Director's Insight-WinterOnline

DIRECTOR’SINSIGHT MAGAZINE | WINTER 2019 U.S. REPRESENTATIVE ELIJAH CUMMINGS DIES AT 68 DUE TO HEALTH ISSUES PAGE - 14 OSCAR-NOMINATED ACTRESS DIAHANN CARROLL DIES AT 84 PAGE - 05 Vines Funeral Home Reveals National Historic Marker PAGE - 12 MEETTHE YOUNGEST EMPLOYEES AT GENESIS FUNERAL HOME PAGE - 04

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Contents 04 MEET THE YOUNGEST 15 CONGRESSMAN ELIJAH EMPLOYEES AT GENESIS CUMMINGS DIES AT 68 FUNERAL HOME 16 HE BOUGHT A CEMETERY ON 05 OSCAR-NOMINATED, CRAIGSLIST. NOW, HE SEEKS A PIONEERING ACTRESS NONPROFIT MANAGER. DIAHANN CARROLL DIES AT 84 16 FORGOTTEN BODIES 06 SATCHELL KNEW FUNERAL 18 WHEN A BLACK-OWNED WORK WOULD BE HIS “UNDERTAKING” FUNERAL HOME IN A GENTRIFYING CITY HAS NO ONE 08 AFTER THREE DECADES, LEFT TO BURY SEATTLE’S LAST BLACK-OWNED FUNERAL HOME STRUGGLES 20 CAREY GRAD USES MBA FOR WITH DISPLACEMENT GOOD WHILE GROWING LOCAL BUSINESSES 10 FAMILY, FIREFIGHTERS REMEMBER JEFFERSONVILLE’S 24 CLEANUP AT HISTORIC YORK CO. FIRST AFRICAN-AMERICAN FIRE AFRICAN AMERICAN CEMETERY CHIEF LED TO QUESTIONS ABOUT HOW IT’S RUN 12 VINES FUNERAL HOME REVEALS Director’s Insight 3 NATIONAL HISTORIC MARKER

MEETTHEYOUNGESTEMPLOYEES AT GENESIS FUNERAL HOME Seneca and Santana Epps both share a love for math and Santana said Sons of Sankofa is a word that comes from the science. They are savvy business entrepreneurs and work country of Ghana, and it means working hard and taking oppor- at Genesis Funeral Services as casket guards. They hand tunities to be successful. out roses to grieving families at the grave site, release doves and They said they wanted to help other kids and thought it would be present blankets. The twins have their own YouTube channel easier to learn from a peer than another adult. They also wanted explaining compound and simple interest, various science con- to show students that being smart is cool. cepts and algebra problems. The boys have also been working at Genesis Funeral Home, the They are also only nine years old and already working at a high family business, for the past two and a half years. school level curriculum. Homeschooled since kindergarten, Sen- “They’re kind of like the community’s kids,” Epps said. “They like eca and Santana said they plan to graduate high school at 14 helping the community.” and then attend Cleveland Community College when they turn Although it is a serious task, it is one both boys enjoy. Recently, 16. They will enter the dual-enrollment program for homeschool- the twins were accepted into a business program called X-Cul- ers and earn an associates degree before their peers don gap ture. and gown for a high school diploma. Santana and Seneca said they will be on an international team of “That was their plan,” said Bridgette Epps, the twins’ mother. five or six people and will join students from different countries. She said they presented the request to her and came up with They will be presented with real business issues and charged the idea. with coming up with a strategic plan to solve them. “I am very, very proud,” Epps said. The boys said someday, they both want to become maternal fe- The brothers started their YouTube channel, called Sons of San- tal medicine doctors and help mothers and infants, particularly kofa, after working through some difficult math problems. Their premature infants. They both decided on their future career after mother told them to work through it as if they were teaching it to all their siblings were born premature. her, and it sparked the idea of educational videos. 4 Director’s Insight

Oscar-nominated, pioneering actress Diahann Carroll dies at 84 Diahann Carroll, the Oscar-nominated actress and sing- er who won critical acclaim as the first black woman to star in a non-servant role in a TV series as “Julia,” has died. She was 84. Carroll’s daughter, Susan Kay, told The Associated Press her mother died Friday in Los Angeles of cancer. During her long career, Carroll earned a Tony Award for the musical “No Strings” and an Academy Award nomi- nation for “Claudine.” But she was perhaps best known for her pioneering work on “Julia.” Carroll played Julia Baker, a nurse whose hus- band had been killed in Vietnam, in the groundbreaking situation comedy that aired from 1968 to 1971. Although she was not the first black woman to star in her own TV show (Ethel Waters played a maid in the 1950s series “Beulah”), she was the first to star as someone other than a servant. NBC executives were wary about putting “Julia” on the network during the racial unrest of the 1960s, but it was an immediate hit. It had its critics, though, including some who said Car- roll’s character, who is the mother of a young son, was not a realistic portrayal of a black American woman in the 1960s. “They said it was a fantasy,” Carroll recalled in 1998. “All of this was untrue. Much about the character of Julia I took from my own life, my family.” Not shy when it came to confronting racial barriers, Carroll won her Tony portraying a high-fashion Ameri- can model in Paris who has a love affair with a white American author in the 1959 Richard Rodgers musical “No Strings.” Critic Walter Kerr described her as “a girl with a sweet smile, brilliant dark eyes and a profile regal enough to belong on a coin.” Director’s Insight 5

