The More You Know

On the south end of Olde Towne Alexandria, Virginia, sitting atop a hill with a sound barrier between it and a major east coast interstate, I-495 also known as the Capitol Beltway, stands a monument in an open field which from afar seems sadly out of place. Add to that the history that those who live around here know - that until 2007 the property was the site of the Olde Towne Mobil Gas Station. That is how my kids remember it, and we have joked that the monument honors a gas station. But in reality, this is serious history.

Olde Towne is chocked full of history. I love that my city has stories to tell. Lots of stories. Each step taken on the streets and sidewalks of this city brings history, memories, and ghosts of the past. So much so that this very week, construction workers discovered an 18th century ship on the site of the future Indigo Hotel on the shores of the Potomac River (see, Architectual Digest news article). It was a remarkable find, and following its hasty salvage, construction continued as if nothing had happened. So the fact that a gas station was built on a significantly historical site, although somewhat shocking in retrospect, is not terribly unexpected.

An historical marker was erected many years ago on the site of the gas station; long before demolition started. I remember reading it when it went up, but I really hadn't thought much about that plot of land since they started tearing down the old gas station about five years ago. Then we watched the monument be built, and the grass around it be sown and tended last spring and summer. I knew from the historical marker that this was the site of a freed slave cemetery. But sited out in that empty field I had always thought it seemed distant and unimpressive.

Then came week #3 of 52frames with the "Greetings From" challenge where member photographers were asked to "portray the ‘essence’ of your neighborhood, your country" in this week's challenge. Having joined this group late last year, I was enjoying the creative outlet it provided, but hadn't yet shot anything that I liked for the week's subject matter. It was a cold January day, the coldest day of the winter so far but the sun shone brightly, so I grabbed my camera as I headed out to run a few errands.

I shot several subjects along the way, trying to think outside the box as we were encouraged to do with these challenges. I went by the old ship archeology site from the news over the weekend but it was pretty much wrapped up, so nothing exciting there. I tried to get creative but not take typical touristy shots with some classic Olde Towne sites (brick and cobblestone streets, King Street and George Washington Masonic Temple, the Confederate "Appomattox" Memorial). I also tried some out-of-the-way personal favorites of mine (The Little Theatre, Lee Street Park, and the Wilkes Street Tunnel). But nothing was really striking me as worthy of this photo challenge.

With a bit more time to kill before picking up my daughter from school, I thought I would try for a shot from under the Woodrow Wilson bridge crossing the Potomac River into Maryland with National Harbor in the distance. In my shots, the bridge was an impressive subject but the Ferris wheel and harbor across the river looked tiny and unimportant. The scale just wasn't right. I decided to try a different perspective of the bridge, from the old St. Mary's cemetery atop the hill, which overlooks the bridge.

The St. Mary's cemetery was founded in 1795 and like most of Olde Towne has history galore. The tombstones have many names quite familiar to history buffs of the Revolutionary and Civil Wars. The cemetery's hand-crafted Italian marble"guardian angel" and its Vermont granite cross near the front gate, easily viewable from Washington Street, has been photographed by hundreds. Although it is an iconic symbol of death, faith, and peace, even that did little for me artistically on this day.

I took several shots around St. Mary's but could never quite get the right old(cemetery)/new(bridge) angle that I was seeking. Heading back to my car, I realized I still had time and decided to check out the monument standing across the street from St. Mary's that we so irreverently referred to as the "gas station monument." It would prove to be an amazing experience and the source of the perfect photograph to portray the essence of my neighborhood, and my country.

Entering the gate, the monument still seemed as distant and out-of-place as it had from the road for its short life over the past year or so.  But as I approached the statue I noticed both a strength and a vulnerability in its unique depiction of slavery and a time in our history that many Americans still struggle to comprehend. It certainly helped that evening was approaching bringing with it a certain light in the sky that made the monument strikingly beautiful with gold hues against a brilliant blue background. Somehow the clouds even looked like they were being parted by the statue. That was it! There was my photograph.

As striking as this shot was, the truly surprising part of the monument was something one does not see while driving by on Washington Street or even in a single "money shot." Up close, it artfully told a story of great pride, perseverance, and a history nearly lost to the convenience of a gas station. The walls of the monument shared the stories of those trying to rebuilt a new life - stories heart-wrenching and descriptive of the hardship, successes and failures of those who were freed only to continue on in a different struggle. And as I looked out over that empty green space surrounding the monument, I saw simple stones without names placed around the field marking actual graves of those whose names appeared on the Vietnam Memorial type wall of the monument.  The wall lists the names and ages, from 3 months to 60 years plus, of people who had gained freedom only to meet their maker and be interned at the site of a future gas station.

We had poked fun at this monument because we hadn't taken the time to learn enough about it to understand its true value. But on this cold, sunny late afternoon, with a little time and an unrelated mission, I had stumbled upon an amazing tribute which provided a new perspective and brought a tear to my eye. I now knew more. And I can say that the essence of my neighborhood - of my country - sits quietly atop a hill, by a freeway, and often goes unnoticed by most locals, throngs of tourists, and those who simply do not know.