Graves Beneath the Snow

The winter of 2013-2014 is one of the snowiest in Philadelphia history. I write this at the end of February, 2014 and we are finally seeing a break from the snow, ice, and cold (though more is expected later this week). Since I have relatively few photographs of cemeteries in the snow, I decided to make the most of the weather – the polar vortex, the clipper systems, the mini-ice age. Whatever you want to call it, it’s a great catalyst for the creation of new art, for looking beyond – pushing yourself to handle a new challenge!

On a weekend in mid-February, after a particularly grueling week of shoveling and navigating the near-death experience (as I’ve come to refer to my car, as it has bald tires), I needed a few hours relief. What better way to spend it than languorously strolling a cemetery in the snow, snapping a few photos here and there? Well, as my readers are well aware, I do nothing simply. (Also, I never snap just a few photos!) So I decided to drive out to the abandoned Jewish cemetery in the hilly woods of Gladwyne, Pennsylvania (a northwestern suburb of Philadelphia).

Headstones in the woods in Gladwyne, PA.'s abandoned Jewish cemetery

One thing I realized fairly quickly as I set out this winter to photograph cemeteries in their snowy glory: I do not own a 4-wheel-drive vehicle! Almost got stuck a few times with my car, so my access was usually by foot. Which has been relatively painful with the deep snow, wind and cold! I envy those who can just do a drive-through and shoot out the window! (You can read about some of my trials and tribulations in the Cemetery Traveler blog posting, “Have You Fallen in the Last Week?”)

Anyhow, Gladwyne was no exception. While the roads out to the Main Line (of Philadelphia) were clear of snow, potholes abounded! It was like dodging moon craters on City Avenue. When I finally made it through the twisting, turning roads of Conshohocken State Road into the area of the Har Ha Zetim Cemetery (see this past blog for specific directions as well as a history of the cemetery), I found the hilly private driveway covered in snow. One attempt, made it halfway. Second attempt, made it to the first house and lost momentum on the turn. Bald front tires on my turbo Saab did not help the effort. (“Winter” mode when selected on the traction console warns me that I have lost traction. Indeed, my front wheels are spinning and I’m not moving. I didn’t really need an illuminated dashboard indicator to tell me that.)

Cemetery lies to left of private tennis court off Conshohocken State Road

I backed up in the driveway, parked, and knocked on the door of the first house. Maybe I could park in their driveway, behind the tennis court? No answer. Noticed a car just like mine alongside their house, half covered in a snow bank, like some half-excavated mastodon in the ice. Got in my car and nosed back down the hill, but, as I said, it was snow and ice-covered. I rode the deep snow at the side of the road so as not to slide uncontrollably onto Conshohocken State Road.

Cemetery is up over the hill at left

I drove up the road looking for a place to park, but the plowed snow barricaded any of that. About a quarter mile away was the synagogue, Beth David, which has taken ownership of Har Ha Zetim. Maybe I could park there? No, too far away, and no sidewalks here! I figured I’d give it one more chance: shoot up the driveway to the cemetery and gun it around the bend and try to make it further up the hill. As I was doing this, I kind of figured the pull-off to the overgrown entrance to the cemetery would not be plowed, and I was right. I continued up the hill toward the two houses further up. This is a private drive, but there is an easement for access to the cemetery, which is a holdover from bygone days when there were horseback riding trails here.

I had no choice – I had to circle the last driveway and ask to park there – either that or give up. I knocked at the door of this palatial home that overlooked the wooded eighteen-acre ravine known in other times as Mount of Olives cemetery. A woman came to the glass storm door, but did not open it. I politely shouted my request, to which she nodded her head and walked away. Presumably, not to phone the police. I went to my car and made a production of getting my camera gear out (in case she was watching through a window), then proceeded to walk back down the icy, plowed driveway.

Cemetery entrance off access road

It was only about a five-minute walk to the graveyard entrance; a fallen tree blocked pedestrian entry. As I cut off the plowed drive into the woods, toward the entrance, I was surprised to find that the foot of snow had an icy crust that made every step quite laborious. I would step on the surface, lift my weight onto the surface … then the icy crust would give way and my foot would plunge down a foot into the powdery snow. Arghh. Did I really want to spend an hour doing this? Turns out I spent two. And was I ever exhausted!

With each laborious footfall, however, a new snowy scene presented itself. The shapes and shadows of the grim, abandoned graveyard in the woods greeted me in all directions. It was so difficult breaking through the snow that I probably spent more time than usual photographing each dramatic gravescape. I tried following the jackrabbit tracks so I wouldn’t crash through the snow with every step, but they trailed off into the denser woods. At one point I almost fell over backward as I lost my balance while composing this scene with the old brick crypt!

The lighting was perfect. The old iron plot fencing and gateposts were perfect. The only distraction I had was the thought of the long climb ahead of me, when I ventured back out of this place. Snow usually makes things look prettier, more pure. Not here. It just accentuates the desolation, the forgotten memories, the forgotten people. Rabbits had obviously been here, but I saw none. Saw no animals, in fact, the entire, deathly silent time I was there. But I captured some wonderful images, creating my own memory of this place, this time.

