The Sunday Spook

The cemetery at the center of town was, well, the talk of the town. It was the center of peace, calm, and tranquility, regardless of the mood of the townspeople. In fact, most people not living in this town went out of their way to avoid it. This town was known for its violence and crime, being home to multiple rival families, feuding for reasons long forgotten.

The cemetery located at the center of this town was arranged in a circular pattern, with lush green grass, immaculately maintained headstones, and concrete benches surrounding the edges of the spherical lawn. During daylight hours, one would be hard-pressed to find an open spot on any bench. Neighbors sat side-by-side, showing their respects to those who have passed, some at the hands of the families seated next to them. Yes, the cemetery at the center of town was the one place where the peace was not disturbed, problems not addressed, and respect was abundant.

The council members of this little town were oft-confused by the loss of tension as one approached the cemetery. “How”, inquired the mayor, “Can a town so rife with violence be so peaceful at the sight of the cemetery?”

The police chief knew something the mayor didn’t know, and finally decided the time was right to share his insight. “Mr. Mayor, it is not so surprising that the cemetery is rife with peace while the town is rife with strife. The spirits within the burrows of the cemetery know the value of peace. They cannot speak this truth, so they spread their spirits out, surrounding the lawn with the calm and tranquility we see daily at the center of this town. Their spirits rule the roost, and the peace that is there cannot be broken by any human force”.

Over the next year, the town lost its reputation for the violence and the strife. Neighboring residents were no longer afraid to take the short route through it, opting not to travel miles out of their way to avoid it. The solution wasn’t one of uprising, or political upheaval. The solution was much, much simpler than that:

It was simply to build a cemetery at every outer edge of the town, which thus became enveloped in the loving arms of the spiritual world.

The Sunday Spook

The sounds of the little neighborhood by the train tracks were typical of your everyday, working-class neighborhood. Children’s laughter and screams of “Tag!” and “You’re IT!” were heard from every corner, while adolescent strife played out in the music as the teens washed cars and shot hoops. Dogs barked at the threat of any intrusion upon normal life, followed by their masters’ admonitions to be quiet.

Life was good in this not-so-sleepy town of Ghostly Hollows. That is, it was good if you lived here. And if you didn’t? Well, not so much.

The four streets leading into the Hollows looked normal enough, and they were actually in quite good repair. But just let one misplaced soul cross its boundaries and the basis of the development’s name is soon made clear.

Upon the touch of a stranger’s shoe, the road will roll up, swallowing the intruder whole.

Upon the roll of a stray car’s tire (or truck or motorcycle or golf cart, if you will), the street lights bend at the base, pounding the invading machine into the ground, never to be released from the grasps of the souls beneath the tar.

Upon the breeze made by a migrating bird the trees suddenly spring to life, snatching the poor critter right out of the air before it can even make a sound.

Yet in this strange little hamlet the residents came and went as they pleased. Life was normal for them and no one thought things strange. In fact, they liked the privacy the Hollows provided, and were often praise-full when they thought about the reason behind the strange occurrences at the slightest hint of a stranger’s breath:

The fact that the neighborhood’s inlets were few, and the ones that came through were accessed only by crossing through one of the cemeteries planted at each of the four corners of Ghostly Hollows.

I Interrupt This Program

I have a special announcement for all of my geneablogging friends, my non-blogging friends, my readers and anyone else who stumbles across this post. Most of you are aware that I am fanatical about my dog, Izzie. So fanatical, in fact, that he has his own blog. I’m a fan of dogs, and hate to see any animal suffering.

The economy of late has been, as we all know, rather tight lately. People are losing their jobs, their homes, and quite possibly, losing weight as they struggle to keep food on their tables. Thankfully, there are food programs to assist with the latter for many families.

