I recently received the following story from Len Strozier. He is the owner of Omega Mapping Services and I first met him back in 2022 when my library was planning a ground-penetrating radar (GPR) survey of a local cemetery. Since then, I've been captivated by the stories that he discovers in his travels throughout the country. Like me, he believes that every burial is a story and that all stories are worth telling. I knew that my readers would be as intrigued as I was to hear this tale.
"Ladies and gentlemen, today we delve into a compelling story that, in many ways, represents the layers of American history itself—a story that echoes across centuries and stands as a reminder that our past often finds unexpected ways to remain with us, even as we surge into the future. This is the tale of the Dotson family farm and the two graves embedded precisely 3697 feet down Runway 10 in the very heart of the Savannah/Hilton Head International Airport’s Runway.
To understand this captivating story, we must journey back to the late 18th and early 19th centuries, to an era when the land we now associate with airports and modernity was a place of sweat, toil, and determination. Richard and Catherine Dotson, both born in 1797, were among the early pioneers of Georgia’s agricultural frontier. As young settlers, they embodied the spirit of those who saw the potential in untamed land and worked tirelessly to cultivate it. Their farm, nestled in what was then known as Cherokee Hill, became a testament to their resilience and fortitude.
Richard Dotson, a man of sturdy constitution and strong resolve, and Catherine, equally resilient, laid the foundations of what would become their homestead. The Dotson farm was not merely a plot of South Georgia farmland; it was a vision realized through countless days under the southern sun. They grew the staple crops of the region—corn, perhaps some cotton—and raised livestock. Their lives reflected the era’s deep reliance on land, with every season bringing new hopes and challenges. This was not a life of ease but one defined by the satisfaction of building something lasting with one’s own hands.
As was common in that era throughout America, the Dotson farm’s prosperity was intertwined with the practice of slavery, a tragic and indelible part of our nation’s past. Enslaved individuals worked alongside the Dotson family, shaping the land that sustained them and generations to come.
Richard and Catherine’s lives were deeply connected to Cherokee Hill. Catherine passed away in 1877, leaving Richard to continue the stewardship of their legacy until his death in 1884. The Dotsons were laid to rest in a family cemetery on the property—a burial ground that grew to include over 100 graves. This cemetery would become an indelible part of the land’s story, binding the family’s heritage to the very soil they had worked so hard to cultivate.
The Dotson family cemetery was not just a quiet resting place for the Dotsons themselves but also for their descendants and those who had shared the farm’s history, including enslaved people. It was, in a sense, a testament to the full and complex story of the land: one that reflected the life, death, and labor that had passed through its fields.
As the 19th century waned and the 20th century dawned, the Dotson farm, like so many family farms, faced the changing tides of agricultural practices and economic pressures. While it may have remained in the hands of the Dotson descendants for a time, the era of the large-scale, self-sustaining family farm was fading. The land that had once thrived with the energy of a working farm became more of a family inheritance, maintained but no longer the vibrant agricultural enterprise it once was.
Then, in the 1940s, a great shift came not just to Savannah but to the world at large. World War II raged across continents, and the United States, now embroiled in the conflict, required rapid expansion of military infrastructure to support the war effort. The U.S. War Department, looking to bolster military operations and logistics, set its sights on lands that could be repurposed quickly and effectively for airfields and other wartime needs. The Dotson property, with its strategic location near Savannah and ample space, became a prime candidate.
The city of Savannah and the federal government entered negotiations, culminating in a lease agreement that secured approximately 1,100 acres of Dotson land for the development of what would be known as Chatham Field. This move was part of a national push to strengthen military capabilities along the southeastern coast. The Dotson property’s transformation from a patch of agrarian history to an airfield was swift, as the exigencies of war required rapid development.
However, there was the matter of the Dotson family cemetery—a cemetery that by then had stood as a silent witness to the changing landscape for decades. The government intended to clear the land, and this meant relocating the cemetery. The Dotson descendants, some of whom still lived in the area, were faced with a decision that carried deep emotional and historical weight.
Ultimately, most of the graves were moved to Bonaventure Cemetery in Savannah, a place known for its haunting beauty and storied past. Bonaventure, with its moss-draped oaks and quiet pathways, became the new resting place for many who had once been part of the Dotson farm’s story. The relocation was carried out with respect and solemnity, ensuring that the memory of those buried was preserved in a fitting manner.
But when it came to the interments of Richard and Catherine Dotson, the descendants stood firm. The request was simple but deeply meaningful: let the graves of the family matriarch and patriarch remain on their beloved farm. These were not merely graves to the family; they were symbols of endurance, cherished markers of the Dotson legacy. Richard and Catherine had poured their lives into that soil, and in the minds of their descendants, they belonged there still.
The government, recognizing the sensitivity of the matter and constrained by laws that required family consent for the removal of graves, agreed. When the construction of Runway 10-28 began, the graves of Richard and Catherine Dotson were preserved and incorporated into the new infrastructure. Their headstones were laid flush with the surface of Runway 10 a quiet, subtle nod to the history embedded beneath.
Chatham Field, which would evolve into Savannah/Hilton Head International Airport, became a vital part of the war effort. Planes took off and landed where cornfields once rustled in the wind, and pilots trained above the very ground where Richard and Catherine had once walked. The world moved forward with its unrelenting pace, yet two graves stood firm amidst the roar of engines and the hum of progress.
Over the decades, the airport expanded and modernized, becoming the commercial and international hub we recognize today. The runway was updated, extended, and maintained, but the graves remained. Even as the Federal Aviation Administration oversaw improvements, the two graves continued to be honored. They were not moved, not erased. Instead, they stood as an embodiment of history’s persistence.
Richard and Catherine Dotson’s headstones, inscribed with dates long past, now lie amid the ceaseless movement of aircraft and travelers. Thousands of passengers each year pass over the very place where these two pioneers rest, unaware of the story that lies beneath. The contrast is striking: the buzz of modern air travel, epitomizing speed and global connectivity, layered over the quiet testimony of a life rooted in the soil, where time moved to the slower rhythm of sunrises and seasons.
The decision to leave the graves in place was not just a concession to a family’s wishes; it became a testament to how history finds its way into the present, reminding us that progress does not always mean forgetting. The Dotsons’ presence at Runway 10-28 tells a story of endurance, of the people who worked and lived before modernity swept through. It is a story that reminds us that even as we ascend into the skies, there are ties to the earth, to the past, that persist and ask to be remembered.
For those seeking to visit the relocated graves at Bonaventure Cemetery, the archives and records of this historic place hold the details. Nestled among the famous monuments and oaks, these graves speak to the broader history of Savannah and the people who shaped it. The Dotson descendants, moved but not forgotten, lie in Bonaventure’s care, while Richard and Catherine remain under the tarmac, both surrounded by history’s echoes.
And so, when planes rush down Runway 10-28, racing into the sky, they pass over more than just concrete and grass. They pass over the story of Richard and Catherine Dotson, of their farm, their family, and the legacy that could not be paved over. Their memory, and the history of Cherokee Hill, remain beneath, quietly telling their story to those willing to listen."
According to Find A Grave, the reinterment took place August 31, 1942.
Thank you, Len for sharing this story with me. I'm always amazed (and somewhat jealous) at your discoveries!
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