#Princeton Cemetery

[princetonarchives]

"A College is a family on a large scale, and the students stand to one another in the relation of brothers…It may be imagined then with what a force of feeling they lament the death of one of their number; with what blackness sorrow veils the youthful heart, with what eloquence grief speaks from the moist eye. … In the Princeton graveyard the class of 1856 have reared a marble shaft, and soon they propose to erect another, whereby to perpetuate the memories of those who have left them for the Spirit Land."

--A member of Princeton's Class of 1856, following the fourth death of a class member in the span of a year (Thomas J. Trippe, Herman L. Platt, John Hun Meads, and Sylvester Larned Hennen), in the New York Observer, November 8, 1855

Students' monuments in Princeton Cemetery, 1860. Historical Photograph Collection, Grounds and Buildings Series (AC111), Box MP24, Image No. 580.

[cia-mia-00]

Timothy Casket headcannon story dump based on the Real Guy in a Real World vid. This thing's like 6 paragraphs so it's under the bar lmao

TW: Murder, Suicide

Imagine: Timothy Casket is a groundskeeper and sole employee at a small family owned cemetery which he inherits from his eccentric parents. One night, Jimmy jumps from Princeton Quagmire's* corpse to Tim. Eventually with Jimmy's help Tim loses it and murders Stacey: his wife and Gregory's birth mother. In a daze, he buries her in the backyard in the rain, unknowingly being watched by a 4 year old Gregory. (this is where I like to think the umbrella image comes in)

After, Timothy's mind is shattered and it becomes near impossible to tell whenever it is Tim, who wants to protect his son, or Jimmy, who wants to drag Gregory down with him. Gregory is scared and confused and although visions of his mother's corpse try to warn and care for him, he cannot help but trust "Timothy", who ensures Jimmy's influence rubs off onto him, too.

By the time the police come sniffing around the house, Tim is a paranoid wreck and sends Gregory away to his grandparents, strange reclusive people in their own right, so that the law doesn't find Gregory and ask him any questions. Tim, insane, remorseful, and knowing there's no way to get away with the crime, and Jimmy, secure that he has a new host in Gregory, commits suicide before Tim can be arrested and interrogated. The case is never solved.

By the time Gregory finds his way to his grandparents isolated mansion, he finds that they were already dead, and must've been for a long time. So, he has no choice but to try and care for and feed himself, stuck in that secluded house without any food, electricity, or running water for two years. But, luckily he wasn't completely alone...!

When Gregory escapes the house, he is found by Maloney. Gregory tells maloney his name is Johnny. Johnny is adopted by Peewee Ghost and meets Toast, who lives in the same neighborhood. And with the help of extensive therapy, the rest is history.

*I have a hard time choosing between Jimmy possessing Tim through Quagmire's body or the Grandparents being cultists and the cemetery being a ploy to summon Jimmy through Tim. If the grandparents were cultists it could give some excuse as to why CBF is in their house and CBF's weird relationship with Jimmy.

Also I'm going nuts thinking about Timothy singing the Hearse Song to Gregory as a lullaby

[freetheshit-outofyou]

The list of US K.I.A.'s from Operation Just Cause December 20, 1989 – January 31, 1990.

Army

Name    Home of Record

SSG Larry Barnard            Hallstead, PA

PFC Roy D. Brown Jr.       Buena Park, CA

PVT Vance T. Coats           Great Falls, MT              

SPC Jerry S. Daves            North Carolina

SGT Michael A. Deblois   Dubach, LA

PFC Martin D. Denson     Abilene, TX

PFC William D. Gibbs       Marina, CA.

SPC Phillip S. Lear            Westminster, SC

SPC Alejandro Manriquelozano*               Lauderhill, FL

PFC James W. Markwell  Cincinnati, Ohio

CPL Ivan M. Perez            Pawtucket, R.I

PFC John M. Price            Conover, WI

PFC Scott L. Roth              Killeen, TX

PVT Kenneth D. Scott       Princeton, WV

1LT John R. Hunter           Victor, MT

CW2 Wilson B. Owens    Myrtle Beach, SC

CW2 Andrew P. Porter  �� Saint Clair, MI

PVT James A. Taber Jr.    Montrose, CO

Navy

LT(JG) John Connors         Arlington, MA

BM1 Chris Tilghman        Kailua, HA

ENC Donald McFaul         Deschutes, OR

TM2 Issac G. Rodriguez III           Missouri City, TX

Marine Corps

Name    Home of Record

Cpl. Garreth C. Isaak                      Greenville, SC     * denotes service member is laid to rest at Arlington National Cemetery.

