Aurora Cemetery

Duane's take

Here's my telling of what the official marker has to say about Aurora Cemetery, out there in Wise County. Now, every cemetery has its stories. But Aurora Cemetery, well, it has more than most.

Let's start at the beginning, or as close to it as we can get. The oldest known graves here date from as early as the 1860s, belonging to the Randall and Rowlett families. Decades pass.

Then, in 1877, a Confederate veteran from Mississippi by the name of Finis Dudley Beauchamp donated the three-acre site to the newly formed Aurora Lodge No. 479, A.F. and A.M. For many years after that, folks around here called it Masonic Cemetery. Beauchamp himself (born 1825, died 1893) is buried on the very ground he gave away.

So is his wife Caroline, born 1829, who outlived him by more than two decades, passing in 1915. Others of their family rest there too. But the land would fill faster than anyone hoped.

In 1891, an epidemic struck the village. The settlers called it spotted fever. The disease is now thought to have been a form of meningitis.

It added hundreds of graves to the plot. Hundreds. Just like that, a burial ground became something heavier.

Among those graves is one that stops people in their tracks: a small headstone for an infant named Nellie Burris, born and gone within two years, 1891 to 1893. Her epitaph reads: "As I was so soon done, I don't know why I was begun." It's been quoted so many times that the marker mentions it by name. Some words just refuse to stay put on a stone.

And then, well, then there's the legend. This site is also well known, the marker tells us, because of the legend that a spaceship crashed nearby in 1897, and the pilot, killed in the crash, was buried here. Right here.

The marker doesn't confirm it. The marker doesn't deny it. It calls it a legend, and it lets that word do its work.

Meanwhile, the town of Aurora itself was taking blow after blow: epidemic, crop failure, and then the railroad bypassed it entirely. The original town almost disappeared. Almost.

Because the cemetery remains. Still in use. Over eight hundred graves now, holding veterans of the Civil War, World Wars I and II, and the Korean and Vietnam conflicts.

A donated three acres. A village that nearly vanished. An epitaph nobody can forget.

And a legend about a pilot from somewhere no one can quite name. Aurora Cemetery has been keeping its stories a long time. Seems like it intends to keep a few more.

What the marker says

The oldest known graves here, dating from as early as the 1860's, are those of the Randall and Rowlett families. Finis Dudley Beauchamp (1825-1893), a Confederate veteran from Mississippi, donated the 3-acre site to the newly formed Aurora Lodge No. 479, A.F. & A.M., in 1877. For many years, this community burial ground was known as Masonic Cemetery. Beauchamp, his wife Caroline (1829-1915), and others in their family are buried here. An epidemic which struck the village in 1891 added hundreds of graves to the plot. Called "spotted fever" by the settlers, the disease is now though to have been a form of meningitis. Located in Aurora Cemetery is the gravestone of the infant Nellie Burris (1891-1893) with its often-quoted epitaph: "As I was so soon done, I don't know why I was begun." This site is also well known because of the legend that a spaceship crashed nearby in 1897 and the pilot, killed in the crash, was buried here. Struck by epidemic and crop failure and bypassed by the railroad, the original town of Aurora almost disappeared, but the cemetery remains in use with over 800 graves. Veterans of the Civil War, World Wars I and II, and the Korean and Vietnam conflicts are interred here.