35th Annual Tales Tombstones Tell - Self Guided Tour
Welcome, history enthusiasts and curious minds! We're thrilled to invite you on a virtual journey through time with our self-guided tour of the 35th anniversary "Tales Tombstones Tell." This blog series will take you on a captivating exploration of local history, one gravestone at a time. Each post features the script and an accompanying video recording from a different stop on the cemetery walk, allowing you to experience the rich stories and forgotten tales etched in stone. Whether you're a longtime resident or a newcomer to our community, prepare to uncover the fascinating lives, triumphs, and tragedies of those who came before us. Let's embark on this historical adventure together, as we bring the past to life through the whispers of our Oakwood cemetery.
David R. Martin
Interpreter: Kevin Davis
Stop three, Grave 336
Good evening, my name is David Rhodes Martin. My family’s history is a long and winding road, full of twists and turns that have led us to West Chicago. It all began when my great, great, great grandparents left their home in search of a better life. Like many other immigrants, they sought financial stability and religious freedom.
My ancestors were part of a group of Christians that had broken off from the Catholic Church during the Reformation in the 1500s. They were often referred to as Anabaptists and they faced great persecution for their religious beliefs. The name Anabaptists means “to baptize again,” as they baptized members when they were in adulthood and strongly believed in the separation of church and state.
My family was part of the Dutch movement that followed Menno Simons called Mennonites. Mennonites were peaceful people who opposed violence and refused to take oaths or participate in lawsuits. Their beliefs often put them at odds with the authorities, leading to property confiscation, imprisonment, and even death. Imagine being forced to choose between your faith and your safety, your home, and your family. That's the impossible decision my ancestors faced. With their marriages declared void, their children deemed illegitimate by the government, and their religious gatherings forbidden, they had no choice but to flee. Sadly, an impossible choice some people are still forced to make across the world.
For my ancestors, the Americas offered hope of a new life. William Penn had founded Pennsylvania in 1681 as a safe haven for those seeking religious freedom. By 1717, Mennonites were flocking to this new settlement. Among them was my great, great, great grandfather who arrived in Philadelphia on the ship "Molly" with 70 other Mennonite families. They settled in Lancaster County, becoming part of a community mistakenly referred to as the Pennsylvania "Dutch." These German-speaking immigrants were actually "Deutsch," a word that was later Anglicized to "Dutch."
But the journey didn't end there. After the Revolutionary War, many Mennonites, including my family, left Pennsylvania. Their refusal to serve in the military during the war branded them as traitors, forcing them to seek refuge elsewhere. My family started over in New York, where they lived for 18 years before finally settling in Illinois in 1847.
When my grandparents arrived in this area they purchased a 122-acre farm at the southwest corner of what is now Route 38 and Fabyan Parkway. At one point, they were the only farm in the township producing clover seed. They also made beeswax and honey. After almost thirty years on the farm, our family moved into Turner proper.
My father, Christian, was one of seven children, four of whom came west to live in Illinois. They attended the German Baptist Church, informally known as the Dunkards, a name that referred to their practice of immersing adults for baptism. This congregation, now called the Church of the Brethren, still exists in Naperville.
I was the oldest of his eight children. My sisters married into local families with familiar names like Glos, Fairbank, and Barkdoll. My wife, Lucinda Pratt and I were married on January 3, 1871 and we had five children of our own. I passed away at the age of 65 in 1909 and was laid to rest here in Oakwood Cemetery alongside three generations of Martins. My family's story is a testament to the enduring human spirit and the pursuit of religious freedom.