This is the presentation I delivered at a GPR Conference in St. Augustine in June 2009. It details the development of St. Augustine’s oldest-visible cemetery and discusses current obstacles to its survival. This is the presentation notes.

1. I want to thank Sarah Miller and F.P.A.N. for organizing this conference and for
inviting me to speak on a topic that is very significant to the history of St. Augustine
and to myself personally. I have had the rare opportunity to study Tolomato Cemetery
as the topic for my thesis, which is a plan for the site’s preservation. I am here to
discuss the history of this historic landscape and to address a number of the more
prominent preservation issues facing Tolomato.
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2. The romantic, old world atmosphere of Tolomato is remarkable. It is heavily shaded
beneath a dense hammock of “ancient” oaks, laden with thick Spanish moss that
sways gently amid St. Augustine’s coastal breezes; the scattered markers, dark with
the stains of age stand out against lush vegetation; and in the evening, the lights from
surrounding properties and street lamps flood the cemetery at extreme angles to form
a stenciled array of shadows in nearly every direction. This alone has been enough for
most visitors to admire this cemetery. But few have had the privilege to know it
personally and to understand how this landscape came to be.
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3. Tolomato Cemetery was founded on the site of a Franciscan mission to the Tolomato
Indians, established here in the early 1720s. The Tolomato Indians were a coastal tribe
of Georgia, encountered by the Spanish in the 16th century. This site was the third
location for the mission.
The Tolomato Indians built a chapel on the site by 1726. It was a wooden structure
with a palm-thatch roof and a four-story coquina belfry capped with a round cupola,
located at the east façade, where it served as the main entry. When Florida passed to
Britain in 1763, any remaining inhabitants of the mission departed for Cuba with the
Spanish. Prior to their departure, fate brought several German families to St.
Augustine’s shores, where they lived among the residents of the Tolomato mission,
before departing with the Spanish. Their presence left a lasting impression on the
arriving British, who referred to the chapel as a German or Dutch church for years.
The mission fell quickly into disrepair during the British Period. The chapel was
dismantled for firewood and the grounds used as a landfill. By the time the cemetery
was established nothing remained of the mission, but the stone tower, which stood
until the 1790s, when it was dismantled and recycled into the construction of the new
parish church (the present Cathedral Basilica). This is Maria Sanchez Creek; it was
responsible for high water levels in this area of the city. This is why the area around
the cemetery was undeveloped until the 1880s.
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4. In 1777, the surviving indentured servants of Andrew Turnbull’s disastrous plantation
colony in New Smyrna came to St. Augustine seeking emancipation from Governor
Patrick Tonyn. Turnbull faced criminal charges as severe as murder for inhumane
treatment and the conditions of his colony, which resulted in the death of so many of
his workers; ultimately, Turnbull’s attorneys released them on his behalf. These
settlers (most of whom were Minorcan) were permitted to move into the northern
section of the old presidio. They established a Catholic chapel on St. George Street
and Father Pedro Camps, the spiritual leader of the Minorcans at New Smyrna,
petitioned Governor Tonyn for permission to use the nearby Tolomato mission as a
burial ground for this new Catholic population. This would have taken place sometime
after November 9, 1777, when Camps was finally permitted to join them in St.
Augustine.
In 1784, the Spanish returned to find their parish church (the hospital chapel of the
hermitage, Nuestra Senora de la Soledad, shown here) transformed into an
Episcopalian church (St. Peter’s) and the associated burial ground desecrated with
Protestant burials. So in 1784, the Minorcan burial ground at the Tolomato mission
became the parish cemetery for St. Augustine.
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5. The first description of Tolomato Cemetery came in 1799, from a dispute between
Miguel Ysnardy, owner of the land surrounding Tolomato, and Father Michael
O’Reilly of the church. The area around the site was overgrown with cactus, Spanish
bayonets, and palmettos. The cemetery was unfenced, which according to Ysnardy,
left it open to “all kinds of animals, some of which knock down or break the crosses”
(referring to the large, wooden crosses used as markers at that time).
