The caption for maps in yesterday's editions pinpointing the locations of Annapolis and Loudon Park national cemeteries incorrectly stated that they are the only two in Maryland of the 14 original national cemeteries established in 1862. There is a third -- Antietam National Cemetery in Sharpsburg.
The Sun regrets the errors
Beyond the wrought-iron gate, headstones are decaying with age, epitaphs scarcely legible. Simple words, carved in stone, are poignant: "Here lies a soldier." Endless rows of white grave markers form perfect columns on the rolling hills.
Here, in a deserted Baltimore cemetery, lie America's forgotten dead, men and women who loved freedom enough to war over it. Lost soldiers who represent the reality of battle. Decorated warriors and fallen heroes, Purple Heart and Medal of Honor recipients. Sergeants, generals and undistinguished privates.
Theirs are stories of greatness. Or of dying on the verge of greatness.
But just a handful of visitors pay homage each year to the dead in this West Baltimore national cemetery and dozens like it around the country in places like Annapolis, Danville, Ky., and Keokuk, Iowa. The masses go instead to Arlington, making a quick stop there between tours of the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial and the White House.
As a result, many of the nation's 131 national cemeteries are becoming tombs of the forgotten.
"It's sad," said Peter Johnston, who regularly visits the off-the-beaten-path national cemeteries. "These men went to their graves praying they would be remembered."
But even on patriotic days such as the Fourth of July, tens of thousands of graves go unvisited. Memorials go unseen. And stories of those who gave their lives for a nation go untold.
Nurse Beale, Loudon Park National Cemetery, Baltimore
It was January 1862, and thousands of proud men in blue and gray were dying in a bloody civil war that showed no signs of ending. A dedicated nurse already had lost her husband, so she went to work -- sometimes helping soldiers live, sometimes watching them die -- at Adams Hospital in Baltimore.
Under harrowing conditions, she nursed the wounded and diseased. The water was contaminated, the food unsafe. When her own fever started to escalate, Nurse Beale probably knew what was coming: the rashes, the stomach pains, the unromantic ending.
She died of typhoid fever on Jan. 10 at 48, still tending to her sick men, leaving four young children.
Beale is the only nurse buried at Loudon Park National Cemetery. She rests with 4,230 other Civil War casualties, some of whom she watched die.
Almost religiously, Johnston remembers veterans.
He views gravesites with reverence, referring to the marble headstones in the national cemeteries he visits as "altars to the dead."
"Every national cemetery is a shrine," the 31-year-old ex-Marine said while walking through Loudon Park National Cemetery this week. "Every soldier's grave is a shrine."
Johnston comes here often. Ask him to meet you, to show you around, to point out important soldiers' graves, and he won't bother telling you where to find him on the sprawling grounds.
"You'll know it's me," he will say. "I'll be the only one there."
Johnston knows only a few hundred people come here each year. The same with Baltimore National Cemetery just up the road and Annapolis National down in Anne Arundel County.
Compared with the 4.5 million people who visit Arlington National Cemetery just outside Washington every year, the statistics are depressing.
"Why has Arlington become the unofficial shrine to our war dead?" Johnston asked. "Because it's in Washington. That's all. The guys buried there are the same guys buried here. They all have families -- mothers and fathers and children and wives -- and they're gone because they loved this country."
Now that he's on his favorite topic, Johnston can't stop. He will talk for hours, sometimes pausing, sometimes not, mourning a nation he says takes freedom for granted. After awhile, he apologizes for droning on. Then, almost immediately, he gets back on the subject.
"I just can't imagine why people wouldn't want to visit these places," Johnston said, standing in a sea of stark headstones. "Sure, the splashy monuments are in D.C., and monuments are nice to look at. But this place -- this is the reality of war."
He's not done yet:
H
"There's history here. Stories. Lots of untold stories."
Nicholas Demidoff, Annapolis National Cemetery
The Russian seaman, who was serving on a Russian man-of-war docked in Annapolis, died in a barroom brawl on Feb. 4, 1864, while on a goodwill tour to the United States. Demidoff had walked from the city docks to a nearby tavern, then become enraged when the bartender refused to serve him. The Russian and two fellow shipmates began a fight, and Demidoff was shot dead.
The Russian Embassy demanded an official explanation of the incident, and the Maryland legislature launched an investigation that President Lincoln came to oversee. The United States eventually issued an apology, which Russia accepted.
Each time the United States has warred, national cemeteries have been the result. The casualties of battle needed a place to be buried.
The first 14 cemeteries -- all dedicated before Arlington -- were created in 1862. At the time, the nation was growing ever more divided as American men killed each other by the thousands. Lincoln could not predict how long the war would last, but he feared the worst of the carnage was yet to come.
So he approved creation of a national cemetery system to ensure the "resting places of the honored dead be kept sacred forever." Two of those original cemeteries -- two of which a century later would see the fewest visitors -- are Loudon Park National and Annapolis National.
The cemeteries were desperately needed during the Civil War when many hospitals sprang up in Maryland, the southernmost Union state. Those severely wounded on Southern battlefields were brought primarily to hospitals in Baltimore. Simply put, many men were brought to Maryland to die.
By the war's end, more than 4,000 soldiers were buried in Loudon Park, including more than 1,000 of the historic "United States Colored Troops," which included former slaves who fought for the Union. Some 25 Civil War dead are in Annapolis National, including nine Confederates.
Yet few even know these historic sites exist. Fewer than 500 people visit each of the three cemeteries every year -- and that includes people who come for funerals, said Robin Pohlman, director of Baltimore National Cemetery.
"Baltimoreans are so provincial about everything else having to do with this city's history," said Ed Johnston, Peter's father, who has been working for several years to expand a database listing the Civil War casualties buried at Loudon Park.
"Yet when it comes to their own national cemeteries, people don't even know there are two within the city limits. It's amazing. They don't even know the stories of their own dead."
Henry Costin, Loudon Park National Cemetery
During World War I, near Bois-de-Consenvoye, France, an American Army platoon advancing on enemy troops was held up by machine-gun fire. When a request was made for an automatic rifle team to charge the enemy, Pvt. Henry Costin was the first to volunteer.
Advancing with a small team -- under heavy fire of enemy artillery, machine guns and trench mortars -- Costin continued even after all his comrades had been killed. He was seriously wounded, but fired his rifle until he collapsed. His actions distracted the enemy long enough to allow the rest of the American platoon to capture more than 100 prisoners and guns. Costin died shortly after the skirmish.
Today, many wars, battles and invasions after the Civil War, some 2.5 million veterans are buried in national cemeteries.
About 10 million people visit national cemeteries each year, said Steve Westerfeld in the public affairs office of the Department of Veterans Affairs. But most go to the cemeteries near well-known battlefields or living-history museums such as Antietam, Fort Snelling, Minn., and Alexandria, Va.
Dozens -- like the two in Baltimore and the one in Annapolis -- remain desolate.
"Until people start to come here, start to care again about the men and women who died so that we could be free, the stories here will not be known," Peter Johnston said.
Until people visit cemeteries like Baltimore National and Annapolis National and Loudon Park, they cannot know about the cannonballs positioned atop the grave of Capt. Rigby, a little-known Gettysburg officer.
Or about husband-and-wife team Donald and Adeline Wanless, decorated officers who dedicated their lives to the Army.
Or Col. Frank Perkins, a lifetime soldier who fought in World War II, Korea and Vietnam.
"Walk through here," said Johnston, "and there is a story for everyone. See an old man standing over a stone and wonder, 'Is that his son?' Or see a young man kneeling near a stone and wonder, 'Is that his dad?' "
Pub Date: 7/03/98