SAN FRANCISCO COLUMBARIUM
San Francisco, California
One Loraine Court
San Francisco, CA 94118
Telephone (415) 221-1838
Established: 1897
Acres: 3
Official Website
Bella Morte Rating: 5 Tombstones
Visitors to San Francisco's Richmond District (a/k/a Park Presidio) might easily fall in love with the place. Situated in the northwest section of San Francisco, Park Presidio is neighbour to the Pacific Ocean (west), Golden Gate Park (south) and Lincoln Park (north). So, yes, it's quite lovely... but for taphophiles, the Richmond District is special for another reason. Before 1900, much of the property now dotted with turn-of-the-century Edwardian homes and countless contemporary condos and apartments was occupied by...the dead. Indeed, the lion's share of the land was parceled into cemeteries for the deceased residents of the burgeoning city of San Francisco. Of particular interest to us at this juncture is the 167-acre graveyard once owned and operated by the Independent Order of Odd Fellows [ed. you read that correctly...it's "odd" not "old." Do look them up.]
Though the bodies which once rested in the soil here have long-since been exhumed and moved to Colma, and the land itself has been recast as diverse neighbourhood properties, one extraordinary building still remains. Just off Geary Street is Lorraine Court, a posh address with 2200+ sq. foot homes selling in the $800,000 range. Walk or drive, if you will, past these lovely dwellings and through the gates located at the terminus. You'll soon learn Lorraine Court gives new meaning to the term "dead end street," for the ornate, four-story, copper domed edifice you will behold is not the mini-fortress of a spectacularly wealthy family...it is the San Francisco Columbarium, last bastion of the aforementioned Oddfellow's cemetery.
Designed by Bernard J. Cahill in 1897, the columbarium survived the ravages of the San Francisco Earthquake (1906) before being abandoned in 1934 as a result of the 1912 ordinance. Fortunately for us, the Neptune Society (a corporation dedicated to providing affordable cremation) purchased the derelict columbarium in 1979 and set about a painstaking restoration which, even now (2006) is still approximately 15% incomplete...the uppermost floors await the finishing touches of their glorious rebirth.
And glorious is certainly a fitting adjective for the San Francisco Columbarium which, phoenix-like, has risen from the ashes of its years of desolation.
Early on in its 45-year period of abandonment, the dead who remained behind suffered the indignities of vandalism, theft and having to share their space with members of the city's criminal underbelly. It is reported that above-ground crypts and vaults were smashed open, the corpses "alleviated" of their jewelry, gold fillings and personal mementos, while their partially denuded bones were cast aside on the mosaic-tiled floors like so much worthless refuse. Coupled with the terrible human destruction was the damage arising from natural factors. Raccoons and pigeons moved in and with them came the filth and disease-laden curse of their waste. The final blow came when the domed roof began to leak and the ensuing moisture played host to masses of fungal growth, including vast crops of mushrooms which must have appeared to glow in the eerie half-light filtering down from the fractured ceiling.
Happily, the few remaining traces of those sad days are decreasing under the skilled hands of the men and women conducting the restoration. Cracked plaster and some missing tiles on the higher floors are the only indicators of the horrible insults once received by this truly unique columbarium.
Are you ready to explore this wonderland? Then come along with us as we recount the wonders of our visit.
Entering at ground level, we were immediately enchanted by the ornate rotunda whose eight soaring arches open onto rooms named after Greek and Roman mythological elements:
Echoed on the second floor, the rooms bear names including: Corona (Borealis? Australis?), Zubanan, Cheiron (Sagittarius), Argo (possibly Argo Navis...the ship sailed by Jason and the Argonauts), Sothis (Orion) and Perseus (a northern constellation). We are unsure of the derivations and exact meanings, but presume the intention was to address all directions (as the quarters are honoured in some pagan traditions) and, conceivably, the forces that rule them.
A number of celebrities have been inurned at the San Francisco Columbarium. Among these are:
Harry A. Jansen a/k/a Dante the Magician (1883 -1955). Until 2004, lack of funds for a fitting memorial saw the cremains of this world-renowned magician and his wife ingloriously stashed in a cardboard box in Los Angeles' Chapel of the Pines' basement. Fans of the man who made famous the incantation "Sim Sala Bim," started a memorial fund to right this injustice and now the Magic Man and his beloved wife rest in splendour.
