Headstones and History

EADSTONES AND History

The evocative phrase "the Old West" calls up images of cowboys and prospectors, of frontier violence, of epic struggles against a background of a huge, arid land. Our view of what happened here is part myth and part reality, with the two elements constantly feeding on and influencing each other up to the present day. Our history isn't something that stopped a given number of years ago-it's a continuing story based in the past, happening in the present, and leading toward the future. Nowhere can one get a better sense of this than in Arizona's cemeteries, especially those that have been in place for many years. Visiting a cemetery can be a fascinating and moving experience. Here lie those who have gone before us; their hopes, fears, and struggles reduced to six feet of ground and a marker. Cemeteries are places in which past and present meet, in which statements by the living about their beloved dead are preserved for the future. They are also places where one can often find art of quite extraordinary beauty. First, there are the settings: under Arizona's broad sky and in the middle of scenic landscapes. Often cemeteries were placed on high ground, like that of the old mining town of Jerome. Its site is a ridge jutting out across from town, and one can see for miles in all directions. In a place like this, one can't help thinking that the old-timers chose their burial ground with deliberate attention to the view. But even closedin spots, such as the old Santa Cruz County mining camp of Harshaw, often have their scenic charms. Here the graves climb up a hillside above a stream lined with huge sycamores. Leafy green in summer, dramatically yellow-gold in fall, the old trees make a perfect frame for the sleeping miners and their families. Arizona's older cemeteries blend into the setting in special ways. Many lack the grassy lawns of the modern memorial park; the ground is simply kept bare and periodically cleaned of weeds and other growth. Local materials, too, are often found as grave markers: sandstone and petrified wood in the north, local rocks and boulders elsewhere. In the old days, a mound of rocks often kept the grave safe from scavenging animals; nowadays handsome rocks may form a decorative border. Some of the oldest markers in the Tubac cemetery are large boulders inscribed with a cross, date, and name. Traces of the frontier and its dangers abound in our state's graveyards. Sometimes it's the location: the Peeples Valley cemetery is said to have been located on a flat so that burial parties could have warning of Indian raids. Sometimes the story is told on individual gravestones: a man buried at St. Johns, for instance, was KILLED BY OUTLAWS WHILE SERVING HIS COUNTRY IN A SHERIFF'S POSSE, while another in the same cemetery was MURDERED BY A MEXICAN MOB. KILLED BY APACHES may still be found on certain 19th century gravestones, although many such markers were of wood and have long since disappeared. Best known of all are the colorful epitaphs found at Tombstone's Boot Hill, including the famous HERE LIES / LESTER MOORE / FOUR SLUGS / FROM A .44 / NO LES / NO MORE. This one has also been claimed for the Boot Hill in Dodge City, Kansas. It's hard to keep a good epitaph down. (By the way, although Tombstone's Boot Hill is a real cemetery, most of the markers are recent replacements.) Lawlessness and violence are by no means

means things of the past in Arizona, and from time to time one finds modern epitaphs that proclaim this unfortunate fact. A 1971 gravestone in Nogales wistfully records: KILLED WHILE TRANSPORTING CONTRABAND. IN WHAT FOREIGN SKIES DO YOU FLY NOW, AMIGO? Not the romance of the Old West stereotype, true; but one has to wonder just how romantic the 19th century town of Tombstone looked to the folks who lived and died there. Lester Moore, for example, is said to have been a Wells Fargo agent shot to death by a customer whose package he delivered in damaged condition. Not my idea of romance; probably not Mr. Moore's, either.

Curiously enough, whimsical epitaphs like poor old Les Moore's are pretty hard to find in Arizona. The only other one I know is in Tombstone's "modern" cemetery (started in the 1880s when Boot Hill filled up). HERE LIES OLD NICK, DEAD AND IN HIS GRAVE / NO MORE WHISKEY WILL HE CRAVE / BUT ON HIS TOMBSTONE CAN BE WROTE / MANY A GALLON GONE DOWN HIS THROAT. Speaking of such activity, there's a grave in Santa Cruz County at which the widow often leaves an unopened can of beer in the middle of the summer. Now that's a lovely touch!

Drinking isn't the only vocation commemorated on our grave markers. Arizona's two traditional occupations, cattle raising and mining, come in for their share of mention. Cowboy and rancher citations are found literally all over the state, and are by no means confined to the last century. Modern, sandblasted markers as far apart as St. David on the San Pedro River, St. Johns on the Little Colorado, and Skull Valley near Prescott identify the final resting places of cowboys. Sometimes it's with words: one man buried in Black Oak Cemetery near Canelo in Santa Cruz County was BORN A COWBOY, while a verse from a famous cowboy poem is engraved on a tombstone in St. Johns. Most, however, use images rather than words to show the occupation of those who lie beneath them. Favorites among these include cattle, riderless horses, windmills, and brands.

Especially brands. In ranching country, livestock brands take on a pervasive symbolism, and so ranch owners are identified on their tombstones by their brands, while cowboys are represented by the brands of the outfits they worked for.

Mining is another of Arizona's historic industries. The most striking thing about the cemeteries in old mining camps like Bisbee, Globe-Miami, and Jerome is how cosmopolitan they are. Take Bisbee, for instance, with its cemetery ringed by tailings dumps and old headframes. There are people buried here who were born in England, Ireland, Wales, Switzerland, Italy, Germany, and Yugoslavia, as well as Mexico and the United States. Yugoslavia tends to show up as Serbia, in the old days a part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Several markers bear inscriptions in the Cyrillic alphabet and are proudly blazoned with the old double-headed eagle of Austria-Hungary. A stroll through one of these cemeteries certainly expands one's notion of who lived in the Old West.

