I don’t talk a whole whole lot about Rountree Cemetery proper, but it is never out of mind. Here it is, near its boundary with Odd Fellows. That’s the City of Wilson’s power pole, punched in in 1997. What you see, festooned in wisteria, effectively belongs to the City by virtue of a “perpetual easement of right-of-way” it obtained the same year. Behind the pole is a pile of headstones.
Photo by Lisa Y. Henderson, May 2026.
Four years. It seems simultaneously as if he’s been gone forever and just left yesterday. A couple of weeks ago, I was going through a file and found a note I’d scribbled about my dad:
All of us had to be somewhere. The whole family. And we couldn’t be late, so it dismayed me. I was the first one in the shower, and the water was rising around my ankles, and I thought, “Damn.” I heard my mother in the hallway, asking — water was backing up in her bathroom, too.
Let me back up. I was not really first in the shower. My father was. Hours ago. Long before the rest of us even turned over good, and he was out the house, in the yard, probably raking. Breathing the air before everybody else breathed it, as he liked to say.
I was concerned by what’s happening with the drain, but I soldiered on because I was shampooed to the hilt, and when I finally rinsed everything out of all this hair, I cut the water and heard: the plumber.
Before I could even step on the bathmat, the plumber was at the house, with a crew, waiting. The main drain pipe was clogged, but they made quick work of that and were gone. Thirty minutes, tops, from crisis to resolution. Even my mother, who had seen much of this kind of thing over decades of marriage, was amazed: “Red, where’d you find that plumber so quick?” (And on a Saturday.)
“Wait,” he said. “I’m your husband. I ain’t no joke.”
And then: “I can get stuff done. That’s why you married me, girl!”
(A few hours later, when she remarked on the house being a little humid, he said, “You want me to get somebody to get the muggy out, too?,” and they both laughed.)
If you knew my father, you know he had a saying for every circumstance. This fell under:
“You gotta get up. You get up, you can get something done. And you gotta know somebody. I know folk. I been here all my life….”
Rederick Caswell Henderson was born in Wilson, and he died in Wilson, four years ago today. I miss my father bone-deep, but the day seldom passes that I don’t grin ear to ear and give a nod of thanks as one of his aphorisms pops into my head. Rest in power, Daddy.
Oh! Look! Odd Fellows Cemetery awash in dandelions! Lovely, isn’t it?
Well. Not really.
Odd Fellows is a graveyard. Not a meadow. It’s overgrown. And our lawnmower has conked out. Until Friends of Lane Street Project (FoLSP) raises funds for a new one, won’t you consider stopping by to mow the front? Our last cleanup of the season in Saturday, May 23, but you can come whenever convenient.
Thank you!
Photo by Lisa Y. Henderson, May 2026.
When I first hit Wilson, I always pay my respects to my father and grandmother at Rest Haven and to the dead of Vick, Odd Fellows, and Rountree Cemeteries, and I always check on 303 Elba Street.
My family owned this little house from 1908 until 1938. My grandmother grew up here, Jack Henderson lived here when he first arrived in Wilson, and my father and his siblings were born here. It was, as the old folk say in Wide-Awake, my family’s “home house.”
Friday, for the first time since I’ve been paying attention, a For Sale sign hung out front.
If I were burning money, maybe I’d hand over $38,000 for a tiny house that needs a complete gut to be habitable. As it is, I’ll just pull up to the curb to pay homage to Hattie Henderson Ricks and Jesse and Sarah Henderson Jacobs as long as 303 stands.
Photo by Lisa Y. Henderson, May 2026.
Journal and Guide (Norfolk, Va.), 11 May 1949.
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Was a mother buried here?
We will never know, but today we remember and honor all the mothers buried in Vick, Odd Fellows, and Rountree Cemeteries, and vow to continue the search for all lost graves in these grounds.
Photos of the disturbed gravesite in Vick Cemetery and bits of its marble surround taken May 2026 by Lisa Y. Henderson.
The Afro-American (Baltimore, Md.), 30 May 1953.
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In the 1910 census of Wilson township, Wilson County: on Saratoga Road, Jesse Barnes, 37, farmer; wife Sarah, 31, public school teacher; and children Lucresia, 16, Ned, 14, Nancy, 12, Lemon, 11, Jessie Bell, 10, Maggie May, 7, and Ardenia, 5.