It is a graveyard lost to history, this Har Ha Zetim Cemetery. It is full of the simple art and architecture of its heyday, the late 1800s. Carved doves and flowers can be seen here and there, with names and Hebrew text still visible on many stones. There is even a U.S. military veteran's marker decorated with an American flag sunk in a small gully. This inactive "Gladwyne Jewish Cemetery," aka "Mount of Olives," was supposedly established in 1860, and served the poor Jewish population of Philadelphia and Norristown until the 1920s. It is a community of thousands of Jews, some of whom no doubt emigrated to America from Russia during the pogrom in 1881.Where are the descendants of these people ...?

After about twenty minutes of plodding down the hill into the ravine (where the headstones and cradle graves become more densely crowded), I realized that I was lugging about forty pounds of camera gear with me. If I didn’t have that weight, would I still break through the icy crust? I stripped myself of the camera bags and lo and behold, I could walk on the surface of the snow! It was strong enough to bear my two hundred pounds! Great. Now what? Leave my gear in the snow? That was a failed experiment. I picked up all my cameras and plunged further on down through the woods!

Acres and acres of graves fade into the distant forest

Gaiters would have been nice. Since the foot of snow below the crust was powdery, my socks filled with snow as my pant legs were pulled up by the ice layer with each heavy step. Sigh. Maybe this is why they call it artWORK– because it sometimes takes a lot of WORK to create it! At least it wasn’t cold, about thirty-eight degrees. However, this was way more work than I expected. But it paid off. This trip was worth the effort on so many levels.

In the back of my mind, I had thought maybe if I walked in my own footsteps back up the hill, it would be less work. The reality, though, is that the foot pattern is just the opposite of what I needed for this to work! The only way to reuse the snow holes made by my feet on the way in would be to walk backwards on the way out! Sigh.Well, at least the long, slow plod allowed me to concentrate on my surroundings from the opposite direction. This is a technique of mine that is so basic and effective, it fascinates me. Just walk toward the same thing from different directions and you’ll see things differently!

One of the best images I made here today was done in this manner. The scene with the grave marker that says “At Rest” was invisible to me on the way down the hill. When I came upon this setting, about halfway out of the ravine, I was startled by the shadows made on the snow by the dead leaves still clinging to the branches of a small tree. I automatically went into my black and white mode of thinking, where you “see” in black and white. The ripples of leaf shadows and the snowdrifts gave the impression of headstones afloat on seawaves of snow.

You know how you might spend a period of time on a shoot and then - Eureka! you instantly realize that that was the shot you were after!? Your hard work just paid off with the success of that single image! I regained control from my imagination and set to climbing out of Har Ha Zetim with that thought. I left the memory of the hard work and exhaustion buried back there in snow.

Further Reading:
Read more about Gladwyne's abandoned Jewish cemetery in the Cemetery Traveler blog posting:  Passover and Gladwyne's Abandoned Jewish Cemetery

Why Being Unique is Not Always Your Best Bet

Seven-foot SpongeBob grave marker (Deathandtaxesmag.com)

This week's Cemetery Traveler blog was guest-written by my friend Lisa Vaeth. I noticed a comment she made on Facebook in February and was intrigued by her perspective on this unusual situation. I invited her to share it with my readers.





Why Being Unique is Not Always Your Best Bet
by Lisa K. Vaeth

Spring Grove Cemetery in Ohio was the subject of much discussion last fall.  A young woman tragically died and her family erected SpongeBob SquarePants headstones.  Now, they were going to have to come down, just one day after being installed. Comments on social media and news websites across the country showcased opinions on both sides: those who believe that since the cemetery initially signed off on the design, they should leave them as is, and those who are horrified that these giant granite cartoon characters are located next to their own family’s stones.

An employee of the cemetery had originally approved the design; however, it turned out they did not have the authority to do so. Spring Grove has agreed to pay for the refabrication after discovering many community members were offended by the  larger-than-life headstones. You will notice in the photo that there are two markers – one was installed for the deceased’s twin, who is still alive.
 

Seven-foot tall monuments in Cincinnati's Spring Grove Cemetery (Ref.)

Keep in mind – these monuments are 7 feet tall! Although we all like to believe in our right to self-expression, one should take into consideration that others were buried there long before her.   They no longer have a voice; therefore, the cemetery administrators must be that voice. If these monuments were allowed to stay here, just try to imagine the three-ring-circus that the cemetery would become!   People will travel from everywhere to have their photos taken next to them. In most cases, this is not to honor the deceased.  It’s basically to make a mockery of the stone – and for those with a deep affinity for SpongeBob, it becomes a tourist attraction. 

WLWT.com news photo

How about the stones that are next to these? Would you want people trudging all over your Mom or Dad’s graves just to be able to see this? Cemeteries are meant for quiet reflection. They should not be treated as party venues. When you give a family this kind of leeway it infringes upon the others buried beforehand.

In this country there are definitely cemeteries that allow for unique self-expression and families who “design” these types of stones should look for one that would not only allow it, but welcome it. Unfortunately, this cemetery was not the right fit.

