By way of introduction, the following is told by 83-year-old Lovell C. Fulbright, concerning an interesting and somewhat anxiety filled incident experienced by him and his late sister, Veda (Fulbright) Cantwell, as they searched for an old cemetery, where their great- grandfather, Daniel Fulbright and other members of the Fulbright family lie buried. Lovell lives in Goodletsville, Tennessee and is a member of the General Board of the recently organized Fulbright Family Association. Following is his account of their search, as recounted to Ed Stout with whom he has exchanged Fulbright genealogical information. The time is the fall of 1983, and the locale is the Dry Glaize area of Laclede County, Missouri.
"We returned a few days ago from our week's jaunt to Missouri. We didn't unearth any earthshaking information, but we did pick up a few bits of info and some verification of other items.
Incidentally, as I wrote you earlier, when we were at Liberty Cemetery 2 or 3 years ago, we found the headstone for Aunt Mahala McClure and copied the birth and death dates: b. 1837 - d. 1924. Well, this trip, we were unable to locate her grave. I can't understand it. I have the name and phone number of the caretaker of the cemetery and will probably call him to see what he knows about it.
We then stopped by the nearby home of Bill Goss, son of the late Mrs. Marvin (Fulbright) Goss, to inquire about the whereabouts of Hooper Cemetery. Mrs. Bill Goss told us she knew exactly where it was, about 3/4 mile from Liberty Cemetery. She told us to go east from Liberty to Road BB. turn right on BB about 1/4 mile and find narrow lane leading to left a couple of hundred yards to an overgrown cemetery. We followed instructions and, sure enough, found a lane about 1/4 mile from where we turned on BB. However, the lane led to a residence, and no cemetery. The young lady there told us she knew it was in the area, and that her mother, back up BB Road, could tell us just where to find it.
The young woman's mother said we hadn't gone far enough down on BB to find the lane to the cemetery. She then offered to get in her car and lead us to the right lane, and we gladly accepted her offer. When we reached the lane she indicated, she told us the old, unused cemetery lay somewhere over beyond a clump of trees she pointed out. She showed us a place in the fence that ran alongside the lane where there had been a gate, used to allow funeral vehicles to enter and proceed to the burial ground.
Undoubtedly, it had been so long since used there was no sign of a driveway leading toward the area she indicated. The whole area was somewhat overgrown, dotted with scrub timber and the terrain fairly uneven. Incidentally, Hooper Cemetery, so long unused, is not indicated on the Laclede County highway map like the other cemeteries.
Getting back to our search, we drove up the existing lane a little way (posted no trespassing), and it led to an unoccupied farmhouse. While the womenfolk waited in the car, I ventured across the fence and scouted the area pointed out by our lady 'guide', to no avail. By the time I returned to the car, the man, a Mr. Goodwin, who runs cattle on the surrounding acreage (the old Hooper home-place) had shown up, along with his wife and teenage son. They were preparing to milk. Mr. Goodwin told me I had not gone to the left enough and far enough to find the old cemetery. He then instructed his young son to go along and personally direct me to it. My sister, Veda Cantwell (77 years old), decided to come, too.
The three of us then followed a fence line due south a good way, then bore to the left some distance, through fairly heavy underbrush replete with briars and thorn bushes. We then turned back a little to the right (southerly) through a grove of scrub timber and underbrush. Suddenly, the lad said 'There it is.' My sister and I could see nothing until we had taken a few more steps.
Then, just across a barbed wire fence, we could see dimly the nearest gravestone or two. Even though it was a clear day (late afternoon), the sun was setting and with a heavy growth of underbrush, coupled with the surrounding scrub timber, the light was comparable to that at dusk. Then, too, the stones were dark with age and they blended in with the tall, drought-browned grass and brush.
Our young guide helped us through the barbed-wire fence and after a few feet we began to discover more stones, some larger ones turned over and lying flat and shorter ones all but covered with growth. The inscriptions on some of the stones were very dim and hard to read in the poor light. The whole area, as far as we could tell, was no more than about 100 feet square. The first few stones we came to bore the name Hooper or some name other than Fulbright. Then we began to find Fulbright names. The Goodwin boy joined in our search and when he and I would locate a stone with the name Fulbright, we would try to read and call out the inscription thereon, while my sister under-took to write down the names and dates on a piece of paper, as we called them out. I say 'try' to read because some of the inscriptions were so weatherbeaten and dim and the light so bad, we had to feel with our fingers some of the dates to tell what they were.
