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South-View Cemetery. November 15, 2014

This past weekend, I visited South-View Cemetery with a few friends. South-View was granted its charter on April 21, 1886 and so became the first for-profit cemetery for African Americans in the United States. Beneath the names of the six men who established this charter reads its significance: “To provide a respectable place for Christian burials.” In chartering South-View as an African American burial ground, black people could enter through the front gates, did not have to wade through swampy land, and accept the many forms of degradation that undermine attempts to commemorate black American lives.

I was originally drawn to South-View because it was the site of Martin Luther King Jr.’s original burial. I had been interested in the route his body took from Memphis, to Sisters Chapel on the campus of Spelman College, to Ebenezer Baptist Church, to Morehouse College, and finally to South-View. King’s body resided in South-View until early January in 1970 when Mrs. King had his body reinterred at was has become the Martin Luther King Jr., Center for Nonviolent Social Change.

I read a very interesting article in the Washington Post a few years back about an aging caretaker of a rural African-American cemetery in Loudoun County, Virginia. For more than fifty years, Vernon Peterson, 80, has taken care of Rock Hill cemetery where African Americans have buried their kin since 1889. Upon ending his service to the United States Army, Peterson returned home and found the cemetery in disrepair. He immediately began weeding around the graves and for $50 a year to meet expenses, he continues to maintain the cemetery.

I was struck by one of the photographs accompanying the article where Peterson is shown plotting the graves of every single person buried in the cemetery in a book to be given to his successor:

Tracy A. Woodward. The Washington Post.

The photographer has captured the eloquence of Mr. Peterson’s quiet work, the care he shows in making a record of lives. His hand unhurried, Peterson enters the names of many people he never knew, and some he did, between neatly drawn lines that strive for the order he endeavors to give the places where their bodies rest.

I am intrigued by Mr. Peterson’s use of time. I admire the discipline it takes to honor self-given tasks. School and work often impose deadlines that force action, without such pressures, some tasks may never be completed. Peterson, on the other hand, is his own master since he directs his own tasks. He’s a wonderful example of how to be free.