Why Remember?

“Memory is an act of redemption. What has been remembered has been saved from nothingness. What has been forgotten has been abandoned.” – John Berger, from About Looking

My daughter asked me once, “Why are you so interested in the ancestors?” She was genuinely puzzled, and truthfully, once you get into the genealogical mire of dates and names, it can appear to be mindless preoccupation with past glory. My grandparents’ generation could rattle off the ancestors, and in this part of the country, great pride was attached to this ability. The elders sat the young ones down, or paraded them past the portraits in the hallway, attaching story to the names.

The photograph illustrating this post was taken behind the tombstone of my grandfather many generations ago now, the Reverend William Hutson (1720-1761) who was a minister of this historic circle of a church on Meeting Street. The Circular Church, also called The White Meeting House, it was home to a mixture of Protestant dissenters that included English Congregationalists, French Huguenots, and Scottish Presbyterians. The magnificently preserved slate carved stones on either side of William Hutson’s, are of my grandmother, Mary Woodward, and his second wife, Mary Sarrazin Bryan Prioleau. The graveyard is one of the jewels of Charleston, containing some of the most beautiful headstone imagery in America.

But much of my generation, with the revolutionary eyes of the 1960’s, were just not interested in hearing about history that was complicated by the South’s role in segregation. Consequently, many of us do not know the family histories by heart anymore. But the ancestors simply called me, when I tripped over a headstone of a Woodward cousin, in of all places, Miami, Florida, while in college working on a photography project. One might call it serendipity. I remain motivated by the colorful stories that appear as unexpected surprises, like finding artists among us (more later on 18th century Rosella Torrans!) and I suppose I am hoping to revive the Lowcountry tradition of knowing our histories. Whoopi Golberg said, about her own complicated history as an African American, ” When it becomes habit in us to be able to rattle off our individual histories it will calm our spirits…….” Indeed. The supporting spirits of the ancestors, too, are here, with my every step.

Charlotte and the stonecarvers

Imagine my delight, after climbing over a wall and through briars, to actually find the now rather secret cemetery in Charleston, where some of the cousins are buried…but then, to stumble upon this breathtakingly beautiful headstone dedicated to a child named Charlotte. Who were the stonecarvers, the artmakers who created some of the most beautiful grave markers in Charleston, and truly, in America? Most of the gravestones are unsigned, but there are enough beautiful markers in this city to make me want to learn more about the makers, as well as the remembered. I do know that in 1776 Charleston was the wealthiest city, per capita, in the colonies. Many of the wealthiest citizens ordered their tombstones from the great New England carvers, so Charleston has the largest collection of New England stones outside of New England. Carolina offered unfettered religious freedom, which means there are nine different 18th century graveyards representing nine faiths. This is but one tiny graveyard, for a church that burned down many years ago. But there are surprises at every turn, in shape, in imagery, in symbolism. And here, wonderfully, is my name, called once more. Little Charlotte Keith Heyward, I can now tell a little of your brief story, that you died at just 6, in 1859. What a delight to be inspired to research your story, so deeply connected, it turns out to my own family, the Hutsons, Barnwells, Gibbes and Woodwards. Such serendipity!