Children's Graves and Sperm Donors

The package of Oreo cookies I bought last week (September 25, 2011) had a stamp on it that said the cookies were okay to eat until January 2012. I love fake food! Food that doesn’t go bad for three months! Food that refuses to die a natural death.  So by mixing in bad chemicals (as writer Kurt Vonegut would say) with the cookie matter, Nabisco extends the shelf life of the product from (let’s guess) one week to twelve! Too bad they can’t mix up a bad chemical cocktail for humans, huh? Extend our lives by twelve times the normal. Why must immortality be so elusive?

The Oreos got me thinking about mortality, but two other things happened that day that REALLY got me thinking about mortality. First, I found out a neighbor backed his truck accidentally over another neighbor, killing him. Second, this show came on the telly called “Sperm Donor.”

The reality TV show Sperm Donor is about a guy who (indirectly) fathered seventy children via donation of his sperm - and, get this - he wants to meet them all! Despite this grossly egocentric desire for immortality, he’s trying to convince his fiancé to marry him. I happen to know two of the children he helped conceive – and they look like him!

Obviously, desire exists on the part of some people to procreate, when they physiologically cannot. It's great that we have the technology. Children’s gravestones from the 1800s remind us of the preciousness of life.

Back before vaccinations and prenatal care were all the rage, infant mortality was much higher than it is today. Couples back then didn’t have large families due to lack of birth control – they had large families because they knew many of the children would die young. Today we’ll use dramatic medical intervention (at a cost of perhaps a million dollars) to save one baby, while down the hall another medical team will be aborting a healthy fetus. What’s up with us? Is it really just about survival of the fittest?

They say that in a hundred years, there will be all new people, implying that all the troublemakers (and hence, all our troubles) will be gone. Obviously, that won’t happen – there will just be new troublemakers. WE will be gone, but what sort of legacy will we have left behind? If only someone were looking at the big picture (like the guy in the photo below), and telling us, “No, don’t do that – it doesn’t make sense in the long run,” or maybe, “Go ahead and eat that entire package of Oreos – tomorrow someone’s going to run you over with a truck and you’ll be dead anyway.”
 

Looking at the Big Picture

Further Viewing:

(If you can stomach this freak show)
Sperm Donor, broadcast on The Style Network

Vaccine History and Achievements (The National Network for Immunization Information) 

And for the contrarians out there:  Vaccines Did Not Save Us – 2 Centuries of Official Statistics

Flowers of Evil

Once in a while I discover the reason I’ve taken a photograph. This doesn’t happen often. In fact, there was a space of ten years between the time I made this photograph at left and “discovered” its raison d’être. I cannot say where I made the original image (memory being imperfect, note-taking, even less so), but I did at some point apply some photo dye to a paper print. Perhaps this was ill-advised. Regardless, I like the colorized image. 

Titling my work is not one of my strong points (my oldest daughter, Julie, used to make fun of my titles). So, any help I can get is appreciated. Not being above plagiarism, I’ve stolen words and phrases from books, magazines, song lyrics − ultimately, from other people. When I came upon the collection of French poetry by Charles Baudelaire, Flowers of Evil, it was like I found the Grail!  

I found this lovely volume while browsing the fine book section at Long in the Tooth, a fabulous used/new-book-and-music shop in Philadelphia. The couple who own it cater to a rather specialized clientele – in other words, they have cool stuff that I like. I’d heard of Baudelaire, but had no idea what his work was about. Thumbing through the book for a minute made me realize it had to be mine. Not only is this 1857 collection of poetry fabulously intense reading (forget Keats' Ode on a Grecian Urn that you had to read in high school!), but for my photographic images, I can pretty much open the book anywhere and grab a fine title line! A casual thumbing rewards you with such gems as:

"Under a stricken sky"

"The twin goddesses, Force and Grace"

"Trembling like a soul in pain"

I’ve sprinkled this article with some of my original images, graced with titles borrowed from Les Fleurs du mal. For the kind of cemetery photography that I do, Baudelaire’s poetry offers descriptive candy. Merely opening the book and reading any line will serve quite nicely. But that one line can easily suck you in. Before you know it, goths, horror fans, and cemetery travelers alike may find themselves reading the entire poem, then the one after that, and so on. 

"The black hearses of my dreams"

Baudelaire was a French poet of the mid-nineteenth century. Bitter. Hated people, critics especially. Widely recognized as an innovator of French literature (Wikipedia), his work influenced an entire generation of poets, including Arthur Rimbaud (A Season in Hell). Baudelaire had great difficulty getting his work past the censors of the day, mainly because his writing is violent, brave, vulgar (for the time), and highly sexual – all of which make Flowers of Evil a collection of exquisite poetry that is oh so worth reading! (And oh so worth plagiarizing.)

Baudelaire was fascinated by Poe's evocation of the dark side of the imagination, which influenced the sinister seductiveness of his own work. “These themes and influences play a predominant role in Baudelaire's 1857 collection of poetry, The Flowers of Evil, which juxtaposed the negative themes of exile, decay, and death with an ideal universe of happiness”(ref).