A simple wooden fence was erected by 1809, when Governor Enrique White
expressed the need for a more secure boundary to Father O’Reilly. White was
concerned over the burglary of sixteen year-old Elizabeth Forrester’s grave; her corpse
had been robbed of its clothing. Remarkably, her tomb is the oldest marker in the
cemetery today.
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6. Governor White’s concerns were answered with a plan for the layout and
administration of a new parish cemetery in 1811. Intended to be an extension of the
existing parish cemetery, the plan included a stone wall around the site with an arched
entrance and wooden gate. To maintain a uniform appearance, any masonry work was
to be plastered and the walls and fences whitened. This practice was characteristic for
Tolomato throughout the 19th century (and probably the 18th as well). The plan
depicted a cruciform path that would divide the cemetery into four uniform grids, each
with seven rows of twenty-one plots. The western border was reserved for vaults,
separated at the center by “a pillar with a cross… of Tuscan design.” The end result
would be a densely populated graveyard, with little room for movement between the
graves. Though an interesting plan, I haven’t found any evidence that it was ever
realized.
Little remains from Tolomato’s earliest years. At the time, it fit the mold of the early
church graveyard, lacking only the characteristic neighboring church building. Most
church graveyards were limited to a few acres, where the graves were arranged in no
particular order, resulting in a disorderly patchwork of burials across the landscape.
These sites were unfenced and the grounds were rough (“torn up from new burials”);
the need for burial space left few clear pathways.
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7. As you can see, the few remaining markers from this period are scattered across the
landscape, with no clear method present.
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8. In 1821, when the United States assumed ownership of St. Augustine, they were met
by a terrible yellow fever epidemic, which led to the establishment of a city cemetery
to serve the new, non-Catholic population (the nearby Huguenot Cemetery).
Tolomato became as much a curiosity for visitors as it was a sacred place of rest for
the departed of St. Augustine. It was known for its old world charm and mystique.
Despite its relatively young age at the time (forty-four years in 1821), it was seen as a
relic, furnished with a blend of Catholic-inspired, Spanish and Mediterranean-styled
markers unlike anything encountered in the burial grounds of New England. The aged
and rustic appearance misled visitors to presume Tolomato was from a much earlier
time than was truly the case, already assuming the label “ancient.”
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9. We know from early maps that the cemetery was set back from what became
Tolomato Street (and later Cordova Street). Sometime after 1833, Tolomato’s eastern
border extended into Tolomato Street. An 1833 map of the city provides this
approximation for the eastern border at that time. The earliest graves east of this
border, narrow the possible range of dates for this expansion to sometime between
1836 and 1840.
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10. This map from 1863 depicts the cemetery after the expansion. What this map does not
show is that the southeast corner of the cemetery extended into the street.
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11. Perhaps the most defining feature in the cemetery followed the death of Father Felix Varela Morales, a highly-regarded
figure in American Catholicism and Cuban history. Born in Cuba, Varela lived in St. Augustine from the ages of six to
fourteen before returning to Cuba, where he was ordained into priesthood and became a teacher of philosophy, law, and
science.
He also served as a delegate in the Spanish Cortez until his exile in 1823, when he fled to New York. Varela was as much
a political figure as a religious one; it was his outspoken advocacy for the abolition of slavery, equal rights for women,
and Cuban independence from Spain, that led to his exile. Illness brought Varela back to St. Augustine in 1850.
In his final years, he lived and served within the parish church of St. Augustine, which as a child he would have witnessed
the construction of. During this time, he is said to have frequented Tolomato “where his aunt, Rita Morales, and mentor
Father [Michael] O’Reilly were buried.” During a stroll through the cemetery, he directed a friend to the grave of Rita
Morales, whom he called his second mother (and was in fact his godmother) and confided that he wished to be buried
alongside her in a modest grave without a coffin. He died in St. Augustine in February 1853 and was buried, as he wished,
in Tolomato Cemetery alongside his aunt. His grave was marked by two wooden crosses and a circle of bushes.