Then there is the real issue of long term maintenance. What happens when and if they get knocked over, break, etc. in 150 years? Many people don’t realize that the headstones are the responsibility of the family, not the cemetery. So, unless you have young relatives with a great deal of extra money lying around to fix their predecessor’s headstones, you may wish to consider a simpler monument that fits in with the cemetery.

Contrary to what you may believe, having a monument stand out in a cemetery is NOT a good thing. The attention it attracts is generally negative, makes it a target for vandalism and does not give the deceased the respect they deserve. In this case, a small cartoon character on the stone would have honored the person’s admiration just as easily.  Everyone grieves in different ways and wants to honor their loved ones in a dignified manner, however, it is important to think long-term and also about how the impact of your decision will affect others.

Refabricated headstones for deceased Kimberly Walker and twin sister Kara (Ref.)

The stones have since been refabricated and are more in scale with the surrounding stones.  Hopefully this will satisfy the remaining family members who have had loved ones buried there for decades, as well as the recently interred. 


References:
http://www.wcpo.com/news/local-news/spongebob-squarepants-tombstone-monument-back-at-spring-grove-cemetery-after-dispute

http://www.wlwt.com/news/local-news/cincinnati/photos-spring-grove-headstone-controversy/22535150  

http://www.wlwt.com/news/local-news/cincinnati/family-cemetery-agree-to-reinstall-spongebob-headstones-but-with-changes/24489832

http://www.nydailynews.com/news/national/spongebob-tombstones-honoring-soldier-cemetery-article-1.1491938


Author Bio:

Lisa Vaeth has overseen 28 Jewish cemeteries in Greater Hartford, Connecticut, for well over a decade.  These cemeteries were abandoned by synagogues that folded and civic organizations that no longer exist.  The Association of Jewish Cemeteries of Greater Hartford stepped in 30 years ago to ensure these sacred burial grounds are properly maintained to show our deep respect to those community members who came before us.  We are funded by Jewish Federation of Greater Hartford’s annual campaign and through funding from the Jewish Community Foundation of Greater Hartford.  She can be reached at lvaeth@jewishhartford.org.

John Whitehead: "Ain't No Stoppin' Us Now"

Ok, so I just read something recently that kind of stunned me. One of the biggest hit songs of 1972 was “Backstabbers,” by the O’Jays. I remember it vividly, being played in heavy rotation with other songs at that time such as Lou Reed’s “Walk on the Wild Side,” Stevie Wonder’s “Superstition,” and the Stones’ “Tumbling Dice.” What I just learned was that “Backstabbers” was written by the Philly songwriting team of John Whitehead and Gene McFadden - Whitehead is buried in Philadelphia’s Mount Moriah Cemetery.

John Whitehead's grave marker in Philadelphia's Mount Moriah Cemetery

John Cavadus Whitehead was “one of the key members of the Philadelphia International record label, and was one-half of the successful team of McFadden & Whitehead with Gene McFadden.” (ref.)The duo had a big hit (in 1979) with the disco song "Ain't No Stoppin' Us Now." "The song became an unofficial anthem for the Phillies as they charged to a World Series championship in 1980 and the Eagles as they reached the Super Bowl in 1981." (ref.) ("Ain't No Stoppin' Us Now" could also be the theme song for the Friends of Mount Moriah Cemetery, Inc., which has been the driving force in keeping the formerly-abandoned cemetery safe and maintained since 2011.)

John Whitehead, a three-time Grammy Award nominee became affiliated around 1971 with the production team of Gamble and Huff and "The Sound of Philadelphia" (or TSOP, on the Philadelphia International record label). The team of McFadden and Whitehead wrote their first hit, "Backstabbers" for the O'Jays, which became a gold record. It would be the first of many (37) Gold and Platinum hit records for the team of McFadden and Whitehead and Philadelphia International Records. They wrote songs for Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes, Billy Paul, Teddy Pendergrass, The Jacksons, Archie Bell and The Drells, Lou Rawls, Freddie Jackson, and Melba Moore. "We had been helping other people rocket to the moon," recalled Whitehead. "Gamble and Huff thought we were happy as writers and producers. Finally, they agreed to let us go into the studio to record one song. The first thing that came into our minds was: ain't no stopping us now!"(ref.)

Miniature golf tunnel in Philadelphia's Franklin Square Park

Whitehead began his performing career at age sixteen (in 1964) and was managed by none other than Otis Redding. His career (and his life) unfortunately ended in 2004 when he was he was shot while fixing a car outside his West Oak Lane home (in north Philadelphia). Whitehead was 55 years old. He and nephew Ohmed Johnson were shot (Johnson lived) in an apparent case of mistaken identity. The crime has never been solved. Obviously Whitehead never made a fortune in the music business, as he was killed while changing someone’s car radiator hose behind his home.

The gunmen fired more than 10 shots from handguns and then fled, and police believe the shooting was not random.(ref.) In an interview with Whitehead’s widow in September, 2004 (four months after his death), Elnor Whitehead called the notion that her husband was a target nonsense. "I keep hearing all these crazy things … they keep saying he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was not in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was home."

