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Headstone Dedication
July 6, 2002

Cedar Lawn Cemetery has fittingly been referred to as a "Gateway to the Past." Since its
dedication on September 19, 1867, there has been a wide array of notable historical figures
interred here, from both the political and American industrial scene of that era, and all walks of
life in between. On the hill overlooking us, one can find the Hobart Memorial Mausoleum
where Garret A. Hobart is buried, who was Vice President of the United States during
President William B. McKinley's first term. Henry Bacon, who also created the Lincoln
Memorial, designed the mausoleum. Nicholas Murray Brown, who was the twelfth President
of Columbia University, is also buried at Cedar Lawn. In 1931 he was awarded the Nobel
Peace Prize for his efforts to stop all future wars.

Cedar Lawn was designed at the height of the Victorian era and many of the memorials reflect
the romanticism of this time, when there was a move away from the somber attitudes of
death. The 1865 charter called for a location that would not be threatened by encroachment
from the city. There are some 79,000 interments here and I am thankful to Cedar Lawn
Cemetery for allowing us to include this unique memorial to Cindy within this historically
beautiful setting. I would like to thank Mr. Anthony Sgobba of Sggobba Monument Works for
helping us create a headstone that clearly compliments the romantic theme here, respects the
history and brings to life the vision we had to honor Cindy and her life's work.

The guide to Cedar Lawn Cemetery contains a wonderful quote from a William Aikman that
reads, "The dead speak by their lives, by their works, and by their words." When Cindy was
asked what is most important in life, she would answer "Freedom." It is fitting that we are
having this memorial dedication over the July 4th weekend, for it was Cindy's pursuit of her
own personal freedom, which we have all seen in her life's work. I believe that is why Cindy
was consumed by a passion for genealogy, as she was able to relive the pursuits of freedom of
those who came before her. One of my last conversations with Cindy was about her disgust
with the prejudice attitudes we have towards others. The interconnectedness of Cindy's birth
date of December 7th with Pearl Harbor Day and her passing on 9/11 speaks volumes about
prejudice and those who are willing to take those freedoms away which were so important to
her.

The words atop the family tree, "Give Me Your Golden Hand" were taken from the title of a
book by author Evelyn Eaton. The marriage imagery the words suggest I felt were perfect to
represent the succession of unions throughout the tree itself, but it also happened to be a book
we had come to love for its connections with our Deuel ancestors. The setting for the book is
eighteenth century England and America. The story is about a son of the future King of
England, George the Third and a Quaker girl named Hannah Lightfoot. In an attempt by the
King to cover-up this union, the boy is hidden and eventually flees his cruel captors by fleeing
to America where he settles with a Quaker family in New York. The Quakers are Deuels and
the son of the King ends up marrying one of the Deuels, against her father's wishes. The son
ends up fighting with the colonists for their freedom during the Revolutionary War. The
impact this book had on our lives was tremendous. It turned out that the author based many
of the characters on actual Deuels who were living at that time. Cindy and I found the old
Deuel cemetery in the woods and discovered that the author wrote the book in the Deuel
home, which still stands. The present owner has now become our friend.

In the book the father's strict Quaker religion required that his daughter marry another Quaker,
and for this action they disowned her. As life can sometimes imitate art, I would like to tell
you the story of Cindy's g-g-grandfather Luigi Costantini, who was also faced with a similar
choice. He was born in 1836 in Borca di Cadore Italy. After joining the Hungarian Imperial
Army, he was sent into battle in 1866 at the break of the Austro-Russian war, and was shot in
the leg. After refusing to have his leg amputated, which left him with a permanent limp, he
returned home with a pension from the Austrian Army. It was at this time that he wanted to
marry Appolonia Del Andrea, but his family was dead set against it. He was kicked out of the
house with a miserable inheritance consisting of a few pieces of land. In 1876 he married
Appolonia against his parents will. In all they had nine children, six of which came to
America, one of them being Orieste who is Cindy's great grandfather.

It is humbling to think how much fate determines the path of our lives. That bullet might have
taken Luigi's life and then I would not be standing here now. I am reminded of the brave
journey that Cindy's g-g-grandmother Adriana and her husband Tomas Moolenar made from
their homeland in Dirksland Holland. At the time Cindy's g-grandmother Maggie was only one
year old when they left Holland. They left with destination New York, U.S.A. on May 14th,
1859 from the port of Rotterdam on an American ship named the Golden Rule.