Along with several photographs of himself and of his partner, Ivan Lowney, deceased Gay Catholic priest Tom Fry's niche contains a copy of a poem he wrote in testament to his love of Ivan. Opposite the poem, a placard bears these sentiments from Tom: "My own productive, happy life as a gay man is the most effective part of my life as a worker/priest. Until Ivan Lowney's death from AIDS 12 '94, our 21-year friendship was the best part of that life."
As we approached one of the columbarium's several curved marble staircases, we came across a copper-fronted niche engraved: Dennis Kaster. 1953 - 1991. Gay and Proud. Hanging from one of the locked door's hinges, a rainbow flag served as further proclamation of this man's refusal to apologize for who he was. In another stairwell, a giant Teddy Bear wearing a rainbow bandana bedecked with gay pride pins sat on a shelf above the shared urn of another gay couple (one deceased, one surviving).
Elsewhere, a petite angel playing Pan pipes stands before a silver urn which is, as yet, unoccupied... the future residents, David and Abel -- handsome, tuxedoed men with wonderful smiles -- hold hands while looking out from their silver-framed photograph.
There is also the pre-need niche of gay couple Gomoll & Field. Their names, elegantly etched in gold, float on the glass in front of a display that includes a microscope, a hardbound copy of The Hobbit, several framed photos of the men and a large ceramic rabbit.
Author Jo Ann Levy's niche also awaits its future resident. Graced with photos of her with her husband and stacked with her books (They Saw the Elephant: Women in the California Gold Rush; Daughter of Joy, Winner of 1999 WILLA Award for Best Historical Fiction; For California's Gold, Winner 2001 WILLA Award - Best Historical Fiction and Unsettling the West: Eliza Farnham and Georgiana Bruce Kirby in Frontier California), it gives cheerful evidence of a life well-lived.
Another fabulous niche belongs to Jack MacConmi, Jay Burwick and Dorothy Ione. Their names, along with a Celtic knot design, are etched in the thick glass which seals the case. At the time of our visit, Jack and Jay had died. Dorothy, born in 1928, was still among the living. What makes this niche so magical is the totally unique urn (or urns), as well as the other items on display. The large urn appears to be a "kettle" of some sort. It is completely covered in rust and corrosion, but this only makes it more fascinating. The word "string" is stamped on its surface. Hooked through the equally-compromised handle is a truly substantial piece of jewelry (a necklace?). The Celtic Triple Spiral is its primary motif:
This type of spiral (or triskele) is known as The Spiral of Life. It represents the Celts' belief in the eternal cycle of all things: birth, death and rebirth. Attached to the base of the necklace (?) is a large round container which may be another urn. It, too, is engraved with Celtic designs. Quite mysterious! Also in front of the large "kettle" are two long pieces of braided human hair. Although the colour is similar (both are in the light brown range), they appear to have been cut from the heads of two different individuals. Finishing off this intriguing display are a piece of amethyst and a silver, oval disk engraved with Gaelic words.
For the most part, the contemporary urns occupy niches on the higher levels of the building. The lower floors are resplendent with urns dating back to the 1800's. Some of these have oxidized, lending a sort of tattered dignity to their appearance. Others are surrounded by white satin which has definitely seen better days, though, here again, the ravages of time seem to bless, not curse, their beauty.
In the old private crypt of Flora Lewis Paxton, a stunning ruby-hued stained glass window features the allegorical figure of Clotho, (one of the Three Fates in Greek mythology...she spins the thread of life). Beneath the goddess, large gold letters affixed to variegated pink marble proclaim, IN THE MIDST OF LIFE WE ARE IN DEATH. Beneath, the exquisitely wrought bronze urn containing Ms. Paxton's mortal remains is shielded by a glass panel. The urn is topped by the figure of a dove, its wings spread as if about to take flight. Cherubim and stylized flowers swirl around the vase, suggesting an unseen breeze. The urn handles are bronze rings...each clasped firmly in the mouth of a ram whose horns curl back to meet the curved body of the vase.
