A Cautionary New Year’s Tale Involving Cemeteries

On the last night of the year, the town gathered where it always did: not in the square, not by the river, but at the old cemetery on the hill.

This was tradition, though no one could quite remember how it began. Lanterns were hung from iron hooks, their light trembling over dates and names. People brought thermoses of cider, paper hats, and a confidence that the year ahead could be bargained with if approached respectfully—preferably where time had already lost.

“Midnight sounds clearer up here,” someone always said.

What they meant was that silence sounded clearer.

Among the crowd was Jonah Pike, who had decided—after a year of broken promises, missed chances, and a calendar that felt more accusatory than helpful—that this New Year’s Eve would be different. He would confront the year properly. He would be honest. At five minutes to midnight, Jonah wandered away from the lanterns and found himself before a modest stone, its lettering softened by decades of weather. He did not know the name carved there, but the dates caught his attention. The life between them was shorter than Jonah expected.

“Sorry,” Jonah murmured, for reasons he couldn’t explain.

The wind moved through the trees, and with it came a peculiar sound—not a voice, exactly, but the sense of being corrected. You’re not sorry, the silence seemed to say. You’re impatient. Jonah laughed nervously. Cemeteries had a way of doing that to people: making thoughts sound like answers.

As the final seconds of the year were counted—ten, nine, eight—the ground felt unusually solid beneath his feet, as if it were listening too. At midnight, the bells rang from town below. Cheers erupted. Corks popped. Someone tripped over a headstone and swore, then laughed.

Jonah, however, felt something shift—not beneath him, but behind his eyes. The year ahead unspooled in quick, unasked-for images: postponed apologies, health ignored, hours squandered, love treated as renewable instead of fragile. Nothing dramatic. Nothing supernatural. Just ordinary regret, arriving early.

The cemetery, it seemed, did not traffic in ghosts. It dealt in inventory. Jonah understood then the unspoken rule of the hill: you didn’t come here to celebrate the future. You came to measure it—against what was already finished. He walked back to the lanterns quieter than before. When friends asked what he wished for, he surprised himself by answering honestly. “Less later,” he said. “More now.” They laughed, assuming it was a joke.

By morning, the cemetery was empty again, holding its names and dates with patient neutrality. It would be there next year, and the year after that, ready to remind anyone who came seeking fresh beginnings of an inconvenient truth: Time does not reset. It only continues—and it keeps excellent records.

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Hey, that was almost interesting, right? I typed the title into ChatGPT and this is the AI slop it spat out. The photos are actually mine. Please stay tuned for my original New Year's piece tomorrow! Same title, this time my original writing. No more jokes!

Good Grief - A Visit to Hartsdale Pet Cemetery

Around Halloween, 2025, I visited Hartsdale Pet Cemetery, in Hartsdale, New York. This is near White Plains, north of NYC. Following directions on my phone GPS, I snaked my car off the highway into a residential neighborhood. Pulling up to the entrance of the cemetery, I was a bit underwhelmed. As the oldest operating pet cemetery in the world (est. 1896), this was a bit common-looking, sedate. It was not until an hour later as I hiked the grounds that I realized the grand and fancy entrance was on the North Central Avenue side of the cemetery, opposite of where I came in. That is technically the main entrance – I entered in the rear. (I know, that sounds like a bad joke about Planned Parenthood …)

The cemetery is hilly, and it is quite a workout to cover the property on foot (you actually have no choice, there are walkways and stairs everywhere, but no roads to drive on). Strange tripod-like contraptions cover the grounds supporting hoses for watering the grass. I guess what struck me most about the place was its deceptively small size. From the back entrance, you walk down a slope to the chapel. A man was inside who I later spoke with. A young woman was tending the grounds over near a house that seemed connected to the property. Maybe the owner lives there.

