elmwood cemetery

You are currently browsing articles tagged elmwood cemetery.

If you’ve ever longed for the chance to hang out with me while I blog at you in person, the time has come!

This month, I will be traipsing around Detroit telling all sorts of long-winded stories about the city, its people, and its past.

October 15:  Elmwood Cemetery

In collusion with the League of Adventurous Detroiters and Atlas Obscura, join me as I introduce you to some of my favorite permanent residents of one of Michigan’s oldest and most historic cemeteries.

We’ll talk about the Battle of Bloody Run, then meet some politicians, brewers, soldiers, sailors, fur traders, frontiersmen and one hysterical Victorian actress. Maybe also a cursed cholera victim.

You can sign up here. (PLEASE NOTE: As of 10/9/11, the map that accompanies the event listing is incorrect. We will work on a correction; meanwhile, here is a correct map.)

October 22: Palmer Park

The wonderful People for Palmer Park are hosting this event to raise funds to winterize Senator Palmer’s Log Cabin. Why winterize? So restoration can begin apace in the spring, of course!

But even if this were just for kicks, I’d be honored to help share the history of this tremendous park with the world. Learn more about the log cabin, the old Spanish bell, Merrill Fountain, and the stunningly beautiful apartment district, which is listed on the National Registry of Historic Places. Afterward there are HAYRIDES! Yay, fall!

You can register here.

Still working on that book release party! Details soon!

Tags: , , ,

We did it!

With a little help from the Detroit Party Marching Band, the Belle Isle division of the Detroit Recreation Department, the unexpected wizardry of karaoke night at the Harbor House, a handful of vendor magicians, and the smiles and tight embraces of dozens of loved ones.

And Hitsville USA.

We laughed a lot.

We danced a lot.

And we went home feeling like the luckiest kids alive.

Oh, and then we went to New Orleans!

I can’t wait to tell you all about it, but I’m still feeling kind of dreamy, disoriented and at a loss for words. So check back next week! We should be in full swing. We have things to discuss: the centuries of history Detroit and New Orleans share; Pontiac’s rebellion; Zug Island.

Meanwhile. Ben Blackwell wrote a song about Elmwood Cemetery for Esquire. THIS IS NOT A JOKE. Name checked: Parents Creek, the Battle of Bloody Run, Lewis Cass, Coleman Young. And it’s also about the natural topography of the city.

This might be the best thing that has ever happened to the national profile of early Detroit history.

The wedding pictures are courtesy the ever-fabulous Kat Berger, from Milwaukee, Wisconsin, who also wrote a sweet post about our wedding with a trove of beautiful photos from the day.

Tags: , , , , ,

Oh, gosh. We have to talk. About this woman.

Margaret Mather (nee Finlayson) was born in Canada sometime in 1859 or 1860. Her impoverished family moved to Detroit when she was five; her father John Finlayson may have run a boarding house for sailors.

When she got a little older, Margaret took to the streets to sell newspapers for the Free Press. As a teenager she washed dishes at a fancy hotel, where she watched well-heeled girls her age come and go on the arms of rich, influential men.  As her tragical, romantical Victorian biography goes (who knows if any of this is true!), Ms. Mathers, despairing over her lot in life, tried to throw herself into the Detroit River. But a handsome German stranger rescued her, took her home to her family, and her fortunes forever turned. Someone in New York — a successfully married sister? a sympathetic brother? — sent for her, and off she went with a picnic basket and a dream. Somehow, she found someone to pay for some acting lessons. And that is how this tiny, rough-haired, provincial Scotch-Canadian from the dirty wharves of Detroit came to play one of the most iconic Juliets of the 19th century.

In 1882, Margaret Mather’s manager, J.M. Hill laid plans to mount a lavish new production of Romeo and Juliet in Chicago, with Margaret Mather its debutante star. The production went on a lengthy North American road tour before its debut at the Hill Theatre in New York City in 1885.

Here’s critic William Winter on the production on J.M.’s  Romeo & Juliet, which he chided as being farcically concerned with trappings of polite domesticity:

In the scene of the secret marriage of Romeo and Juliet, two monks, moved, apparently, by springs, suddenly came out of the wall of Friar Lawrence’s cell and placed hassocks for the bride and groom to kneel on … Juliet’s bed-room — the time of her nuptials being the middle of July, in a hot country — was thoughtfully provided with a large fire of brightly blazing logs.

