Mark Branaman Memorial Service
19 May 2017
Brian Hoffman
If you examined the trajectory of your life, I doubt that
you would think that we would be here, at this time, for Mark. In fact, I thought that in the end, Mark
would be here for Rodney or Branton as the last man standing. But death is no respecter of plans or schedules. In fact, it’s darned inconvenient. It’s a tribute to Mark, his family and his
family of friends that you are all here today.
If everyone who wanted to be here, but were unable to do so, showed up,
we’d not have enough space here.
So where do you begin?
How do you sum up Mark in a few minutes?
I’m told that we are supposed to be done by 6. So here goes.
Throughout my adult life, I have heard how rare it is for
men to form long-term friendships,especially with other men. You couldn’t prove it by me. I met Mark in August of 1977 in 8th
grade Spanish class. I was the new kid,
serious about school, trying to really learn Spanish. Mark was trying out being the class clown,
probably being the only time he really acted out in school. I still laugh when I think about Mark smart-alecking
Se̴ñora
Hurst and ending up doing time in the puppet theatre. When he still caused problems, she pushed a
couple of books in on him. I can still
hear “Ouch!” When he found out that I
was interested in running (we had a cross-country and track team in 7th
grade in Minnesota), he told me “My brother Robbie is a runner at Central and
he could beat you any time!” – he loved and respected his big brother. Outwardly, I was cool. Inside, I thought “Well yeah, I can run
forever, but not very quickly”. I
thought that this kid would never like me.
That was the only class we were in together.
We bonded entirely through running, which
might interest people who don’t think that sports in high school are important. We ran summer track together, then
cross-country, snowman/polar bear club and track. After running literally thousands of miles
together, you learn a few things about a guy – and it was all good. As teammates, we became inseparable. We ran the railroad tracks out to Missouri
Western (and back) together. We ran in
the same training groups and pushed (or pulled) each other to become better
runners. When we were in a race, if one
passed the other we gave a pat and said “Let’s go!” More than anyone else that I have known, Mark
could find joy in the success of others.
If he beat you, and you did well, that meant that he had done that much
better. If you beat him, had a good race
and he was close, that meant that he had done well, also. Our high-school cross-country team didn’t
have a real standout runner. But we had a lot of really good runners. We found that the more runners we could stack
together, the more races, trophies and medals we would win – and Mark was the
cheerleader that made us all believe it.
Before I knew it, or knew how it happened, we added friends
from across every socioeconomic, racial/ethnic, and academic level. Stonecrest, South Park, Midtown, Deer Park, Hillcrest…all
running together (literally and figuratively). We had known of Rodney Pixler in middle
school, but really got to know him in track.
We picked up Danny Butterfield along the way. Those guys form the core group that I really
hang with from high school. We split up
in college – all of the other guys went to SMS and I went to Park College, but
we stayed in touch and come summer, we were running together again. The SMS cross-country and track guys became
my friends as well.
Mark was my best friend.
That is not a unique claim. He
was Rodney’s best friend. He was Danny’s
best friend. I am sure that many of you
out there will stand and say, “Mark was my best friend”. One of the amazing things about Mark was his
capacity to love and be everyone’s best friend.
When I look across this room at the people I know and those that I don’t
but may have heard of, the one thing we have in common is Mark. That man is the glue that bonds all of us,
and made sure that we met up and enjoyed good times together.
I’ll let you in on a little secret. I hate running. Running is uncomfortable. Running hurts. Why do I run?
Because it was the only sport that I was any good at. Because it is the only exercise that keeps
any kind of weight off me. But mostly
because of the guys. I so look forward
to the weekends running with Mark, Rodney and Branton and the times we have had
at races, that the pain is worth it.
That is what has always made running worth it. The racing, the achieving together, the
pizza, pinball, video game arcades, baseball games, the music, the beer. The being together. We are training for a 10 mile race at Garden
of the Gods in Colorado next month. Mark
was really looking forward to the trip and was the last thing we talked
about. It is going to be strange to toe
the line without him.
At first glance, you may not have thought of Mark as a great
athlete. He was always a bit bigger (not
necessarily taller) than most of us.
