ur region’s resting grounds include grave markers that tell remarkable stories about people whose lives impacted our area. Some were famous. Others were simply ordinary people who led extraordinary lives. This is the second in a series.

Mary Jo Kopechne

The tragic death of a young Wyoming Valley woman who worked as a secretary became one of the most controversial events of the 1960s.

Even more, it forever changed the political landscape, affecting the next two presidential elections.

Mary Jo Kopechne died of asphyxiation sometime around midnight while submerged in an overturned car at Chappaquiddick Island, Massachusetts, on July 18 or 19, 1969. Nobody is sure of the date. That’s due to time frame discrepancies. The driver, U.S. Sen. Ted Kennedy, claimed the crash occurred before midnight July 18.

But part-time Deputy Sheriff Christopher Look testified that he saw the 1967 Oldsmobile Delmont with both occupants at 12:40 a.m. on July 19.

After the car ran off a bridge and landed on its roof underwater, Kennedy swam to the surface to save himself.

However, he never reported the crash until nine or 10 hours later.

He pleaded guilty to a charge of leaving the scene of an accident and received a two-month suspended jail sentence.

The tragedy compromised plans he had to run for president in the 1970s.

In an especially heartbreaking revelation, John Farrar, fire rescue captain who retrieved Kopechne’s body, said he believed she stayed alive for up to a half-hour in an air pocket before suffocating.

In a 1994 interview, Kopechne’s parents, Joseph and Gwen, said Kennedy never apologized over the death, but they’d received letters from other members of the Kennedy family.

Is it possible Kennedy was advised not to apologize lest it be regarded an admission of guilt?

Whatever the case, the Kopechnes received a $141,000 settlement from Kennedy’s insurance company. They buried their daughter on a steep hillside at St. Vincent de Paul Cemetery, Larksville.

Joseph died in a nursing home in East Stroudsburg in 2003, followed by Gwen in Plains Township in 2007.

They went to their graves feeling that justice had never been done in Mary Jo’s death.

Shortly thereafter, Kennedy died of a brain tumor, Aug. 25, 2009.

Sebastian Kresge

You might not recognize him by his face. Or even his name.

But you’ll instantly know how his success may have touched your life.

Sebastian Spering Kresge, born July 31, 1867, might well be called the Father of Kmart, opening the first one in 1962.

The stores grew in size and became one of America’s first big-box stores working with mass discounts.

He was raised in Kresgeville, a town named for his ancestors, living on the family farm until age 21.

In 1897 he founded his own enterprise, with Charles J. Wilson, using an $8,000 investment in two five-and-ten-cent stores.

He then created S.S. Kresge Company, leading to a chain of dime stores, later partnering with J.G. McCrory.

His life was filled with business ventures, partnerships and success.

But Kresge’s personal life was a different story. He was married three times and was said to be a notorious penny pincher.

Eventually the empire collapsed.

The final S.S. Kresge was sold to McCrory in 1987. As for Kmart, which peaked in 1996 at 2,486 stores, financial woes emerged.

Analysts said Kmart failed to embrace online shopping. And trying to keep prices low, the store reduced the quality of its merchandise.

On Jan. 22, 2002, Kmart filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy protection, eventually becoming part of Sears Holdings. After sales plummeted for the 2011 holiday season. Sears Holdings closed 100 to 120 of Sears and Kmart stores.

A second Chapter 11 was filed and Kmart was sold to pay debts, ending an era.

Kresge died on Oct. 18, 1966, and is entombed in a mausoleum at Gilbert Cemetery, resting place of many of his ancestors.

The Rev. Peter Z. Oberfelter

It’s possible that a man of the collar was Tamaqua’s first hero.

The clergyman is credited with saving the life of a child. But sadly, he couldn’t save his own.

The Rev. Peter Z. Oberfelter emigrated from Manheim, Germany, to the U.S., where he went by the shortened name Oberfeld.

If accounts are true, he was a shining light during Tamaqua’s darkest hour, “The Great Flood of 1850.”

It began as a gentle rain on Sunday evening, Sept. 1. Gradually, it became a nonstop downpour.

By daylight, train trestles leading into the mines at Newkirk, just beyond the west end, became clogged with dirt and debris. It built up so high that a massive natural dam formed on Wabash Creek.

After several hours, the dam gave way and a sea of black water rushed into town.

At the same time, the Little Schuylkill River pushed over its banks and roared toward town from the north mountains.

Two floods converged on the town in one horrific crash.

Early published records at the Tamaqua Historical Society describe the nightmare,

“In the gorge on Burning Mountain, a tree 60 feet up the side marks the height of the sudden flood. Everything on the flats was swept away.

“A double frame house in which 22 persons had taken shelter was torn asunder and all were drowned. The Rev. Oberfeld was caught by the water while in the act of rescuing a child and was drowned.”

People were rescued from trees. Accounts reveal that 62 were killed and 40 homes swept away.

The town was isolated from the outside world for six days.

On Sep. 2 and 3, survivors turned out to retrieve the dead. One procession brought in 11 bodies. Mourners simply wandered the streets in disbelief. It seemed that death had claimed a life in every home.

But survivors spoke of a brave man on a galloping horse. He dared to go by the water’s edge to aid struggling victims. They said he saved a child, then was cruelly swept away.

Today there remains a stark, solemn tombstone in the old section of St. John’s Lutheran Cemetery on Patterson Street.

Five feet tall, the tablet-style grave marker at one time provided details in English on its east side and in German on the west. However, the east side has surrendered to nature and is no longer readable.

But on the west, one can still discern details about Oberfelter and his death.

Tamaqua’s first hero safely rests high and dry on Dutch Hill.

He overlooks the valley from a spot where floodwaters can never again touch him.