SATCHELL KNEW FUNERAL WORK WOULD BE HIS “UNDERTAKING” When Thomas Satchell was a young boy growing up in Nessawa- dox, a tiny dot of a community on the Eastern Shore of Virginia, he used to hold funeral services for frogs killed on the road in front of his home. The future owner of Satchell’s Funeral Service in Orange made caskets from plastic powder containers. He’d cut a flap in the side of the container and place the frog inside. Then, using two sticks, he would respectfully lower the little casket into the hole of a cin- derblock placed in the ground. The cinderblock served as the vault keeping the casket in place. Then it was time for the graveside service. With a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, he recalled, “My sister would always do the acknowledgements. She would attend and get up and say a few words. She would go home and say, ‘Mama, we had another one today.’” Satchell, 65, has run his funeral home on Church Street for nearly 40 years. He is aware some people are uncomfortable thinking about the work morticians do, but he has never felt the need to apologize for his desire to do right by the dead and their grieving survivors. During an interview in the funeral home’s wood-paneled sitting room, he is a study in dignity, his white dress shirt crisp and his graying moustache neatly trimmed. When his cell phone jangles like an old-fashioned landline, he excuses himself and steps into his office. As soon as he comes back, it begins ringing again. It’s all in a day’s work—and the day stretches on as long as the calls come in. “This was a childhood dream for me,” Satchell said. “I do this be- cause it’s my love. You work a lot of hours that you never get paid for. But that’s the love you put into it.” He first became enthralled when he saw funeral directors fulfilling their duties at his home church. At the age of 5, he was in awe of them and what they did. Rather than dreaming of a career in sports while tossing a football around the yard, he held his services for the 6 Director’s Insight

Satchell’s father was a builder and his mother worked in a school. He is the fourth of six children, five boys and one girl. His fascination with funerals and burial practices caused him to stand out from his siblings and his classmates. His parents thought he was a little “different,” in his recollection, and his nickname in elementary school was “buzzard.” But the teasing did no lasting damage—Satchell’s eyes crinkle with amusement when he recalls the morbid nickname—and his father helped him get his start. In conversation with a local funeral director, the elder Satchell mentioned young Thomas’ interest. When he was in ninth grade, he had the opportunity to visit the local business for the first time. “He showed me around and showed everything to me. I finalized then my decision that that’s what I wanted to do,” Satchell said. After he graduated from high school, he did an internship with Thomasson Funeral Home in Louisa. Once he had mastered the trade, he set up his own shop in Orange on March 6, 1980. Satchell acknowledges that funeral homes in central Virginia are largely segregat- ed. Almost all of the families he serves are black, while Preddy Funeral Home, with offices in Orange, Gordonsville and Madison, has a predominantly white clientele. He said that in the past 15 to 20 years, he has buried three white people in Westview Cemetery, a predominantly black graveyard on Route 20. Westview is a short dis- tance from Graham Cemetery, where cemetery trustee Tom Landis said that to his knowledge, no black people are buried. Satchell’s customers include people who want to make their own funeral and burial arrangements rather than leaving those tasks to their families. “I have whites who are pre-arranged with me. I treat people as people. They require respect; I give it to them,” he said. These days, it is the rare funeral home that isn’t part of a large corporate chain. A family name on a funeral home is not proof that it is privately operated. But Satch- ell’s Funeral Service (like Preddy) is a family business. He has turned down offers from corporations wanting to buy him out or employ him elsewhere. “I will not work for a corporation,” Satchell said with finality in his voice. “Money isn’t everything. Peace of mind and feeling good about yourself going to work—those are the most important things to me.” He offers a steadying presence as well as tangible services to grieving survivors who come to him in need of funeral and burial arrangements for a family member. It’s “one of the worst days of their life,” and he is intent on helping them through it as calmly and kindly as he can. Satchell knows all too well the shock and grief of a death in the family. He has lost a number of close family members in the past decade or so and handled all the funeral arrangements for each of them. He is quick to say they insisted on paying him full price rather than expecting him to give them a discount. “They knew it was my livelihood,” he explained. The sacred duty took a toll on him. During one particularly grueling stretch, he lost his mother and then his father over a period of just seven weeks. Each time, em- balming and dressing the body fell to him, along with every other step of the funeral and burial process. The sad tasks left him “truly exhausted.” His dedication to helping others keeps him going, and he has the love and support of his wife, Eloise, a banker in Louisa, and his daughter, Stephanie Satchell Morris, a former TV news anchor in Charlottesville who now lives and works in New York. But the thought of his funeral home’s upcoming 40th anniversary fills him with pride. He has spent his entire career serving families in and around Orange County when they’re in dire need of his services. Much of his business comes from personal refer- rals, and when asked if he knows everybody who walks up and down Church Street, he said, “I feel like I do.” Director’s Insight 7