It seems at each turn we discovered something more astonishing than at the last! And thus we spent several hours, wandering like country bumpkins on their first trip to the city, dazzled, thrilled and delighted.
Note: When you reach the top floor, be sure to walk the full circuit or you might miss a small doorway that leads to a final room filled with banks of new, glass-fronted niches. A stained glass ceiling admits warm light and the scattered chairs invite a few moments rest and contemplation.
On our way back downstairs we spotted a niche in front of which rested a number of vases filled with artificial flowers. There was another vase we initially thought was empty, but upon approaching we discovered it was filled with hundreds of tiny, individually-wrapped candies. A hand-written sign taped to the front extended this invitation: "Please take one--It's what she would have wanted." Each of us honoured the wish, giving silent thanks to our generous patron whose face smiled down upon us from her flower-bedecked vantage point.
At the conclusion of our journey, we stopped to think about all we had seen and to try and choose a few "favourites" amongst the thousands of memorials. While all the urns we saw were beautiful and touching, we agreed on the following three as our personal treasures:
The unassuming, rectangular, brushed bronze urn of Ruby J. Grimes (April 16, 1921 - March 10, 2003) is certainly not a stand-out in the usual sense of the term. Yet, the precious photograph of Ruby deeply moved us. Perched atop the urn, a pewter frame announces "Sister, You're the Best." Behind the glass, the tight-lipped visage of Ruby, swollen and obviously near death, speaks of the fragility of life...and also its terrible sweetness. Lying in what is obviously a hospital bed, a towel wrapped around her neck (perhaps intended to catch food she might spill), Ruby's bespectacled eyes, though filled with pain, valiantly focus on the camera. A red knit cap with heartbreaking little black Christmas trees covers her head so that only a few grey curls peek out, and, from the little shell of her exposed right ear something that might be a television ear-bud can be seen. Precious, indeed. May flights of angels sing you to your rest, Dear Ruby.
Next is the niche of Gary Bose. Bearing only his death date (09/05/97), name and the notation, "Beloved Twin Brother," the highly-polished bronze urn stands to the left of the niche centre. In the middle, a black and white photo of the twins in an ornate gold frame with cerulean velvet border shows them on what was probably their First Communion day. Dressed in identical grey suits, wearing identical black dress shoes, the boys each hold an open prayer book and rosary. A white ribbon is tied to the right elbow of the boy on the right and to the left elbow of the boy to the left so that they stand, mirrors of each other, ever fixed in that moment when mortality was probably the farthest thing from their minds. On the right side of the niche, an unengraved urn, identical to that containing Gary's cremains, awaits the day when his devoted twin will, at last, join him...the two sharing the same tomb, just as they did the womb.
Finally, we come to the niche of Gavin David Hunter (1.29.58 - 8.6.91) and his twin brother, Hugh Taylor Hunter (1.29.58 --12.29.00). Separated in death for nine years (just as they were joined inside their mother for nine months) they sleep together in peace. Unlike the Bose' niche, the Hunter's chose different urns. Hugh's cremains are stored in a bright golden container that resembles a lock-box. In front of it leans a picture of the boys as bright-eyed, smiling infants lying on their bellies. On the opposite side of the niche, Gavin's pink, ceramic urn is tucked behind a picture of the two as men. They stand side-by-side, turned away from the camera, looking out of the picture's border toward something to the left. Each man has a hand extended in that same direction and each is smiling. Stepping back and taking the niche in as a whole, we understood the photos make up a tableau...the smiling babies look toward the similarly smiling adults who reach out and back, creating a circle...life to death...and back to life. A bond sealed not by death, but what waits after. Between the urns, an artificial rose rests at the base of a framed poem written by Hugh about/to his brother:
Angels belong
in pairs.
In pairs we lose
our aloneness,
independence,
and our hearts.
In pairs
we gain a place,
a place between
a back and a stomach.
It's a warm space.
A space where we can
mourn and heal.
A space where
angels can live
and be with us.
