THREE CULTURES IN ONE CITY: A STUDY OF THREE MUTUAL-AID SOCIETY
CEMETERIES IN YBOR CITY AS TRADITIONAL CULTURAL PROPERTIES
by
DESIREE ESTABROOK
(Under the Direction of MARK REINBERGER)
ABSTRACT
This investigative study examines the unique burial traits of three cemeteries in Ybor
City, Florida founded by immigrant mutual-aid societies in the early 20th century. By thorough
documentation and careful analysis, an argument for their potential National Register eligibility
will be crafted to further support their preservation. Cemeteries on a whole deserve better
protection, both locally and nationally, as they inherently deal with different circumstances than
structures or buildings face in terms of eligibility. This thesis serves to highlight the
underappreciated burial typologies found in the three mutual-aid society cemeteries in Ybor City.
INDEX WORDS: cemetery, cemeteries, preservation, Ybor City, Tampa, Florida, mutual-aid society, cigar industry, burial typology, tile-mosaic, photo-ceramic portrait
THREE CULTURES IN ONE CITY: A STUDY OF THREE MUTUAL-AID SOCIETY
CEMETERIES IN YBOR CITY AS TRADITIONAL CULTURAL PROPERTIES
by
DESIREE ESTABROOK
B.A., University of Central Florida, 2006
A Thesis Submitted to the Graduate Faculty of The University of Georgia in Partial Fulfillment
of the Requirements for the Degree
MASTER OF HISTORIC PRESERVATION
ATHENS, GEORGIA
2008
© 2008
Desiree Estabrook
All Rights Reserved
THREE CULTURES IN ONE CITY: A STUDY OF THREE MUTUAL-AID SOCIETY
CEMETERIES IN YBOR CITY AS TRADITIONAL CULTURAL PROPERTIES
by
DESIREE ESTABROOK
Major Professor: Mark Reinberger
Committee: Wayde Brown David Berle Allison Moon
Electronic Version Approved:
Maureen Grasso Dean of the Graduate School The University of Georgia December 2008
DEDICATION
I dedicate this thesis to my ‘gift from China’ - Jianchuan.
iv
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I would like to extend my deep appreciation for my committee, and especially my major professor, for lending the time and support to see this vision through.
Additionally, I would like to thank the many dedicated individuals continuously working to save these special cemeteries. Lastly, having an archaeologist for a father is pretty cool - thanks, Dad.
v
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Page
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS ...... v
LIST OF TABLES ...... viii
CHAPTER
1 Introduction ...... 1
Intent of Study ...... 4
General Cemetery History ...... 10
2 History of Ybor City and the Immigrant Community ...... 15
Social Structure and Physical Division with the Cigar Factories ...... 21
The Founding of the Mutual-Aid Society ...... 24
The Decline of a Cigar-Making Empire ...... 33
3 Methodology of Field Work ...... 37
Desired Impact of Work ...... 40
Conditions Assessment as a Method ...... 41
Procedural Methodology ...... 43
Further Review ...... 46
4 Results of Field Survey ...... 49
Spatial Setting and Site Observations ...... 49
Observed Burial Traits ...... 60
Findings of Results ...... 72
vi
5 Analysis of Results ...... 102
Flowers, Statuary, and Other Grave Artifacts ...... 103
Photo-Ceramic Portrait Burials ...... 107
Tile-Mosaic Burials ...... 110
Issues of Site Integrity ...... 114
6 Conclusions and Further Recommendations ...... 127
Conclusions ...... 127
Recommendations ...... 132
REFERENCES ...... 138
APPENDICES ...... (following individual chapters)
A Photo Appendix for Results ...... 86
B Photo Appendix for Analysis ...... 120
C Photo Appendix for Conclusions ...... 135
vii
LIST OF TABLES
Page
Table 1: Measured Traits of the Three Cemeteries in Comparison ...... 74
Table 2: Measured Traits of the Centro Asturiano Cemetery ...... 75
Table 3: Measured Traits of the Centro Espanol Cemetery ...... 79
viii Chapter 1: Introduction
In dealing with preservation of the built environment, cemeteries are unlike
historic structures in that they are designed for a singular use. They cannot begin as
factories for manufacturing and then find rehabilitative use in partitioned office or living
space. They cannot drastically change in appearance either, or it would betray their
original intent, as well as integrity. Cemeteries are plots of land, limited in capacity, set
aside for the distinct purpose of holding sacred remains. Once a cemetery reaches full
capacity, it loses its appeal for new clients and therefore relies heavily upon the families
that have members interred there. Perhaps one hundred years ago, it may have been
common for families to live close to a cemetery and so provide grave maintenance;
churches, too, would provide protection and maintenance for their cemeteries. Modern
society, however, has been greatly characterized by frequent migration patterns that are
shown by scattered family groups that often live states apart. Larger and often commercial cemeteries have since developed perpetual care programs to remedy
cemetery degradation. However few options remains for smaller family plots or
community graveyards.
A cemetery may seem permanent in nature, but if the field of historic preservation
has anything to teach us, it is that aging historic materials face a perilous existence.
Constantly changing weather conditions test the durability of the material at hand, as well
as its inherent construction. Humans do no favors to historic materials either, which
often suffer in the hands of use, and unfortunately some directed abuse. Cemeteries are
1
no stranger to the effects of vandalism, neglect, and change often wrought by human
hands. All of these factors help explain why few cemeteries are nominated for the
National Register of Historic Places. Only 902 cemeteries are nationally listed within the
NR's online searchable database (and most are associated with on-site structures) – a
small percentage of the approximately 80,000 other historic resources that are listed.1
Why are more not considered for their intrinsic value, and perhaps, does a better tool
exist for ensuring the preservation of a cemetery?
For one thing, most cemeteries are unlikely candidates for expository narratives,
tributes for artistic achievement, or designation as cultural landscapes. This perhaps was
not the case during the Victorian era, when death permeated culture through poetry,
religion, and everyday social behavior. Quite often, to keep a loved one’s lock of hair or
tooth as a keepsake was not at all uncommon. Some parents even feared naming
newborns knowing that disease and illness were all too prevalent. However, the
Victorians' reticent if not mercurial acceptance of death changed over time to the current
mode of thought that author H.B. Dunning-Grubb summarizes so nicely in 1920. “There
is a modern tendency to avoid a funeral aspect in cemeteries as though a cemetery was
after all something to be ashamed of and which ought to be disguised as something
else.”2 Our way is often to hide a cemetery in plain sight, to disguise it as a park. The
idea of such a memorial park came to fruition at the turn of the century as a way of
‘beautifying’ death. This transition, the way in which we choose to treat our dead,
1 www.nps.org/nr, last accessed January 6th, 2008. As an interesting note, the official publication c.1992 [Guidelines for Evaluating and Registering Cemeteries and Burial Places] states that “roughly 1,700 cemeteries and burial places in all parts of the country have been entered into the National Register since 1966…” 2 p.143 H.B. Dunning c.1920 in Park and Cemetery; quoted in the work of Farrel, J.L. 1980. Inventing the American Way of Death, 1830-1920. Temple University Press, Philidelphia. 2
reflects greatly upon us as a society: “If the cemetery is surely a window on the past, it is
equally a mirror to the present.”3 Authors such as Hamscher have, for a long time, argued that a cemetery embodies more than a passive historic artifact. These sites are
meant to be enjoyed, and our natural aversion to death perhaps has hindered our ability to holistically judge these burial grounds as historic cultural properties. Additionally, their preservation in of itself limits continued use if to ‘preserve’ implies that cemeteries must reflect a specific point in time. In essence, the field of historic preservation emphasizes
that we preserve the material culture of the cemetery rather than the memory of the
people interred. Accordingly, to ‘museum-ify’ a cemetery defies its natural progression
to age and weather. But it should not be left to rot either, hence the interesting dilemma.
Perhaps the median alternative involves cultured public support through education
and an applied sense of civic duty. We can preserve a cemetery by continual maintenance
and follow the ethic to replace in kind if something is damaged or lost. If everyone
understands the difference between an appropriate modification to a cemetery from an
unsympathetic alteration, then the battle is half won. Moreover, cemeteries should be
given more protection through direct recognition and legal measures to prevent the disinterment and desecration of remains. Are burial grounds valued and respected simply because we inter human familial remains within their confines, or perhaps beneath the monuments, silk flowers, and burial slabs, we see a little of ourselves? (The pun very much intended.).
If all cemeteries are to be treated as consecrated ground, then a better determinant
of significance should stem from internal features and site integrity. After all, if such
3 p. 7 Hamscher, Albert N. “Pictorial Headstones, Business, Culture, and the Expression of Individuality in the Contemporary Cemetery” Markers XXIII Ed. Collison. 3
grave markers are viewed as historical objects, ones that yield characteristics and values
of a community during a set time, they intrinsically embody localized history. The
material, design, setting, and care of a headstone all convey characteristics of a
community, both past and present. Iconography will relate religious beliefs, social status,
fraternal belonging, and the overall sentiment of death. A granite or marble stone may
indicate a decedent of higher economic circumstance than that of a decent buried with a
cement or wooden marker. No matter the substrate, each burial provides a multi-faceted
view of the deceased individual.
1.1 - Intent of Study
This thesis has been a prolonged effort since 2005 to identify and understand a
collection of colorful cemeteries near Ybor City, Florida (Figure 1.1). My first glimpse
into what I now know as L’Unione Italiana cemetery came as I drove by the imposing gates on my way through town. Behind the iron enclosure, hundreds of gleaming and interestingly shaped headstones jutted out from the rows of neatly lined graves. In a
theatrical sense, the statuary topping headstones seemed to call to the passerby in vain,
begging for relief from holding the same posture for indefinite years. Colorful mosaics
captured on concrete slabs caught my immediate attention, although more arresting were
the hundreds of frozen faces staring at me from porcelain portraits affixed to the front of most headstones. Lush and green, this landscape seemed inviting, and not at all haunted or desolate as some imagined burial grounds in the fashion of horror movies. But driving
along, another cemetery followed, creating a bi-polarity of environment. Scattered tufts
of grass dotted an otherwise gray and decaying landscape. Broken monuments were
4
more visible than intact ones, and as I read the sign ‘Cementerio Espanol,’ I sat
beleaguered with wonder on how one cemetery could embody such life and care, and the
other reflect the neglect of its interred. This of course resulted in a plethora of ‘what if’s’
and ‘why’s’, with desultory attempts to answer my own self-made inquisition. It would take three years of research to grasp the complexities surrounding the early history of my town and its interred members, which will be explained briefly as follows.
Figure 1.1 – Map of Florida and relevant metropolitan areas. Map courtesy of Florida State Department. The location of Tampa, and Ybor City within, is circled in blue.
My study involves three culturally-relevant and ethnically distinct cemeteries located north and outside of Ybor City, Florida (Figure 1.2). Each found its beginning in the early 1900s as an extension of the services provided by the mutual-aid societies for
5
immigrant workers. As one can imagine, 20th century Florida was not the most welcoming environment for incoming immigrants.4 Medical services, job opportunities,
and residential areas were all highly separated along class lines, with the upper class
comprising mostly of Caucasian recently-native Floridians and the working class made
up of various immigrant identities. My research focuses on the particular effort of three
immigrant groups that all shared work in the cigar making industry. The Italian, Spanish,
and Cuban workers each formed their respective social clubs, with membership not
enforced by ethnicity but rather social fittings. These clubs provided entertainment for
the members [mostly male] with games, theatre, a library, dances and social functions, as
well as other benefits including ‘cradle to the grave medical care’.5 Such amenities
Figure 1.2 – Topographic map of the Ybor City area (USGS Quadrangle, Hillsborough 1956 (1987 Photo-Revised). The cemeteries that will be discussed in this thesis are highlighted in yellow, and their general location circled in blue.
4 p. 239 Mormino and Pozzetta. 1998. The Immigrant World of Ybor City. “The immigrant community felt explicit boundaries existed for them, essentially confining them to a particular geographic area.” 5 p. 178 Ibid. 6
usually included family doctors, or even a medical facility, as well as a community cemetery.
The development of the cemeteries occurred as follows: L’Unione Italiana came
into existence in 1900; the Spanish created Centro Espanol slightly before in 1896; and as
for the separatist group claiming allegiance to Havana, the Cubans created Centro
Asturiano finally in 1904. One, the L’Unione Italiana cemetery, provides an in-depth,
intact, and carefully preserved glance into Italian-American burial traditions left behind
from first and second generation immigrants onward. The others, Centro Espanol and El
Centro Asturiano, remain physically broken but are exceptionally high-spirited
collections of Spanish-influenced traditions. Both cultural groups lived, interacted, and
worked in the same geographical area for the cigar industry of Tampa, as well as
partaking in close, communal business practices. They remain as the most
comprehensive and complete representation of these three ethnic groups, as the
cemeteries have survived urban renewal, declining membership in the mutual aid
societies, and extinction of its neighboring residential community.
The issue at hand concerns how to specifically protect these culturally significant
cemeteries that share a common origin in the mutual aid societies that founded them.
Additionally, I wish to examine if these cemeteries do in fact reflect cultural traditions of the founding immigrant groups, or if perhaps some of the design elements stemmed from economic necessity. I hope to briefly explore the subject of burials and cultural- relatedness without delving too far into stereotyping specific burial typologies in relation to ethnic identity. Each cemetery exhibits distinctive burial typologies that are unique to the population interred there, and are artistic expressions of the Spanish, Cuban, and
7
Italian immigrants that occupied the area during Tampa’s early history. In this light, I firmly believe the argument for their continued preservation will come from their determined cultural value. Founded on continual observation of these three cemeteries since 2005, this thesis will explore the intricacies of the individual cemetery as relating to material composition, burial typologies, frequency of traits, and cultural ties to burial practice.
Within two square miles of Ybor City, Florida, the heart of its former community lies interred in separate but distinctly related burial sites. Once surrounded by pasture land, these cemeteries soon were enveloped by encroaching development. These neighborhoods formed the early suburbs of Tampa, and their original residents have been replaced by an African-American majority that bears no cultural interest in the decedents.
However, although isolated from the mutual aid societies that founded them, these ethnically-distinct cemeteries still attract descendents of the original groups and interested community members alike. The collective effort of dedicated individuals has saved these cemeteries from vandalism even more prevalent than it has been, eventual deterioration, and exclusion from memory. This is not to say that the neighboring community bears no interest to these cemeteries. On one occasion, a gentlemen on his bike wanted to know why I was walking all over a bunch of dead people. More or less, it was a territorial remark; an inquisition as to why a stranger to the community spent the last few hours walking around the cemetery and furiously scribbling notes. And he was not alone – my presence within the cemeteries has attracted noticeable attention from neighbors, with expressions ranging from curiosity to appreciation. It can be estimated that one in every eight graves has been vandalized in the past, and every year since my
8
initial investigation in 2005, more than a fifth of the total graves have been affected in
some way. Vandalism casualties account for most of the damage found within the
cemeteries, with the least offensive practice targeting the removal of the photo-ceramic
portraiture from the headstones, to the most drastic and invasive exhumation of the
graves.6
Although nothing excuses the desecration of a grave, the propensity for disturbing these burials results from the supposition of buried material wealth as well as the valuable markers themselves, with fine marble, granite, porcelain, and copper elements. Other graves, especially the ‘make-do’7 or ready-made markers constructed by
individuals themselves, mostly deteriorate from natural weathering. Concrete will crack,
ground settling will disrupt tile-work, and encased objects will fall from the substrate.
Little by little, these monuments will fade from the landscape, as they are often small and
undecorated, although highly emblematic of personalized and thoughtful design. So
begins my effort to garner support for these resources and utilize the diverse range of
tools at hand to save these spaces for continual study and enjoyment.
By all accounts, my plan to include these burial grounds in the National Register
would not solve any of the immediate conflicts surrounding these places. Simply enough,
recognition of these valuable resources might incur a broader support base from the
community at large. If the descendents of the mutual-aid society members were to
realize the historical significance of these cemeteries as the last entities of their ancestors'
6 Human remains have only been found on the surface of the ground in Centro Espanol cemetery. The first instance occurred in 2006 with a juvenile radius (arm fragment) lying on the surface next to a seemingly undisturbed grave. The second instance transpired more recently (2007) and appears to be a collarbone fragment found near some disturbed graves in the children's section along the rear of the property. 7 Kevin Kuharic, lead conservator at the Oakland Cemetery in Atlanta, described such burial types. On a tour, we discussed the rising interest in vernacular markers as an equally important burial expression to that of commercial stone. He found research describing the trend of ‘folk art’ grave decoration, and its transition into more academic terms, such as make-do or ready-made monuments. 9 community, they may be more moved to save them. The artistic and cultural manifestations exhibited by the burials alone attest to their local and national importance.
Few cemeteries are even considered for nomination, but this successful case will be made from an argument rooted in sound judgment.
1.2 - General Cemetery History
Only in recent years has cemetery analysis become a notable field of interest, resulting from the plethora of research that has emerged since the 1960s. Before then, books were rarely published on cemeteries unless it concerned landscaping, health, or religious issues. Recently, however, this unorthodox fascination with the deceased has preservationists and historians alike venturing to these sacred realms to document and maintain these burials. Mostly this fervor has developed in reaction to the obvious neglect of these sites by communities whose interest no longer lies with those interred.
Recent intrigue concerning our ancestors and genealogy has encouraged many experts to come forth with new efforts for documentation and study, including such works covering photo-ceramic portraiture by Horne,8 Keister’s notable field-guide for interpreting symbolism,9 and inclusive works covering the evolution of the cemetery (e.g., Sloane,
1991).10 To be fair, cemetery research has often been a myopic field of interest, with
Deetz and Dethlefsen first notably publishing a prominent article on early American
Colonial graveyards and inscriptions.11 This sort of publishing trend coincided with the
8 Horne RW. 2004. Forgotten Faces: A Window into Our Immigrant Past. California: Personal Genesis Publishing. 9 Keister D. 2004. Stories in Stone: A Field Guide to Cemetery Symbolism & Iconography. Utah: Gibbs Smith Pub. 10 Sloane DC. 1991. The Last Great Necessity: Cemeteries in American History. Maryland: Johns Hopkins Press Ltd. 11 Deetz J, Dethlefsen E. 1966. ‘Death’s Head, Cherubs, and Willow Trees: Experimental 10 developing interest in historic preservation during the 1960s and 1970s.12 People began to realize that unless public support existed for preserving such historic materials, community development would push these resources aside.
For the benefit of this study, it would be best not to dwell on the overall evolution of the cemetery as a landscape and holding repository for individuals. These concepts have been exhaustively covered in prior works [Sloane’s Last Great Necessity for example] and bear little relevance to this particular study, especially since Tampa's mutual-aid society cemeteries followed a divergent trend. The evolution of America’s cemeteries will be noted, however, through the last century as an insightful comparison to just how unique these Ybor City cemeteries remain. Seemingly, the immigrants who purchased commercial stones adhered to the common [liturgical] makeup directing iconography and appropriate funerary symbolism. For the most part, these commercial stones were additionally personalized by a potpourri of cultural symbolism, with writing in their native tongues and the addition of photo-ceramic portraiture depicting comfortable backgrounds. These cultural trends make the most interesting study, and their continuance truly depends upon the people from which it generated. Terry Jordan, in his work on Texas graveyards, performed similar analysis on the burial trends of the early German and Mexican immigrant populations dealing with metal and wooden cross markers.13 Lesser attention has been given to Spanish and Italian immigrant cemeteries in reference to their photo-ceramic portraiture. Four years ago, R.W. Horne published his work on photo-ceramic portraiture in Forgotten Faces, concentrating on the Italian community in La Colma, California. Under broader scope of analysis of burial culture,
Archaeology in Colonial Cemeteries’. American Antiquity. 31:502-510. 12 p. PAGE Eggener. 2004. American Architectural History: A Contemporary Reader. Routledge. 13 Jordan, T.G. 1982. Texas Graveyards: A Cultural Legacy. University of Texas Press, Austin. 11
John Matturri focused on the general trends of Italian-American memorialization in the
American cemetery, as his title suggests in Meyer’s anthology Ethnicity in the American
Cemetery.14 Spanish cemeteries, it seems, are written about less and mostly from the
perspective of early Spanish colonizers15 or Mexican immigrants, instead of the Cuban
and mainland Spanish populations that first occupied Tampa, Florida. Hopefully, the
research presented here will add to the collective body of knowledge in filling in the
minor gaps of our nation’s early immigrant heritage.
