Old burial societies look to continue tradition
February 8, 2010
The Post and Courier
By Adam Parker

Walter Smalls Jr. and John Dash stand over the gravestones wet with rain, wondering who will take their places when they pass on.

Who will look after these historic black cemeteries. Who will preserve them for future generations? Who will trim the grass? Who will wipe the mud from the engraved family names? Who will be able to recognize nearly every name, remember the lives once lived, the accomplishments and sacrifice?

A broken marker in the Unity and Friendship Cemetery rests in the oldest part of the cemetery, which dates back to the mid-1800s.

Those are serious questions, the two men say. Smalls, who is clerk of the Unity and Friendship Society, just turned 83; Dash, president of the Humane and Friendly Society, is 80. They seem 15 years younger than their age and exhibit a remarkable vitality. But Dash can go on only so long mowing the lawn in his graveyard. And Smalls can go on only so long collecting the monthly dues from a dwindling number of members.

The younger generations have produced no apparent heirs.

"I don't think they have the concern we have," Smalls says. "It's just a different attitude."

Nine African-American burial societies in Charleston have been identified by staff at the Avery Research Center for African-American History and Culture. Eight are still functioning (on a shoestring). Though burial societies once existed in other cities (New Orleans and Baltimore, for example), Charleston likely is the only place where the old organizations remain active, said Leila Potts-Campbell, field archivist at the Avery Center.

Their original purpose -- to promote a sense of community, to support the sick and aid their families, and to provide a place for burial -- has been much reduced since desegregation. Today, the societies exist to look after the graveyards and to advocate for their preservation.

Black societies
Beginning around 1800 in Charleston, as the population of free blacks began to increase in proportion to the number of slaves in the area, some skilled blacks received a "slave badge" from their owners, designating them available for hire outside the plantation, according to the Avery Center.

The badges, which included the trade specialty of its wearer (porter, mechanic), were distributed with a dual purpose: Skilled slaves could earn enough money from freelance work to pay for their freedom, and the slaveholder could collect a fee that mitigated his financial loss when a competent slave left his post.

Though some freed slaves preferred to remain on the plantation or settle in the countryside, many relocated to urban areas, forming neighborhood clusters. In this way, they could forge self-sufficient communities and more easily find self-sustaining employment.

Among the institutions that were formed in the 19th century were African-American burial societies. Before emancipation in 1865, many blacks attended historic Charleston parishes. They would sit in the church loft or in the pews at the rear of the sanctuary, but they would worship with whites.

But they would not be buried with whites in the churchyards.

Charleston's established whites instead encouraged free blacks to form benevolent societies so they might collect dues and purchase land for cemeteries, according to Potts-Campbell.

And they did.

The first known burial society was the Brown Fellowship, founded on Nov. 1, 1790. It was started by five men and capped its membership at 50. And it bought a burial lot on Pitt Street near Boundary Street (now called Calhoun Street).

The Brown Fellowship cemetery was one of four on that site, now occupied by the College of Charleston's Addlestone Library. Some headstones were relocated to society graveyards on Cunnington Street, but the remains of the dead, including 360 buried in the adjacent Macphelah cemetery, were left behind.

Black burial sites weren't the only ones obscured by development downtown: a Quaker cemetery lies beneath the Mills House Hotel on Meeting Street, and a Presbyterian cemetery was covered by the Canterbury House on Market Street.

Respecting the past
On the Charleston peninsula alone, 100 black burial sites have been recorded, according to Michael Trinkley, director of the Columbia-based Chicora Foundation, an archaeological and historical research and preservation organization. Many of these burial grounds have been covered by natural overgrowth, destroyed or lost, he said, with "lost" being a euphemism for "being developed on top of."

In the 1940s and '50s, the city often imposed a street tax on those whose property abutted a construction project that carried a public benefit, Trinkley said. Some of the black burial societies could not afford the new tax, especially after interest and penalties for nonpayment accrued. The county sheriff would seize delinquent properties and auction them off; many were purchased by the city, then sold to developers for a profit, Trinkley said.

He said that since it is a safe assumption that sacred ground might be disturbed by a new building project, archaeological investigation ought to be routine. It can prevent construction delays and financial losses.

What's more, research of old cemeteries offers a chance to analyze the diet and general health of the deceased, or the carpentry and metalwork of the coffinmakers. This kind of study can illuminate important aspects of Charleston's past, "how free persons of color dealt with death," Trinkley said.

And it can lend a degree of respect to a construction process that disturbs a burial ground, he said. "It's important to remember that these burials include someone's loved one."

Common good
Before emancipation, members of white churches encouraged their black parishioners to form burial societies. Circular Congregational Church was the only downtown church to buy a cemetery for its black members.

After emancipation, black parishioners left, often en masse, to establish their own churches, often across the street or around the corner. These newly formed black churches increasingly assumed the responsibility for providing cemeteries and burial rites, and this contributed to the slow decline of burial societies, Trinkley said.

In their heyday, the societies were as concerned with the living as with the dead, Potts-Campbell said.

Since the white society offered free slaves little in the way of social services, black communities had to be self-sufficient. The burial societies were one way to build a safety net, Potts-Campbell said.

They cultivated a sense of community; paid for the education of orphaned children; arranged an apprenticeship for teenage boys so they might learn a trade, find work and support a family; provided financial support to the sick and dying; offered widows an annuity or modest monthly stipend to help with living expenses; purchased property; and arranged for burials.

Since the societies were urban and their membership limited, they were considered elitist by some, Potts-Campbell said. In fact, they were merely pragmatic, ensuring that city-dwelling free people of color had access to essential resources, and that the size of the group was manageable, she said.

After the quashed Denmark Vesey-led slave rebellion, the state instituted a law restricting the number of blacks that could meet at one time to seven. The Brown Fellowship Society petitioned the city to allow larger gatherings since politics was not discussed, Potts-Campbell said. The society reminded city officials that it and other such organizations were similar to the other benevolent societies in the area and formed at the explicit encouragement of whites. Permission was granted.

Steeped in history
At the Unity and Friendship Society burial grounds, just outside the gate to historic Magnolia Cemetery, Walter Smalls discusses lineage. He's been clerk and treasurer since 1976. Edward M. Gibson is president of the seven-member organization. Smalls' great-grandfather-in-law was one of its founders.

More than 200 are buried in the cemetery, which on this damp day is saturated with rainwater, pools forming between grave sites. Only paying members are permitted to secure a final resting place there, Smalls says.

John Dash, whose Humane and Friendly Society has 11 members, comes from a musical family. His brother, St. Julian Bennett Dash, who is interred in the family plot, co-wrote the standard "Tuxedo Junction." The Rev. Daniel J. Jenkins, of Jenkins Orphanage fame, also is buried in the cemetery.

In 2006, the African American Historical Alliance erected a memorial to Lt. Stephen Atkins Swails, the Civil War fighter, lawyer and Reconstructionist politician who became mayor of Kingstree. His grave is at the north end of the cemetery.

The African-American graveyards are rich in history. But money is scarce, tombstones are crumbling and their future appears uncertain.