Hartsdale Pet Cemetery, Hartsdale, New York

Turns out that the cemetery is rather large (five acres), but the eighty thousand burials here occupy a smaller space than eighty thousand full-body human burials would. The 7,000 memorials range in size from a modest stone to a full-sized (human-sized) mausoleum (for four spaniels). The front of the property is fancier and more elaborate than the rear, as one might expect. Walking down the slope, taking in the individual graves, was preferable, in retrospect, to starting at the main entrance and climbing uphill. Of course, I ended up hiking up the hill afterward anyway to exit the property and get back to my car. 

Many of the grave markers are adorned with ceramic photos of the deceased. What is it with people’s interest in animal grave photos? There certainly seem to be more pet photos on pet gravestones in pet cemeteries than there are ceramic photos of deceased humans on human gravestones in human cemeteries. Pet photos from gravestones garner so many likes on Instagram! Is it just because people generally enjoy posting and looking at pet photos in general on social media? 

My friend @photosofcemeteries by the way, has found and posted some astoundingly interesting ceramic gravestone pet photos, and I am totally in awe of how many likes she gets! Every once in a while I will find an unusual ceramic photo, but usually they are fairly straightforward photos of the dog in question.

Pet cemeteries exist, and while they are certainly fewer in number than people cemeteries, they are also rather difficult to find. I’ve been to some that do not appear on internet-based maps. For instance, Pine Forest Pet Cemetery in Stafford, New Jersey. Nicely maintained, fairly large. See if you can find it on any map. Go ahead, I’ll wait …..

See? Maybe if you had a paper map showing all the sand roads in the Jersey Pine Barrens, you might find it. 

Monument to War Dogs of WWI, Hartsdale

Clara Glen Pet Cemetery in Linwood, New Jersey, is smaller, yet it seems to appear on all maps. Truth is, the ones that do show up on maps seem to be hit or miss. Hartsdale you would expect to see on all the maps (and so it does), as it is probably one of the most expansive, and certainly is the oldest ACTIVE pet cemetery in the WORLD. Even though it was listed on the National Register of Historic Places in 2012, it is NOT the fanciest, or most elaborate pet cemetery! I’ve been to Sea Breeze Pet Cemetery and Crematory in Huntington Beach, CA – a city where even the pizza delivery guy drives a Porsche! That one was quite elaborate, but oddly, the species were segregated. Dogs here, cats over there.

Hartsdale’s inclusiveness broadened at some point from its original designation as a “Canine Cemetery” to an all-inclusive, non-denominational pet cemetery. Not only dogs, but other species as well – cats, birds, horses, monkeys, humans. Yes, humans … even lions and tigers (but no bears, as far as I can tell). So not only is Hartsdale nondenominational, but it is also non-species specific. They of course are a member of the IAOPC, the International Association Of Pet Cemeteries & Crematories (which you may not have even known existed). This certification organization represents “best practices in pet cremation care and pet crematory management,” which are made up of 450 standards for compliance.

The Walsh mausoleum, which is home to four spaniels (one named "Toodles")

I was intrigued from the inscriptions I saw that at least two humans seemed to be buried among the guinea pigs, lizards, and monkeys in Hartsdale. I asked the gentleman in the office if this was the case, and he said yes - but they have to be cremains (see reference). I was rather shocked to read in Hartsdale’s brochure that “over 800 humans rest with their pet companions at Hartsdale!”

Buried together ...

“New York is finally allowing pet owners to rest in peace next to the living creatures who provided so much comfort, companionship, and happiness during their time on earth. After all, it doesn’t quite make sense that humans could be buried in pet cemeteries, but not vice versa.”  Read More: https://www.natureknows.org/2021/03/new-law-allows-pets-to-be-buried.html

There is also a memorial at Hartsdale to the millions of animals “taken" or sacrificed for medical research. I always hated that term, “sacrificed.” I used to do medical research in a teaching hospital and they would use that term to describe how they killed sheep. We killed them. Sure, they were “sacrificed,” but we flat-out killed them in the name of science. The general public is probably most aware of the 2013 ban on testing cosmetics on animals and on selling cosmetics tested on animals. This began with the European Union, and is spreading across the globe, as companies find alternatives for cosmetics testing that uses animals. https://www.humaneworld.org/en/issue/cosmetics-animal-testing-FAQ

"Queenie's" memorial

It is interesting (to me) to note that I’ve seen monuments in two cemeteries that acknowledge humans who have donated their bodies for scientific research. Both Hershey Cemetery in Hershey, PA and Lawnview Cemetery in Rockledge, PA have specific sections for people who have donated their bodies to science.