Coach Chavez called him Tank because of his size. In college, he became “Barney” (as in
Rubble). First a baseball player, then a
runner, he was a fierce competitor. That
was a contradiction, because he never seemed to take the competition too
seriously. But once locked in, he was
nails. When the stakes were highest, he
ran his best. He usually moved up one or
two positions (six our sophomore year) on the cross-country team in the last
three races of the season, when we needed it the most. I haven’t seen many with his tolerance for
pain. I can still see him blond-haired, red-faced,
breathing hard and spraying sweat with every step on his way to an All-State
finish at the 1981 State Cross-Country Championships and our then school high 4th
place finish. It was his signature
look. He was not the fastest short
distance runner, but his grit kept him on the 4x800 meter relay team that
became district champions in 1982. We
stood on the podium together often and it was always my honor.
If you knew Mark, you’d know that he valued family above
all. He came by it honestly. Dean, Ruth, Rob and Mark took in countless
young men and gave them wonderful models of unconditional love. The Branaman house on Monterey in St. Joseph
was runner central. My own parents were
not able to attend more than a few meets, but Ruth and Dean were always
there. They welcomed us into their
lives, treated us like their own, and treated us like adults. More than one person will tell you that they
know what a great family is from knowing the Branamans. I learned that your family was not defined by
birth, but could be formed by choice.
My advice to young men is to find a woman that is out of
your league, get her to like you and convince her to marry you – before she
finds out what a horrible mistake that she has made. Mark took that advice well. He met Stacey at college in 1982. He told me about this beautiful, wonderful
woman he met and I HAD to meet her.
Stacey was absolutely the love of Mark’s life. She is the only woman that I knew him to try
much to better himself for and really find out what she liked and find out as
much as he could about that stuff and experience it. They were peas in a pod, through good times
and bad. Their nearly 30 year marriage
is a testament to their love (and her patience). Her friends became his friends and many of
them became my friends.
The thing that people remember most about Mark is his
fun-loving nature. It was his most
endearing quality and perhaps his biggest shortcoming. Anything fun that was worth doing was worth
overdoing, and that sometimes landed us in trouble. Mark got me thrown out of a bar – twice. I earned my way out once, pouring a pitcher
of beer on a bouncer’s feet. I like to
think that we were balancing influences on each other – my uptightness tempered
by and tempering his outgoing personality.
Stacey provided balance to Mark, as well, providing him the greatest
reason to reign in that impulsiveness.
Mark was a great person. Stacey
made him want to be better.
Mark was born to be a Dad and he and Stacey had to overcome
tremendous obstacles to have Dean. We shared that joy as we and the Pixler’s
also had sons within the span of six weeks.
Dean soon became the focal point of their family. Mark and Stacey encouraged him to find
himself and became involved in his interests.
Cub Scouts, Boy Scouts, band….everything. Mark and Stacey spent the time driving, going
to meetings, camping, hiking and sent Dean on the path to become the stellar
man that he is today.
How many of you ever did something that you thought you
wouldn’t – go to a concert, go on a hike, camp, run, go to a ballgame – because
of Mark’s invitation? How many of you
saw Mark do something that you never thought he’d be interested in? How many times were there people there that
Mark knew that became your friend, as well?
That was how Mark showed love. He
involved you in his life and he in yours. If he loved you and you had an interest, he
spent time to learn about that interest and enjoy it.
So many things to say and so little time to say it. In thinking of this, I tried to think of
things like “What were Mark’s hobbies” and “What did Mark collect?”. You know what Mark collected? He collected friends and family. He would go out of his way to be there for
anyone he considered family. That is why
this is so hard. Do you cry because Mark
is gone? I sure do. Do you feel an emptiness? Yep. That
is a good thing. The amount of pain you
feel is directly related to how much love you shared with him. Good times, bad
times, victories, losses, successes, failures, headaches and heartbreaks. As time goes by, the sharpness will diminish. You will laugh and have good times. That is good, too. That means that the void left in our lives is
being filled back up by memories of the times that we have shared
together. Mark would appreciate
that. We may never feel whole again, but
we are better for having known Mark.
Do you have a favorite memory of Mark? I encourage you to
write them down on paper and send them to Stacey, Dean, Ruth or Robbie, or post them on Facebook so that they can be
shared. Each of us knew a slightly different Mark. I have hours of material that I had to trim
down. Mark always made fun of how long I
could talk, so I’m going to wrap this
up, leaving too much unsaid.
One of Mark’s biggest desires was to be remembered as a good
man. You succeeded my brother by
choice. While too short, yours was a
life well-lived. I will love you forever. Take heart my friends, Mark will always be a
part of you. May the same be said of us
when life goes on in our absence.