"A smile not ever, neither do I weep"

Baudelaire and his publisher were both prosecuted at the time, as Flowers of Evil was viewed as “an insult to public decency."As a consequence of this prosecution, Baudelaire was fined and some of his poems from the work were suppressed (the ban on their publication was not lifted in France until 1949)(Wikipedia). Which is all very surprising to me, as the work is certainly not as horrible, hideous, and gruesome as the work of another French writer, the Marquis deSade, who was imprisoned and sent to an insane asylum as a reward for his work. Ah, the power of the written word – and the possible consequences when you grant people freedom of speech.

The French Novel

My only experience with the French novel up to the point of my discovery of Baudelaire was a Humanities course I took in college (1978!), called “The French Novel.” I had heard it was easy – read six novels and give an oral presentation at the end of the semester. The course description was accompanied by the two most beautiful words in the English language: “No tests.” A cake course, I thought. 

Between reading Flaubert's Madame Bovary, Zola’s Nana, and a few other classics, I had to come up with a topic for my 45-minute speech. Early on, I learned to pick up on clues left by people as to their likes and dislikes (a skill that has allowed me to be nuts-on with buying Christmas presents over the years). The professor who taught the French Novel course would mention the work of the Marquis deSade every now and then, which was enough for me to pick up on the fact that he was a fan. And, not knowing anything about deSade's writing, my nineteen-year-old curiosity was piqued. 

"The tomb is hungry"

My presentation would be on deSade's work. After procuring some of his books (not easy, as its basically all violent porn), I devised a presentation. At the end of the semester, I brought a couple of the books to class, with the intention of not showing them to anyone. During my speech, I referred to his Gothic fiction in vague terms, never once quoting deSade. It was a small audience, maybe six guys and twelve girls. As I spoke, I could tell they were getting more and more nervous, yet curious about deSade’s writing. I kept saying things like, “You shouldn’t read this if you have a weak stomach,” and “Really, this is the most horrible thing you’ll ever seen in print. Please don't open the book unless you really want to.” 

I’d considered it experiential learning, in a way. People loosely throw around statements like, “That teacher is such a sadist! He gives SO much homework!” Perhaps we shouldn’t use the term so lightly?

"The sacred holocaust of your first flowers"

By the middle of my presentation, I’d worked them to a fever pitch. The flowers of their curiosity were opened and in full bloom, ready for my Evil. I picked up one of the books, Justine, and held it out to a student, with the suggestion that they may open it and read a few words if they dare, then pass it along. As I continued speaking, I totally ignored their reactions. Someone would receive the book, hesitantly open it, read for a couple seconds, maybe half a minute, close it, and pass it on. Every face was shocked. In the span of fifteen minutes, three young women burst into tears, got up and fled the room. I wasn't actually prepared for that, but I soldiered on. The professor loved my delivery and I got an “A” for the course. Over a year later, I actually overheard a couple of freshmen discussing the particular professor who taught the French Novel course. One of them said, “It’s a tough course. I heard only one person ever got an “A.”

When you learn more about something (like cemeteries, for instance), you typically become more comfortable with the idea. Not so with deSade's work. And maybe not so with Baudelaire's, either. So why read such dark literature? Other than providing witty titles for artwork, what other purpose can it serve? Filmaker/author John Waters points out a possible benefit to all of us: "No one ever committed a crime while reading a book!"

Links and Further Reading:

Long in the Tooth on MySpace

Marquis deSade

The writings of the Marquis deSade are not for the faint of heart, so I purposely avoided linking to any of them. However, if I've aroused your curiosity, please hunt for them yourself - but you've been warned.

Books by the Marquis deSade:

Justine

The 120 Days of Sodom

Dialogue Between a Priest and a Dying Man

Then there's the (2000) movie about deSade, Quills, starring Geoffrey Rush, Kate Winslet and Joaquin Phoenix (not for the squeamish). 

Old Camden Cemetery - Chickens, Prostitutes, and Civil War Vets

Just a short posting about an even shorter visit to the Old Camden Cemetery in Camden, New Jersey  yesterday. I’ve driven past this small and forlorn weed-covered graveyard a number of times, usually as more of a landmark as I tried to find other, larger local cemeteries. But I was on my way home from work on a sunny September afternoon, and I thought I’d better check this place out before daylight savings ends.

So I cut off I-295 and descended into the depths of Camden. I drove under the PATCO High Speed Line railroad bridge near Mt. Ephraim Avenue and Mt. Vernon streets (a block from the cemetery), and slowed down to dodge potholes and hookers. I get the smile and wave from one of the latter. Ah, Camden. I pull up in front of the inner-city cemetery as ambulances rush by and a commuter train thunders overhead. Another woman is walking up the sidewalk toward me. I get my camera gear out of the trunk and head into the abandoned graveyard where she is sure not to follow. I think there must be an ordinance in Camden that prohibits a prostitute from propositioning you on consecrated ground. So she just leans on the fence and calls out to me. Responding politely in the negative, I went about photographing tombstones and she strolled away. This has happened to me before at other Camden cemeteries. Everyone needs a livelihood and I know this is an economically depressed area, but it’s still a bit weird.