Whitehead, along with Gene McFadden, was instrumental in defining the sound of Philadelphia soul in the 1970s. Both were singers, songwriters, and music producers with national acclaim. Strong evidence of this can be seen in Philadelphia’s Franklin Square Park (near the Ben Franklin Bridge) on these record arches on the miniature golf course (that’s my daughter Olivia putting around them). “I Got the Love” was another hit off the same “McFadden & Whitehead” album that featured "Ain't No Stoppin' Us Now."

Nearby the miniature golf green is an odd piece of granite with a Gamble and Huff inscription. It looks oddly like a grave marker. John Whitehead’s actual grave marker is prominently placed directly in front of the old brownstone gatehouse at Mount Moriah Cemetery in Southwest Philadelphia, just inside the fence off Kingsessing Avenue. (Many people strive to keep their name immortal, but end up having a headstone as the only tangible evidence of their existence. John Whitehead and Gene McFadden achieved much more, as their names live on through their music. (McFadden died in 2006 of liver and lung cancer.)

In case you're wondering about the words above John and Elnor's (not deceased) names, they are both Muslim. John converted to Islam in 1996. “Yahya” is a common Arabic male name; due to "Yahya (John the Baptist) being a prophet of Islam, it is a common name in the Muslim world." (ref.) The word "'Iman,' in Islamic theology denotes a believer's faith in the metaphysical aspects of Islam." (ref.) Mount Moriah Cemetery is one of the few cemeteries in Philadelphia that allowed (when it was active) Muslim burials.

References and Further Reading (and Listening!)
Listen to: "Ain't No Stopping Us Now"
Listen to: "I Got the Love”
Listen to: “Backstabbers,” by the O’Jays
John Whitehead biography
Spectropop Remembers John Whitehead Gene McFadden
McFadden & Whitehead on Wikipedia
Probe into musician's killing at standstill John Whitehead was killed four months ago, and no new leads have surfaced. Detectives turned over the case to a special task force.
Read more about Islamic burial rites here

The Bones Beneath Us

This being Black History Month (February), it seems appropriate to relay this story. My four-year old daughter has enjoyed playing in one of the neighborhood playgrounds for the past few years – Weccacoe, at Fourth Street and Queen Lane (near South Street in Philadelphia). This past summer it was closed for an archeological dig. Turns out the playground and adjacent tennis court were built on an old cemetery – an African-American cemetery.

Calling my blog “The Cemetery Traveler” implies that I travel to cemeteries all over the place (which I do, but that’s beside the point). As you’ll see as you read on, you could be standing on an old cemetery just about anywhere you happen to be in any major American city, and not realize it. Why is this? Well, it’s a familiar story – cemetery gets plowed over and a playground or ballpark is built over it. Happened in most major cities in the U.S. as urban property values skyrocketed and graveyards were moved, or sometimes even forced further underground. Rarely is anything requiring a substantial foundation built on such a site - you know, something that requires deep digging. You don’t have to wonder too long why that is.

Where I live in Philadelphia, there seems to be some accidental unearthing of bodies every few years. Some of these instances are covered in the book, Digging in the City of Brotherly Love: Stories from Philadelphia Archaeology (by Rebecca Yamin). This past summer, such an occurrence struck a bit too close to home. 

Weccacoe Playground is a few blocks from where I live in the Queen Village neighborhood of Philadelphia. My daughter likes playing there on the swings, slides, etc. During one attempted Saturday afternoon visit there this past summer I was surprised to find it closed, for “archeology work.” A quick check with the all-knowing Internet and I come to find out that someone found a burial ground beneath it. During some test digging prior to a playground renovation project, it was discovered that reportedly, more than five THOUSAND 18th and 19th century African Americans lie buried just below the surface of the playground and tennis court – a mere quarter-acre of land.

Doug Mooney, senior archaeologist from URS (right), explaining the dig at Queen Village's Weccacoe Playground to visitors in July. (AKIRA SUWA / Staff Photographer, Philly.com)

You can read the news reports and watch the video links at the end of this blog about the “discovery” of this burial ground, so I won’t go into detail here. Suffice it to say that it is appalling to me that we used to treat our ancestors with such disrespect. Two-and-a-half feet below the asphalt of the playground lies the surface of the cemetery, which was active from about 1803 until 1864. According to an August 2013 article in the South Philly review (ref), “In the 19th century, African Americans had to be buried outside the city limits unless the cemetery was attached to a church” (prior to 1854, Queen Village was considered a suburb of Philadelphia).

The same article goes on to say that “in 1810, Rev. Richard Allen and the trustees of Mother Bethel African Methodist Episcopal Church [which still exists a few block from Weccacoe, at Sixth and Lombard Streets] bought a plot of land outside Philadelphia, south of what is now known as South Street. This cemetery was created for church members and the poor that could not afford a proper burial. Allen’s mission was to provide “burial aid” by giving an appropriate space and loans that were not always paid back. The last burial was in 1864. The church abandoned the cemetery because they had no money. It turned into a community lot in 1889” (ref.).

