DUANE
Duane's take
Here's my telling of what the official marker has to say about Carlton Cemetery, out there in Hamilton County. Now, every cemetery tells a story. But some cemeteries tell the story of a whole community — its rising, its striving, and its slow fade into memory.
Carlton Cemetery is one of those places. Local lore puts the first grave here in 1867. A farmer by the name of J.
E. Pinkerton was killed by a band of Indians, and the settlers went to bury him right there on that ground. But the earth had other ideas.
They hit solid rock. So they moved two hundred feet to the north, and that is where they laid Pinkerton down — marked by a sixteen-inch high solid native stone bearing nothing but his initials on a chiseled shield. No full name.
No dates. Just those initials, cut into the rock like a whisper that refused to go quiet. The village of Carlton got itself organized in 1876, named for Dr.
F. M. Carlton, who would eventually be buried in this very same cemetery in 1897.
The community was building itself around its dead even as it was building itself for the living. The first dated grave belongs to James Monroe McCarty, inscribed January 21, 1872. After that, the names kept coming, the stones kept rising, and the years kept turning.
By the time somebody sat down to count in 1997, they tallied one thousand two hundred and seventy-eight graves. But two hundred and thirteen of those graves have no marker at all. Anonymous.
Unknown. And twenty-two of those silent plots date from the influenza epidemic of 1918 to 1919 — a reminder that death sometimes arrives so fast and so merciless that it outpaces the stonecutters. Then there is Deputy Sheriff Audie Gibson.
Killed by bandits in 1932. You get the feeling that Hamilton County did not forget that name easily, and Carlton Cemetery made sure of it. The Carlton Cemetery Association was formed in 1957 — neighbors organizing to honor neighbors, the way small Texas communities always have.
And that same year, the cemetery's overseer, L. W. Fine, became the last person to be buried by his neighbors themselves.
After that, burial services passed to funeral homes, and something old and particular about the place quietly stepped aside. One thousand two hundred and seventy-eight graves. Two hundred and thirteen with no name to stand for them.
A sixteen-inch stone with only initials. A deputy. An epidemic.
A doctor the town was named for. Carlton Cemetery is what happens when a community decides that forgetting is not an option — even when the community itself starts to fade.
What the marker says
Carlton Cemetery is commemorative of the growth and decline of a fading community as agriculture and railroads changed the destiny of small Texas towns. Local lore places the first grave at this site in 1867 when J. E. Pinkerton, a farmer, was killed by a band of Indians. After hitting solid rock, area settlers moved 200 feet to the north, where they established Pinkerton's grave with a 16-inch high solid native stone bearing only his initials on a chiseled shield. The village of Carlton was organized in 1876 and named for Dr. F. M. Carlton, who was buried here in 1897. James Monroe McCarty rests in the first dated grave, inscribed January 21, 1872. Of 1,278 graves counted in 1997, 213 are unmarked. Of these, 22 anonymous graves date from the influenza epidemic of 1918-1919. Also buried here is Deputy Sheriff Audie Gibson, killed by bandits in 1932. Carlton natives have faithfully maintained the cemetery in honor of their relatives, friends, and the many local veterans who served their country. The Carlton Cemetery Association was formed in 1957. L. W. Fine, cemetery overseer, was the last person to be buried by his neighbors in 1957. Burial services have since been assumed by funeral homes. (1998)