Here's the story and the pictures I wrote about the other day. (Yesterday?) The pictures were taken with a disposable camera, and aren't very good alas.
In 1956 the New Yorker published "Mr. Hunter's Grave," one of writer Joseph Mitchell's best known articles. It told the story of George H. Hunter and the abandoned cemetery on Staten Island where he wanted to be buried.
Mitchell met Hunter for the first time on one of his trips exploring wildflowers in a largely abandoned town founded by free blacks before the civil war called Sandy Ground. Hunter lived on Bloomingdale Road, across the street from the African Methodist Episcopal Zion church (he was on the board of trustees). Mitchell wrote that he could walk the whole day on that road without seeing a single soul because the children and grandchildren of the original oysterman had long since moved away.
Hunter took Mitchell to the church cemetery where the widest variety of wildflowers could be found. Established in the early 1880's on a dead end dirt lane called Crabtree Avenue, it hadn't been tended for years. Gravestones covered with flowers with names like beggars lice and partridge pea were almost impossible to read. Some were marked with wooden crosses.
Then Hunter pointed out the grave of his first wife, Celia Ann Finney. To her left was the grave of his second wife Edith. George's name was listed underneath Edith's, along with the date of his birth, 1869. This was where George Hunter wanted to be buried, with his second wife Edith.
The piece ends with Hunter learning that Edith was not buried deep enough,and that chances were, he would not be buried with her, but in the plot to her left.
In 2001 I went to Staten Island to look for the cemetery and to find out where Mr. Hunter was finally buried. I took the exact same Tottenville bus Mitchell used to take to get there. At the time I wrote: the cemetery is well tended now. Vandalized in 1997, it has since been declared a New York City landmark and restored. Too restored. It feels bare and cold, and, I imagine, without at least that sense of renewal it might have had when it was lush, fragrant and overgrown. The wooden crosses are gone, as are most of the trees, shrubs, and wildflowers. But Mr. Hunter's grave is unchanged. It's exactly as Mitchell described it, except now there's a gravestone for Hunter's only child William, who died in 1955. He lies at the foot of his mother, Celia. They all thought he drank himself to death but when they got him to the hospital they learned it was cancer.
There was no date of death for Mr. Hunter on any of the graves so there was no way of knowing which grave he was in. I went looking for his church and met Lois Mosley, who had turned 75 the day before. Lois was a former tenant of Mr. Hunter's--her rent was $15 a month at the time, she told me. I got the full story. Hunter died on April 6th, 1967. He was 97. He never left Sandy Ground, where his mother Virginia, a former slave, had brought him after escaping to Ossining via the Underground Railroad.
Sadly, he wasn't buried where he wanted to be. He wasn't buried with Edith, and he wasn't buried next to her, as he thought he would be. He was buried in his first wife's Celia's grave. I hoped he was okay with that.
I wrote that Crabtree Avenue is paved now. Along the former empty lane are the new "Sandy Ground Estates." All the houses are $315,000 except the one directly across from the graveyard which is $310,000. The realter never heard of Joseph Mitchell or George H. Hunter. She didn't know that to some people, *this* was the prime location.
I’ll bet those houses are a lot more now. Or maybe not. Unlike every other inch of real estate around Manhattan, I don’t get much of a buzz about Staten Island. I thought it was beautiful there though. I wouldn’t mind living there at all.
The Sandy Ground Cemetery.
The three Hunter family graves.
Where Mr. Hunter wanted to be buried.
Where he was actually buried.
Mr. Hunter's house. Although I have a picture of another house, a lot sadder looking house, except I can't remember why I took the picture. Maybe that was once Mr. Hunter's house and this was the house he lived in at his death?
Another grave at Sandy Ground, a WWII veteran.
(Joseph Brown, died on May 4, 1957. He was 32.)
I can't remember if it was the Million Dollar Movie or the 4:30 Movie, but through one of them I was introduced to the horror movie Carnival of Souls when I was a kid. (If you grew up in New York you know what I'm talking about, they were movie programs from our youth.)