AFTER THREE DECADES, SEATTLE’S LAST BLACK-OWNED FUNERAL HOME STRUGGLES WITH DISPLACEMENT When Zane and Victor Fitch, the father and son behind Dayspring & Fitch There was concern among immigrant families who turn to the Fitches to Funeral Home, lost their lease in Hillman City last fall, it seemed like the handle the intricacies of their burial traditions, and for shipping caskets final straw for Seattle’s last black-owned full-service funeral home. overseas. A fixture in Rainier Valley since the 1980s — most of that time in a con- “The service they provide is quite irreplaceable,” says Mohamed Sheikh verted Baptist church on South Lucile Street — Dayspring & Fitch provided Hassan, a Somali community leader who began working with the Fitches thousands of families a place not only for viewings and chapel services, 25 years ago and has pressed the family to stay in Rainier Valley. but also for the post-ceremony receptions that are so central to traditional African American funerals. Likewise, clergy in Seattle’s African American church community worry that the city is about to lose not only another business, but another social But as the years went by and more of Seattle’s black community left the institution and piece of history. city, this family-run business saw its own fortunes shift. Rev. Kenneth Ransfer, pastor at Greater Mt. Baker Baptist Church on By the time light rail was gentrifying Rainier Valley, much of the Fitches’ South Jackson Street, says that even African American families who trade was coming from families who had moved to more affordable have left Seattle often return to the city for social events, and especially South King County. When the old church was sold to a housing developer funerals. For much of the local African American community, Dayspring & last fall, the Fitches were ready to move south, too. Fitch is a cultural “benchmark,” says Ransfer, who has known the Fitches since the mid-1990s. “And when those benchmarks are gone, it has a way “As far as I’m concerned, the whole world’s in Kent–or looks like it, any- of leaving people empty.” way,” says Zane Fitch, 63, with a rueful laugh. The Fitches have put their moving plans on hold. They have temporarily But as the Fitches have discovered, leaving Seattle isn’t so simple. outsourced undertaking operations and rented out a small office near Othello Station, a few miles from where the old church once stood. When demolition crews razed the church in June, alarms went off among Rainier Valley communities that still depend on Dayspring & Fitch. But the pause leaves the Fitches in an awkward limbo, caught between 8 Director’s Insight

the challenges of a small business accustomed to Dayspring & Fitch’s in a gentrifying city and the power- no-frills offerings. But the Fitches ful but complicated needs of their also know that if they stay, rising community. business costs in Seattle will make it nearly impossible to maintain “That’s the hardest decision,” says those low prices. Victor Fitch, 36, who handles the company’s planning. “Do I go One option, Zane says, is to keep where the people are or do I stay a Seattle presence, even if it’s only where the people like to celebrate?” a storefront, “just to make sure we don’t lose contact” with the The Fitches spent the next decade community, while moving the main rebuilding. They did more funerals facility to a more affordable area. in South King County. They ex- panded into the Latinx, Ethiopian, For now, the family is in a holding and Filipino communities, and pattern, says Victor, who will take added a digital presence. By 2014, over the business when his father when rival Southwest Mortuary retires. He and Zane want time to was bought by Bonney-Watson, study the options for staying and Dayspring & Fitch was again the going. only black-owned full service funer- al home operating within Seattle. As important, they want time to connect with community mem- Many families now choose funeral bers–to hear what they want, services after a quick web search but also to share with them the on their phones, says Rich Snider, realities of the funeral business in director of business development 2019 Seattle. with Bonney-Watson. If even an established funeral home isn’t of- That’s not a conversation that can fering that, he says, “you’re already happen quickly, Victor says. Nor behind the eight ball.” should it. “What we’re [deciding] right here in south Seattle–which Still, thanks in part to the commu- is literally the history of Seattle and nity’s response, the Fitches know the history of our company–it’s what leaving could mean for Seat- important,” he says. “I don’t think it tle communities, especially those should be rushed.” Director’s Insight 9

RONNIE COLLINS FAMILY, FIREFIGHTERS REMEMBER JEFFERSONVILLE’S FIRST AFRICAN- AMERICAN FIRE CHIEF Ronnie Collins, who made history as the first African American chief of the Jeffersonville Fire Department, passed away last Friday. Collins fought a long battle with leukemia after his retirement from the department. He died at age 75. “My father was small in stature but bigger than life,” Collins’ son Michael said. “Always really brought the best out of people, my dad was a really great guy.” Since his father’s funeral Wednesday, Michael is learning more and more about the ways his dad impacted the Jeffersonville Fire Department. Retired Maj. Leslie Kavanaugh worked alongside Collins for most of their careers. “Ron and I actually grew up together,” Kavanaugh said. “We were boyhood friends, little did either of us realize that all roads led to the fire department.” They worked their way up through the ranks together. Collins was named chief in 1984. “The total community was proud of the fact that Ron Collins was selected chief of the Jefferson- ville Fire Department, not just the black community,” Kavanaugh said. Collins is credited with being the first community liaison in the department -- before it was even an official position -- putting a fire truck at every fun event in the city so the public could see firefighters in a positive place. “He was the first guy to get out of the firehouse, so to speak,” Kavanaugh said. “To get out into the community as opposed to the community coming in here or you seeing us just on a response. I think that was the forerunner of where we are today with an excellent program here with the Jeffersonville Fire Department.” The retired chief’s favorite place to be was DisneyWorld with his family. But, his family knows the fire department was home, too. “A few days ago I was heartbroken, really distraught,” Michael said. “Since the past few days, meeting all of the brotherhood in the fire department, seeing them come out and the magnifi- cent home-going services, it really gives me this good feeling to know how many people loved and cared about my father.” 10 Director’s Insight

