The Veiled Lady of Northumberland

 

Last known photograph of May Burr

On March 6, 1930, one of the most eccentric residents of Northumberland passed away at the age of seventy. May Burr seldom appeared in public, but whenever she did, she always wore a white veil made from a sugar sack which completely hid her face. But what was the secret of Miss Burr's shame?

In the early 19th century, a tavern once stood in the borough of Northumberland at the corner of King and Front Streets. This tavern, known as the Cross Keys (later renamed the Central Hotel), was once owned by Henry H. Burr and his wife, Sarah. After Henry's death in 1842, Sarah continued to run the tavern with her son, George. During this period, the Cross Keys became a famous stopping place for weary travelers; U.S. Senator Simon Cameron, millionaire William Astor, and Philadelphia financier Nicholas Biddle were known to be guests.

Sometime in the 1860s, George Burr and his wife, Mary, along with their teenage daughter Clara and their infant daughter, May-- who would later become the infamous "Veiled Lady", left Northumberland and relocated first to Shamokin, where George became the proprietor of the Douty House Hotel, and later to Lewisburg, where he became the proprietor of the Cameron House. While the family lived in Lewisburg, May enrolled in the female institute at Bucknell University (then known as the University at Lewisburg), and graduated from the class of 1878 as valedictorian. May was also known as an exceptional piano player, and was described as "a girl of striking beauty and unusual talent." Sadly, her sister's life would take a much different trajectory. Clara, who became a schoolteacher, developed tuberculosis and passed away in 1882 at the age of 26. 

The Centennial Pear

Devastated by the loss, the Burrs returned to Northumberland, and eventually established another tavern on Market Street (present-day King Street) known as the Burr House (by this time the Cross Key tavern had become the family home of Dr. Joseph Priestley, the great-grandson of the famed scientist who discovered oxygen). The Burr House didn't receive as many famous visitors as the tavern established by George's father, but it was something of a tourist attraction in its own right; behind the building one could find the oldest fruit-bearing tree in Northumberland County. Planted in 1775 by an early resident named William Hoffman after the construction of his log home, this tree came to be known locally as the "Centennial Pear Tree", and May sold the pears from this ancient tree throughout town, often while riding her beloved white horse.

George and Mary found a great deal of success with the Burr House, until George fell gravely ill in 1895. He had developed skin cancer, and his condition worsened until he was eventually confined to his bedroom. Unable to lie down, he spent the final year of his life propped up in a chair, and he died in March of 1896.

It seemed that May was never the same after her father's death, and her eventual descent into eccentricity has often been blamed on grief. Others, however, said that she had been mentally unbalanced since the day that her her father shot and killed her beloved horse, which had suffered a broken leg. 

"When the horse was shot, she became hysterical and brooded day and night because she had lost it," a relative later recalled. "From that time on, she became queer. She began to dress in peculiar garb."

The 'peculiar garb' didn't begin with May's inclination to cover her head with a sugar sack whenever she left the house-- that wouldn't come until much later. May was known to wear outlandish costumes of her own design, and she presented such a curious sight that children in the neighborhood mocked her relentlessly. Sometimes they even threw rocks at her.

The Disappearance of May Burr

By 1901, most residents of Northumberland were well-acquainted with the strange habits of May Burr, who was now a middle-aged woman of forty-one, but they never could have predicted her sudden and mysterious disappearance that summer. When friends of the Burrs attempted to locate her, without success, a search party was formed, but not a trace of May could be found. With the river only a short walk away from the family home, thoughts inevitably turned to suicide. But then, several days after her disappearance, Mary Burr received a letter from her daughter. Sent from New York, May's letter stated, rather vaguely, that she was going abroad.

It wasn't until September when the mystery of her whereabouts was cleared up, after a letter arrived written by Aaron Homer Byington, the U.S. Consul in Naples, Italy. The letter, dated September 2, read:

A Miss Burr (no first name given) of Sunbury, Pennsylvania, U.S.A, reached Naples this morning, mildly insane. She escaped surveillance and escaped from the Prince liner, in which she came from New York City, and was traced to the Rome depot, whither it is presumed she has gone. She told people on the ship that her mother was very deaf and kept a hotel at Sunbury. Her relatives should be informed, if known. She should be cared for.