Lastly, it should be mentioned that I spent the summer of 2007 cataloging and
performing a conditions assessment on 200+ cemeteries within Morgan County, Georgia,
thirty miles south of Athens. Our assembled team gathered initial research, pulling from
maps, diaries, newspapers, and the persistent family lines that have occupied the area for
some time. The two-hundred figure came from assembling a long list of cemeteries
mentioned in the historical record, but we felt content if we found half of that amount
considering the extensive agricultural demise and more recent development within the
county. With great help from the community, we in fact found over two-hundred burial
grounds in varying conditions. Some cemeteries were quite meticulously maintained,
even in the most remote locations. Others (although very few) were consciously removed
for the sake of development and full-fledged use of private property. Fieldwork remains
my favorite part of the whole operation, as it allows me to explore vast tracks of land for
our ‘hidden treasure’. Sometimes we discovered an old family homestead, and once, a
14 Matturri, John. ‘Windows in the Garden: Italian-American Memorialization and the American Cemetery’ from Ethnicity and the American Cemetery. 1993. 15 Sharyn Thompson. 1993. ‘These Works of Mortuary Masonry: The Aboveground Tombs of St. Michaels Cemetery, Pensacola, FL’ from Southern Quarterly. Winter 1993. The University of Southern Mississippi.
12
forgotten community whose only existence had been proved through the remnants of
their burial ground. More will be said about these experiences in later chapters, but it is
important to emphasize the experience gained from this type of project. One has to
consider the level of site integrity, as well as identify local and region burial trends.
Specific typologies were discovered among African-Americans16 as well as typical
Anglo-American expressions. Although certain design features are attributed to a
specific group, they are merely numerical correlations of an artistic expression; that is,
they occur more or less frequently (not exclusively) with that group. For example, shell
burials (popularly considered an African practice) were found among Caucasian and
African-American burials in Morgan County, and also among the Latin immigrant groups
within Ybor City, Florida. Now, the importance does not stem from who specifically
utilized this feature, but why. Obviously, Ybor City is minutes away from the coast, but
to find the presence of seashells on top of graves in Morgan County, Georgia, which
exists roughly four hours away from the coastline, indicates significance based on a
distant material source. More to the point, why were those sea shells carried the distance,
and what does this signify? Is the use of shell on the Morgan County graves
contemporary to that of the Ybor City cemeteries? Such expanded temporal relationships
concerning burial typologies should become the next academic consideration for the
study of cemeteries, as Dethlefsen suggests in his work Cemetery and Culture Change.
Although this aim is too ambitious for this study, I will attempt a chronology of burial
typologies within the three mutual-aid cemeteries in Ybor City, Florida. My focus
16 Morgan County Cemetery Conditions Assessment. 2008. A majority of African-American burials were marked by cast-concrete headstones decorated with flowers and/or crosses, and stamped with the name of the responsible funeral home. More than likely, due to their similarity across the county, these were made by the same group of artisans. 13 involves the incorporation of photo-ceramic portraiture on gravestones, the application of tile-mosaic burials, use of shell and other natural materials as grave decoration, and any other burial expressions that deviate from the typical usage of commercial stone.
14
Chapter 2: History of Ybor City and the Immigrant Community
“While the contemporary urge is to paint communities in rosy hues, observers once derided immigrant enclaves as breeding grounds for social disorder.” Gary Mormino and George Pozzetta, The Immigrant World of Ybor City
Throughout the United States immigrant cemeteries dot the landscape, often
located in small enclaves just neighboring the Anglo-dominated towns and cities.
Immigrants came to America in phases, with the largest arriving near the turn of the century to fill unskilled factory and service jobs. Here in these communities they found
solace – a refuge of comfortable surroundings, similar language, and a network of
supportive help that would not exist outside. Some in the Anglo communities viewed
this as isolationism, and therefore tended to distrust immigrant groups, whom reciprocally felt threatened by a perceived sense of oppression from their more powerful neighbors. These immigrant communities kept alive traditions, food-ways, language, and. cultural norms through the persistence of elders. Few families could afford to spread out, and due to economic stress, most family members participated in mutual financial support by joining the workforce when possible. Grandparents, parents, and children often lived in an inclusive household, so that generational traditions were passed along and reinforced. These are generalizations of the typical immigrant family structure during the early twentieth century, but they well represent the daily lives of immigrants in
15
Ybor City. They present the reader with an outline of the initial structure of immigrant societies. Such communities directly benefited the first and second generations of immigrants primarily, and as will become apparent later in this chapter, the third and fourth generations are heavily influenced by the surrounding American culture and national changes to American society itself. The Great Depression, the Second World
War, developing technologies, and suburbanization would ultimately result in the unraveling of tight-knit ethnic enclaves. National examples, such as Chinatown in San
Francisco and Little Italy in New York, are now no longer occupied extensively by the people who founded such neighborhoods, and may only be marginally represented by the older generations still holding on.
This study focuses on three distinct cultural entities that often intermingled on the basis of business-affiliation. Simply enough, Italians, Cubans, and the Spanish spent their days working together, and often their nights and weekends in celebration by attending plays, movie theaters, dances, or table games. They came to Florida during the late nineteenth century in search of work and the ever-fleeting stability of life. By the
1890s, a few families were able to anchor the growing immigrant community on the outskirts of Tampa by working in the cigar factories. Twenty years later, the Ybor City and West Tampa communities were bustling with fresh Mediterranean faces, much to the chagrin of a paranoid surrounding Anglo community. This prosperity had ended by the
1950s, as the Great Depression lessened demand for cigars, the Second World War diverted attention, and finally the technique of hand-rolling cigars was replaced by more efficient machines. Like many small towns supported by one industry, by 1960 the area faced a sad demise from depopulation, disinterest, and urban renewal. Post-war years
16
plucked away community members that ventured outside the comfortable boundaries of
Tampa, their horizons broadened by a new and diverse world brought by the war. The
original immigrants to Ybor City passed away year by year, and a new African-American minority soon replaced them. By this time, Ybor City and West Tampa were the unmentionable slums (by Anglo-American standards) that urban renewal would supposedly cure. With the removal of this ‘blight’, or more accurately the distinct small housing forms of the original immigrant workers, structures were cleared away for interstates and ‘modern’ architecture. When the promise of new development soon faded, and vacant lots stood testament to empty promises, Ybor City finally lost its original identity. The remaining physical reminders of these immigrant groups reside in the richly
designed clubhouses located in downtown Ybor City, the few preserved examples of
housing owned by the Ybor History Museum, and their cemeteries.
Although the above may relate a concise history of the general area, it does no service to describing in much detail the colorful lives of early Ybor City citizens. The beginning of this chapter will relate the founding of Florida as a state, and then describe the slow development of Tampa, Florida. As a note, I previously interchanged the locations of Tampa and Ybor City in their relationship to the immigrant community, and this is generally correct. Tampa represents the general bay-area city, and Ybor City and
West Tampa represent distinct neighborhoods geographically located within the larger city. While most of Tampa claimed Anglo heritage, the majority of the working class individuals were immigrants. Ybor City and West Tampa both evolved as cigar production centers mainly inhabited by Cuban, Spanish, and later Italian workers familiar with the trade. As will be later explained, not all members were considered equal in rank
17
or status. The individual’s worth necessitated two qualifiers: experience within the trade
and affiliation within the mutual-aid society. Underlying ethnic tensions also surfaced
occasionally.
Most of the following historical information will be pulled from the definitive
study written in 1998 by Gary Mormino and George Pozzetta, two descendants of
Mediterranean background and prominent Florida academics within the university system.
This chapter serves as a point of reference for the reader, and the author makes no claims
to produce any new historical data, except in the later analysis of the cemetery burial
expressions.
Careful and thorough research traces the history of the Ybor City immigrants to a
politically tumultuous nineteenth century Western Europe and Cuba. This period of time gives a frame of reference for why the Italians, Spanish, and Cubans wanted to leave their
points of origin. The Italians, and more distinctly a large Sicilian group, migrated to the
United States to escape extreme and continual poverty wrought by the hand of
established religion and wealthy landholders. America to them represented a fair shot at
life, where, with enough work, one could elevate one's status quo, instead of fitting into a
traditional role of a lowly land laborer. Italians came primarily to St. Cloud, Florida
initially to assist in sugar cane production, migrating to Ybor City when railroads opened
between the east and west coasts. The Spanish and Cubans, although coming from a
background of unsteady economy as well, mainly came up through Key West, Florida to
follow the cigar-making trade. In Cuba, cigars were a well-known item of production, supported by fine craftsmanship and quality of tobacco. Political turmoil and weather,
18
however, often disrupted the flow of expected production, forcing company owners to seek other locations for opportunities.
Ybor City became the next logical location in which to establish cigar-making facilities in Florida after Key West factories faltered in the 1880s. Hurricanes proved
destructive, as did uncooperative workers content to strike, and the prospect of expanding
on the islands themselves proved to be limited. These enterprising Spaniards in charge of the developing cigar factories in Florida also derided the inability to move goods by any
other means besides water.1 Among the several cities surveyed for potential development
by Martinez Ybor (hence the namesake for Ybor City) and Ignacio Haya, Tampa stood
out because of its location near the shoreline, potential for development encouraged only
by miles of untouched land, and the newly convergent rail-lines that would soon sprout
all over Florida to connect the various mainland nodes. Land carried a relatively inexpensive price for the amount of acreage desired for these cigar factory communities,
and in 1886 Ybor City became a reality. Carefully planned by fellow Spaniard Gavino
Guiterrez, 111 acres of Ybor City unfolded to a rectangular grid, reflecting a blended
tradition of American-bred urban planning and cultural sentiment.2 The cigar industry
began a short time later, with the first cigar produced by the La Flor de Sanchez y Haya
factory on April 13, 1886.3 Cigar factories were established with worker housing built
around the complex to create cohesive community centers around a common trade.4 The homes were generally of similar design, often shot-gun style, usually three to four rooms
1 p.64 Mormino and Pozzetta. 1998. The Immigrant World of Ybor City. Ybor and Haya also feared Key West’s proximity to mainland Cuba, as they both recognized “the impossibility of controlling the labor supply” should political strife occur. 2 p. 65 Ibid. 3 p.65 Ibid. 4 p. 235 Ibid. “By clustering housing the cigar industry profoundly influenced the nature of social interactions taking place in Ybor City.” 19
deep and one room wide flanked by a central hallway. “In Tampa the humidity, heat, and
insects dictated that houses be built off the ground, supported by brick pillars.”5
Therefore, such housing forms were direct adaptations to the climate and deliberately
small for mass production and low cost. During the first year of Ybor City’s existence,
200 cottages were built by Martinez Ybor for his workers.
Other cigar factories and owners would soon arrive and be welcomed, so no monopoly would develop among the cigar trade. By 1895, 120 cigar factories would collectively employ 4,783 workers.6 The opportunities of the Tampa Bay area did not
pass other investors unnoticed. Hugh Cambell Macfarlane, an early Scottish developer in
the area, created neighboring West Tampa in Ybor City’s early likeness around 1892 to
capitalize on the trade as well. Immigrant communities would later expand into this area,
as evidenced by the creation of the West Tampa El Centro Espanol clubhouse. Even
Anglo Tampa residents were interested in this trade. By 1901, the American Tobacco
Company demonstrated interest in cigar making, a plan only further augmented by Henry
Plant’s railway system that joined the Atlantic Coast Line Railway Company in 1902.7
Although the Anglo community remained suspicious of the burgeoning immigrant
industry, they recognized it for the additional benefits it provided locally. As stated in
1925 by Donald C. Fox in his book promoting Florida, “in 1924 Tampa cigar
manufacturers paid the United States Government more than $5,000,00 for revenue
5 p. 234 Mormino and Pozzetta. 1998. The Immigrant World of Ybor City. 6 p.69 Ibid. “By the 1920s, Tampa’s sprawling cigar industry employed more than 12,000 workers directly and furnished a livelihood for thousands more in ancillary trades and jobs.” 7 p. 286 Ibid. Henry Plant is credited with opening the majority of Florida coastal towns to commercial development via his railways systems. The Tampa Bay Hotel, west of Ybor City, is one of his investments. 20
stamps.”8 For obvious reasons, the lucrative cigar industry provided a much desired economic return for the city of Tampa.
A word should be said about the process of making cigars. The whole system operated on a scale of worker ability. Non-skilled workers occupied the base of factory employment, and were mostly responsible for cleaning the facilities and moving goods around the factory. Piecemeal workers held numerous responsibilities in ensuring the quality of the product. The quality of the tobacco leaves had to be judged, and trained workers had to skillfully strip the tobacco leaves from the stems. Workers in charge of hand-rolling the cigars were a step above the rest, and by repetition, mastered the ability to generate smooth and standard-sized cigars. As the name suggests, piecemeal workers were paid based on the quantity produced, and this quantity was further scrutinized by quality standards set by the salaried workers. The highest ranking and salaried members in charge of supervising production were almost always Spanish.9 These individuals were usually accountants, managers, and factory owners.
2.1 - Social Structure and Physical Division within the cigar factories:
Spaniards and Cubans were the first workers to arrive in Florida, as many traveled from Cuba leaving former cigar-making jobs. Despite assumed notions, the two groups did not come on equal footing. The Spanish thought themselves above the Cubans in status and compatibility, and were accordingly always paid better for the job at hand.
Additionally, the Spanish dominated factory ownership and operations, an example established by Ignacio Haya and Martinez Ybor in their initial quest for developing Ybor
8 p.65 Fox, Charles Donald. 1925. The Truth About Florida. Charles Renard Corporation Publishers, NY. 9 p. 100 Mormino and Pozzetta. 1998. The Immigrant World of Ybor City. 21
City. The dominating Spanish influence repressed most Cubans on their island, thereby
stimulating some internal animosity for the social hierarchy. Within Ybor City,
difference existed primarily between salaried workers and piecemeal laborers: the
Spaniards occupied most of the authoritative and technical positions, whereas the Cubans
and a few determined Italians lingered in service-level positions.10 Cigar makers were
ranked accordingly, and although this was largely an ethnically-defined boundary, skill
became another important factor. Those that worked with the highest quality tobacco at
top producing factories were expected to make near-perfect products that resulted from
years of accumulated experience. Many other Cubans, and later Italians, would begin
their careers at smaller factories, either rolling cigars or performing other ‘necessitated’
work, such as sweeping floors or physical labor. The most elevated position, or at least most admired, would have been that of the lector, who held the sole responsibility of entertaining the workers.11 Often, the cigarmakers chose this person to read literature of
interest, ranging from the political to the fanciful, and often these persons were accused
of disseminating propaganda when strikes would emerge. Again, these positions were
most often given to those of Spanish decent.
Two factors would assist the Italians towards their inevitable success in the cigar
making industry. The first element stemmed from careful alliances that were crafted in
the food and service industries that the Italians established to service the Spanish and
Cuban cigarworkers. Secondly, the rising discontent of Spanish cigar owners over the
politically active Cuban workers prompted them to adopt Italian workers (some
exclusively), thinking that such a move would subdue the frequent and detrimental
10 p.100 Ibid. 11 p.101 Ibid. Lectors would also be held accountable for disseminating leftist political information to the workers, in addition to news and stories. 22
strikes.12 In reality, the Italians were just as likely to succumb to anarchistic and socialist
ideologies that were spreading rapidly among the lower socio-economic rungs of society.
Such ideas were especially attractive to those escaping harsh living conditions in their
countries of origin, and many times, they harbored such ideologies before coming to the
United States. Ironically enough, the Italians were originally prejudiced against for their
connections with the Mafia, hence the Spaniard and Cuban reluctance to allow them into
their immigrant enclaves.
To generate a concise idea of the worker population, the following numbers
indicate the established level of immigrants during the height of the cigar trade. The
Spaniards numbered only 223 in 1890 when Ybor City had been only a tropical respite,
and that number increased one hundred fold by 1910 to include 2,337 residents claiming
Spanish descent by the time the cigar trade was well beyond prosperous. In the 1900s,
when most Cubans and Italians were entering the trade, the Cuban population hovered at
a thousand more than the Spanish at 3,533 persons, whereas the Italians featured a paltry
1,315 workers.13 Interestingly enough, the Cubans were far from a homogenous group, and the Afro-Cubans were identified separately. By 1900, 13 percent of the Cuban population claimed African-American ancestry. Italian women would also comprise a significant portion of the workforce during the 1920s, upsetting many gender stereotypes.
To highlight the diverse population within the factories, Mormino and Pozzetta repeatedly note the frequent occurrence of integration between cultures, ethnicity, and
12 p.105 Mormino and Pozzetta. 1998. The Immigrant World of Ybor City. Authors note that “the Seidenberg factory made such a decision [to hire only Italians], attracting to its surroundings streets a cluster of twenty-six small Italian homes and businesses.” 13 p.75, 76, 88 Mormino and Pozzetta. 1998. The Immigrant World of Ybor City. 23
gender, especially in historic photos.14 Always, however, Cubans and Spanish workers
outnumbered Italian workers in the cigar industry.15 About two-thirds of the Hispanic
(combined Spanish and Cuban) population would retain positions within the factories,
whereas the Italians used the factories to save small sums of money to later invest. The
Italians, as demonstrated through city directories and related historical documents, diversified job occupations to service-related industry. By 1935, only 19 percent of
Italians were making cigars compared to the 40 percent of the Hispanic population.
Italians would slowly leave the ranks of cigar-industry work to pursue independent businesses, medical practice, and real estate.
2.2 - The Founding of the Mutual Aid Societies
When traveling to somewhere unfamiliar, the most useful tool comes in the form of a map. It will guide one geographically, assist in locating stores that disperse goods, and perhaps help in finding the home of friends or family. Those that arrived in Tampa,
Florida in the 1880s did not have such an advantage, and instead relied on word-of-mouth from a cultural network of those already established. This network, a social map of sorts, helped guide and acclimate the immigrants to this new environment. The Anglo-
American population foolishly believed that the ‘Latin’ groups would adjust rapidly to the area, since it would resemble their perceived ancestral homelands. Additionally, the
Anglo community actively searched for workers to do the bidding that African-
Americans were found incapable or unwilling to do, as sugar-cane production and cigar- making industries required set skills. The Italian immigrants received special attention
14 Photograph section, center of book. Ibid. 15 p. 262 Ibid. 24
during the 1880s when Floridians sent campaign letters to attract early immigrants. The thought was that Florida was the Italy of the South, with the “view that Italians excelled in citrus horticulture.”16 Climatically, with accompanying racist undertone, Floridians
believed that the Italians, and additionally Chinese, would adapt to the area successfully.
Few, however, arrived.17 Moreover, the incoming immigrants were not interested in the
citrus industry, and only obligingly worked in the sugar cane plantations as a temporary
solution for employment. The cigar industry, lucrative in nature and dominated by
Spanish and Cubans that appreciated similar political mindsets, deftly eased the Italians
right into productivity.
In A History of Florida, Charles Tebeau neatly summarizes the Anglo impression
of Ybor City as “a large population of foreign born, mostly Spanish-speaking Cubans,
and a smaller number of southern Italians who came to work in the cigar industry [giving]
a special character to the life and culture of the city.”18 Although this later presentation of feelings reflects an appreciative tone for what these individuals were able to contribute, the sentiment towards the Cubans, Spanish, and Italians would not always be so sweet.
Multitudinous accounts are detailed in Mormino and Pozzetta’s work The Immigrant
World of Ybor City that relates how the Daily Times and other contemporary Tampa
newspapers chose to illustrate their ethnic neighbors. Often social prejudice and an
exorbitant fear of foreign political ideology wrecked havoc on the image of Ybor City,
16 p. 394 Mohl, Raymond A.; Pozzetta, George E. 1996. ‘From Migration to Multi-Culturalsim: A History of Florida Immigration’ from The New History of Florida. Ed. Michael Gannon. University Press of Florida. 17 Ibid. Remarkably, a Chinese marker has been found within the Cementerio Espanol cemetery. Although it exhibits tremendous weathering, script characters are discernable on the front. More will be said about these unique findings in the Analysis section. 18 p. 286 Tebeau, Charlton W. 1971. A History of Florida. University of Miami Press. Coral Gables, Florida. 25 and the Anglo newspapers were notorious for disparaging the character of its inhabitants.
