LAUREL HILL CEMETERY, PHILADELPHIA


Whereas St. Andrew's Cemetery is leafy, quiet, modest, and dates back to the 17th century, Laurel Hill Cemetery is Victorian to its marble core: grand, theatrical, obvious, pompous, mawkish, bombastic, expressing almost unimaginable wealth. Thousands of hand-carved graves, crypts and mausoleums dot this steep hill overlooking the Schuylkill River; I cannot imagine being able to find this many people in modern-day Philly who could afford such an extravagance. Maybe I just mill about in the wrong social circles.

I'm sure the effect the departed of Laurel Hill were going for was dignity and grandeur, but it seems most modern people who see this overwrought necropolis leave a bit amused and incredulous over the expression of sheer hubris on display here. By modern standards, it comes off as being a bit much: Overstated, gooey in both conception and execution.

Of course, this liability is also its greatest asset, which is why so many people flock to visit. Whether you like it or not, you must admit the place is sheer spectacle.



You can see the toll pollution and vandalism have taken on the place.

Despite having a brutal, triumphant air, Laurel Hill retains a glimmer of the Parnassian and the melancholy. But barely.



Many of the old metal doors have held up, but during the 70's and 80's, many of the inactive family crypts were walled up to repel vandals.



Period styles like Egyptian were employed with abandon. My friend Bill, who worked on the natural rock outcropping-cum-hillside crypt of polar explorer Elisha Kent Kane, recalled that Kane's sarcophagus was done in the ancient pharaonic style, with a glass face-window through which Bill saw Kane's mummified remains, still in his 1850s-era military uniform.





There is so much phallic jockeying going on in this graveyard that it isn't too much of a leap to speculate just how rough things got among the living during the Gilded Age.



Even those cut short in life (symbolized by the broken column) were used as an opportunity to assert importance.



Oh, for heaven's sake.



Here's my favorite: the only Art Nouveau crypt I could find. Not a single straight line.



And the vulva-shaped gate is a refreshing sight after walking among so many marble man-antlers. Go, Team Vulva!



Here's a cavalryman who died fighting the Nez Perce.



Fans of Edward Gorey's Gashlycrumb Tinies might appreciate this arrangement.



This reminded me of the '68 Olympics. Ask your parents why. Or just click here.

The craftsmanship in the type and ornament is astounding, and merits a blog of its own, really. I would have gone more into the details of the differing styles, but to be honest the place was overwhelming, if not outright exhausting. Perhaps some other time.

Let's go out with a roar and have another look at that lion:



DISCLAIMER: No goth picnickers were snickered at during the making of this post.