"Sammy"

I get it, people love their pets. I’ve kept animals at various points in my life. Kept them happy and safe, I believe. I understand that people can become very attached to their animals, and the idea of "good grief" seems to be a resounding theme at Hartsdale. Still, whenever I visit a pet cemetery, I cannot help but think how people can devote so much love, attention, and money to their pets, while there are people around them who are starving to death. We memorialize “Boots” but many people die friendless and end up being buried as relative unknowns in potters’ fields. But is there anything really wrong with that? Is there some rule or guide to indicate for us what creatures we should focus our attention on? No.

Hartsdale Pet Cemetery is a landmark to whatever – our devotion to our animal companions, I guess. According to its brochure, the Lonely Planet Travel Guidebook lists this cemetery as one of the top ten burial grounds on earth, along with the Taj Mahal and the Pyramids of Giza. As Brad Warner says in his book, Hardcore Zen, "Truth doesn't screw around, and truth doesn't care about your opinions." Perhaps visit in the spring, when all the trees and flowers are in bloom. It is an oddly comforting place, much more so than a people-only cemetery.

Locked in the Cemetery!

Over the years I’ve been locked in cemeteries, sometimes by accident, sometimes on purpose (!). It has come to my attention that this has happened to other people as well. Intrigued, I am, so I want to gather these stories of other peoples’ experiences and publish them here. So please email me your stories, long or short, if you would like to be included in upcoming blog posts. We can publish names and dates if you wish, or you can remain anonymous. 

So please share! Send your stories my way to be included in future blog posts:

mourningarts@yahoo.com or Ed.stoneangels@gmail.com

One of my accidental lock-ins that I’ve already written about on The Cemetery Traveler is titled (drum roll please) … “Locked in and Climbing Out” and is about a situation my brother and I found ourselves in back in the early 2000s. This occurred in Woodlawn Cemetery in the Bronx. I lived in Philadelphia at the time (still do), so the public transit trek to the Bronx was no small feat. We ended up not paying attention to the “Gates Close at 4 pm” sign and got locked in. We climbed out over the fence, which was no small feat for him. You can read the entire account here.

The second time I was locked in a cemetery was Woodlawn, a couple months later, this time on purpose. I wanted to photograph certain statues as the night closes in, as the shadows flee. I was by myself and certainly didn’t expect to have my first unexplainable paranormal experience. I’d always felt that if I didn’t believe in them, they wouldn’t try to get me. Oh well. Always leave a crack in the shutters so you know when daylight comes, as poet Edward Hirsch says. You can read about my chilling experience here: "Voices in the Cemetery." 

So of course I would love to hear about your scary experiences, but I’m interested in everything that broadens this horizon. The surprised feeling you get when you realize you’ve been locked inside a cemetery is strangely akin to being buried alive – or worse yet, public speaking. Panic ensues. The situation is worse, or course, when your car is locked inside with you! 

Around 2020 in the Philadelphia area, I’d noticed that cemeteries were beginning to take a kinder, gentler approach to handling idiots (like me) who found themselves accidentally locked in a cemetery. The sign at left is incredibly helpful, but what about the in the pre-cell phone era? West Laurel Hill Cemetery in Bala Cynwyd, PA, installed a sign on the inside of its front gate that read something like, “If locked in, honk horn.” I guess this is great if you have your car, but if you don’t, you’re stuck inside where the zombies will eat you. I’d assumed that the horn thing was cleverly rigged up to an automatic gate-opener device, but it turns out that is not the case. A friend who worked there told me that the funeral director on-call would receive a notification that a car horn beeped, and they would then have to drive to the cemetery to open the gate. Can’t imagine the on-call person was thrilled with that task.