I was immediately drawn to this movie, which really doesn't have much of a plot and very little happens that's scary. But it's atmospheric and haunting, and I think what grabbed me were all the scenes shot in an abandoned amusement park. This was the Saltair Pavilion in Salt Lake City, I learned. God, how did we survive before Google and Wikipedia?? I must use them 50,000 billion times a day every day of my life.
Sadly, the Pavillion burned down. It's harder to find abandoned things to wander through and explore now. Every available space is used, every old building rehabbed. I was watching this movie yesterday, and I started thinking about one of my favorite articles of all time, Joseph Mitchell's Up In The Old Hotel. It would be hard to find something like that anymore, if not impossible. At least here in the city.
For those of you who haven't read it, there was a restaurant down at the Fulton Fish Market called Sloppy Louie's. (92 South Street.) No one had gone up to the upper floors in I forget how long, 50 years maybe, and no one even knew what was up there except that it had once been a hotel. The whole piece was about Mitchell going up there and exploring. You can go there now and kinda see it how Mitchell saw it. They cleaned up the floors, but didn't restore them so it looks like what he would have seen except swept up.
It would be hard to imagine something like that happening now, all the upper floors of a building shuttered up for decades, like something out of Edgar Allen Poe (or Dickens). But places like this have always had an allure for me.
That reminds me. I found Mr. Hunter's grave -- this is from one of Mitchell's other pieces, another favorite of all time. I wrote about finding it, but no one wanted my piece. I don't think I did a very good job, I was in a weird place at the time. Anyway, I should find the picture and scan it in. Fans of Joseph Mitchell might enjoy seeing it.
Finney is on me and I can't take my own picture so here's the Tulip Staircase ghost. From About.com.
"Rev. Ralph Hardy, a retired clergyman from White Rock, British Columbia, took this now-famous photograph in 1966. He intended merely to photograph the elegant spiral staircase (known as the "Tulip Staircase") in the Queen's House section of the National Maritime Museum in Greenwich, England. Upon development, however, the photo revealed a shrouded figure climbing the stairs, seeming to hold the railing with both hands. Experts, including some from Kodak, who examined the original negative concluded that it had not been tampered with. It's been said that unexplained figures have been seen on occasion in the vicinity of the staircase, and unexplained footsteps have also been heard."
Fun, no? Today there's a dog in Halloween costume thing ... somewhere. Was it Washington Square. Now I forget. No, maybe it was Tompkins Square. But that should be worth some great pictures.
It's from Waverly Films. It's brilliant. Trust me. I laugh every time, even though I've got all the jokes memorized now. Think of it as a Halloween warm-up. (I'm in a good mood because I'm very happy about how this draft of my book is shaping up.)
I didn't have the news on all day yesterday, and then before leaving for choir I turn on CNN and it seemed like everything got a whole lot worse. Or, I didn't really have a sense of the magnitude before. 500,000 evacuated! 400 square miles consumed?? I mean Mother of God. At least there haven't been a lot of deaths. But still.
I found this picture on Flickr last night, and I had cut and paste the photographer's name but now I can't find it and I went back to Flickr and still can't find it. I'm sorry, photographer! It's an amazing shot. And a brave pilot.
Last night I didn't feel like reading or watching TV so I was browsing photographs on Flickr. I just cannot freaking believe how many mind-blowingly talented people there are in the world, and this was just one infinitesimally small piece of it. Just one area where people are talented, and yet there was more than I could ever look at in a lifetime. Seriously, the gorgeousness of some of the photographs, the incredibly sublime beauty and emotion I saw.
This one was uploaded by someone called cherynf. I couldn't find a complete name. I was searching on "abandoned graves," thinking I might find a possible cover for my book, although an abandoned grave wouldn't really be right. Honestly, right now I don't have a clue what should be on the cover. Not that I really get a say. Actually, I get a say, but it's the publisher's call, although usually they don't want to go with a cover you hate.