Traveling along US-36/I-72 in Pike County, Illinois (about 20 miles east of Hannibal, Missouri) you encounter highway signs that proclaim that this is "Free Frank McWorter Historic Memorial Highway" and there are signs to "Free Frank McWorter Gravesite". Being the smart-aleck that I am, I have often wondered why? Who or what is free? Is it the highway? Is it Frank? Or is the attraction free? Through time, other signs were added for "Free Frank McWorter gravesite New Philadelphia" and "New Philadelphia founder Free Frank McWorter gravesite, National Register of Historic Places". If it's good enough for the National Register of Historic Places, it should prove to be somewhat interesting. Nadienne and I were looking for something to eat, so it was a good place to get off the road.
Town plat in incorporation documents
At first glance, old New Philadelphia is nothing to look at; just an open field. There are some old buildings on the site. They are not original to New Philadelphia, but were built in the same era. A recent owner of the land moved them here for preservation. If you look hard, you can make out the town plan - looks like a bunch of squares. The two buildings above sit on lots 7 and 8 of block 3, just about the corner of King and Ann Streets. It was founded, it grew as the US population migrated north and west, then shrank as the US population moved into bigger cities. The town was not impressive in just about any way, except in who founded the town, to what purpose the town was founded and the groups of people that lived here. All of the stuff that you can't read in the land.
New Philadelphia
Town plan in 1872
The townsite itself was plotted as 144 lots, each measuring 60 ft x 120 feet. Each block contained 8 lots. The gravels streets were planned so that the major streets (Broad and Main) were 80 ft wide, the secondary streets were 60 ft wide and alleys were 15 ft wide. The town occupied a total of 42 acres.
New Philadelphia was founded in 1836 by a former slave, Free Frank McWorter. Although colonies of freed blacks had been established before, this town was different. It is the first town platted and legally registered by an African-American prior to the Civil War. Free Frank used the proceeds from sales of lots to buy the freedom of his children and grandchildren who were still enslaved at that time. New Philadelphia is also one of the first wholly integrated towns in the United States, where whites, blacks, and biracial people lived willingly side by side on equal footing. The only facilities that appear to be segregated are the cemeteries, as even school facilities were integrated (although some accounts maintain that there was a school for whites and a school for blacks until 1874). There is no clear picture as to why that might be, but I think that the cemetery for blacks started as the McWorter family cemetery and expanded to include extended family and friends.
New Philadelphia population trends 1850-1880
Each lot in town for sale to individuals was sold, and many sold multiple times. It was an attractive investment at the time, with land speculators first betting on the Illinois-Michigan canal passing the town site and later, that railroads would build stations there. A store was established in New Philadelphia in 1839 and a post office existed by 1850, along with a blacksmith shop, wheelwright, two shoemakers and two cabinet makers. Total population climbed steadily from 58 residents in 1850 to a peak census population of 171 in 1865. It is interesting that this town founded by a black man always had a majority white population. The black population held steady until a postwar influx of freed southern slaves in 1865, but the population across all categories declined from that point forwards.
Racial balance in New Philadelphia 1850-1880
The decline of New Philadelphia was brought about by a complex variety of factors. One of the largest may be the routing of the Hannibal and Naples to the north of New Philadelphia. During this time frame, rural areas were depopulating because of movement of people to larger cities and to the newly opened western states. In 1885, the eastern blocks (1, 10, 11, 20) and the eastern half of the adjoining blocks (2, 9, 12, 19) were declared vacant and returned to agricultural use. This eradicated Maiden Lane and Canton Street. Queen Street was renamed Stone Street. These changes shrank New Philadelphia down to 27.5 acres. By the early 20th century, about 6 households were left in town, mostly involved in farming. By the 1940s the townsite was almost totally abandoned.
Modern aerial map with town grid overlay
Free Frank McWorter
Bust of Free Frank McWorter based on descriptions
and pictures of descendants.
Outside of being a fully integrated antebellum town founded by a former slave, the story of New Philadelphia itself is as unremarkable as the story of its founder is amazing. Free Frank McWorter was born a slave in 1777 South Carolina's Piedmont region (Union County) near the Pacolet River. His mother was an African woman named Juda and his father was most likely her owner, George McWhorter. He was of mixed race and is described in various documents of the time as "yellow" or "mulatto". Being a slave, he was known at this time simply as Frank.