Indeed, the Hunter niche is a warm space amidst many other lovely spaces contained in the San Francisco Columbarium. According to caretaker Emmitt Watson, it is a place sacred to the memory of over 65,000 souls. Personally, we suspect his estimate is off the Richter scale as there are only 7,500 individual niches and most contain the cremains of only one or two people...but, either way, there's plenty of room for the living, too. The excellent acoustic qualities render it particularly well-suited to musical endeavours and so it is not uncommon for small groups of orchestra members to play here, though visitors might also hear music being played through one of several boom boxes stored near niches of loved ones by family or friends. It was heartening for us to see the devices, along with some CDs, left unscathed by those who passed by. Aside from funerals, weddings are also celebrated in this truly beautiful place.
Obviously, we at Bella Morte were utterly taken with the San Francisco Columbarium and we would recommend, without a single reservation, that every taphophile make an effort to experience its magic for him/herself.
By the way, for what it's worth, the columbarium is reputedly haunted. The most often-related story is of a female visitor who, when walking through the building unaccompanied, felt a hand press against her back. Upon turning, she saw no one...but, as the tale goes, when she removed her dark blue blouse that evening, a white shape resembling a human palm had inexplicably formed in the spot where, earlier, she'd felt the phantom hand.
{F}
San Francisco, California
One Loraine Court
San Francisco, CA 94118
Telephone (415) 221-1838
Established: 1897
Acres: 3
Official Website
Bella Morte Rating: 5 Tombstones
Visitors to San Francisco's Richmond District (a/k/a Park Presidio) might easily fall in love with the place. Situated in the northwest section of San Francisco, Park Presidio is neighbour to the Pacific Ocean (west), Golden Gate Park (south) and Lincoln Park (north). So, yes, it's quite lovely... but for taphophiles, the Richmond District is special for another reason. Before 1900, much of the property now dotted with turn-of-the-century Edwardian homes and countless contemporary condos and apartments was occupied by...the dead. Indeed, the lion's share of the land was parceled into cemeteries for the deceased residents of the burgeoning city of San Francisco. Of particular interest to us at this juncture is the 167-acre graveyard once owned and operated by the Independent Order of Odd Fellows [ed. you read that correctly...it's "odd" not "old." Do look them up.]
Though the bodies which once rested in the soil here have long-since been exhumed and moved to Colma, and the land itself has been recast as diverse neighbourhood properties, one extraordinary building still remains. Just off Geary Street is Lorraine Court, a posh address with 2200+ sq. foot homes selling in the $800,000 range. Walk or drive, if you will, past these lovely dwellings and through the gates located at the terminus. You'll soon learn Lorraine Court gives new meaning to the term "dead end street," for the ornate, four-story, copper domed edifice you will behold is not the mini-fortress of a spectacularly wealthy family...it is the San Francisco Columbarium, last bastion of the aforementioned Oddfellow's cemetery.
Designed by Bernard J. Cahill in 1897, the columbarium survived the ravages of the San Francisco Earthquake (1906) before being abandoned in 1934 as a result of the 1912 ordinance. Fortunately for us, the Neptune Society (a corporation dedicated to providing affordable cremation) purchased the derelict columbarium in 1979 and set about a painstaking restoration which, even now (2006) is still approximately 15% incomplete...the uppermost floors await the finishing touches of their glorious rebirth.
And glorious is certainly a fitting adjective for the San Francisco Columbarium which, phoenix-like, has risen from the ashes of its years of desolation.
Early on in its 45-year period of abandonment, the dead who remained behind suffered the indignities of vandalism, theft and having to share their space with members of the city's criminal underbelly. It is reported that above-ground crypts and vaults were smashed open, the corpses "alleviated" of their jewelry, gold fillings and personal mementos, while their partially denuded bones were cast aside on the mosaic-tiled floors like so much worthless refuse. Coupled with the terrible human destruction was the damage arising from natural factors. Raccoons and pigeons moved in and with them came the filth and disease-laden curse of their waste. The final blow came when the domed roof began to leak and the ensuing moisture played host to masses of fungal growth, including vast crops of mushrooms which must have appeared to glow in the eerie half-light filtering down from the fractured ceiling.