Frequently they would lament on the “Latin race’s proclivity towards excessive emotionalism, romantic violence, and un-American values.”19 The immigrant community refused to participate in Prohibition, often enjoyed Sundays as a day of activity, contrasting with the Anglo religious view that dictated rest and solace.
Additionally, the Cubans brought with them bolita (a type of lottery) and cockfighting, both of which disgusted the Anglo citizens. Discrimination in print went beyond the circulated papers – the feelings were mutual among the Anglo community as well. The immigrants often felt explicit boundaries existed for them, essentially confining them to a particular geographic area. Mormino and Pozzetta included the interview of a longtime resident, who acknowledged that the Anglo community would very often post signs to ward them off – and one knew growing up that you did not cross Twenty-second street.20
To remedy this, the immigrant groups formed their own mutual cooperatives that assisted new arrivals, held recreational events, promoted cultural activities, and later would even adopt forms of medical service for their members. One would assume that the Cubans, Spanish, and Italians formed their own respective mutual aid societies – and they did, in name. Club memberships were not bound by ethnicity, however, and some intermingling occurred. For example, the Italian Club ‘L’Unione Italiana’ began with
116 Italians and 8 Spanish immigrants.21 Of course this number of ‘outsider’ participants seems small, but as many residents would later recount, Cubans, Spanish, and Italians all interacted between their clubs, visited each other’s theaters, and commingled within
19 p. 239 Mormino and Pozzetta. 1998. The Immigrant World of Ybor City.
20 p. 239 Mormino and Pozzetta. 1998. The Immigrant World of Ybor City. 21 p 188 Ibid. 26
neighborhoods because of close proximity. A group was to be joined by the services they
offered; hence why noticeable amounts of Cubans and Italians would join the Centro
Asturiano for medical coverage not provided by their own mutual aid societies.
The three mutual aid societies covered within this study are not the only ones to
service cigar workers and residents of the Ybor City/West Tampa area. For the Latin
population of the area, El Circulo Cubano represented the majority of Cuban interest, and
the Society of Jose Marti-Colon would represent the Afro-Cuban element. At one point
in time, a German-American club existed as well (on Nebraska Avenue and 11th Street),
although it did not interact on a large scale with the surrounding societies. For all intents
and purposes, El Centro Espanol, El Centro Asturiano (a split faction from Centro
Espanol), and L’Unione Italiana will be reviewed in this thesis because they all sponsored cemeteries as part of their cradle-to-grave membership provisions. These “death and injury benefits” were one among many forms of protection for paying members.22
Each mutual aid society established a visibly marked cemetery, and although two have created later ‘memorial park’ type cemeteries to relieve an overburdened original burial ground, only the cemeteries initially created will be reviewed here. It will also be stressed that both El Centro Espanol and Centro Asturiano are predominantly Spanish mutual aid societies. The Cuban faction as represented by Circulo Cubano did not have a visibly discernable cemetery that could be traced at the beginning of the research process.
Because the Spanish and Cubans often joined a mutual society together, their cultural contribution will be counted as well within the two Spanish-dominated mutual aid societies. As for the Italians, they were able to successfully integrate opposing factions
22 p. 178 “Typical of immigrant aid societies, members paid twenty-five cents a week in return for social privileges and death and injury benefits.” 27
within their cultural group.23 A more in depth historical overview will be provided in the following paragraphs as arranged in chronological development.
The Spanish established the first mutual aid society. Although they were socially
elevated above the Cubans, they felt deeply threatened by their animosity since Cuba still
remained under Spanish rule. Additionally, the Anglo community turned out to be not so
welcoming of the Spanish, so ‘a little village’ was formed. The mutual aid societies or
clubs, as they are alternately termed, served as a communal gathering place for work,
debate, and recreation. With a nominal fee per member, dues were collected to assist in
funding various social functions as well as the eventual construction of an impressive
clubhouse. In 1891, El Centro Espanol officially came into existence, and the
accompanying clubhouse would arrive later. Ignacio Haya, mentioned earlier as one of
the principle founding members of Ybor City and proprietor to numerous cigar factories,
would fund the construction of the first building and serve as president to the
organization. By the 1892 opening, the building hosted a dance hall, theater, cantina, and
classrooms. Progressively, subsequent clubhouses for the numerous mutual aid societies
would try to surpass other clubhouses in terms of their features [see Figure 2.1]. As for
membership, “the society tolerated a wide spectrum within its membership, including
Galicians and Asturians from Spain, criollos [sons born in Cuba], a few Italians, cigar
manufacturers, elite artisans, radical cigarmakers, and readers.”24 Despite outside
appearances, the Spanish were not a cohesive group, and often regionalism from the
mainland led to petty fights and eventual splintering.
23 p.191 Ibid. 24 p.179 Mormino and Pozzetta. 1998. The Immigrant World of Ybor City. 28
Figure 2.1 – The three mutual-aid society clubhouses, from top to bottom: El Centro Espanol, El Centro Asturiano, and L’Unione Italiana. Photos from USF Library Archive.
The Centro Asturiano organization came from such an altercation, as the
Galicians wrote the Asturiano faction off as anarchistic and rebellious. The internal
conflict began when the Asturians raised concerns about health care, and desired to
institute medical facilities for its members. The majority of the group felt such a risk
needed further monetary consideration, and perhaps would not serve the purpose of the
club as intended. So in 1902, El Centro Asturiano came into fruition on the grounds of
providing medical services to members. In an immigrant community that stumbled over
English and felt isolated from Anglo hospitals and doctors, this provided welcome
change. Early living conditions were a mixture of unpaved and swampy land
compounded by a plethora of disease-carrying insects, namely mosquitoes. “Immigrants
29
interviewed during the 1930s Federal Writer’s Project offered a litany of health-related problems stemming from the settlement’s primitive conditions.”25 With the emergence of medical care facilities, the number of fatalities decreased with the new availability of preventative care. From this, Centro Asturiano soon became the largest group of consistent members, despite a few period irregularities stemming from Yellow Fever
(1890s), strikes (1910, 1920-1921), and the onset of the Great Depression (1930s).
Accordingly, other clubs would be affected by the same events, but their overall levels of participation would decrease more drastically. It seems that medical services were of paramount interest to all immigrant groups regardless of status. Centro Asturiano funded its own hospital only three years after its inception, in 1905. Later to come were the clubhouses to reflect the growth status of Centro Asturiano. The present clubhouse came into existence by 1914 after the first wooden structure had been abandoned, and the second more luxurious construction destroyed by fire. In keeping with appearances, their clubhouse contained a 1,200 seat theater, a ballroom, and library.26 Overall, the Centro
Asturiano met intra-cultural integration with the most success, and “at no time did it exclude other Spaniards or Latins. Italians, Cubans, and Galicians joined El Centro
Asturiano because of its facilities and benefits.”27
The Italians within the community were actually the second to organize a mutual
aid society, establishing L’Unione Italiana in 1894, years before El Circulo Cubano and
La Union Marti-Maceo created an outlet for the Cuban population. Impressively enough,
this club was formed in a short amount of time considering that Italians began to migrate
from the St. Cloud, Florida sugar cane plantations and elsewhere nationally around 1892.
25 p. 176 Ibid. 26 p.181 Ibid. 27 p. 182 Ibid. 30
As mentioned before their initial formative group enlisted 116 Italians and 8 Spanish
residents. The greatest need for their own distinct mutual aid society stemmed from a
need to preserve their own culture as well as avoid the politically flippant nature of their immigrant neighbors. Italians were not as apt to politically rebel and participate in cigar factory strikes as their Cuban and Spanish counterparts seemed all too eager to do. With that being said, they did share similar religious and political views as their counterparts,
primarily holding a distrust of the church and leanings toward a socialist establishment.
As did Centro Espanol, L’Unione Italiana suffered its own splinter group in 1910 called
Le Societa di Mutuo Soccorso. Dissatisfaction with the leadership led to a new group
composed of primarily first- and second-generation Italians. Curiously enough, this
group shares burial space with the L’Unione Italiana cemetery.28 Aside from these minor disruptions, L’Unione Italiana would rise to dominate 7th Avenue in the middle of Ybor
City with their clubhouse. Constructed in 1917, it features a theater with balcony, dance
floor, library, cantina, bowling alley, and recreational rooms. Again, the point of such
amenities was two-fold; it provided members with social activity as well as standing to
visually compete with neighboring mutual aid societies.
In terms of finding a specific history associated with the development of a mutual
aid society cemetery, only L’Unione Italiana seems to have made a conscious and
documented effort. From a page in Mormino and Pozzetta’s work, the following excerpt
neatly describes the intent of such an effort and its associated cultural influence:
In 1900 the club purchased and dedicated an Italian cemetery two miles north of Ybor City, at Twenty-sixth Street and Twenty-third Avenue. The cemetery, with imported cypress trees, inset ceramic photographs on gravemarkers, and tombstones inscribed in Sicilian and Italian script,
28 If it were not for their separate and marked enclosure, the knowledge of this other Italian group would remain a fact buried in archival research. 31
bears a near exact resemblance to the hallowed grounds in Sicily which it sought to duplicate.29
Funerals were often town events, and stores would close early to honor the
deceased. Although little reasoning or history can be found behind the establishment of
other mutual aid society cemeteries, one can infer a similar motivation to that of the
Italians – a small visual representation of home.
To tie in the importance of selecting these three mutual aid societies, all shared the idea of creating community cemeteries. As Mormino and Pozzetta note, upon arrival to Florida the immigrants were terrified of “dying unattended and unnoticed” hence the need to formalize life and death rituals for the community.30 Cemeteries were usually
established within ten to fifteen years of an immigrant group’s arrival. Not much
information that specifically deals with burial practice is available publicly from these
mutual aid societies. Another researcher, who has started a catalog of Hillsborough
Country cemeteries (in which Tampa and Ybor City are included) notes the dates of
cemetery establishment. Only the Italian burial ground can be referenced with the
research of Mormino and Pozzetta.31
The earliest burials within each cemetery may provide a rough estimate for the
establishment of that particular cemetery. The earliest burial found in each cemetery is as
follows: Centro Espanol cemetery monument of the Cueto family, 1913; Centro
Asturiano cemetery monument of the Llaneza and Rea families, 1910; L’Unione Italiana
cemetery of the Armwood family, 1903. Decedents interred prior to these dates may
29 p. 192 Mormino and Pozzetta. 1998. The Immigrant World of Ybor City. 30 p.192 Ibid. 31 p.192 Ibid. “In 1900 the club purchased and dedicated an Italian cemetery two miles north of Ybor City, and Twenty-sixth Street and Twenty-third Avenue. The cemetery, with imported cypress trees, inset ceramic photographs on grave markers, and tombstones inscribed in Sicilian and Italian script, bears a near exact resemblance to the hallowed grounds in Sicily which it sought to duplicate.” 32
have misplaced headstones or perhaps no monuments at all.32 Since later memorial parks
were developed for Centro Espanol and Centro Asturiano, it remains clear that these
cemeteries represent at least the first and second generation immigrants of this
community (L’Unione Italiana wisely bought more space for future burials within their
same location). “Judging from institutional records, oral interviews, and documentary
reports, between the 1890s and 1930s, some 90% of Ybor City’s first- and second-
generation Latin men belonged to at least one of these societies.”33 This may explain the
higher proliferation of culturally-related burial traits present in these cemeteries, but
absent from later monuments within the newer memorial park establishments. Although
this will be addressed later within the analysis section, it is important to note the
correlation between the population present within the cemetery and the typologies found,
as these decedents are culturally ‘closer’ to their points of origin as compared to their
Americanized descendants.
2.3 - The Decline of a Cigar-Making Empire
The decline for the cigarmaking industry came from a variety of sources. In the
first decade of the 1900s, labor strikes were common occurrences that often halted
production for days. The 1910s were not much better for workers, as the First World
War caused soaring prices on most goods.34 Regardless, it seems that the most
prosperous years for cigar making spanned between 1890-1920, with the occasional
32 This point especially concerns the Centro Espanol cemetery. Although the cemetery appears to have been founded in 1890?, the earliest burial date found is 1910, ten years after establishment. A large section of the property towards the rear currently remains empty, and is surrounded by unreadable and weathered headstones. This section may include the original and oldest decedents, but without confirmation this assumption remains an educated guess. 33 p. 191 Mormino and Pozzetta. 1998. The Immigrant World of Ybor City. 34 P. 157 Ibid. “The cost of living went even higher in the postwar period. Robert K. Murray has estimated that by late 1919 the purchasing power of the 1913 dollar had fallen from 100 to 45.” 33 disruption caused by political unease.35 A ten-month long strike in 1920 again indicates a period of low production, which also might explain the plethora of “make-do” tile mosaic markers during this period and throughout the early twenties.36
Although the 1920s proved to be a profitable time for most business, the Stock
Market Crash of 1929 halted most frivolities for awhile, including cigars. Demand plummeted and only marginally regained favor until the Second World War. By the
1930s, the Italians were making their way to the suburbs and West Tampa, a migration influenced by the worker’s slow departure from the cigar making industry.37 By this time, many other businesses in other states were making cigars, some even with immigrant labor from migrating Latin populations. Moreover, skilled workers that rolled cigars by hand were ultimately replaced by machines that enabled companies to produce more cigars with greater efficiency. Additionally, cigarettes were beginning to supplant cigars as the favored tobacco medium, and marketed as such.38 Finally, the last of the Ybor
City labor unions had been overrun by the national American unions, leading the disgruntled cigar factories to preferentially hire women and African-American laborers who were mostly non-unionized.
The immigrant community of Ybor City significantly suffered from this industrial decline. Children were no longer encouraged to go into the trade and instead left for other jobs or higher education. The remaining population consisted of the second and third generations that were bound to the same disintegrating fate as their beloved city.
35 p. 261 Ibid. 36 p. 160 Ibid. The 1920s trend of tile-mosaic markers will be further explained in the Analysis section. 37 p.223 Ibid. 38 p. 130 Ibid. 34
The 1960s marked the final decline felt by Ybor City, as vast stretches of property
were ripped apart for Interstate 4, shuffling families further away from the urban core and
shutting down many locally-owned businesses. “With the war ended, an activist
government resolved to rebuild cities and subsidize suburbia, policies that redefined the
ethnic-urban neighborhood. Immigrant communities became pawns in the
redevelopment of American cities, as urban renewal undermined the physical and social
foundations of countless ethnic neighborhoods.”39 The Florida-based urban renewal plan
was approved in 1959, and five years later widespread land clearing took place.40 “The
Scrub” and other deleterious areas were cleared for redevelopment, and most of the early immigrant housing went with it. From this point on, the concept of ‘urban renewal’ dictated progress set at a painfully slow pace, to eventually create a main street full of bars, tattoo shops, and vacant stores instead of restaurants, clothiers, and commercial goods. As the physical landscape changed, so did the local inhabitants. Between 1950 and 1980, the African-American population increased by 38 percent, reinforcing the idea that Ybor City would become the ‘next black ghetto’. Even in 2000, the African-
American population represented almost half of the residents in Ybor City.41 Today a
previous ethnically-defined population has been replaced by another, and the cultural
footprint left on the city has been supplanted as well.
The local communities and shared cemeteries endured many years of activity, up
until the Second World War. After such time, the members of the Centro Asturiano and
39 p. 299 Ibid. 40 p. 305 Ibid. 41 Accessed from: http://www.hillsborough.communityatlas.usf.edu/demographics/default.asp?ID=120571075&level=nbrhd# raceandethnicity2000. Census data for Ybor City details: 38% White, 45% African-American, 14% other, and 3% of more than two combined ethnicities. Curiously, Hispanics also claimed 42% of the population at that time. 35
Centro Espanol moved their burying grounds elsewhere in the form of a new memorial park. Likewise, newer generations were moving elsewhere and the previously Spanish and Italian communities were infiltrated by new families, mostly African-American and
Hispanic populations trying to fit into a still heavily Anglo-dominated city.
Despite the political delicacies and tumultuous community efforts to rectify the reputation of Ybor City, it currently stands as a successful tourist destination complete with entertainment, food, and nightlife. Placed on the National Register in 1979 and nominated as a National Landmark District in 1990, the “shoptainment” district of
Seventh Avenue and the associated Ybor City Historic District reflect little of what originally existed (it is my personal belief that such a nomination attempted to quell the effects of urban renewal). Additionally, the remaining historic fabric fails to convey the social relationships that primarily defined this immigrant community. Aside from commemorative statues and memory sidewalk pavers, what really remains of the former immigrant community in its true form? In the following analysis I hope to define a lucid argument for the preservation of these last-remaining immigrant cemeteries as true reflections of the former Ybor City community.
36
Chapter 3: Methodology of Field Work
“In every culture, there are conventions which dictate the form of artifacts.”
– James Deetz, Invitation to Archaeology
If you think the following sounds as if collectively the authors shouted their
similarly-minded theories into the same canyon, and the reverberating echoes poured out
into a repetitive jumble, you would not be far from the truth. An assortment of
definitions has developed over the years in an attempt to contextualize and essentially
pinpoint the value of a cemetery by contemporary standards. These viewpoints are
essentially variations on a theme revolving around what the physical markers can relate
to us. To aid in understanding the subtle differences and implications of these thoughts,
they will be separated into different theoretical vectors, and later my own approach to
interpreting these cemeteries will be discussed.
Suggestively, the current view holds that a burial ground is a sort of cultural
repository, or museum of tangible artifact.1 A cemetery will reflect the “local, historical flow of attitudes about the community” in addition to conveying family and moral values.2 Building upon this concept of a cemetery as a mirror to our inherent belief systems, Young (1960) also finds that monuments specifically demonstrate the
1 p. 137 E.S. Dethlefsen, The Cemetery and Culture Change: ‘Archaeological Focus and Ethnographic Perspective’ found in Modern Material Culture: The Archaeology of Us. 1981 2 Ibid. 37
“handicrafts and social structure of the survivor.”3 Understandably, the physical markers are symbols to the deceased reflecting their individual importance, and furthermore, a direct reflection of the capabilities and aesthetic sense of the living at that time. Neatly summarized, Dethlefsen provides a clearer picture of this symbiotic relationship between the living and the deceased. He notes, a cemetery reflects “a community of the dead, created, maintained, and preserved by the community of the living”.4 Dethlefsen attributes the prolonged existence of such cultural landscapes through the active bond between decedent and living family. This logic serves to explain why some cemeteries retain high levels of integrity and other falter due to negligence. Joey Brackner notes in his article on Alabama’s early markers that monuments, despite their design and materials, are “intended to be permanent memorials on the land” and insists that cemeteries should continually “endure, offering a place for family to gather in remembrance of ancestors.”5 In this sentiment, the cemetery bears a closer relationship with an alive and vibrant community of people, and deviates from the notion of a realm for the deceased. After all, a cemetery functions as a physical memorial for the remembrance of the deceased, and not for their immediate benefit (as my father will mention, “The dead cannot really care and rarely complain much about it”). The grave marker stands as a past voice calling for an existing population to acknowledge.
Against the underlying notion that cemeteries may be characterized as historic museums of artifact, I tend to deviate away from what many perceive as a one-sided
3 Young 1960 unamed source 4 p. 137 Dethlefsen, E.S. 1981. The Cemetery and Culture Change: Archaeological Focus and Ethnographic Perspective. Found in: Modern Material Culture, The Archaeology of Us. Gould, R.A. and Schiffer, M. B. editors. Academic Press; New York. 5 Joey Brackner, An Overview of Tombstones of the Nineteenth-Century Alabama and Their Makers, Southern Quarterly 31 (winter 1993): 21-49 38
argument. When contextualizing a cemetery as a stagnant site, or even labeling its
monuments as static artifacts, one under-appreciates the true purpose of such a cultural landscape. More to the point, I support the notion that cemeteries are changing landscapes that need continual attention and site mitigation. To freeze them in time seems an impossible and unreasonable task, considering that monuments will disappear, boisterous markers may supplant meager or un-decorative ones in time, and people will enter the burial ground to change the aesthetic format. What do markers really represent?