White marble headstones cocked at awkward angles litter the place. Large bags of trash had been unceremoniously tossed in the thigh-high weeds just inside the entrance (there is a fence, but no gate). Luckily I’m not in the habit of opening such trash bags – I was just reading up on the history of Old Camden Cemetery, and I came across this little gem posted by a visitor:

"Adding a touch of the macabre are collections of plastic grocery bags filled with headless, mutilated chickens in full feather. At the center of one cluster of graves near a large tree was a two-foot-wide hole dug nearly three feet deep -- for reasons one can only guess at." (ref)

WELL now! Had I read this BEFORE walking the grounds, I may have … not! 

It’s no surprise that this city cemetery is in such deplorable condition. I mean, Camden can’t even afford much of a police force – the Guardian Angels volunteered to supplement it last year (“Guardian Angels take to NJ streets as cops dwindle”).  So when you couple this with the fact that Camden has a 20% unemployment rate and is the “second most dangerous city in America,” you begin to see why no money is spent on the upkeep of its historic graveyards. 

Old Camden Cemetery is, well, old. The burial ground was established in 1801, with burials ceasing in 1940. The place has become progressively more derelict over the past seventy years. It hasn’t necessarily been abandoned, just uncared for. Though Camden’s Department of Public Works is responsible for the cemetery, it’s obvious that nothing is done for its upkeep. In a city that cannot even afford to employ an adequate number of firefighters, teachers, or police, how could you expect money to be spent on an old cemetery? 

Praying Mantis

As I walked the grounds, people would pass by outside the fence every few minutes and look curiously at me in the high weeds. Next time I’ll carry a shovel over my shoulder – that’ll REALLY give ‘em something to ponder! The weeds were up to my elbows in many places, and I attempted to photograph a six-inch-long female praying mantis for a while (happy not to be a male mantis - a female will usually eat the male's head while mating). A mantis will usually crawl up your arm if offered, but this one was a bit skittish (as was I, truthfully, about losing sight of my car). I followed the little critter around a tombstone, wondering if the ground below was piled with headless mantis bodies, when I realized that a big cemetery tree was now between me and my car. Stepping around it, I saw a couple guys eying its open windows. At that point, my cell phone rang and they moved along. 

Headstone base

I was shocked to later read that this (approximately) twenty acre cemetery has seen 11,000 burials! If you walk around the place, you’d guess there were only about 100 grave markers. Oddly, though, I stepped on many concealed (by weeds) headstone BASES. What happened to the headstones? In the article, “Dead and Forgotten in Old Camden Cemetery,” authors Hoag & Sandy Levins state, “In years past, when a marker was knocked from its base, the errant marker was thrown into the back of a dump truck and dumped into the Delaware River up near the Farragut Yacht Club in East Camden.”

 "United States Colored Troops"

I guess I’m not surprised by this as Philadelphia did the same thing with an entire cemetery in 1958 (dumping 20,000 monuments into the Delaware)! (See my blog on the demise of Monument Cemetery). I look out over this weed field, and see but a few tall monuments, some rusty cemetery fence, and one lonely granite memorial, the sad scene punctuated here and there by brightly-colored wildflowers. And speaking of colored, I came upon this stone (at left), a marker for the grave of a Union Army Civil War veteran who was a member of the "U.S.C.T." -- the 19th-century military acronym for "United States Colored Troops." The existence of Private David Painter’s grave is reason enough for the preservation of Old Camden Cemetery. I quote from the article,  “Dead and Forgotten in Old Camden Cemetery:”

"Like the very existence of the unit in which Painter served, the existence of his grave in this cemetery commemorates a pivotal point of cultural change in America. The large-scale recruitment, training and arming of free men of color and former slaves as a cohesive African-American battlefield force marked a watershed in both the racial and military history of the United States. Similarly, the distinguished service of U.S.C.T. veterans caused some communities to rethink their racially peculiar burial prohibitions. For instance, Pvt. Painter was laid to rest in a cemetery that, prior to the Civil War, legally barred the interment of blacks or the transfer of plot ownership from a white person to a black person." - Hoag & Sandy Levins

Washed Out Graves

Washed out graves caused by flood in Lawton, PA

I spent the last two days watching the news about the flooding in NEPA, Northeast Pennsylvania. I have kind of a morbid interest in it, like looking at an automobile accident. Not because I like to see people in pain, but because I lived through the Flood of 1972 in NEPA’s Wyoming Valley, caused by Hurricane Agnes.

I live in Philadelphia now, a geographic region not prone to natural disasters. Until recently, that is. I used to like that about Philly. Unfortunately, two weeks ago (the last week of August, 2011), we not only had an earthquake (5.8 in intensity), but a freakin’ hurricane in the same week! Jesus Christ on a toasted bagel! My kitchen ceiling leaks now and I am no longer a fan of the rain gods.

Flood waters gushing past levee (ref.)

Given a choice, however, I’d rather have ceiling leaks than live through another flood. I mean, imagine this scene at right (from a few days ago) being your home town. Led Zeppelin's song, "When the Levee Breaks" takes on a whole new meaning. You wake up to the television showing evacuation routes out of your city. I watch these poor people (and animals) in Wilkes-Barre (near where I grew up with my parents, brother, and sister) packing up their possessions and lashing them to the roofs of their cars – it brings back, well, a flood of memories. We had water up to within one step of the second floor of our house. We lost everything in the basement and on the first floor. My dad and I paddled a rowboat out to our house when the water was highest. Scraping the metal boat bottom on the roofs of cars is a sound I still remember.