Happily, the few remaining traces of those sad days are decreasing under the skilled hands of the men and women conducting the restoration. Cracked plaster and some missing tiles on the higher floors are the only indicators of the horrible insults once received by this truly unique columbarium.
Are you ready to explore this wonderland? Then come along with us as we recount the wonders of our visit.
Entering at ground level, we were immediately enchanted by the ornate rotunda whose eight soaring arches open onto rooms named after Greek and Roman mythological elements:
- Zephrus (Greek God of the West Wind)
- Olympus (Home of the Greek Gods)
- Arktos (Last Light of the Day. Also Greek name for the constellation of the Great Bear, Ursa Major)
- Aquilo (Roman name for the North Wind)
- Solanus (Roman name for the South Wind)
- Eurius (Roman name for the East Wind)
- Auste (Roman name for the West Wind)
- Notus (Roman name for the "Horse-Shaped" South Wind)
Echoed on the second floor, the rooms bear names including: Corona (Borealis? Australis?), Zubanan, Cheiron (Sagittarius), Argo (possibly Argo Navis...the ship sailed by Jason and the Argonauts), Sothis (Orion) and Perseus (a northern constellation). We are unsure of the derivations and exact meanings, but presume the intention was to address all directions (as the quarters are honoured in some pagan traditions) and, conceivably, the forces that rule them.
A number of celebrities have been inurned at the San Francisco Columbarium. Among these are:
Harry A. Jansen a/k/a Dante the Magician (1883 -1955). Until 2004, lack of funds for a fitting memorial saw the cremains of this world-renowned magician and his wife ingloriously stashed in a cardboard box in Los Angeles' Chapel of the Pines' basement. Fans of the man who made famous the incantation "Sim Sala Bim," started a memorial fund to right this injustice and now the Magic Man and his beloved wife rest in splendour.
- Francis Kittredge Shattuck (1824-1898). Berkeley, California, philanthropist, civic leader, real estate mogul and one-time Mayor of Oakland (1859). Died of complications which arose after being accidentally knocked down by a gentleman getting off a train Shattuck was trying to board on...Shattuck Avenue.
- Harvey Milk (1930-1978). Elected San Francisco City Supervisor in 1977, Milk was the first openly-gay elected official of any major U.S. City. He was assassinated on 27 November, 1997 (along with Mayor George Moscone) by former City Supervisor, Dan White. White, who resigned after the Gay Rights Bill he strongly opposed was enacted, murdered the two men in City Hall.
- But of much greater interest to us were the urns belonging to those whose names would be recognized only by family and friends. Testifying to the AIDS epidemic, a myriad of gay men are memorialized in the columbarium, often sharing space with their partners. Many of them left whimsical memorials behind, such as Romero and Perry whose highly-decorative niche features urns cleverly designed like tiny suitcases. Various travel brochures, passports and other vacation-like paraphernalia give the impression the two merely left on an exotic journey...and, in truth, isn't that really the case?
Along with several photographs of himself and of his partner, Ivan Lowney, deceased Gay Catholic priest Tom Fry's niche contains a copy of a poem he wrote in testament to his love of Ivan. Opposite the poem, a placard bears these sentiments from Tom: "My own productive, happy life as a gay man is the most effective part of my life as a worker/priest. Until Ivan Lowney's death from AIDS 12 '94, our 21-year friendship was the best part of that life."
As we approached one of the columbarium's several curved marble staircases, we came across a copper-fronted niche engraved: Dennis Kaster. 1953 - 1991. Gay and Proud. Hanging from one of the locked door's hinges, a rainbow flag served as further proclamation of this man's refusal to apologize for who he was. In another stairwell, a giant Teddy Bear wearing a rainbow bandana bedecked with gay pride pins sat on a shelf above the shared urn of another gay couple (one deceased, one surviving).
Elsewhere, a petite angel playing Pan pipes stands before a silver urn which is, as yet, unoccupied... the future residents, David and Abel -- handsome, tuxedoed men with wonderful smiles -- hold hands while looking out from their silver-framed photograph.
