By now, you know the little angels who passed away too soon tug at my heart. James Oliver Fowler is no exception. His brief existence, and this solitary post-mortem photo, a haunting reminder of just how challenging times were during the depression.
James was born approximately June 1930. I say "approximately" because his father, who was the informant on his death certificate, wasn't sure of his exact date of birth. The family had seven other children at the time (ranging from 1 year old to 17) and, understandably, during the stressful time of losing a child, it isn't surprising he may not have been able to recall the specific date. His birth date is shown as "don't know" and his age "about 4 mos."
1930 was toward the beginning of the Great Depression. It heralded a particularly difficult time in the poor communities of Georgia where James was born. It was an area of tremendous poverty and a scarcity of food and resources. Children (as well as adults) often suffered from infections and malnutrition. Families may have delayed seeking medical care for financial reasons. And even when they did make the call for the doctor, or a trip to a hospital, the level of care was far different than today.
James Oliver's cause of death is listed as marasmus and diarrhea, with malnourishment as a contributory factor. Together, these were a deadly triple whammy. Marasmus was a widespread and often fatal form of malnutrition. It caused extreme wasting, with loss of muscle and body fat. He may have suffered from other infections, compounding the problem. His mother may also have been malnourished and simply wasn't able to provide him the nutrition he needed to thrive, I can't imagine the terrible loss, and most likely guilt, his mother must have felt. I hope, with time, she knew she did all she could for him.
When we think of a 4 month old, we think of a round chubby cheeked little cherub, with pudgy hands and soft squishy legs. But in this post-mortem photo of James, generously shared by an Ancestry member on is father's side. he looks almost like a fragile porcelain doll, his little fingers curled in the familiar grasp of an infant. His eyes are closed, as if he's peacefully napping. This was known as "the last sleep" pose, and this is likely the only photo ever taken of James. While we're somewhat unaccustomed to this type of photo today, it was not at all unusual for the time. It was a way for the family to immortalize the child. It was a memento to be treasured. I'd like to think a copy of this photo was kept in their home, and he was never forgotten. But it just as easily may have been tucked away, quietly taken out as his parents worked through their grief - a poignant reminder of the son they lost.
James Oliver passed away on October 7th, 1930 at 9:00am. He had been under the care of a physician for almost a week. From the death certificate, it appears he may have been seen at home. There is no hospital listed and RFD is shown in the address (likely the rented farm they lived on.) By the time he was seen, it was unlikely there was anything the doctor could have done. His death certificate says he was buried on October 8th, 1930 in Bethel cemetery. I did find a Bethel United Methodist Church cemetery in Dalton, Whitfield, Georgia. Sadly, there's no mention of a memorial for James. There were 9 other unnamed infants buried there, but none with the surname Fowler.
I am grateful to the Ancestry user who publicly shared this photo, and for her generosity in allowing me to use it for this post. This is the essence of genealogy, of sharing the details we learn with others. Were it not for her gracious spirit, James Oliver Fowler, born after the enumeration date for the 1930 census, and not mentioned in the obituaries of his parents, might have been remembered only by his brief entry in a death index and his death certificate. This lone photo reminds us of his short, yet precious life.
Sleep in peace little one. You will not be forgotten.