In the 1920 census of Wilson township, Wilson County: on Saratoga Road, farmer Jesse Barnes, 46; wife Sarah, 47; and children Ned, 23, Nancy, 22, Lemon, 20, Jessie Belle, 18, Maggie, 15, Ardenia, 13, Frank, 11, James, 6, and Mildred, 3.
On 17 September 1924, Jonah Pender, 24, of Wilson, married Ardenna Barnes, 20, of Wilson, daughter of Jesse R. Barnes, in Wilson. Presbyterian minister A.H. George performed the ceremony, and James O. Bunn, Mack Jones, and Rosa J. Hussey witnessed.
Comodore Pender died 17 December 1925 in Wilson. Per his death certificate, he was born 25 November 1925 in Wilson to Jonah Pender and Ardena Barnes; lived at 718 Viola; and was buried in Barnes Cemetery, Wilson.
In the 1930 census of Wilson township, Wilson County: on Lane Street, Johnnie Pender, 29, tobacco factory laborer; wife Ardena, 24; and children Robert L., 5, Therado [Theodore], 4, Henry T., 3, Louvena, 18 months, and Katie, 1 month.
In the 1940 census of Wilson township, Wilson County: widow Ardelia Pender, 33, tobacco factory laborer, and children Robert, 16, grocery store delivery boy, Theodore, 15, Henry, 13, and Luvenia, 11.
Theodore Pender died 4 November 1944 in Goldsboro, Wayne County. Per his death certificate, he was born 25 November 1925 in Wilson to Jonah Pender and Ardelia Barnes; was single; lived at 1016 Robinson [Roberson]; and worked for J.C. Penney Company.
In 1945, Richard Henry Terry Pender registered for the World War II in Wilson County. Per his registration card, he was born 31 August 1927 in Wilson County; lived at 1016 Robertson [Roberson] Street; his contact was Ardelia Pender; and worked for Bissette Drug Company, Nash Street.
In the 1950 census of Wilson township, Wilson County: at 1016 Roberson, widow Ardelia Pender, 45, and children Richard, 23, operates washer at laundry, Luvenia, 20, Katie, 17, Dorothy, 15, Jessie, 16, grocery store clerk, Paul, 15, grocery store clerk, Harry, 12, and James, 11.
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In the 1930 census of Taylor township, Wilson County: farm laborer James Hays, 23; wife Lula M., 21, a schoolteacher; and sons Maris, 5, and Royland, 3.
In the 1940 census of Wilson, Wilson County: at 112 South Fourth Street, fish peddler James Hayes, 40; wife Lula, 39; sons Morris, 14, and Roland, 13.
Maurice Branch Hayes and Roland Esmon Hayes registered for the World War II draft in Wilson County as they reached their 18th birthdays. Both identified their mother Lula M. Hayes of 903 Viola Street as their contact person. Maurice worked as a busboy at Cherry Hotel and Roland at O’Brien Factory during tobacco season.
In the 1950 census of Cedar Creek township, Cumberland County, N.C.: Marice Hayes, 24, elementary school principal, lodger in household of Joe and Maud McMillan.
On 19 August 1951, Maurice B. Hayes, 26, of Wilson, son of James and Lula Hayes, married Hazel McDonald, 20, of Fayetteville, N.C., daughter of Hector and Callie McDonald.
Centennial Bronco yearbook, Fayetteville State University, 1977.
Per Rev. Dr. Hayes’ obituary:
“The Rev. Hayes was born May 12, 1925, in Wilson to the late James Hayes and Lula Mae Hayes. He was the former pastor of Baptist Union Missionary Baptist Church and was also a former principal in Hoke County and a professor at Fayetteville State University. He earned a bachelor’s degree from Fayetteville State Teachers College, a master’s degree from New York University and a doctorate degree from North Carolina State University. He was also a member of Phi Beta Sigma fraternity and served in the Navy, where he received an honorable discharge in August 1945.”
Image courtesy of Veterans of World War II Wilson County, spiral-bound volume, Wilson County Public Library.
In this series, which will post on occasional Wednesdays, I populate the landscape of Wilson County with imaginary “historical markers” commemorating people, places, and events significant to African-American history or culture.
We been here.
Second oldest active African Methodist Episcopal Zion church in Wilson. Former sanctuary stood here on land purchased in 1909 from Rev. O.L.W. Smith, former consul to Liberia and A.M.E.Z. presiding elder.
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Image courtesy of Veterans of World War II Wilson County, spiral-bound volume, Wilson County Public Library.