[theoburrsvirginitybalcony]

Did you know that there's an orgy in Princeton cemetery

[7r0773r]

South to America: A Journey Below the Mason-Dixon to Understand the Soul of a Nation by Imani Perry

In the light, the corners crinkle. Feet hurt; life is a hustle. And that is Atlanta, too. There are lots of poor folks, particularly among the residents whose families have been there the longest. And whether it's in comparison to the nouveau riche or the old money, there is a resentment there as well as an attraction to the unfulfilled promise. The kids who wander around Lenox mall, often with very little in their pockets, have eyes filled with possibility. Hotlanta, ATL, ATLiens, ALANNA. . . the major metropolis of the South doesn't have a sufficient mass transit system or a polyglot culture yet. What it does have is a lot of really nice shit. And listen, dirt roads will not let you forget to appreciate that. (King of the South, p. 151)

***

That's who my people are. You hold your people close, but that, too, is a matter of understanding that they have been ripped out of your arms again and again over generations: sold away, killed by a grinding gear, a careening car, off in the labor camp, off on the chain gang, down from the lynching tree, away to the prison, dead from the sugar, from sepsis, from cancer, from a broken heart. The way life kills, with unapologetic abandon, is precisely why we hold each other so close. And get so angry when our love is riven. In Ralph Ellison's "Harlem is Nowhere," he thinks about how the Black Southerner is ill equipped for the North. According to Ellison, his subtle devices become laughable or even simpleminded there. I doubt that was true, even at the time. But in any case, a Black mind built to handle absurdity is a wonderful thing to maintain. And you need your people to show you how. (More Than a Memorial, p. 156)

***

The driver's gentility, despite the fact that he could have, could still, string me up without the world flinching? That toothless smile that could easily accompany either mirth or murderousness, depending on the eyes? This is what Black folks mean when we say we prefer the Southern White person's honest racism to the Northern liberal's subterfuge. It is not physically more benign, or more dependable. But it is transparent in the way it terrorizes. You never forget to have your shoulders hitched up a little and taut, even (and especially) when they call you "sweetheart." Cold comfort. (More Than a Memorial, pp. 168-69)

***

In the town cemetery, Jonathan Edwards is buried. A president of Princeton, father of the Great Awakening, he met his maker after a bad smallpox inoculation. The sarcophagus, heavy gray and stone, bears a few stilted words. It belies the man. Edwards always had a great deal to say. He wrote on everything. And among his possessions, on the other side of a paper that he had cut into quadrants to write four good sermons, was a bill of sale for an African woman named Venus. What a fascinating example of reuse and resourcefulness: a sermon on top of human trafficking. Historians know nothing of the transit of Venus. Just that she was here and some other there, as Edwards preached the imminent destruction of a reprobate American people who yelled "What shall I do to be saved?!” He thought he knew. (Pearls Before Swine, pp. 179-80)

***

Keep going and make a left on Calhoun, named for, you already know, the South Carolinian vice president of the United States who loved slavery and built the architecture of Indian removal to the West. If you took a right, you would eventually come to Liberty Square. But left, you get to Mother Emanuel Church. Long before Dylann Roof came, I had visited Mother Emanuel Church. As with Savannah's First African Baptist, it is hallowed ground, a church made by a fire-and-brimstone resistance. The self-effacement of the Black and holy is only one side of the story, and if you think all they ever did was pray and forgive, you really do not know the story.

Denmark Vesey, one of the South Carolina's most significant enslaved insurrectionists, was once a member of Mother Emanuel. It had been founded in 1816. City leaders forced them to close their doors in 1818. Too much freedom happened there. And after Vesey's revolt, the building was burned to the ground in 1822, only to be rebuilt. The parishioners persisted.

