I parked in the Bethel Methodist cemetary, a block-wide rectangle flanked on the west by the Beebe Medical center on the main route into Lewes, and sought out the older-looking tombstones. As I walked through the rows all the white, rust-stained stones were from lives lived in the 1800's, while those who would have died near the same time as my grandfather, in the 50's, were well-preserved gray granite with contemporary script. There were many Messicks, Morrises, Harrington's, (Harrington, Delaware is another place in my memory of places to look, but I haven't remembered that at this point), Beebe's, but no Newmans. After walking about half the lot I drove over to the church itself to seek assistance. A woman in the office gave me the name and phone for Don Mitchell, the caretaker. An old voice answered the phone. I gave the name and year to him from my parking place on 4th and he said he'd look & get back to me. It was getting to be late for making the trip to Greenbackville then all the way to DC, but I felt the need to try. I made a quick sandwich in the tailgate with leftover sausage from the night before. A man in his 50's with a worn look on his face came by and went for the blue-green 1970's pickup parked behind me - I asked if he had enough room to get out. "Not going, I'm at the hospital". He entered the passenger side and sat while I went back to my sandwich. Wasn't in the mood to chat.
Don called back a few minutes later. I heard, "We have a record of Alexander Newman".
"You do?"
"We do NOT have a record of him, I'm sorry."
I expressed some confusion about this and asked for suggestions. He didn't have much to offer so I thanked him and hung up.
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| The note I was recalling. |
"receipt" - a handwritten note in an envelope addressed to E A Newman, and thought perhaps it's not related to his resting place, but that of one of his relatives. I forgot that I had scanned all these documents so could look at them on my computer - if I had remembered, it would have led me further than I got while I was there.
But I was feeling pressure to get to Greenbackville, over an hour and a half away, so I could make it to DC and Sarah's before it was dark. I reluctantly pulled out of Lewes, wishing I could spend a few days in Lewes looking for Alex Newman and enjoying the pleasant town. I took off south on the local highway, immediately hitting Friday afternoon beach traffic headed to Rehobeth. A few blocks later I was able to turn onto DE24 heading towards Millsboro. Home of Congressman Condrey, according to the elegant signage heading into town. Millsboro was a humble mix of local commercial businesses and modest prefab or victorian houses; the only temptation a place with a stenciled paint sign "The Family Restaurant."
On 24, I pass a place called "Holly Lake" with a large funky painted sign in front of a lodge-like store, or restaurant, or campground supply - it was hard to tell without turning around and stopping. A few miles further is the Nanticoke Indian Museum, but again I don't have time to stop.
At the Azafran cafe this morning a couple sat next to me, older, and I asked them if they were locals. They were. Gail was elegant and bespectacled with a golden-grey bob; Cole a stately white-crowned gentleman with bright blue eyes and friendly face. I inquired about the Methodist cemetary and whether they had any tips on finding someone there. They didn't know but thought there would be an office I could check. I filled them in on what I was doing, seeking family and touring the country. Told them I was going to Greenbackville next. Cole was the talkative one, and remarkably was originally from Greenbackville. He filled me in on what's there now - has become a bedroom community for Wallops Island where NASA is developing the unmanned rockets. I asked if there was still a downtown & he said, "oh yeah, it's still there, you might find some people from back then there." He told me that since I was going down there I'd be remiss to not spend time seeing Assatigue and Chincoteague, the two barrier Islands just off the coast there which are quite stunning. Chincoteague is known for its wild ponies. I had to stay on schedule.
On 24 I drive through the middle of a huge industrial site, a full mile of structures with a man-bridge connecting the buildings one side to the other. The signage for Montaire indicated chicken processing, and it smelled it as well. Surrounging fields were half-high with wheat and corn.
I turned onto US 113 heading south towards Selbyville and the state line with Maryland. I'm thinking I'll spend an hour in Greenbackville if there's a coffee shop. If not I'll just take a spin around with the camera then move on.
I went through Selbyville, didn't see anything from 113 but perhaps there is an interesting downtown. I pass the exit for US50 E/W, heading to Ocean Pines and Ocean City MD one direction and Salisbury MD and Washington DC the other. After this the four lanes drop to two with a dashed yellow between them. At 4:00pm I'm making good time and expect I can get to DC from Greenbackville before 9pm, maybe even 8:30 if the road allows.
This part of the world is wheat and corn fields, chicken farms, divided by woods and marked with an occasional intersection - it's so remote I'm amazed that I ran into someone in Lewes who was from the place I'm going.