A stone unearthed at the old Mother Bethel burial site records the death of Amelia Brown, who died April 3, 1819, and the inscription: "Whosoer lives & believeth in me thou we be dead yet shall we live."(Emma Lee | NewsWorks.org)

Apparently, the church sold the land to the city of Philadelphia around 1889. Like so many other area cemeteries, the city built a playground on it. (You know the huge city block park, “Capitolo Playground,” opposite Pat’s Steaks and Geno’s at Ninth and Passyunk? That was Lafayette Cemetery until it was “re-purposed” in 1946. Read more about that here.) During the archeological dig at Weccacoe (which was performed to identify the boundaries of the cemetery prior to renovations), headstones and graves were found.The photo you see here is my daughter playing near an excavated section of the playground a few weeks after the dig had been filled in and sealed up (the same hole you'll see in the video link at the end of this blog). The cemetery's actual boundary was located closer to the tennis courts than the playground (see below).

Grave excavation near tennis court

Historic African American cemetery in Queen Village larger than thought (Philly.com):

“The remains of at least 5,000 18th- and 19th-century African Americans lie less than two feet beneath the asphalt and tennis court at Weccacoe Playground in Queen Village, a far greater number than previously believed. 

And there could be more, stacked in layers in the old Mother Bethel African Methodist Episcopal Church burial ground, according to an extensive archaeological study conducted at the city's behest and just released. 

The magnitude of the estimated number of burials - a village of the dead with a population comparable to all of Queen Village - has stunned virtually all observers.

The Mother Bethel ground occupies about a quarter-acre at the southwest corner of the three-quarter-acre playground at Queen and Lawrence Streets.”

While there is some disagreement between the church and historian Terry Buckalew about how he went about the initial research into the Mother Bethel cemetery, all parties agree that the graves will be untouched unless absolutely necessary. "The earlier burials [at Bethel] were the first generation of free blacks, and most or many were not slaves," said Buckalew. "Individuals who were the leaders [of the nascent African American community] were buried there" (ref.). The cemetery was put on the city register of historic places in June, 2013, and there is talk of installing a memorial plaque.

Epilogue

So will I continue taking my daughter to play on the swings at Weccacoe Playground? Yes, but with a profound new appreciation and respect for those below ground. Am I wrong? Should more be done? Should the perimeter of the burial ground be delineated in some way? Not sure, but at least people – both black and white – are talking. This is a good sign that our priorities are being called into question. We the people made decisions in the past to plow over old cemeteries. Frankly, I don’t believe that we, for the most part, cared that Lafayette Cemetery, for instance, was condemned and turned into a ballpark. Those days are over, hopefully. I hope that we, the people, have a newly dawning respect for our ancestry, our history, ourselves. It’s not fair to criticize the sins of the past, because the sinners were us.

I am encouraged by such events as the Weccacoe dig and this recent situation in New York: “Changing of the Guard? City Island Residents Consider a Park in Nearby Potter’s Field.” Our sensibilities are changing to the degree that it is no longer a fait accompli that our memories be covered with asphalt. The debate is over whether New York’s Hart Island’s use as a cemetery should be preserved or if it should be turned into a park. The more media attention such a situation receives, the more likely we'll look ourselves in the mirror and make the right decision.

References and Further Reading:
Watch the video: “Weccacoe Playground Burial Ground Site Visit”
Historic African American cemetery in Queen Village larger than thought
Future Of Queen Village Playground Includes Look At Buried Black History
Motherbethel.org
Friends of Bethel Burying Ground
Weccacoe Playground preserves history 
Thousands Buried Beneath Philly Playground
Queen Village Neighbors Association 

Have You Fallen in the Last Week?

I was making an appointment to get a routine physical a couple days ago and as part of the formal questioning ("What insurance do you have?" etc.) I was asked, “Have you fallen in the last week?” Well, as it happens, yes, but why would they ask that? The woman said, “We always ask.” Not that I can recall, not in my lifetime, anyway. So the question hit me like a wet fish, as I was still achy from a bad fall. I responded in the affirmative, but was mercifully not asked to go into detail. I might have blurted out something really stupid, resulting in them not wanting to make my appointment. Here, for your eyes only, dear reader, is the detail.

I fell off a cemetery monument a few days ago. I’m not proud of this. But sometimes, artists get carried away. Luckily, I didn’t need to be literally carried away from the little mishap. Now it wasn’t a big ornate monument, so I didn’t damage anything; however, it damaged me.

Good reasons to not climb on the ornamental stones in a cemetery:
1.    You might get hurt; and
2.    You might damage the monument/stone.

So, while everyone was out preparing for the oncoming snowstorm, buying up all the shovels and rock salt, I was falling off tombstones. I took a couple hours off work on this cold February afternoon, as I had a dentist appointment. I figured since I had to drive to Delaware County, I might as well make some photographs in nearby Chester Rural Cemetery (in Chester, PA.). 