My friend George, who lived a few blocks away, got it just as bad. He reminded me recently that the worst thing about having your house under water is the flood mud that’s left after the water recedes. River flood water is not clear water, it becomes muddy and brown as it rips up everything in its path. Look at the water in the photo above – its BROWN! It also stinks like fish. The mud dried on everything. I still have some in a little 35mm film container. People tried to hose out their TVs and other appliances, tried to salvage them, to no avail. Flooded cars got sold on the other side of the country, to the unwitting and the unlucky. 

My Mom said to me last night – and this gave me chills as I hadn’t thought about it for decades – “Remember we had to kick down the warped doors to get into our house after the water went down...?” 

Tomorrow, volunteers are needed to clean up the abandoned Mt. Moriah Cemetery in West Philly. At the same time they’re looking for volunteers to sandbag the dikes along the Susquehanna River north of here. I remember sandbagging on top of a twenty-foot-high dike in front of my grandmother’s house. It looked for all the world like her house would get washed away when the water came over the dike. Instead, it ripped through the dike a couple miles up river, gutting a cemetery in its wake. There were stories about the National Guard and Army Corps of Engineers collecting bodies and removing caskets that had jammed themselves onto the front porches of houses.

I wrote about walking through the devastated Forty-Fort Cemetery in a blog last year ("Cemetery Flood"), and the horrors and stench that greeted you if you were crazy enough to crawl under the boarded-up fence after the waters receded. (They shored up the levee at this point on the river last week.) Seeing these photos yesterday of exposed coffins and vaults in the Snyder−Rush Cemetery in Lawton, PA (photo at top of this article) brought back some of those memories. You think when an area is flooded, the water comes in, then goes away. Not so. There’s a lot of force involved. Cemeteries aren’t necessarily safe just because the bodies are underground.

Oak Hill Cemetery, Georgetown

In 2006, I visited Georgetown’s  (Washington, D.C.) Oak Hill Cemetery, an incredibly picturesque and beautifully landscaped Victorian cemetery. It was late spring and had been raining a lot. I checked in at the gatehouse and the caretaker, a little old lady, welcomed me. As I strolled down the wet slate walkway (that you see at left), she came out and yelled, “Be careful! The walk is slippery, but stay on it! The grass is even more slippery and you could fall into a sunken grave!” 

As I made my photographic way down the winding paths under the trees, I heard water below. Curious, I continued down the lovely terraced switchbacks until I could see Rock Creek down there through the trees. The landscaping is extraordinary here – the hills and dales provide a greater amount of acreage than you expect. What you see from the road (‘R’ Street) gives you the impression that Oak Hill is a rather small cemetery. However, the majority of its 22 acres is tree-covered and slopes down and away from the road toward Rock Creek.

Reaching the bottom of the cemetery, I was a bit shocked to see the muddy waters of the swollen creek licking at the bases of the monuments. The swift current carried tree limbs and other debris past the foothills of the cemetery. Everything was damp and mossy down there and I was overwhelmed with a very uneasy feeling, a feeling that I still get when I look at the photos I made that day (the ones you see here). I climbed back up the hill toward daylight.

I emerged from the dark woods and clambered up onto the base of a large marble obelisk to photograph its angels, when almost immediately, a police helicopter appeared directly overhead! (oddly, this is not the first time this has happened to me! (see my blog posting, "Bessie Smith's Grave.") I froze, and realized that the streets outside the cemetery were crawling with cops; roadblocks were set up on 29^th and R Streets where I was parked. Hey, whatever manhunt is going on here in the land of the living sure beats the creepy flooded graves down by the creek. So I just eased on out of there and headed for the nearest alehouse. I often wonder if anything ever gets washed away down there, off into the Potomac River. Who would know? Like the bodies – skeletons in old-time clothes – that got washed down the Susquehanna River and into the Delaware Bay in 1972. That river is like a running, open wound, a wound that never heals.

View other Flood News:

Volunteers Needed for Sandbagging
Shoring Up the Levee in Forty-Fort, PA
Flood photos at WNEP-TV's Facebook site
Susquehanna River Flooding
Hurricane Agnes: Here We Go Again  
Wilkes-Barre, Pa., Levees Under Extreme Stress after Record Crest
Cemetery Flood posting on The Cemetery Traveler 
Bessie Smith's Grave posting on The Cemetery Traveler
 Photo credit for top photo of washed out graves: ConservativeHideout.com
Book: A Portrait of Agnes

White Bronze Memorials

Every once in a while in my cemetery travels I’ll encounter a zinc monument amidst all the stone ones. You may have walked right past one yourself and taken it for granite (small joke there), but this light bluish gray material is actually metal. Perhaps you’ve knocked on one and noted its clanking hollowness. Sometimes called white bronze (to make them sound fancy), these memorials have a rather interesting history.