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Vines Funeral Home reveals national historic marker Vines Funeral Home in LaFayette was VINES FUNERAL HOME AND AMBULANCE etched into history Thursday afternoon by SERVICE WAS ESTABLISHED IN 1952 the Alabama Historical Commission. The AND IS REPRESENTATIVE OF A MID-20TH funeral home, located at 211 B Street SW CENTURY RURAL AFRICAN AMERICA in LaFayette, unveiled a historical marker, FUNERAL HOME which commemorates the funeral home being placed on the National Register of His- toric Places. “Vines Funeral Home and Ambulance Ser- vice was established in 1952 and is repre- sentative of a mid-20th century rural African America funeral home,” the marker reads. “It is the only funeral home in Alabama still operating an ambulance service. The main building of the funeral home was construct- ed in 1952. A chapel was added in 1988.” Julius Summers Vines opened the funeral home in 1952 and operated it until 2001. Vines’ daughters Merylin and Angela Vines hosted the program Thursday afternoon. “This is a very special day for our family,” Merylin Vines said. “Everyone has their own opinions about their dad, and my dad was very special to me. He was more than spe- cial to me, and he was so special to so many people in the community.” 12 Director’s Insight

Merylin Vines said when she came back meant to have that kind of life, they had Doug Jones’ office. The senator was unable to attend from college to help run the family busi- it anyway.” the event but sent a representative in his place to read ness, she was flooded with stories about Merylin Vines said that was the story of a letter. her father, Julius Vines. her father. Kwesi Daniels of the Alabama Historical Commission “Everywhere I went, somebody had a story “He was simply a country boy that was and Black Heritage Council, said when talking about to tell about my dad,” she said. “How he raised on a farm,” she said. “From there, erecting a national historical marker, it is not a feat that had helped them, how he helped some- he accomplished so much.” should be taken lightly. body in their family or how they have The day was filled with friends and family “In order to become recognized as a site that gets heard about him helping somebody. of the Vines’ family sharing stories about placed on a national registry, you have to have done “Sometimes the people that you least Julius, which included remarks from the something significant nationally,” Daniels said. expect have the most interesting and Alabama Historical Commission and Sen. He said it can be from an architectural standpoint, dynamic lives, and although they weren’t something about the design or the structure that plays a big role in the community. However, the Vines Funeral Home was a special place. “What was revealed was that this particular site serves as a recognition of the role of African American rural funeral homes,” Daniels said. “That means this funeral home, and Mr. Vines was a trailblazer for this commu- nity.” He said Julius Vines wasn’t just a funeral home director but also somebody who was able to help members in the community. “It shows that this space was more than a building — it is part of the culture of LaFayette, Alabama, and is part of the culture of America,” Daniels said. “Mr. Vines un- derstood the role that he played and what ambulance services and funeral services meant to this community.” Director’s Insight 13

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CONGRESSMAN ELIJAH CUMMINGS DIES AT 68 The congressman, who chaired the Democratic “Those in the highest levels of the government must House Oversight and Reform Committee chair, stop invoking fear, using racist language and encourag- had been admitted to hospital for a “medical pro- ing reprehensible behaviour,” he said in a speech at the cedure” last month. National Press Club in August. The Maryland representative said at the time he expect- Cummings had continued to work on investigations into ed to be “back in the office in a week or so”. the president despite in his last weeks being forced to Cummings died at Baltimore’s John Hopkins Hospital at miss congressional votes due to his health problems. 2.45am on Thursday, his office said. No further details Cummings, first elected to the House 23 years ago, had were given, but he has previously been treated for heart served as chair of the committee since January after and knee problems. Democrats gained control of the House of Representa- In a statement released following his death, Maya Rock- tives in 2018. eymoore Cummings paid tribute to ”an honourable man During a decades-long career in politics, he rose through who proudly served his district and the nation with digni- the ranks of the Maryland House of Delegates before ty, integrity, compassion and humility.” winning his congressional seat in 1996 in a special elec- She said her husband “worked until his last breath be- tion to replace Kweisi Mfume, who stepped down to lead cause he believed our democracy was the highest and the National Association for the Advancement of Col- best expression of our collective humanity and that our ored People. nation’s diversity was our promise, not our problem”. Throughout his career, Cummings used his fiery oration Cummings was a powerful orator who passionately ad- to highlight the struggles and needs of inner-city Balti- vocated for disadvantaged communities in his district, more residents. He championed progressive approach- which encompassed a large portion of Baltimore. es to help the poor and people with addictions, such as As chairman of the House oversight committee, he led needle exchange programmes as a way to reduce the multiple probes into Mr Trump’s governmental dealings spread of Aids. and played a central role in the congressional inquiry into Following the announcement of his death, the Baltimore the president’s attempt to pressure Ukraine into investi- archdiocese said Cummings had “generously shared his gating Joe Biden. God-given gifts and talents with the people of his be- loved city, state and nation for so many years”. It added: “We give thanks for his dedicated service.” Director’s Insight 15