He was moved to Pulaski County, Kentucky in 1795. It is quite possible that my 6x great-grandfather Nicholas Jasper knew McWhorter and Frank, since the Jaspers lived in Union County, South Carolina in the 1770's before moving to (and naming) Pulaski County, Kentucky. In 1820 and 1830, several Jaspers are found on Census pages adjoining Free Frank, so they lived nearby. Free Frank married a slave woman named Lucy from the neighboring farm of a distant McWhorter family connection, William Denham. At this time, marriages between slaves carried no legal standing, since a slave was the property of their owner. Frank fathered four children while enslaved: Judy, Sally, Frank and Solomon. By 1810, Frank was allowed to hire himself out for work, and was allowed to keep any monetary amount beyond that charged by McWhorter for his slave's work. Frank also set up a saltpeter mining operation, providing a key ingredient for gunpowder manufacture.
Lucy McWorter c. 1870 painting by George Neal
from family daguerreotype
When George McWhorter died in 1815, he made no provision for the manumission (freeing from slavery) of Frank, so Frank was transferred with the rest of the estate property to McWhorter's heirs. By 1817, Frank had saved enough money to purchase the freedom of his wife from her owner at the price of $800 (about $14,500 in 2016 money). Already recognized as a sharp businessman, Frank demonstrates his shrewdness here, since Lucy was pregnant. Their son,Squire, was born a free person, and that is one less purchase Frank would have to make. Frank paid for his own freedom for the same amount from the McWhorter's. His manumission papers were signed on 13 September 1819. Two more children were born in freedom: Commodore and Lucy Ann.
Frank continued to live in Pulaski County, Kentucky mining saltpeter, speculating on land and farming. By the time of the 1820 Census, Frank had adopted the name Free Frank, announcing his status as a free man. In 1829, Free Frank traded his saltpeter operation for Frank Jr.'s freedom. By this time, Frank Jr. had escaped to Canada, and this business deal allowed him to return to the United States a free person. In 1830, Free Frank is listed as Free Frank Denham in Pulaski County, Kentucky with two sons, two daughters, Lucy and himself listed as free colored persons.
Interpretive sign in information kiosk at roughly the corner of Broad
and North Streets
Remaining free could be a tricky proposition for a black person in antebellum USA. Kidnappers could seize a free person, burn their papers and sell them back into slavery. Free Frank wished to gain some breathing room by moving to a free state. He was able to buy a quarter section of land (160 acres) on the Military Tract of Illinois from Dr. Galen Elliott. In 1830, Free Frank and his free family moved north, wintering in Greene County, Illinois. During the trip, Frank Jr. lagged behind his parents, decreasing the chance that kidnappers could capture all of them. All told, the family would fetch about $4000 on the slave market (about $105,250 in 2016 money). They arrived on their land in Hadley Township, Pike County, Illinois in spring of 1831. An early history of the county noted that "the first white man to settle Hadley Township was a black man".
This was a turbulent time in Illinois politics. Bordering slaveholding states on the south and west, political maneuvering was taking place to variously make Illinois a slave state, a free state, a slave state that barred free blacks and finally an all-white state barring all blacks. Free Frank's land ownership circumvented a requirement by Illinois at the time for free blacks to post a $1000 ($26,000 2016 dollars) bond before emigrating to Illinois.
Free Frank set to rapidly improving his land, and had 80 acres in production within two years, using tools that he brought with him from Kentucky. He farmed oats, barley, flax, potatoes, cattle, hogs and horses. Lucy helped in the operation by raising poultry, making butter, cheese, and collecting honey. The farm was successful enough that Free Frank could buy another 80 acres directly south of his farm and buy his son Solomon from slavery by 1835. This additional 80 acres was used to lay out the town of New Philadelphia in 1836. In all, Free Frank owned 600 acres of Illinois land. When Free Frank incorporated the town, it was noted that he intended to used the profits from the sales of town lots to purchase the freedom of his family that remained enslaved.
1872 property map of Hadley Township around New Philadelphia
Illinois law did not very clearly spell out the rights of freed blacks to own land. In addressing this, 14 white citizens of Pike County vouched for Free Frank's character. He then petitioned the Illinois legislature for a legal last name (McWorter), allowing his children to take his name, and spelled out his rights as a citizen, having "the right to sue and be sued, plead and be impleaded, purchase and convey both real and personal property in said last mentioned name". This created precedent for all free blacks to own property. By the time that Free Frank McWorter died in 1854, he had purchased the freedom of his children remaining in slavery, as well as his daughter-in-law Louisa and two grandchildren. His will directed his heirs to purchase the freedom of the rest of the family, which occurred prior to the start of the Civil War. In all, he purchased the freedom of 16 individuals at a cost of about $14000 (2016 equivalent, about $370,000).