Less than a week after his burial, a representative of Varela’s Cuban admirers in New York came to St. Augustine with
funds to provide him with a more comfortable life in his final years (also to implore him to return to Cuba). When this
gentleman learned of Varela’s death, he hatched a plan to construct a memorial chapel in his memory. The chapel was
meant to ease the eventual repatriation of Varela’s remains to Cuba, after which it could remain a “house of prayer, a
place of pilgrimage, an eternal monument [to Varela’s teachings] for the Catholics of St. Augustine.” The cornerstone was
laid in a ceremony, in which Varela was eulogized in English and Spanish; transcripts of each and “an account of the
ceremonies” were sealed in a box and placed within the cornerstone. His body was moved to a tomb in the chapel floor in
April 1853.
The single-room chapel was constructed predominantly out of coquina masonry, and plastered to match the other masonry
of Tolomato. Varela was entombed beneath the chapel floor and the tomb was sealed beneath a marble ledger and
crowned by a second tablet. A reproduction of the altar from the Cathedral of Havana where he was ordained was built
and sent from Cuba, and placed in the rear of the chapel (this is a reconstruction of that altar). The floor was originally
bare concrete – this floor was added in the 1970s.
In 1876, the cemetery received the body of Jean-Pierre Augustin Marcellin Verot, first bishop of the Diocese of St.
Augustine. A highly-revered and widely-mourned religious leader (perhaps the most significant to the residents of St.
Augustine), Bishop Verot deserved a prominent memorial in Tolomato, which by then lacked the space for an appropriate
tribute. Around 1874, another Catholic cemetery (Nombre de Dios) was established north of St. Augustine, presumably to
catch the overflow of the densely populated Tolomato. In the absence of a fitting burial space, the Bishop’s remains were
interred in Varela’s tomb, within the floor of his mortuary chapel. Varela’s remains were placed in a pillow case and
moved to a corner of the tomb. The two shared the grave for nearly 40 years.
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12. Throughout the 19th century, public health concerns over burial grounds within city
limits became increasingly frequent. The fear of miasma (a harmful gaseous layer in
the atmosphere that was believed to aid the transmission of disease) resulted in the
prohibition of burial grounds within city limits in communities across the country.
Fears of disease and unsanitary conditions in the two historic cemeteries in St.
Augustine manifested near the end of the 19th century. Both Tolomato and Huguenot
were closed by city ordinance in 1884.
Any interment within either cemetery would result in a fine of up to fifty dollars and
the possibility of up to twenty days imprisonment. There were two burials in Tolomato
after 1884 (in 1886 and 1892; both faced fines of twenty-five dollars).
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13. In 1885, most of the land surrounding Tolomato remained marshy and unsuitable for
development. By 1889, Henry Flagler owned most of this land. Flagler was
responsible for filling Maria Sanchez Creek; for installing a street grid through this
area (lower right); and for renaming Tolomato Street, Cordova Street. Within a few
decades, this area was transformed into the residential district it is today. As St.
Augustine changed, faster than ever before, Tolomato Cemetery receded within the
shade of an overgrown canopy.
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14. Between 1902 and 1917, an “artificial stone” wall was erected around the eastern half
of the cemetery. There was a modest picket fence in place, which appears to have
remained behind the new wall for another ten or twenty years after it was built. This
fence was replaced with a chain-link fence prior to 1950. This photo (left) shows the
gate in 1902 – a pair of paneled doors (a stark contrast to the iron-gate at Huguenot).
In 1917, a city plan was produced that recommended the widening of Cordova Street
in front of Tolomato; this required the removal of a portion of the cemetery that
obstructed the street (top right). This doesn’t appear to have taken place until
sometime after 1953. When it did, the wall east and north of the cemetery was
demolished and subsequently rebuilt. The southern span of the wall today appears to
be from the original. Unfortunately, there are no known records regarding the details
of this undertaking or the movement of any of the graves as a result.