He bought a Cemetery, recently rediscovered under a respect for those whose final resting place cemetery on portion of Robles Park Village apartments. it has become,” city spokeswoman Ashley Craigslist. “I am one person trying to correct mistakes,” Bauman said. Now, he seeks said Thorpe, a 35-year-old Tampa architect. There is precedent for using government a nonprofit “But I can’t do this alone.” grants to save endangered cemeteries, said manager. He’d like to see the city of Tampa purchase Jeff Moates, regional director for the Florida at-risk cemeteries and a nonprofit manage Public Archaeology Network. Patrick Thorpe made a unique them through a trust financed by grants, do- The state of Florida provided Deerfield Craigslist purchase last year: two nations and burial proceeds. Beach nearly $1 million to purchase a 3-acre acres of the Marti/Colon Ceme- Thorpe estimates Marti/Colon has room African American cemetery with some 300 tery for $9,500. for several hundred burials, thousands if unmarked graves and another half-million columbariums are built for the interment of dollars to turn the land into a memorial park. The owner had wanted to build a house ashes in urns. “This is an excellent model to follow for there. There were no graves on this portion “If the city owns it, then it is guaranteed that Zion,” Moates said. of the 5.6-acre cemetery, 3110 W Columbus the land will never be touched again. If a Zion Cemetery had been forgotten for de- Dr. Neighbors and families with a stake in person or company owns a cemetery, there cades before a June 23 report in the Tam- the cemetery opposed the idea and man- is no certainty for it. If I own one and die, pa Bay Times. Since then, a survey using aged to stop it. then what?” ground penetrating radar has discovered That’s the case with the segregation-era nearly 130 caskets buried on a portion of the Thorpe was on their side, so when he saw Memorial Park Cemetery, final resting place 2½-acre site along North Florida Avenue. the online ad, he bought the land to protect for some 6,000 African-Americans. Many Zion is believed to be Tampa’s first Afri- it from future development. of them are veterans, buried as far back as can-American burial ground, with room for World War I. 800 graves. It was established in 1901 and Now, Thorpe wants to help other old, at-risk Memorial’s longtime owner John Robinson disappeared from public view two decades cemeteries by setting up a nonprofit to care died in June, his family doesn’t want it any later. A public housing complex, storefronts for them. more, and the estate’s attorney says there is and warehouses have been built on top of it no money to maintain it. since then. Among locations that stand to benefit from Tampa City Councilman Luis Viera has spo- Now, the Tampa Housing Authority wants this approach is the Memorial Park Ceme- ken to several leaders in the veterans com- to demolish the apartments on the portion tery, 2225 E Dr Martin Luther King Jr. Blvd., munity about organizing some “man and of the land it owns and work to establish a whose owner recently died, and the Zion woman power out there for labor.” memorial park The city has performed maintenance at Council member Viera said he plans to Memorial Park three times in the past few speak with Thorpe about the nonprofit idea months “to provide the proper dignity and for Memorial Park Cemetery. “That cemetery is an issue of great historical and moral importance,” Viera said. 16 Director’s Insight

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FORGOTTEN BODIES I figure I’ll Nobody alive today knows who the 1,887 peo- only be here ple buried in Woodin Street Cemetery are. None for a while… of their bodies are marked with gravestones. at least while The only clues to their identities are little rocks that were interred with them, but these rocks I’m here, I have long sunk into the earth. Attached to want to be these rocks are bronze discs with identification able to say I numbers. The only rock that hasn’t descended did a number below ground commemorates a man named Lorin C. Hay, who died in 1960. It was dedi- of things cated by his son Larry, and reads “I LOVE YOU that have DADDY.” some value. The last burial was on Nov. 30, 1984, for a man named Raymond Shea. The cemetery closed in 1985. Since its closure, the Woodin Street Cemetery of Hamden, Conn., has deteriorated to the point that it no longer resembles a burial ground; rather, it simply looks like a small field enclosed by forest. The space has descended into general disarray. There used to be an en- graved metal plaque demarcating the ceme- tery, but it has since been stolen. Fallen trees have not been cleared from the area. Most peo- ple don’t even know the cemetery exists. Bill MacMullen wants to change that. He wants to fix the gaping hole in the mortuary roof. He wants to replace the missing lettering on the 18 Director’s Insight

gate. Using ground-penetrating ra- cause I started doing architecture Naval Science until the program was discontinued in 1971 dar, he wants to locate the discs in high school. I was 15 years old. because of the Vietnam War, and he consequently trans- in the earth and link the disc num- I lied about my age to this architec- ferred to Boston University. bers with records of the deceased: tural firm… They put me in a drafting For many years, MacMullen worked out of Boston — that he wants to identify the bodies. He room with an old guy teaching me is, until he got an offer from a developer in Boston called hopes to completely restore the how to draw lines until I got more the Beacon Company to work on a $144 million project Woodin Street Cemetery. and more responsibilities.” He’d in New Haven. Elm Haven was a run-down public hous- MacMullen is an architect, Navy vet- been interested in architecture as a ing project, and MacMullen was tasked with redeveloping eran, and historical reenactor. Offi- career path ever since his engineer its 23 acres into the residential neighborhood now known cially, he is the Architectural Capital uncle recommended the profes- as Monterey Place. That project led to another, then an- Projects Coordinator at the City of sion to him as a child, having seen other, and ultimately he decided to stay in New Haven. New Haven and has been working MacMullen’s drawings of buildings. Since then, his work has included the construction of with the city for the past 19 years. At the time, he wrote out the word the new Q House, the community center and fixture of “I was lucky,” MacMullen said, “be- “architect,” and decided he liked the the Dixwell neighborhood; the implosion of the Veterans way it looked. He attended Yale for Memorial Coliseum, the former New Haven sports and entertainment center, to make way for Gateway Commu- nity College; and the erection of a monument in the police station commemorating officers who died in the line of duty. MacMullen says that he is trying to make a differ- ence through his work. He wants to make people as com- fortable as possible in the spaces he converts because “the more comfortable people are, the more successful they are.” He went on to say, “I figure I’ll only be here for a while…at least while I’m here, I want to be able to say I did a number of things that have some value.” A bizarre event from 1994 incited MacMullen’s passion for history. He was Executive Director of the Naval Shipbuild- ing Museum of Quincy, Mass., when, one day, he received a package. The museum frequently received donations, so he didn’t think anything was out of the ordinary. But as an intern was carrying the box, the bottom collapsed and a skeleton rolled out. A note was glued to the skull, requesting for these remains to be sent to the Surgeon Major in Fort Warren “for interment up North.” Reading the note, MacMullen realized, “This guy was never buried.” With this revelation, he set out to uncover everything he could about the identity of this body. He sent one intern to Washington and another to Boston to look up identification records. He called the University of Massachusetts’ Forensic department to examine the body. What they learned was that the man was African American; he was five foot eight; he’d chewed tobac- co; he’d likely done a lot of manual labor in his life; and appeared to have either died from shrapnel or a bullet. The interns returned with two I.D.s: he was either a man named Abraham Jenks or Abraham Jenkins. MacMullen wanted to give Jenks the burial he deserved — but not just any burial. He wanted to recreate what a funeral would have looked like in 1864. So he obtained a formal death certificate from a coroner. Then he contact- ed around 700 historical reenactors to attend the event. About 34,000 people attended Jenks’s 1995 funeral; the local church overflowed. Jenks, a man who had for so long been denied his funeral rites, finally got to rest in peace. “These people lived their lives. They had relatives — moth- ers, fathers, sons. Now they’re dead, and nobody knows they’re there. Their whole lives added up to no one know- ing they’re there. I don’t think that’s fair. That’s why I’m do- ing this. That’s why I’d still be doing this, even if nobody asked me to.” Director’s Insight 19