There is also the pre-need niche of gay couple Gomoll & Field. Their names, elegantly etched in gold, float on the glass in front of a display that includes a microscope, a hardbound copy of The Hobbit, several framed photos of the men and a large ceramic rabbit.
Author Jo Ann Levy's niche also awaits its future resident. Graced with photos of her with her husband and stacked with her books (They Saw the Elephant: Women in the California Gold Rush; Daughter of Joy, Winner of 1999 WILLA Award for Best Historical Fiction; For California's Gold, Winner 2001 WILLA Award - Best Historical Fiction and Unsettling the West: Eliza Farnham and Georgiana Bruce Kirby in Frontier California), it gives cheerful evidence of a life well-lived.
Another fabulous niche belongs to Jack MacConmi, Jay Burwick and Dorothy Ione. Their names, along with a Celtic knot design, are etched in the thick glass which seals the case. At the time of our visit, Jack and Jay had died. Dorothy, born in 1928, was still among the living. What makes this niche so magical is the totally unique urn (or urns), as well as the other items on display. The large urn appears to be a "kettle" of some sort. It is completely covered in rust and corrosion, but this only makes it more fascinating. The word "string" is stamped on its surface. Hooked through the equally-compromised handle is a truly substantial piece of jewelry (a necklace?). The Celtic Triple Spiral is its primary motif:
This type of spiral (or triskele) is known as The Spiral of Life. It represents the Celts' belief in the eternal cycle of all things: birth, death and rebirth. Attached to the base of the necklace (?) is a large round container which may be another urn. It, too, is engraved with Celtic designs. Quite mysterious! Also in front of the large "kettle" are two long pieces of braided human hair. Although the colour is similar (both are in the light brown range), they appear to have been cut from the heads of two different individuals. Finishing off this intriguing display are a piece of amethyst and a silver, oval disk engraved with Gaelic words.
For the most part, the contemporary urns occupy niches on the higher levels of the building. The lower floors are resplendent with urns dating back to the 1800's. Some of these have oxidized, lending a sort of tattered dignity to their appearance. Others are surrounded by white satin which has definitely seen better days, though, here again, the ravages of time seem to bless, not curse, their beauty.
In the old private crypt of Flora Lewis Paxton, a stunning ruby-hued stained glass window features the allegorical figure of Clotho, (one of the Three Fates in Greek mythology...she spins the thread of life). Beneath the goddess, large gold letters affixed to variegated pink marble proclaim, IN THE MIDST OF LIFE WE ARE IN DEATH. Beneath, the exquisitely wrought bronze urn containing Ms. Paxton's mortal remains is shielded by a glass panel. The urn is topped by the figure of a dove, its wings spread as if about to take flight. Cherubim and stylized flowers swirl around the vase, suggesting an unseen breeze. The urn handles are bronze rings...each clasped firmly in the mouth of a ram whose horns curl back to meet the curved body of the vase.
It seems at each turn we discovered something more astonishing than at the last! And thus we spent several hours, wandering like country bumpkins on their first trip to the city, dazzled, thrilled and delighted.
Note: When you reach the top floor, be sure to walk the full circuit or you might miss a small doorway that leads to a final room filled with banks of new, glass-fronted niches. A stained glass ceiling admits warm light and the scattered chairs invite a few moments rest and contemplation.
On our way back downstairs we spotted a niche in front of which rested a number of vases filled with artificial flowers. There was another vase we initially thought was empty, but upon approaching we discovered it was filled with hundreds of tiny, individually-wrapped candies. A hand-written sign taped to the front extended this invitation: "Please take one--It's what she would have wanted." Each of us honoured the wish, giving silent thanks to our generous patron whose face smiled down upon us from her flower-bedecked vantage point.