It boils down to this: a physical marker, erected by someone familiar or emotionally- responsive to the decedent, is placed in such a way to attest to the existence of that deceased person. Whether this action is carried out through a commercial stone engraved with thoughtful prose or a lone pair of fieldstone markers, the underlying intent remains the same.
As intended, monuments were to last in perpetuity, or at least as long as memory would allow. Like any historic artifact within the built environment, all were constructed to fill a need or support a purpose. That purpose was not a conscious effort to show future generations how people in a certain era felt and acted – that is an implicit result.
Monuments were very much reflective of a family’s contemporary wealth, status, and power. A farmer in a rural environment would certainly be less concerned over his potential audience than a prominent urban citizen who may feel obligated to demonstrate his status in a city burial ground. The monuments and cemetery arrangements are motivated by the desire to elevate family status, as well as to visually relate the worth of an individual. Colonial Americans experienced this first hand in that prominent citizens were buried inside the church (hence, closer to God and more visible to the congregation),
39
and the less fortunate were buried outside in the churchyard.6 Overcrowded conditions
and the eventual passing of time changed these practices, but social status and burial
hierarchy were manifested in other ways, such as the Morgan County cemetery project
indicates. The social hierarchy trends were found in all sorts of burial ground settings
ranging from the rural landscape to the populated urban cemetery. With concern to the
three mutual-aid cemeteries, the scope of burial arrangements run the gamut of humble
concrete markers to the dignified but ostentatious presentations rendered by a mausoleum.
Building from this thought, I hope to explore how the markers in these cemeteries relate
the life and times of an immigrant society attempting to cope in a socially and
economically challenging environment.
3.1 – Desired Impact of Work
In the culmination of efforts for this masters thesis, I hope to accomplish two
things. The first and perhaps most important will be to document and analyze the three
cemeteries associated with the early immigrant groups of Ybor City, Florida. Their
singular importance and basis for preservation should be supported by site context, overall level of integrity, and documentation from the historical record. Further on, I will discuss the specific means for obtaining this information, as well as a detailed process in how I will procure first-hand data. The second ambitious goal of this research will result determining the cultural value of these spaces, which will spread awareness and concern for their contents and condition. Although other preservation methods should be explored, I at least hope to begin the foundation for a National Register nomination of
6 p. 19 Sloane, David C. 1991. The Last Great Necessity: Cemeteries in American History. The Johns Hopkins University Press, Baltimore. 40
these cemeteries, depending on what information can be assessed during the framework
of thesis research and writing periods. A succinct and detailed nomination will often
require years of writing and varied source material. In my best efforts, I will try to
generate the required research, and suggest additional avenues to pursue that might
strengthen the case for the cemeteries’ nomination.
3.2 - Conditions Assessment as a Method
As Joni Mitchell famously remarked in her 1970 song Big Yellow Taxi, “…you
don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone…”, a statement that resonates soundly with the initiation of any preservation project. Before any real work can commence, an inventory
must be taken to figure out what is present, why it is important, and what can be done
with the available resource (whether it be a site, structure, or landscape). Cemeteries are
often thought of as cultural landscapes, with the geographic land features in direct
relation with the physical markers. If I may term the concept of cemeteries more
accurately, I believe they are traditional cultural properties. They are traditional in the
sense that funerary practice is inherently subsumed in our culture, and is as natural as a
celebration of birth or life accomplishment. A cultural property, as least in name, gives
the concept of a cemetery an equal standing with that of a structure or site which garners
importance based on context. In my mind, a landscape implies something passive or
perhaps intended for scenic purposes, and cemeteries are anything but. They can be
useful in interpreting local history on numerous levels, from aesthetic trends, gender and
ethnic relationships, and area development. By carefully documenting existing site features (vegetation, plot boundaries, walkways, grave markers), recording epitaphs, and
41
archiving the existing conditions through photography, this establishes a baseline from
which to work. Such a conditions assessment, or more broadly a survey study, chooses to
analyze a specific area or region of interest for the resources present. Historic and non-
historic resources are later separated into contributing or non-contributing, and new
intrusions are taken into consideration when evaluating site integrity.
My aim in this particular study will be to evaluate the three cemeteries: L’Unione
Italiana, Centro Espanol, and Centro Asturiano based on burial typologies and a
perceived sense of cultural-relatedness. It is my firm belief that these immigrant
cemeteries display cultural traits that are unique to the population interred there, and if
not completely attributable to cultural burial traditions, I will attempt to explain the
presence of typologies as a result of socio-economic circumstance. Between 2005 and
2008, I have photographed each cemetery several times and subsequently focused on a
different observed trait. Sometimes I would attempt to photograph every headstone by
row, and other times I would only document the headstones that featured a non-
commercialized trait, such as photo-ceramic portraiture or tile-mosaic composition. In
the summer of 2007, I conducted a thorough survey of the two predominantly Spanish
and Cuban cemeteries for a total count of headstones so as to compare alongside a total count of each individual typology I have identified for study. Tempted to perform the same measurement for the Italian cemetery, it soon became apparent that one individual
could not perform a careful and exact survey for 2,000+ burials given the time-frame. A
statistical analysis will relate the results from the two Spanish and Cuban cemeteries, and
inferential estimates will be pulled to describe trends for the Italian cemetery. In the end,
it was not necessary to count every headstone and mausoleum within that cemetery to
42
measure the frequency and types of burial expressions – all were quite evident from the
long-range shots I took of the cemetery. Such findings will be provided to the reader in a
table format following the Results section in Chapter Four.
My efforts in documenting these cemeteries through a three year period could effectively serve as a microcosm of measurement for these traditional cultural properties.
Slowly, my camera captured gradual weathering, abrupt vandalism, and seasonal change within each site. In a sense, I can provide a selective inventory as a conditions assessment for the cemeteries in how its integrity, over time, has been subtly affected by natural and human-directed change. Initially my visual surveys were collections of a specific goal at the time, whether that was to document each headstone by row or to concentrate on images of the most vulnerable elements themselves: iconography and photo-ceramic portraiture. I began this task three years ago as a favor to an elderly gentleman; through his years of wisdom and ingenuity as an architect of L’Unione
Italiana loculi I caught his enthusiasm and passion for this disappearing past. In an attempt to capture the diversity of the cemetery in its unique circumstance, I argued for its preservation during a time in my life where preservation was not a professional concept in my mind. I wanted to save it because it should be saved. The method for articulating this ideal, however, would not come into fruition until I entered graduate school and discovered the tools necessary to pursue my goal.
3.3 - Procedural Methodology
For this thesis, I have combined several folders of photographs collected since
2005 and accordingly will examine the design features of the cemetery (in layout,
43
physical markers, and landscape) that are attributed to culturally-related phenomenon.
Historic photographs, at the time, were unavailable from local historical societies or past
mutual-aid society members. New photographs will have to suffice in answering the
question of burial typologies and cultural-relatedness. Are flowers typically part of the
Spanish tradition? Do Italians really utilize sculpture as a frequent form of burial ornamentation? Does religion have any influence on iconography? These themes, taken from various literary sources, may reflect trends, or stereotypes, in how we view burial traditions and cultural-relatedness. In this thesis I will explore the relationship of burial materials as either a reflection of local materials or forced economic circumstance. Most
of the unusual materials found thus far (that is, not the traditional stone) are shells,
ceramic tiles, and glass to a lesser extent. Additionally, I wish to examine the appearance
of photo-ceramic portraiture in its frequency of use, as well as style of representation of
the decedent. Lesser effort will focus on the use of shell within a burial plot, the
proliferation of statuary, and the usage of flowers within a cemetery and on individual
burials. By using photographs, I will examine and document these visual characteristics.
Research collected for the tables and figures in this study consists of documented
evidence gathered in each of the cemeteries. Additional second-hand material derived
from journal articles and published books will be employed as a basis for discussion to
compliment or refute findings as has been demonstrated. Raw data will be collected
using organizational charts, spreadsheets, photographs (both digital color and black and
white film), topographic maps, and historic local aerials. Estimates will be made about
the size and shape of the respective cemeteries, as well as the number of graves each
contains by a physical count. Further analysis will be used to determine what
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percentages of gravestone types exist and in what ratios, in following the tradition of
many of the publications produced by James Deetz and E.S. Dethlefsen. By in large, a
sizable portion of the research rests on obtaining archival material, thus building upon the
foundation of research already completed by historians. All resources reviewed here
have been recommended by professionals in the field, or listed as references in field-
related bibliographies. Cemetery analysis shares many related fields such as art history,
sociology, anthropology, history, and developing technology; all of which are represented
by the diverse nature of the bibliography included with this paper. Historic documents from the mutual aid societies themselves, such as cemetery record books, internal memos and letters written by committee members, and pre-recorded personal histories by former members and associates will be utilized when appropriate. These are invaluable tools in properly accessing the historical features and social context of the cemeteries that this research paper aims to illustrate.
As for the physical surveys, aerial maps were obtained for each site, and then parceled according to discernable and visually-distinct regions. This allowed myself and a few willing volunteers to count and document one area at a time without suffering disorientation between the scattered rows of the deceased. For the numerical data
represented in this thesis, I focused on three related traits: the expression of photo- ceramic portraiture, the application of mosaic-tile decoration, and the evidence of folk or vernacular traditions in using shell or “found” materials to decorate a grave (more commonly known as the ‘make-do’ monument). Survey sheets were created with columns marking the aforementioned traits, and are provided for the reader in the Results section in Chapter Four. Distinctions were made for markers that had both photo-ceramic
45
portraits and mosaic-tile application, as well as those that only had one or the other
separately. No shell or ‘make-do’ markers exhibited either of these traits.7 In order to attribute specific decedents to these traits, the last name and date of death were recorded alongside the type of burial marker. In this way I hope to correlate burial trends along a temporal scale to ascertain specific periods of relevance and aesthetic preference. On a broader scale, such trends may relate larger issues such as socio-economic status of
families within the immigrant community, the relationship of the cemeteries to the
interconnected activity based on the cigar industry, and the general transformation of the
surrounding residential area.
3.4 - Further Review
After reviewing my initial plan for investigation, I had hoped to include personal
surveys sent to existing members of the mutual-aid societies to better garner their
opinions concerning their historic burial grounds. Ultimately, these would have helped
bolster my argument (should the mutual-aid societies be agreeable and in concert with
my aims for cemetery preservation) but would not be received in time for the University
of Georgia's Institute Review Board. Should this case study prove successful, feedback
directly from the mutual aid societies will be included in a future journal article. This
thesis, in my view, represents a beginning argument for a larger issue at hand: to sort
through the criteria for cemeteries on the National Register, and to argue the case for
7 Although it could be argued that the application of tile-mosaic patterns to the concrete-based markers was
an innovative and self-produced burial solution in of itself. More will need to be research in specifically
who created these tile-mosaic markers since they all similarly relate in decoration and massing.
46
cemeteries of national importance that are affiliated with our founding immigrant groups
that have essentially diversified the ‘American’ landscape.
To a lesser extent, the visual composition present within these cemeteries will be touched upon to give further insight to the culture and daily lives of the individual.
Besides the assumed culturally-specific typologies I am examining, iconography on grave markers can be read as sort of a guide to the religious and fraternal affiliations of the day.
Other visual mediums exist for incorporating thoughtful design to render meaning.
Usually, art incorporated with burials is known as funerary art or decoration and can be attributed to carved statuary and headstone shape. Not all graves are simply marked with a rectangular stone, as many will exhibit carved forms or perhaps non-stone monuments by employing natural or metal materials. Many styles are represented in the initial field survey undertaken for this research, and accordingly can be separated into decades based on aesthetic preferences of the time. Predominant styles discovered through my immigrant cemetery survey so far reveals a close parallel to generally favored styles at the time, despite cultural differences. By using Keister’s (2004) work to identify the use of style in the three cemeteries, more humble markers ascribe to religious and aesthetic taste reflective of the early twentieth century. Common themes for mausoleums seem to range from Romanesque to Italian Renaissance architecture, with heavier emphasis on
Art Nouveau and Art Deco especially in the L’Unione Italiana cemetery. Folk themes, although more subtle, are also expressed in single burials, which are enhanced through the usage of local materials such as shells. Predominantly, the headstones are either composed of marble, granite, tile, or cement. Larger headstones, commonly referred to as upright monuments, take on many varied forms. The style or aesthetic trends
47
exhibited by these cemeteries will culminate efforts to understand the relationship
between social context and group identity within the mutual aid societies.
This fairly comprehensive survey marks the initial steps towards identifying the
resources and categorizing them by typologies. As an equally important component, the
photographs taken will serve as a conditions assessment for each cemetery to help determine the level of site integrity. The integrity and burial typologies ultimately determine the site significance and its potential for inclusion within the National Register of Historic Places. As my final goal, I hope to argue for the continual preservation of these cemeteries based on local, historical, and content-based significance.
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Chapter 4: Results of Field Survey
4.1 - Spatial Setting and Site Observations
Centro Espanol cemetery
(image courtesy of Nasa Worldwind ca.2006)
The Centro Espanol will be the first mutual-aid society cemetery to be examined.
It currently resides on roughly an acre tract of land surrounded by residential homes on three sides and abuts the L’Unione Italiana cemetery on its northern boundary (see above image). Purchased for the mutual aid society in 1902, this cemetery has neither gained
49
nor lost land since its founding.1 As will be demonstrated, burial patterns fill out the
cemetery with the oldest in the northeastern portion and the latest situated towards the
southwestern perimeter. In total, three gated entrances were observed in this cemetery;
only the northern boundary did not have one, further separating the Spanish cemetery
from its Italian neighbor.
As situated on the corner of East 21st Avenue and North 26th Street, El Centro
Espanol is bounded on the west by North Machado Street (see Figure 4.1). All roadways
exhibit direct entrances to this cemetery and are marked by mature cedar trees. Younger
cedar trees dot the landscape, but are not arranged in a discernable pattern. The wrought-
iron silver-painted lichgate on the southern boundary marks the more formal and perhaps
original entrance to the cemetery from East 21st Avenue. This silver-colored lichgate
displays the name of the ‘Cementerio Espanol’ and is designed to allow pedestrian access.
The less formal and more functional gated entrances face North 26th Street and North
Machado Street to facilitate vehicular traffic, although to drive through would put a motor vehicle in very dangerous proximity to avenue-flanking graves. The east gate on
North 26th Street extends through the cemetery, past the central open rotunda and connects to the west gate on Machado Street marking the exit. These gates remain as the
only lockable enclosures to this cemetery, although it is unclear if they are ever locked.
Lastly, a silver-colored iron fence marks the perimeter of the cemetery. This enclosure,
compared to the other boundary-defining walls of the mutual-aid cemeteries, provides the
weakest protection in keeping people out (see Figure 4.2).
1 By the time burial space became limited, the current residential development surrounding the cemetery most likely hindered any future land acquisition. 50
Figure 4.1 - El Centro Espanol cemetery, aerial courtesy of Microsoft LiveSearch maps. The red line denotes pedestrian access.
Figure 4.2 -.El Centro Espanol cemetery, view of silver entrance lichgate from East 21st Avenue. Image courtesy of Google Streetmaps.
51
From each respective entrance, one follows a visual path to the center of the
cemetery, focusing on a large octagonal rotunda supported by eight columns. Judging by
the size and placement of such a structure, it can be assumed that this functioned as a site
for funeral rites and/or gathering place for cemetery visitors. No inscription on the
structure was found. Physically, this monument stands approximately fifteen feet tall and
features a rough diameter of sixteen feet. Composed of white painted wood, the top
perimeter of the monument exhibits projecting nails, which may indicate that this now
open monument originally featured a roof at one time. Despite its current appearance,
this rotunda marks the center of the cemetery and from it four distinct rows emanate to
the cardinal directions of the periphery. In this arrangement, the cemetery contains four
distinct quadrants for separating burials (see Figure 4.1).
Burials are certainly arranged within the cemetery by specific time periods, and
these positions moved around in a predictable manner as the cemetery filled in plots. The
rear or west portion features the infant burials, most dating between the years of 1926 and
1927. The significance of these burial dates, along with many of the other decedents,
relates the unique social history of this immigrant cemetery, as will be explained later.2
The oldest burials seem to be located towards the northeast portion of the cemetery as well as the northern-central area. The earliest date found here appears on a burial marked
1904 [Sanchez] Later burials, including a majority of the post-Second World War burials, are located along the southern perimeter of this cemetery. The latest death date appears on a headstone marked 2005 [Alvarez]. It seems that families purchased lots ahead of
2 The profundity of the 1918-1921 listed dates results from the sheer number observed during survey. Around this time, the influenza epidemic befell this population, wiping out not only infants but many of the younger and older generations as well. This trend emerges from the table listed within the Appendix concerning the typologies of burial arrangements, which also displays a large number of decedents from that particular time period. 52
time to be buried with ancestral relations and friends. Newer third and fourth generation
immigrants opted for burial in the memorial park 2.6 miles away on East Lake Avenue
when conditions in the old cemetery became crowded. In total, single, couple, and family
burial plots cover approximately the entire acre of land.
L’Unione Italiana cemetery
(image courtesy of Nasa Worldwind ca.2006)
The Italian cemetery occupies a larger acreage next to Centro Espanol cemetery to the north, as bounded by North 26th Street and East 26th Avenue. East 22nd Avenue serves as an east-to-west directional street that demarcates the approximate boundary between Centro Espanol and L’Unione Italiana. Approximately two and a half acres in area, the L’Unione Italiana mutual aid society carried enough foresight to invest in
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additional land for their burial ground from the beginning. Initially, the Armwood family
owned this tract of land, notable in the fact that they were African-American. To this day,
one can find their family plot near the northeastern corner of the cemetery, as they asked
to be buried within as a condition of the sale. From this point, the Italian mutual-aid
society planned burials in a similar fashion to that of other cemeteries. If standing in the
entrance facing the rear gate, they began burials in the front right side (northeastern
perimeter) moving towards the rear until filled, and then continuing new internments on
the left and front side (southeastern perimeter). Old burials, however, exist to the
northern rear section of the property from an early separatist group, Societa di Mutuo
Sorcoso Italia. They split from L’Unione Italiana in 1910 and continued to bury their
members until the last remaining faction member passed on. Eventually, L’Unione
Italiana absorbed this portion into their larger surrounding cemetery and continued
burying in the area separately, keeping a distinct border between the decedents. Other
noticeable burial areas can be discerned by either type of decedent or status. The rear
northwestern quadrant features the most infant burials, also with a higher concentration
of death dates centering around 1918-1921. Wealthier families that could afford
mausoleums were arranged in alleys near the southern boundary, very much as tradition dictated in Sicily.
Two immense iron gates mark the entrance and exit to the cemetery, most likely as an effort to control access and minimize random vandalism. These gates also facilitate vehicular traffic, first passing by individual burials and then exiting by the avenue of mausoleums. A tall iron perimeter fence surrounds most of the cemetery, although access from the north of the property allows pedestrian access to the older section. Like
54
the previously mentioned cemetery, a central axis exists within the cemetery; featuring
wide avenues pointing to the cardinal directions (see Figure 4.3).
Figure 4.3 - L’Unione Italian cemetery, aerial courtesy of Microsoft LiveSearch maps. Note that North points to the right in this image, as this aerial has been rotated to best display the three entrances from N 26th Street. The red line denotes pedestrian access.
The family mausoleums, quite a unique feature in comparison to the other mutual-
aid society cemeteries, line the main walkways primarily in the southern two quadrants.
They flank the eastern pathways from the North 26th Street entrance, continuing to the
western boundary and wrapping around to the southern perimeter which borders the
Centro Espanol cemetery. Neither of the other two cemeteries feature mausoleums in
such number or as highly decorated.
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A few purposely planted trees still remain throughout the cemetery. Most
decorative vegetative growth has been recently introduced to the perimeter of the
cemetery and has no historic precedent. The few cypress trees dotting the interior of the
cemetery carry symbolic meaning in the funerary sense as well as adding a familiar
element from the Mediterranean. In an interview, a second-generation immigrant
gentleman informed me that these were original to the 1902 founding of the cemetery.