Only three years earlier Maggie's future husband, John J. Deuel was born in Canada. It was
his family's decision to migrate down from Canada to the Passaic area that set the stage for his
meeting Maggie. Before John J. Deuel mysteriously disappears from the scene, Maggie and
John have seven children together, three of which died as infants and are buried here with
Cindy. Their names, Henry, John and George have been added to the side of the headstone.
Also John J's father Henry Deuel, now has the marker he has lived without for 128 years.

I would also like to acknowledge Cindy's g-grandparents on her mother's side, Peter Sledjeski
and Amelia Zimnoski who came over from Poland and settled in Orient Point Long Island on a
beautiful 100-acre farm. It was their daughter Bertha who met another adventurous soul who
was employed at St. Vincent's hospital, taking on New York City as Cindy did so many years
later. Cindy's grandfather was a Theriault and we can speculate that he is descendent of the
original Acadian settlers of Nova Scotia, Canada who first arrived here in 1632.

I would now like to share with you a poem Cindy sent to me to in May of 2001 to inspire me
to keep looking into the past for the answers:

It was the first day of census, and all through the land
each pollster was ready ... a black book in hand.
He mounted his horse for a long dusty ride,
his book and some quills were tucked close by his side.
A long winding ride down a road barely there,
toward the smell of fresh bread wafting, up through the air.
The woman was tired, with lines on her face
and wisps of brown hair she tucked back into place.
She gave him some water ... as they sat at the table
and she answered his questions ... the best she was able.
He asked her of children. Yes, she had quite a few --
the oldest was twenty, the youngest not two.
She held up a toddler with cheeks round and red;
his sister, she whispered, was napping in bed.
She noted each person who lived there with pride,
and she felt the faint stirrings of the wee one inside.
He noted the sex, the color, the age...
the marks from the quill soon filled up the page.
At the number of children, she nodded her head
and saw her lips quiver for the three that were dead.
The places of birth she "never forgot"
was it Kansas? or Utah? or Oregon ... or not?
They came from Scotland, of that she was clear,
but she wasn't quite sure just how long they'd been here.
They spoke of employment, of schooling and such,
they could read some ... and write some ... though really not much.
When the questions were answered, his job there was done
so he mounted his horse and he rode toward the sun.
We can almost imagine his voice loud and clear,
"May God bless you all for another ten years."
Now picture a time warp ... its' now you and me
as we search for the people on our family tree.
We squint at the census and scroll down so slow
as we search for that entry from long, long ago.
Could they only imagine on that long ago day
that the entries they made would effect us this way?
If they knew would they wonder at the yearning we feel
and the searching that makes them so increasingly real.
We can hear if we listen the words they impart
through their blood in our veins and their voice in our heart.

Since 9/11 we have all sought out ways to deal with the pain of losing Cindy. For me this has
been an overwhelming and seemingly futile task, often leaving me with strong feelings of
hopelessness. Where I have found strength was when I asked myself, "What would Cindy
want me to do?" Recently I have found this strength in recalling Cindy's determination with
problem solving.

As we all remember well, Cindy greatly enjoyed the challenge of a good puzzle, like her belief
she was going to find a pattern to the prime numbers. Then there was this one puzzle she
showed us where you had to draw a continuous line through a series of boxes, making sure to
pass through every side yet only passing through each side only once. Cindy had spent many
hours each day over the years trying to solve it. Finally she approached her mathematics
professor to have him look at it and get his opinion as to whether it could be solved. After his
examination he came back to Cindy and said that he believed it could not be done.

Now most people would have given up at this point, but not Cindy. She went back to her
notebooks of boxes and lines and told me, "I know that this can be done and I will solve this!"
It is this determination, even in the face of a seemingly futile task, that we need in our lives
right now to find the solution to overcome the hurting. Cindy would tell us not to give up and
that nothing is impossible.

I also believe we need to remember Cindy's wonderful sense of humor. As you will recall
from the eulogy I gave at Cindy's funeral, Cindy and I had a little candy bar joke going on
between us. While conducting our genealogy research, we met an impasse in our attempts to
trace our Deuel ancestry further back beyond our great great grandfather Henry Deuel. For
good luck I began eating O'Henry candy bars while combing the libraries for clues. One day
before leaving for the library, Cindy bought into this superstitious snack food idea and told me
she had just eaten an O'Henry. I've never stopped laughing about that and it was this small
comedic gesture of support by Cindy that gives me continual motivation with our research.
So today I have brought each of you an O'Henry candy bar. We can leave here today on a
happy note and have this visual reminder of Cindy. Feel free to eat them or save them and let's
leave here feeling good about Cindy.

I'd once again like to thank Tony Sgobba for creating such a beautiful and lasting tribute to
Cindy. It is beyond what I imagined it could be.

Thank You

Note: (If anyone knows the author of the poem, please let me know so I can give them credit)