You may only find a couple of them in any given cemetery, interspersed with the hundreds of marble, granite, and slate grave markers. Their relative scarcity is due to the fact that they were only manufactured (in the U.S.) for about forty years (between 1870 and 1912). Given that the U.S. has about 330 years worth of cemeteries, forty years is not a long time. Interestingly, the Friends of Mount Hope Cemetery in Rochester N.Y. actually mapped out the locations of the zinc monuments in that cemetery!

Where did zinc monuments come from, you may ask? And why were they around for only forty years? Well, catalogs, and because forty years is the period of time the Monumental Bronze Company of Bridgeport Connecticut, was in the business of making them. That could really be the end of this blog, but you know me better than that! I can just go on and on ….

Laurel Hill Cemetery, Philadelphia, PA

(According to Samuel Orcutt in his History of Monumental Bronze) M.A. Richardson and C.J. Willard perfected the method of casting molten zinc in 1873, with the intent of using the material as funerary monuments. They ran out of money, however, and sold the process before they could bring their dream to fruition. The idea was to offer customers a cheap, yet elegant, alternative to stone. This was the heyday of Victorian cemeteries in the U.S. and all God’s children wanted fabulously ornate monuments for their family plots. Unfortunately for the eventual manufacturers, the Monumental Bronze Company (which made all of the monuments), the idea never quite caught on.

 What’s Wrong with Zinc?

Zinc Jesus on Iron Cross

Compared to marble or granite sculpture, zinc does look rather cheesy (which may have been part of the reason "white bronze" monuments were banned from some cemeteries). However, the main concern of the buying public was that zinc wouldn’t last as long as stone! Perhaps there were doubts about the manufacturer’s insistence that the metal would not rust. A hundred and forty years later, the company’s claims of longevity have certainly been borne out. These monuments seem to have weathered as well as any carved stone memorial.

“A Thing of the Past”

The monuments were actually cast, which means a mold was used (standard design or customized with names and dates created by an artist at Monumental Bronze), into which was poured molten zinc. In the case of a small flush-to-the-ground marker like the one you see at right (typically costing around six dollars), this was a one-step process.

Lawrenceville Cemetery, New Jersey

For more elaborate structures, several pieces were made, then either zinc-welded or bolted together. This way, monuments could be as large as twenty feet high. Flat packaging the sides allowed the manufacturer to easily ship the monuments to any of its subsidiaries across the U.S. Decorative plates (of mourning symbolism) could be later replaced with ones bearing the name of a future deceased family member. The design was actually much more flexible than stone carving!

Charlotte Cemetery, Rochester, NY (Dorothy Loney)

As you can see from the holes in this memorial at right, such a design unfortunately invites vandalism as well. It also brings to mind the rumor that bootleggers used these zinc memorials to hide their bottles during prohibition!

 City Cemetery, San Antonio, TX

Zinc-welding, a process perfected by Richardson and Willard, is part of the reason such three-dimensional castings as the one at the beginning of this article (in Laurel Hill Cemetery, Philadelphia, PA) have endured the ravages of time, tree branches, and ground settlement even better than stone. Part of the reason might be their weight. Some friends of mine tried to lift a fallen one to an upright position recently and were surprised at how heavy it was. Even though these monuments are hollow, zinc is actually heavier than iron! Still, some do suffer irreparable damage (its a conservator's nightmare to fix one of these), as you can see in this photo of the angel with its broken wings. 

Fountian Cemetery, Forstria, OH (Jeff Ronald)

Richardson and Willard's patented zinc-welding process has held up very well. According to Barbara Rotundo, it involved heating molten zinc much higher than its melting point and pouring it into the joint between the cast pieces. This melted the surface of the quarter-inch thick pieces and fused them more solidly than soldering would have done. This way, very large monuments could be made from smaller pieces, allowing the fine detail you see in this portrait at left. I like the caption under the relief, "FROM A PHOTO TAKEN IN 1865." Here's where my misguided sense of humor kicks in - I imagine that when the family of the deceased sent the order in to the Monumental Bronze Company, they included a photo for the artist to create a likeness for the memorial. The artist's apprentice misunderstood the instructions and cast this phrase instead of the man's name! Everything about these monuments was customizable - even if you couldn't afford a portrait, you could choose specific text and decorative interchangeable panels. Another interesting thing to notice about this particular monument is the cracking at its base. This is fairly common with larger monuments as their bases begin to buckle and crack under the enormous weight.

Evergreen Cemetery, Camden, NJ

Since zinc is actually a shiny, gleaming metal, like chrome, I wondered if the original zinc monuments were sold like this, with the chalky, dull coating appearing some months after being installed on a grave. “Left exposed to the elements the monuments rapidly form a tough and very durable skin of zinc carbonate that protects the underlying metal. The zinc carbonate is what gives the monuments their characteristic bluish gray color (ref.).” Although I would think a shiny futuristic monument would be rather cool, this, most assuredly, was at odds with Victorian sensibilities. Since the purpose of zinc monuments was to simply be an alternative to stone, it apparently was more aesthetically pleasing for them to resemble stone. Hence, the dull coating was actually created after the monument was assembled; it was delivered to its final resting place looking like it does today. 

