When life’s complexities become overwhelming, there’s a unique sanctuary I often seek. Armed with a wildflower guide and a simple lunch, I journey to the South Shore of Staten Island, losing myself amidst the silent stories etched in its old cemeteries. Places like the cemetery of the Woodrow Methodist Church on Woodrow Road, the serene grounds of St. Luke’s Episcopal Church on Arthur Kill Road in Rossville, or the historically rich old Rossville burying ground further down Arthur Kill Road, become my havens. This southernmost part of Staten Island retains a rural charm, and these cemeteries, often bordered by woods, amplify that sense of peaceful isolation.
Within these hallowed grounds, nature intertwines with history. Scrub trees sprout near some graves, while wildflowers and weeds create vibrant tapestries over others. To truly appreciate the artistry on a gravestone, one might need to gently coax aside a curtain of vines. The older stones, crafted from slate, brownstone, and marble, are miniature works of art. They bear beautifully carved designs – poignant death’s-heads, serene angels, symbolic hourglasses, hands pointing heavenward, gentle recumbent lambs, steadfast anchors, delicate lilies, weeping willows conveying sorrow, and roses with broken stems representing lives cut short. But beyond the artistry, it’s the Old Gravestone Family Names that truly captivate, offering glimpses into the island’s rich past.
These names whisper tales of Staten Island’s heritage. Predominantly Dutch surnames like Winant, Housman, Woglom, Decker, and Van Name are frequently encountered, testaments to the island’s early Dutch settlers. Huguenot names such as Dissosway, Seguine, De Hart, Manee, and Sharrott also appear, recalling the French Huguenot refugees who contributed to the island’s cultural mosaic. Adding to this rich tapestry are English names like Ross, Drake, Bush, Cole, and Clay, reflecting the English colonial influence. These old gravestone family names are not merely labels; they are keys to understanding the lineage of South Shore’s founding families – the farmers and oyster planters who shaped the island’s character. Generations from these families rest side by side, their shared history etched in stone.
St. Luke’s cemetery possesses a venerable apple tree, its branches scattering small, imperfect apples onto the graves below each autumn. In the Woodrow Methodist cemetery, a patch of wild strawberries offers a different kind of natural bounty. Spending an hour or so in these tranquil spaces, observing the gravestone art, deciphering inscriptions, identifying wildflowers, and occasionally startling a rabbit amidst the foliage, evokes a sense of reflection. Contemplating the universal endpoint, surprisingly, lifts my spirits. A quiet cheerfulness emerges, prompting a long, contemplative walk.
These walks often lead me along the Arthur Kill, the tidal strait separating Staten Island from New Jersey, affectionately known as “the inside shore” by long-time islanders. Alternatively, I might wander towards the ocean side, along Raritan Bay, or “the outside shore.” The South Shore’s interior is a network of back roads, inviting exploration of forgotten fields, hidden swamps, stretches of woods, abandoned clay pits, and deserted farmhouses.
Bloomingdale Road is a back road particularly familiar to me. Originally an oyster-shell road, thinly paved with cracked and rutted asphalt, it begins near Rossville by the Arthur Kill and stretches inland for two and a half miles to Amboy Road in Pleasant Plains. Once, this road was lined with small farms supplying Washington Market with fresh produce. The Depression and, later, acid fumes from New Jersey smelting plants took their toll, leading to the decline of many farms. Today, only a handful remain. Nature has reclaimed many old fields with sassafras, gray birch, sumac, and other resilient vegetation. Amidst this regrowth, old apple and pear trees, remnants of forgotten orchards, still stand. I hold a particular fondness for an old pear tree of an unremembered variety, visiting it on each Bloomingdale Road walk, navigating through poison ivy to admire its hollow trunk and lichen-covered bark, still bearing fruit in good years despite its age.
Midway along Bloomingdale Road, three more back roads – Woodrow Road, Clay Pit Road, and Sharrott’s Road – intersect. Around these junctions lies a community that long intrigued me. It’s a historically African American community, consisting of modest frame houses and a white-painted church with vibrant purple, green, and amber windowpanes. A sign proudly proclaims “AFRICAN METHODIST EPISCOPAL ZION.” Southern plants like mock-orange and Spanish bayonet adorn the churchyard, alongside cedar trees. Many homes appear to be decades old, built with sturdy pine and simple carpentry, showing signs of upkeep yet also the inevitable wear of time. The community often seems deserted, though in summer, glimpses of elderly residents on porches or children playing in backyards might be seen. Younger generations are less frequently visible.
It was in St. Luke’s cemetery that an opportunity arose to learn more about this community. One afternoon, while examining a weed growing on the grave of Rachel Dissosway (died 1802), I was approached by Reverend Raymond E. Brock, the rector of St. Luke’s. Our conversation shifted from wildflower identification to local history, and he shared insights about the Sandy Ground community. He explained its origins with free African Americans from Maryland’s Eastern Shore who came to work in Staten Island’s once-thriving oyster industry. Sandy Ground, he said, was a flourishing community built by descendants of these families, many still residing in homes built by their ancestors.
Reverend Brock then mentioned the Sandy Ground cemetery, located off Crabtree Avenue. He described it as belonging to the African Methodist church in Sandy Ground, a burial ground for these families for over a century. He noted its overgrown state, hidden gravestones, and the blend of sandy and loamy soil, creating a haven for diverse plant life. He suggested visiting it to explore the wildflowers and learn more about the community’s history. He advised seeking permission from Mr. George H. Hunter, chairman of the church trustees, a respected 87-year-old figure known for his memory, cooking skills, and deep knowledge of local history, including the old gravestone family names in the Sandy Ground cemetery and the stories they hold. Mr. Hunter, Reverend Brock explained, could offer invaluable insights into the people buried there, their lives, and legacies. His house, easily identifiable by the lightning rods, stands across from the church on Bloomingdale Road.
Exploring old gravestone family names in Staten Island’s cemeteries is more than just genealogy; it’s a journey into the heart of the island’s history and the stories of the families who shaped it. These names, etched in stone, serve as enduring reminders of lives lived, communities built, and the passage of time, inviting us to reflect on our own place within this continuing narrative.
