INTRODUCTION: FINAL

Word Count: 606 Words, Reading Time: 3 Minutes

Last Updated on April 20, 2025 by Mary P.

      I placed a single red rose on the grave.  My finger traced over the name Mary Phagan.  The epitaph was one I knew by heart.

First Visit 1978

ON THIS DAY OF FADING IDEALSAND DISAPPEARING LANDMARKS
LITTLE MARY PHAGAN'S HEROISM

IS AN HEIRLOOM THAN WHICH

THERE IS NOTHING MORE PRECIOUS

AMONG THE OLD RED HILLS OF

GEORGIA.

SLEEP, LITTLE GIRL; SLEEP IN

YOUR HUMBLE GRAVE BUT IF THE

ANGELS ARE GOOD TO YOU IN

THE REALMS BEYOND THE TROU

BEL [SIC] SUNSET AND THE CLOUDED

STARS, THEY WILL LET YOU

KNOW THAT MANY AN ACHING HEART IN

GEORGIA BEATS FOR YOU, AND

MANY A TEAR FROM EYES UNUSED TO WEEP, HAS PAID TRIBUTE

TOO SACRED FOR WORDS. [Footnote 1]

     Looking up, I saw an old couple trudge up the grassy hill towards the grave.  I stood up and turned to meet them, "Can I help you?" I inquired.                 xi.

The lady wore a light blue dress with a matching striped jacket and white sandals.  Her brown eyes were framed by glasses and her hair was gray.  I guess she was in her mid-to-late eighties.  Her husband also had brown and gray hair, balding a little on top.  Twin-like, they were almost color-coordinated:  he wore a light gray wool suit and pale blue shirt.  He must have been around ninety years old, and he walked with a can.  He towered over her.

Somehow, from the way they carried themselves, I knew their questions would be different.  Not the usual, "Do you know where the grave of little Mary Phagan is?" "Are you, by any chance, related to little Mary Phagan?" "How do you feel about the murder of little Mary Phagan"?

They seemed to be remembering, too.

The lady looked at me with concern and intensity, and finally spoke:  "It was on April 26, 1913, Confederate Memorial Day, that little Mary Phagan was murdered in downtown Atlanta.  Not many people celebrate Confederate Memorial Day anymore.  Not many native born here anymore."

She turned her head slightly, and her eyes swept over Mary Phagan's gravestone.  "We remember different times.  Times long ago.  Times that don't come except for her story."

She paused and added, "We were there.  And little Mary Phagan's story remains with us.  All the sadness and some of the hate, we felt it.  Yes, times were different all right. A lot of murders happen today.  But they don't symbolize something like hers did.  We were one of her kind, hard-working and striving to have a decent life.  We made it, but she didn't."

For the first time, she looked closely at me.  "You look a lot like her," she said, her voice faltering.                     xii

I nodded sadly.  "My name is Mary Phagan, Little Mary Phagan was my great-aunt."

For a moment the couple stared at me in disbelief, and then they wrapped their arms around me to comfort me.  "Yes," the old woman said, "I can see the resemblance now."  Breaking the embrace, she patted my shoulder gently.  For a while, we were silent and then, as daylight faded, they politely excused themselves.                                       xiii

____________________________________________Footnote 1: Erected by Marietta Camp
No. 763, U.C.V June 25th, 1915, and in 1933 a grave-top marble slab inscribed with indelible word was placed over her grave. the engraving of the epitaph was something written decades ago by a former U.S. Congressman from Georgia, Tom Watson, who had passed away in 1922.

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