Maria Montante

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Cemetery stones fascinating

Sunday November 01, 2009 | 01:00 AM

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The fascination of cemetery stones and markers began much later in life for as a child I recall the fear of passing a cemetery. The sight of the cemetery brought to mind visions of a dead person in a coffin with many mourners dressed in black crying with emotional outburst of screams and sobbing.

Viewing of the deceased was held in their home for a three-day period. The women in the family and close friends held a vigil during the night so that the deceased was not alone. Men usually stayed in the kitchen drinking, eating or dozing.

I remember Mama leaving the house dressed in black with a large woolen shawl draped over her head and shoulders to attend the vigil. It was the custom but more importantly it was their way of supporting and showing respect to the family. The home of the deceased that she and her comati Bessie Marcino were visiting still remains with me.

Perhaps, it was in my mid-thirties with the burial of my father-in-law that my feelings, understanding and acceptance of the cemetery changed. It was at the Cathedral Cemetery in Scranton that I began to notice the stones and how they were placed. The markers placed in straight lines are used front and back for one family or for another family that is not related. The system allows for wide spaces between the rows creating an openness. My new found awareness was focused on the many beautiful angels stationed throughout the cemetery.

At the end of my thirty-year decade, the feeling of dread of cemeteries returned for now I had left someone very dear to me laid to rest in that same Cemetery. My denial of that death kept me from visiting. For the next five years it was a once-a-year visit on Memorial Day to place flowers on a grave for a person who in my mind was not there.

Acceptance came with much pain, anguish, learning and peace. Many days in route to and from work I would pass the Hollenback Cemetery on River Road, Wilkes-Barre, and began to notice the unusual stones and crypts. A visit to the cemetery gave me a whole new prospective for now it was a history lesson.

My good friend Ann Marie Conroy and I attended an evening tour of the cemetery on a cold October evening many years ago. With flash lights in hand, huddled closely together we walked, observed and listened intently to the tour guide.

A few days ago at my request we returned to the Hollenback Cemetery. It was an overcast day with a dampness in the air. There is always a quietness when driving or walking into a cemetery and of course Ann Marie couldn’t resist saying, “It’s dead in here.”

Our first stop was the burial site of “Orphan Train” children who are in graves marked with a simple iron marker close to the ground imprinted with the letter H and a number. From 1854 to 1929, Orphan Trains from New York ‘placed out’ 150,000 to 200,000 destitute children, mainly to homes in the farming countries of the Mid West. Some of the children, young infants to age 15, were orphans. Many were homeless street kids, and others were given up by their parents unable to provide for their well being.

Children were accompanied by a “place agent” during the train ride and instructed to look and act their best in front of prospective takers. The train stopped at scheduled locations. Children who were not selected returned to the train to travel to another state.

The idea of the Orphan Train was to save poor children but it sometimes worked in reverse due to abusive adults which created incorrigible and delinquent children.

A most colorful and beautiful site during the Memorial Day Holiday is the hill where American flags are placed on the graves of the soldiers of Cunyngham Post 97 of the Grand Army of the Republic who served in the Civil War. Mr. Tony Brooks, Executive Director of the Luzerne County Historical Society, related the highest concentration of the ll,000 Civil War veterans from Northeastern Pennsylvania are buried in Hollenback and adjacent Wilkes-Barre cemetery.

There are two monuments clearly seen from River Street . A large ornate Celtic cross that stands over ten feet high is marked with the name Sharpe who was the owner of the Glen Alden coal mine. It is surrounded by many stones bearing the same name. We took special notice of the marker reading “Mary Freeland”. Born at Saratoga Lake, New York. Died in Pittston, PA. 1855.

The other is of a young woman sitting crossed leg with hand beneath her chin. Sitting pondering, waiting, watching or whatever. Each morning while passing the cemetery, I greeted her and asked what had transpired the night before? She must have many stories to tell. The monument is inscribed McManus and is dedicated to the Blessed Virgin Mary.

Driving through the cemetery can be a little scary for the roads are narrow, curvy and steep. Coming back down there is a spot where one feels suspended in the air. It is on the descent that a most remarkable stone is seen. A gentleman dressed in what may be evening clothes complete with cape and hat at his feet sits weeping in front of a beautiful monument adored with a vase draped with a graceful cloth. The name is worn away. There is no information about the gentleman so that one assumes he is grief stricken and weeping for his lost love.

Upon leaving I asked Ann Marie if she would mind visiting the cemetery where I thought I had seen Sara Taylor several years ago. My friend is a great sport and was up to the adventure.

A soft drizzle almost like a mist had begun to fall as we began searching for a grave marker inscribed Sara and Joshua Taylor. She walked in one direction, I in the other but keeping within a voice distance. The mist had turned into a cold soft rain and still we searched. There were many Taylors but not the one we came in quest of. The sky had turned to almost charcoal with the rain falling harder and the wind blowing the damp leaves about. A coldness overtook my body as a figure approached. Thinking it was Ann Marie I called out to her as she neared.

I could not move as she drew closer. Then I recognized her and called “Sara, Sara”. With hand outstretched she came to me still young and beautiful. I wanted to reach for her but was unable to. She smiled and stood looking at me for a few moments and then she was gone.

Fully aware of the rain falling and the wetness of my clothing, I made my way to the car where Ann Marie waited. The car doors were locked and she too was feeling soggy and cold. Looking at me with disbelief she asked, “Don’t you know when to come in out of the rain?”

The least I could do was take her to lunch.