Carved In Stone -- Grave Inscriptions Offer Words Of Wit, Wisdom, Faith And Hope

Something I like to do on occasion is to meander through cemeteries, reading and recording the epitaphs. I would be embarrassed by this if I were not aware that thousands of others are intrigued and fascinated by tombstone inscriptions. Several books have been published about old epitaphs.

The first known epitaphs go back to the earliest Egyptians. These were dull and prosaic. Not until Elizabethan times in England did tombstone inscriptions begin to assume something of a literary character. Of all of these, undoubtedly the best known is that of William Shakespeare, buried at Holy Trinity Church, Stratford-upon-Avon. His marker reads:

"Good frend for Jesus' sake forbeare,

To diggy the dust encloased heare!

Blest be the man that spares thes stones,

And curst be he that moves my bones."

Modern customs in this country usually call for only the date of birth and death to accompany the name of the deceased on the marker. But generations ago, a more detailed account of each life was carved into the stone. Sometimes the manner of death was also recorded, and this often elicited a smile at a seemingly inappropriate moment.

One of my two favorites thus recorded is:

"This is the grave of Mike O'Day

Who died defending his right of way

His right was clear, his will was strong,

But he's just as dead as if he were wrong."

And, from Arizona's Boot Hill Cemetery:

"Here lies Lester Moore,

Four slugs from a forty-four.

No Less. No More."

I haven't seen this one, but reportedly carved in stone in a small cemetery near Albany, New York is the epitaph: "Here lies Henry Edsel Smith. Born 1903. Died, 1942. Looked up the elevator shaft to see if the car was on the way down. It was."

One of the best ways to try to determine what we want from life is to attempt to write our own epitaphs. Some have done that. After struggling for a lifetime against what seemed insurmountable troubles, yet producing immortal words to enrich the world, Robert Lewis Stevenson penned his own: "Here lies one who meant well, tried a little and failed much."

President Harry S Truman asked for and got the simple inscription: "A Good Public Servant."

It may take a second reading to grasp the double meaning of another simple inscription, requested by Clark Gable: "Back to the Silents."

This is on the tomb of Ed Wynn in Forest Lawn Cemetery, Los Angeles. "Dear God. Thanks. Ed Wynn." George Burns has suggested that his marker read: "I wish I were reading this." And when Johnny Carson was asked by a reporter what he would like his epitaph to be, he replied, "I'll be right back."

Most inscriptions are not so eye-catching, humorous or dramatic. They instead carry words of faith and hope, or detail virtues of the one remembered.

"The body of Benjamin Franklin, Printer (like the cover of an old book, its contents torn out and stript of its lettering and gilding), lies here, food for worms. Yet the work shall not be lost, for it will (as he believed) appear once more in a new and more beautiful edition, Corrected and Amended by The Author."

When Horace Mann, one of America's famed educators, died, people wanted to place a fitting marker above his tomb. The choice was made from the closing words of his address to a graduating class at Antioch College: "Be ashamed to die until you have won some victory for humanity."

In Westminster Abbey is buried John Gay, English poet and dramatist. His marker reads: "Here lies the ashes of Mr. John Gay, the warmest friend, the gentlest companion, the most benevolent of men who maintained independency in low circumstances of fortune, integrity in the midst of a corrupt age, and serenity of mind, which conscious goodness alone can give, through the whole course of his life."

It is a marker that each of us might wish to deserve, and here I will conclude and leave you to your own writing.