Watery Graves

 

photo: Katrina Ohstrom

After warily passing at least one Superfund site, hopping a couple of fences and trudging our way through an overgrown jungle, my companions and I found ourselves in the shadow of the Betsy Ross Bridge, at the surly edge of Philadelphia’s post-industrial wonderland. We were searching for the lost gravestones of Monument Cemetery, reputed to be visible at low tide, and despite knowing what we might find, the sight of the Delaware River gently lapping against countless partially submerged gravestones rendered us speechless.

How did these ornate granite and marble monuments end up as rip rap in the river? When? Did anybody even care? And what is rip rap anyway?

photo: Katrina Ohstrom

After we were finished crawling around on slimy rocks and up steep muddy banks peppered with broken glass and rusty metal, wiping sweat from our brows and hoping that our forearms weren’t covered in poison ivy (they were), and swatting away swarms of mosquitoes, we made our way back to where we had left our borrowed car, ate a much needed meal of perogies and borscht at the New Wave Cafe in Port Richmond, and went our separate ways, physically and emotionally exhausted from the afternoon’s adventure. As soon as I could, I got to work researching a history that stretched all the way back to 1837 and was infinitely more bizarre than I ever would have imagined.

The story begins again at 15th and Montgomery in North Philadelphia, on the astroturf field where Temple University’s lacrosse and field hockey teams play. For 119 years this was a cemetery, home to the remains of nearly 28,000 Philadelphians–Civil War veterans, scientists, textile workers among them.

Founded in 1837, at the height of an era of cholera, consumption, and dysentery, and called Père Lachaise–after the famous burial ground in northeast Paris–the rural cemetery attracted families who wanted a bucolic and hygienic setting for their loved ones. Soon renamed Monument Cemetery, it was designed–much like the Woodlands and Laurel Hill–to be an ornate, landscaped garden, suitable for strolling on a Sunday afternoon.

CommunityHeritageMaps.com

This plan endured into the late 19th century, when the neighborhood became crowded with factories and rowhomes and the once pastoral garden cemeteries in turn became rank urban ones.

After the Second World War, as Philadelphia reformers made an ambitious push to modernize neighborhoods, old cemeteries became easy targets for planners seeking new amenities like parking lots, playgrounds, stadiums and supermarkets.

photo: Katrina Ohstrom

Families of the dead were told they could relocate the remains and monuments; the unclaimed dead were moved to a court-appointed site, their monuments often destroyed. In the case of Monument Cemetery, the unclaimed gravestones were destined for a second life.

With plans to build athletic fields and a parking lot, Temple University acquired Monument Cemetery in 1956, after a protracted legal and public relations battle. The cemetery had run out of burial space in 1929 and with no income, it had become increasingly difficult to provide even minimum upkeep. Meanwhile the land–across the street from a growing public university–became valuable. Eventually, Temple convinced the city to condemn the property; title was transferred to the city then the University, which was saddled with the monumental task of relocating 28,000 bodies.

photo: Katrina Ohstrom

University officials contacted 748 families; 400 responded and 300 bodies and grave markers were moved to Lawnview Cemetery, in Montgomery County, and reinterred. Most of the rest were dumped into a mass grave at Lawnview, while the monuments themselves were sold to developers to serve as riprap to control shoreline erosion. Though many remain submerged, several are still visible from the river bank, especially at low tide.

About the author

Katrina Ohstrom has been headquartered in Philadelphia for the past decade. Her documentary projects include post-agricultural rural landscapes, post-industrial urban landscapes, the privatization of public education, experimental electronic music and cat show culture. In addition to Hidden City Daily, Ohstrom’s photos have been spotted in Megawords Magazine and forthcoming in Jacobin Magazine, and on the websites of East Village Radio and Bomb Magazine among others. Occasionally she exhibits in a gallery setting. More of Ohstrom’s documentary work can be found at katrinaohstrom.com and her event work can be found at ohstromphoto.com.



6 Comments


  1. That’s a hell of a story. Care to detail your route to get there?

    • I used to go when I was about 12. I am 27 now so it was a long time ago. If you’re facing the Betsy toward new Jersey you would stay to the right to follow the path all the way to the river. I think ky is fenced off now, but we used to Yale our bikes all the way to end. If you can get thru wo any legal concern then you just walk keeping the bridge on your left hand side until you reach the water. There used to be a hole in the fence we would climb thru. Just walk along the nanknid that’s even still possible and you will start seeing them. I remember one grave stone had the name Febe Mortimore on it. And there was an upside down car right near the stones. Right how I remember this after 16 years. I don’t know how safe it is bc it never really was safe so be careful!

  2. OOOh so that’s what rip rap mean 😀

  3. Thanks for looking into this. My husband has several direct ancestors who were buried there and are probably now in the mass grave at Lawnview. It’s a depressing thought.

  4. Thank you for your research and this story. Now Temple University and the city are conspiring to build a 35,000 seat football stadium on the site. Your article fits with my memory about the elders of our neighborhood arguing about “Temple and the city” wanting to tear down our houses on the west side of Broad Street. They were gathered on my sidewalk (on Norris Street) with brooms in hand.

  5. During the early summer of 1980 My friend John and I hiked to the base of the Betsy Ross bridge. It was at low tide. The water was very calm. And it seemed to be lower then usual. We saw the grave stones almost 20 feet from shore. There was green moss on them and you can tell they normally are under water completely. It was a very disturbing thing to see. One marker was that of a civil war soldier a captain. I can’t remember the name but I believe it was Louis Fuller but I can’t be sure. It was very hard to see. The city of Philadelphia and Temple university conspired equally to do this despicable thing. I drove an ambulance in the 80s patients I transported told me how temple pushes the residents in the area out so temple could buy everything. And the city turns its back on them. Captain Fuller had the right to be left alone as did the others buried there. You can’t get back there anymore. They closed it up pretty good. Be careful if you try. The trash .rusty metal, and broken glass make it impossible to navigate it safely

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  1. Sad and fascinating story

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