In the winter of 2020, I was heading toward the exit gate at Holy Cross Cemetery in Yeadon, PA, during a wicked snowstorm (yes, I was in the cemetery photographing snow as it accumulated on the monuments). Closing time was 4 pm, so at 3:30, I drove toward the entrance hoping they didn’t close early. Through the steadily falling snow, I’m watching the guy close one of the two gates! I pulled up to him and asked if they were closing early. He said yes. I said, “What would I have done if I came here at 4 pm and found the gate locked?” He said, “Just call 911 – the Police have a key.” Huh. That would never have occurred to me. Good to know!

Prior to cell phones, I'm guessing more people got locked in cemeteries. I posted requests for these stories on social media back around Halloween 2025 and then during a street party near my house, one of my neighbors came up to me and said, “Hey, I have a cemetery story for you.”

She proceeds to tell me that back in college (I’m guessing around 2005), she and a classmate were accidentally locked in a cemetery. They had to climb out over the fence. I asked where this was. To my utter surprise, she said Woodlawn Cemetery in the Bronx – the very same one that I had been locked in! (Alright, maybe I should narrow my sights here and focus just on people who have been locked in this particular cemetery!) She said as part of an English Literature project, they thought it would be cool to visit writer Herman Melville’s grave. They ended up getting locked in accidentally. When I asked her how they got out, I did expect a surprise ending, but, she said matter-of-factly,“We climbed over the gate.” Oh. No scary experiences, nothing? Nope. I did mention to her that if it was the rear, Jerome Avenue gate, it was the same one my brother and I climbed over. Not an insignificant feat, I might add, as the gate is probably twelve feet high.

I suppose what got me thinking about collecting these stories is the 911 call a friend of mine made this past summer from a cemetery in New Hampshire. She found herself locked in at dusk (but, she swears, the gate had been closed PRIOR to the posted closing time!). She had the extra juicy experience of being locked in with her car! At night! I’m not sure how much she panicked (knowing her, probably not much), but she had the presence of mind to call 911. They dispatched …. a fire engine! With flashing lights and everything! One would assume that she explained to the 911 dispatcher that she was locked in a cemetery, not on fire. Regardless, the firemen got out of the truck with bolt cutters and cut the chain that locked the gate! 

Then there was the woman who sent me this story. She called an Uber to pick her up outside New Orleans’ Metairie Cemetery. Not unusual for NOLA, since its cemeteries are one of its biggest tourist attractions. However, she didn’t realize the gates were closed and she was locked in until AFTER she called the Uber. The driver pulled up as she threw herself over the spiked fence and landed in the decorative fountain! The driver never said a word, because one can only assume, Elizabeth says, that it's because “New Orleans is one of the few places in the world where picking up an Uber rider knee deep in a cemetery fountain they just jumped over a fence into, doesn't even rank on the strangest things” they've seen.

Imagine climbing over these spikes at Cathedral Cemetery in Philadelphia!

So, these are just a few examples of what I’ve heard so far. I’m not necessarily looking for dramatic stories, but I am looking for wider fields of fancy, as they say in the Pirates of the Caribbean movies. What I’d like to focus on is how you felt when you were locked in. I know how I've felt!

So please share! Thank you!

Send your stories my way to be included in future blog posts:

mourningarts@yahoo.com or Ed.stoneangels@gmail.com

I’ll leave you with something a groundskeeper once said to me as it was nearing closing time at Baltimore’s Greenmount Cemetery. I was photographing on the grounds and this guy pulls up in a pickup truck. He says, “Gates are closing in fifteen minutes.” I don’t know what prompted me to say, “Then what happens?” Without a pause, he says, “Then we release the dogs.” Good enough for me.

