Woodlawn Cemetery

If you drive east on Huron River Drive from Whitaker road in Ypsilanti Township your eye will naturally be drawn to the left where glimpses of Ford Lake appear as shimmering gems between the trees. You’ll pass the Army National Guard Office and the 14B District Court where geese graze lazily on the lawn before the still pond. If you drive far enough you’ll pass the expansive Ford Lake Park with its fence line border and ballfields. However, about a mile between the two you’ll pass Woodlawn Cemetery. It’s a blink-an-you’ll-miss-it six foot opening in the roadside shrubbery. A large tree has fallen nearby recently, further obscuring the entry. In fact, the only reason you’d see it at all is a wooden sign inscribed with the name placed at the bottlenecked entrance of an otherwise empty field. Beyond that sign, the cemetery is a roadside curiosity even to those who live nearby. With no parking close it is not easy to visit. More than that, what marks this site as odd is what it lacks--- any visible graves, or anything else that would indicate that bodies were interred within. The wooden cross which was once posted in the center of the field has long since disappeared. Because of all this, Woodlawn cemetery remains a mystery; an afterthought; its sign a roadside blur to the commuters who pass by it each and every day.

 Woodlawn, though, has a vivid history and a tale that deserves to be remembered.  

It begins in the midst of WWII. Though they served to swell the ranks of the armed forces as the United States made its appearance on the battlefields of Europe and the Pacific, black Americans faced the same challenges at home as they always had. Many, enticed by the promise of jobs in the auto industry, moved north to cities like Detroit and Flint. Many also came to Ypsilanti. In the so-called ‘progressive’ north, they faced many of the same restrictions that they had fled. Housing restrictions in Ypsilanti forced most blacks to the southern extremes of the city. Some neighborhoods had official, codified housing codes that prevented ‘objectionable’ races from moving in while others had to rely on bank loan rejections to keep their neighborhoods unified.

Into this, Garther Roberson Sr., the pastor of Second Baptist Church on South Hamilton Street, sought to create a safe place for his parishioners to be interred. His son was later quoted as saying that his father wanted a place “where people of color could have a decent and dignified burial.” To this end, Roberson bought a parcel of land close to Huron River drive in 1945 to be the final resting place for his parishioners.  Records from this time are sketchy but in 1955 Roberson himself died and was buried at the center of the cemetery. Ownership of the cemetery passed to Estella Roberson and Mrs. Booker Rhonenee who quickly declared bankruptcy. In the confusion, the Woodlawn Cemetery Association failed to file the proper paperwork and no money was left for its care. The last burial is thought to have taken place in 1965 but the records were lost in a fire. To this day, the land sits in limbo with the township, which, for its part, has the field mowed several times a year.

It is estimated that approximately 150 bodies were buried at Woodlawn, though the last cemetery reading in 1981 found 76 only names. Today, there are only 21 visible grave markers and most of these are recent replacements of the last decade or so. The remaining markers have been swallowed by the hungry earth and their monuments to Ypsilanti’s former residents lost to human recollection. As a testament to the site’s history, a local Boy Scout erected the cemetery’s sign as part of an Eagle Scout project some years back.

Spurred on by my newfound knowledge of this historic site, I visited Woodlawn just before dusk one March evening. The light was fading behind the stand of trees to the west and I worried about the visibility as I parked my car on a nearby dirt road. My first observation is that someone had been out using the park, as there were a couple of old Frisbees and a partially chewed dog bone--- probably a neighbor and their dog on a sunny day. At first I was struck at the impropriety of the act but later came to see the usage somewhat of a testament to the truth that we are but dust and to dust we will return. A casual glance would have not have separated the cemetery from a typical woodlot but a closer look yielded a field full of slight to moderate depressions which, after a recent rain, had become tiny, grassy pools. Each of these depressions marked the site of a grave. Most of the stones have disappeared, broken apart or grown over by the earth. The newer, replaced grave markers stand out among the dead hillocks of last summer’s grasses. I am able to locate Rev. Roberson’s grave as well as his wife, Estella’s. I feel as if I have found someone I know at a crowded party.

I am always struck with a sense of holiness as I tread the ground where bodies have been buried. Perhaps it is a morbid curiosity with the inevitability of my own mortality or perhaps I seek in some way to honor lives just as precious as my own who have gone before. I want people to know about Woodlawn because it deserves to be known. We honor sites like Woodlawn not because the residents interred there were better than, or something other than us, but because they are us, men and women created in the image of their Creator, uniquely imbued with dignity, personalities, hopes, fears, and dreams. We remember their struggles because we too have known hardship and we know in whom our hope is found. We show honor to the lives that were; to the souls that still are, not because they are due worship in and of themselves but because they reflected in some small way the glory of their Creator.

We are slight and passing things. The psalmist remarks that “our days may come to seventy years, or eighty, if our strength endures; yet the best of them are but trouble and sorrow, for they quickly pass, and we fly away!” Even the most exalted of us will be forgotten within a few generations. Our most intricate contributions will be lost in the annals of history. In truth, we do--- so quickly--- fly away. Yet one truth we can learn as we view Woodlawn or places like it is what to do with the days we are given. “Satisfy us in the morning with your unfailing love,” the psalmist continues, “that we may sing for joy and be glad all of our days. Make us glad for as many days as you have afflicted us, for as many years as we have seen trouble. May your deeds be shown to your servants, your splendor to their children.”

Thanks to:

-          Laura Bien who wrote an incredible informative piece in 2013 for the Ann Arbor Chronicle.

-          The Genealogical Society of Washtenaw County

-          YpsiHistor.blogspot.com