Since then, efforts have been made to beautify the area and better secure the burials to
avoid the vandalism that so many other cemeteries face.
An important fact to mention about the L’Unione Italiana cemetery is that it has
remained continually in use. While other mutual aid society cemeteries have had to close
their original cemeteries for lack of space and open new memorial park-style burial
grounds, the Italian cemetery continues internments. Although the newer burials are
located within the loculi [the large rectangular building to the north], this lessens the
pressure on consuming more land for individual plots. The loculi does in fact have
historical connections with cemeteries in Sicily and often was employed as an alternative
to sprawling family plots. The giant structure, reminiscent of an elaborate mausoleum, protects the burials from weathering and limits the opportunities of vandalism. The bodies are kept secured within the individual vaults, and the decorative ornamentation kept at minimum although highly illustrative (see Figure 4.4).
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Figure 4.4 –L’Unione Italiana loculi, located in the NW quadrant of cemetery. Photo by author.
El Centro Asturiano cemetery
(image courtesy of Nasa Worldwind ca.2006)
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Nearly two miles outside of the Ybor City center and three miles apart from the
other mutual aid cemeteries resides the Centro Asturiano cemetery. Originally this group
was part of the El Centro Espanol mutual aid society, but it separated in 1902 to pursue
the ambitions of opening a medical facility for immigrant cigar workers. Their
established cemetery came only one year later in 1903.3 Located on the corner of North
Ola Avenue and West Indiana Avenue, this half-acre parcel of land contains roughly 450
burials. The adjacent Woodlawn cemetery, formed by the Anglo-American community
in 1888, forms the western boundary to this cemetery, and the southern boundary is
bordered by a Jewish cemetery (see Figure 4.5). Enclosed by a stacked granite block
wall, this cemetery features an L-shaped circulation path that connects the North Indiana
Avenue entrance southward to the center, and then eastward to the North Ola Avenue gate. The width suggests a former road for vehicular traffic. The entry gate opening to
North Indiana Avenue, however, has been blocked for some time, perhaps to better control access and vandalism attempts to the burials. Inside of the granite block wall, a chain link barbed wire security fence has been installed for further protection.
3 As stated by http://www.hillsboroughcountycemeteries.com/ A different source [Ferrara article] mentions the cemetery opening during 1909, five years after its founding members, Antonio Prado, died. 58
Figure 4.5 -Centro Asturiano cemetery, aerial courtesy of Microsoft LiveSearch maps. Note that North points to the right in this image, as this aerial has been rotated to best display the proximity of neighboring cemeteries. The red line denotes pedestrian access.
Burials are arranged in a linear fashion, with rows running in the south and north directions. A covered pavilion marks the center of the burial ground, and graves east of that structure are neatly aligned in marked burial sections outlined in granite curbing.
Between the horizontal rows of burials, small walkways were designed to allow pedestrian access to specific graves without walking over anyone. The other side of the cemetery is not so carefully planned. Burial plots west of the pavilion are arranged uniformly in rows but are not demarcated by plot sections. Towards the rear and especially the northwestern corner, infant burials are prevalent. This western side of the cemetery seems to have less marked burials and reflects a somewhat disorderly appearance. Blank plots throughout the cemetery exist and are most likely caused by
59
disinterment as family members were moved to the newer Centro Asturiano Memorial
Park cemetery. New burials are almost none-existent – a few from the 1980s and 1970s
exist, but none after that. The majority of decedents were interred prior to the Second
World War.
The vegetation in this cemetery perhaps reflects the sparsest amount of planned
decorative plantings among the three cemeteries compared in this thesis. One tree,
slightly southwest of the pavilion, stands to shade the burial of an I.O.O.F. (International
Order of Odd Fellows) member. The remaining stand of trees frames the entrance gate
fronting North Ola Avenue. These mature trees are quite old, and may be original to the founding of the cemetery. The west portion of the burial ground lacks any sort of shade.
Because of the limited maintenance visible throughout the cemetery, the grounds frequently bloom with wildflowers (Figure 4.6 in Appendix). Those growing within the burial plot are often left alone. Ferns, yucca, and palmetto plantings are common around or directly within grave enclosures.
4.2 - Observed Burial Traits
Cultural traits present within the cemeteries occur at macro and micro levels.
Certain traits are exhibited in the cemetery as a whole, such as vegetation, grave alignment, and paths of pedestrian circulation through the space. Smaller or micro-level
features typically involve the graves themselves and can include burial expression (color, size, shape, material) and grave artifacts (flowers, ceramics, almost any physical object manifesting a memory particular to an individual). These are the traits I will be examining when attempting to identify broad trends occurring within each cemetery.
60
Although these findings may suggest ‘cultural generalizations’ as to burial arrangements,
my focus remains on the particular and unique features of these cemeteries. Broader
trends uncovered here concerning cultural identity of gravestones will serve as good
comparisons against established academic findings concerning this subject.
4.2.1 - The Use of Silk and Plastic Flowers
As previously mentioned in the description, the plantings within the Centro
Espanol cemetery are placed at infrequent intervals, with the only clustered plantings
situated near the entryways of the cemetery. Little in terms of planned landscaping may
be left from its 100+ years of existence. The same may be said for the other two
cemeteries, aside from a few remaining tall imported Italian Cypress trees. Anything else
was either removed during some episode of routine maintenance or has victoriously
enveloped a burial plot and continues to flourish (Figure 4.7 in Appendix).
Individual grave plantings seem to be more normative. Live flowers in vases or
planted around the grave seems to be a rarity. Instead, the overwhelming amounts of
present plantings belong to the silk or plastic variety. These are usually placed in granite
or concrete "urns" that are either attached directly to the monument or separately placed
at the base. Sometimes, glass or ceramic household vases are left as grave artifacts,
showing the time periods of remembrance. One particularly interesting vessel left behind
on a grave depicts a ceramic orange labeled ‘Ward’s Orange Crush.’ This ‘vase’ is
actually a soda-fountain syrup dispenser dating from the 1920s4 (Figure 4.8 in Appendix).
Granted the paint has fallen away, but the more poignant statement presented here shows
4 The Orange Crush dispenser was found on a nostalgia site run by Bill Soderlund for the William & Joan Soderlund Pharmacy Museum, website located at http://www.drugstoremuseum.com/. 61
how this population utilized symbolic but otherwise everyday items to mark their
deceased.
As for measuring the silk flowers, general observations were made instead of a
numeric count. Seemingly, these grave offerings are transitory in nature, and particularly
during the last site visit, many such bouquets wound up in the trash (Figure 4.9 in
Appendix). I documented the variety of silk and plastic flowers left on site, with some examples freshly placed and others weathered to a dull and brittle state. Such
occurrences relate a spectrum of remembrance; from those decedents recently and
continually missed to those individuals unfortunately long forgotten.
4.2.2 – Statuary as Grave Artifacts
As an assumed cultural trait, my hypothesis predicted that most statuary would be present in the Italian cemetery, or at least on Italian burials, if this trait were truly a
culturally-influenced phenomenon. Upon field survey, only one example of statuary was found between both Centro Espanol and Centro Asturiano cemeteries. The majority of statuary examples were found in L’Unione Italiana cemetery. Now, this count did not
include carved lambs, crosses, and other objects resting on top of headstones (these are considered forms of iconography, but not statues per say). Statuary in the sense of this study counted only humanoid forms that appealed to either an emotive response or religious form. The singular example of statuary encountered was found in Centro
Asturiano cemetery on the grave of Perez c.1927 (see Figure 4.24 in Appendix). This statue of a small winged cherubic girl, with hand held downward as she dropped flowers on the grave below, was also found frequently in the Italian cemetery to mark child’s
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graves. The Perez decedent passed away at age six. Apart from this one example, the
other statuary found in L’Unione Italiana span a wide range of depiction; from children,
adult figures, saints, all in varying positions. Most seem to reflect sorrow at the passing
of the decedent, such as a woman forlornly holding onto a cross, or a small child curled
up in eternal sleep on top of a headstone. According to a past interview with Joe
Caltigirone, many of these fine examples of marble statuary were directly imported from
Italy. Less expensive examples were characterized by size and two-dimensional
appearance. Oppositely, elaborate and free-standing monuments conveyed a sense of
higher class and status. Since burial traits within the Italian cemetery were not counted,
the prolific trend of statuary appearance was noted and compared against the scarcity of statuary examples in the other two cemeteries. It seems that the tendency to favor statuary as a grave decoration is a strong characteristic of the Italian population.
4.2.3 - Shells as Grave Artifacts
Another commonly found decoration throughout the cemetery is sea shells placed
around the gravesite. Often, a solitary shell would be placed near the headstone or at the
foot of the grave. Most common were univalve shell types such as the conch. The
second most commonly occurring were bivalve clam or cockle shells. Although not a
really widespread trend, it would be a safe estimate that on average one grave in every
horizontal row of approximately twenty decedents exhibited the use of shells in some
form.
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Centro Espanol cemetery
Although more uncommon in form, ‘make-do’ monuments for a few decedents feature shells directly implemented onto the burial marker. Three examples of such shell burials can be found in the Centro Espanol cemetery. The first example exists in a roughly made concrete form; with a semi-circle mounted on top of a more solidly constructed rectangular base. Besides a lone scallop shell, only the O and V-shaped impressions remain in concrete to hint at the former bi-valves and uni-valve whelk shells that were formerly placed there. Its neighbor features a more simple design, with three groupings of four centrally joined cockle shells, almost in imitation of flower petals. The last example has shells arranged around the perimeter of a half-trapezoidal shape made of concrete. The left side is set at a diagonal to the ground and the right side is set at a 90 degree angle to the ground for an interesting effect. Scallop, cockle, and uni-valve conch shells still remain embedded within the concrete. The name and date are now illegible, but a Masonic symbol in the upper right corner has managed not to wear away. Please reference Figure 4.10 and 4.11 in Appendix for photographs. These three burials employ shells exclusively as a design feature. Other usage of shell throughout the cemetery is limited. Isolated shells may decorate the foot of some graves, but they are never directly attached to them.
Centro Asturiano cemetery
The Centro Asturiano cemetery contains a variation of the shell theme as well, although much more elaborate than its neighbors. Two burial plots here exhibit the use of shell as a form of burial slab, rather than as decoration on a headstone. The first
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appears on an unmarked grave using upright univalve shells placed in a bed of concrete.
The effect renders a bed of spiky conch shells, with upturned spiral crowns weathered to
dull nubs. A notable example belonging to a Huerta family member ca.1934 features a
similar bed of raised conch shells. Cockle shells are found at the foot of the burial slab
decorating a small pedestal base, and are additionally found embedded in a strip of
concrete flanking the sides of the upright headstone. Lastly, an example of shells simply
scattered around a burial plot was encountered as well. Please reference Figures 4.12-
4.14 in Appendix for photographs. Similarly with the examples found in the Centro
Espanol cemetery, only three shell burials were found in the Centro Asturiano cemetery.
L’Unione Italiana cemetery
No shell examples were observed within the L’Unione Italiana cemetery. They
may have been located in an obscure location and subsequently missed during survey.
Another possibility is that if one did exist, it may have been upgraded to a granite or
marble monument, and therefore no longer extant. More will be said about this
surprising find in the Analysis section.
4.2.4 - Photo-ceramic portraiture
The initial evaluation assumed that the photo-ceramic portraiture, tile-mosaic burial application, and the profundity of artificial flowers would make a strong case for identifying physical burial traits as measures of cultural identity. In a cursory examination of each cemetery, attention tends to gravitate to these colorful and vibrant elements while the remaining gray and marble headstones seem to recede into a blur.
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Therefore it became pertinent for an exact measured count to determine trait frequency.
After tallying each of the defined burials traits as a measure of frequency within the greater collection of burial monuments, the ratios were surprising. Both the presence of photo-ceramic and tile-mosaic traits were measured and reflect a sizable level of participation from the immigrant families. Please see Tables 2 and 3 for a generated list of measured traits: tile-mosaic composition; photo-ceramic application; those with both; all arranged by a listing of names and dates for frame of reference.
Centro Espanol cemetery
As for the measured traits, more decedents within Centro Espanol chose to use photo-ceramic plates to decorate headstones than to employ tile. Roughly a third of the decedents utilized a photo-ceramic portrait affixed to the front of their headstone. 280 out of the 730+ counted burials posses this trait, with the earliest recorded date of appearance around 1913 [Cueto] and the latest from 2005 [Alvarez]. Although I noticed this form of grave decoration initially on the tile-mosaic burials, many more commercial headstones incorporated a photo-ceramic portrait. Only twenty-two out of the total forty- two tile-mosaic burials featured a photo-ceramic portrait.5 The earliest tile-mosaic burials with a photo-ceramic plate seems to date from 1918 [Sardegna and Greco], although two others (which may have been older) featured no date of death. The latest occurrence of this combination of tile-mosaic and ceramic portraiture comes from the grave of Albano, dated 1933.
5 This could also be an issue related to the age of the decedent and their corresponding grave plot. Children’s graves, because of their diminutive size, most often lacked a photo-ceramic portrait even if they had a tile-mosaic grave. These individuals suffered a high mortality rate and subsequently photographs of children were uncommon, and as infants, rare. 66
The majority of these portraits depict youthful individuals or at least a person in the prime of life. Images of older persons, such as those aged beyond their 60s, are relatively uncommon. Photo-ceramic portraits done in color seem difficult to find, although a few examples exist between the three cemeteries, including a couple’s monument in this cemetery. Furthermore, the backgrounds featured within these photographs can tell stories by themselves. More discussion concerning the lively and telling nature behind these memorial portraits will be addressed in the Analysis section, following this chapter.
Centro Asturiano cemetery
More decedents within Centro Asturiano also chose to use photo-ceramic plates to decorate headstones than to employ tile. Roughly half of the decedents utilized a photo- ceramic portrait affixed to the front of their headstone. 149 out of the 350+ counted burials posses this trait, with the earliest recorded date of appearance around 1910
(Llaneza and Rea) and the latest from 1980 (Sanchez). In total, forty-one burials had both tile-mosaic decoration and an affixed photo-ceramic portrait. Surprisingly, most of the tile-mosaic burials featured a photo-ceramic portrait, with forty-one having both traits out of forty-nine tile-mosaic examples. The earliest tile-mosaic burials with a photo- ceramic plate seems to date from 1914 (Bernaldo and Quiros), although three others
(which may have been older) had no death date. The latest occurrence of this combination of tile-mosaic and ceramic portraiture comes from the grave of Fernandez, dated 1937.
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As with Centro Espanol, the Centro Asturiano cemetery follows the same trend of
how photo-ceramic portraits were displayed. In the Centro Asturiano cemetery, it seems
that space constraints led many families to bury two or more people per burial plot.
Several examples of this trend will be discussed in the Analysis section.
L’Unione Italiana cemetery
As previously mentioned, a complete count of the surveyed burial plots within
L’Unione Italiana would not be feasible for this study. At over 2,000+ marked burials, it
became easier to perform a visual reconnaissance survey for the selected traits. From a
broad view (see Figures 4.15 and 4.16 in Appendix), the large number of tile-mosaic
burials, and moreover the heavy concentration of photoceramic portraits, is evident.
As with a larger population, many of the instances found expressed in the portraits
themselves were repeated, such as photographs of couples (intentionally and spliced together), persons standing in elaborate backgrounds, and mostly youthful compositions.
One intriguing portrait on a heart-shaped ceramic plate, now pieced back together, features a young woman in two phases of life (see Figure 4.17 in Appendix). The round photo on the right shows her alive and seemingly well, and the photo opposite shows the woman at perhaps her funeral. This rare type, showing the very intimate nature of death, is an unusual subject for ceramic portraits.
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4.2.5 - Tile-Mosaic Burial Decoration
Centro Espanol cemetery
Tile-mosaic burials are less prevalent in this cemetery. Out of the total 730+
burials, only forty-two were composed of the cemented decorative tile on either the
headstone and/or burial slab. Twenty-two of these forty-two featured the tile-mosaic
application singularly, without a photo-ceramic plate or other decorative elements. Such
tiles, found to vary in shape between squares and hexagons, are usually one centimeter in
diameter and come in varied colors. White and green tile seemed to be used with the
most frequency, whereas red and yellow tiles are rare. Sometimes, these solid-colored
tiles are paired with decorative rectangular tiles. These longer tiles usually feature raised motifs with an emphasis on vegetative motifs of vines and flowers. Otherwise, patterns are expressed through arranged patterns on either the headstone or burial slab. Common decorations include stars, wreaths, small flowers or rosettes, and crosses. The earliest burial featuring the tile-mosaic application dates from 1918 (Sardenga, Greco). The latest occurrence of tile-mosaic expression comes from the grave of Albano, dated 1933.
Centro Asturiano cemetery
Smaller in size, this cemetery had fewer total burials than the other two. Out of the total 350+ counted burials, forty-nine featured the tile-mosaic application, and only
eight burials exhibited this trait without an accompanying photo-ceramic portrait.
Therefore, less than 1/7 of the entire cemetery population exhibited this trait, which is a
higher percentage than the tile-mosaic burials counted at Centro Espanol cemetery.
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Common color combinations included white/black and blue/green. Reds, yellows, and pink are less common colors. Wreaths and flowers were the dominant decorative tile patterns. The earliest burial featuring the tile-mosaic application was from 1914
(Bernaldo, Quiros). The latest occurrence of this expression comes from the grave of
Fernandez, dated 1937.
L’Unione Italiana cemetery
The tile-mosaic burials within the Italian cemetery are primarily located in the rear northwest and front northeast quadrants, where most of the pre-Second World War burials are located. Noticeably, the tile-mosaic burials within this larger cemetery demonstrate a wider range of application. The tile is applied to headstones, burial slabs, and raised box tombs. Many of the headstones and box tombs have inset panels for grave artifacts, including porcelain/copper wreaths, statues, and flowers. These examples are of course found sporadically in the two other smaller cemeteries, but to a lesser extent and on only the tile-mosaic burials. One of the two most unique examples found in the
L’Unione Italiana cemetery is the use of a decorative wreath enclosed within a protective glass box mounted within the headstone (see Figure 4.18). The core of the wreath, the stem and leaves, are made of copper, while the flower petals are rendered by porcelain.
A glass door with wood surrounds serves to protect the wreath, which has carefully been hung within the rectangular alcove of the concrete headstone. Roses and carnations affixed to the wreath nicely frame the photo-ceramic portrait of the decedent within. The other arresting example unique to the Italian cemetery is the raised box-tomb tile-mosaic burial. Most other examples in neighboring cemeteries were raised perhaps a foot or less
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from the ground. The examples here are at least two to three feet in height. Recessed
niches in the sides of the box tomb allow for the display of flowers and statuary; although
most examples have been removed or filled in (Figure 4.19 in Appendix).
4.2.6 - Other Observed Traits
Between all three cemeteries, commercial markers represent a greater number in
quantity than the distinctive hand-made or culturally-specific burial features. From field
survey, it is apparent that the immigrant’s preference for utilizing photo-ceramic portraits on any grave marker reached the commercially-made stones as well. Such commercial trends reflect the persistent change in funerary aesthetic trends, such as the transition between floral motifs, crosses, religious figures, art deco linear patterns, and finally the modern monument. Much more analysis could delve into the phases of iconography and how the dearth of religious symbols expressed in these three cemeteries reflects much of the anti-Catholic sentiment present during the time, but such a pursuit is beyond the scope of this thesis. Aside from the various designs of the commercial marker, some unique examples found in the three cemeteries are detailed below as they relate to no other category defined by this thesis.
