Not-so-final resting place

If nasty weather prevents ye rabbits from visiting a graveyard today, allow yours truly to encourage you to hop online and visit this site:

http://www.cfmemory.org/

There you may find a wonderful collection of records pertaining to the history of this little corner of heaven.

Given the scope of this blog, I would particularly point out the digitized records of Carey Hand Funeral Home.

In browsing that collection, I was surprised to find the number of folks who were laid to rest in area cemeteries "in the long, long ago," only to be disinterred later and shipped to points north.

Case in point, do a search at this site for a Spanish American War veteran named ARTHUR WHIPPLE who had brought his wife and 2 small children to these parts to work as a telegraph operator with the railroad . You will find the poor fellow died of TB at his parents' truck farm out in Oakland on 14 May 1912, and was apparently buried there. Flash forward just over 15 years, and somebody up in Malden, Massachusetts, paid good money to have his remains dug up and put on a northbound train.!

It makes one wonder how many open spaces in cemeteries around here were not always empty, doesn't it?

Reference:
1910 Census, Orange County, Florida, page 171b.

An early account of a haunting at Greenwood Cemetery

A century ago, many of Orlando's black residents lived in a settlement dubbed "Jonestown." It lay east of the city limits, between Colonial Drive and Gore Street, and as far east at Bumby Avenue.

But, soon after the 1900 census enumeration, most of Jonestown's residents moved west of the aptly-named Division Street.

Now, as I continue reading Kena Fries' old local history, I believe the following first-hand account (slightly edited) indicates that a supposed "haunting" at Greenwood Cemetery scared the people away . . . conveniently vacating a lot of valuable acreage for real estate development:

"We'd all been living there in brotherly accord and love for a powerfully long time and the ghosts never gave any trouble til they put up a fine tombstone over the man who gave the land for the burying ground. Since then, every night when the town clock goes "bong, bong" twelve times, he creeps out of his grave and sits atop the stone pointing his gun at the gate, and he sits there til our roosters crow three times in the morning, then he creeps back in the ground til the clock goes "bong, bong" twelve times the next night. I saw him, and my father-in-law saw him, and all the rest of us have seen him sitting there."

In the long, long ago . . .

Back in 1938, Kena Fries (whose stone pictured here may be seen at Greenwood Cemetery downtown) published a book on the history of Orlando.

I thought ye rabbits would appreciate what she wrote about early funerary practices in this neck o' the woods:

"In the long, long ago, when a death occurred friends of the family made a rude coffin or box, and the corpse was lovingly laid to rest on the very best sheet and pillow the family owned. The body was taken to the grave on a wagon drawn by a mule or oxen. A pine board, or light wood marker was placed on the spot. The interment usually took place under some large tree, magnolia, cedar, or oak, on the homestead. The first public grave yard was situated at the corner of Main and Pine. When the street was clayed, notice was printed in the papers requesting all bodies be removed. At the end of six months those remaining with some form of marker were disinterred and buried in a common grave in Greenwood."

Note, she doesn't mention what happened to those remaining *without* a marker!

Mark your calendars, local rabbits!

Once again, venerable Greenwood Cemetery in Orlando will be hosting a moonlight tour:

Next Friday - December 12th - 9pm - 1603 Greenwood Street

This is the perfect opportunity to see some of the things yours truly has been blogging about here at the CFGYR.

Couple of suggestions from past personal experience:

1. Wear comfortable walking shoes. The tour is about 2 miles long.

2. Bring a flashlight.

For more info and tips, please feel free to call the sexton's office: 407-325-6269.

Victorian Cemetery Design

A few days ago, yours truly mentioned a fellow named Samuel A. Robinson, whose name should be heralded by all local graveyard rabbits.

It was Mr. Robinson who came up with the original design for Orlando's beautiful municipal graveyard: Greenwood Cemetery.

Here is a basic map of the modern cemetery's layout, but it has been expanded and modified significantly since Mr. Robinson first took pen to paper back in the 1880s. In his day, rabbits entered from Gore Street, on the south (see the red dot between sections J and G). That is why most of the earliest burials here are clustered from that point to sections A and H.

Unlike modern planners who seem more interested in utility and aesthetics, Robinson was a true Victorian. His three purposes were pragmatism, amenity, and morality.

By pragmatism, I mean his primary intent was to provide the city with a sanitary means of handling human remains. Imagine how important a concern that was in his day, especially given Florida's subtropical climate.