I pass a sign indicating that Snow Hill, MD off to the right has an historic district and a big furnace to look at. The town name seems familiar and I add it to the list of places I would see if I had time. At this point I turn onto MD12 towards the Virginia border and my destination. I pass through Girdletree, with a few brick buildings and houses, including an historic bank building and a firehouse. A mile south of Girdletree in the midst of corn on one side and soybeans on the other is a small building with a weathered sign on a post, "Timeless Tavern." In front six pickup trucks were parked, their owners presumably inside. Then Stockton, a mostly abandoned looking place with a firehouse, 2 brick buildings with storefronts across an intersection, both empty and decrepit, but for a "for rent" sign in one. I turn left onto VA679 at the Virginia border, a/k/a State Line road...literally. I pass a sign for a golf course, which seems out of place. I wonder if Greenbackville is some gated community with polo-shirt-and-sperry-topsider-wearing clans. There is a Prudential office in a house. Woods. An old cemetary, Union, on the Maryland side of the road. A stone-walled entrance to something called "Captain's Cove" - a country club or planned community on the Virginia side. Then the road curves south, crosses a creek and the trees clear and there's a few 1940-ish clapboard houses in modest relation to each other suggesting a place.
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| Greenbackville |
"Hi how ya doing?" I ask, eyeing firefighter logos on the shirtpockets.
"Ok" they say, curious but wary.
"I have kind of a funny question for you. My grandfather was raised here in the early 1900's, and I'm trying to find someone who might know something about it. Any suggestions?"
At this the fellows relax and we're all happy to be out here on a sunny day with something interesting to discuss. Randall is the older of the two, with white goatee and a pate. Jeremy, a rugged man in his 30's, lets him take the lead. Randall talks about Shirley and her husband (Mitchell?) as the oldest residents, who may have been around before 1920. He mentions a fellow volunteer firefighter named Brian. "Don't be fooled by his young appearance, he knows more about Greenbackville than anyone around." Brian is the town historian. Apparently just finished cutting his lawn last they saw. Given Greenbackville only has about 3 streets, it's easy to know what your neighbors have been up to as recently as a few minutes ago. Randall first tells me where he lives then calls him and tells him to come over to the post office, "there's a lady here from New York with an interesting question. It will be worth your while, will give you a chance to use your town historian hat."
Brian shows up a few minutes later, also in a pickup truck. A 30-ish guy with russet moustache and a thoughtful look, in the same blue t-shirt with the firefighter logo. Brian is author of the town web site and knows a lot about the history of the town which began as an oyster village and saw its heyday during the railroad years of 1870s - 1950s. He's not sure about the people though, warns me off a long visit to Shirley and suggests I locate the church pastor Paul Winbrow who may have some church records that could be helpful. "He was just about to take a nap when I spoke to him a little while ago, but I'm sure his wife Theresa wouldn't mind if you drove by."
We talked a bit longer about the town. The town store closed a while back, the post office moved into the space. Momma's next door closed a few years ago; only the soda machine functions there now. The town has 2 soda machines, a post office, and the Crusty Crab restaurant down by the water, which seems to be a point of pride. They give me directions to Paul's house and we bid farewell.
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| Greenbackville |
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Paul tells me he could help me, but it would take time. He recalled the first search he did, in the early 90's, for a relative of a friend that took him four months and several trips in the region. I tell him I'm fine with staying in touch and letting him take his time. He gives me a clipboard of blank paper to write on. We sit at the kitchen table in the modest but comfortable house. A scented candle centerpiece perfumes the air. There are placemats and a breakfast bar. I begin writing down the information I have from memory. Paul begins talking about how it has been a while since he has done any research like this but he was quite busy with it in the 1990's. I tell him about my sister who has done a lot of work on the family history, but we're missing some links. Its a n enthusiastic conversation with some stories about chasing down relatives for other people. It's remarkable I've found someone who will not only look through the church records, but will be able to do a lot of research in the community. I ask about the church work - "I imagine it's not full-time, pretty small..." "About 150, yes. I used to work at NASA, now I'm at Captain's Cove."
By way of talking about families, he mentions he lost both of his parents 3 years earlier and I interject that i too lost my parents, last year. He pauses and stares at me, then says, "how do you get over it?"
I look at him long, then say, "I'm still grieving."
What followed was unexpected, a tragic story. I listened. It seemed I was meant to be there for reasons beyond my simple search.
At some point, he had stood up, but now he sat down. "So this, this is just what I need. A project. Something to take my mind off of all this...this is going to be very helpful. I really have to thank Brian for sending you over here. I'm very grateful to you."
We exchanged contact information and I bid farewell, taking his hand in both of mine. The beige dog escorted me to my car, happily frolicking.
I drove down the bay road to the edge, next to an old oyster shed. It was the most tranquil place I'd been in a long time. I got out of the car for a while and walked along the crushed oyster shells that covered the path. The water quietly lapped and bees hummed in the lace. In the distance was Chincoteague, dotted with houses on the bay side. The sun was sliding towards the horizon but the light was entrancing. I left reluctantly, again.
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| Greenbackville, VA |
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| Greenbackville, VA |
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| Greenbackville, VA |
I reached DC around 10pm, after a long, mostly unremarkable drive on US50, with a stop in Snow Hill for a quick bite. "Quick" turned out to be a 45-minute Ceasar salad in the Blue Dog Cafe, a staple of evening dining and entertainment there for some decades. The service was friendly but slow. I itched in my seat then wolfed the salad down and left exact change.
In DC, Sarah helped me get the car in the alley garage and in schlepping my cooler, now a warmer, and some bags. I hit the bed and passed out.