Despite a nationwide distribution network (many companies across the U.S. were contracted to assemble the monuments, but the parts were actually poured and molded in Bridgeport), interest in the monuments died off after WWI. Part of the reason was a poor sales organization, which consisted only of catalog sales by part-time door-to-door salesmen. While the Monumental Bronze Company had a lovely catalog (view it  here as a pdf on the Association for Gravestone Studies' website), customers were expected to buy the monument sight unseen. The zinc monuments were not sold by the stone carving businesses where people would normally purchase their memorials. And not insignificantly, the U.S. government took over the Bridgeport plant for the manufacturing of munitions during the war (1914) - zinc is a key ingredient of brass (70% copper, 30% zinc), from which shell casings are made. The price of zinc tripled, probably contributing to zinc’s downfall as an economical alternative to memorial stonework.

Technology Transfer

During the war, interest in the zinc monuments died off and the company retooled to make other products. Zinc, you may not realize, plays a vital role in the process of galvanizing steel, which makes the steel rust-resistant. Though the Monumental Bronze Company couldn't predict its own demise, its processes would brighten everyone's future decades later. 

Laurel Hill Cemetery, Philadelphia, PA

While the zinc monument industry eventually disappeared, the company's zinc molding and welding processes contributed greatly to future technological advance. The anti-corrosive properties of zinc were put to use in everything from galvanized steel ductwork for your home heating system to the galvanized steel used in automobile bodies. When a certain technology is made available to others so that it may be used in more diverse ways for the common good, its called technology transfer. Did you know that molded plastic ski boots and cordless electric drills had their origins in the U.S. Space Program (NASA)?

References
Monumental Bronze Company
If you ever want to learn more about gravestones, a likely place is Association for Gravestone Studies
Monumental Bronze Company Catalog
Cemetery Monuments – White Bronze – Zinc
Cemetery Monuments Made of Zinc, Carol A. Grissom, Senior Objects Conservator, MCI (Smithsonian Museum)
Zinc Sculpture in America

Andy Warhol and Cemetery Photography

I’m taking a break from the deep philosophical and historically riveting cemetery-related blogs I’ve been writing. This one’s just a throwaway. I’m only thinking of you, dear reader. The intensity of all that revelation is far too much for the human mind to bear on a constant basis. No doubt you’ve already achieve Satori (Buddhist enlightenment) from reading The Cemetery Traveler. Were I to continue at this pace, you would most certainly reach Nirvana, and then there would be no reason for you to go on living. And we just can’t have that. I can’t handle the responsibility.

That said, I wouldn't have had the following experience if I didn't do cemetery photography. So here I am, gallery-sitting, staring at an empty gallery with about fifty pieces of artwork on the wall. Well, empty except for me and the artwork. And the cat. Potential customers are not about to leave their air-conditioned homes and come out in this Saturday afternoon heat for sparkling water and cheese doodles. 

For this month-long show entitled “Then and Now,” at Philadelphia’s DaVinci Art Alliance, each member is expected to sit the gallery for a few hours. Two of the fifty pieces in the show are my photographs, the ones you see below. Though only five of the fifty pieces are photos, no one's complaining – photographs are acceptable art here at DaVinci. The management has a fabulous all-inclusive philosophy, which allows up-and-coming artists (working in all media) to get public exposure. Granted, this is easier for private galleries to do than it is for commercial ones, as the continued existence of the former is driven by grants while that of the latter is driven by sales.

My rationale for submitting these two pieces under the theme “Then and Now” initially brought to mind an Andy Warhol quote: “Art is what you can get away with.” But a little pondering made them fit rather nicely:



“Then” is 1956, when the city of Philadelphia tore up Monument Cemetery so that Temple University could build a parking lot – thousands of headstones were dumped into the Delaware River to be used as riprap. (Link)

 

“Now” is Philadelphia’s Mt. Moriah Cemetery, abandoned and currently in danger of a similar fate. (Link)

Nico, the gallery cat, wanders in after the first hour and strangely starts to jump up the wall at the skull. Most of the other work in the exhibit is less morbid than mine. As the only three people to appear during my shift wander around at hour deux, I think of this great line a friend once came up with. You say it as you peer thoughtfully at any piece of art work, when you want to sound like you know what you’re talking about. You say, “It’s strangely sexual, yet somehow it reminds me of death…” Applies to anything and everything.

Deb Miller, Ray, and Ed

And speaking of everything, I had a very serendipitous encounter at the opening reception for this show a few weeks ago. I noticed this guy wearing a tee shirt with a Warhol-type design of Edie Sedgwick (one of Warhol’s actresses in his films). I asked him what that was all about, as I didn’t remember Warhol having made such a silk-screen design. He told me that when he and his wife were going through the Warhol archives doing research for a book with Billy Name (Andy’s photographer during the “Factory” period), they happened on the design and so they made a tee-shirt graphic with it. Huh, THAT’S pretty awesome. And why does it say “BILLY NAME” in black hand-written Sharpie letters under the design? “Because he signed it,” was his response.

