GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #810: THE RETURN, PART 2

 

So the next day I went back to Graceland Cemetery to find Death from issue 2 and the Greek ruins from issue 3. Finding the statue of Death is easy. It marks the family grave of the pioneers who founded the City of Chicago. But no one is interested in the plaque on the back. Everyone wants to peer into Death's face to see how they're going to die.

That's not me talking out my ass. That's the urban legend. The first time I looked Death in the face? I saw Death's face and nothing more. That's held true for every subsequent time, including this most recent visit. Nothing. But it was good to see an old friend.

I was tempted to pull a Bill Murray in Ghostbusters 2 when he's taking pictures of a certain Carpathian, but maybe a cemetery isn't the best place to do that. But know in my mind I screamed, "Destroy me!"

Finding the place that looks like the Greek ruins on the cover of issue 3 was a little more difficult. Death is practically at the entrance. But I had to find the little island from which Fuller and I got the pictures for the third issue of Tabard Inn.

The cemetery was fairly deserted that day. I'd only seen one jogger there. But as I got closer to a forgotten corner I saw a coyote wandering around. Coyotes aren't super common around here, but they're not uncommon, either. Although this close to the city is a little weird. I'm more likely to see them across the street from where I live. The Prairie Path is home to more than a few.

But this guy looked a little big for a coyote, so I took a curve, and as I saw more of the front of the coyote, I realized, holy shit, it's a fucking WOLF. I don't think I've ever seen a dusty-colored wolf before, but that's what I was seeing in that moment. I stopped the car, and the wolf and I looked at each other for a while. I wondered what it would be like to come across such a creature in the wilderness. Wolves usually only attack in packs, but I felt certain that if I didn't have the protection of society and the car I was sitting in, this thing could tear me to pieces. If it wanted to.

It didn't want to. It seemed a little curious about me, but not curious enough to approach. So I waved, and it turned its head a little, and I drove off.

I did find the island, but that didn't mean I knew where the ruins were. I just knew I'd be able to find them once I had the island. It's a little island for a few graves, but you cross a bridge to get there. I like standing on bridges over small bodies of water because I can usually see the bottom, which means I can watch the fish. There are a lot of carp in that little creek, and I enjoyed my time watching them.

An attractive young woman approached me and asked if I was looking for someone. I smiled and said that I'm just enjoying the view. She said OK and walked away. Only then did I realize she was looking for a blind date. Meeting a blind date on an island in a cemetery? I'd love to hear that story.

But I make it a habit of not putting my nose where it doesn't belong. I'd found the island. I didn't need to walk around on it and interrupt her quiet time. I left her leaning on a grave, writing in a notebook.

I followed the path around until I found the ruins. They don't look quite like Greek ruins up close, but when seen through the trees from the island? Different story.

It's still a pretty excessive grave, but then again Graceland is full of those. I got up close to what I thought of as the Greek ruins.

It's a pretty imposing structure. I don't know who the Palmers were, but they must have been either very rich or very important or very both. A lot of local historical figures are buried at Graceland, including Allan Pinkerton.

I had the pictures I wanted, so I headed out of the cemetery. Which is kind of difficult because it's big, and you can get turned around easily. If you live in the Chicagoland area, I recommend spending an afternoon at Graceland. It's at the corner of Clark and Irving Park. It's a beautiful place.

Watch out for wolves . . .

GRACELAND CEMETERY: A GREAT PLACE TO VISIT, BUT YOU PROBABLY WON'T BE BURIED THERE

[NOTE: I'm fairly certain that no one has ever done a review of a cemetery, so I hope this is the first of a new . . . subgenre, I guess? If anyone has heard of someone reviewing a boneyard, let me know. So far, I only have two of these pieces. Enjoy!]



It’s an unusual place for a cemetery. In fact, driving by, you wouldn’t believe that there’s a boneyard at the corner of Irving Park and Clark. The walls are high, so unless you’re in an SUV, you won’t be able to see any of the towering graves within.

But Graceland Cemetery is there, and it is the grandest graveyard you are ever likely to see. The people who are buried here have no interest in plain stones, and they would never settle for a mere plaque in the ground. No, these are probably the richest corpses you will have ever heard of.



Grecian pillars reach for the sky. Gray pyramids stand as the opening to mausoleums. Some graves are so elaborate that they have benches for weary wanders to rest upon. Life-sized statues, some who look suspiciously like Caesar, rest in positions of thought as grave markers. There are even crypts leading down into the ground. It’s easy to think you’ve entered another world upon driving through the gates to this place. In fact, if you stand on the island with the mausoleum on it and peer out over the pond, you can see what looks like ancient Greek ruins poking out from between the strands of a willow tree.

It isn’t hard to see why so many horror stories have come from this place. There are rumors of a green-eyed monster who stalks the graveyard on full-mooned nights. There is the requisite lady in white, in addition to a large grim-reaper-type statue; the rumor is, if you stare into his face under the hood, you will see how you’re supposed to die.



The most well-known story, though, is about the statue over the grave of a little girl. On rainy nights, the statue has been known to move around the graveyard of its own free will. It became such a common occurrence that the caretaker took it upon himself to put a glass case over the statue in the hopes that it would wander no longer. This plan did not work, and it is still common to find the glass case empty on wet evenings.

Who is buried here? The richest people in Chicago, of course. Some of the pioneers who helped found the city. Notably, Allan Pinkerton, the very first private detective in history. He died of an infection he received when he stubbed his toe on the way to his outhouse one morning. His grave now resides in Graceland, a triangular testament to his life.

Other “residents” of this graveyard include Augustus Dickens (brother of Charles), controversial boxing champ Jack Johnson, George Pullman (the inventor of the Pullman Car), Phillip Armour (of Armour Hot Dog fame), Edith Rockefeller McCormick (daughter of John D.), Charles Wacker (you’ve probably driven on the street named after him), John Jones (the first African American to hold an elected office—County Commissioner), and John Kinzie (the first permanent white settler of what would come to be known as the city of Chicago).



If you’re free for an afternoon and don’t mind a trip into the city, you might want to consider wandering the grounds of this cemetery. Death has never looked quite so beautiful, and you will while away the hours in the presence of gravestones that were meant to be more than just a place to mark where a corpse resides.

They were meant to be art, and nothing less.