cemetery preservation

Lane Street Project: Stearns Temple Cemetery, Statesville, N.C.

There apparently is no end to abused and endangered historic African-American cemeteries, and I gain both wisdom and commiseration when I talk with others working to reclaim them. Yesterday, at the invitation of Shanetta Summers, I spoke with three dedicated fighters from Statesville, North Carolina, who have come together to save Stearns Temple cemetery.

Cemeteries like Stearns Temple, Odd Fellows, and Vick have many commonalities, but the differences — in land ownership, access, condition, age, etc. — pose interesting quandaries. I hope I was able to pass some useful tips and practices on to the Stearns Temple team, and I learned a couple of things from them that will be useful for Odd Fellows.

My maternal grandmother’s people are from Iredell County and, as we were wrapping up the Zoom call, Shanetta mentioned another cemetery she’s been cleaning up. It was established by an A.M.E. Zion church that was destroyed by Hurricane Hugo in 1989. My ears perked up when she said “Zion Hill,” and I rushed to my genealogy blog. Sure enough, Zion Hill was the cemetery in which my grandmother’s step-great-grandmother Rebecca Colvert was buried in 1917. It’s possible her great-grandfather, Walker Colvert, who died in 1905, was buried there, too.

Lane Street Project: O’Neal Cemetery, Hampton, Georgia.

Though I will always be of Wilson, I have lived in Atlanta nearly all of my adult life. It is very much “home” for me, too, and is a bottomless well of African-American culture and history that often informs the way I process research and work related to Black Wide-Awake and Lane Street Project.

I’ve begun visiting metro Atlanta’s historic African-American burial grounds. How have they weathered exploding population growth, shifting demographics, outmigration, land loss, and other pressures? The ninth in a series — O’Neal African Methodist Episcopal Church Cemetery in Hampton, Georgia.

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During all the time I’ve been in Atlanta, I’ve never been to Atlanta Motor Speedway. Getting to O’Neal required that I skirt the racetrack’s hulking oval on an access road that dead-ended into Lower Woolsey Road. Flaggers controlled that intersection, the first glimpse of the massive construction project that has the cemetery in a chokehold. Traffic was being funneled through a single lane that crept past the site of what will be yet another enormous data center in Henry County.

After a half-mile or so, I spotted O’Neal A.M.E. just inside the tree edge. The church was founded during the early Reconstruction years by freedmen, but this building — or its shell, anyway — may date somewhat later. I’m not a student of African-American vernacular building practices, but it appears to be constructed primarily of a cement stucco over an irregular wall built from chunks of quartz and other fieldstone. There is also evidence of bricks used to form lintels over the windows and to outline a faux arch over the front entrance. Without doubt, O’Neal was built with the congregation’s collective labor, using materials ready to hand. The project wraps around O’Neal cemetery on three sides and possibly encroaches on undocumented burials. Honor Thy Roots Cemetery Preservation, Inc., a local 501(c)(3), is spearheading efforts to protect this sacred space.

O’Neal A.M.E. Church, front elevation. A few charred bits of wood found in a rear addition to the main structure suggest a devastating fire. 

Through the front window looking back toward the nave. There are no internal structures remaining.

The interior of the church.

The front portico, sealed with modern cinderblock.

Were the parallel lines visible at the top of this image made by a notched trowel?

A chunk of quartz encased in mortar in an exterior wall.

Across the road: what I came for. I scrambled up a five-foot embankment to gain the forest floor. Ahead of me, the remaining headstones of O’Neal church cemetery leaned and listed. The oldest marked grave dates to 1871; the last to the 1950s.

Most of the headstones I saw were professionally made and impressive. O’Neal clearly was a congregation with prosperous families.

Thomas A. Fortson’s monument.

“Prof. Thomas A. Fortson A.M. Ph.D. Was Born Jan. 1, 1854 And Died May 13, 1901. He Was Charitable.” Georgia native Fortson is listed as a teacher in the 1900 census of Nashville, Tennessee. He taught at Walden University, formerly known as Central Tennessee College, which housed Meharry Medical College.

Rows of head and foot stones.

Ceasar Fortson Mảr. 29, 1830 June 30, 1900 Gone, But Not Forgotten. Fortson appears in the 1900 census of nearby Woolsey district, Spalding County.

William G. Alexander. Aug. 11, 1902 May 17, 1909 A little time on earth he spent. Till God for him His angel sent. (In the background, you can just see the orange safety fencing separating O’Neal cemetery from the data center construction site, which wraps around it on three sides.)

A broken vault cover.

Y’all know I love a vernacular headstone. There’s a cross carved into the top section; then 1925 in the middle; then OLLIE, a pierced heart, BORN OCT. 3 1900, [illegible]. 

An ornamental wire fence outlining a family plot.

Fieldstone markers.

Photos by Lisa Y. Henderson, July 2026.

Lane Street Project: Ben Mincey’s cleanup work revisited.

Another gift from the Joneses: the aluminum offset printing plates for the 18 February 1989 edition of the Wilson Daily Times, which featured Ben Mincey‘s work to honor his parents at Odd Fellows Cemetery.