At the conclusion of our journey, we stopped to think about all we had seen and to try and choose a few "favourites" amongst the thousands of memorials. While all the urns we saw were beautiful and touching, we agreed on the following three as our personal treasures:
The unassuming, rectangular, brushed bronze urn of Ruby J. Grimes (April 16, 1921 - March 10, 2003) is certainly not a stand-out in the usual sense of the term. Yet, the precious photograph of Ruby deeply moved us. Perched atop the urn, a pewter frame announces "Sister, You're the Best." Behind the glass, the tight-lipped visage of Ruby, swollen and obviously near death, speaks of the fragility of life...and also its terrible sweetness. Lying in what is obviously a hospital bed, a towel wrapped around her neck (perhaps intended to catch food she might spill), Ruby's bespectacled eyes, though filled with pain, valiantly focus on the camera. A red knit cap with heartbreaking little black Christmas trees covers her head so that only a few grey curls peek out, and, from the little shell of her exposed right ear something that might be a television ear-bud can be seen. Precious, indeed. May flights of angels sing you to your rest, Dear Ruby.
Next is the niche of Gary Bose. Bearing only his death date (09/05/97), name and the notation, "Beloved Twin Brother," the highly-polished bronze urn stands to the left of the niche centre. In the middle, a black and white photo of the twins in an ornate gold frame with cerulean velvet border shows them on what was probably their First Communion day. Dressed in identical grey suits, wearing identical black dress shoes, the boys each hold an open prayer book and rosary. A white ribbon is tied to the right elbow of the boy on the right and to the left elbow of the boy to the left so that they stand, mirrors of each other, ever fixed in that moment when mortality was probably the farthest thing from their minds. On the right side of the niche, an unengraved urn, identical to that containing Gary's cremains, awaits the day when his devoted twin will, at last, join him...the two sharing the same tomb, just as they did the womb.
Finally, we come to the niche of Gavin David Hunter (1.29.58 - 8.6.91) and his twin brother, Hugh Taylor Hunter (1.29.58 --12.29.00). Separated in death for nine years (just as they were joined inside their mother for nine months) they sleep together in peace. Unlike the Bose' niche, the Hunter's chose different urns. Hugh's cremains are stored in a bright golden container that resembles a lock-box. In front of it leans a picture of the boys as bright-eyed, smiling infants lying on their bellies. On the opposite side of the niche, Gavin's pink, ceramic urn is tucked behind a picture of the two as men. They stand side-by-side, turned away from the camera, looking out of the picture's border toward something to the left. Each man has a hand extended in that same direction and each is smiling. Stepping back and taking the niche in as a whole, we understood the photos make up a tableau...the smiling babies look toward the similarly smiling adults who reach out and back, creating a circle...life to death...and back to life. A bond sealed not by death, but what waits after. Between the urns, an artificial rose rests at the base of a framed poem written by Hugh about/to his brother:
Angels belong
in pairs.
In pairs we lose
our aloneness,
independence,
and our hearts.
In pairs
we gain a place,
a place between
a back and a stomach.
It's a warm space.
A space where we can
mourn and heal.
A space where
angels can live
and be with us.
Indeed, the Hunter niche is a warm space amidst many other lovely spaces contained in the San Francisco Columbarium. According to caretaker Emmitt Watson, it is a place sacred to the memory of over 65,000 souls. Personally, we suspect his estimate is off the Richter scale as there are only 7,500 individual niches and most contain the cremains of only one or two people...but, either way, there's plenty of room for the living, too. The excellent acoustic qualities render it particularly well-suited to musical endeavours and so it is not uncommon for small groups of orchestra members to play here, though visitors might also hear music being played through one of several boom boxes stored near niches of loved ones by family or friends. It was heartening for us to see the devices, along with some CDs, left unscathed by those who passed by. Aside from funerals, weddings are also celebrated in this truly beautiful place.
Obviously, we at Bella Morte were utterly taken with the San Francisco Columbarium and we would recommend, without a single reservation, that every taphophile make an effort to experience its magic for him/herself.
By the way, for what it's worth, the columbarium is reputedly haunted. The most often-related story is of a female visitor who, when walking through the building unaccompanied, felt a hand press against her back. Upon turning, she saw no one...but, as the tale goes, when she removed her dark blue blouse that evening, a white shape resembling a human palm had inexplicably formed in the spot where, earlier, she'd felt the phantom hand.
{F}