The same is not always true of our pets. Dogs and cats are being abandoned or surrendered at alarming rates. Often, it’s foreclosures that do the pets in. Often, it’s simply the cost of providing for them. A 2007-08 survey by the American Pet Products Manufacturing Association estimated basic annual expenses for dog ownership run $1,425, and cat ownership $990 (Maryland Newsline Business).

Many, if not most, animal shelters try to provide struggling families with emergency supplies of food if it means the difference between one more pet "in custody" and maintaining a pet’s home. But many, if not most, animal shelters use donated food to feed the pets in their care and cannot meet every need for every family.

Tucson is lucky. There are a couple of food programs to assist with feeding pets when families are struggling. I am lucky, as well, to have an opportunity to help feed Tucson’s pets. The Hermitage Cat Shelter in Tucson has been around for over 30 years, and one of their programs is called Food For People’s Pets. Its aim is to provide some relief to families who struggle to feed their pets (cats and dogs), in hopes that the families will be able to keep the pets as opposed to surrendering, or worse, abandoning, them. This program is in need of some re-vamping, and I hope to work with the shelter’s staff to do just that.

There is now a blog dedicated to the Food For People’s Pets program. I hope to make it a place for people to learn about pet nutrition, the prevalence of animal hunger, solutions to the problem, events of the program, and spotlights of the program sponsors. While hunger in animals will be addressed, it will be done so in a respectful, family-friendly manner; no “shock and awe” tactics such as graphic photographs will be used.

Please, bookmark the blog at http://www.feedingpeoplespets.blogspot.com/ and visit often. It’s just getting off the ground, but I want to make it a true showcase for the good that people’s donations do. I also, admittedly, hope to make it an accessible way to donate to the program. Towards this end there is a link on the blog page to the “Network For Good” badge that is assigned to The Hermitage Cat Shelter. From this badge, one can designate donations to the Food For People’s Pets program. I also have this link on my other blogs and here, so please, if you can, donate $5 to the program. Or donate a bag of pet food to a program in your area if you have one. I would be crushed if I had to surrender Izzie for lack of food, and I hate to think of something so simple being so far out of reach for pet owners everywhere.

Thanks for listening. I now return you to your regular programming.

Ancestral Delectables

The Geneablogger cookbook is HERE! Thirty-Five recipes from Eighteen geneabloggers! Wow. What a feat. It is available via download at THIS SITE! It is in .pdf format so you will need the Acrobat Reader to view it. You can choose to print it up yourself, copy it to disc and have a copy place print and bind it, or use an online service such as lulu.com to upload it, print it, bind it, and ship it.

This wound up being a bigger project than I had imagined, and I enlisted the help of a few geneabloggers to assist. Special thanks to Julie Cahill Tar, footnoteMaven, and Thomas MacEntee for their assistance with editing, graphic design, and technical guru.

I hope you enjoy the submissions, the photos, the stories, and of course, the recipes. I can tell you I've already tried one and it was delicious.

The Sunday Spook

The library at the end of the street was a popular place. There was a huge children’s section, and volunteers were on hand every day after school to read to the children and conduct activities related to the stories they’d read. There was a room with several computers for people to use on a sign-up basis. There were tables and chairs in the middle so people could bring their books and papers back to conduct research. There was another room with newspapers and magazines, and comfortable fabric lounge chairs. Finally, there was a big section in the back with microfiche films and machines. There were archives of newspapers, family biographies, and computers with access to genealogy websites. This was indeed a very popular place.

This library was different from others also in that it was open from sun-up to sundown. But because of legends of strange happenings when darkness took hold, they were pretty strict about not letting a soul through the doors before the morning dusk was whisked away and just as strict about ensuring every living, moving being was out the doors before the sun took its final bow. This created quite a problem with the staff of this very popular library.

You see, the no-one-enters-this-building-before-daybreak-or-after-sundown rule was enforced even with the staff! The manager opened the door for the workers at the same time as they opened the door for the patrons. The manager kicked out the workers at the exact same time as they kicked out the patrons. It didn’t matter at night if the library hadn’t been cleaned up and if books were all in-disarray. The whole building must be emptied every evening before dark without fail.