Respectfully,
A.H. Byington

It's unclear why May had decided to go to Italy, or what she did when she got there. Some accounts from those who knew her state that she had gone to Europe in an attempt to further her musical education. Other accounts stated that May had gone with a secret suitor but had returned to Pennsylvania alone. One account even mentioned that May had gone to visit the Pope, who received her personally. The rumors about her vanishing act circulated for years, with each rumor more unbelievable than the last. One can't help but chuckle at the thought of Pope Leo XIII entertaining a visitor wearing a sugar sack over her head. But what is definitively known is that May Burr stayed with an aunt in Susquehanna County for several weeks upon her return, and by mid-November she was back in Northumberland with her mother.

Descent into Madness

Five years later, in October of 1906, Mary Burr passed away and was buried alongside her husband at the family plot at Riverview Cemetery. This effectively left May alone in the world, and for the next quarter century, she seldom left the Burr House. She did, however, continue to take in boarders for the next few years, and even allowed the local symphony to rent rooms in the Burr House as club headquarters. But, gradually, she began to retreat deeper into solitude, with May living the life of a recluse inside the old tavern that had been a welcoming refuge for strangers since the days of the stagecoach.

And then, in February 8, 1930, May emerged from behind the barred doors and drawn curtains, just long enough to pin a note to the century-old walnut tree in front of her home. It read: Tell Mrs. Henrietta Johnson I am ill. Bring the stove.

When Mrs. Johnson arrived, she found the aged spinster in a state of near-starvation, nearly frozen to death inside the unheated home. Strangely, the inside of the Burr House appeared just as it did when her parents, George and Mary, were proprietors of the venerable tavern in its heyday. The bar looked as if someone might saunter in at any moment for a drink, the rooms appeared ready to accommodate a weary traveler. It was as though it had been frozen in time-- a happier time, when May was the neighborhood belle astride a magnificent white pony, selling pears from the ancient Centennial Tree behind the tavern.

Mrs. Johnson and a nurse tended to May during what proved to be her final illness. According to her caretakers, May revealed herself to be an excellent conversationalist. But as the days stretched into weeks, she once again withdrew into her private world, and she confided to her nurse that she was praying for death, having finally become aware of just how much she had missed in life. On March 5, 1930, May Burr drew her last breath, taking all of her mysteries to the grave.

 

Her Face Finally Revealed

Thousands of curious locals passed through the Burr House after May's death, eager to catch a glimpse of the face which had been concealed by a veil for more than forty years. It was reported that there were still traces of the mysterious woman's exceptional beauty, untarnished by her eccentric habits and decades of loneliness. As to put at least one of the longstanding rumors to rest, it was revealed that the dead woman's teeth were perfectly normal.

On March 7, one newspaper wrote: It is expected that by tonight, every resident of Northumberland who is able, will have visited the home to see the features of a woman they had known for many years, but whose face they had never been revealed to them. All had heard in life that Miss Burr was the most beautiful woman in Northumberland, and her her features in death have proved this to be a fact.

One week after May's death, a terrific March thunderstorm swept over the Susquehanna Valley. The Centennial Pear Tree, the oldest and most famous fruit tree in the county, was uprooted by the mighty gusts of wind, never to bear fruit again. Oddly, sixteen years later, the large walnut tree, upon whose weathered trunk an ailing May Burr had pinned her last note, was felled by another spring storm (the 60-foot-tall tree was hauled away by Lewis Kile, who was the subject of a previous article). After May's death, the venerable Burr House was purchased by the Moose Lodge and the log portion of the building, which had served as the tavern, was torn down.



Sources:

The Sunbury Gazette, March 26, 1842.
Northumberland Public Press, Oct. 27, 1882.
Northumberland Public Press, Nov. 1, 1889.
Sunbury Gazette, Sept. 20, 1901.
Northumberland Public Press, Nov. 2, 1906.
Northumberland Public Press, April 24, 1908.
Northumberland Public Press, July 29, 1910.
Shamokin News-Dispatch, March 7, 1930.
The Miltonian, March 20, 1930.
Sunbury Daily Item, Aug. 5, 1978.