Just Like Nothing (else) on Earth: The Union Cemetery

By Tim Jon

I was on a recent foray into our area’s attractions of interest, when a unique portion of our locality’s past sort of reached out and joined in on the visit: on my first-ever official tour of Union Cemetery in Leesburg, I suddenly found myself in the mythically named Potter’s Field. 

This was the title given—back in the 1800’s—to a plot of land that—now—looks nothing like a graveyard. The acreage in question lies just off the corner of Catoctin Circle and East Market Street—taking up a portion of what would eventually become the Leesburg Plaza Shopping Mall. 

In all my years as local News Director at Wage Radio in the County Seat, I must have heard mention of such a place, but when I found myself standing next to an historical marker in Union Cemetery, it was like undiscovered country. 

The vault I paid homage to that day—according to Town records—includes the remains of 300-some individuals, taken from their original resting place, eventually to be re-interred on the other side of the community. 

‘Why were they moved?’ You just asked the same question I put to myself on the day of my visit. 

“The name of progress,” would be my best answer. The placard at the Cemetery stated that a need arose in the early 1980’s to widen East Market Street at the location—as well as compelling leverage to develop the property. 

You see, this acreage—when designated as Potter’s Field—essentially burial placement for those without the means for interment in an established cemetery—the land lay outside the official Town boundaries. 

So, for over a hundred years up until the early 1950’s—those of indigent status laid the remains of loved ones in the local plot set up for this use. 

But, “Things change,” as even those unconscious of history know, and the Town officials thankfully exercised the foresight to “excavate” and “recover” the remains of those whose souls had long departed. 

The completed vault took its final resting place—at least for the foreseeable future—just a few years prior to this writing, having spent the intervening time in another site at the Cemetery, deemed less than satisfactory by local citizens. 

And, letting as much of this information as possible sink into my thoughts and feelings—back on that day of my first visit—how did all this affect me? I felt a high degree of empathy for those whose physical effects came to lie under the new Memorial. 

Having lived for quite some time as a ‘starving artist,’ I was never that far from indigence myself, escaping by the chance of fortune as much as anything else. So, I felt (even if only imagined) a kinship with those who number among the subject matter of today’s story. I also sensed a touch of gratitude for the elected leaders, back in the day, who took the trouble to set up the original Potter’s Field on the edge of Town. 

Be it known that the deed allowed the placement into the local gravesite—of remains of different races—although divided between “White persons,” and “persons of color.” The plot included interment for the victim of an historic tragedy at the site as well; the body of 1902 lynching victim Charles Craven represents one of the hundreds buried in Potter’s Field. 

By the time I had assimilated all this information—and the emotional and spiritual processing associated with it—the sun had traveled far in the sky, as I stood at the other edge of Town. 

Now, I already mentioned that the original planners of the local burial place took steps to keep a physical division between the remains of ‘races’ of humans; one of the last lines on the historical marker in Union Cemetery reads, “The remains recovered in 1983 were reburied together.” 

Letting this message sink in again—today, as I still struggle to do justice to this story, and to make complete sense out of my life, our lives, our time together in Loudoun County—I, at least, enjoy a bit of satisfaction: the study of history is not always pleasant—we may learn about painful—seemingly hopeless times in the human experience—but there is always room for—and reason to hope for—Grace.