It was said that the library looks quite peaceful in the darkest hours of the night; the architects and engineers who built it made it so the lighting took on a special glow at night that was intended to bring calm and peace. And calm and peace it did bring. To every area of the library but one:

The genealogy section.

This section was too busy at night to be peaceful and calm. While the other areas of the library were silent and unmoving – a situation that would be ideal for the dedicated patron seeking a retreat from the noise of the day -- the spirits that took hold of the genealogy section were hard at work. While researchers spent valuable time each day poring through the films and print to find just one tidbit of information, the spirits spent valuable time each night relocating and hiding the data that was removed during the day, making sure the genealogists would never completely finish their work.

The movement within the library after dark was quite spooky; hence the strictness in obeying the hours of operation. The spirits, though, knew just what they were doing. If the genealogists couldn’t find the information they sought, they’d have to come back. The spirits, you see, were not scary spirits, just lonely spirits. They were content to scare off the patrons at dark, knowing they’d be back for more at the sun’s first morning kiss.

The Sunday Spook

A strange phenomenon took hold of the World Wide Web’s GeneaBlogger community. It all started on November 1, which is also the day many cultures recognize those who have passed on.

Linda was visiting the Christian Cemetery in Williamsport, Pickaway County, Ohio on a dark and gloomy day. She was busy reading the inscription of one marker that honored veterans of past wars. She wanted to take a picture of the stone, and while she was preparing her camera, a stream of light appeared over the stone that sat in front of her. When she looked up, the sun was nowhere to be found.

Meanwhile, Midge was over in Bridgewater, Massachusetts looking at a gravestone of a WWI veteran, Dudley W. Stewart. It was as dark and gloomy a day in Massachusetts as it was in Pickaway County, Ohio. Suddenly, as Midge took a photograph of Mr. Stewart, a light shone down with no source to be found.

In Mississippi, on a gloomy and dark day, Janice was photographing granite memorials to war heroes, including one from the Revolutionary War. She too experienced the eerie sensation of a stream of light amidst the cloudy sky.

Diane in British Columbia, Canada experienced a similar phenomenon while visiting the granite memorials dedicated to the local high school’s war heroes. It was, again, a dark and gloomy day, except for that moment of brightness.

That night as all four genealogists were home uploading their photos to their Cemetery blogs, the realization hit that four people from four different parts of North America felt a strange phenomenon of a burst of light at four different cemeteries on a dark and gloomy day.

Linda, Midge, Janice and Diane were a little freaked out after the events of the day were over. They were glued to the television news as they waited for an explanation for this very odd phenomenon. Nothing was reported, however, and the genealogists were left wondering how long it would be before they returned to any cemetery on a dark and gloomy day.

The next day brought more of the same in terms of weather in British Columbia, Ohio, Mississippi and Massachusetts. It also brought four more trips to military graves from four dedicated genealogists seeking to honor soldiers who’d passed.

The Sunday Spook

In the midst of a bustling old city, there was a cozy cottage at the end of a dark and lonely street. It never used to be dark and lonely, as neighbors on either side and down the street once kept it quite busy. But that all changed after Harry died.

Harry was the original owner of this little cottage; he was the first on the street to move in. But it didn’t take long before other houses were built up and occupied by very nice, friendly people. Harry raised his kids here in this house. His wife had died shortly before he moved in; it was said he’d moved in because he needed a fresh start in a new house. He and his children had a very good life in this cozy little cottage at the end of the street.

The children grew up and moved away. Harry remained in his home, content to be in the place that had known so many happy times. In time, Harry took his last breath and passed peacefully in his sleep. The house remained, the children refusing to sell it to others who might not be as kind to this little cottage as their father had been. So it sat where it was built.

