I’m walking among the greats of Lawrence: men like Charles Robinson, Kansas’ first governor, abolitionist James Lane, and famed architect John G. Haskell, among others.

They all surely must have the same thought as they watch me confidently stride along: How lost is Lawrence these days?

No, not political commentary they’re offering. Just commentary on my map reading skills. I’ve got a map of the Oak Hill Cemetery as part of a brochure for a self-guided tour of Lawrence’s most historic resting place. I’m dutifully searching for No. 1 on the tour stop: Wilson B. Shannon, who, of course, was a territorial governor of Kansas. Of course.

I’m on his trail like a Jayhawker on a filthy border ruffian. Then I run into fellow newspaper man John Speer, whom I of course greet as any skilled map reader would: You’re not Wilson B. Shannon. What are you doing here?

Fading away seems to be the main answer.

I kneel down at his tombstone. It is a particularly sad one: The names of sons come before that of the father. Speer — a fierce-tongued abolitionist editor — had two sons killed in Quantrill’s raid. This soft marble tombstone struggles to still tell the story. The weather-worn epitaph is indecipherable to me except for a few words: “These boys . . . killed . . . Lawrence Massacre . . . Aug. 21, 1863 . . . streets . . . his body.”

Much can get lost in 150 years. Oak Hill Cemetery, on the eastern edge of Lawrence just north of where 15th Street turns into the country, was founded in 1865, just two years after Quantrill’s Raid. Lawrence residents had become concerned that many of the raid’s victims were buried in plain or even unmarked graves in Pioneer Cemetery, which is near the Kansas University Endowment building today.

Oak Hill became perhaps the city’s largest monument. It was designed to be a state-of-the-art rural cemetery that highlighted nature as art. It would put Lawrence on par with fine, progressive cities, such as Boston, that had dared to deviate from the traditional flat, stoic resting places. In May of 1895, the city completed the monument theme by building an actual monument to remember the victims of Quantrill’s raid.

It still stands today, but it is not my next stop. I still have to find Wilson B. Shannon. I look at my map. It says he should be just north of here. So I begin to march north like William Parry with a polar bear cap. Then I hear the wind whisper: Your other north.

I turn around. I knew that.

•••

My long-held fear of geometry sidetracks me. I’m reading through the tour brochure (available at the Lawrence Visitors Center, by the way), and every other word is “obelisk.” This marker is shaped like an obelisk. That marker is shaped like an obelisk. I begin to sweat. I didn’t sign up for this. What’s next, a rhombus?

I have no idea what an obelisk is, but the Haskell family helps me. I find its obelisk-shaped tombstone. An obelisk looks a lot like a missile. I can’t help but think that there would be a good deal fewer tombstones in this cemetery if there were more obelisks than missiles in the world.

Now that I know what I’m looking for, I see obelisks everywhere, including this large one in front of me. It is of Gen. James Lane, a U.S. senator, cornfield refugee and a man who had many afflictions during a complicated life. But let me tell you, obelisk envy was never one of them. That’s one tall obelisk.

It, however, does not point me to my destination. For that, I turn back to the map and recalibrate my internal GPS. That’s all it took because I soon find Wilson B. Shannon, and, no, I did not ask the many city employees who were busy using string trimmers and other devices to get the cemetery ready for Memorial Day. Why would you think I need to ask for directions?

In case you are wondering, the city has a crew of seven full-time and seven part-time employees who work to maintain the cemeteries around town. In case you are wondering how long it takes to mow Oak Hill, parks and recreation supervisor Mitch Young will have to get back to you on that one.

“We never stop,” Young says. “There’s always mowing to do.”

•••

Indeed, I find Wilson B. Shannon. You know, Wilson B. Shannon, territorial governor of Kansas from 1855 to 1856. Perhaps Shannon didn’t know he was territorial governor either. It wasn’t listed anywhere on his tombstone.

I’ve got to be honest, I was a little underwhelmed, especially after my friend Mr. Google informed me that Shannon not only was the territorial governor of Kansas, but also was a two-time governor of Ohio and minister to Mexico. I’m going to go on the record now and say that if I’m ever appointed minister to Mexico, my grave site will include an eternal bowl of chips and salsa.

Oh well, there are plenty of other interesting tombstones at Oak Hill. There’s the one for Lucy Hobbs Taylor, who was the first woman in America to have graduated from a dental college. She went on to become the first female dentist in Kansas. Her tombstone looks like a tree trunk, and was adorned with a beaded necklace on the day I was there.

A silver bell tied to a red ribbon was on the tombstone of Mary Langston. This place is alive with its own sort of activity.

Then there is the tombstone that says “Edwards.” It has a statuette of a small girl reading a book. The inscription on this tombstone still shows through strong:

“We had a little treasure once/She was our joy and pride/ We loved her, ah perhaps too well/ For soon she slept and died/All is dark within our dwelling/Lonely are our hearts today/for the one we loved so dearly/Has forever passed away”

But the tombstones that stick with me the most are the ones I can’t read. There are many of them now. In parts of the cemetery where the trees are tall and shade is abundant, the moss has begun to grow heavy on many of the tombstones, some to the point that you can’t even make out the name. But Young, the city supervisor, assures me that the city knows who is located in each grave in the cemetery. The city has records that it has now computerized.

Young also said the problem of deteriorating tombstones should be less in the future. Many of the stones that have worn away were marble. The city prohibits marble tombstones today. Much more durable granite stones are used.

It is no one’s fault that the marble stones are deteriorating. Time just catches up with everything. But still, it is another reminder, in a place that already has so many, that nothing is indestructible.

I’ve spent more than an hour and a half walking around the cemetery. I long ago stopped looking for the famous graves. Now, it is just whatever catches my eye. Maybe it is because I’m in the word business, but it really bothers me that so many of the epitaphs have faded away. I’m guessing people spent a lot of time thinking what those final words should be, yet many times they are the first to go. The names on the tombstone almost always last longer. I suppose there is a lesson in there. We probably should spend more time tending to our name than creating profound words.

With that realization, I decide it is time to go, but I’ll be back for another visit. First, though, I must find my truck. That’s right. It’s to the north. My other north.

This time I really did know that. After all, a cemetery is a good place to get your bearings.

Happy Memorial Day.

— Each Sunday, Lawhorn’s Lawrence focuses on the people, places or past of Lawrence and the surrounding area. If you have a story idea, send it to Chad at clawhorn@ljworld.com.