who's that girl?

Mrs. Pincus and I made plans to meet some friends for dinner. We decided on The Pub, a restaurant that is somewhat of a local legend in the Philadelphia-South Jersey area. The Pub, as we often joke, is the "land that time forgot." It boasts an enormous dining room appointed with dark wood, suits of armor, various coats of arms and a number of taxidermied animal heads. (Perhaps some which have made it to the menu?) The Pub prides itself on serving huge hunks of steaks, broiled right before your eyes by a battalion of toque blanche-wearing chefs, plying their cooking skills over flaming coals. What — you may ask — would a vegetarian such as myself find to eat at a steakhouse? (Okay, maybe you didn't ask, but I'm telling you anyway.) In addition to a wide selection of animal-based dinners, The Pub also has twin salad bars that stretch a good thirty feet, laden with freshly-cut vegetables, giant vats of dressing, huge bowls of prepared cold specialty salads, house-made corn bread and zucchini bread, wedges of cheese from which guests can cut their own preferred-size slice and their locally-renowned Caesar salad. It's terribly overpriced, but you can help yourself as many times as you like.

Our trips to The Pub always include a pre-dinner visit to a large thrift store right across the street. Over the years, the store has changed ownership several times and now it has joined the ranks of 2nd Avenue Thrift, an international chain of stores — operating under a few different names — with over 300 locations across the United States, Canada and even Australia. Speaking of "the land that time forgot," that's exactly with a trip to a thrift store is. And the shelves at 2nd Avenue Thrift tell a story with every vase, knick-knack, appliance and donated wedding dress on display.

I am not a big fan of thrift shops, but this one I can tolerate. As Mrs. P scours the day's offerings, I usually find myself snapping pictures to post on social media, accompanied by a typical Josh Pincus smart-ass comment that you've come to know and love.... or at least know. 

Our friends — Cookie and Consuelo — arrived a little before we did and already had accumulated a little pile of items in their shopping cart. In the second aisle — the one filled with shelf after shelf of picture frames of varying sizes — Consuelo pointed out something that was definitely right up the Josh Pincus alley. Dotting the shelves among the variety of picture frames, there were a few that stood out like a sore thumb — a sad, neglected, forgotten sore thumb. 

Most of the picture frames were empty. Others had the sample photo that comes in the frame when it is originally offered for purchase in a regular retail store. It's usually a happy couple staring longingly into each others eyes or a serene view of a lake framed by fall foliage, mimicking a photo that you yourself may have taken on a cherished vacation. Stock photos like these are placed in frames much in the way an appetizing photo of a pizza slice or a gravy-drenched Salisbury steak appears on the packaging of a frozen dinner with the inconspicuous disclaimer "SERVING SUGGESTION" tucked just above the net weight. But a few frames showed a photo of a smiling Asian young lady in several different surroundings and in several different outfits. In one, she is beaming, seated at a restaurant table between two women around her age. One of the women's faces is slightly obscured by a large price sticker. The other woman is actually just an arm, but it is most definitely a feminine arm. The subject of the photo is wearing a dark blue shirt with white pinstripes. She is also sporting a blue lei around her neck, leading me to believe that this is a moment from some sort of celebration — captured in time. There is a hint of a gift bag in the foreground, offering further support for my "celebration" theory. Next to this photo was another one of the same young lady. In this shot, she is displaying the same smile as in the other photo. She is seated — rather closely — to a man whose face is mostly covered by a price sticker. They appear to be in a formal setting, like a reception or a fancy restaurant, as the man is wearing a sport jacket and the young lady is wearing a red, sleeveless top, possibly a dress.

Further along the shelf was a fancy frame with another photo of the same young lady. In this one, she is crouched down to put her on the same level as a perky-eared German Shepherd. She's wearing a spaghetti-strap dress and she has a different style to her hair, a possible clue that this was taken in a different year than the other photos. Next to that was a smaller gold frame showing an older couple with a young child between them. Upon closer inspection, one can surmise that the young child is the young lady from the previous photos. The child is wearing pajamas or a costume of some kind and her face is dabbed with colorful make-up, specifically a big red dot on her nose. She is smiling in a similar fashion as the young lady in the adjacent frames. The same older couple (though slightly younger) are in an nearby framed picture. In that one, they are pictured without the little girl, but it is absolutely the same couple. 