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15. In 1911, Father Varela’s remains were returned to Cuba and enshrined on the
University of Havana campus. After he was removed, the chapel underwent a series of
alterations as a tribute to Bishop Verot. Most notable were the addition of a bronze
memorial plaque in the wall beside the door and the replacement of the wood shingle
roof with Spanish tile. The coquina masonry, which appears to have been originally
whitewashed, was also stuccoed – all before 1945.
Since Varela’s repatriation, many wondered whether the right body was exhumed. In
the 1950s, the University of Havana conducted a study of his remains to answer this
question. A member of the research team even came to St. Augustine to study the
chapel, but wasn’t given access to the bishop’s remains. Nevertheless, they were
convinced that they had right remains. The Catholics of St. Augustine were less
convinced; they conducted their own investigation of Bishop Verot in 1975 with the
same conclusion.
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16. In the late 1960s, the local diocese took an interest in the renovation of the cemetery.
With the centennial of his death coming up in 1976, there was a movement to provide
Bishop Verot with an appropriate tomb; this led to a discussion that in many ways
would decide the fate of St. Augustine’s oldest-remaining burial ground.
Many wanted to move Verot’s remains to the more illustrious bishop’s chapel in San
Lorenzo Cemetery; others wanted him to remain, where he was. Those that wanted
him to stay feared the bishop’s removal would lead to a total loss of interest in the
care of Tolomato, which had been left to deteriorate for most of the 20th century. They
decided to keep Verot in Tolomato and to renovate the chapel and grounds in his
memory. During this renovation, Varela’s ledger was mounted to the chapel wall and a
new ledger for Verot was placed over the tomb; the chapel floor was also tiled, as you
saw earlier. Though no records detailing the work have been found, it’s clear that
many of the remaining markers were repaired at this time.
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17. Around 1987-88, another effort was made to renovate Tolomato. The goals were to
provide Bishop Verot with a new grave in a place of prominence; to restore the Varela
chapel as a memorial to its first resident; and to refurbish the cemetery to honor and
promote the significance of the site and its Minorcan heritage to the history of St.
Augustine.
A permanent path was installed down the center of the cemetery. There had always
been a central path in this location, but it was overgrown during the 20th century. This
pathway was lined with a coquina coping and Verot’s new tomb was placed at its
center. Both his ledger and bronze plaque were moved from the chapel to this new
tomb (top left). Varela’s ledger was returned to the chapel floor and his second tablet
placed in the chapel wall, where Verot’s plaque had been. The mahogany altar, which
was collapsing by the 1970s, was reconstructed incorporating elements of the original
(the central seal and ornamental pedestals on each side).
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18. Tolomato cemetery had always been a curiosity for visitors to the old city. This was just as
true in the 19th century as it is today. But an active effort to interpret the cemetery began
around the 1970s; in later years the gate was occasionally unlocked to allow volunteers to offer
tours. This came to an end by the close of the 1990s.
Sometime after 1994, the chapel was painted with waterproof paint, in order to “preserve” the
structure.
Around 2000, a member of the Sons of the Confederacy was permitted to replace a number of
Confederate markers in Tolomato that were lost. The markers were supposed to be scattered
across the grounds (to look more realistic), but they were placed in a row along the front of the
cemetery, as if in a national or military cemetery. Apparently, one of these markers was for a
veteran that was lost at sea (and never interred in Tolomato).
A final restoration effort began in 2002 with a cemetery clean-up day that drew an estimated
120 Cubans from Miami. Their main goals were to erect a “more historically appropriate”
fence and to repair any damaged markers. But the effort dissipated before the funds could be
raised.
Two years later, the cemetery passed from the diocese to the Cathedral Basilica of St.
