It Shall Be Well With Them That Fear God

This memorial image of a deceased woman laid out in the parlor of her home was taken by Sterling of Beaver Falls, PA, most likely in the 1910-1920 era. The original image measures about 8 by 9 inches and comes on a 12 by 14 inch photograph mount. The photographer’s name and city are embossed in the lower right corner.

This is a fine example of the tradition of “laying out” the body at home, which many people continued to do long after funeral homes came into existence. On the wall hangs a cardboard plaque with a quote from Ecclesiastes: “It Shall Be Well With Them That Fear God”. A framed portrait of a baby can also be seen. The room is nicely appointed with Victorian wallpaper, rugs, lacy curtains, and the family’s piano. Opening the window to allow the sunlight in was probably the photographer’s idea and it definitely adds to the artistry of the image.

The casket is dramatically propped up to raise the head - this was probably done to increase the visibility of her face for the photograph. The ornately shaped casket, which is covered in fabric, features a two-piece removable lid. The upper part of the lid can be seen standing against the wall. Easter lilies figure prominently in the floral tributes, and this death probably occurred in the spring, when lilies would have been readily available.
© 2009, copyright Stephen Mills

Empty Chairs

This lonesome image affects one emotionally, reminding us that death is essentially a solitary experience, both for the deceased and for those most impacted by the loss. This snapshot depicts a fresh burial from the 1920s; it came from an Austin, Texas estate and was developed by Fox Photo of San Antonio. After the last rites, one or two close family members probably stayed to witness the closing of the grave, and they memorialized the final, solemn moment through this photograph. This calls to mind the famous poem Solitude by Ella Wheeler Wilcox:

Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone.
For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,
But has trouble enough of its own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on the air.
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care.

Rejoice, and men will seek you;
Grieve, and they turn and go.
They want full measure of all your pleasure,
But they do not need your woe.
Be glad, and your friends are many;
Be sad, and you lose them all.
There are none to decline your nectared wine,
But alone you must drink life's gall.

Feast, and your halls are crowded;
Fast, and the world goes by.
Succeed and give, and it helps you live,
But no man can help you die.
There is room in the halls of pleasure
For a long and lordly train,
But one by one we must all file on
Through the narrow aisles of pain.

© 2009, copyright Stephen Mills, poem excepted

Burial in a Country Cemetery near Whitewright, Texas, about 1895

This wonderful old image is identified on the back, in period handwriting, only as “Whitewright Tex.” Regrettably, there is no further information as to the identity of the deceased or the cemetery. Whitewright is in Grayson County, Texas (due north of Dallas), but very close to the Grayson-Fannin county line, and this cemetery could be in either county. Below is the uncropped image including the mounting board.


There is a sizable crowd, organized in an interesting fashion, gathered to witness the interment of the deceased. Generally speaking, the women and girls are on the left, most wearing white bonnets with streamers, and the men and boys are on the right. In the center, near the casket, are a mix of people, presumably the nearest relatives. There are two black men in the back center of the photo. This is a strikingly artistic image, with lots of vertical correlation between the trees in the background and the brush in the foreground. Below is the cropped image without the mounting board.


A closer crop of the casket area reveals the large mound of dirt from the grave and the casket propped up unevenly over the grave using planks and pieces of wood. Two women dressed in black mourning from head to toe are seated at the head of the casket, which is propped higher than the foot, and a small girl is seated near the other end. Other implements of burial, such as poles, more planks, and what appears to be a white tarp, are scattered around.

This image, taken well before the rise of the modern funeral industry in this part of Texas, effectively conveys the physical labor that was required in those days to bury a person. Death and burial was very much a community event at this time, and the hands-on work of burial was shared by the men of the family and their neighbors. In addition to digging and refilling the grave, the casket had to be lowered by hand using poles, planks, or rope and pulley devices. Old cemeteries are not just places of burial - they are places where our ancestors socialized, shared their grief, and engaged in hard physical labor.


© 2009, copyright Stephen Mills

Precious in the Sight of the Lord is the Death of His Saints

This sweet Victorian card was found in an old candy box, along with memorial cards, obituaries, and other paper keepsakes, from an Austin, Texas estate.
© 2009, copyright Stephen Mills

A Double Funeral in Texas About 1930

These old snapshots turned up at my local antique mall for 35 cents each. I’ve identified these as Texas photos, because they were developed at the Fox Studio in San Antonio and are so stamped on the back. Fox used the familiar, trademark border that can be seen in the photos, and they were very reliable and inexpensive. Folks all over Texas, including my ancestors, mailed their films to Fox for developing and printing.

This young married couple died at the same time, and I assume it was a car crash or some other accident. These pictures document both caskets, opened and closed, at the cemetery; the mourners; and the side-by-side burial. The crowd in the background can be seen on close inspection, and many of the people are crying and holding handkerchiefs to their faces. What a tremendous sorrow this must have been.





© 2009, copyright Stephen Mills