Winters didn’t think Mathers was much good, either:

Miss Mathers showed no comprehension of Juliet’s character or temperament … Her notion of acting was to goad herself into a frenzy, to rage, storm, and “tear a passion to tatters.”

Her elocution was of the sing song variety, and her method of action was mechanical and coarse. When the Friar offered the Potion to her, she snatched the vial from his hand, emitting hysterical shrieks, and after she had swallowed the dose, she collapsed in such a way as to roll down a short flight of steps and land on the stage level. She was essentially a commonplace person fortuitously placed in a prominent public position.

Poor Margaret Mather. A star in her day, but posthumously eviscerated by critics, who tended to echo the sentiment that her acting was mostly frenzied, shrill, and hysterical.

Her private life: predictably tumultuous. She secretly married her manager’s music director. It didn’t work out. She took a second husband, Gustav Pabst (SON OF CAPTAIN FREDERICK PABST!), but they split after he alleged that she tried to horsewhip him. In public! In Milwaukee! Oh, Margaret Mather.

And she died young — after collapsing on stage during a performance of Cymbeline (some said the best role of her career, but no one really cares about Cymbeline, and the production flopped) — possibly of kidney disease. She was 38.

She’s buried at Elmwood. Her funeral there, held on Easter Sunday, was thronged by a celebrity-crazed mob of thousands, who tore flowers and evergreen from the gravesite for souvenirs.

Margaret Mather was buried in a jeweled white gown she’d worn a hundred times on stage, as Juliet.

More on Margaret Mather:

William Winter’s review

The Dictionary of Canadian Biography online

The Willa Cather Archive

A variety of clips from the New York Times

Tags: , , , ,

A lecture series called Graveyards 101 kicks off this week at the University of Michigan-Dearborn. The five-week series is open to the public and features five lecturers discussing graveyards, gravestones, death, dying and images of death around the world.

Since I learned about the series last week, I’ve been giving some thought to exactly what it is about cemeteries that I’ve lately come to love. I think some people (who maybe don’t know me very well) assume it’s some kind of teenage-gothic romance with the mournful and the morbid.

Cemeteries get kind of an unfair reputation for being spooky places. But anyone who has visited the grave of a loved one knows that they can also be peaceful and comforting, even uplifting, and for a lover of history, there is no better place to get to know  some friendly strangers.

Cemeteries are for the living. We all have ideas about where we want our ashes/ashes dust/dust to end up when our lives are over, but ultimately, we bury our dead for us — for closure, for remembrance, for the comfort of just knowing where our loved ones are.

When I visited Elmwood this weekend (you’ll remember that the last time I visited, it was winter, and I had no boots), trees were blooming, fat robins were everywhere, and people were out tending to plots, visiting graves — I even saw one family riding bikes.  Since the mid-nineteenth century, cemeteries like Elmwood have been designed with pastoral ideals in mind: natural landscaping, curving pathways, ponds, streams and old-growth forests embracing graceful sculptural memorials and monuments. Cemeteries like this were meant to be more like public parks than crowded, creepy church yards: places for reflection, relaxation and leisure.

I went to Elmwood this weekend to visit the city elders I’ve been reading about for the blog: the Palmers, George Washington Stark (I went to Grand Lawn to try to sit a while with that scoundrel James Scott, but I was accused of breaking and entering and kicked out — even though I drove right through the gates).

Instead, I got a flat tire in the back sections of the cemetery, near the fence Elmwood shares with Mt. Elliott. It was a big bummer. But while I waited for my knight in a shining Ford Focus to pick me up, I roamed the grounds near my car, reading headstones, watching worked-up birds in the crab apple trees, wandering toward whatever monuments caught my eye.

And it’s not a bad way to run into familiar faces, either.

I’ll be on WDET this morning to talk briefly about what it is, really, that I like about visiting the cemetery. What about you? Is this a weird habit? Do you have a favorite cemetery to visit, or is that just a crazy question?

Tags: , ,

UPDATE: Silas Farmer’s death certificate is in the Michigan state archives. He died suddenly on December 28, 1902, apparently of a heart attack. He was living in present-day midtown, at 52 Selden, and is buried in Elmwood Cemetery. Next stop, as my mom sassily pointed out to me on Twitter (MOMS ON TWITTER!!), is a real-life library.