Lake Lawn Metairie Cemetery, New Orleans

On a blazingly hot and dazzlingly Friday morning this past June, I left New Orleans’ Greenwood Cemetery and walked the two blocks along City Park Avenue to where it turns into Metairie Road and the Lake Lawn Metairie Cemetery begins. I wasn’t sure where the entrance was, but when I arrived at the corner of Metairie Road and Pontchartrain Boulevard, the fence was low so I hopped over it and onto the property. I’m certainly no stranger to climbing fences to get into cemeteries, so clambering over a four-foot-high steel fence with no barbed wire was hardly a problem. Also, I wasn’t trespassing – the cemetery was open – I just didn’t know where the nearest entrance was.

Metairie Cemetery map showing original horse race track oval at left (ref.)

I never did find any of the official entrances – the place is so large (150 acres) you could walk for days and not find one. What adds to the feeling of being lost in here, for me, is the fact that unlike many other Victorian cemeteries, it is all flat. There are no hills, valleys, or lakes to break up the landscape. Nothing to really help you get your bearings at a glance. Without a map and a smartphone GPS, I think I might still be there walking in circles! It's layout is in fact, circular and confusing. Ovular, to be more precise – the cemetery had been a horserace track before the Civil War! The name "Lake Lawn" refers to the surrounding geographic area, by the way, which is part of the Lake District (Lake Pontchartrain), and "Metairie" is a neighborhood within the city of New Orleans. I’ve referred to this cemetery as the Metairie for about twenty years, so I will continue to refer to the city’s crown jewel by that name.

Given my interest in abandoned cemeteries (I had a book published this year called Abandoned and Forgotten Cemetries of Philadelphia and its Environs), a friend suggested recently that the cemeteries of New Orleans are the opposite of abandoned cemeteries! Meaning, that most of them are not only meticulously cared for, but are easily New Orleans’ main tourist attractions. There are about FORTY cemeteries to chose from if you want to visit, ranging from those of the grand Victorian style like Metairie, to the grim and scary vampire cemeteries like Lafayette Cemetery No. 1 such as have been popularized by writer Anne Rice. And there is everything in between. If you are a cemetery traveler, NOLA is a crucible of wonder.

One of many grand tombs at the Metairie

I would imagine that no matter how or at what point you enter the Metairie, you would be greeted with astounding funerary architecture and sculpture. The opulence and grandiosity of these monuments is in itself very distracting, leading you off in unplanned directions. So there I was, in the southeast corner near the intersection of Metairie Road and Pontchartrain Boulevard (better known as I-10, or Interstate Ten). The cemetery, being south of I-10, of course brought to mind that great Sonny Landreth song, South of I-10. Landreth is a Louisiana musician who has developed a signature slide technique on electric guitar that is absolutely stunning (click link to hear the song!). But I digress (which is what most endears me to you, right?).

Once inside the Metairie, I didn’t know which way to turn. The only things I REALLY wanted to see were the “Lost at Sea” angel memorial sculpture and Anne Rice’s mausoleum. You can spend days in here and not see everything. I had only a few hours. One thing I didn’t do was look up some of the other interesting memorials in the Metairie. 

As I look at the map of the property on my laptop while writing this, I realize that I totally missed the opportunity to see and photograph the “Weeping Angel” in the Chapman H. Hyams mausoleum. This is one of several reproductions of the 1894 Angel of Grief that English sculptor William Wetmore Story created for his wife Emelyn’s grave in the Protestant Cemetery in Rome, Italy (I was in Rome a few years ago, and also missed seeing the original). I had photographed another in a cemetery in Colma, California, years ago (see my photo below), and I really would’ve like to have seen the one in the Metairie (here's a link to that one, truly an exquisite sculpture), but, I didn’t do my research ahead of time. To make matters worse, I realize now that I was only one section away from the Weeping Angel - when I hopped the fence, I went in the opposite direction. 

