#48. I HEAR DEAD PEOPLE

 

#48. I HEAR DEAD PEOPLE

Sit quietly. Respect the dead. They are here, beneath my feet. 

In 1797, what was farmland became the city’s cemetery for poor and for victims of yellow fever epidemics. Before there was an Arch. Before there was a Park. When this land was way north of “the City.” In 20 years, they buried 20,000 people. And they are still here. 

The bones are not far below my feet, occasionally surfacing when a backhoe digs for renovation work. But only one headstone was ever found. Unearthed by the Parks Department, here's what it says:

                                

 “Here lies the body of James Jackson 

  who departed this life the 22nd day of September 1799 aged 28 years native of the county of Kildare Ireland.” 

Let’s raise a Jameson to James and to all who sleep here.