Day of the Dead

FOR SEVERAL WEEKS it has been my intention to visit a cemetery on November the first, the Day of the Dead. Apart from the all too obvious reasons for the date and place, it's not as peculiar a past-time as it might seem.

There was a time when you could find me nearly every Memorial Day in one cemetery or another. Foreign travel seems always to include at least one cemetery visit: Damascus, Tehran (Behest-e Zahra), Paris (Père Lachaise),and most recently Buenos Aires (La Recoleta). I'm looking forward to seeing the City of the Dead in Cairo on this next trip. And so too closer to home: Last fall I wandered through Woodlawn in the Bronx at sunset. One of the many attractions of doing family genealogy has been walking the grave sites of my forebears.

But my motivation this time was neither wanderlust, family pride nor morbidness. For I had a specific mission. My goal was to visit the remains of Allan Chapman, my mentor and predecessor at the Goldwater Library, at The Green-Wood Cemetery in Brooklyn.

And my choice of date? In life Allan loved Mexico. He studied for his master's degree in anthropology in Mexico City. Every year he would head to Oaxaca for several weeks to kick back. At work he put his personal passion for Mexico into building an impressive collection of books on Mexican art and manuscripts. And of all the holidays celebrated in Mexico, El Día de los Muertos is probably the most festive.

So I left work early Wednesday afternoon and headed for Green-Wood. I had checked online for the location within the columbarium (I love that word) -- even though I left the printout on my desk at work. Never mind: I was pretty sure of the location number: 44023. After the hour on the subway, I marched up the walk, under the gates, and off to the columbarium. There I discovered that the number was meaningless: nothing was marked. I wandered about looking for a directory or a human being in authority. Failing this, I looked at every single name, dozens upon dozens. Not a single Chapman.

I was not going to fail. I marched back to the cemetery office: Closed. When I asked the guard, I learned there was a computer available to check on locations. It hadn't done me any good so far, but I figured I'd double check my number anyway. Of course, the program was completely different. You could pinpoint location and get a printout too. And when you hit the Zoom button: X marks the spot. Once more to the columbarium, holding up the very schematic map, orienting the compass points and matching up the layout. So the one I'm looking for must be ... the one up there with no inscription.

Now what? Was that really the right location? All I could think to do was check whether the inscription to its right was on the same general place on my map. And in the end the computer confirmed it.

I had to smile. I had come out to visit Allan and perhaps take a photograph -- even though a sign indicated it was forbidden. But of a featureless plaque? Allan was a private man and a genuinely modest person. Is this his way of staying modest even in death? Maybe so.

Descanse en paz, Allan.

Columbarium photo source : Calacas photo source

Comments

[Kathryn Deiss]

Ross, what an interesting wandering this was. I would have gone with you if I had been in NYC! So I wonder exactly why there is no inscription. I don't think he would have wanted to drift away anonymously like that even though he was private. Or maybe he would have. Next year you could create an ofrenda for Allan in the Goldwater Lib. or have you done that? Too bad you don't have his cardigan and a pack of his smokes!

[Ross Day]

We can always wander there the next time you're in town. I'll look into what his wishes truly were -- maybe it's the way he wanted it after all. No ofrenda yet; next year for sure!

[lipcan3]

Nice entry, Ross.