WHEN A BLACK-OWNED FUNERAL HOME IN A GENTRIFYING CITY HAS NO ONE LEFT TO BURY The thick, dusty ledgers were scattered about the cluttered of- fice, 18 of them, their pages filled with neat script document- ing the deaths of thousands of black Washingtonians over the course of a half-century. Open a volume to Page 123 and there is Lawrence Monroe Ryles, 39, a “colored” postal worker who on Sept. 13, 1947, was “run over by a train.” Turn the pages and find Melvin Bailey, of 1406 Third St. NW, a 6-year-old who died the same year of meningitis. Deep inside another book is Leon Anthony Porter Jr., 18, whose 1990 death occurred after a bullet pierced his skull. This compendium of fatal heart attacks, seizures, neck fractures and bullet wounds belongs to the Hall Brothers Funeral Home, whose owner was shutting down the business after nearly 80 years and preparing to sell its Florida Avenue headquarters, a gracious Victorian rowhouse across from the historic Howard Theatre. The demise of Hall Brothers — the last of a half-dozen black- owned funeral parlors along the U Street-Florida Avenue NW corridor — is another marker in the evolution of a neighborhood once at the core of African American life in Washington. Now the strip embodies the demographic and economic shifts that have redefined the city, with young professionals, a prepon- derance of them white, replacing black families, many of which relied on Hall Brothers for “sympathetic service” — as the funeral home once advertised on hand fans that mourners used to cool themselves. At its peak, from the 1950s through the 1980s, Hall Brothers per- formed as many as 140 funerals a year. In 2018, it handled four. “They moved out or LdiimedanoMuta,”h.thVeataonwSnekr.,NRoi:ch5a5rd53A2b5l1e2s, I7s7ta, nbul/TURKEY T:+90 537 687 79 55 F: +90 537 687 79 55 whose uncles founded the funeral home in 1941, said of his lost 20 Director’s Insight

clientele. When the furnace gave out last where,” Ables said. “I just don’t know where “We got stuck in time,” Ables said. fall, Ables didn’t bother calling a repairman. to send it.” Perhaps the D.C. Public Library would want “What’s the point?” he said one afternoon As Hall Brothers’ phone rang less frequently to preserve Hall Brothers’ registries of the in his second-floor office, every inch a jum- over the years, Ables was torn over whether dead. A few emails and phone calls later, ble of files, stray tombstones, unused urns, to close the business that his uncles had and Derek Gray, a library archivist, went to blank death certificates and business cards started after migrating from Mississippi in Hall Brothers to inspect the records. once given to prospective clients. “In the the 1930s. On Sundays, he liked to drive to When Ables started telling stories about the event of my death, please notify: Hall Bros. a Maryland cemetery to contemplate the fu- neighborhood and performers he saw at the Funeral Home,” the cards read. ture at the graves where his mother, father, Howard Theatre, Gray said, “We knew we At the entrance, an announcement board, brother, aunt and Uncle Ocy are buried. needed to pull out a tape recorder.” typically lined with dates and times for view- When he took over Hall Brothers in the late The archivist hopes Ables will make himself ing the dead, was bare. 1990s, Ables had promised to “keep it go- available for an oral history, something he “I’m sitting in here dying with the business,” ing as long as I could and pass it on.” But may have time for in retirement, when he’s Ables said, his face framed by a white beard no one in the family was interested. Not his not listening to John Coltrane or Miles Davis and round tortoiseshell glasses. “It’s time to children. Not his cousins, nieces or neph- and contemplating the future, including, as go.” ews. it happens, his own burial. On Wednesday, Ables sold the property for Hall Brothers never went anywhere. Ocy “Don’t want to be buried in a suit,” Ables said about $2 million, more than twice the as- and Macy eventually turned the business on a recent afternoon, relaxing in Hall Broth- sessed value. That figure was unimaginable over to William Ables, Richard’s brother. ers’ parlor. “I want a nice pair of silk pajamas 75 years ago. Land records show that his When William died of a heart attack in 1998, and a smoking jacket. A jazz trio playing at uncle Ocy D. Hall paid $10,000 for the row- Richard arranged his brother’s funeral and the service. A solid wood mahogany casket. house near Seventh Street and Florida Av- then took over. “Something that will last,” he said. enue. Since 2000, Hall Brothers presided over 446 Ables said he has not met the buyer, ne- funerals, or about a quarter of the 1,816 it gotiating only through a real estate agent, conducted from 1980 to 1999. Amy Harasz. Harasz, citing a confidentiali- ty agreement with her client, said in a text message that she was unable to divulge the buyer’s identity, details about the sale or plans for the property. The view beyond Hall Brothers’ front stoop — a new condo tower to the right, another rising to the left, a former Wonder Bread factory turned into a WeWork space down the street — in no way resembles what Ables remembers from childhood. In those years, he spent afternoons and weekends hanging out at the funeral home, stowing himself in emptycaskets during games of hide and seek with his cousins. He planned to seek guidance from the Dis- trict’s Board of Funeral Directors about what to do with a dozen or so containers of un- claimed cremated remains, four of which were beneath a stack of files on the floor to the left of his desk. Another, holding the ash- es of Yvonne C. Henley, who died in 1988, was on his office mantel. “Her daughter came down from New York to order it,” he said. “We haven’t seen her since.” Ables seemed most concerned about those 18 ledger books scattered around his office, and preserving a record of people such as Lonnie Burton, a “laborer” who died of “con- gestive heart failure” May 7, 1947; Sarah Lee Rush, 37, whose 1981 death occurred after a “gun shot wound of the chest”; and Clyde Gossett, 29, a “counselor” who died of AIDS eight years later. “All of this should go to a museum or some- Director’s Insight 21