Then, there was a larger frame with a slightly older version of the little girl in a swimming pool. She is floating inside an inflatable ring decorated with colorful stripes. Her bowl-cut hairdo is wet against her head, but the smile gives her away as being the same child. Then, there's a group photo in a square frame. It's a typical family including — I can only imagine — brothers, sisters, spouses, cousins and their children posed on the front steps of a home. At the very bottom, next to a happy woman holding a baby and a toddler, is the young girl. Again, she is smiling. It should be noted that everyone in the photo appears to be stereotypical "white bread and mayonnaise" Caucasian, right down to their restricted country club outfits and corporate America haircuts. The young lady is the only Asian in the photo... adding to the gathering mystery unfolding on the thrift store shelves. Further down, separated by several empty frames propped up on their built-in easel backs, was another photo. This one was sort of faded as though its original display spot was a windowsill or a shelf in the path of daily direct sunlight. But there was the young lady, this time in her pre-teen years. She appears to be about eleven or twelve and is posed with two Caucasian girls and a Caucasian boy, all about her age. The four youngsters are gathered excitedly around Chip, the beloved Disney chipmunk, sans his otherwise ubiquitous "partner-in-crime" Dale. Noting the collapsed beach umbrellas in the background, this picture was probably taken on a family vacation at the Walt Disney World resort. I don't recognize any of the other children from the group photo on the house front steps, but I'd venture to guess that they are close acquaintances or maybe adoptive family.

I spent a little bit more time in the picture frame aisle as my wife made her way towards knick-knacks and a wall of bagged, mismatched toys. I looked at the photos on the shelves for a good long time, devising a story about how these frames met their final fate and wound up for sale on the shelves of a thrift shop in Pennsauken, New Jersey. Based on the approximate age of the constant young lady in the photos, I imagine that she was adopted by a member of the Caucasian family also featured in the photos. I envisioned a young couple enrolling into an international adoption program and filing for the adoption of a child from a distant Asian country. They probably took a long flight to the other side of the world to meet their new child and bring her to her new home. On the return flight, they anxiously discussed introducing her to their family — and what would become their new daughter's new family. At first, Mom and Dad (or Grandma and Grandpa) did not approve of the whole affair. Their rigid, upper class, elitist and segregated upbringing shunned the mingling of races. The very thought of an Asian grandchild was positively unheard of and could prove to be an embarrassment in the eyes of their longtime friends at church, the tennis club and other social circles. But, as time went on, they softened. They relented and, most importantly, they came to love their granddaughter as much as they loved their natural-born grandchildren (as is revealed in the third photo described above). The young girl grew up and was accepted by her adopted family. She was welcomed with unconditional love and became a part of the family. And she loved being with her family — really the only family she ever knew.

Then, tragically, the girl passed away. Suddenly. An illness, undetected and undiagnosed at first, but sadly, untreatable, took her swiftly and unexpectedly. When she died, at such a young age with her entire life still ahead, her family was devastated. Soon after the funeral, several members of her family volunteered to gather up her belongings in her small apartment — the apartment she just moved into after landing a new job. Feeling helpless and distraught, they dropped the few boxes of clothing and other belongings off at 2nd Avenue Thrift. In their hurry, they didn't even take the time to remove memory-filled photos from frames. It was just too painful and they weren't thinking straight. The family just wanted to move on and, in the process, hastily erase the memory of their young daughter/granddaughter/cousin/niece. The unfettered employees at 2nd Avenue Thrift just did their jobs. They assessed the haul, priced the individual items and placed them out for sale in the appropriate sections of the store — laying bare the short, bittersweet life of this poor young lady for the vulture-like clientele of 2nd Avenue Thrift to pick over, like the carcass of a mangled animal exposed on the African veldt.

Or maybe she just had enough of this shit cluttering up her apartment.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

the times they are a-changing

Before I begin this story, there are a couple of terms that I reference. One is "rip rap." See that picture above? That's rip rap. According the Environmental Protection Agency and several commercial construction companies, rip rap is described as: "a range of rocky material placed along shorelines, bridge foundations, steep slopes, and other shoreline structures to protect from scour and erosion. Rocks used range from 4 inches to over 2 feet. The size of the rock needed on a project depends on the steepness of the slope and how fast water is moving." The other term is "heartless." Rip rap plays an integral part in this story. So does the term "heartless." But, I'm sure you already know what that means.