Over the next several years, the other homes began to fail. Foundations cracked, roofs caved in. The inhabitants that once were Harry’s neighbors left their homes, never to be seen again. The neighborhoods surrounding this street fought the city hall to have the houses, which had become quite the eyesore, torn down. And torn down they were. One-by-one, the walls came down, leaving slabs of dirt in their wake.

Except for Harry’s house. In the midst of the destruction brought on by aging, abandoned houses, Harry’s home remained intact. The paint looked as fresh and new as the day it had been painted, the roof as sturdy and protective as ever. The windows were glistening and the lawn manicured.

No one understood this, as the house had remained empty since the day they took poor Harry’s failed body away. The kids hadn’t returned to clean it, nor was a single workman ever seen on the property. Yet the house stood proud, surviving the wrecking crews that destroyed its companions.

Life in the area went on. Though once a bustling city, it is now a quiet little town. And on the rare occasion when a stranger visits, the residents make sure to tell the story of the house that refused to die: The cozy little cottage at the end of a dark and lonely street.

The Sunday Spook

The cemetery at the end of the street was much loved by the neighborhood residents. Most people are scared of cemeteries at night, but not the folks on Kline Road. They found something peaceful about the small parcel of land, housing the remains of the founding family of the area. Until the night of October 30.

It was one night before Halloween the year the things changed at the beloved cemetery. See, the cemetery was lodged between two homes on the east side of the street. On this one night, as the resident of the corner house was walking past the cemetery to get to the house on the other side, he was spooked by a sudden, momentary silence, followed by a howling wind which was followed by an eerie screeching sound coming from the center of the cemetery. Unsettled by feelings of fright at this normally peaceful site, he hurried on his way.

An hour later he was returning home. Before he reached the edge of the cemetery he paused, thinking that maybe he should cross the street and walk past from there. “Oh don’t be ridiculous, it was your imagination”. And he proceeded to walk past. But just as soon as he crossed the edge of the cemetery, he was spooked by a sudden, momentary silence, followed by a howling wind which was followed by an eerie screeching sound coming from the center of the cemetery. He bolted home, locking the door to his house. He hurriedly called the emergency line, stating that someone was being swallowed up by the once-calm cemetery.

When police arrived at his home he recounted his story. The police were annoyed by this man, calling emergency services for an imaginary spook. Still, the officers decided to check it out. As they reached the edge of the cemetery, they stopped for just a moment to glance at each other, and then proceeded to walk past the cemetery. They walked by several times, together and one-by-one, but nothing out of the ordinary occurred. “In fact”, the officers told the resident, “if I felt anything at all it was a sense of peace as I crossed the path adjacent to the cemetery”.

The next morning he walked by the cemetery the same as he had the night before, but nothing was amiss. Still, he was leery. He put up signs on either side of the cemetery, knowing it was Halloween and all the neighborhood kids would be traipsing by to seek their sweet fortunes. The signs said “Warning! Spirits are upset. Cross the street before passing!”

He noticed that not a single child or adult paid any heed to his sign as they walked past the cemetery with no ill effects. About halfway through the evening, when there was a break in the trick-or-treating, he decided to walk past the cemetery. As he reached the edge, he was spooked by a a sudden, momentary silence, followed by a howling wind which was followed by an eerie screeching sound coming from the center of the cemetery. He ran back home to safety.

As the night progressed, children and parents paraded across the path between his and the house on the other side of the cemetery. As one group left his house, he asked if they could join them as they walked along, and they agreed. As they approached the edge of the cemetery, he was spooked by a sudden, momentary silence, followed by a howling wind which was followed by an eerie screeching sound coming from the center of the cemetery. “STOP!” he yelled, as the group stopped and stared at him. Though not one of the others in the group heard or felt a thing, they looked in horror at the man standing in the path in front of the cemetery, his hair straight in the air and shirt blowing in the wind.

Looking at each other and noticing no one else feeling the effects of any wind, they turned and ran, never crossing the path of the cemetery again.

