I remember taking Global History back in high school. It was one of those courses that were split into two years--so the first year, we learned about pre-history up to Japanese isolation after Imperialism. It was a very broad spectrum of material to cover, but I remember that most of the interesting stories came from my global history classes (the tradition of sati, the Rosetta Stone, Caesar's assassination, the feudal system...all that good stuff). When doing our unit on India, one of the things we learned about was the caste system, and how the untouchables were at the bottom. The untouchables got the jobs that were considered beneath the upper castes...such as gravedigging. It's not a glorious job, but someone has to do it.
Fast-forward to my Fall 2011 semester at college, my journalism professor, Marek Fuchs (look him up), told us about an article he wrote for the New York Times, which you can read here. My professor had the unfortunate task of writing a day story on the day of a blizzard. There were hardly any people on the streets, and he was beginning to feel concerned about actually finding a story. As he was traveling, though, he passed by Sleepy Hollow Cemetery and noticed that someone was there. It was a gravedigger. Death does not stop for the weather, and neither do the gravediggers.
In the past few months, I've been inspired to research a topic that's fairly unrelated to gravediggers: urban decay. No, I'm not referring to the costly cosmetic brand. I'm referring to the stuff this man takes pictures of. (I know you technically should not end a sentence with a preposition. I don't care.) I also wanted to research the topic after watching this book trailer. In the Film Noir class I took this past semester, we watched the movie Shutter Island, which again reminded me of a place that I had read about in my research--really, the place that started it all--Hart Island.
For those of you who do not know--and indeed, many my age (and even some older folks) don't know--Hart Island is a Potter's Field floating off the coast of the Bronx. Next door to it is the commercialized small town of City Island, where mom-and-pop shops open late and close early. But I digress. Hart Island was not always a Potter's Field. It was at one point a prison, at another point an asylum, and it has been several other things during its history. Now, though, it is just a Potter's Field, surrounded by crumbling buildings which the government has neither demolished nor renovated. The rich history and this photo by Richard Nickel, jr. have sparked my interest in visiting this place.
Sadly, Hart Island is not open to the public. Like "Shutter Island," Hart Island is only accessible by boat. There was a walking tour for some elite folks a few years ago, but to my knowledge there have not been any since then. The Kingston Lounge photographer actually had to sneak onto the island with someone who owned a handmade boat. The only people who get to visit this island, on a relatively regular basis, are...the gravediggers.
The gravediggers at Hart Island are prisoners from Riker's who volunteer to do this task. Back in the 70s, Eyewitness News did a segment that showed the gravediggers at work. I do not envy the job they have--it's kind of morbid, when you think about it. Mass burials of corpses in crudely constructed boxes does not sounds like a career path I'd like to take. Yet, these gravediggers, doing a task that most would rather eschew, get to experience the beauty of Hart Island, even if they are not free to wander about it. The job that no one wants comes with that slight advantage.
Where am I going with this entry? Ok, back to the title. I've already explained how gravedigging can be a burden. However, it is also an honor because without gravediggers, corpses would...what--be discarded in landfills? Or perhaps everyone would just opt for cremation, knowing that nobody is going to bury their body. Gravediggers are important to society, and their job is ageless, considering that people have been dying since The Fall (not referring to Autumn here).
And so, this blog entry goes out to all the men (and women, I guess) who have the loathsome task of burying our dead. You may not have a glamorous job, but I gather that you have a greater understanding of mortality than the rest of us do.
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