Gravestone Conservation
by Ruth Paci

Edgewater resident Ruth Paci is a freelance writer and the author of Down By The River & Under The Cliff: The Story of The Church of the Holy Rosary and Its Parishioners. Ms. Paci was born in West New York, and is a graduate of St. Joseph’s of the Palisades Grammar and High Schools. She holds a B.A. in political science and history from Fordham University and an M.A. in journalism from New York University. Ms. Paci served the United States government both in New York and Washington, D.C., in various components of the U.S. Information Agency--the Voice of America, the Television Division, the Press Office of the U.S. Mission to the United Nations, the Motion Picture Division, and finally, before retirement, as Assistant Director of USIA’s New York Foreign Press Center. In 1986, she was awarded the Agency’s Career Achievement Award “in recognition of 35 years of faithful and distinguished service, devoted to improving world understanding of the United States.”

When I retired, I never envisioned myself digging in a cemetery and scrubbing gravestones. Nevertheless, that is what I found myself doing when I attended a workshop on Cemetery Restoration sponsored by Bergen County’s Division of Cultural and Historic Affairs.

Held in the historic Cemetery of the Reformed Dutch Church of Pascack, Park Ridge, NJ, the two-day field seminar was presented by Minxie and Jim Fannin of the firm Fannin and Lehner, professional graveyard and preservation consultants, operating out of Concord, Massachusetts.

The more than twenty participants included historians and administrators, preservationists, municipal and church cemetery caretakers, park personnel and committed private citizens.

I attended representing Edgewater’s Cultural & Historic Society. (Edgewater’s governing body has asked the Society to advise them on the rehabilitation of our historic cemetery--recently damaged in the Avalon fire). Edgewater also sent Bob Rambone of the Department of Public Works.

Before we went out into the “yard,” as the presenters called it, there was classroom instruction covering the proper methods and procedures for gravestone conservation.

In the yard we learned how to fill out detailed inventory forms for the gravestones we were about to conserve, including their measurement, description of the stone’s problems (mostly caused by weathering, neglect, or vandalism), and the recording of the stone’s inscription--a most valuable historic record.

My team assignment was a marble stone placed in the yard in 1838 for Cornelius Forshee. Its dull gray facade did not look much like marble to me. Listing to the right, the stone’s shoulder was worn smooth by grating against an adjoining much larger stone dedicated to Jane Forshee who died in 1869 (Cornelius’ Aunt or Grandmother?). “Eventually,” Jim Fannin said, “the smaller stone’s shoulder would break off.” We found the marker’s inscription impossible to read. Then, Jim brought over a long narrow mirror, caught the sun with it, and the lettering came alive. Slowly, we made out:

Sacred to the Memory of Cornelius Forshee
Son of William and Letitia Forshee
Who was born October 9th AD 1821
And departed this life September 1st AD 1838
Aged 16 years 10 months and 23 days

There was a four-line epitaph below--the first line unintelligible, the last buried in the soil. We were determined to read it all.

Our team gathered wheelbarrow, shovels, garden trowels, tape measure, tamper, bracing boards, peastone, sand, and 2"X 4" boards to put under the marker when cleaning. We dug a deep trench behind the stone, learning that most gravestones are 40% underground. We found the original diggers had placed rounded rocks (as large as small eggplants) in the rear of the gravestone to give it stability. These rocks, lying in the sun, had not seen the light of day for over 160 years!

After careful digging with shovel and trowel, the gravestone marker eventually fell backward into waiting hands that gently placed it on two-by-fours. The buried portion of the stone although covered with grime, nevertheless, displayed a pristine white marble with a pink vein running through it.

Our team excavated the ditch a little wider and deeper and to the left and measured carefully. We shoveled several inches of sand and peastone mix (one measure of sand to one measure of peastone) into the bottom of the hole, watered it, and tamped it down after each shovelful.

Next came the cleaning of the stone. We used a non-ionic detergent called Photo-Flo (Kodak), used by photographers to clean negatives--1/4 oz. of Photo-Flo to 5 quarts of water. Armed with an assortment of brushes, (never wire) of varying stiffness, toothbrushes, sponges, wooden and plastic scrapers, and wooden shish-kebab sticks--we scrubbed and scraped. Years of grime gave way to persistent washing and watering down. The toothbrushes and sticks were most helpful in pulling dirt from lettering.

During the course of our work we were stopped temporarily to watch other field exercises in resetting crooked markers; probing for broken markers and techniques of simple adhesion; casting new bases when old ones are damaged; repairs of simple fissures; topping sandstone markers with caps; and the proper techniques of cleaning markers, including removal of lichen and moss. Although, Bob Rambone was on another team, he was a most helpful and willing colleague, taking notes, asking cogent questions and using sweat equity that could easily land him a job on “This Old House.”

When we finished cleaning the front of Cornelius’s stone, the men on my team turned it over to the other side. Green mold and streaks of ground-in dirt greeted us but the cleaning proved easier on this blank surface. Our stone began to glow.

Finally, the men set our marker in place--leveled, nudged, and leveled it again. Next, additional peastone and sand was applied around the stone, water constantly added, and materials tamped down after each application. The final dressing was turf. Minxie Fannin pronounced our stone “done,” and placed a blue ribbon on it. “This team wasn’t the first one finished,” she said “but you had the biggest stone.” We stood for a moment admiring our marker now standing straight and tall--a truly glistening tribute to Cornelius Forshee. We had our picture taken.

I said a silent prayer for young Cornelius, and then noted down his epitaph:

My parents dear weep not for me
When in this yard my grave you see
My time was short and blest is He
That called me to eternity.

11/10/00
Above article is copyright © 2000 Ruth A. Paci

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