 
Near the Alfred O. Deshong grave (1837 - 1913, a wealthy Chester philanthropist and art collector who was a Civil War veteran, and later a successful industrialist who operated stone quarries), there is a wonderful granite angel with wings spread wide, and a marvelous bronze of a woman in mourning. After photographing the angel, I made a few photographs of the bronze, and wished to look her right in the eye. The obvious way to do this was to step up onto the Deshong Family crypt cover. The cover appeared to have about six inches of snow on it, as did everything else in the cemetery. So I stepped up onto it, thinking it was flat. Unfortunately, its top was a gentle arch of polished granite. The dense packed snow allowed me to secure my right foot up so I could lift my entire weight up onto the stone. Then the world slid out from under me! I went down like a prizefighter, my three cameras flying everywhere!

Skiers call this a “yard sale,” when you fall and your belongings are littered about the snow around you. Cameras, hat, gloves scattered all over the accident scene. My right elbow hit the granite, along with my right hip. “FUCK!” was my clever rejoinder. If I’d been watching a movie of this bumblehead falling off a tombstone, I’m sure I would crack wiser, but in the heat of the moment, that one word seemed more than appropriate. Samuel Murray’s 1910 bronze sculpture of the mourning woman (appropriately named “Sorrow") stood above me with a look and posture that said, "Omigod, what an idiot!"

Here’s a photo of the accident scene. Doesn’t look like much, I know. But there was adequate carnage, let me assure you. Syzgial alignment of me, snow, and crypt cover was such that the frictionless interfaces between the three resulted in an element of great pain to yours truly. I actually drew blood where my el-bone hit granite and cut through the skin. I usually say that great art comes from great pain, but this particular experience was simply a result of stupidity. I did, however, produce some decent images that day.

Luckily, this particular snowfall was the only one we’ve had all winter that came down wet and then crusted over, so the cameras just either bounced around or dug in. The more typical powdery snow would have been much worse for them. I scraped the snow off the expensive micro four-thirds and the even more expensive DSLR and pulled as much snow out of the back of my pants as I could (the crypt cover had pulled my coat back as I slid off it). I limped off toward my car to clean off the cameras and test them. One camera (the cheapest, of course) was in its padded case. The other two hit the stone AND the snow. A few scratches and dents here and there, but everything seemed to be functional. My lower back, however, was another story. People heal when they are injured, cameras don’t. Still, gear is gear, you know? When I first started making photographs in the 1970s, I bought a Pentax K1000 35mm SLR. I treated that like gold. And it lasted about 25 years! These days, cameras are almost disposable. If you’re serious about your art, you realize these things are just tools to help shape your vision. You can’t get emotionally attached to them.


 
I drove over to the cemetery next to Chester Rural, St. Michaels, and began walking around. Whoa. Back aching, neck cracked when I turned. Oh good, whiplash. If I have to lie in a dentist’s chair for an hour I may never get back up! My body felt as twisted as this tree in the photo above! I’ll just tell him I slipped on some ice, that’s all he has to know. Luckily I always carry some drugs, so I threw back a handful of ibuprofen and hoped for the best (if I’d have been at home, I might have whipped up a nice Motrin smoothie chased by some honey-flavored bourbon). It was forecast that we would get more snow that night along with freezing rain. I thought I might just have to settle for paying someone to shovel my sidewalks the next day. Maybe the guy who stole my shovel last year, then came around to ask if he could shovel my walks (with MY shovel!) for twenty bucks, will come back. This time, I might not send him away.

Read more about industrialist Alfred O. Deshong
Read more about the sculptor Samuel Murray

A Winter Death

As I look out the window on this predawn morning in January, I see a lone bicyclist riding up the street. With all the snow and deep freeze of the past few days, I haven't seen many bikes (and it's wonderful that the motorcycles are all in hibernation!). It’s been difficult for everyone to get around. Difficult to walk, difficult to drive. Everything is happening so slowly. I heard on the radio that drivers need to control their “snow rage.’  

A big snowstorm hit Tuesday (Jan. 14, 2013) around 1 pm and the city shut down at two. Then everyone tried to get home. I wonder if this is what death is like, you’re slowly trying to get home. Hung up in certain areas, losing traction. Like the poor guy trying to cross an intersection, as his wheels were spinning, he frantically maneuvered his wheelchair up out of harm’s way. Seeing this, I didn’t feel so bad about the bald front tires on my Saab convertible.

It’s Saturday now and everything is still frozen, with more snow predicted for today. In a geographic area that does not see much of the white stuff, such weather just stops everything. Kind of like how death sometimes happens when you’re busy doing other things. 

“And it's sure been a cold, cold winter
And the wind ain't been blowin' from the south
It's sure been a cold, cold winter
And the light of love is all burned out”

- from the song “Winter” by the Rolling Stones

So maybe I’ll get out and do stuff before death happens. This is where the real permanence lies, the immortality – spend time with your kids or others, live life as best you can. You can try all you want to create something by which you'll be remembered, but in the end, its up to others to decide whether they'll remember you or not. You can commission a magnificent cemetery monument and have it installed on your grave, which people may admire, but the same people can easily forget who you were. Might just do more for your legacy to spend an hour with your child, playing in the snow in a  cemetery. The writer Garrison Keillor says, ...."Nothing you do for a child is ever wasted."
 

