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

potatoes are cheaper

See those big, unusual vegetables piled up and ready for market? Do they look familiar? I didn't think so, because you have probably never seen them before. Those things are called "yams." 

Look at my giant yam!

Yams are part of the species of flowering plants called "monocots." This group of over 59,000 species includes orchids, lilies and tulips, as well as wheat, sugar cane and bamboo. Yams are native to Africa and Asia. They can grow to up to four feet in length and weigh in the neighborhood of 150 pounds. They have a rough skin, which can be difficult to peel and tough white flesh, which softens when cooked. They are rarely sold — or even seen — in the United States.

So, what are those neon orange things surrounded by mini-marshmallows, brown sugar and a boatload of butter that Grandma prepares every Thanksgiving? Um, they're sweet potatoes. I don't care what Grandma says, or what you've been told. They are sweet potatoes.

Sweet potatoes aren't even in the same plant family as yams. Sweet potatoes are related to the morning glory and the popular Asian vegetable water spinach (not actually spinach) and come from the plant species of "dicots," as opposed to "monocots."* The oranges ones, the yellow ones, as well as the exotic purple ones — they are sweet potatoes, too. Hell, sweet potatoes are only distantly related to other varieties of potatoes. 

Bruce doesn't know
what he's talking about.

When did the confusion start? When slaves from Africa were brought to the United States, they called the misshapen potato with the orange flesh "yams" because they resembled the true yams from their native land, though much smaller. Over the years, the name stuck. In order to reinforce "truth in advertising," The U.S. Department of Agriculture requires that commercially grown and marketed sweet potatoes labeled with the term "yam" must also be accompanied by the term "sweet potato."

This week, when you are filling your shopping cart with all the fixings for a traditional Thanksgiving feast, know that those things that you're passing off to your family as "yams," are nothing more than sweet potatoes. No matter what you or the signs in the produce section or even Bruce® says. They ain't yams.

Good luck trying to convince Grandma, though.

* If you are really interested, you can read more about dicots and monocots here. Or you can invite a botanist to Thanksgiving dinner.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com