In 1837, prominent Philadelphia doctor John A. Elkinton made plans to build a rural-style cemetery on property that he owned — approximately 20 acres — at Broad and Berks Streets. He envisioned a bucolic space filled with winding paths, landscaped foliage and beautifully designed monuments to serve as a gathering place for families — as was the practice for cemeteries in the 19th century. This would be Philadelphia's second such style of cemetery after the celebrated Laurel Hill which occupies 74 acres along the Schuylkill River. After the Civil War, Dr. Elkinton contracted local artist John Sartain to design and supervise construction of a gothic gatehouse, as well as a 67-foot tall obelisk that would serve as a centerpiece of the cemetery. The base of the obelisk was adorned with two bronze plaques honoring George Washington and the Marquis de Lafayette and their achievements in the American Revolution. 

Patterned after France's Père Lachaise Cemetery, Monument Cemetery grew to be just what Dr. Elkinton had hoped for — a pastoral jewel in the thick of Philadelphia's bustling commerce. However, by 1929, Monument Cemetery was considered full. That is, it had run out of room to accept any more burials. When a cemetery can no longer accept burials, it no longer has a source of income. In the days before "perpetual care" was a "thing," loss of income was bad for cemeteries. The grounds became overgrown and unkempt. It slowly fell into a state of progressive disrepair. The once beloved rural gathering spot became a reviled blemish in the eyes of the surrounding neighborhood. It was a neighborhood that was now more interested in urban expansion and no longer felt the need for a glorified "park." The gatehouse was demolished to extend Berks Street. Temple University, founded just after the opening of Monument Cemetery, was slowly but surely growing, adding a medical and dental school as well as a school for teacher training and nursing.

Just after the end of World War II, Temple, a public university under the auspices of the state of Pennsylvania, was looking to establish itself as a commuter school. The addition of parking lots would figure prominently into that plan. A deal was made by Temple to purchase Monument Cemetery, its precious land being the perfect spot for a parking lot and proposed athletic fields. In 1954, Temple University purchased 11 1/2 acres of Monument Cemetery. The remaining land would be acquired by the School District of Philadelphia where it would become the future home of George Washington Carver Elementary School. As part of the agreement, Temple contacted 728 families of relatives interred at Monument Cemetery. Only 728 families could be identified and tracked down — 728 of the over 28,000 bodies buried there. Of the 728, only 300 families responded and those 300 had their relatives' remains and grave markers moved to new burial places, most going to Lakeview Cemetery in Rockledge, Pennsylvania, just outside the city limits in the Northern suburbs. The remaining bodies were moved to a mass grave at Lakeview.... allegedly. Over the years, records have been lost and it is unclear where exactly the mass grave is located. Residents recall watching excavation equipment dig up graves and earthly remains and dump them into the backs of trucks that would drive away... somewhere. The process of moving the bodies and graves took over four years. However, the headstones from Monument Cemetery would experience a different fate.

© pwbaker - flickr

The original headstones and grave markers — some engraved with ornate gothic designs and embellishments — were sold to a local construction company. In 1969, when construction began on the Betsy Ross Bridge, a steel truss bridge that spans the Delaware River between the Bridesburg section of Philadelphia and Pennsauken, New Jersey, the surplus grave markers from Monument Cemetery were strewn haphazardly along the muddy shoreline to serve as rip rap. Although its actual whereabouts have been lost in a clerical shuffle, it is believed that the 67-foot, Sartain-designed obelisk was crushed, its pieces mingled among the other rocks and stones on the banks of the Delaware. The grave stones, however, were not ground up. They were placed in their full, unbroken form on the shore. At low tide, many headstones — with etched names and dates fully legible — can still be seen poking out of the mud and rocks. Some are not the least bit buried.

In 2025, this scenario is perceived as "thoughtless," greedy," "arrogant," and "soulless" on the part of Temple University and the city of Philadelphia. But, in 1954, the neighborhood was only too happy to see the overgrown and abandoned Monument Cemetery cleaned up by the benevolent University in its quest to expand education. They didn't care how the space was "cleaned up" and they certainly didn't care about Monument Cemetery anymore.

Be careful how you judge. Hindsight is 20-20, but sometimes our hindsight could benefit from a stronger prescription.

The story of Monument Cemetery and its fate can be found in greater detail at Hidden City and The Cemetery Traveler.

www,joshpincusiscrying.com