For heroes, and the unfortunate
Every Memorial Day, I buy bunches of small American flags to place on the graves of relatives, plus some friends and acquaintances. This year I bought too many. As a result, I ventured out to Oak Grove Cemetery, just west of downtown Uniontown, a day or two after the holiday to place the remaining flags there.
Years ago, I was approached about writing a history of the cemetery. I declined the offer. But I’m drawn to the place. The cream of early Uniontown society, politics, and business life is buried there.
The centerpiece of Oak Grove Cemetery is a Civil War obelisk encircled by the graves of men who fought at Gettysburg, the Wilderness, in front of Petersburg, and in the vicious guerilla warfare region of western Virginia (now West Virginia).
I know my way around the cemetery, though my knowledge is not encyclopedic. I was unable to find the resting place of James Veech, a 19th century attorney and historian. I found it once, years ago. Not this time, however.
Veech is a favorite of mine. I got to know him from letters he wrote to his wife Mariah, who’s buried next him (if I remember correctly). The letters were composed during the sweltering summer of 1861. Preserved at the Heinz History Center archives in Pittsburgh, the letters chronicle Veech’s role as a paymaster for state troops called to service during the early days of the war between the states
The author of an early history of Fayette County, Veech recalled to Mariah the sight of thousands of troops camping on the grounds of the state capitol in Harrisburg. On one of his trips to Washington, he made the short journey over to Alexandria, Virginia, where some of the early gunplay of the war took place. He secured a piece of the railing from the Marshall House where the young colonel and friend of the Lincolns, Elmer Ellsworth, was killed on a stairwell.
Veech described for Mariah the jolting train rides that carried him ceaselessly between the state and national capitols. It was an ordeal. He longed for the comforts of home in Uniontown.
Maybe I’ll find the Veech grave next year.
I placed a flag on the final resting place of the Semans of Berkeley Street, Thomas and Virginia, whose late, great son James unaccountably befriended me.
I hunted and hunted for the graves of two United States senators, Daniel Sturgeon and William Crow. I finally located them with the aid of the Find a Grave website.
Sturgeon served in the Senate of Clay, Calhoun, and Webster in the 1840s. Crow was there much later, in the early 1920s. Both men were from Uniontown.
Crow was appointed to serve out the term of Philander Knox of Brownsville, who died in office. Crow also died in office. His time in the Senate was disrupted by ill-health. He made just a few roll calls. Confined to his residence at Chalk Hill, Crow was visited there by President Warren Harding over the July 4th holiday in 1922.
A Republican and former state senator, Crow rose to prominence in a tough political environment. He was the monkey wrench in the wheels of progress, his critics said. He was accused by his political foes of all sorts of misdeeds: fatal train wrecks, young heroin addicts, the failure of the state to pass a workers’ compensation bill.
He endured these slings and arrows, but could not overcome the afflictions of the body. Newspaper reports put the number of people attending his burial at 5,000.
The graves of both Sturgeon and Crow were unadorned on the day I placed flags on them. I was mighty glad to do so, whether or not they were worthy. They served honorably in the Senate, which seems in this day and age enough of a recommendation.
I had one flag left, which I placed on the grave of the 19th century congressman Andrew Stewart.
In the vicinity of the Stewart grave I stumbled on the graves of the Playford family – Robert W., the father; mother Nancy; and their three daughters, Nancy, 12, Margaret, 9, and Pauline, 6.
They died on Nov. 13, 1930. Robert shot his wife and daughters before pulling the trigger on himself. The Playfords lived in a big house on Cleveland Avenue. A vestryman at St. Peter’s Episcopal Church, a successful attorney and banker, Robert was distraught over the possible loss of his fortune, the story goes.
The murders took place at night. Nancy and the three children were shot in bed. If the girls were awake, I shudder to think what may have raced through their minds. “Hello, father. What are you doing, father? But I love you, father.”
Richard Robbins lives in Uniontown. He can be reached at dick.l.robbins@gmail.com.