Okay, now I’m totally confused yet wildly impressed. I was about to ask why he had such access to the Warhol archives but I thought I’d be prying, so I said, “I bought a copy of the Billy Name book some years ago when he was at a local book store signing copies.” He said, “Rizzoli BookStore on Walnut.” That’s odd, why would he remember that? Was he some sort of Superfan? I mean, that was 1994, for god’s sake – sixteen years ago! Then he added, “My wife wrote that book with Billy.” I said, kind of stupidly, “Who’s your wife?” “Deb Miller,” he replied,” the president of DaVinci Art Alliance. She’s over there. Let me introduce you.”

Turns out Dr. Miller is an art historian, professor, and author. I feel like a total doofus, as Ray, her husband, tells her I have her book. Which I have never even opened, as I had purchased it as a gift for my brother. Other than the fact that I was familiar with Name’s work as the “Factory Fotographer” (meaning he documented all the goings-on of the Warhol “Superstars”), I really didn’t know much about him. I did tell her I would borrow the book and read it, which I did soon after. People associate Andy Warhol with photography mainly from his Polaroid photos of celebrities, but he actually spent much more time behind a Super-8 movie camera as director and cinematographer of dozens of his own movies. He assigned the task of documenting the stars and sets to Billy Name, having given him a Pentax 35mm camera (which is the camera I started with, coincidentally, back in 1976). 

Our conversation ended with a discussion of Pittsburgh’s fabulous Warhol Museum and finally The Factory, and the interesting description of it by Patti Smith in her book, Just Kids (about her life with photographer Robert Mapplethorpe). To my surprise, neither Ray nor Debra had gotten to read it so I promised to loan it to them (and I later delivered). I was kind of surprised to have so much in common with a pair of total strangers. Small world, but I wouldn’t want to paint it.

When I finally got my hands on my brother's copy of the book, Billy Name – Stills from the Warhol Films, I was pleasantly surprised to find that both Billy Name and Deb Miller had signed it. Why was I surprised? I mean, I was there, wasn’t I? Well, no. This is one of the things I was uncomfortable talking with Ray and Deb about – I told them I bought the book at the signing, but I didn’t tell them I wasn’t actually there!


The reason the book (which is intensely researched and fabulously written, by the way) stands out in my mind is because when I found out when the signing was to take place, I knew I would be out of town. I wanted to get a signed copy for my brother as a Christmas present. So I went to Rizzoli’s (which is no longer there), bought a copy, and asked the manager if he could please get it signed for me. He graciously agreed. I really was bummed not to be there, but such is life. My burning question to him a week later when I picked up the book was, “What was the crowd like?” His reply? “A lot of chains and black leather.”

The DaVinci Art Alliance is hosting an upcoming juried exhibit, “Warholized,” which I plan to enter. Awards judges will be Madalen and James Warhola, Andy’s niece and nephew. Always something to look forward to. I may enter something like the collage you see at the beginning of this article, which I made about five years ago from my photograph of a cemetery statue.

Further Readings:

 DaVinci Art Alliance, Philadelphia

‘Factory Girl’ part two as seen through the eyes of an historian,' by Deb Miller, PhD.

The Watery Remains of Monument Cemetery

Hell Hounnds of the Abandoned Cemetery

Abandoned Jewish Cemeteries

Now here’s an odd little story, even by my terms. A friend of mine from West Philly told me about an abandoned Jewish cemetery near her house. It’s only a block away from Philadelphia’s most notorious abandoned cemetery, Mount Moriah. Though I used to live nearby, and have been to Mount Moriah many times, I never knew about this small, back alley graveyard.

So one hot summer afternoon, I followed her directions and found a fenced-in half acre of weeds near 65th Street and Chester Avenue (actual address is 1850 Cemetery Lane). I really couldn’t tell if it was a cemetery, but luckily one of the sides − an old stone wall − was easier to scale than the iron fencing along the other sides. Once on top of the wall, I could see tombstones along the inside of the wall and fencing. I heard a man’s voice say, “Can I help you?”

I looked back to the alley to see one of the neighbors (I presumed). You can’t just say. “Oh, no thanks, I’m fine,” when you’re caught trying to enter someone’s private property. So in some cases, honesty is the best policy. I told him I wanted to see the cemetery, and quickly added “How are you supposed to get into this place?” Always make it seem like you’re entitled to be in there. I had a big DSLR slung over my shoulder and I was dressed in a shirt and tie, so I don’t think I looked like a vandal.

In answer to my question, the man said, “An old guy who lived down the alley used to cut grass in here, but I haven’t seen him around in a couple years.” After a bit more small talk, I just said, “Well, I’m going in to look around, and dropped inside.” He walked off and no one bothered with me while I was there.

Strange little place. The iron fence looked kind of new and I could see a locked gate at the other side. While the weeds were high all over, headstones could be seen along all sides of the fence and wall. The place was small, barely half a city block in size, and had lived-in look despite the new fence. As I walked through the graveyard, a strange thing became apparent – there were no headstones on the majority of the property, just high weeds. The headstones were only located along the perimeter of the grounds. And not only THAT, but they were all set in concrete! And actually set in a little too deep, so that some of the names and dates were obscured. What’s up with THAT?

Headstones sunk into concrete

As the old wall bordered an ally, I was not surprised to see kids’ clothes, balls, and other toys in the graveyard weeds. Probably tossed over the wall by bullies for an unfortunate kid to retrieve. Kind of impossible for a little kid to scale this wall, as it was about eight feet high.