Augustine. Since
then, restoration and renovation efforts have fallen silent. The cemetery sits quietly once again,
watching the city pass beyond its gates. Today, Tolomato is cared for by parish employees,
who cut the grass and clear weeds. Perhaps twice a year the gates are opened to the public, but
there is no interpretation beyond the embellished stories of passing tour guides and a thirty
year-old landmark sign.
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19. Tolomato Cemetery began as a simple Catholic “church graveyard”. Over time the
site was shaped to meet the needs of the community. When it was no longer in use,
after 1884, the destructive proliferation of vegetation throughout the landscape and the
loss of countless markers was a reflection of this evolving relationship. Starting in the
1970s, the cemetery underwent a series of renovations to give it a more sanitary
appearance, considered to be more respectful in this modern era of memorial park
cemeteries. Tolomato hasn’t made a smooth transition into the status of an historic
landscape.
Despite its caretaker’s good intentions, it continues to be maintained as any
contemporary, modern cemetery (rather than the sensitive historic landscape it is).
Renovation projects have been carried out on the basis of exclusive goals, independent
of what has been done in the past and without a cohesive vision for the future. Both
our understanding of the site and the site itself has suffered as a result.
Now that I have discussed how Tolomato developed, I would like to discuss several of
what I feel are among the more important preservation issues with this site.
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20. This vault was one of the most unique markers in Tolomato. It also represents a
recurrent obstacle in my research. How many times have I mentioned there are no
records for an alteration, so far? This vault was changed dramatically without any
record as to why or when it occurred. As you can see here, the vault was already in
poor shape by the 1930s.
It appears to have been a ruin by 1976. Presumably during the renovations in the
1970s…
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21. …this vault was erected in its footprint.
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22. This is the box tomb of Father Michael O’Reilly (sometime around the 1880s or
1890s). This earlier photo (top left) shows the tomb with a sloped roof. In the photo
below it there is a new marble ledger over the same box. I am not sure what happened
here; perhaps the sloped roof collapsed or money was raised to provide a more
prestigious memorial. There is no record of the alteration.
Documenting change is an important part of any responsible preservation program.
Without documentation, it can be difficult to distinguish original constructions from
repairs.
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23. In many ways, Tolomato is a showcase of conservation issues. Deteriorated mortar in
the joints of several masonry vaults is little more than powder now (lower left).
Eventually the weight of the brick becomes too much for the weakened mortar to bear,
and the vaults themselves begin to collapse; the barrel over this vault (top left) has
begun to separate from the rest of the structure and will eventually collapse. In the
past, people have tried to repair mortar joints with harder cements. The mortar joints
in this barrel vault (top right) have been repaired with cement that is too hard; this has
caused the bricks to spall (or crumble). As bricks dislodge from barrel roofs and fall,
they leave gaping holes in the shell. To patch this one (lower right), someone has
poured concrete over the barrel, which has irritated the area even more – further
degrading the materials around it (like pouring concrete into a hole in a tree).
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24. This double-barrel vault (on left) is another of Tolomato’s unique marker forms. It has
undergone extensive repairs. Much of the brick along the front has been replaced with
modern brick. The left barrel has been partially reconstructed using wire mesh and
concrete. Numerous tablets have been reassembled using inappropriate materials, like
adhesives and cements. This tablet (top right) was re-set using three separate agents,
including caulk, a fine mortar, and a coarse cement (all within this one joint). These
materials will continue to erode the soft marble and like the repairs to this vault, their
removal would only result in further damage to the marker. This tablet (lower right) is
just a more extreme example of this.
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25. Box tombs represent the oldest and longest memorial tradition of the remaining
markers in the cemetery. Many boxes are buckling beneath the weight of their ledgers.
This box (on left) is collapsing; as you can see the west wall has been replaced; it
remains intact as it separates from the historic materials. This box (on right) suffers
from extensive mortar deterioration, high moisture levels, and biodeterioration (which
is decay caused by living organisms, such as lichens, mold, moss, and plant growth).