But you also have to understand that, before Dylan Roof, the termites had taken over. They had eaten Mother Emanuel from the inside out. The wood could have been struck, and it would have given way, bending back into the imprint of a hand or a foot. History sometimes tends and sometimes distends. Sometimes repairs are done to physical structures that also ought to be done to human ones. And Dylann Roof is and was the product of an American house eaten out by its choices and built atop the graveyard of what came before. He, too, was called an outsider by locals, rather than an alarming testimony to American violence. This vanity of innocence is like guarding a gate when the warriors are already inside.

Roof says he thought that his prison sentence would not be carried out because of the coming race war. Denmark Vesey could never have approached "the Rising," what he and his compatriots called their planned slave insurrection, with such confidence. It was always a gamble for freedom. Vesey had bought his own freedom with his earnings from a local lottery, but hadn't been able to free his first wife and children, or the members of his church. The revolt he planned had the ultimate goal of, after freeing the enslaved, sailing to Haiti. The plan was squashed before it began. Thirty-five Black people, Vesey among them, were hanged in penalty for plotting their freedom.

Roof is alive. I'm not saying he shouldn't be, just that he is.

Historians think Vesey was born in Bermuda in 1757. He was sold to a planter in Haiti, who ultimately returned Denmark to his original owner because he had epilepsy. Once Vesey's master settled in Charleston, a cosmopolitan hub, Vesey became literate. At a crossroads of history, his story is yet another reminder of the breadth of the antebellum Southern world. After Vesey was executed, one of his sons was deported to Cuba. One of his wives went to Liberia. One of his children helped rebuild the historic African Methodist Episcopal Church, where Roof enacted a time-warp revenge against Black freedom.

Long before Vesey, there was the Stono Rebellion in South Carolina, in 1739. Those insurrectionists, led by an enslaved Angolan named Jemmy, planned to go to Florida, another nation then, where freedom had been promised. But they were intercepted and killed, or deported as slaves to the Caribbean. Prohibitions on gatherings, education, and group movement for Black people were legislated. A ten-year moratorium on importing Africans was implemented. The point is that there were, of course, cycles of repression and cycles of resistance. I suppose the thing I most want to say is that it is rarely acknowledged that every time that group of parishioners gathered in Mother Emanuel, they stood in a tradition of refusing to be rendered soulless and unfree. No gentrifiers, no hierarchies, no displacement, no new arrivals, and no, not even massacres that laid bodies low, one on top of another, can erase that. Their testimony is already embedded in the land. (Home of the Flying Americans, pp. 276-78)

***

I cannot help but think about sweetness born of the violence of slavery as a metaphor for New Orleans, which is a cradle holding together the South and its strands at the root. Like its native drink, a Sazerac, it's sweet and strong enough to knock you on your ass or knock you out. And of course, as often as people try to cut it off from the rest of the South, it functions like a phantom limb, one that we feel everywhere in the fabric of the country, even when we don't see it right there on us. The graves in New Orleans sit above-ground because of potential flooding. And so the dead are raised and decorated with stunningly bright mausoleums and abundant flowers. The spirits hear the music and might be swaying, too. New Orleans choreography often feels like a dance at the Kongo cross-roads. (Magnolia Graves and Easter Lilies, pp. 342-43)

***

Whatever the case, visiting holy people soothes my spirit. I won't share the details of what [the babalawo, a Yoruban priest] told me; just know that it was all true and useful. And if there is a dramatic difference, besides language, between there and here, it is that the Cubans, no matter how white their skin, do not deny the fundamental Africanness of who they are the way Southern White people do, assiduously. Visiting this babalawo helped me think about that fact. What exhaustion must be required to passionately deny that which has shaped so much of who you are? Maybe this is part of the White evangelical discipline of prayer. To absolve the self-denial. To drown it in catharsis. White Cubans have no need. But I do not think that is a mark of virtue as much as it is a marker of nationalisms. Countries get accorded races, no matter how multiracial they are. And Cuba is Blackish brown. The US is White; we (Black people) are its built-in other. (Paraíso, p. 367)

[handsome-enemy-you-despise]

trinity church cemetery won, princeton cemetery should do better than this

[valkyries-things]

FRANCES CLEVELAND // FIRST LADY OF THE UNITED STATES

“She was the first lady of the United States from 1886 to 1889 and again from 1893 until 1897, as the wife of President Grover Cleveland. She is the only first lady in U.S. history to have served in the role during two non-consecutive terms. Cleveland became involved in education advocacy, serving on the Wells College board, supporting women's education, and organizing the construction of kindergartens. During World War I, she advocated military preparedness. She died in 1947 and was buried alongside her first husband in Princeton Cemetery.”

