Mary Burtschi was ‘historical treasure’

I was working on an article about some of Fayette County’s settlements and villages when my sister Jane telephoned to tell me that Mary Burtschi had passed away.

It was then that I decided my column this week would be about my friend and mentor, Mary Pauline Burtschi.

I first met Mary on July 5, 1981, at “The Little Brick House” on St. Clair Street in Vandalia.

Armed with a copy of the 1904 "Historical Souvenir of Vandalia," I was spending a lazy Sunday afternoon driving around Vandalia attempting to locate the homes pictured in the book.

Searching for the two-story house owned by the Lynch sisters on St. Clair Street, I rounded the corner of Seventh and St. Clair streets when a small two-story white brick house with red shutters caught my eye.

The Stars and Stripes were flying, and a small sign near the front door indicated “The Little Brick House” was open. I had not paid much attention to the house, even though it was placed on the National Register of Historic Places in 1972.

Greeted by both Mary and Josephine Burtschi, I was given the full tour – including an introduction to architecture, a lesson on flora and fauna, and the amazing story of Vandalia’s capital-era history makers.

When I left that day, it was with an inscribed copy of Mary’s book, "Vandalia: Wilderness Capital of Lincoln’s Land," in my hand. Little did I know that this was the beginning of a friendship that would span 28 years.

To Mary, I was Linda Hanabarger. In her final years, when I would visit Fayette Hospital Long Term Care to sing and play my mandolin, she no longer recognized my face, but my name would spark recognition in her eyes.

Josephine was Mary’s best friend, and they looked after each other for years. That does not mean they agreed on all issues; much to the contrary. That was what drew me to the pair – their literary spats.

One of my favorite stories was of the time Josephine used her life savings to buy her birthplace, the old Clinghammer house. This was in November 1956.

Mary was horrified when Jo first showed her the house. Plaster stood in small heaps in the rooms. A broken rocking chair sat in the middle of the dim room, while ageless wallpaper scaled from the walls. Worn and faded dresses hung from hangers on the walls of the entrance and stairway, while some hung from three-inch nails driven into the solid walnut balustrade.

Mary recalled: “As Jo walked through the rubble, her eyes shining, I reacted in a totally different way. There was no way of telling how many mice were multiplying in their snug little nests about the place. I would not have even been surprised to see a rat!”

Josephine would quote from one of her favorite authors the positive aspects of a historic home, while Mary would retort with prose from her favorite poet as to why this was a bad idea.

Mary soon realized that nothing she could say would change her sister’s mind, so during vacations from her teaching job in Effingham, she pitched in and assisted in stripping and waxing the floors…three feet at a time, the length of a yardstick.

Four years later, Josephine, an artist in her own right, opened a shop in the front room of the house, where she sold tiles and served tea. People would ask to see the other rooms of the house, and after more work, the ground floor was opened for 50-cent tours in 1960.

It was Papa (Joe Burtschi) who instilled the importance of history in his daughters. Mary told me her father would take them to the grave of Col. Lucien Greathouse on Memorial Day and talk about this young Civil War soldier for whom both Generals Sherman and Logan wrote epitaphs.

Joseph Charles Burtschi was a big part of the lives of his daughters. Nieces Elizabeth and Linda, daughters of brother Leo, were, too.

I remember visiting Mary one hot summer day after Josephine had passed away, and her window air conditioner had faltered and then quit. Ready to take her home with me, we first telephoned Elizabeth.

While speaking to her niece, Mary remembered that Papa had bought a small oscillating fan, and Elizabeth knew where it was. Plugging it in did the trick until George Stombaugh arrived to check the basement fuse box. He found the cause of the interruption and the window air conditioner began happily humming away once more.

One of my singular life events was when Mary invited me to accompany her to Joseph Burtschi’s upstairs study where we sorted papers and books. Much of Vandalia’s recorded and preserved history started with this man, and was continued by his daughters.

Vandalia lost a historical treasure Wednesday morning, May 13, 2009, but Mary’s legacy lives on – in her books, the gift of the "The Little Brick House” to the Vandalia Historical Society and in all the lives she touched.