Cold day here, typical and acceptable for January 6th. Too cold and wet to go outdoors, so I went poking around in the upstairs closet looking for some old Microsoft 2000 Office disks. In doing so I happened upon a box of old magazines, mostly Reader’s Digests from the late Fifties, Sixties and early Seventies. I found myself huddled under a small ring of light flipping through the pages and stopping at articles of interest.

In the 1974 July edition of Reader’s Digest, beginning on page 67 there is a story titled, “Who mourns for Herbie Wirth”. The story can be found on-line by entering “Herbie Wirth” in the search line. It is a simple story of what one man meant to a lot of people. As I read the story, I remembered the two summers I worked for a large cemetery in the suburbs of a metropolitan area. I worked there between my junior and senior years in high school and again after my senior year in high school as I prepared for my freshman year in college.

I worked with the grounds crew, but had sort of a specialty job which kept me, more or less, to myself as I went about my duties. I watered six of the largest and most prestigious sections in the cemetery in front of the mausoleum and also maintained the low trees and shrubs. That is, keeping them pruned and looking right. The lawn mowing was done by the lawn mowing crew, so I was not responsible for that part of the job.

I don’t know if I volunteered for the duty, or not? However, to the South of where my sections were located, about a quarter of a mile, was Potter’s Field. This was a small, well maintained part of the cemetery, almost obscured by pine trees, where the poor were interred.

Just guessing, I would say about a half dozen times in those two seasons I worked there I was called upon to be a pallbearer and, if I wished, I could remain for the services, if there were any at all. If the deceased had no friends, or relatives, myself, along with the hearse drive and a few other employees would handle the entire service.

The twenty-First Psalm was read, usually by an employee and we then went on our way. I rarely spoke of this, I think it was just too difficult for me to understand at the time. I was young, surrounded by my youth and immortality and it seemed I had done all I could do. Justification came from the simple fact I was correct, if not in whole, in part, I had done all I could do.

A small metal plate would then be placed at the head of the plot and the pasteboard name plate would fade and become unreadable within a few weeks. The lawn mowing crew would remove it so they could run the large mowers over the turf without damaging the reel cutting blades.

Referencing Herbie Wirth, one time there was a service and the fellow drew almost the entire congregation of a church and with the similar reasons surrounding Herbie Wirth. I remember being given notification that the small service would take place around ten in the morning. I walked over to the site and as I brushed my way through and past the foliage I saw a lot of people and they kept coming. I was never told the entire story, but I guess the fellow had many silent friends like Herbie?

I does seem a shame to me that we wait until such a time to express, or display our feelings. I often think of family, relatives and friends and wonder if I adequately expressed my love for them, or were my actions and words strong enough to carry the message?

Note: I added two pictures of the cemetery to my gallery. One is the entire cemetery and the other is the six sections I worked for two summer seasons. Many of the trees have since been removed, some for security reasons, some because they were diseased. At the time I worked there it was very close to a forest in several places.

Norm