**

I wish I knew! The man was apparently one of the most important Michigan historians in history (which seems like a strange thing to say) and wrote dozens of books including the seminal, oft-referenced 1884 tome History of Detroit and Michigan, 1890′s History of Detroit and Wayne County and Early Michigan, as well as lesser known classics like All About Cleveland; The Young Men’s Christian Associations Hymn Book; Guide to the Streets, Street Pavements, street car routes and house numbers of Detroit and The Drinker’s Dictionary (which I would really like to read).

All I know about Silas Farmer at this point is from a foreward to Silas Farmer’s book, Souvenir of The Pointe: Grosse Pointe on Lake Saint Claire, graciously reprinted from a 1974 edition of the book by the Grosse Pointe Historical Society:

Son of John Farmer, Detroit’s earliest map publisher, Silas Farmer began his career by following in his father’s footsteps.  While working on maps, he conceived the idea of writing the history of Detroit and was soon launched on a literary career.

john farmer_district surveyor

John Farmer: Map of the City of Detroit in the State of Michigan, 1835. Library of Congress.

John Farmer, born in New York in 1798, moved to Detroit in 1821 at the invitation of Governor Lewis Cass. He was an admired and eccentric character in the city, as General Friend Palmer recalls in his memoir Early Days in Detroit. Palmer remembers Farmer’s sawed-in-half schoolhouse — with a bell! — and his cartographic fire:  

I think John Farmer lived on the opposite corner of the same streets, in a frame dwelling on the rear of his lot, and I also think he carried on his map-engraving and printing in the same house. This building was once a part of the old wooden building that stood on the corner of Griswold and Larned, where is now the Campau block. When Griswold was widened, it was found that this building was in the way.

… The common council ordered it sawed in two, and John farmer bought the part that was in the street and moved it to his lot on Monroe.

Farmer was a wonderful man in his way, a most competent surveyor and a finished engraver, as the work on his maps show. Endowed with surprising energy, it always seemed to me that the steam engine within him, so to speak, must sooner or later wear him out, and it did. I knew him intimately and when I was in business sold thousands of dollars’ worth of his maps.

All Palmer writes about Silas is that he helped convince the city to rename part of Grand River East “Wilcox Street.”

Silas was born in June 1839; in 1882 he was chosen as City Historiographer of Detroit. And sometime around 1878, Silas Farmer wrote an Illustrated Guide and Souvenir of Detroit, one of a series of guides and souvenirs Farmer published under his own imprint at the end of the 19th century.

I found several endearing passages and illustrations from the 1878 edition, although there are a few updated versions available on the Internet Archive. The whole thing is basically a TOUR ITINERARY, which as you may know is my favorite thing, although on this occasion I feel no reason to actually take the tour, as I’m confident that mostly nothing of it exists anymore.

The guide begins:

The most comprehensive view of the City can be obtained by ascending the tower of the City Hall. Go as early as 9 a.m. Take a field glass with you, and from the window of the tower you will see sights and scenery that will well repay for the rather tiresome climbing of the 200 steps. The whole City, river and islands, and even Lake St. clair, will lie before you like a panorama. Each window of the tower will reveal beautis of its own.

The most comprehensive view of the City can be obtained by ascending the tower of the City Hall. Go as early as 9 a.m.

Take a field glass with you, and from the window of the tower you will see sights and scenery that will well repay for the rather tiresome climbing of the 200 steps. The whole City, river and islands, and even Lake St. clair, will lie before you like a panorama. Each window of the tower will reveal beauties of its own.

Here’s an illustration of the view from the City Hall tower — down Woodward, toward the river — in 1878:

silas farmer_woodward view

And Silas Farmer, as I do, recommends a wandering hour in Elmwood Cemetery:

silas farmer_elmwood cemetery

[From McDougall], A walk of some five blocks on Elmwood Avenue will bring you to Elmwood cemetery, where an hour or more can be spent very pleasantly among the many beautiful walks and drives and monuments.

Again taking Jeffereson Avenue to the eastward, within the distance of a block from Elmwood, you pass on the right the immense stove factory and warerooms of the Michigan Stove Company; and immediately afterwards, the Old Pontiac Tree, like some Rip Van winkle of the forest, stands before you.

Did you know that in the 1880s, Detroit was the stove-making capital of the world? Neither did I, but it seems that the fates of the Stove Company and the Pontiac Tree were intertwined, or at least of mutual interest.