The major historic faiths of the United States-Judaic, Mormon, Protestant, Catholic-all have left their distinctive marks in Arizona's cemeteries. Judaism is often symbolized by the Star of David, as in the Jewish cemetery in Nogales. A depiction of one of the Mormon temples may identify a Mormon grave. There's a lovely, elongated version of the Salt Lake City temple on a stone dating from territorial days in the old Mormon cemetery at Central in the upper Gila Valley.

Mormons and Protestants alike placed symbols of eternity on their graves, especially in territorial times. These include a set of gates opening onto a sunrise and depictions of such evergreen plants as ivy. Also popular were carvings of doves and lambs, the latter especially on children's graves, and depictions of the parting handshake: a living hand clasping a lifeless one.

By far the most spectacular religious grave markers are erected by Mexican and Mexican-American Catholics. Mexican Catholicism is an intensely visual religious tradition. There are two basic forms to Mexican-American grave markers: crosses and nichos, small, free-standing niches. The crosses may be of virtually any material. I've seen them of stone, wood, brass, iron, plumbing pipe, and cement. Somehow the next one is always slightly different from the last. Nichos are made to contain the statues of favorite saints. Usually simple, cast concrete half-shells, they occasionally take fanciful shapes, like the ones in the Catholic cemetery at St. Johns, which are modeled after miniature chapels. And occasionally the material

from which they are made can be a bit surprising. One nicho in the "new" cemetery at Tombstone consists of an old bathtub, upended and partially sunk in the ground.

Mexican-American grave markers display an astounding range of color and accumulation of detail, and may appear to be more works of assemblage than pure sculpture. A single grave may have several

THE ART OF GRAVESTONE RUBBING

One way to salvage something from these memorable, sometimes curious relics of past lives is by means of gravestone rubbings.

If you are inclined to investigate old burial grounds, you will soon discover that weathered inscriptions are often quite difficult to discern. Sometimes their legibility depends on the amount and angle of daylight. However, if you find no shadows are cast within the stone's carvings under bright sunlight, don't give up hope. You may be able to make the inscription visible by tracing the letters with chalk directly on the grave marker. Or you can try making a rubbing of the entire face of the stone.

Gravestone rubbing has, in recent times, become both a hobby and an art. The procedure is simple and requires only a small financial investment. To begin, purchase large sheets of paper from an art or office supply store. I have found that plain wrapping paper or 20-weight bond paper works best. After trimming the sheet to size, lay it flat over the face of the stone and attach it securely with masking tape. (Be careful not to desecrate the grave by walking on it.) To make the rubbing, use a broad, soft-lead pencil (such as a carpenter's pencil), dark-colored chalk, or a piece of crayon. Using the dull edge of the marker, rub the face of the paper with an even back-and-forth motion, making certain not to puncture the surface. Gradually the entire inscription will be transferred from the stone to the paper.

Next, gently remove the tape, taking care not to tear or wrinkle the edges of the sheet in the process. Special attention should be taken not to touch the surface of the work; oily fingers tend to smear the finished product.

To protect your rubbing from damage, fix the surface with a light application of aerosol hair spray. Later, you have the option of framing it under glass or covering it with a layer of clear contact paper.

If you want to ensure the preservation of a work, invest in acid-free paper and artist's spray fixative. These products will last longer than wrapping paper and hair spray, but they are more expensive.

In most cases, you'll probably find that an epitaph does not offer a complete portrait of an individual but does give a sense of the times. For example, in a tiny roadside cemetery I chanced to find the following inscription over the remains of a horse thief: He found a rope and picked it up, And with it walked away. It happened that to the other end A horse was hitched, they say. They took the rope and tied it up Unto a hickory limb. It happened that the other end Was somehow hitched to him.

The inscription now hangs on the wall of my study, an authentic commemorative of America's Western heritage.

crosses, a headstone, a nicho containing several statues, and a curb or fence surrounding the whole. Every part of the ensemble may be painted, often in contrasting bright colors. This robust, colorful style seems to have its roots in the Baroque art of colonial New Spain, as displayed in sites such as Mission San Xavier del Bac, south of Tucson, completed in 1797. Once constructed, the graves are decorated.

These come in a remarkable variety. Real flowers are used, of course, the favorites being marigolds, which have been "flowers of the dead" in Mexico since Aztec times. But real flowers fade, so artificial ones of all kinds appear on the graves. Nowadays plastic wreaths are the most common, but I have seen flowers made of paper, ribbon, soda straws, plastic shopping bags, beverage can tops, bits of plastic egg carton, and sheet metal. New or faded, they add to the color and beauty of Arizona's cemeteries.

And there's lots more. There is a fascinating cemetery in the formerly all-black lumber mill town of McNary, with wooden markers that look like highly abstract representations of human figures-African-American folk art, in fact. There are all the beautiful cast-iron markers from territorial days that were ordered through the mail by families of means from foundries in St. Louis or Cincinnati. There are elaborate headstones elegantly sculptured in classical, even architectural lines. There are markers made of horseshoes. There are military cemeteries with row upon serried row of uniform stones-uniform, that is, except for the name, date, and implied story on each one.

There are the modern stones with images of cars, motorcycles, cowboy boots, and hunting scenes, each one telling something about the life and tastes of the person beneath. There are the plots owned by special burial societies-social, political, or ethnic. They are all here in Arizona's cemeteries, and they all contribute to our understanding of the story of our state and region-the story, that is to say, of the people who have passed this way before us.

Sunset casts a peaceful glow over Tohono O'odham graves clustered near the Mission of San Xavier del Bac just south of Tucson.