I KNOW. I just figured it out! A picture of the Duke Building they used to be in, but taken at night. One, it's a really beautiful building, two, taken at night it will symbolize that they are not there anymore, but give a slightly haunted feel. It could work! It's perfect!
Here's a shot I took, but this was just a quick, uninspired straight on shot. Someone shooting at night for something more atmospheric could certainly get more creative, shoot just one lovely corner, or window, in the moonlight. Maybe even looking out one of the windows.
Here's the other side, with the statue. This is one of the old photographs I scanned when I went down there. As you can see, there's a lot to work with here, for someone who is talented.
I saw this on Cute Overload. It was made by Simon Tofield. My cat Buddy does the patting the face thing. When he does it his nails are ever so slightly extended, not enough to pierce the skin but enough to give his pat some bite.
All praise Simon Tofield. Who absolutely must have a cat, this is so true to life (except for the bat, of course).
Four more days of giving him medicine four times a day. I wish I could tell him. Sigh.
I'm actually feeling bad for Watson, who lost his post at Cold Spring Harbor and now will be remembered for his remarks about race as much as his DNA discovery. He's trying to apologize for them, but there doesn't seem to be any getting around his implication that blacks are genetically inferior. I did note that he didn't say better or worse, he just said different, and different is neutral. But then he made that comment about black employees ("people who have to deal with black employees find this is not true," that we are equal). And saying we are not equal feels less neutral, except that was the reporter paraphrasing so to be fair we should hear the whole thing in context. But he also made that comment about being gloomy about Africa, although I have no idea what he was trying to say, except again it was about not being equal.
It's upsetting when thinking people think ugly things.
Should I go to the library today? Maybe I should. It looks like a nice day for a walk. It's probably a three mile walk there and back so I always feel like I got my exercise in for the day when I go to the library. Part of the reason I'm such a walker is because my step-father had terrible terrible problems with his legs, and his doctors always told him walking would help and he just never really took that advice, and suffered greatly as a result.
Just try. I mean come on. Look at this face!! And that is after giving him medicine four times a day. He luuurrrvvves you. You must luuurrrvvve him back.
I was just talking about this on Echo, but someone posted a line-up of Halloween movies and I had this wonderful flashback to a Halloween from my past. I was in high school, and a bunch of us went to a midnight movie double feature. I just flashed on us all sitting up in the balcony screaming, throwing food, laughing. It was just fun in that high-school-act-like-an-idiot and do it very loudly way. One of the movies was The Night of the Living Dead, which I was seeing for the first time. ACK.
This year I will drum in the Village Halloween Parade, as I've been doing since I was 40.
But now I'm thinking I'd like to do something afterwards. Rocky Horror on 8th Street would have been perfect, but that theatre closed, what? Ten or more years ago?? Actually, because of the parade that theatre would have been impossible to get to. I have to find something on the west side. The problem is, even if I do find something, all my friends are like me and they are going to want to stay in and hole up on Halloween. I'm not sure anyone is going to be swayed by the "Come on! Let's go to scary movies and act like assholes! It will be fun! pitch.
Watson, who won the Nobel for discovering the structure of DNA, "said he was 'inherently gloomy about the prospect of Africa' because 'all our social policies are based on the fact that their intelligence is the same as ours - whereas all the testing says not really'."
"He went on to say he hoped everyone was equal but that 'people who have to deal with black employees find this is not true.'" How discouraging. Story here.
Although, it was a frequent complaint among the parapsychologists that science shouldn't block the way of inquiry just because they didn't like what they found. This is, of course, racism and not science, but I would bet that Watson would make a similar argument. I wonder what he even means. How are we not the same exactly? Sad, sad, sad.
HEY! I just got a coupon for $1,000 off a crypt at St. Joseph's Mausoleum. First, don't rush me. And second, I couldn't possibly care any less about what happens to my body after I'm gone. I checked off the donor thing on my license, made arrangements for my cats, and as far as I'm concerned my job is done. To my family: don't spend a cent beyond what it costs to cremate me, and there should be enough in my savings to cover that.