We had worked our way just a short distance when we came to a small area (approximately 30 feet square) with, of all things, a chain link fence around it. Said fence had a narrow, unlocked garden-like gate at one corner. The stones within the enclosure apparently bore Fulbright names exclusively. Just outside and up against the fence of the enclosure, we discovered a small low stone-walled area, not more than 6' x 8' in size, with an uninscribed stone at one end. The boy told us it is believed this is where slaves were buried. By the way; we never located the grave we came especially to find, that of our great-grandfather, Daniel Fulbright. His grave is very likely there, but the lateness of the hour (approaching darkness), and dense undergrowth made it near impossible to conduct a thorough search. We did, however, find the stone of one his brothers, John Fulbright, and his wife, Mary Jane.
Getting back to the events of the moment, young Goodwin and I entered the fenced enclosure and had just begun to call out the names and dates of the few visible stones therein, when the boy's mother came up and told him that the 'cows were ready to be yoked', and for him to come along. As we were not through checking the stones, he asked me if we could find our way out of there. With some slight misgivings, I told him sure , and he and his mother left. I hurriedly finished checking the few visible Fulbright stones we could locate within the enclosure and my sister and I decided we had better get out of there.
What misgivings we might have had about finding our way back to our car and waiting wife and cousin, turned out to be well-founded. First, we crossed back through the barbed-wire fence where we had come in. We then started back through the heavy stand of scrub timber (impeded by the thick undergrowth) in the general northerly direction from whence we had come. However, due to the almost complete inability to see through the low-hanging foliage of the grove, it was nearly impossible to tell where the stronger light of the western horizon was. When we emerged from the grove, we were able to locate the western sky and adjust our direction.
Concerning the proper direction, I knew when we left the car with our guide we went due south along the fence line and that when we left the fence, we swerved to the left. After that, we did some zigzagging, but since I had no idea the guide wouldn't be with us on our return, I made no attempt to note every change of direction.
At any rate, when we got to where we could see the stronger lighted area where the sun had gone down, I somehow felt we should go some to the right of due north, which we did. After covering what seemed like enough distance to reach the fence leading to our car, I tried unsuccessfully to spot some large trees I had noted before, or any other landmark that looked familiar. I also began to wonder what my wife and cousin back at the car might be thinking. Then we came to a fence but it turned out to be the wrong one.
Finally, we came across a few cows (with yokes) and could see the roof of a barn off to our left. We were about to pass on the right, when my sister noticed a small deserted looking house near the barn. She said it looked like the unoccupied farmhouse she had noticed near where we had parked our car. We circled back to the left and approached the house from the northeast. We entered the yard through a gate without really expecting to find anyone around with whom to make inquiry. It was then we glanced down a lane leading southward from the house and there stood our car with the womenfolk close by. What had happened, we apparently had angled too far to the right and did not come back to the left until we had passed our car and nearly passed the house. Thus, we approached from the northeast instead of from the south.
Incidentally1 my wife (Mayme) and cousin (Tressie Davis), hadn't become anxious about our whereabouts until shortly before my sister and I showed up. They weren't concerned at first because the boy had told them, when he came back, that we were busy taking down names of the Fulbrights at the old cemetery when he left. Consequently, they had no idea we were all that time trying to find our way back.
Here are the names of the Fulbrights we were able to find in our hurried search under difficult conditions:
John Fulbright - born 10 Oct. 1795 - died 16 Mar.1862 (the co-founder of what is now Springfield)It occurred to me, after I arrived home and going over these grave lists and checking with Ed Stout's genealogical chart, that the first name on the above list, John Fulbright (brother of Daniel Fulbright, my great-grandfather), is the John Fulbright, who with his brother William, built the first cabins in what is now Springfield, Missouri. Also the one, in whose cabin, according to historical records, the first church service in Springfield was held, and whose first son, Capt. James Harvey Fulbright, was the first white child born in Springfield. John and his family left Springfield when James Harvey was two years old and settled in Laclede County. The same John, who built the old home-stead house in 1834, where we had visited a few hours before finding his grave in Hooper Cemetery.
It seems a pity that the grave of one who had achieved such distinction should now be in such a remote, overgrown, uncared for spot where we located it.