"Angel of Grief" version in Cypress Lawn Memorial Park, Colma, CA.

Louisiana Division-Army of the Tennessee tomb

As I tried to get my bearings on the grounds, I realized I was right behind the tumulus (burial mound with crypts inside) of the Louisiana Division-Army of the Tennessee. The guy who is buried in here actually STARTED the Civil War! According to Michael Murphy’s book, Fear Dat, General Pierre Gustave Toutant-Beauregard ordered the first shots fired on Fort Sumpter. Speaking of the French, I noticed two guys in cowboy hats moseying toward the gated entrance to the tomb. I figured they’d have Southern good-ole-boy drawls so I moved in on them, thinking I’d catch some audio, to pair with a video of the memorial. As I approached them, they were speaking … French.

One of the seemingly countless lanes of tombs that make up the Metairie.

I checked Google maps on my phone to locate Anne Rice’s mausoleum (she died in 2021), thinking it might be all black and Gothy, with who knows what offerings laid at her door. They keep having to clean voodoo queen Marie Laveaux’s tomb in St. Louis Cemetery No. 1 because of all the offerings -  graffiti, beads, and candles left there. I figured Rice’s might be marked similarly. I got my bearings and headed in the wrong direction. By the way, when I was last in NOLA in the early 2000s (pre-Hurricane Katrina in 2005), I just walked into St. Louis Cemetery No. 1, and saw Laveaux's tomb. These days, it is only open for guided tours. A shame, really, because it is one of the few cemeteries that is within easy walking distance of the French Quarter.

Wildlife of the Metairie

The Metairie is so large, so opulent, so confusing, that I really wished I had a car, like the last time I was here. As I didn’t have a car for this trip, I took a ride-share from the airport a few days prior. As we passed over a large cemetery, I asked the driver if he had ever been in the Metairie. He responded, “Not yet.” Ha. He then added, “If I was going to pay a million dollars to be buried in there, I would want it to come with a guarantee that I’d get into heaven.” You could easily drop a cool mil for a standard-sized tomb here. 

During my last visit, I stumbled upon these magnificent angels atop a tomb. I named the photo “Lost at Sea” because this Aldige family tomb commemorates a “mother, sister, and niece lost at sea on steamship Burgoyne, July 4, 1898.” I really wanted to see these beautiful angels again, but had no idea where in this vast place they were.  As I ooh’d and ah’d my way past a life-sized bronze buffalo and cathedral-like white marble mausoleums, I came to a small glade of trees. It was very hot this morning and I swigged some of my water. As I ducked under the trees to get out of the piercing sun, a flock of birds singing a plangent song drew my attention. As I looked in their direction, I saw the angels! They were atop a tomb, a bit smaller than I’d remembered. Still, I suppose, they were life-sized.

When I was here in the early 2000s, I photographed these angels with black and white film (there were no digital cameras back then) and a zoom lens. I had a real camera (digital) with me this time and photographed the angels again with a zoom lens. Not only did I have rudimentary photographic equipment that first time, but I had a rudimentary understanding of the monument. “Lost at Sea” has kind of a romantic connotation, doesn't it? If you look at my recent image below, you’ll see that the angels were sculpted standing in a boat. Again, symbolic, romantic. However, when you think about a steamship accident, it does conjure horrible thoughts related to a boiler blowing up and the ship going down in flames. Turns out, the situation involving the deaths of the three Aldige women was far worse. The phrase “women and children first” has a chilling meaning related to this monument. But I will save that for a future blog post.

When I was last in NOLA, I was mainly photographing the angel statues in cemeteries. I mean, that’s ALL I photographed in HUNDREDS of cemeteries. I did that for ten years, paying little attention to epitaphs, engravings, or any story behind the monument. I’m surprised I even read the “Lost at Sea” engraving back then on this particular memorial. I was mainly enamored with the art and architecture found in these Victorian sculpture gardens. I might tell my younger self to read more inscriptions! As my friend Joe Lex says in his book, All Bones Considered, each headstone and each inscription silently pleads for you to listen to its story. As I looked up the Aldige monument on the internet to write this, I am shocked at its history. But again, I’ll save that for a future post.

