A Child's Death, and other Unfamiliar Territory

Back in 2002, I had to teach in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Never been there before, so I checked into all the surrounding cemeteries, to see which ones I felt were photo-worthy. Plan in hand, I made the trip.

Back in the pre-cell phone era, I would get myself into trouble during these cemetery excursions into unfamiliar territory. I would take a cab from the hotel to the cemetery, where the driver would drop me off. I'd do this maybe every 6 months so I just couldn't get into the habit of remembering that the return trip is not so easy--try to call a cab to pick you up at a cemetery!

I made some interesting photographs at Lakewood Cemetery, a grandly beautiful memorial park in the suburbs of Minneapolis--about 3 miles from the center of town. Founded in 1871, one of its best monuments was unphotographable during my visit, as a sprinkler was going near it the entire time! However, I did make this one of the scallop shell tombstone, on a child's grave. Beautiful sculpture, pitiful sentiment. I often wonder about taphophiles (tombstone tourists) who happen on something like this, having lost a child themselves. My apologies for waxing philosophic, but as I said above, cemetery travel has caused me to make excursions into unfamiliar territory...

The loss of a loved one is a tragedy unequalled by any other for most people. In the "Handbook of Bereavement" (Cambridge, 2003), author Simon Rubin says "The death of a child is forever." He reached this conclusion after his extensive study of reactions of parents who have suffered the loss of a child. He found that:

"parents of deceased children maintain very close ties with their child - even after 13 years of bereavement - remaining preoccupied with their child and highly invested in the lost relationship, often to the detriment of relationships with surviving members of the family."

Reading Cemetery, Reading, PA

Rubin developed a theory to further understand this phenomena, one that explores "multiple meanings" that children hold for their parents. Not the least of which must relate to parents' belief that their main responsibility is to make their child not die, as comedian Louis C.K. puts it.

One of the most famous stories of a lost child is the Lindbergh kidnapping, which occurred in1932 (see my blog, "Voices in the Cemetery")--Charles Lindbergh's father is actually buried here at Lakewood. Not being blessed with the aviator Lindbergh's directional sense, I temporarity shelved my philosophizing and focused on the more pressing issue of finding my way back to my hotel. I left the cemetery and walked to the nearest mini-mart to call a cab from a pay phone.

I was several miles from my home base (downtown Minneapolis, near the Mary Tyler Moore statue), theoretically within walking distance, but you see, I didn't know exactly where Lakewood was in relation to that point. In my haste and excitement to get to a new photographic location, I had, uh, forgotten my street map. One problem with calling a cab if you don't know precisely where you are, is that its difficult to give the cab dispatcher coherent instructions. But I didn't have to worry about that--not only did the "convenience" store not sell maps, but it had no pay phone and the lone employee spoke broken English! Oh well, cabs get so little business in the burbs, that even if they do understand your directions, they're reluctant to drive all that way to pick you up! So, I was stranded. At this point I was about 3 miles outside Minneapolis with no idea how to get back! I did offer a guy who pulled up in his car ten bucks to drive me to back to town, but he fled.

Long story short, it took me over 3 hours to get back to civilization. My last resort--as it was nightfall--was to hop a bus loaded with migrant workers on its way to St. Paul. Over the years, I've learned to be a bit more careful when planning my excursions into unfamiliar territory!

Hear a great interview with comedian Louis C.K.on NPR.

Voices in the Cemetery

Many of the images I've photographed remind me of the experience acquiring the image. Sometimes, however, I was so scared that I never got the image!

I like to think that I'm not superstitious. However, I am susceptible to suggestion. One time I travelled to Woodlawn Cemetery in the Bronx (NYC) to shoot with my brother. I found the amazing life-sized statue at left (angels are the same size as us, right?) and photographed it. We ended up getting locked in, much to my brother's chagrin, but that's another story! After arriving home and processing the film, I found that somehow the film was grossly overexposed--useless. So I planned another trip a few months later, by myself, just to make photographs of this statue (one of those you see here)!

Not only that, but I scheduled my trip with the intent of being locked in the cemetery! The reason? The lighting is better at dusk. Photographers typically shoot at the edges of the day, in order for the sun to produce as much shadow as possible. Helps to create the illusion of a 3D image.

So I go to Woodlawn on the appointed day, spend a couple hours shooting around the cemetery, find the statue (which I've since titled, "End of Miles"), then hide and wait until the gates are closed (and locked). Having done this before, I didn't see a problem with scaling the 10-foot wrought iron gate to get out. (Also having done this before, I was prepared for the strange looks from passing motorists. I mean, in the North Bronx, I'm sure they thinking, "He's nuts! It's much safer inside the cemetery than out!").

When the setting sun was in the correct position, I made the photographs of the statue you see here. All that remained was to make my way through the cemetery to the front gate, scale it, then have a nice cold one at the Woodlawn el stop across the street.

On my way I stopped to photograph a statue. As I was looking through the viewfinder of my camera to line up the shot, I distinctly saw a long furry ringed tail disappear behind a bush! I left my camera on the tripod and walked over to, and around, the bush. Nothing! No hole, no animal. I could think of only one thing--The Bronx Zoo! What made this even more disturbing, was the deafening quiet of the cemetery.

Victorian Garden Cemeteries like Woodlawn were landscaped by architects in the 1800s with the purpose of maintaining contemplative serenity through floral beauty and silence. While in such an idyllic paradise, you simply cannot see or hear anything--not trains, planes, or automobiles! The silence is very much with you when you know you're the only person locked in the cemetery...

Already rattled from the tail sighting, I packed up my gear and continued (but this time briskly) walking toward the locked entrance gate. As I walked along, I passed a monument that had a statue of a woman with two children at her knee. I read the inscription as I passed--it was something like, "Dedicated to a mother who loved her children." As I said the word 'children' in my mind, there was a loud audible baby's cry! My blood froze as I ran for the gate! That statue is not the one I've included here--this one is simply for illustrative purposes. I was too scared to stop and photograph that one.

I've since discovered that the ransom money dropoff related to the famous Lindbergh baby kidnapping in 1932 occurred at this very gate!

More info on Lindbergh kidnapping