I was out taking some photos for work this afternoon and decided to take a walk to one of my favorite spots on campus. When I was a student here, I found the spot completely by accident one day while I was out exploring the campus, and to this day I have never seen a mention of this place in print or heard another human being speak of it. I mentioned it to the grad student in my office, and he knew nothing about it at all, even though it's only about half a block away. Almost no one on campus seems to know about it, despite the fact that all that separates it from the main administrative campus building is a parking lot, a street, and about twenty yards across a small creek.
About a hundred years ago, the Berachah Industrial Home was established on what is now this campus for the protection of homeless girls and unwed mothers. (Contemporary accounts referred to them as "wild girls".) At the time, there were ten buildings, including a print shop for the publication of the Purity Journal. (I'll bet that was a fun read.) Now, the only thing remaining is the cemetery, which contains about eighty graves and dates from 1904. The home closed down in the 1930s.
Most of the graves are of children, and are marked by a simple flat stone flush with the ground. Some of them are engraved with antique-sounding names like Ruth or Pearl, but most are simply marked with the word "infant" and a number. As melancholy as most cemeteries are, this one might be the saddest one in the world.
It's not a raw, immediate kind of sad. If these babies had survived, they would almost certainly have died long ago, maybe after living long, eventful lives. They would have been almost middle-aged by the time World War II began, after all. All the same, there's a heavy feeling of "Might Have Been" in the air, and if there are ghosts lurking in those quiet trees, they are very tiny ghosts indeed.
When I was a student, I would go out to the cemetery when I needed to escape or think or just be alone. Sometimes I would bring my trombone and play a Bach Sarabande for the Infant No. Whatevers. I haven't been back in over a decade, but I should have known that nothing would have changed.
I needed to go back. I'm sure it won't be the last time.
13 comments:
It's a poignant place, isn't it? My MIL grew up right on the creek and tells stories of playing in the cemetary.
I won't revel your work locale but I will say we're the classes of '83 and 2007 or '08 here (says the one who attended but never finished).
also recently diagnoised with the beddies. :(
Wow! What a heavy place, the kind of place that really makes you stop and think.
I love the cemetary where my grandfather is buried. It's on the mountainside in Vermont. It's an old graveyard so it actually has weathered gravestones that say things like "Old Jeb choked on a chicken bone and died" - it's awesome. The plethora of children's graves makes me thankful for modern medicine, especially when I look at my grandmother's thirdborn's stone in the family plot - it simply reads "Baby". He'd be just shy of 50 I think and died of lung complications right after being born. These same complications are taken care of now with a simple shot.
Eh, the fence isn't bad, it's got a gate that doesn't lock.
Wow. Just wow. What an intense place, and thoughts. No names, just Infant and number. We can always hide and bury inflicted shame, can't we. Sorry, I'm a little bitter about Bill Napoli and some thngs in that venue now. Your post? Very intriguing.
Sometimes I would bring my trombone and play a Bach Sarabande for the Infant No. Whatevers.
I think their moms would be very pleased that you honored the babies' memories that way. It's almost too much to comprehend, what those babies could have grown up to accomplish in a less judgmental society.
My dad's in a country graveyard surrounded by pasture land and hills. It's always funny during a burial to see all the cattle walk up to the fences and peek in, all "Huh? munch munch What are y'all munch munch doin'?", while the service is under way. Oddly, it's the only graveyard that I'm not skittish in. I could camp out there, if I'd take the time (and get the proper permission from the cemetery committee). We joke that it's where "Peace in the Valley" was really written. A lovely place.
Well, from what I was reading about the place, this particular home was very kind to the girls in their care. Girls who had their children there weren't allowed to give them up for adotion, though, because the home's philosophy was that mothers and their children needed to be together. But they were cared for with the idea that mother and child would eventually re-enter society and get to start fresh, with as little social stigma as possible.
Interestingly, at the founder's insistence, when the home closed in the 1930s, all the records of all the mothers and children who had lived there were burned. He promised anonymity, and in the end he made sure that he'd be able to keep that promise long after he was gone.
What an amazing story about he home you added here in the comments. I don't know much about that period of time but I'm sure this man's actions were not the norm.
What a loving thing to do, to provide them w/ anonymity in a day when such stigma was attached to their situation.
I hope you know what a kind man you are, and I see how much you care for children, not just your Schuyler. Hope you are feeling better about the Beedies...I know it will take lots of time and love and care from your friends and family. I hope you are getting that.
that sort of place just overwhelms me. :(
by the way, I'm not real big on politics... but I totally want Kinky for Governor. he's awesome.
Well, from what I was reading about the place, this particular home was very kind to the girls in their care.
How rare and wonderful. Thanks for telling us about it.
Rob, I found this and thought I'd share with you. http://www.fightthemonster.org.nz/
It amused me no end that there's an advertising campaign for a different kind of children's monster. (For clarity I'm not amused by children having cancer, I'm amused by their using the monster idea).
I can only think of one other thing to say... Raaaah!
This is amazing. I'm so glad you stumbled upon it and have returned to visit and play your trombone.....
I used to live in Arlington not far from this cemetary. When I attended college after the Navy, I wrote this poem:
I Took a Long Walk
I took a long walk where I played as a child
in the woods where the children still haunt.
The oak tree and rope swing have gone with the years
like these little ones nobody wants.
I followed the path by the creek where we played
to the clearing where high weeds would grow.
Time has been cruel to the stones strewn about
like these little ones nobody knows.
No names had been given, only numbers engraved
in this pitiful place they call home.
The forest reclaimed all that man left behind
like these little ones left all alone.
What has become of those young girls who lived
by the creek in the woods? No one knows.
Do they remember? Do they care? Do they weep
like these little ones nobody chose?
I took a long walk where I played as a child
and I wonder if heaven above
Finds a place for those left in the ground with no name
like these little ones nobody loved.
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