I photographed stones around the walls and fence as I made my way around (dates ranged in age from the 1870s to 1940s), and then came to a newish, professionally-made sign, the kind you see in historic parks! Turns out this place had been left for dead back way back when and brought back to life in 1999. Let’s look at what it says on the sign:

Who would have ever thought such an entity as the “Association for the Preservation of Abandoned Jewish Cemeteries” existed? THIS warrants further investigation, but for now, let’s see what else the sign says:

 

So the place had been established in 1856 by a Dutch Jewish congregation, B’nai Israel, then taken over by the “Hebrew Mutual Benefit and Benevolent Society of Brotherly Love.” This happened in 1879 when the B’nai Israel congregation disbanded. The Hebrew Mutual maintained the cemetery until the late 1960s when it too disbanded. The cemetery had been left to ruin over the ensuing thirty years. To quote the article, ‘Philadelphia Story − Learning Lessons from Eastern Europe, a Cemetery Emerges From Disarray:’

A cemetery “neglected, vandalized, and filled with trash, listed on the City’s roster of abandoned properties,” … nestled among the almost total disarray are toppled memorial stones, some vandalized, and with no surviving descendants dedicated to their maintenance.

People ask me, “How do cemeteries come to be ‘abandoned?’ Well, this is one way. The idea is so totally foreign to most people.

Stanley Barer - Jewish Leader

My guess as to why the headstones were set in concrete around the perimeter of the grounds is this: after thirty years of vandalism, they had gotten so knocked about that it was just easier to reset them this way. Most likely there were no records available to show where the bodies were buried anyway. The intent may have been to actually reconstruct the area more as a PARK, if you look at this satellite map (compliments of the Mount Moriah Cemetery website). A sidewalk can be plainly seen cutting through the center of the graveyard, though weeds obscured any trace of it when I was there. You can see the white tombstones along the sides, and the wall I climbed at the bottom on the photo.

 

So in 1999, along came Stanley Barer, the big clean-up and renovation happens, and then what? At least the fencing kept the place safe from further vandalism. According to the guy I met on the way in, someone had been cutting the grass up until a couple years ago. I decided to do some research, especially about this “Association for the Preservation of Abandoned Jewish Cemeteries.” I mean, how great is THAT?! If only such a service would catch on with other religions! (… and non-sectarians as well.)

After some Web searching, I was dismayed to find out that the Association, which was an official Agency of the Jewish Federation of Greater Philadelphia, no longer exists. (Its web links have expired and now point to a travel agency, of sorts (http://savejewishgraves.org/). Tangential links and news stories (shown at end of this article) indicate that the Association was initially formed to raise the $270,000 needed to restore B'nai Israel /Hebrew Mutual Cemetery. However, it doesn’t appear that it took on any additional projects. Apparently, the additional $200,000 in endowment funds was enough to keep the place in shape for another decade. Maintenance seems to have stopped a few years ago.

Shortly after my initial visit to B'nai Israel , I decided to stop by the Jewish Federation of Greater Philadelphia to see I could find out what happened to the Association. The security people in the lobby at 2100 Arch Street in Philadelphia had no listing of such an agency, even though this was its last published address. Stanley Barer, it seems, died in 2010.

I did find out that the 440 actual burials are merely represented by the perimeter headstones. MAYBE there are 100 stones in all. When the Association for the Preservation of Abandoned Jewish Cemeteries assumed ownership in 1999, most of the stones, which were either broken or weathered-to-obscurity, were bulldozed into a pile outside the actual burial area. These can still be seen in the woods near Cemetery Lane, which separates tiny B'nai Israel from the vast expanse of the abandoned Mount Moriah Cemetery.

The songwriter Shane MacGowan (of the Irish punk band, the Pogues) might have described B'nai Israel Cemetery as a ‘road apple,’ which he likens to “an apple that falls in the road…bruised and beautiful” (from the book, A Drink with Shane MacGowan).You just walk around this place and you can see it has character just by the feel of it, its inner city location, it’s old carved white marble and granite headstones. The sense of history is intense – where did the descendants of these Civil War and Spanish American War veterans go? Mainly due to persecution, you can almost sense the intense range of emotions in these peoples’ lives. It’s almost as if their graves have had as rough a time as they did (read more about the Dutch Jews who emigrated to Philadelphia).

The story has a relatively happy ending, however. After discussing the condition of the cemetery with my friend, she and her husband (who live near the cemetery), contacted the Jewish Federation and worked out a deal where they would cut all the weeds and keep the grass cut on a regular basis. I stopped by today and was astonished to find it all neatly trimmed like it appeared in the old aerial photograph! Relatives may no longer visit this resting place of their ancestors, but at least it has ceased to become an eyesore and a temptation for vandals.

Related Reading:

‘Philadelphia Story − Learning Lessons from Eastern Europe, a Cemetery Emerges From Disarray’

APAJC on Guidestar

Philadelphia’s ‘Lost’ Jewish Cemeteries

Jewish Graveyard Rabbit ("A blog on international Jewish cemeteries, preservation and restoration projects, reading Hebrew tombstones and more").

Stanley Barer, Jewish leader