By amenity, I mean he also wanted to create a space that would be as inviting as a city park. He intended the grounds to be used for more than just funerals, and expected his design would to welcome both individual citizens seeking a refuge from the bustling urban center as well sizeable civic gatherings on important dates.

By morality, I mean Robinson expected visitors to receive important messages about mercy, virtue, and patriotism . . . and from the other side of the coin: vice and selfishness, too. A section was mercifully set aside for the indigent. The virtue of the family unit was reinforced with multigenerational plots. The patriotic values of the city founders are reflected by the placement of all the veteran sections at the front, where they could be clearly seen by those traveling along Gore Street. (Confederate veterans in section J, Union veterans in section I, and later Spanish American War veterans in section W.) Vices would be decried in the monuments that sprouted up when the grounds were opened. But, there would be none of the selfish old iron fences surrounding individual plots and interrupting what was intended to be a broad, open, and tangible moral lesson.

Robinson's intentions are all but lost on modern visitors to Greenwood, who enter thru the new gate on the west side of the property . . . especially since most turn north after passing the cemetery office and head toward the more active sections that crowd up against Anderson Street and the new "urban wetlands."

But, now, at least ye rabbits know a lot of thought was put into designing this little corner of heaven, and the heavy thinking was done by Sam Robinson!

Was Orlando named for a grave?!

The simple answer is "maybe."

But, the origins of the name Orlando have been the cause of a lot of contention in this little corner of heaven.

If you believe this downtown marker by Lake Eola, the city was named for a soldier named Orlando Reeves who was killed in action during the Second Seminole War.

Despite extensive research at the National Archives, Tallahassee, and in Gainesville, though, yours truly has never been able to find any record of a soldier from that era who bore any name even somewhat similar to the one on this marker.

And, the only clash with the Seminoles in these parts took place several miles south of downtown Orlando, at Hatcheelustee (now Disney property).

I did find a plantation owner named Orlando REES who lived at Spring Hill in nearby Volusia County in the years leading up to the Second Seminole War. But, he fled back to his native South Carolina when the fighting started.

Still, the earliest American settlers in these parts claimed to have encountered the word "Orlando" carved on a tree near the shores of Lake Lawsona, just east of Lake Eola. They assumed it marked the resting place of some poor soul by that name, and took to referring to the area around it as "Orlando's grave." In time, this moniker was shortened to simply "Orlando."

Of course, that's just legend, too. I haven't seen any surviving photographs of the carving in question, only the second-hand account by local historian Kena Fries who wrote about how distressed her father (surveyor J.O. Fries) was when the tree was felled.

I believe the carving was made by Mr. Rees in the 1820s or 30s. He was a friend of famous naturalist John J. Audubon, who visited him at Spring Hill and explored the Central Florida wilderness with him. Audubon had adopted a habit learned from Daniel Boone, whereby he periodically carved his name or a symbol in a tree trunk to mark his wanderings and thus make retracing his steps a little easier. It seems entirely likely that the ORLANDO the early settlers spotted in that trunk near Lake Lawsona was such a guidepost, not really a grave marker

.

Still, the legends are very entertaining . . . which is probably why they seem to last a lot longer than trees and gravemarkers!

Pioneer undertakers

Further to yesterday's post about Orlando's earliest graveyard, I would like to introduce ye rabbits to the city's earliest undertakers.

Until the arrival of Edgar A. Richards, a carpetbagger from Massachusetts, most folks in this little corner of heaven oversaw the burial of their own family and friends.

Mr. Richards made things easier on the grieving survivors, though, with his ready supply of coffins at his furniture store . . . not to mention a willing shovel.


But, it wasn't until 1887, when Elijah Hand came to these parts that embalming of bodies was introduced to our funerary customs.



Before Hand's arrival, there was a custom that anyone who died before noon had to be buried by sundown. Anyone who died after noon would be buried the next morning.

But, with Mr. Hand's introduction of embalming fluid, funerals could be postponed a few days . . . a very convenient thing when you consider how difficult travel conditions could otherwise restrict turn-out for a good wake.

After a couple of years in competition with each other, Mr. Richards and Mr. Hand teamed-up to serve the community.

Ironically, while Mr. Richards' fine obelisk may still be seen at Greenwood Cemetery southeast of downtown Orlando, Mr. Hand (father of local embalming) was himself embalmed and sent back to his old hometown of Shelbyville, Indiana, for burial!

That being said, Mr. Hand's son Carey remained in Orlando and it is his name that has become synonymous with the funeral business right up to the present day.