Among the notable uncommon markers, three distinct examples stand apart from the others. Two were found contained within the Centro Asturiano cemetery, and the third notable example was located in L’Unione Italiana cemetery. The two present within the Centro Asturiano cemetery are not in character with the surrounding graves: one features a concrete marker with Chinese characters (Figure 4.20 in Appendix), and the other represents a very late appearance of the American Colonial-period ‘Deaths Head’
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motif (Figure 4.25 in Appendix). The concrete ‘make-do’ marker found in L’Unione
Italiana employs a plate of glass mounted to the front of the headstone, which in all
likelihood contained a daguerreotype (Figure 4.21 in Appendix). This marker significantly differs from the rest in that the family chose not to, or could not afford to, utilize a photo-ceramic portrait. Figure 4.22 and Figure 4.23 (in Appendix) show other examples of the concrete ‘make-do’ burial typology, as contained within the Centro
Asturiano cemetery. The significance of these burials will be addressed in the following chapter.
4.3 - Findings of Results
As expected from ideas discovered in background research, certain elements were prevalent within the cemeteries and compose a significant portion of overall burials. The
tile-mosaic and photo-ceramic applications were in fact shared traits within all three of
the cemeteries. At least 300 members of the Centro Espanol cemetery had either tile-
mosaic, photo-ceramic, or a combination of both, applied to their headstones. Conversely,
members of the Centro Asturiano reflected similar trends, with 197 decedents having
either tile-mosaic, photo-ceramic, or a combination of both, applied to their headstones.
Lastly, the L’Unione Italiana cemetery had a respectable number of members favoring
photo-ceramic portraits on their headstones and a lesser amount using tile-mosaic
decoration on the historic burials. Most of the tile-mosaic burials occurred between the
years of 1918 and 1925, with the earliest appearing in 1918, found in Centro Espanol, and
the latest during 1937, found in Centro Asturiano. As will be explained, this coincided
with social and economic changes contemporary to that time for the immigrants working
72 in the cigar factories. Additionally, it seems that a local artisan was responsible for generating these headstones through his company, Constantino Monument Company.
Photo-ceramic portraits, on the other hand, seem to enjoy a prolonged period of use, with the earliest found example on the Mencia monument, dating 1908, found in Centro
Espanol, and the latest found recently amongst the ongoing burials within the L’Unione
Italiana cemetery.
The use of statuary became more evident in the Italian burial ground than elsewhere; as predicted based on cultural precedent. Arguably the Spanish and Cuban cemeteries employed more vegetation around the grave, real or imitation. The Italians seemed to avoid this by the tendency for a clean layout of marble and granite aisles that impeded the growth of natural vegetation. However, it could be argued that the continual upkeep of the Italian cemetery explains this trend, and perhaps the Spanish/Cuban cemeteries are just not as well-maintained, thus allowing vegetation, purposeful or not, to become overgrown.
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Table 1 – Measured Traits of the Three Cemeteries in Comparison.
The table below provides a summation of the original field notes. The numbers for L’Unione Italiana cemetery are provided as an estimate since an exact count was not feasible during time of field survey.
Centro Centro L’Unione Espanol Asturiano Italiana cemetery cemetery cemetery Tile-Mosaic Burials 42 49 <50+ Photo-ceramic Portraits without 258 149 <500+ Tile-Mosaic Application Photo-ceramic Portraits with 22 41 >50 Tile-Mosaic Application Southern Folk Tradition of 3 3 0 using Shell as Burial Ornament
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Table 2 – Measured Traits of the Centro Asturiano Cemetery.
Tile- Tile- Photoceramic Photoceramic Photoceramic Photoceramic Mosaic Mosaic Portrait Portrait Portrait Portrait Burials Burials without Tile- without Tile- with Tile- with Tile- - names - - year - Mosaic Mosaic Mosaic Mosaic Application Application Application Application - names - - year - - names - - year - Arango 1917 Guiterrez 1935[?] Arango 1917 Pizzo 1918 Fernandez 1916 Pizzo 1918 Fetto [?] 1918 Prado 1924, 1925 Fetto[?] 1918 Garcia 1918 Sanchez 1921, 1980 Garcia 1918 Campa 1919 Fernandez 1935 Campa 1919 Unknown unknown decedent N/A Rodriguez 1947 decedent N/A Olmedo 1919 Flora 1918 Olmedo 1919 Rico 1920 Menendez 1940 Rico 1920 Perez 1920 Perpina 1918 Perez 1920 Fernandez 1920 Vildosola 1913 Fernandez 1920 Perez 1921 Diaz 1916 Perez 1921 Fernandez 1921 Alvarez 1918 Fernandez 1921 Alonso 1922 Alamo 1918 Alonso 1922 Diaz 1921 Suarez 1918 Diaz 1921 Perez 1922 Diaz 1918 Perez 1922 Fernandez 1937 Pelaez 1918 Fernandez 1937 Cuervo 1922 Menendez 1919 Cuervo 1922 Espina 1922 Padron/Suarez 1918 Espina 1922 Garcia 1922 Suarez 1919 Garcia 1922 Suarez 1923 Lopez 1918 Suarez 1923 Lopez 1923 Villazan 1927 Lopez 1923 Castillo 1924 Fernandez 1919 Fernandez 1924 Fernandez 1924 Alvarez 1932 Alvarez 1924 Alvarez 1924 Punaga 1919 Cuervo 1924 Cuervo 1924 Alvarez 1939 Perez 1925 Perez decedent 1925 Tarano 1937 unknown N/A Decedent 1936, 1936, unknown N/A Sanchez/Garcia 1961 Alvarez 1926 Alvarez 1926 Gonzalez 1935 Gil[?] 1926 Gill [?] 1926 Bravo 1919 Alvarez 1928 Alvarez 1928 Lopez 1920 Rocha 1925 Rocha 1925 Lopez 1920 Garcia 1918 Rocha 1924 Mangiaracina 1920 Menendez 1927 Lopez 1924 Brañas 1936 Vilchesz 1927 Miguel 1922 Gonzalez 1937 Fernandez 1927, 1929 Santos 1926 Piniella 1937 Rodriguez 1928 Reina 1923 Osoro 1945, 1922 Rodriguez 1927 Alonso 1919 Garcia 1922 Perez 1928 Garcia 1918 Bejar 1937 Salas 1928
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Tile- Tile- Photoceramic Photoceramic Photoceramic Photoceramic Mosaic Mosaic Portrait Portrait Portrait Portrait Burials Burials without Tile- without Tile- with Tile- with Tile- - names - - year - Mosaic Mosaic Mosaic Mosaic Application Application Application Application - names - - year - - names - - year - Menendez 1927 Andina 1934 Artidiello N/A Vilchesz 1927 Albano 1940 Maldonado 1951 Barcia [?] Bernaldo & 1934 Amieva 1929 Quiros 1914 Fernandez 1927, 1929 Perez 1929 Rodriguez 1928 Menendez 1929 Rodriguez 1927 Gonzalez 1929 Perez 1928 Garcia 1939 Salas 1928 Gallardo/Morejon 1929, 1957[?] Artidiello N/A Ciccarello 1930 Maldonado 1915 Mallo 1930 Bernaldo & Quiros 1914 Vega/Alvarez 1930, 1935 Gonzalez 1939 Vega 1938 Alvarez N/A Valdes 1924 Muniz 1924 Gonzalez 1938 Alvarez 1930 Alvarez-Tuero 1930 Gonzalez 1930 Blanco 1930 Gonzalez 1930 Gonzalez 1950 Ybañez 1937 Villavicencio 1938 Ybañez 1939 Huerta 1929 Roiz 1938 Golao/Aguirre 1924, 1928 Gonzalez 1925 Crespo 1925 Sorondo 1939 Gijon 1938 Coniglio 1925 Garcia 1949, 1966 Alvarez 1927 Suarez 1940 Arduengo 1924 Collado 1931 Garcia 1939
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Tile- Tile- Photoceramic Photoceramic Photoceramic Photoceramic Mosaic Mosaic Portrait Portrait Portrait Portrait Burials Burials without Tile- without Tile- with Tile- with Tile- - names - - year - Mosaic Mosaic Mosaic Mosaic Application Application Application Application - names - - year - - names - - year - Marquez 1926 Rubio 1931 Garcia 1918 Perez 1931 Huesca 1939 Perez 1926 Huerta 1927, 1938[?] Menendez 1940 Anton 1940 Arango 1926 Rodriguez 1939 Alonso 1914 Quesada 1931 Huerta 1927 Diaz 1927 Yglesias 1927 Garcia 192[?] Perez 1931 Demmi 1931, 1925 Gato 1941 Alvarez 1935 Garcia 1939 Carballo 1939 Aguiar 1940 Garcia Y Garcia 1928 Mouriz 1928 Vallina/Rodriguez 1928, 1912 Cobian 1928 Febre 1929 Gonzalez 1929 Fernandez 1930 Mungioui 1930 Menendez 1940 Campo 1940 Garcia 1940 Rodriguez 1916 Mercadante 1916 Carreño 1933 Toribio 1915 Fernandez 1932 Ciccarello 1914 Cusmano 1934 Palacios 1932
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Tile- Tile- Photoceramic Photoceramic Photoceramic Photoceramic Mosaic Mosaic Portrait Portrait Portrait Portrait Burials Burials without Tile- without Tile- with Tile- with Tile- - names - - year - Mosaic Mosaic Mosaic Mosaic Application Application Application Application - names - - year - - names - - year - Alvarez 1918 Lanza 1913 Mones 1913 Fernandez 1934 Garcia/Pardo 1913, 1968 Rodriguez 1913 Martinez 1934 Morales 1933, 1941 Rodriguez 1913 Blanco 1931 Lamela 1933 Perez 1930 Selgas 1931 Garcia 1912 Alvarez 1931 Corces 1912, 1933 Gonzalez 1911 Linera 1911 Lopez 1911 Gonzalez 1911 Miranda 1911 Garcia 1932 Prieto 1932 Fernandez 1931 Martin 1933 Martinez 1933 Llaneza 1910 Rea 1910
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Table 3 – Measured Traits of the Centro Espanol Cemetery.
Tile-Mosaic Tile-Mosaic Photoceramic Photoceramic Photoceramic Photoceramic Burials Burials Portrait Portrait Portrait Portrait - names - - year - without Tile- without Tile- with Tile- with Tile- Mosaic Mosaic Mosaic Mosaic Application Application Application Application - names - - year - - names - - year - Unidentified partial N/A Viches 1985, 1967 Ramil 1921 Unidentified slab N/A Perez 1966, 1979 Sardegna 1918 Balseiro 1943, 1968, 1921 Fernandez 1973 Suarez 1921 Alvarez 1923 Sanchez 1904 Llana N/A Texido 1923 Cadrecha 1977, 1990 Cacciatore 1922 Julian 1923 Perez 1985, 1973 Valentin N/A Arrojo 1923 Mencia 1908 Puzzillo 1925 Fernandez 1921 Arrieta 1968 Greco 1918 Vega 1927 Palermo 1915 Gardana 1923 Diaz 1924 Sanchez 1954 Cabal 1924 Valdez 1925 Martinez 1990 Sardegna 1925 Medina 1926 Giovinco 1914, 1961 Garcia 1925 Vila 1922 Fernandez 1914 Franco 1925 Vilches 1926 Sanchez 1935 Rodriguez 1926 Cornellas 1926 Muñoz 1974 Pardo 1926 Gonzalez 1932 Romero 1966, 1974 Parte 1925 Nogueira 1931 Antelo 1967 Gomez 1926 Unidentified infant N/A Cammarata 1970 Estevez 1926 Diaz 1933 Haya 1966 Pijuan 1927 Hortensia 1931 Muñoz 1989 Martinez 1925 Haya 1972 Jurado 1927 Haya 1952 Albano 1933 Muro 1975, 1975 Muñoz 1964 Alvarez 1970 Farias 1997 Frey 1964 1971, 1978, De La Parte 1963 Alvarez 1969 Mazzarelly 1963, 1972 Quintanilla 1917 Quintanilla 1919 Cueto 1913, 1916 Martinez 1966 Cancela 1963 Collado 1917
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Tile-Mosaic Tile-Mosaic Photoceramic Photoceramic Photoceramic Photoceramic Burials Burials Portrait Portrait Portrait Portrait - names - - year - without Tile- without Tile- with Tile- with Tile- Mosaic Mosaic Mosaic Mosaic Application Application Application Application - names - - year - - names - - year - Diaz 1945 Rodriguez 1969 Coto 1969 Ferrer 1970 Tapia 1976 Alvarez 1981 Lopez 1968 Suarez 1998 Suarez 1980 Cueto 1972 Cueto 1978 Molinet 1990, 1975 Alberto 1916 Muñoz 1968 Aleman 1936 Cali 1976, 1965 Sardina 1958, 1976 Salcines 1990, 1946 Fuente 1973, 1976 Rodriguez 1964, 1983 Fernandez 1973 Noriega 1966 Ferrer 1998 Ferrer 1984 Toledo 1993 Toledo 1964 Rodriguez 1914 Perez 1975, 1994 Fernandez 1971, 1973 1953, 1935, Valle 1980 Garcia 1990 Garcia 1925 Ruano 1919, 1922 Blanco 1964, 1964 Menendez 1972, 1971 Virg[?] first name 1918 Leirana 1922 Haya 1918, 1947 Valedes 1919 Fernandez 1917 Puigdomenech 1919, 1957,
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Tile-Mosaic Tile-Mosaic Photoceramic Photoceramic Photoceramic Photoceramic Burials Burials Portrait Portrait Portrait Portrait - names - - year - without Tile- without Tile- with Tile- with Tile- Mosaic Mosaic Mosaic Mosaic Application Application Application Application - names - - year - - names - - year - 1971 Cuadras 1920 Diaz 1918, 1971 Montez 1923 Arrojo 1952 Sanchez 1918 Sanchez 1929 Valdes 1920 Rey 1918 Igueras 1923 Gonzalez 1924 Gonzalez 1924 Fernandez N/A Ballestero 1941, 1927 Alonso 1919, 1947 Alifieri 1924, 1948 Prieto 1948 Muñiz 1925 Gonzalez 1937 Mena 1925 Villar 1925 Sanchez 1926 Rodriguez 1926 Gudelia Gutierrez N/A Blanco 1916 Arrojo 1969 Cabal 1924 Unidentified infant [?]urias 1925 Leirana N/A Martinez 1939, 1978 Gonzalez 1925 Bonachea 1925 Marteniz 1927 Rodriguez 1926 Rodriguez 1939 Palleiro 1938 Perlita 1926, 1921 Rodriguez 1926 Martino 1926 Blanco 1926 Moralis 1949
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Tile-Mosaic Tile-Mosaic Photoceramic Photoceramic Photoceramic Photoceramic Burials Burials Portrait Portrait Portrait Portrait - names - - year - without Tile- without Tile- with Tile- with Tile- Mosaic Mosaic Mosaic Mosaic Application Application Application Application - names - - year - - names - - year - Suarez 1943 Puigdomenech 1944 Bouzas 1941 Fuente 1972, 1970 Rodriguez 1943 Orihuela 1943 Fernandez 1943 Diaz 1943, 1974 Garcia 1943 Ramirez 1939 Fernandez 1946 Chao 1939 Alvarez 1975, 1939 Muñoz 1943 Gonzalez 1944 Losares 1966 Ygual 1948 De La Torr 1946 Ugas 1980 Alonso 1944 Alonso 1968 Valcazar 1970 Alonso 1985 Llera 1939 Alonso 1939, 1979 Alvarez 1944 Suco 1944, 1956 Simpatia 1944 Chavez 1968 Chavez 1959 Menendez 1958 Cabrera 1944 Cabrera 1993 Rosale 1944 Alvarez 2005 Palacios 1944 Branas 1947 Laca 1973, 1940 Laca 1926 Santana 1940 Martinez 1940, 1950 Perez 1944 Perez 1920
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Tile-Mosaic Tile-Mosaic Photoceramic Photoceramic Photoceramic Photoceramic Burials Burials Portrait Portrait Portrait Portrait - names - - year - without Tile- without Tile- with Tile- with Tile- Mosaic Mosaic Mosaic Mosaic Application Application Application Application - names - - year - - names - - year - Fernandez 1948, 1952 Fernandez 1945 Bouzas 1945 Bouzas 1957 Sierra 1950 Sierra 1945 DeVillar 1945 Arregul 1945 Montoto 1945 Samalea 1945 Suarez 1945 Antelo 1945 Vazquez 1941, 1974 Perez 1941 Aparicio 1941 Vazquez 1941, 1970 Mortoto 1941 Rego 1941 Ors 1986 Alvarado 1941, 1943 Mosqueira 1941 Nieto Mosqueir 1944, 1947 Pallas 1958, 1941 Caballero 1882, 1945 Caballero 1945 Corralles 1945 Sardinas 1946, 1951 Garcia 1960, 1946 Lopez 1946 Diaz 1947, 1931 Menendez 1942 Wade 1948 Olemas 1971 Sanchez 1953 Sanchez 1952 Florez 1968 Florez 1993 Reyes 1968 Reyes 1946 DeVillar 1946 Chao 1946, 1974 Folgueira 1960
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Tile-Mosaic Tile-Mosaic Photoceramic Photoceramic Photoceramic Photoceramic Burials Burials Portrait Portrait Portrait Portrait - names - - year - without Tile- without Tile- with Tile- with Tile- Mosaic Mosaic Mosaic Mosaic Application Application Application Application - names - - year - - names - - year - Folgueira 1946 Arguelles 1943 Gonzales 1942 Estrada 1943 Casteiro 1942 Humer[?] 1942 Mosqueira 1926 Franco 1992 Franco 1969, 1965 Gonzalez 1938, 1934 Rua Diaz 1938 Sanchez 1927, 1975 Chao 1938, 1956 Pividal 1931 Mendez 1933, 1959 Piniella 1932 Gonzalez 1932 Diaz 1932, 1918 Lopez 1933 Lopez 1932 Gonzalez 1943, 1954 Rodriguez 1953 Rodriguez 1943 Torrens 1963 Torrens 1945 Perez 1948 Arguelles 1969 Arguelles 1947 Cubino 1957 Garcia 1947 Alfonso 1946 Talavera 1952 Sanchez 1958 Sanchez 1943 Menendez 1943 Tomas Rea 1943 Toledo 1939, 1943 Garcia 1943 1933, 1983, Fernandez 1943 Martinez 1980, 1986 Garcia 1952 Alvarez 1948, 1978
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Tile-Mosaic Tile-Mosaic Photoceramic Photoceramic Photoceramic Photoceramic Burials Burials Portrait Portrait Portrait Portrait - names - - year - without Tile- without Tile- with Tile- with Tile- Mosaic Mosaic Mosaic Mosaic Application Application Application Application - names - - year - - names - - year - Riesco 1958 Riesco 1943 Mack 1995 Riveiro 1969, 1942 Mayo 1943 Pareja 1943 Rodriguez 1941 Rodriguez 1943 Alvarez 1985 Fernandez 1925 Fernandez 1956 Fernandez N/A Fernandez N/A Cubillas 1942
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Photo Appendix for Results
Figure 4.4. - Image inside the loculi, designed by Caltagirone. Found in L’Unione Italian cemetery. Photo by author.
Figure 4.6 – Wildflowers among graves Found in Centro Asturiano cemetery. Photo by author. 86
Figure 4.7 – Alonso family plot. Found in Centro Asturiano cemetery. Photo by author.
Figure 4.8 – Ward’s Orange Crush artifact found in Centro Espanol and a contemporary example in mint condition. Photo on left by author; photo on right courtesy of drugstoremuseum.com.
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Figure 4.8 cont.– Other examples of containers for flowers, all from Centro Espanol cemetery. Photo by author.
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Figure 4.9 – The final resting place for most silk flowers. Found in Centro Espanol cemetery. Photo by author.
Figure 4.10 – The first marker within the Centro Espanol cemetery featuring the application of shell onto a concrete ‘make-do’ monument. Photo by author.
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Figure 4.11 – Second marker within the Centro Espanol cemetery featuring the application of shell onto a concrete ‘make-do’ monument. Photo by author.
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Figure 4.12 – Burial slab arrangement of conch shells without headstone. Found in Centro Asturiano cemetery. Photo by author.
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Figure 4.13 – Burial slab arrangement of conch shells with headstone and pedestal at base. Found in Centro Asturiano cemetery. Photo by author.
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Figure 4.14 - Example of scattered shells around gravesite. Found in Centro Asturiano cemetery. Photo by author.