[northiowatoday]

OBIT: Lorraine M. Berg

OBIT: Lorraine M. Berg

A funeral service for Lorraine Berg will be held at 11:00 AM on Friday, May 10, 2024, at First United Methodist Church in Algona with Pastor Russ Jacobsen officiating. Visitation will be held one hour prior to the service at the church. A committal service will be held at Swea Township Cemetery, rural Swea City, Iowa. Lorraine Marie was born March 22, 1929, in Princeton, Minnesota to Herbert Sr.…

[whitepolaris]

Tomb of the Unknown First Lady

President Woodrow Wilson was twice married, but his second lady gets all the attention. Edith Bolling Wilson was very visible, seeming to rule the United States during the final months of Woodrow's administration, after he became ill. However, his first wife, Ellen Axson, is credited with giving Wilson his start and inventing the modern role of First Ladies.

The young Woodrow Wilson, son of a Presbyterian minister, studied law in Atlanta, failed to his first practice, and wound up in Rome. There he fell in love with the spirited Ellen, daughter of the pastor at First Presbyterian. He wished to marry immediately, but Ellen, a talented artist and independent woman, decided to travel to New York City to study art for a year.

Eventually, Woodrow and Ellen married, in 1885, and the union produced three daughters. Ellen supported her husband's academic career, translating German documents for him. While he was president of Princeton University and governor of New Jersey, she joined the bohemian movement and renewed her artistic career, painting Impressionistic landscapes. Ellen hit her stride as an artist just as Wilson won the presidency, securing an agent and selling two dozen paintings to benefit Berry College in Rome. As First Lady, she supposed education and improved working housing in Washington, D.C. Ellen also oversaw the planting of the Rose Garden at the White House.

Sadly, Ellen was First Lady for only a year and a half. She died of kidney disease in 1914 at the age of fifty-four. A funeral train returned her to Rome for burial at scenic Myrtle Hill Cemetery, the service attended by almost the entire community. Ellen Wilson rests today beneath a large monument in the Axson plot. Engraved on her headstone is a line from Wordsworth: SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT. Although his daughters claimed Wilson wanted to be buried with Ellen in Rome, at his death in 1924 Edith Wilson had him interred at the National Cathedral in Washington, D.C. As he lay near death, Wilson told one daughter, "I owe everything to your mother-you know that, don't you?"

[princetonarchives]

The grave of Aaron Burr, 1860. Burr's burial in Princeton had been the subject of discussion, rumor, and controversy for decades by this point. In 1852, the New York Evangelist had reported, "The grave of Aaron Burr, at Princeton, N.J. has been daguerreotyped. Not a stone marks the spot, though Burr is understood to have left a wealthy widow, and his ashes lie surrounded by the impressive monuments of Jonathan Edwards, John Witherspoon, Ashbel Green, other deceased officers of Princeton College, whereof Burr’s father was once President. Such is the end of evil greatness."

Historical Photograph Collection, Grounds and Buildings Series (AC111), Box AD10, Image No. 9472.

[jkanelis]

Freelance job adds joy to life

One of the purest joys of my gig as a freelance journalist in North Texas deals with the quality of people I get to meet along the way. Such as what happened this morning when I ventured to a historic cemetery near Princeton, Texas. They had a ceremony today to lay wreaths on the graves of veterans who are buried at Wilson Chapel Memorial Cemetery. The event is run essentially by the local…

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Their Legacy Endures: Visiting Princeton Cemetery Princeton Cemetery is sometimes called “the Westminster Abbey of America” because of the number of notable figures buried here. Standing by the grave of Jonathan Edwards and his wife, Sarah, Stephen Nichols and Nathan W. Bingham consider several of these figures and their continued influence on the church.