At the center of the box, where the mortar loss is greatest, the marble ledger is bowing
downward.
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26. Over the past century, the Varela Chapel has undergone extensive alterations. The
character of the chapel has changed dramatically. The application of waterproof paint
in recent years poses a serious threat to the structural integrity of the coquina masonry
within.
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27. The chapel exhibits symptoms of moisture damage. Stone is porous; it absorbs water
from the air and the ground and releases it naturally. Sealing the walls beneath an
impermeable layer traps moisture inside; over time this will lead to the destabilization
of the stone itself (accelerating the breakdown it was meant to prevent). You can see
along the base of the chapel wall that groundwater has caused the exposed stone to
crumble. The west facade was never painted; it is stained with what appears to be rust
(probably from the wire lath that was installed when the stucco was last replaced).
The paint will need to be removed (preferably in the near future), through the gentlest
means possible. As long as it remains, moisture will be absorbed from the ground and
into the walls with nowhere to go. I highly recommend lime washing as an alternative
to painting. It is water permeable and resistant to biodeterioration. An added benefit of
lime wash is that it requires replacement every few years, which provides an
opportunity to take a closer look at the masonry (this makes it easier to spot problems
before they arise).
As you can see, ill-advised repairs have complicated matters. Though each repair was
well-intended, many modern materials are simply incompatible with historic
materials. In the future, an historic materials conservationist should always be
involved in work like this, to ensure that it’s done appropriately.
In historic landscapes like Tolomato, there’s more to consider than only the built
environment…
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28. When walking the grounds of an historic cemetery, it is easy sometimes to overlook
the natural heritage around us. But walking the grounds of Tolomato, one encounters a
wide array of trees that simply cannot be overlooked. The great live oaks of Tolomato
have already become landmarks in their own right. But their success is tainted by the
loss of two other equally impressive oaks from this landscape (lower right). The
vegetation of Tolomato is a significant contributor to the site’s character. When
considering the preservation and interpretation of this site, vegetation is a pivotal layer
to include in planning. Natural heritage is a resource that is every bit as significant to
the human experience as cultural heritage.
But without proper care and careful planning, vegetation can become a threat to the
landscape. This has been (and continues to be) a significant problem in Tolomato.
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29. Over the years, countless historic features have been damaged or lost to unchecked
vegetation. This tablet (top right) and one of Tolomato’s unique iron fenceposts
(bottom right) have been enveloped by trees. The tablet has been fractured. As the tree
grows around the fencepost, it will eventually collapse this area entire fence.
Many trees have grown against the east wall; here (left) an oak has absorbed the
chainlink fence and collapsed part of the wall’s original southern span.
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30. When St. Augustine was hit by a hurricane in 2004, high winds tore a large branch
from the live oak near the entrance; crushing a nearby vault. Any risk of storm debris
from these trees would pale in comparison to what would happen if either was
uprooted. It is often said that the size of the canopy reflects the extent of the root
system – imagine the damage that this oak (at left) could cause, with a canopy in
excess of 95 feet across in an area of the site that is little more than 160 feet wide; it
could easily uproot a massive portion of this densely-populated cemetery that dates to
a time, when graves were only a few feet deep. As long as the canopy and root
systems are properly maintained by qualified individuals, such an event would be
unlikely even in the strongest of storms.
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31. Tolomato Cemetery faces a problem common to many (if not most) historic burial
grounds – a disconnection from our society, particularly the communities around
them. Usually, a few generations after the last burial a cemetery “goes cold”; as family
support is no longer present. Though there seems to be a firm interest in the general
well-being of this site, the channels to foster and utilize that interest are currently
absent. Tolomato is sealed from the public and interpreted only by an outdated
landmark sign and the various tour companies that pass its gates, sharing narrow
glimpses of the rich heritage within. In the absence of any meaningful interpretative
activities, people have no reason to see Tolomato as anything more than another
forgotten old graveyard (which is probably why so many do not hesitate to discard
their trash over the fence).