On closer look, I see that the photo below was taken in Vick Cemetery. Though the City later was struck by amnesia, the sign clearly states that the property was overseen (if not actually cared for) by “The City of Wilson Cemetery Commission.”

This photo was taken in Odd Fellows, but a very different-looking Odd Fellows than today. The two tall grave markers at center left are those of Della Hines Barnes and Dave Barnes. You’ll notice that, while today they stand in the open, they were then surrounded by trees. A car is visible inside the tree line, likely parked on one of the paths that were used to dump trash in the cemetery.

Below, Ben Mincey stands closer to what is now the Vick Cemetery parking lot (the Barnes markers behind him.) In the foreground, a large flanged metal pipe. In the back, Henry Tart‘s tilting monument.

The work of cemetery citizens.

Listen to this NPR story on our cemetery citizen counterparts in Connecticut here. (Shoutout to Adam Rosenblatt!)

SCOTT SIMON, HOST:

A lot of people may spend Saturday mornings snacking with friends or running errands – or joining us here. But some head to a different location – a neglected cemetery. Meg Dalton reports from one cemetery in New Haven, Connecticut, where volunteers are trying to breathe new life into this space.

SHERILL BALDWIN: Hi.

LAURA LYNN: Hi.

BALDWIN: Are you here for the cleanup?

LYNN: I am.

BALDWIN: If you want to just park so that we’re not blocking, that would be great.

LYNN: OK.

MEG DALTON: Sherill Baldwin walks down a leafy hill. Before her are rows and rows of white stones sticking out of the ground, about the size of a sheet of paper.

BALDWIN: I refer to them as, like, baby teeth because they are not coming in straight, necessarily.

DALTON: Those baby teeth are actually gravestones in a small potter’s field called Blake Street Cemetery.

BALDWIN: It’s where poor people were buried when they couldn’t afford it themselves.

DALTON: The cemetery is small, about an acre. The gravestones are obscured by long grass, overgrown weeds, fallen trees and a lot of trash.

BALDWIN: So I have bags and sticks for picking up things.

DALTON: This morning, Baldwin and two other regular volunteers are here for a litter cleanup at the cemetery.

BALDWIN: And I think the place to start is probably – maybe around the fence line, if you don’t see anything in the side…

GIULIA GAMBALE: OK.

BALDWIN: … And then along sort of the wooded area.

DALTON: Giulia Gambale has a bag in one hand and a trash grabber in the other.

GAMBALE: What is this? Triscuit? Oreo? Trident. See, they like having fresh breath, but just, you know, pick up after yourself.

DALTON: Gambale walks over to the side of the cemetery and spots something unexpected.

GAMBALE: Looks like somebody’s homework is over here (laughter). Little bit of homework. That goes in the bag. What else?

(SOUNDBITE OF UNDERGROWTH RUSTLING)

GAMBALE: I don’t know what this is.

(SOUNDBITE OF UNDERGROWTH RUSTLING)

GAMBALE: More homework?

DALTON: Another volunteer, Laura Lynn, already has a full trash bag.

LYNN: I found a lot of candy wrappers, potato chip bag wrappers, a empty bottle, an empty can, piece of glass that I just picked up.

DALTON: Today, they’re mostly picking up small pieces of trash. But at past litter cleanups, they found air conditioners, even tires. Neglected cemeteries like this one are common in many parts of the United States. But people like Lynn, Gambale and Baldwin are trying to bring new life back to these spaces.

They’re part of a growing social movement of so-called cemetery citizens. That’s a term coined by Adam Rosenblatt. He’s an anthropologist and author of a book about cemetery citizens. According to him, cemetery citizens are people working to restore and honor systemically neglected cemeteries. Some volunteers do this work for personal reasons, like Gambale.

GAMBALE: My dad actually worked in a cemetery for, like, his whole life. And I just, like, learned to really love and respect cemeteries – the history, the architecture.

DALTON: Baldwin says every person’s motivations are unique, but they have a shared goal – to reinsert these spaces into the social fabric.

BALDWIN: You know, everybody’s got different things and different ways of honoring those that have passed. Cemeteries are definitely sacred places.

DALTON: Baldwin hopes Blake Street Cemetery becomes a place not only for the dead but for the living.

For NPR News, I’m Meg Dalton in New Haven, Connecticut.

SIMON: And thanks to Luis de Leon (ph) for recording bird song for that story.

(SOUNDBITE OF J^P^N’S “PRIDEFULL”) Transcript provided by NPR, Copyright NPR.

NPR transcripts are created on a rush deadline by an NPR contractor. This text may not be in its final form and may be updated or revised in the future. Accuracy and availability may vary. The authoritative record of NPR’s programming is the audio record.

Inspiration in Raleigh’s Hillcrest Cemetery.

Kudos to Ruby Powell Greene, who spearheaded efforts to reclaim Raleigh’s historic Hillcrest Cemetery in 2016. Mrs. Greene, who recently turned 92, forged a partnership with Duke Energy Foundation that creates a blueprint for us at Lane Street Project.

My sincere thanks to Willa-Jo Greene Dawkins, a friend from my UNC days, for sharing this article about her mother!