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Figures 4.15 and 4.16– General view of L’Unione Italiana in the SW and W directions. Note the numerous examples of the tile-mosaic burial typology, as well as the prolific amount of photoceramic portraits used on headstones of all kinds. Photo by author.
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Figure 4.17 – Ceramic portrait of a young decedent during life and at her funeral. Found in L’Unione Italiana cemetery. Photo by author.
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Figure 4.18 – Wreath box example, c.1926. Found in L’Unione Italiana cemetery. Photo by author.
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Figure 4.19 – Box tomb with inset niche, c.1925 Found in L’Unione Italiana cemetery. Photo by author.
Figure 4.20 – Chinese concrete marker, date unknown. Found in the Centro Espanol cemetery. Photo by author.
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Figure 4.21 – Concrete ‘Make-Do’ marker with Darragutype, c.1935. Found in L’Unione Italiana. Photo by author.
Figure 4.22 – Example of a concrete slab marker with hand script, c.1922. Found in Centro Asturiano cemetery. Photo by author.
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Figure 4.23 – A concrete make-do monument with crushed stone pressed into the form. Found in the Centro Asturiano cemetery. Photo by author.
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Unusual Examples Not Defined by Categories
Figure 4.24 – The only extant statuary example outside of the L’Unione Italiana cemetery, c.1927. Found in Centro Asturiano. Photo by author.
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Figure 4.25 – Victorian motif on a child’s headstone, c.1924. Found in the Centro Asturiano. Photo by author.
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Chapter 5: Analysis of Results
Poverty is a wonderful preservative of the past. It may let restoration wait as it ought not to wait, but it will keep old things as they are because it can not afford to change them in accordance with style or preferences.
Jonathan Daniels, architectural historian, in referring to Natchez MI
Considering the variety of typologies and trends uncovered during field survey,
this section serves to explain some of the generalities, and anomalies, present in the
findings. As for the initial hypotheses, it seems that some burial expressions truly have a
cultural origin, whereas others might be better explained as conveniences of the
environmental setting. Additionally, such findings will only help in facilitating the
ultimate goal of these proceedings: to garner enough information and support to
thoroughly defend these three mutual-aid cemeteries as traditional cultural properties,
worthy of local and perhaps national protection. Already the Italian cemetery is listed on
Florida’s Sites of Historical Significance, but aside from titles, no grant money or forms
of protection are rendered to the site. At least under National Register recognition, grant
money could become available to restore damaged parts of the burial ground, of course
adhering to the Secretary of the Interior’s standards. Furthermore, if any federally- funded project or private development were to encroach upon the area, the site would
have at least some recourse to potential adverse effects.
The basis for such local and/or national significance stems from the three-legged
stool of criteria: age, significance, and integrity. All of the cemeteries were founded well
102 before the fifty-year age marker signifying a historic property. Secondly, they are significant in that they express cultural traits of the former founding community that has little else to represent themselves within the Ybor City community. The historic fabric of the neighborhood has mostly disappeared in various renewal projects, fires, and replacement housing. The Seventh Avenue strip of commercial development may still stand as a National Register Landmark District, but many of the buildings have changed drastically in use, and their exterior cladding and internal dimensions reflect these alterations. These cemeteries inherently reflect the values intended by the population buried there and remain in that state mostly unchanged by external forces.
Transformations have occurred in the cemeteries, as reflected by vegetation and site design, replacement of headstones, and the destruction of existing fabric. These are matters of integrity, which as the third and final criteria for eligibility for the National
Register, will be addressed last. I will begin by explaining the cultural and local basis for many of the burial typologies reviewed in this thesis as they define the argument for the sites’ respective significance. Types will either be classified as cultural-derivative, trends of local influence, or general funerary practices not utilized specifically by the Latin culture of Ybor City but of a wider audience.
5.1 - Flowers, Statuary, and Other Grave Artifacts
Funerary trends represented within each of the three cemeteries reflect the general scope of iconography (graphic symbolism displayed on the headstones) and use of commemorative flowers. For this assumption, I compared the findings from this field
103 survey with those I completed for a project conducted in Morgan County, Georgia, in
2007.
The Morgan County Office of Planning and Development Office sought to compile an inventory of all extant cemeteries left in the county so that two things may transpire: the exact locations are recorded in the GIS database for public record; and two, so that county citizens are more aware of their early heritage that deserves protection.
The entire county-wide survey found approximately 210 cemeteries. Some were characterized as well-defined community burial grounds marked by high-style monuments. Others were lesser defined plots representing the numerous families carving out an existence in the rural environment. Fewer still were nothing more than elongated depressions in the ground, marking the spot of those long-forgotten and/or enslaved persons. That survey generated a plethora of burial typologies, defined by an evolving culture that spanned pioneers and businessmen, the free and the owned. Surprisingly, quite a few of the iconographic images, simply the carved symbolism of crosses, lambs, ivy vines, cities, the Gates of Heaven, etc., were also comforting images used by some of the immigrants of Ybor City. Such traits were found across states and across cultures. It seems that the widely available commercial headstone appealed to many individuals.
Other traits were not so common in the general burial typologies; meaning, they were specifically found in the Ybor City cemeteries.
If the physical markers commonly found reflect little cultural influence, then the grave artifacts left at the burial site compensate. Grave artifacts, in themselves, are very personal. They usually reflect the personality of the decedent as remembered by his or her peers. Most commonly, flowers are left as grave artifacts because they are light,
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portable, and if constructed of silk and plastic, last a long time. This small gesture
conveys a simple message: someone is thinking of you. Flowers add the extra benefit of
dressing up a rather drab headstone of grey granite or white marble. Terry Jordan, in his
work on Texas graveyards, noted, “color is the hallmark of a Spanish cemetery” when
examining the Mexican and Hispanic cemeteries found there.1 Flowers on graves were a
common occurrence in his study. Although Jordan may be correct in attributing the
placement of flowers on graves as having Latin or Hispanic affinity, such a tendency is
shared cross-culturally. Many cemeteries surveyed during the Morgan County project
had a cache of flowers in every state of deterioration, from those marking the recently
missed to those nearly forgotten. In summary, flowers are a universally-held gesture of
affection, and these three mutual aid society cemeteries are simply participants in this
wide-spread phenomenon.
The initial hypothesis also suggested that Italians favored statuary as a form of burial art. Field survey confirmed this assumption. Only one isolated example existed within the Centro Asturiano cemetery, and that same statue was found repeatedly in the
Italian cemetery. In a previous interview with one of the older members of the Italian mutual-aid society, Joe Caltigirone (2006), he remarked that his early ancestors sought to recreate their homeland in Ybor City. The lined rows of graves and mausoleums, tall imported Mediterranean trees, the loculi, the statuary – all relayed a sense of the
‘camposanto’ in Sicily. If an Italian cemetery contemporary to that of L’Unione Italiana could be examined, perhaps it would make a better argument to ascertain if statuary is a culturally-related trait.
1 p. 79 Jordan, T.G. 1982. Texas Graveyards: A Cultural Legacy. University of Texas Press, Austin. 105
Research on early Italian cemeteries proved difficult, although the author
managed to find a c.1900 guidebook covering an early Italian cemetery in Genova. More
specifically, the book served to advertise Italy’s “First Sculpture Garden,” thus
illustrating the concept for visitors in four different languages.2 It portrays the layout of
the burial grounds and the various sculptural monuments, all designed to provoke an
emotive response from the viewer. Like the Italians, America faced changing attitudes
concerning death and funeral practices over time as well. When overcrowded
churchyards prompted sanitary concerns, the rural park movement blossomed. Sprawling
curvilinear burial arrangements reached far into the landscape, over the hills and besides
lakes, where it seemed that America would never run out of room to store their dead. But
company mismanagement, as well as the rising cost of upkeep and threat of vandalism,
prompted a new direction of burial practice – the memorial park. Even now, memorial
parks are turning away from favor, as many believe the flattened burial plaques lend no
character to those interred and quite often, loved ones are hard to find. The Italians progressed through similar changes as well, and about 1870 the sculpture-garden emerged as a popular cemetery type in order to commemorate their dead.
At the time L’Unione Italiana was founded, rural parks were still popular, with the transition to memorial parks still decades away. Given the layout of the Italian
cemetery, it does in fact reflect the early sculpture-garden cemeteries of Italy, or at least the one promoted in the circa 1900 guide. Additionally, the time period between the two seems right: the sculpture-garden trend in Italy set the precedent in the late 1860s, thus the generation emigrating to Ybor City would have observed such practice. Anglo-
American cemeteries within the Tampa area at the same time followed a sprawling and
2 Souvenir du Cimetiere de Genes, 36 Vues. c.1900. Proprieta A.P. Genova (Depositata N.52836) 106 picturesque layout. L’Unione Italiana cemetery stands in contrast, with pedestrian- friendly marble and grass aisles that lead the visitor past one monument after another, with most burials in close proximity. Although, the statuary present in the Ybor City cemetery may not be as elaborate as those examples in Italy, the similarities are unmistakable.3 It can be safely assumed that the presence of statuary within L’Unione cemetery is in fact a culturally-influenced burial trait.
5.2 - Photo-Ceramic Portrait Burials
The application of photo-ceramic portraits to a variety of headstone types was a common practice found in all three mutual-aid society cemeteries. While photo-ceramic portraits were a popular choice aiming to reflect the true tastes and ‘character’ of the decedent, the findings from field survey indicate that many such photos were ‘enhanced.’
Postures, scenes, and sometimes the individuals themselves were manipulated in a favorable way, all in the intent to make the individual attractive for generations to come.
It would be safe to assume from analysis that most portraits depicted youthful subjects, or as least those in the prime of their life. Very often an 80-year old decedent would be represented by a photograph from his thirties, dressed nicely and posed for the image.
Fewer examples illustrated older persons, babies, and images taken of decedents from separate occasions (ie. not posed intentionally). However, married couples were commonly spliced together from separate photographs, as few examples remain where couples purposely posed for the photograph together.
3 Culbertson, Judi and Tom Randall. 1996. Permanent Italians: An Illustrated, Biographical Guide to the Cemeteries of Italy. Walker Publishing Inc., U.S. 107
On that same point, the photographs taken for married couples present an
interesting subject. Uncommon examples utilized photographs from a wedding occasion, while fewer still featured couples standing together on a separate occasion dressed in their best attire. More frequently, couples were photographed separately and spliced together. This photographic trick usually worked if the pair was in similar positions; whereas, if the couple had contrasting positions, only a close-up of each would be used.
This occurrence can be seen from headstone portraits where the lighting on each individual differs, as does the direction in which they are facing, and their relative clarity in the image. Even for the early 1900s, photographic manipulation allowed the artisan to remove an unsightly bottle and cigarette from the hands or to add extra flair to an
otherwise unadorned outfit. Visual examples of these instances have been provided in
the Analysis photo appendix.
One particular finding stands apart from the rest and is displayed above. The
Fernandez couple (died circa 1971 and 1973), found in Centro Espanol cemetery,
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represents a couple photographed at separate occasions. The pair are photographed under
different lighting, and upon close examination of their touching shoulders, they are
simply overlapped together. Although the exact implication behind this image remains
knowledge held only by the decedents and their families, I could not help but notice the
halo of light above the husband’s head. Perhaps his upwards glance towards the lighted
spot suggests to the viewer that he passed on before his wife? Conversely, it could very
well be an artistic convention that many portraits of the late 19th century through the middle of the 20th century utilized to illuminate the subject. Regardless, their
expressions confess a lively couple to say the least. Both passed away in their seventies, yet their portraits convey a jovial period during their mid-life.
The inherent nature of the photo-ceramic portrait in allowing a permanent image of an individual provides an affordable alternative to elaborate mortuary monument of stone. Additionally, it serves to capture the decedent as they would like to be
remembered. The innovative process began in the late 1880s as a way to ‘imitate life’ on
the headstone so that the joy of life was emphasized more than death. The concept of
memorializing a family member through a photo-ceramic portrait was an economically
attractive option if statuary was out of the question. Essentially it was a working class
phenomenon.4 Photo-ceramic portraits were not limited to the mutual aid cemeteries
covered in this study; rather, they are common occurrences in immigrant cemeteries
nationwide. From La Colma Italian cemetery in California to Mt. Zion cemetery of New
York, immigrant groups, and most notably those of Italian descent, favor this form of
burial ornamentation.
4 p.22 Horne, R.W. 2004. Forgotten Faces: A Window Into our Immigrant Past. Personal Genesis Publishing, California. 109
As for their actual composition, photo-ceramic portraits are really copies of a copied photograph. Families would make a copy of an existing photograph and give that to the artisan. Then the artisan would copy that image onto a porcelain or enamel base; thus solidifying the third copy of a photograph onto the final medium. Now, think of any image reproduced on a photocopier three times – the end result will ultimately reflect a somewhat blurry image lacking detail. The same applied for photo-ceramic portraits fired unto the porcelain or enamel backing. Before the firing process occurred, artisans would pencil in detail lacking in the photo, thus enhancing facial counters, patterns on fabric, and background lines of furniture and scenery. Although photo-ceramic portraits were advertised as permanent memorials, artisans knew that after years in direct sunlight, the portraits would fade.5 Therefore, enhancement of the photograph ensured that the most important features would fade last. Examples of this practice are evident on photo- ceramic portraits within the three mutual-aid society cemeteries covered in this study.
Please see the Appendix for this chapter concerning specific details of the photo-ceramic portraits covered in this section.
5.3 - Tile-Mosaic Burials
Field survey determined that tile mosaic burials were relatively ornate forms constructed between the years of 1913 up until 1937. Composed of decorative bathroom and kitchen tile, such displays employed a variety of colors, shapes, and textures (such as embossed with scroll-like vegetative designs). The consistent measurement between all burials was the size of the tiles, approximately one inch square, the normative ceramic
5 p. 24 Horne, R.W. 2004. Forgotten Faces: A Window Into our Immigrant Past. Personal Genesis Publishing, California. 110 tile of the early twentieth century. All tiles were carefully arranged on upright headstones, and sometimes, decorating entire burial slabs and box tombs. The headstone forms varied, with some supported by pedestal bases and others still exhibited an inset box for the display of a wreath of statue. A small grouping of such burials has been provided in the Analysis photo appendix for review.
As for the frequency of occurrence, these tile-mosaic burials appear to have limited distribution among the three mutual-aid society cemeteries. I explored neighboring cemeteries in Tampa for contemporary burials that exhibit the same trait.
More than ten similar burials were found in the adjoining Woodlawn Cemetery, directly north and west of the Centro Asturiano cemetery, but those burials were from families of
Latin descent. For whatever reason, they were not buried within the mutual-aid society cemeteries. Perhaps the family had enough wealth and security where membership in a mutual-aid society was not necessary. It would seem odd, however, to exclude oneself from the cultural continuity that such an organization would provide, but those ten plus burials are located in a predominately Anglo-American burial ground for Tampa’s early elite. These burials perhaps argue that these Latin families sought to elevate their social position within society by associating with the Anglo community. This only further refutes the initial argument that these tile-mosaic burials were products of desperate economic circumstance.
The other targeted cemetery with high potential for cultural relatedness was the
Marti-Colon cemetery. The author assumed that if the tile-mosaic burials were a culturally-influenced trait of the Italian, Cuban, and Spanish cultures, then surely they would be reflected in the Afro-Cuban cemetery. The Marti-Colon cemetery (actually two
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separate cemeteries sharing the same space) is also a product of a mutual-aid society, and
initially supported the Cuban and Afro-Cuban cigar workers that shared the same space as their Latin neighbors. Burials here are continuous and on-going and now encompass a wide range of population groups. This cemetery was not included within this analysis simply because it resides four miles away from the others and three miles away from
Ybor City. Frankly, this cemetery had been overlooked during initial research because of
the dearth of attention it generates. Unlike the other mutual-aid society cemeteries, this
particular one no longer has a club house related to the society, as it was removed during
the Great Urban Renewal phase of the 1960s. Such a cemetery was thought to be
culturally-similar to those three covered in this study. Surprisingly, a site visit revealed
some tile-mosaic burials, but constructed in an entirely different fashion. One
mausoleum near the entrance employed a yellow and blue Mediterranean-themed
composition with large tiles. The other examples used enormous tiles as well,
approximate five to twelve inches square and mostly in neutral colors. Lastly, they
appeared to be constructed later than my 1920s average examples. Therefore, the tile- mosaic burials are limited to those who participated in or were closely involved with the three Latin mutual aid societies.
I had assumed tile-mosaic burials would be highly attractive options for headstone decoration if commercial markers were too expensive. Additionally, the date ranges for burials, spanning the late 1910s to the late 1920s, seemed to fit the period of economic turmoil for the cigar-making industry. After thorough research, it seems that mutual aid societies did not provide headstones, even out of economic necessity. They simply
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provided the plot, which may explain the presence of many unmarked burials and ‘make-
do’ monuments made of concrete.
An article promoting L’Unione Italiana cemetery by Joe Caltigirone6 mentioned
Francesco Constantino as the artisan behind many tile-mosaic burial compositions.
Initially, he practiced his craft in creating decorative tile sidewalks throughout Ybor City, now covered over (Tampa Bay Tribune 2008). Constantino’s earliest burial marker was created for a deceased little girl at the request of her parents. Others soon found his work desirable for that purpose and additional requests for his work were made. This bit of information is intriguing; however, the fault with it lies in not citing the name of the little girl whom apparently started this trend of tile-mosaic burials. Conversely, if the decorative sidewalks by Constantino still remained, they would serve as good comparison
for the funerary typology he generated. As will be stated in the recommendations (in
Chapter 6), it would be interesting to initiate a project to uncover more of this man’s
history of practice and the projects enacted during his lifetime. For the mean time, he
remains as the only identified local artisan constructing these burial arrangements.
As for the evolution of the tile-mosaic craft, I can not definitively deny or affirm
that such a burial typology is a function of cultural expression. Although research did not
reveal a cemetery with traits similar to those tile-mosaic burials covered in this study,
related examples using broken tile were found in the studies undertaken by Terry Jordan
throughout Texas. “Broken tile pressed onto concrete forms is another common tradition
found in Hispanic cemeteries,” and the author further attributes this expression to a
6 Around 2006, I interviewed Joe Caltirgirone during a Historical Tour of Ybor City and the Italian clubhouse, which was open for tours. Later, he invited me to take a tour of the Italian cemetery, thus illuminating many stories about the persons interred there. At that time, he could not remember much about the tile-mosaic burials that so intrigued me. Caltigirone is heavily involved in the Ybor City community and revealed that he was the architect behind many of the new design features in the Italian cemetery. 113
Moorish influence.7 However, the tile-mosaic burials reviewed in the three mutual-aid
societies utilized whole tile instead of fragments. These types of tile, whether 1 x 1
square or hexagonal, were widely used during the early 20th century to decorate storefront
stoops, interior commercial floors, and residential homes, so that the use of tile in this
case may have been an aesthetic architectural trend that matched a cultural affinity for the
art in Italian and Spanish culture. Certainly, the use of tile on burial forms remains a
unique and pertinent feature for these three mutual-aid society cemeteries, and therefore,
an intrinsic site value specific for the Ybor City culture.
5.4 - Issues of Site Integrity
5.4.1 - El Centro Espanol cemetery
Despite the observable effort that some families have made with regards to maintaining ancestral plots, other have been left to the elements. More so than in the other two cemeteries, the effects of vandalism and neglect are most observable. One particular case, the grave of Miguel Mendez, circa1927, serves as a poignant and tragic example of vandalism. The burial slab has been sheared off near the decedent’s feet exposing the grave vault. His own and the probable rubble of others now rest atop his monument. Bits of statuary, a broken cross, and parts of the decedent’s burial slab
contribute to an overall sense of negligent care. The aforementioned traits were observed
on June 4, 2006. Over one year later on December 28th, 2007 the assemblage remained
mostly in place, minus a fragment of statuary. The wing fragment may have been taken by a concerned visitor, but more probably by someone looting grave artifacts. Such a
7 p. 81 - Jordan, T.G. 1982. Texas Graveyards: A Cultural Legacy. University of Texas Press, Austin.
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loss is quite disturbing. Clearly grave artifacts are considered collectors items or perhaps
macabre relics of a distorted imagination; and an unguarded cemetery makes no attempt
to rectify such theft, thus in a way encouraging it.
