Claybaugh Wordless Wednesday

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Making enemies

And now, I imagine, the caretaker of Oxford Cemetery hates me.

Sunday morning, with the time change, I assumed that I would be the first person awake in my friends’ house.  So I got up, got dressed, and went over to Oxford Cemetery to get some more photos.  Even though there is an inhabited house on the ground for the caretaker (I assume), neither my car nor the act of photography is very loud.  What I didn’t know at the time is that the caretaker has an excellent guard dog, if guarding the cemetery is one of her duties.  The dog barked for fifteen straight minutes after I drove through the gate.  She quieted down after that (or was shushed) but sounded the alarm again every time I moved the car.  If a cemetery doesn’t have a good parking area, I tend to move my car as I go through it so that I’m always close by if someone else needs to get through.  And Sunday morning was pretty cold, so I used the car to warm up my frozen toes twice.  There were at least four different barking outbursts.

This is a photo of the dog as I got in my car to leave. Considering this is also the cemetery where I startled a caretaker so much he backed his truck over a tombstone, I am probably not his favorite person right now.

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Rider Wordless Wednesday

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Sophronia Bullfinch Pike

When doing research on Sophronia Bulfinch Pike, I found, among other items, a post with her “most famous recipe,” Western Fudge Cake. Pike was a member of the Home Economics Association, but I couldn’t find much else about her other than what is inscribed on her tombstone. It was a little disappointing, because a Google search turns up all sorts of tantalizing hits, but when you click into the document and try to find her name, you can’t. She must have been an interesting woman. From what I can read in those snippets, she was one of those women of the 19th and early 20th centuries who went to college and then had a career rather than marrying.  One of the summaries indicated she had taught at Western College for Women, her alma mater, for almost 50 years.

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Alice Martha Wood

This stone pulls at my heartstrings.  A young woman went away to Western Female Seminary in Oxford, Ohio, in the fall of 1866, and by early January of 1867, she passed away.  I don’t know what she died of and I know almost nothing about her.  I know it’s fanciful and not necessarily true, but I imagine her as I was myself at that age – living away from my parents at school, making new friends, and having my worldview change as my mind expanded.  (Of course, for all I know, her family lived nearby and this is all in my head.)  I imagine a young woman sick and dying, separated from her family, and having to be buried in the local cemetery rather than in the family plot back home.

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Where I went

I last took a look at the cemetery symbolism of the upright fist with the pointer finger extended in Going Up. I wanted to share some more photos that I have found of this symbol, since it is one of the most common to find in Ohio from the 19th century.

Matilda Escott and her daughter Caroline died in the 1860s, and the finger points upward to heaven, where the remaining family no doubt believed they ascended. They rest in Fort Meigs Cemetery in Perrysburg, Ohio.

In Ashtabula’s Chestnut Grove Cemetery, we find Martha, whose surname I could not read. Her family wanted visitors to know that she was heaven-bound.

Alice Stork’s body rests in Oxford Cemetery, Ohio, but her parents placed a marker with this symbol, showing that her soul was elsewhere.

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Wallace Pattison Roudebush

At Oxford Cemetery, faculty and staff of Miami University can be buried with university tombstones, but I didn’t need the university seal on this stone to know that the man buried here was associated with the university. When I was in graduate school, I walked or drove by Roudebush Hall every single day.

The years inscribed on either side of the university seal record his long tenure at the university. Roudebush graduated from Miami University and was almost immediately appointed as secretary to the university president in 1911. he served the university continuously until his death in 1956. Author Chris Maraschiello’s Wallace P. Roudebush: Spirit of the Institution argues that that administrator’s most lasting legacy is the look of Miami’s campus. For those who have never visited Miami University of Ohio, the campus is populated with red brick Georgian-style halls interspersed among a few older gray stone buildings, all sprawled across a significant amount of open green land and gardens. Roudebush was also respected as an honest and competent financial administrator, particularly devoted to student financial assistance. At the time of his death, he was the university’s financial manager.

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Today I am thankful for women’s education…

For a little more than five years of my life, I supported myself, something I could not have achieved without the education I was able to receive. The past sometimes seems so distant that it is hard to remember that, had I been born just a century earlier in the same place, my sex might have prevented me from receiving any more than a rudimentary education. It is exceedingly unlikely that I would have been able to obtain a college education, let alone a master’s degree.

