As my cab drew close to the Laurel Hill Cemetery last Sunday, it became clear I was about to enter a truly magical oasis filled with lush buried riches, sparkling epitaphs, and John Wharton's cold dead body. Unfortunately though, just like when I try to convince my parents I have not made their lives worse every day since I was born, I got my hopes up merely to have them smashed to pieces. I became crestfallen when I read the sign: "Closed Sundays." Nevertheless, I stand by my personal ethos, "Calling ahead is for slack-jawed poltroons and old incontinent women."
At least I was able to walk along the perimeter of the grounds, peering in through the barbed wire gate. In this "hands-off" approach, I could still appreciate the impressive Gothic architecture and intricate landscaping. The main highlight was the groundskeeper's shack, where I was able to sneak a rare glance of the tractor. Fortuitously, the groundskeeper was around, and explained that sometimes the spirits of the dead come out at night to peruse the grounds and play Beirut. After which, they're especially fond of driving the tractor around howling, "Look at us! We're a bunch of spooky ghosts! And we're craaazy!!!"
Conveniently enough, Laurel Hill Cemetery is located next to the illustrious Fairmount Park, home of Philadelphia's Strawberry Mansion. The Friends of Laurel Hill offer free tours Tuesday through Saturday, 9:30 a.m. to 1:30 p.m. In addition to seeing where many of the signers of the Declaration of Independence rest, I learned that Tuesday through Saturday does not include Sunday.