Other graves in this cemetery regrettably are in far worse shape. Such is the fate
for Matilde Rodriguez, circa1920. During the December 28th, 2007 site visit, a bucket of setting compound was found next to her collapsed grave. Obviously someone had the intention to set the monument right or at least stabilize it. On May 6, 2008, only the setting compound had moved from a precarious position on top of the cracking burial slab to a now a more secure resting spot at the base. It seems that someone brought the setting compound with the intention to fix the monument, and never began the task. The label appeared worn from the year of exposure, and the burial vault fared no better as fragmented monument pieces receded further into the crypt. Regrettably, the cracked burial slab rests upon raised marble sides, forming a box tomb. Although most of the damage to such monuments is intentional by those seeking grave artifacts, debate on the personal loss from such invasive grave robbery will be covered in the Analysis chapter.8
The degree to which the physical remains of the decedent are protected and the content of their burials exposed varies between individuals in this particular cemetery.
5.4.2 - Centro Asturiano cemetery
Although the removal of the original iron gates that surrounded this cemetery will
ultimately work against this site’s integrity, the current chain-link fence has prevented
vandalism. Access to the site is granted by the keeper, who lives across the street. These
8 Box tombs are simply raised burial slabs with supportive walls that act to add spatial volume to a gravesite. Whether or not this enclosure really covers a coffin or the decedent immediate buried underneath is unclear, since one would assume that the six foot rule of burial would apply regardless. 115
two measures have perhaps protected the historic burial ground against outside influence,
but neglect by weathering and natural circumstance has been almost more destructive.
Upon entering the cemetery past the gates, one sees evidence of this. The grave of
Arango, circa 1917, represents a tile-mosaic burial that miraculously survived the fall of a
tree limb. Luckily, it only sheared off the top left corner, but the gradual erosion of the
exposed concrete substrate has compromised its interior structure. If vegetation is not
falling on the grave markers, then it envelopes them. The Alonso family plot, circa 1922,
located in the southeast portion of the cemetery, is situated next to the fence line. Trees
growing on the border have already enveloped one grave, while its neighbor is left to
fend off a carpet of ferns. Such growth may seem picturesque and pose no immediate
threat, but continued neglect in this manner will result in the ultimate destruction of a
headstone. Tree roots and braches grow slowly into monuments and can either upturn or
break apart a headstone or burial slab depending on the situation. Lastly, monuments and
burial slabs, especially ones nearing one hundred years of age, need occasional
adjustment. Headstones will sink into the ground under their own weight, and burial
slabs tend to settle unevenly, thus cracking in place. Many headstone and burial slabs
have suffered this fate in Centro Asturiano. Unless this trend is reversed soon, most of the historic fabric that defines the cultural-relevance of this site will be lost.
5.4.3 - L’Unione Italiana cemetery
The longevity and relative intact nature of this cemetery can be attributed to its
continual use. Recent graves invite visitations, and the presence of people generally
wards off outsiders looking to do damage. Additionally, L’Unione Italiana as a mutual-
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aid society-turned-social club remains active and has made a tremendous concerted effort
to preserve this cemetery. Oppositely, it becomes clear why the other two mutual-aid society cemeteries suffer in their integrity - all of the attention goes to the newer memorial park type arrangements that are currently in use.
As previously mentioned, L’Unione Italiana has been marked as a Florida Site of
Historical Significance, which already indicates that such a site transcends purely local importance. As for the burials, if damaged ones exist, they are repaired sensitively or replaced in kind. By all accounts, the cemetery retains historic integrity with low levels of infill by replacement markers. Primarily, most of the historic burials are located in the northeast and northwest quadrants, thereby creating a discernable boundary between new and old interments. It also retains a high number of tile-mosaic burials, employs the prolific application of the photo-ceramic portrait, and retains a site design reminiscent of the Italian homeland. The photo below provides a general idea of the layout and typologies visible in the historic section of the cemetery.
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The interpretation of these cemeteries relies on what exists presently compared to
what existed previously. Do the cemeteries retain enough original elements to be
considered historic? The best indicator of site integrity can be adjudged by this method:
if a past member of that community visited the site today and could recognize most of the features (design, layout, objects) then the site retains sufficient historic integrity. I believe that if any decedent re-visited the cemetery in which they were interred, most would recognize either of the three cemeteries: L’Unione Italiana, Centro Espanol, and
Centro Asturiano. The markers may not have changed much, but from background research concerning historic aerial photographs, the vegetation and surrounding site context has changed dramatically. Previously, all three sites were surrounded by open land. Now, they are enveloped by mid-century residential housing. Secondly, much of the vegetation has subsequently changed. The most dramatic example of this comes from the Centro Espanol cemetery. Originally, tall Cedar trees formed the exterior square boundary around the site, acting as a horticultural fence. Now, only a few mature cedar trees remain along the fence line, with most having been cut down long ago as an issue of maintenance. Often, plants are overlooked as site features but they are just as important as monuments in considering a site’s integrity; they relate directly to the original design.
The hypothetical returning visitor would understand the location of his cemetery but not its current setting. Therefore, I believe that only the L’Unione Italiana cemetery has sufficient site integrity, as well as historical significance and cultural association with the early immigrant groups of Ybor City. It has the potential to be considered eligible for the
National Register of Historic Places, which will be explained in further illustrative detail in the next and final chapter of this thesis. The other two cemeteries, regrettably, are
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slowly disintegrating from a lack of continual maintenance. While the Centro Espanol and Centro Asturiano cemeteries may have arguably intact sites considering the burial typologies and layout, they currently do not retain enough historic integrity. Even though
they exhibit similar burial traits to that of L’Unione Italiana cemetery, they do not meet
the standards set forth by the National Register criteria. Perhaps they could be
considered contributing properties to that of the Italian cemetery, based on their similar design, content, and historical association; thereby forming a resource group of related sites. In the end, this thesis hopefully demonstrates the potential for a collection of historic cemeteries that reflect similar patterns of cultural expression and represent the
true and unaltered intentions of the early founding immigrant groups of Ybor City.
Additionally, it raises the question of National Register criteria concerning cemeteries,
and perhaps for the cultural values these burial grounds embody, local-level protection
may serve their interests better.
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Photo Appendix for Analysis
Photo-ceramic portrait examples within Centro Espanol cemetery
Figure 5.1 – Newer example of the photo-ceramic portrait trend. The Salcines couple in color, c.1990. Found in Centro Espanol Cemtery. Photo by author.
Figure 5.2 - Portrait of an elderly woman, Sanchez de Betancourt, c.1926. Found in Centro Espanol cemetery. Photo by author.
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Figure 5.3 – Uncommon image of an infant, Estevez monument, c.1926. Found in Centro Espanol cemetery. Photo by author.
Figure 5.4 – Image depicts couple photographed together intentionally, on the Gonzalez monument, c.1943, 1954. Found in Centro Espanol cemetery. Photo by author.
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Figure 5.5 – Image depicts couple layered together from two separate photographs, on the Alvarado monument, c.1941, 1943. Look closely to see the different backgrounds below the figures. Found in Centro Espanol cemetery. Photo by author.
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Photo-ceramic portrait examples within Centro Asturiano cemetery
Figure 5.6 – This headstone shows the example of utilizing one burial plot for several individuals spanning three generations. Found in Centro Asturiano cemetery. Photo by author.
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Figure 5.7 – Against a dramatic tile-mosaic backdrop, the photo-ceramic portrait of this individual displays nicely. At sixty-two years of age, this photograph reflects the decedent at an earlier period of her life, judging by the Victorian-period attire. On the monument of Rico, c.1920. Found in Centro Asturiano cemetery. Photo by author.
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Figure 5.8 – Replacement marker with photoceramic portrait. Although the decedent passed away in 1936, it seems this newly minted memorial still followed the traditional custom of employing a photo-ceramic portrait. Found in Centro Asturiano cemetery. Photo by author.
Figure 5.9 – Another example of a couple photographed together intentionally, on the Gonzalez monument, c.1939. Perhaps this image reflects their wedding day. Found in Centro Asturiano cemetery. Photo by author. 125
Figure 5.10 - Example of photograph retouching on the Acuero monument, c.1917. The image itself has faded, and the artisan’s pencil lines on the jacket lapel, eyes, and neckline are evident. Found in Centro Asturiano cemetery. Photo by author.
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Chapter 6: Conclusions and Further Recommendations
6.1 – Conclusions
In order to understand how these findings may add to or change the current body
of knowledge, it will be important to state the current condition of cemetery preservation.
Only 703 cemeteries nationwide are listed on the National Register.1 Of these, most are
listed in accordance with a related historic structure, such as a church building. Others
are nominated for their sheer size, such as the recently debated cemetery located in
Jacksonville, Florida, totaling 70,000 decedents. Few are listed for their aesthetic value
and unique burial typologies, partly because of the stringent criteria they must meet. The threshold for a determination of National Register of Historic Properties (NRHP) eligibility solicits very specific information concerning age, significance, and most importantly, integrity. The age issue is a mute point in this case: all were established near one hundred years ago; therefore they are historic properties. The argument for defining significance follows.
The National Register Bulletin 41: Guidelines for Evaluating and Registering
Cemeteries and Burial Places, states that “cemeteries and graves are among those properties that ordinarily are not considered eligible for inclusion in the National Register of Historic Places unless they meet special requirements.”2 Generally, any cemetery
must reflect significance at the local, state, or national level either by the persons interred
within, its association with history, or through its exemplary design features. These
1 Personal communication with the Florida State Historic Preservation Office, October 1, 2008. 2 U.S. Department of the Interior/National Park Service 1992:1. 127
measures are evaluated by three categories: Criteria A for association with significant
events, Criteria B for association with significant people, and Criteria C for inherent
design qualities. Criteria A does not apply here. Criteria B may be marginally
acceptable as an argument in that many local people interred here directly shaped the
history and legacy of Ybor City, such as Ignacio Haya (one founding member of the cigar
industry) and Santo Traficante (the infamous mob leader). But Criteria B may be a weak
argument on its own. It is the author’s opinion that the unique design and burial typologies presented by these cemeteries have significance under Criteria C, as defined
by the cultural traits present. It seems that Criteria C, for the cemetery’s inherent design
qualities, may apply, which then triggers another level of evaluation. If the cemetery
meets one of the criteria listed above, it must also meet one of two additional considerations.
The two additional ‘thresholds’ to pass are simply more explicit extensions of
Criteria B and C. Special Criteria Consideration C applies to graves associated with a person of outstanding importance when there are no other sites or buildings associated with this person. Now, to judge the remaining historic fabric of Ybor city, which would entail a substantial historic survey and in depth research of city directories, aerial photographs, and USGS topographic maps, is beyond the scope of this project. It can safely be assumed that little remains of the original historic fabric of the residential sections for the cigar-working community. Two things best illustrate that: the few remaining shot-gun worker houses were moved onto a lot sponsored by the Ybor
Historical Society, and secondly, the construction of I-4 and I-75 in the late 1960s and
1970s destroyed most of the buildings under and around its alignment. An estimate for
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Consideration C would suggest little historic fabric remains that is associated with the
decedents interred in the cemeteries, and it remains a weak argument without
substantiating evidence, especially considering that Seventh Avenue stands as a National
Landmark District adjacent to a Ybor City Historic District.
Now, if a cemetery does not meet one Special Criteria Consideration, it may meet
the second standard. Consideration D applies to cemeteries that derive their primary
importance from the burials of persons of transcendent importance, from age, from
distinctive design features, or from association with historic events. Here lies the base of
the argument in favor of eligibility. All three cemeteries exhibit a high frequency of
culturally-influenced burial typologies, such as the tile-mosaic burial composition and the
use of photo-ceramic portraits on headstones. More research concerning Francesco
Constantino, the artisan behind the tile-mosaic compositions, will need to be pursued
concerning this argument. Current research suggests that the tile-mosaic burial typologies
present in these cemeteries remain as isolated features not shared by all Latin burial
grounds. These traits are worth preserving for their uncommon, almost rare, nature. The
photo-ceramic portraits, on the other hand, are common in immigrant cemeteries, but
relatively uncommon in Anglo-American cemeteries. The last part of Consideration D
focuses on a cemetery’s association with historic events. As highlighted in the second
chapter of this thesis, the cigar industry emanated from Florida, having a nation-wide
impact. Instead of obtaining cigars from Cuba, Americans were relying on factories
located in Florida, primarily Ybor City and Key West. These cemeteries hold the
remains of individuals responsible for working and promoting this industry. Their impact
has survived long after the end of cigar-making in Ybor City – for example, the Seventh
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Avenue commercial district and the rest of the city that cigar money built. In my opinion, the three cemeteries represented in this study sufficiently meet Special Criteria
Consideration D and perhaps Special Criteria Consideration C if the Ybor City Historic
District was properly re-evaluated.
If all three cemeteries are found to be of historic age (over fifty years) and reflect significance through design and persons interred there, the last leg of the three-legged stool of eligibility rests with integrity. A site must retain sufficient integrity in design, layout, features, and setting. The rule of thumb is as follows: a person associated with the original site should be able to return to its present condition and recognize it. In looking at the three cemeteries, it appears that the Centro Espanol cemetery and Centro
Asturiano cemetery has experienced alterations that diminish their historic integrity, according to the Criteria guidelines. Broken burial tombs, vandalized grave sites, replacement markers, the disinterment of persons, and the removal of vegetation all lend to irreversible changes that slowly dissolve the original intent and composition of the cemetery (please see following Appendix for examples of deterioration). The L’Unione
Italiana cemetery, however, retains sufficient integrity, and where damage has occurred, the monument or object has been replaced in kind. Most of the original layout and landscaping remains, due to a concerted effort by a very active social society. Although the other two cemeteries lack sufficient integrity to stand on their own, they most certainly constitute and reflect the values held by L’Unione Italiana cemetery. In essence, they all are a reflection of a given time period during the history of Ybor Ciy as a cigar- making center. In this light, they should be presented as a resource group of related items that exhibit the same traits, temporal relationship, and cultural-affinity. As a resource
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group, they are eligible as a district of historic resources, and deserve the highest form of
recognition on the National Register.
Now, is it fair to strip away one cemetery’s eligibility for listing on the NR simply
because of a loss of integrity? Cemeteries are frequently vandalized, and undoubtedly the
latter two cemeteries could be rehabilitated to compensate for their deterioration.
Buildings and structures are often rehabilitated or restored and still meet the NR criteria,
so it seems unfair to hold cemeteries in general to much more strident criteria.
Additionally, cemeteries house monuments, headstones, and landscaping elements that
are at the mercy of the natural environment, so one should expect gradual weathering and
not consider such an occurrence as an issue of site integrity. These examples perhaps
illustrate why the National Register may be a poor vehicle for cemetery preservation, and
subsequently, demonstrates why so few are actually listed.
As for state-level importance, a Florida Master Site File (FMSF) form for each reviewed cemetery will be generated. The level of field survey work performed justifies official documentation at the state level. Technically, anyone with enough patience can fill out such a form, but professional training has better prepared me to include pertinent information that provides detailed site information. These FMSF forms are sent to the state, where they are listed as historic sites and cataloged by county. This only serves as a means of documenting them, however, and no sort of protection has been afforded to them by this action. Filling out a FMSF form simply informs the State Division of
Historical Resources about the existence of such a site and records it as part of the state’s history. Furthermore, any such listed site will automatically be considered if any proposed construction or development project were to occur in or adjacent to these sites.
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Thus, the listing protects them from potential adverse effects incurred by development.
However, should the State Division feel compelled to evaluate them, they are adjudged
by the National Register criteria, hence the interesting dilemma in evaluating these
traditional cultural properties by one set of guidelines.
As a last note, general Florida statute forbids the deliberate molestation of any
burial ground (Chapter 872.02), and even allows for the county government to ‘adopt’ an
abandoned cemetery (Chapter 497.345)3. The last statute grants the governing body the
power to “maintain and secure an abandoned cemetery or one that has not been
maintained for more than six months.” Such provisions may help better protect these
mutual-aid society cemeteries if the founding organizations do not have the time or
resources to do it themselves. It is my belief that the county should seriously consider adopting the Centro Espanol and Centro Asturiano cemeteries, although they do pointedly note, “neglected cemeteries depend on community organization and volunteer effort” to ensure a successful rehabilitation. It seems that after all, it becomes the duty of
the Ybor City descendents and other interested persons to keep these traditional cultural
properties active sites for remembrance and memorial.
6.2 - Recommendations
A final National Register nomination would be beyond the parameters of this
thesis, but enough information has been collected to make such a nomination possible. I
plan to pursue this option in the near future. Out of the thousands of sites listed on the
National Register, I hope a nomination of L’Unione Italiana cemetery, and possibly a
resource group listing of all three cemeteries, may better define the parameters for which
3 www.flheritage.com/archaeology/cemeteries, last accessed 08/01/2008 132
cemeteries, as traditional cultural properties, can be listed. Too often, a bias against
cemeteries exists in assessing National Register eligibility because they are compared
using the same criteria that evaluate buildings and structures, when really they are
dynamic and separate environments. Better stated, cemeteries are traditional cultural
properties worthy of a more sympathetic set of criteria that properly consider weathering,
original intent, landscaping and burial typologies. As more cemeteries are brought to
light by preservation efforts, this trend will hopefully change in favor of these sites.
Additionally, with more cemetery studies surfacing every year, a better historical context
is continually generated. I hope this thesis serves that purpose.
As for future recommendations, I have one thing to note about the general trend
of cemetery research. Several published articles, books, and book chapters have been
authored that approach the topic of burial typologies and cultural-relatedness, but none
are tied to a temporal measurement. The ethnically-identified burial grounds reviewed
within these works are usually observed ‘wholesale,’ that is, general and obvious trends
are recounted without much thought to the dates, origins, or monetary capabilities of the decedents. This approach indeed provides generalizations, but fails to acknowledge the causation or influence of such burial occurrences and may lead to stereotyping. Such stereotypes were examined in this thesis, such as the Spanish penchant for flowers and the Italian obsession with statuary, which I believe were better explained through circumstantial evidence. Ideally, the perfect solution for my study would involve tracing the ancestry of the Ybor City immigrant groups to their respective provincial homes and studying the cemeteries found there. Additionally, it would have been greatly beneficial
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to have the opportunity to interview 2nd and 3rd generational members of these
organizations for early photos and history of their respective cemeteries.
Cemeteries, like any historic site, benefit from two things: continual attention and
a preservation plan. A preservation plan can direct future action taken within the
cemetery, as well as outline goals for sensitive restoration. The continual attention thus
facilitates such a plan. The three mutual aid society cemeteries under the scope of this
thesis should each have a preservation plan that outlines their care, maintenance, repair costs, and overall longevity for the community. It appears that the burial grounds are nominally maintained out of civic pride from the few remaining mutual aid society members, save for L’Unione Italiana which has developed a comprehensive cemetery plan already. In order to successfully argue for these cemeteries’ inclusion to the
National Register by careful and succinct argument, it would behoove the mutual-aid
societies to thoroughly document, describe, and protect their burial grounds. Such a
move would ensure the interest and respect these mutual-aid society cemeteries deserve,
and proper and adequate documentation would resolve any future arguments concerning
site integrity.
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Photo Appendix for Conclusions Issues of Site Integrity
Figure 6.1 - Example of vegetative overgrowth on an infant grave. Found in Centro Asturiano cemetery. Photo by author.
Figure 6.2 - A fallen and cracked marker of the tile-mosaic composition. Now, one less example of this typology remains intact. Found in Centro Asturiano cemetery. Photo by author.
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Figure 6.3 – A view along the rear (west) wall of the Centro Asturiano cemetery. Note the disarray among the headstones. Photo by author.
Figure 6.4 – A comparison between a damaged, intentionally cut, and whole (unaltered) headstones of the tile-mosaic typology. All three examples are located in the Centro Asturiano cemetery. Photos by author.
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Figure 6.5– Concrete markers are particularly susceptible to weathering from elements and the temperature changes between seasons. From the constant erosion, this particular marker has split apart at the back seam. Found in L’Unione Italiana cemetery. Photo by author.
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