Ghost in the Graveyard

I spent some time tonight researching the search terms "Ghost In The Graveyard" Childhood Game. I was trying to remember the exact way we used to play this game.I remember the way the game was played: First we gathered up as many kids in the neighborhood as we could. Then we outlined the boundaries of the game: usually our house and Barry's next door. Our lots were about 3/4 of an acre each, so this gave us plenty of room. We identified "home base", which was usually a patch in front of Barry's house just beyond the clothesline. Finally, someone was chosen to be the "Ghost". The non-ghosts would sit in a circle at home base and begin a little chant while the ghost went to hide. When the chant was finished, the non-ghosts would go search for the ghost. When one spotted the ghost, one would run back to home base, yelling "Ghost in the Graveyard" which would in turn prompt the other kids to run back to home base. Anyone touched by the ghost became a ghost themselves and thus you had more obstacles to home base. It was a very good thing to be the first one to spot the ghost (unless you didn't spot him/her until he/she touched you!).

The part I do not remember is the chant. All the websites that described this game just say it was counting the clock: One O'Clock, Two O'Clock, Three O'Clock, etc until midnight which was the cue to start searching. Ours was a bit different in that some of the times were replaced with rhymes adding up to the final line signaling the start of the search (anyone catch the rhymes in that description?):

One O'Clock, Two O'Clock, ______________________
Five O'Clock, Six O'Clock, Ghost is almost here
Ten O'Clock, Eleven O'Clock, GHOST APPEAR!

I can't for the life of me remember the exact chant. Anyone around here know?

Memorial Marker?

The above marker is important to me for a few reasons. Yes, it belongs to an ancestor of mine (my first cousin once removed; my great-grandfather John J. DOYLE's grandson). Yes, it was of a soldier who'd died during war (WWII). It is also, however, the photograph that gave me my start in genealogy. The story is relayed in an early post of my Oracle of OMcHodoy blog, and can be found HERE.

While back in my early research days I was intent on figuring out the subject of this marker and his relationship to me, tonight I ponder other things about this photograph. Such as: Where is it? Is it at the site of his death? What is that structure behind it? Who took the photograph and when?

Hopefully, the Blogger "Click-Photo-To-Enlarge" feature is working (it often doesn't) and you can click on the above image to enlarge. Engraved on this marker is John's Name, Rank, Serial Number, and Place and Date of Death. I really don't know what the information under the serial number is, though I suspect it has something to do with the unit he was with during his service.

I also know some basic information on how John J. DOYLE died in Chenkung, China on 18 Nov 1943, thanks to a preliminary report of the incident causing his death, obtained from Accident-Report.com:

INQUIRY NUMBER: 07-431118-513

DATE: November 18, 1943

AIRCRAFT: C-46A

SERIAL NUMBER: 41-24663

PILOT: John A Visk

CREW MEMBER: John J Doyle

LOCATION: Chingkung, China

REMARKS: Dove into ground

TOTAL PAGES OF REPORT:10 (Usually includes routing slips and other memos)

I could order a full copy of the report for about $26.00, and I really should. I think it would be fascinating.

At any rate, I know of two other markers for this same John J. DOYLE. I believe they are both at St. Mary's Help of Christians Cemetery in Pittston, Luzerne County, PA. In fact, I'm almost sure they are, but why would he have two? It looks like the one on the left is newer; was it placed in much more recent times to preserve his memory and the information on it in anticipation of the gravestone's ultimate demise? Or is it in some other place?

The answer would probably be very easy to find if I could remember who sent it to me! I think the one on the left was sent by a cousin in NJ who travels to Pittston often and the one on the right was sent by a cousin in Pittston, but am not sure. I'll email them to find out.

But that does remind me: It's time to start my next major project: Reviewing every entry in my genealogy data base and attempt to re-create the sources of my information. My earlier entries were not carefully cited, I'm afraid.