In addition to a preservation program, there needs to be some form of interpretation –
not only to educate the public, but also to provide an opportunity for others to find
their own interests in Tolomato. Often, people’s interest in historic sites are neither
tangible nor even historical – it is the product of some entirely personal experience
that curators and interpreters may not fully understand.
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32. To illustrate this, I would like to share something I wrote about Tolomato, during one
of many long days in the cemetery last summer:
Walking the grounds of this cemetery is a fully-immersive heritage experience, almost
a symphony for the senses. The air is cool, always carried on the gentlest breezes. The
leaves rustle softly, like waves on a distant beach. This place is unencumbered by the
world beyond its gates. Any sounds or distractions of the city outside are shed within a
few steps into the site. Spanish moss slowly sways from the limbs of magnificent
oaks, like ghosts waving a silent hello to those that pass, but do not see. But there are
no ghosts here, only memories of so many loved, so many lost, and so many long
forgotten. This is a place of rest… made sacred by those that were left behind, long
since gone themselves. There is such feeling in this place, as if the tears of mourners
have stained the ground and the air. Some would paint this place as the setting for a
nightmare, when in reality, we should all be so lucky when our time comes, to know
the sort of peace that exists here.
This experience is what endears me to Tolomato Cemetery; it is why I will continue to
return. And this…
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33. …is the typical experience for most other visitors to the site.
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34. Most of what visitors know about Tolomato, comes from stories or legends (and this
sign). Today, it is best known for stories of supernatural activity. Accounts of a
woman-in-white; a dark, cloaked figure; an angry Indian threatening people from the
fence; and a child playing in a tree, draw countless visitors to the gate every day, to
stare, photograph, and videotape the vacant grounds in hopes of capturing a glimpse
of the supernatural. For many, Tolomato Cemetery is known only as the “most
haunted place in St. Augustine.” This folklore has become a contributing aspect to the
site’s significance, but it does little to further public understanding of the site itself. In
fact, in many cases, it’s counterproductive (depending on the person telling the story).
But ghost stories are not the problem. There is a general lack of understanding of
Tolomato’s significance because there are no other interpretations available to them.
Actually, I am looking forward to sharing what I have learned about Tolomato with
local tour companies. They are the first (and in many cases, the only) line of
interpretation for many visitors.
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35. (CONCLUSION) Tolomato’s history demonstrates the need for a preservation program to
guide maintenance and interpretive activities. The lack of one in the past has resulted in the
extensive loss of historical integrity and continues to threaten what remains. The more we
“cut” into the fabric of an historic site with inappropriate repairs or alterations, the more we
compromise its integrity in the process, until eventually it is effectively lost and a new site is
created that is merely a quilt of historic fragments interwoven with dense patches of modern
intervention. As preservationists, our goal is to ensure that such a tragedy never befalls this
cemetery.
Successful preservation also requires the sustained interest of the community. Over time,
closing-off the cemetery will result in a loss of meaning and significance for the public; people
will not understand why it is important if we do not show them and tell them. While the desire
to protect the cemetery is understandable, barbed-wires and locks are impediments to sort of
the long-term protection they’re meant to provide; they are short-term responses to long-term
problems. Education is the best and most enduring protection at our disposal. Though
interpretive activities alone (i.e. guided tours, booklets, signs, etc.) would make a difference,
the incorporation of community members in the actual management and care of the cemetery
would make a far greater and more lasting impact on its future.
Places like Tolomato Cemetery exist to be venerated, admired, and explored; to do more than
turn our heads as we pass by; more than anything else, they exist to inspire reflection – to
teach us silent lessons about ourselves and about life. For me, that is why we preserve these
places – to continue the sentiment and the sense of remembrance that formed them.
Tolomato’s history and its character enrich St. Augustine; with a little effort and cooperation,
we can ensure that it continues to do so for generations to come. Thank you.
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