And by "save me" I mean read all the books I need to read and give me the highlights. I can't believe how many books I've read, skimmed, glanced at, while writing this book about the Duke Lab. And everyday I find more.
Today I decided I must read this book written by Chris Carter (creator of The X Files). It's called Parapsychology and the Skeptics, and I read an excerpt and it just looks like one that should not be missed. Then there's another one called Extraordinary Knowing: Science, Skepticism, and the Inexplicable Powers of the Human Mind, by Elizabeth Lloyd Mayer, who died right before it came out.
I've started and need to finish: Entangled Minds by Dean Radin, a physicist, because I need to understand the quantum issues, Parapsychology: The Controversial Science by Richard Broughton, the title explains why I need to read it, and Memoirs of a Psychic Spy by Joe McMoneagle, because he's been answering some questions via email, and they've been some pretty interesting answers.
So yeah. Feeling overwhelmed. And this is all for the epilogue that may only amount to a few pages. I just want to cry. I can't take it anymore!! All of you out there writing books (except for me): STOP.
I found the picture of my band on Flickr. God, I'm vain. But I love finding pictures of myself.
I was browsing Flickr for pictures of my band, Manhattan Samba, and I came across this one by Marcos Vasconcelos. This is my favorite samba picture ever.
I just love how lightly his fingers hold the drumstick, but the muscles in his forearm show how much strength is really there. And the implication of talent that is in this gesture, and all the hard work and dedication that he must have put in to get there, to be able to grip the drumstick with such subtlety. Actually, I'm assuming this is a guy, but I guess it could be a girl. It looks like a guy though, right?
In other news: I have to give Finney medicine four times a day. Mother of God. I mean Holy Mary Mother of GOD. There's a pharmacy nearby which will flavor medicine for kids and I found out they will do the same for cats. So I took the medicine there and it is now tuna-flavored. If nothing else, it's kinda cool that there's a place that will do that for you.
I couldn't help hoping, like so many other people, that in light of the Nobel Peace Prize he might re-consider, but this Time piece is so convincing.
The reasons are so sound, I actually get it, but damnit, I want him to run.
I went to the Draft Gore website and signed the petition anyway, because I think the reasons for his running are equally sound. I wish I could find a copy of this Buddha story I love. It would be so appropriate now. It was re-told on the TV show Northern Exposure. I was thinking, well, maybe if the worst thing happens, and we all go to hell in a handbasket, it might end up being the best thing for the world in general. A better nation may rise elsewhere, for instance. There's no way of knowing. Something that seems so awful today may end up being the best thing that could have happened. Oh! I found the Northern Exposure version of the story.
My uncle once told me about a warrior who had a fine stallion. Everybody said how lucky he was to have such a horse.
Maybe, he said.
One day the stallion ran off. The people said the warrior was unlucky.
Maybe, he said.
The next day, the stallion returned, leading a string of fine ponies. The people said it was very lucky.
Maybe, the warrior said.
Later, the warrior’s son was thrown from one of the ponies and broke his leg. The people said it was unlucky.
Maybe, the warrior said.
The next week, the chief led a war party against another tribe. Many young men were killed. But, because of his broken leg, the warrior’s son was left behind, and so was spared.
There's just no way of knowing. Don't get too attached to your feeling that something is good or bad, and be like the warrior. Go with the flow, as they say. This doesn't mean you shouldn't feel good or bad about things, but part of you should be aware of the wisdom in the above story.
My friend Steven invited me to a concert last night (thank you, Steven!) and I have to say, I preferred the opening act, which was a woman named Annie Clark who calls her band (but it's just her) St. Vincent. My favorite songs were Jesus Saves, I Spend, and Paris is Burning, and her version of the Beatles song Dig a Pony. I also found a great song by her called The Apocalypse Song, although I'm not sure if I heard it last night. Her website is here.