[leastparanoidandroid]

“hmm i think i will explore the princeton cemetery” <- clueless

“hmm the ghosts are following me now” <- clueful

[ammg-old2]

When the corpse of a Wagner mercenary fighter arrived in his small Russian village in late February after he was killed fighting in Ukraine, some residents wanted to give him a hero’s burial. Others could not forget that the former prisoner had stabbed his father to death.

The ruckus prompted a stream of acrimonious comments on social media, with those demanding military honors for the fighter, Ilshat Askarov, flinging words like “Shame!” or “Traitor!” at opponents. Detractors called it a travesty to treat convicts who went to war for money as if they were regular soldiers.

Disputes like this one are erupting across Russia as convicts killed in the war are returned to their hometowns — dividing villages and pitting neighbors against one another. The diverging viewpoints underscore the difficult moral calculations involved in releasing criminals to fight for their country.

Some villages have vetoed the presence of a military honor guard at the burials, while others denied relatives the use of public spaces to accommodate mourners. One remote Siberian village balked at providing transportation to bring home the coffin of a man formerly imprisoned for beating his girlfriend.

In the southwestern Rostov region, Roman Lazaruk, 32, was buried in February in the local “Alley of Heroes” after dying in the battle for Bakhmut. But his violent criminal record — he was convicted of burning his mother and sister to death in 2014 — outraged some local residents.

A former classmate of the sister was appalled that convicts were being buried in the area of the cemetery once reserved for soldiers from World War II. “What did this Lazaruk or other guys do?” she told a local online newspaper. “They killed, stole, stabbed, raped, went to jail and went out to continue killing. What kind of heroes are they?”

Russia wandered into this thicket by allowing the Wagner private military group to recruit tens of thousands of convicts from penal colonies to fight and die in Ukraine, many near the eastern city of Bakhmut. The move allowed the Kremlin to replenish its ranks and postpone a conscription of civilians until last September, but it also alienated some Russians.

With President Vladimir V. Putin deepening the militarization of Russian society, soldiers are being put on a pedestal. Both the Kremlin’s propaganda machine and Yevgeny V. Prigozhin, the founder of the Wagner forces, have sought to portray all those killed as heroes defending the Motherland, no matter how sordid their backgrounds.

In Russian schools, new patriotic education classes have been named “Heroes of Modern Russia,” and fresh plaques on some school walls honor former prisoners who died.

“Designing the image of a hero has always been a matter of state policy,” said Elena Istyagina-Eliseeva, a member of the Civic Chamber, a Kremlin organization that steers civil society, at a recent Moscow conference about heroes.

The tension between that jingoistic narrative of the war and the grim realities of coping with soldiers’ deaths is an especially acute phenomenon in small villages. Residents tend to remember the chilling details of the crimes committed by men who were subsequently recruited from prison to fight.

“They know who is a criminal, who is a danger to the community, and they want to protect their everyday lives,” said Greg Yudin, a Russian professor of political philosophy currently doing research at Princeton University. “It is a kind of moral protection of their community.”

On the other side are regional officials who intercede in disputes over burials, pushing the Kremlin’s narrative, as well as relatives and friends of the deceased who want to remove the stigma of the crime. Soldiers who were outcasts in the community can become heroes, Professor Yudin said. “You can get some money out of them,” he said, referring to government payments to families of dead soldiers, “and their reputation is whitewashed. That is a good deal, so you can understand those people.”

[wutbju]

Kathleen “Kitty” Short Kandalaft, daughter of the late Kenneth Short and Martha Lester Short, was born on August 17, 1930, in Indian Creek, West Virginia, and departed this life on April 7, 2022, at Saint Francis Medical Center in Cape Girardeau, Missouri, at the age of 91 years.

Mrs. Kandalaft was a former educator with the Sikeston Public School System in Sikeston, Missouri, where she taught third grade for 20 years. She was a member of the First United Methodist Church in Dexter, Missouri, and a resident of Dexter. She was a former member of the Dexter School Board and Missouri State School Board.

A lifelong learner, Kitty loved literacy, music, nature, and poetry. She began her college career at Concord College in Princeton, West Virginia before transferring to Bob Jones University in Greenville, South Carolina, where she learned to play the harp, and obtained her music degree. In 1957, she earned her master’s degree in education from Northeast Missouri State Teachers College. Aside from motherhood, one of the highlights of her life was obtaining her private airplane pilot’s license in 1971.