Second generation head of a Baltimore business and founder of a local nonprofit, Brandon Wylie (Flex MBA ’19) uses his MBA for good. With a steadfast commitment to bettering Baltimore, Wylie draws on the skills and knowledge learned in his MBA to revitalize businesses and lift up local communities. 22 Director’s Insight

“I was born in Baltimore … this is my home, and I have to keep pro- CAREY GRAD viding hope for my home. You can talk about it, but when you do it, USES MBA FOR GOOD WHILE [people] can see a representation of something to follow.” GROWING LOCAL BUSINESSES Brandon Wylie (Flex MBA ’19), one of Balti- dollars large, but there’s no real information on more Business Journal’s 2019 “40 under 40” how to manage this type of business. people to watch, approached his studies at One of Carey’s core values, unwavering hu- Johns Hopkins Carey Business School a little manity, resonates especially strongly with differently than most students. As the sec- Wylie, who served on the board of Living Leg- ond-generation head of one of Baltimore’s acy, an organ donor procurement program. It best-known funeral homes, Wylie Funeral was a chance, he said, to better educate the Homes, P.A., he had tackled successive levels African-American community about organ of leadership early in his career. Now, he want- donation and increase the supply of available ed to put himself in his employees’ shoes to organs in the process. The Wylie Foundation better learn their perspectives and ideas. also sponsors the “Wylie Wishing Well,” where “I wanted to learn how to follow” in order to cancer patients 2-18 years of age can have be a better leader, Wylie explained. Company their wishes fulfilled. staff were used to Wylie’s father, Albert, who Currently, Wylie is redeveloping a flower shop founded the business, employing a hands- housed in an old brownstone on Baltimore’s on style, typical of many people who build a North Avenue into a new and improved floral business from the ground up. Now with the boutique called Fleurs d’Ave. “I didn’t want to company firmly established, it was especially see another dilapidated building on our cor- important to maximize input from all who had ner,” he said. Until construction on the build- a stake in its continuing success. ing is complete, the flower shop is currently “How can I change the culture my father had being operated within another one of Wylie’s left?,” Wylie remembers wondering. He found businesses, “Above it All” LLC, which focuses he had to “ease staff” into a cultural change on child development and life skills, leading to empowering individual ideas and initiatives. success in school. Both ventures are run out Wylie, who jokes that his father is working on of what was the original Wylie Funeral Home his “third retirement,” credits him with making that also once doubled as the family’s resi- the transition possible. “[It was] the trust that dence, on Gilmor Street in West Baltimore. he gave to do different things, implement dif- “I want to provide for the community eco- ferent strategies,” he said. “[He] gave me the nomically and make sure there are jobs in the opportunity to make my own decisions.” community for people to have,” said Wylie, Carey Business School’s Flexible MBA also who stresses action and results. “I was born exposed Wylie to different models and frame- in Baltimore … this is my home, and I have to works of how businesses are run, and how he keep providing hope for my home. You can could implement them. The degree, he said, talk about it, but when you do it, [people] can allowed him to give his staff “autonomy” to de- see a representation of something to follow.” velop their own ideas and strategies. “We are working as a team to develop these concepts to change the way funeral services are done,” he adds.“I’m all about education” said Wylie, a Morgan State University and Baltimore City College graduate, whose mother was a Johns Hopkins graduate and Baltimore City Public Schools teacher. “I’m looking for ways to grow the business. [The funeral] industry is a billion Director’s Insight 23