Anne W. Tucker, in the book, George Krause A Retrospective, says of Krause's photography: “Photographing tombstones, Krause particularly notices how attempts to preserve memory are undermined. Time, weather, and vandals have eroded efforts at immortality, and the monuments’ deterioration affirms, rather than denies, corruption below.”

"It sure been a cold, cold winter
My feet been draggin' 'cross the ground
And the fields has all been brown and fallow
And the springtime take a long way around"

- from the song “Winter” by the Rolling Stones

Many of us have been taught that when we die, there is something else, something hopefully better (and warmer - but not too warm!) waiting for us -  a springtime, a rebirth. But if there really isn’t anything else, why not make the most of this life? Go take you child sledding in the snowstorm! Take pictures in the cemetery during that snowstorm! Push yourself to create an experience that others can share, either directly or indirectly. This is how immortality happens.

John McCullough and Edwin Adams at Mount Moriah Cemetery

John McCullough

This is a continuation of last week’s Cemetery Traveler blog, a fine piece guest-written by my friend Julie Esty, entitled, “Death’s Playhouse” (a link to that blog is provided at the end). It is a brief account of the friendship between two celebrated thespians from nineteenth century America, John McCullough and Edwin Adams, who are buried in Philadelphia’s Mount Moriah Cemetery. In the present article, I’d like to give you some “behind the scenes” information on their monuments and their grave sites.

McCullough monument, c. 1888 (ref.)

The McCullough monument is a grand affair, a large and ornate tower of Quincy granite rising 36 feet off the ground. It rests over the McCullough family plot in Section 122, on the Yeadon side of the cemetery, behind the hilly section where all the mausoleums are. The Adams monument is much smaller, and is on the Philadelphia side of the cemetery. While McCullough was likely held in greater esteem by many more people than was Adams, it is interesting to note that theatrical actors in general found greater favor with the American public as time marched on past 1865. Edwin Adams died in 1877, whereas McCullough died in 1885. With the assassination in 1865 of President Abraham Lincoln by the actor John Wilkes Booth, the American public, for a time, held actors in great disdain. (Edwin Booth, John Wilkes' brother, is considered by many historians to be the greatest American actor of the nineteenth century. Both John McCullough and Edwin Adams were members of Edwin Booth's acting company.)

Like the bond of friendship shared by Adams and McCullough, their graves are similarly forgotten and overgrown. The grave sites of these two celebrated stage actors, being inaccessible to the public, do nothing, currently, to help keep them in our memory. The Friends of Mount Moriah Cemetery, Inc., will undoubtedly do something about that.

Regardless of the size and fanciness of one memorial relative to the other, both are hidden by the densely overgrown foliage. You would never find either grave without very specific directions. The McCullough monument, aside from having the large bronze bust of John McCullough removed, is in relatively good condition. It is fairly easy to discern through the Japanese knotweed in the winter time. In summer, the dense trees and other growth hide most of it, save its ascending granite flame, "typical of the aspiring soul in its escape from mortal encasement" (ref.).

Edwin Adams' grave site, Mount Moriah Cemetery, Philadelphia

I’ve known of the existence of the McCullough monument for some time now. With the help of the Friends of Mount Moriah Cemetery, Inc., I located Adams’ grave a couple weeks ago. It is in Section 203, in as much of a jungle of dense woods as is McCullough’s. Deer are probably the most frequent visitors to his grave, evidenced by the numerous beds and runs. The Friends’ group has not yet gotten back to this area to do any weed or tree cutting, but that’s just a matter of time. There is, however, work being done to access the area around the McCullough monument.

“The massive base from which it springs is adorned on its front face with a design of crossed foils, and the fasces of the Roman lictors, flanked on either side by the masks of Tragedy and Comedy, and crowned by the Scotch thistle.” (ref.)

Center pedestal where bust originally sat

 The McCullough monument is quite impressive for its sheer grandeur. When it was created in 1888, it cost $9300.00 (which equates to $232,000 in 2014 terms based on the Consumer Price Index). At this point the monument is easily accessible via the roadway behind the hill atop which the mausolea reside. The monument is actually situated at the highest elevation within the cemetery’s 240 acres (ref.). “Late in the summer of 1888 the granite monument, with a massive and splendid bronze bust of John McCullough, was placed at the actor's grave …,” so says William Winter in his 1889 book, “In memory of John McCullough ....” A cursory glance will show the bust to be gone – removed or perhaps stolen somewhere along the line. The bust appears to be very similar to the image at the very beginning of this article. A fascinating point that makes the McCullough memorial unique and notable is that “it is the first monument ever raised to the memory of an actor in this country, if not in the world (ref.)”

Following the death of his good friend Edwin Adams in 1877, McCullough was asked to supply an inscription for the late thespian’s memorial in Mount Moriah Cemetery.  McCullough selected this line from Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar, Act 5, Scene 5 –

Inscription on John McCullough's monument

His life was gentle, and the elements so mixed in him that Nature might stand up and say to all the world, “This was a man.”

