Sydney and Uncle Cecil, 1979

Right after I gave my “Putting the Story Back in History” talk at the schoolhouse last week, a man who had been in the audience introduced himself as a first cousin of my neighbors Anne Kepner and Jean Stamper. He wanted to know if my great uncle Cecil (about whom I’d spoken in one of my stories) was the man he had known in his childhood as ‘Grandy.’   At the Red House here in Oysterville?  The very one!

I was pleased at that connection and had all those lovely six degrees of separation and small world thoughts. As it turned out, though, that was only the beginning. The very next day there came a phone call from a woman in Portland with an inquiry about the cemetery. Nothing unusual there. As secretary/treasurer of the Oysterville Cemetery Board, I am often contacted by folks wanting to buy plots or to learn if a loved one is buried here.

Oysterville Cemetery

But, this woman identified herself as a relative of Jimmy Anderson – another one of the characters I had featured in my talk of the day before! I remember Jimmy from my childhood – the gentle old man who walked through town every other day or so for a “fresh” can of milk for his many cats. The same Jimmy Anderson who played the violin whispered to be a Stradivarius. The Jimmy who died (in 1947) standing at his sink and, by the time he was found, the brambles had grown through the open window and had begun to twine round his arms.
My caller, whose name was Pat, was interested in placing a stone on the lot where Jimmy and his mother (and probably his father) are buried. I was absolutely thrilled with that bit of news. Not only did I know nothing about Jimmy’s relatives but it is a constant lament that many of the old graves are without markers. We discussed the hows of going about her project and agreed to meet yesterday when she would be coming to the beach with… Anne Kepner, her neighbor in Portland!

Drawing by Larry Weathers

So it was yesterday afternoon that we went up to the cemetery, map in hand, to locate the Anderson lot. We didn’t find the stone that had once been there for Jimmy’s mother and, though we were hopeful, our expectations weren’t high. In 1978 when Larry Weathers sketched all the markers in the pioneer section, he noted that Emma Anderson’s stone was “loosely embedded in the grass.” Perhaps it is now grown over completely.

Meanwhile, I’m still shaking my head over those back-to-back connections through our friend Anne with overtones (or undertones) of favorite Oysterville Characters who had been the subjects of my little schoolhouse talk. What are the odds? Certainly better than one in six degrees! And, once again I am convinced that all roads eventually lead to Oysterville!

Postscript — Just as I finished this account, Oysterville Cemetery President Ron Biggs rang my bell.  In answer to my call for help, he had found Emma’s stone!  As suspected, it was under four inches of moss and grass!