Cleanup at historic York Co. qAufreicsatinonAsmaebroicuatnhocwemite’sterruynled to It all began with a cleanup. A group of those who are buried there and honoring the cemetery hadn’t filed 990 tax forms re- volunteers had been going to the Leba- and respecting our history.” quired by nonprofits with Internal Revenue non Cemetery in North York to unearth Both were curious about the operation, Service in years. grave markers that over the years had ownership and history of the cemetery, so The cemetery was organized as an asso- sunken into the earth. Making matters they separately began looking for informa- ciation, meaning, according to its bylaws worse, the cemetery was infested with tion. Charles said she routinely does that and the law, that it was supposed to have groundhogs, and the entryways to their when she visits cemeteries as a part of her a board in place, voted upon by all of the dens dotted the grounds. One of the volun- research. families who own plots. But it did not. They teers saw part of a casket in the mouth of Dorm did it because she believed that the found that the board hadn’t existed for a groundhog den and had snapped a photo cemetery wasn’t being run properly. She’d years. of it. had run-ins with Gloria and Gary Beattie, It was troubling, they said. Among the volunteers was Samantha the brother and sister team that essentially They contacted the Pennsylvania State Dorm, who has kin buried in the cemetery runs the cemetery, owned by a nonprofit as- Department’s Office of Compliance and and was concerned about its condition. The sociation established in the late 1800s. the state Attorney General’s Bureau of Con- cemetery is an important part of her heri- Dorm said when she tried to get answers to sumer Protection. tage, as it is for many of York County’s more her questions – she was doing research to “At this point,” Dorm said, “we’re just trying prominent African American families. try to apply for grants to have the cemetery to figure out what’s going on.” Another volunteer was Tina Charles, who designated as a historical site – Gloria Be- The Lebanon Cemetery was established documented grave markers and posted attie wouldn’t answer them and at one point in September 1872 when Charles and Sar- them on Find A Grave, a website that in- stopped speaking to her, Dorm said. ah Yost sold two acres of land off North cludes photos of markers to assist people They found that Gloria Beattie was not li- George Street in North York to the Lebanon conducting genealogical research. censed to sell grave plots, though Dorm and Cemetery Association for $725. The ceme- At first glance, the cemetery doesn’t appear Charles said she still has been selling plots tery was among the first to accommodate to be ill-tended. The grass is mowed and and they have obtained copies of receipts African Americans in York County. the grounds are clean. But looking closer, for the sales. Lebanon wasn’t registered Over the years, it’s expanded to five acres, you can see some toppled headstones and with the state bureau that regulates cem- nestled on a hillside, a suburban develop- some grave markers that have sunk into the eteries. Dorm and Charles also found that ment to its west and a Dunkin’ Donuts to earth. The poor condition of some of the grave its south. It serves as the final resting place markers was heartbreaking, the volunteers for many prominent figures in local history, said. Some of the sunken grave markers are including business people, preachers and not visible, making it impossible for families founders of local churches and members to find loved ones. of the most well-known black families who “First and foremost,” Dorm said, “what it settled in York County and have contributed comes down to is honoring and respecting to its culture and history. The remains of veterans of every war from 24 Director’s Insight

the Civil War to Vietnam are laid to rest there. Thirty-six African according to the Department of State. (Dorm said her under- Americans who served in the Civil War are buried there, as well standing of the law is that those running the cemetery don’t have as veterans of the Spanish-American War. The first York City res- to be licensed so long as the funeral home selling the plots is ident to die in the Korean War, Roger Ballard, is interred there. licensed. “In this case,” she said, “Gloria is selling plots, and that’s “Our history is in the cemetery,” Dorm said. “It is an important the issue.” Dorm has obtained receipts for some of the sales.) piece of our history.” In a letter to a number of elected officials and state, county and According to the cemetery’s constitution and bylaws, it is gov- local governmental entities, Charles called for an immediate erned by its members, which includes every family that owns investigation. Gloria Beattie said her interest was to keep the plots. A nine-member board of directors, chosen by the mem- cemetery running after past board members had passed away. bers, is supposed to administer the cemetery. She said she couldn’t discuss specific issues raised by Dorm, However, Dorm, Charles and others who have been research- Charles and others. “Some of the things mentioned, I can’t speak ing the cemetery found that a board of directors hasn’t existed to until I talk to my attorney. As far as some of Miss Dorm’s con- since about 2009. They also found that the cemetery associa- cerns and comments, I need to have my lawyer present.” tion hasn’t filed the tax returns required to be filed by nonprofit She said the cemetery association has re-established its board organizations, and a search of the IRS’s online database of 990 and was working on updating its bylaws. forms did not turn up any results for the cemetery. “We don’t want to see anything happen to the cemetery,” she They dug further and found that the cemetery wasn’t registered said. “It’s an important part of the community. We certainly don’t with the Department of State, which governs cemeteries. Under want to lose the cemetery.” the law, according to the Department of State, cemeteries run Dorm gets emotional when she talks about the cemetery. It con- by churches or religious organizations or fraternal organizations tains her family’s history, a history that reflects the journey of are exempt from registration. (The Department of State con- African Americans from the deep South to the industrial North, a firmed that Lebanon Cemetery was not registered.) journey from enslavement to freedom and equality. They found that Gloria Beattie, who took over running the ceme- “First and foremost,” she said, “it comes down to honoring and tery from her mother, Ann, after the elder Beattie’s death in 2009, respecting those who are buried there.” was not licensed by the state’s Real Estate Commission. (A search of the commission’s online database did not return any results.) Again, the only cemeteries exempt from the licensing requirement are those run by religious or fraternal organizations, Director’s Insight 25