Tax Day is tomorrow, and given the old truism that death and taxes are the only things we can really count on in life, I’ve been thinking about death and cities. In the past, I’ve thought quite a bit about the death of cities, but in the last week or so, my attention has turned to death in cities. I should lead by saying that I’m a sucker for old cemeteries. About a decade ago, I took my then-boyfriend on a bike tour of a historic Memphis cemetery soon after we started dating. It was the singular most awesome and unique birthday present I could think of. He was skeptical, but he had fun, and probably appreciated the BBQ chaser at a local joint (we’re now married, for the record).
Sapiens aren’t alone in mourning their dead. Elephants will cover the bodies of fallen comrades with leaves and sticks, and will hold what have been described as mourning rituals or funerals. Talequah, an orca in the Salish Sea’s Southern Resident pod, heartbreakingly carried her dead calf for 17 days in 2018 (she recently gave birth, and her baby is doing well). Indeed, reactions to death can take all kinds of forms across the animal kingdom. When my family had to euthanize our dog Khani, we let Kya, our other dog, see and sniff Khani’s body, but Kya stood with her back to the entire scene and refused to engage. Accuse me of anthropomorphism all you like, but I’m comfortable asserting that Kya recognized and reacted to the reality that Khani wasn’t there any more.
Sapiens are also not unique among humanoids in mourning. Neanderthal skeletons have been discovered with red ochre applied to their faces and bodies deliberately positioned in places where soil disturbances under the corpse indicate digging. Shanidar Z is just one example, and for more about Neanderthals, check out Kindred by Rebecca Wragg Sykes. It’s at the forefront of rewriting our understanding of Neanderthals by highlighting their humanity.
On to cities. The question of how to approach death in cities has probably been an issue since humans started building them 6,000 years ago. There are mass graves at Tell Brak in Syria. While we don’t know what its inhabitants would have called it, the ancient city of Mohenjo Daro in modern Pakistan translates to “mound of the dead” (check out the BBC podcast "You're Dead to Me" for an enjoyable 30-minute romp through the history of the Indus Valley civilization).
In modern cities, unless we’re scattering ashes somewhere, we bury or inter our dearly departed in cemeteries. Cemeteries offer places to mourn, remember, make religious observances, or visit with loved ones. They can be very green — indeed, modern American cemeteries often involve large expanses of grass, often kept green the same way we keep lawns green — with lots of fertilizer and water, and the attendant ecological consequences. We tend to think of cemeteries as places to avoid, but that’s a pretty recent development. In the late 1800s, cemeteries often served multiple purposes for urban dwellers. Yes, they were places to mourn, but they were also places to walk, picnic, and escape the city. They were deathscapes — landscapes that involved death, and were used in a variety of ways.
Elmwood Cemetery in Memphis is a good example. Established in 1852 on the then-outskirts of town, Elmwood was accessible by trolley, and its lush, green, landscaped expanse offered families the equivalent of a big, public garden. Notorious Mayor E.H. “Boss” Crump (1874-1954) had a giant obelisk installed there at the site of his future burial plot, and would visit it for the occasional picnic. And if the internal chatter of the funeral industry is any indication, lunching among the non-living might be making a comeback. I’d like to believe I’m ahead of this trend — on a freezing January afternoon in 2015, during an ill-conceived camping trip in west Tennessee, I insisted that my husband and I eat our PBJs at the grave of Meriwether Lewis. I tried to repeat my Lunch with Lewis performance at the grave of William Clark a few months later, but 12 inches of snow foiled my plans. I should have brought a thermos for Coffee with Clark.
Bottom line, consider what we mean when we talk about “whistling past the graveyard,” and then consider a cemetery like Elmwood. Culturally, American culture carries a great deal of deadweight around cemeteries, and that has big implications for our cities in terms of land use, sustainability, and the future of urban deathscapes. More on that next time.
My photo of the grave of Colonel Sanders’ grandson (yes, that Colonel Sanders) at Cave Hill Cemetery in Louisville, Kentucky. It has the best epitaph ever. May we all be so fortunate.