As usual, half of what’s so interesting about these old pamphlets are the incredible advertisements:

silas farmer_shoe ad

silas farmer_turkish bath

Turkish baths? Why don’t we still have those?

And who was Silas Farmer? Where did he live?  Did he write a diary? Or letters? Where is Silas Farmer hiding?

Help me out, America!

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Yet another tip off from History of Detroit for Young People, which included a stop in their self-guided tours at Mt. Elliott Cemetery to visit with the venerable Colonel Jean Francois Hamtramck. Colonel Hamtramck, who served as Lieutenant Colonel under Mad Anthony Wayne in the fight for the Northwest Territory, established and became the first commandant of Fort Wayne Detroit and officially settled the city of Detroit for America at Fort Lernoult on July 11, 1796 (instead of Mad Anthony, who was struck, fatally, with gout).

(EDIT! 11-8-2010: Remember how History of Detroit for Young People was written in the 1930s? Yeah, well. Colonel Hamtramck was moved from Mt. Elliott to Veterans Memorial Park in Hamtramck — in the 1960s.)

(EDIT! 6-11-2011: Mad Anthony Wayne was not struck fatally with gout until later that year, but he didn’t make it to Detroit until August.)

Mt. Elliott is conveniently located right next to Elmwood Cemetery, a huge, rolling park set along a wooded valley, the final resting place of city founders, mayors, distillers, businessmen and activists. It’s tucked behind a busy, noisy corridor at McDougal and Lafayette, just a few blocks north of humming Jefferson Avenue, and when I visited yesterday, the neighborhood was clogged with packs of kids, parent-chauffeurs and pokey yellow school buses.

jacob farrand

Past the limestone gatehouse, though, it’s another story — and another world. I’m pretty sure I was the only (living) person there. When the private security guard pulled the car up next to me and rolled down the window, I thought he was going to tell me to move my car, leave the cemetery because it was closing, stop traipsing through the snowy plots, or otherwise get lost.

But I think he was just glad to see someone.

“Did you find what you’re looking for?” he asked.

“I’m just taking a little walk!” I said.

“Good,” he said. “It’s a beautiful place. Very historical.”

Then he kindly suggested I come again soon, and drove off.

The snow makes everything idyllic and restful, but it also makes it really hard for a lady like me, who is somehow not enough of an adult to go buy winter boots, to do a lot of productive exploring. But even the view from street level at Elmwood is tremendous — the place is a treasure field of towering obelisks, leaning spires, weeping angels and extravagant Victorian stonework.

veiled lady

This haunting veiled lady, her face obscured forever, has an amazing story, from the Elmwood Cemetery website:

Designed and sculpted by Randolph Rogers, this graceful and lovely monument on the Waterman lot has a long and interesting history. Carved of Carrera marble in Italy, it was shipwrecked off the Spanish Coast on its journey to Detroit in 1869. It was salvaged two years later, only to sink in the Hudson River and be recovered. The monument was later toppled over by a windstorm in 1919.

And even though I missed some of the biggest names in Detroit history — Lewis Cass, Coleman Young, Hiram Walker, Russell Alger — just a stroll along the perimeter of the cemetery is an astonishing reminder that most of our city streets and sites are named after, you know, real people:

williams and larned

Like Charles Larned, former Attorney General of the Michigan Territory and War of 1812 Veteran, and Civil War General Alpheus S. Williams, who is the subject of an equestrian memorial statue on Belle Isle;

canfield

The Canfield family;

samuel zug

Samuel Zug, furniture magnate, once owner and later abandoner of Zug Island;

theo h. eaton

Theo H. Eaton, business man and co-organizer of the Detroit Gas Light Company, now DTE, who used to look like this:

theo h eaton

chicago, elmwood 017

Abolitionist Shubael Conant;

fords

And an assortment of Fords. But not the famous ones.

By the time I got to Mt. Elliott, which is much smaller than Elmwood, my feet were too achey from the cold to walk. So I made a few slow laps in my car, my eyes darting across all of the headstones to find the lucky Colonel.

But no such luck for me. I’ll either have to go back when it thaws, or when I invest in some boots. Maybe I can claim them as some sort of blog-necessitated tax write-off.

Rest assured, though, lonely private security guard: I’ll come back soon.

elmwood statue

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,