I stand on the shoulders of educators like Helen Peabody, Emily Jessup, and Caroline D. White, women who not only fought for their own right to be educated, but then taught the next generation after them. They lived in a time when women’s very capacity for learning was questioned. They inhabited a society that accused educated women of neglecting their natural destiny and damaging the reproductive systems merely by learning.

these women made what were probably in some case hard choices, choices that aligned them to their academic institution more closely that most women are today.  They paved the way for myself and countless other women. This post is but a small token of my gratitude.

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The Ghost of Helen Peabody

When I was a student at Miami University of Ohio, everyone knew about the ghost of Helen Peabody. Helen Peabody was graduate of Mount Holyoke and a teacher there before she moved westward and became the first principal of Western Female Seminary (once Western College for Women, now preserved as Western Campus of the University). By all accounts, she loved her school and her students, although she did not love the proximity of the male students at the University. By all accounts, she did not believe in coeducation After thirty-five years of service, she left her name on Peabody Hall, a stately dormitory and classroom building, and, some say, her spirit inside. (The existing Peabody Hall was built on the foundations of previous seminary buildings that burned down.) Even though she died in California in retirement, her body was brought back to local cemetery in Oxford for burial. The stories about Peabody Hall and President Peabody are multiple.

The simplest is that she still roams the halls, and students see her apparition walk by, which they recognize by the portrait of her on the first floor. Vigilant in the protection of her legacy, she supposedly shook awake the student that raised the alarm the last time Peabody Hall had a serious fire. The most sinister versions of the Helen Peabody ghost stories have her as a fierce protector of female students, engaging in a sort of psychological warfare against male students who mistreat them. A friend of mine swore up and down that a male student experienced unexplained and untraceable calls to his answering machine where a low female voice threatened him and ordered him to get out of her hall. This story sounds similar.

Whatever your belief about her spirit, the earthly remains of Helen Peabody rest in Oxford Cemetery, just a hill or two over from her beloved academic home. Her grave is flanked by other colleagues who shared her dedication to higher education for women.

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Emily Jessup

In Oxford Cemetery in Oxford, Ohio, you can find this monument to Professor Emily Jessup. The light is a little unusual in the photograph, so below I have typed for you the information on the tombstone:

Emily, daughter of William and Nancy O’Dell Jessup,
Born Wilton, Conn., Sept 3, 1824,
Died Oxford, Ohio, Sept 25, 1893.
Pupil, Teacher, Associate Principal, Mount Holyoke Seminary, 1843-1862
Teacher, Western Female Seminary, 1862-1893

Mount Holyoke Seminary, Jessup’s alma mater, exists today as the women’s institution Mount Holyoke College in Massachusetts. Mary Lyon founded Mount Holyoke in 1837 to provide access to higher education for young women, against whom the doors of universities were generally closed. The seminary was the first college for women in the United States, and provided inspiration and practical guidance for other women’s colleges to follow. Mount Holyoke counts itself the first of the Seven Sisters: Vassar, Smith, Wellesley, Bryn Mawr, Barnard, and Radcliffe colleges; all institutions for the education of women.

According to Mount Holyoke’s records, Emily Jessup graduated with the class of 1847 and then taught at the institution for approximately fifteen more years. She, like many of her colleagues, then took that experience to Western Female Seminary, another women’s college.  Considering she graduated a year ahead of Helen Peabody (the first principal of Western Female Seminary) and then would have been her teaching colleague for about four years, it seems reasonable to assume that Peabody had a hand in convincing Jessup to move westward. We know what Professor Jessup looked like thanks to archival photographs on the web.  Despite health issues that necessitated the use of a wheelchair, Jessup instructed for 30 years at Western Female Seminary, until her death in 1893.

As we leave Emily Jessup today, I want you to look one more time at her tombstone, and reflect on the uniqueness and daring of her life.  In an era where women’s rights were severely circumscribed and American society prescribed a very rigid role for women of Jessup’s race and class, she defined herself by educational and professional accomplishments.

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