what happened to you, my child?
Posted: September 23rd, 2005, 12:52 pm
Let us pretend that there are no computers, no television sets, no compact discs or even video cassettes. Let us go back 122 years to a time when none of us had breathe, when none of our parents had breath. Can you see it? Are you there? Are you back on the streets of Chicago, circa 1883? Can you hear the noise? See the cemetery, only 24 years old, right off Roscoe. "Rosehill", the call it. Walk down an old withered path. It is November. the air outside is cool, crisp. Trees all around you are loosing the fresh green life they produe every year, now brown and crumpled on the ground. Walk over to a gravesite, topped with a massive statue of a young girl,"Many hopes lie buried here", it reads. Lulu E. Fellows, she is those hopes. She lie buried there. Now, in that same Chicago Cemetary and Mausoleum, stands a curious monument of a young girl encased in glass. She lies amoung the various famous eternal residents such as Hinkley and Schmit, and Montgomery Wards. Much is know about such notable people, but nothing more is known about Lulu Fellows. A Chicago Minimalist folk group by the name of Born Heller has made an intriguing song named for her, but it doens't give much insight into her life. All we know of her is found on the gravesight. She is buried near J.H Fellows and C.A Fellows... relatives? It is as if she did not exist until her death in November of 1883. What remains to be told is where she comes from, who her parents are, and how she met her untimely demise. And furthermore, just what hopes lie buried with her, in that massive cemetary, where she seems to be forgotten. Aged 16 at death, the statue depicts her with a wistful expression on her face, and an open book in her lap. Many visitors claim to have smelled fresh flowers at her gravesite, and often leave coins, and flowers as a solemn token for the young girl with no past. Since 1859, Rosehill has been host to so many curious monuments, that it is no surprise to see Young Miss Fellows' statue, and not give question to her background. But the smell of flowers leaves many questions to be answered, and her story, like any other, deserves to be told. So again, I asked...
What happened to you, my child?
What happened to you, my child?