During her lifetime Kitty traveled extensively. She toured England, Rome, Venice, Paris, Spain, Portugal, Katmandu, Lebanon, Jordan, Amsterdam, Israel, Switzerland, and Germany. She visited Belgium via the Channel from England. Her favorite spot was Vienna, Austria, because of the musical influences, and because it was so clean.

While attending Bob Jones University, she met her first husband, Dr. Fuad Kandalaft and to this union four daughters were born, Victoria, Catherine, Patricia, and Leila. On April 14, 2007, she was then united in marriage to Dr. Floyd C. Northington. Dr. Northington preceded her in death on March 9, 2016.

She is survived by her daughters, Victoria Kandalaft of Germantown, Tennessee, Catherine Kandalaft Clippard of Ozark, Missouri, Patricia Kandalaft of Seattle, Washington, and Leila Kandalaft of Ludwigsburg, Germany; by her brother, Michael Short of Kentucky; by her sister, Patsy Harrington of Fayette, Missouri; and by seven grandchildren Arabella McGowan, Ayman McGowan, MarthaGrace Clippard, Luke Clippard, Leila Serene Heidsieck, Helena Stroetmann, and Alexander Stroetmann.

Other than by her husband and parents, she was preceded in death by her brother, Douglas Short and by her sister, Dorothy Short.

Visitation will be held at Mathis Funeral Home in Dexter on Sunday, April 10, 2022, from 5:00 p.m. until 7:00 p.m. Funeral services will then be conducted at the First United Methodist Church in Dexter on Monday, April 11, 2022, at 11:00 a.m. with Rev. Larry Lawman officiating. Interment will follow in the New Bethel Ezell Cemetery.

Memorials may be made to the Bethlehem Bible College, 614C South Business IH-35, New Braunfels, Texas 78130.

[alsjeblieft-zeg]

007 of 2023

Was Your Year Like Mine? An End Of Year Survey [2022]

Created by hxcsingingsk8r

You went on a road trip with friends You took a snowy cabin road trip You rang in the new year on vacation You got some new clothes as Goodwill You had a family photo shoot You did at least one cosplay You went on a pretty walk/hike close to your home, but an area you hadn't been to before You were sent a care package from someone You got married to the love of your life! You went on a honeymoon You went to Hawaii You went to Waikiki Beach specifically You tried either Starlight Coke or Dreamworld Coke, or both (never heard of it) You tried either Mango Gem Mountain Dew or Baja Gold Mountain Dew, or both (never heard of it either) You played glow-in-the-dark golf at least once You got your first manicure ever at a nail salon You got a sparkly acrylic french manicure You ate at a bunch of new restaurants You ate a ton of vegan food You spent time at the beach You went to an art gallery where you really loved the art You hiked up a volcano You flew on a plane You visited a loved one at the cemetery You tried speaking to that loved one... but you didn't feel their presence at all... You went to Vegas You ate a restaurant where you dine in the dark [like pitch black, can't see a thing] You went to a selfie museum and took pics there You visited an ivy league college campus such as Princeton You saw a fox in person [not at the zoo] You moved across the country Your car broke down during a long trip You got stranded in a random city You were forced to miss Halloween You dressed up as a superhero like Scarlet Witch You took lots of selfies You moved into a new place You learned that you're very good at doing impressions of cartoon characters You got to see pretty fall leaves You read We'll Never Be Apart You read the whole Inheritance Games series You made lots of TikTok videos You posted lots of selfies You posted lots of pics of your pets You posted lots of pics of your food You watched The Black Phone You watched The Batman with Robert Pattinson and Zoe Kravitz You watched Everything Everywhere All At Once You watched Encanto You watched Avatar: The Way of Water You watched The Adam Project You watched The Watcher You watched Dahmer You watched Season 3 of The Umbrella Academy You watched Season 3 of Locke & Key You watched Season 4 of Manifest You watched Season 3 of Never Have I Ever You watched Season 4 of Stranger Things You watched Season 2 of Love Is Blind You started a new job this year!