In other news. There was a great quote on Criminal Minds this week. I love the quotes they pick. Here it is:
"You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You must do the thing which you think you cannot do." Eleanor Roosevelt.
That last bit it so true, alas, and it bears re-stating and boldfacing. You must do the thing which you think you cannot do. I'm afraid of many things so I love quotes about fear.
This was Echo's home page in 1996. It was designed by my friend Sharleen Smith. I'd love to find the one she did even earlier, which had a New York skyline. It was gorgeous and exciting. This one is great too, though! It would be fun to go back to it and use it now. Wow. I just remembered how excited I was when I started Echo. It was 1989, I was 33 years old and I quit my job and everything. Very scary.
Oh God. I think I know why that just popped into my head. Because lately I've been thinking I might do something similar. Something completely life changing. I don't know what yet, but I was talking to my friend Steven the other night and I said, "I have so few responsiblities, no family. I really can pick up and go anywhere and do anything." It sucks for me in a way, but something good could come of it. I was trying to think of something to do that would improve one of the many the disastrous situations all over the world. I don't know what yet, but there must be some way I could help.
Before
This was taken in March, and Alessandra (2nd from the right) was due in June. Yesterday we went back out to brunch. By the way, someone asked when we went out to brunch last and I said, "Last summer," meaning 2006. "Weren't we all bundled up?" They asked. "I don't think so" I answered. "Maybe light jackets?" Here is the evidence, of when we went and the further deterioration of my brain.
After
This was taken yesterday, in front of the same restaurant. That's Dimitra, Mary, Alessandra and a brand new human human being named Ella. Oh yeah, and I said "last summer" with little Ella right next to me, which would make her almost a year and a half old which she clearly isn't.
I think Ella is taking this whole "I didn't exist a little while ago and now here I am, please explain EVERYTHING to me" thing rather well.
It's the little things. I've taken a picture of my lamp to show off my new lampshade. The previous one was a mess and I managed to find a new one that is a much prettier shape, and provides more delicate lighting and color.
My new lampshade will sustain me during my marathon writing session today. I'm going to get a ton of editing and writing done today. That is the plan. Here's my to-do list. Wish me luck.
- Write.
- Give Finney medicine.
- Eat.
- Call Chris later.
- Admire lampshade.
- I will not look at kittens and puppies on Petfinder.
Update: It's too freaking hot out. And I have been checking Cute Overload periodically, but getting some work done. Finney medicine given and he doesn't hate me yet. He forgets seconds later, thank God.
You know how some people have problems with their teeth no matter what they do? Poor Finney is like this. I take him for teeth cleaning once a year, but still he has teeth problems. He just had to have three teeth pulled, the poor baby. Here he is, back, hanging out on the desk and giving me a look like, "Yeah, so, what was that about?" I have to give him this God-awful medicine for ten days now. Please don't hate me Finn. It makes me think of that line in the Nancy Mitford book The Pursuit of Love. The children felt bad for their dogs who had to stay in the kennel. They worried that they would become bored and lonely and cry, "Oh, why can't dogs read?"
Why oh why can't cats talk? I long to explain to him why I have to give him this horrible tasting liquid, and bring him to the vet from time to time even though it scares him so. It breaks my heart.
The picture is from Reaper. I've already mentioned this one. Best new show so far.
Dirty Sexy Money. I so didn't expect to like this, but I watched because so many people on Echo posted that they liked it. And I have to say, it was actually kinda thrilling. I don't know why! I don't find money or the pursuit of it or the having of it thrilling or sexy or dirty.
Bionic Woman. It's been getting some bad word-of-mouth, but I got into it. Love a girl who can kick ass.
Pushing Daisys. Hasn't premiered yet, I downloaded the pilot. Really sweet.
Christ. Watching TV is practically a fulltime job. So pathetic of me! But there it is. I have fun. Oh and I am SO happy Grey's Anatomy is back. I wish Shonda would post on her blog already.