Memorial stone in the Metairie Cemetery, New Orleans

I think maybe next time I visit a cemetery in some distant land, I really should plan a little better. As I was researching for this blog, I inadvertently discovered that one of my heroes, country-rock pioneer and star Gram Parsons, is buried about a mile from the Metairie in the Garden of Memories Cemetery. If I’m ever back in NOLA, I must visit his grave. 

Society tomb in Metairie

After leaving the "Lost at Sea" angels, I walked between rows and rows of tombs, which seemingly went on forever. I kept checking my phone map for Anne Rice’s mausoleum, to make sure I was not veering off in the wrong direction again. But then I saw an entire roadway flanked with society crypts, or community mausoleums. Some were bright and gleaming white, others were friable and dilapidated. Some crypt covers were missing or ajar. Oh well, here I go veering away from Rice’s mausoleum… when it comes to exploring cemeteries, the Occam’s razor philosophical principle does not hold – NEVER take the simplest route in a cemetery! You’ll miss something!

Inside an open crypt in a society tomb

Author Anne Rice's mausoleum

If there are dry-rotted bedclothes, shoes, and pillows inside some of these open crypts, where are the bones? I’ll leave that up to your imagination. If nothing else, all of New Orleans stirs the imagination! Some entrepreneur’s creativity was piqued by the mysterious water-filled canal that runs through the center of the property and behind Anne Rice’s mausoleum. As I was using my phone to check Google maps for the location of her mausoleum, I hit on an ETSY site where someone is selling small bottles of water from this canal! Sort of like water from Lourdes! (Lourdes water is more expensive than water from behind Anne Rice’s final resting place, $7.99 versus $5.60, in case you’re wondering). The Rice mausoleum was rather plain. A few beads on the door, nice stained glass. Elegant. Stately.

Lake Lawn Metairie Cemetery is quite easy to get lost in. Part of it is a giant oval from the original horse race track. According to Michael Murphy’s book, Fear Dat, prior to the Civil War, the property had been a country club with a race track. According to Murphy, the club refused membership to a local newly-rich Yankee, Charles T. Howard. His response? He vowed to one day buy the club and racetrack and turn it into a cemetery. After the war, many of the formerly-wealthy prominent citizens could not keep the club in operation so it was put up for sale. Guess who bought it? And guess what he did with it?

At that point I needed to head out of the cemetery, as I needed to keep an appointment. Also, it was oppressively hot and if I didn't get out of there soon, I thought I'd die. It becomes difficult to appreciate all the architectural and sculptural beauty around you when the sweat is pouring off your face and stinging your eyes! There was a coffee shop a few blocks away near the trolley stop where I could buy a few bottles of water and freshen up. I just needed to get there. Walking out of the cemetery proved to be a daunting task. It was getting hotter and I was feeling fatigued. Tempting though that bottle of Abita beer was at the base of a monument, it was really just taunting me.

I walked under palm trees and by some incredibly sculpted gardens around monuments and mausoleums, more fine art horticulture that you would find in most arboretums and Victorian gardens. Honestly, I never saw a cemetery that oozed this much wealth – old and new money. Beauty and color and life in every direction - there is something unusual and astounding at every turn at the Metairie. Exploring this place is like finding five bucks in every pocket of your cargo pants.

And what better place to spend that cash than the Morning Call Coffee Stand next to where the colorful red trollies converge at the “Cemeteries Transit Terminal.” There are so many cemeteries in this area it is difficult to believe they did not name the place “Mourning Call Coffee Stand.” By the time I got into their air conditioning, I was exhausted. It was probably only 11 a.m. but it was close to a hundred degrees and I had been outside for four hours. I downed two bottles of cold water then went to the bathroom to freshen up. Then I had some beignets and iced coffee.