It is an amazing story. A man born a slave, establishing a business, buying freedom for his family and himself. The arc of success continued throughout Free Frank's life, he started a town, that fostered a tolerant society, secured property rights for blacks in Illinois and left his family in position to carry on his legacy. Many of the McWorter's remained as farmers after the demise of New Philadelphia in 1885, but most have scattered across the country, still building up a stronger, better nation. Their story can be seen in part on an episode of Time Team America (Season 1, Episode 3).
Getting There
Much work is still being done in terms of archaeological study of the site. When we visited, there was a covered kiosk for the interpretive signs. It appears from pictures that individual house sites are being marked as they are uncovered.
From US-36/I-72, exit at Barry, Illinois (exit 20). Take County Highway 4 south to Illinois Highway 106. Turn east on IL-106. Turn northeast onto County Highway 2 east to New Philadelphia townsite at 360th Ln.
Waypoint: Latitude 39.698023 N; Longitude 90.961322 W
On more than one vacation, we have found ourselves on a little gray line with no number out in the middle of nowhere to see one sight or another. Most of these are dirt or gravel roads. Sometimes you find what you are looking for, sometimes not. Sometimes you even end up with a busted tire.
Cottonwood Wash and Buckhorn Wash roads run through the middle of fantastic red sandstone formations of the Jurassic Navajo Sandstone Formation, the Triassic Wingate Sandstone and Permian Coconino Sandstone in an area called the San Rafael Swell. This area is rich in archaeological evidence of Fremont, Paiute and Ute cultures. The Fremont people lived in the area about 2000 years ago, at about the same time as the neighboring Pueblo peoples and may have been an offshoot of the "Anasazi" cultural group. Evidence suggests that the Fremont were a foraging and corn/maize farming culture, with smallish villages with pithouses. Climate change seems to have displaced the culture about 950 A.D. They certainly moved westward and some may have found their way to Nebraska/Kansas as the ancestors of the Dismal River culture.
The Barrier Canyon culture left art throughout modern Emery County, Utah. One of the most impressive is the Buckhorn Wash pictograph panel. You can see the scope of the panel in the picture to the left using Nadienne and short Christian for scale. The pictographs were made on a freshly exposed sandstone canvas. Red pigment composed of ground hematite (iron (III) oxide) was likely mixed with animal fat, egg, or water, and brushed onto the surface of the rock with brushes made from animal fir or plants. The pigment soaked into the porous rock and has stayed visible for about two thousand years. Weather and modern vandals are the primary threats to the continued existence of this art panel.
Some of the figures are obviously human. Many of the figures have holes pecked in their chest. What they originally represented is unknown and why holes have been deliberately picked in their chest is also a mystery. It may be that the figures held some power for the Fremont peoples and the holes released the power of the art, maybe by a rival or later culture. Were the figures ritually killed? All questions with no answers.
An attempt to cover some of the figures with yellow paint was made long ago. Again one asks "Why?" Did the aesthetics of the culture change? Did a later culture try to alter or cover them up?
Look a little closer
We would like to know what it all means, but we'll just have to keep guessing and enjoying.
Uplifted sandstone - see the ripple marks?
Figures with vandalism apparent
Extreme close-up
Bird-Men or Angels?
Chiselers
The area also contains petroglyphs, which are pictures chiseled out of the rock. The sandstone is polished and the iron oxidizes (rusts) over time, leaving a reddish varnish on the rock. By pecking away at this layer, one can create images in the stone. These designs may be of animals, people or symbols. Meanings are largely unknown, but guesses are handy.
The lower part of the image above could be interpreted as a sheep, but what about the square subdivided into four squares? Is it a representation of the four winds? These drawings may have been painted at some point in the past. Are they the embodiment of power that the artist was calling upon? Ritual? Creativity?
A human riding a deer? Turtles? People?
Long Long Ago....
Vacation with the Hoffmans is hard work
Getting There
Take Buckhorn Wash/Draw Road (Rd 332) north from Exit 131 of I-70 in Utah for 22.7 miles.
Waypoint: Latitude 39.123533 N; Longitude 110.693870 W