Edwin Adams (ref.)

John McCullough's own memorial, incidentally, bears the same quotation (which appears in the photo above). My principal reason for trying to locate Adams’ memorial was to see this Shakespearean inscription reputed to be on his stone. Unfortunately and after much searching, I discovered that the black marble Adams monument had fallen, and was being eaten by the earth. It appears to be about four feet long and about twenty inches square. Only about an inch of the stone’s back is visible, meaning that the inscription lies buried face down.

Edwin Adams' grave site, Mount Moriah Cemetery

With ground subsidence and maybe a little help from vandals, this small, yet elegant memorial has all but disappeared. The only thing left to be readily seen are the twin granite entry posts to the plot. Sometimes the family name is engraved on the steps leading up to the plot, but this does not seem to be the case here. All in all, this presents itself as a springtime project, i.e. excavating Adams’ monument so the inscription can be read. It will be another in a steadily progressing series of notables being brought to light in Mount Moriah, as Pennsylvania’s largest Victorian-era cemetery continues its renaissance under the direction of the Friends of Mount Moriah Cemetery, Inc.

Front of McCullough family plot, Mount Moriah Cemetery

John McCullough was a serious actor, a tragedian, whereas Edwin Adams was a comedian. The former attained greater notoriety, and apparently, wealthier friends. McCullough’s friends’ names appear on the rear of the monument [most notably William M. Conner, who suggested having the monument built as a lasting tribute to his friend, shortly after McCullough’s death]. McCullough was something of a superstar in his own time. “Genial” John Edward McCullough “was one of the most popular and successful actors on the American stage, earning an average of $50,000 a year” (ref.). In the late 1800s, this was obviously an enormous sum of money.

“When the superintendent of Mount Moriah Cemetery, where rests the dust his great spirit once vitalized, could express profound surprise at the enduring longevity of the affection this man inspired, since the tomb of none other among the many silent occupants of his vast city of the dead, is ever sought out and inquired for with such abiding interest, such pathos of tender memory, as is that of the great actor today [in 1905, twenty years after McCullough’s death], a tribute is thereby paid to the majesty of a soul, which, in its passage through this world, briefly ‘pressed the earth but stained it not.’”                                                                                                                              -From the book, John McCullough as man, actor and spirit, by Susie Champney Clark, 1905.

John McCullough as Virginius

William Winter, in his book, In Memory of John McCullough ..., states:
“The McCullough monument stands at the head of the grave, over which the bust of the actor, in his favorite [Shakespearean] character [the ill-fated Roman centurion] Virginius, seems an image of perfect and noble repose, as calm and majestic as the day that it greets at its coming. The main fabric of the monument, imposed upon a commodious pedestal, is a huge block of polished granite. On this are reared four pillars, which support a stone canopy surmounted by an urn. Beneath the canopy stands the bust, which is of colossal size. The pillars are sculptured with vines of ivy. The top of the urn is thirty-six feet from the ground.”

The formal dedication of John McCullough’s memorial occurred on November 27, 1888:

"The scene at McCullough's grave when his monument was dedicated lacked no element of impressive simplicity. The day was somber and chill. A sad, gray sky brooded, as if in sorrow, over the still and melancholy landscape — of withered lawn and leafless trees, with, all around, the cold memorials of the dead. It was one of those pensive, soundless days when Nature seems to sympathize with the grief, the perplexities, the wistful anxiety of man." (Ref.)

William F. Johnson’s introductory address at the dedication:

"Heroes have had their last resting-places marked with imperishable marble, in admiration of their power to slaughter men and wreak misery upon their fellow-creatures; poets for the sweetness of their songs; rulers for their excellence in statecraft; but few are honored, as our dead friend is to-day, for personal worth, unostentatious charities, and a beneficent life." (Ref.)

McCullough family crypt cover

John Edward McCullough enjoyed national renown, having made his professional debut at the Arch Street Theatre, Philadelphia, in 1857. He became more famous than his good friend Edwin Adams, both during and after his lifetime. McCullough’s ghost supposedly haunts the National Theatre in Washington, D.C, where he was shot and killed by a fellow stage performer in 1885. Maybe he hangs around there looking for his head. His wife Letitia had it autopsied after he died so maybe it’s not buried with the rest of him at Mount Moriah! Letitia is buried in the family plot with John; a large black marble crypt cover lies in front of the monument, on which are inscribed the names of later burials of the McCullough family.

References and Further Reading:
John McCullough as man, actor and spirit by Susie Champney Clark 1905
In memory of John McCullough ..., by William Winter, 1889, De Vinne press 
"GENIAL" JOHN MCCULLOUGH: ACTOR AND MANAGER
The Last Days of John McCullough, by Joseph Haworth, 1894
JohnMcCullough — The Ghost of the National Theatre? 

Death's Playhouse (Part one of the McCullough/Adams story on the Cemetery Traveler)
Friends of Mount Moriah Cemetery, Inc.