Many headstones at Forest Hill are so elaborate, the term ‘headstone’ seems wrong. They were without doubt designed and approved before their owner’s death, meaning there’s plenty of status and bravado on display. They’re self-initiated monuments.
And in the midst of the most highly crafted messages at Forest Hill, there’s an oddly anonymous cell of modest, uniform grave markers. They are the teeth of a slightly crooked and obvious smile, but I think they’re plenty satisfied just to be at the party.
These markers belong to military men, mostly from the Civil War. If you took your own walk through Forest Hill, they wouldn’t be hard to find — their modesty would more than give them away. When we got there, Heidi perked up and repeated ‘One-Seven. He’s supposed to be at One-Seven.’
As I quickly learned — first row, seven in. There we found Dorus Martin, exactly who she was looking for, a lovable scoundrel who indirectly talked his way into Forest Hill via the Civil War:
The words ‘ostentatious’ and ‘bombastic’ were used heavily often throughout our time at Forest Hill. Despite being blown out of the water in terms of affluence, I’d bet Dorus could compete with any of his neighbors in ostentation or bombast. Or, at the very least, I bet he’d figure out a way to make sure he was standing toe-to-toe.