Like Abner Austin's great great granddaughter who wonders "why so many who fought to protect our freedom could be so easily forgotten", it is a very real risk. Even for us. Patriotism isn't politically correct any longer. Discussion of an America at war is just an opportunity for Bush-bashing. Families are spread thin and wide. Distant beyond mere location. It takes effort and it takes time. If we add decades and centuries into the mix, remembrance of both our country's and our family's pasts is left untended like a forgotten and hidden graveyard tucked amongst the busyness of modern life. We all, like the teacher who taught Kristina the importance of having a relationship with those who came distantly before us, too can make a difference in this and coming generations. This Memorial Day, we all need to remember the literal holiness of the holiday. Enjoy the grilling and the long weekend. But never forget what it was meant to be all about. We reenactors are both teachers and torch bearers.