It was another day and another cemetery, this time in the distant land of Stamford Connecticut which was quite the misadventure to get to as for no reason whatsoever the traffic was BONKERS and I ended up in the car something like 40 minutes more than I anticipated due to traffic jams, none of which had any clear cause, especially on a sun shiny Tuesday! But I digress.
At first glance this cemetery did not look worth the trip. It was smaller than the garden cemetery I sort of expected and the monuments were mostly modern and boring. However, things heated up real fast. Upon driving in I came across the biggest hawk I have ever seen just sitting on the ground, looking up at my car with huge saucer eyes as I’d sneaked up on it. Initially I thought something was wrong with it but as it turns out it was just a little strung out after having butchered a pretty fat squirrel. It flew off with its bloody treasure as I found a place to park.
This cemetery was old enough that it did not have any designated places to park and I more or less went to the back and found myself a tree to let the car snuggle under. Luckily no one else was visiting so I wasn’t blocking anyone. We’d come here today because my companion found out that comedian Gilda Radner was buried here. He’d had fond memories of her comedy growing up. I, on the other hand, knew her more or less through a documentary I’d recently watched on the dark side of comedy (which in her case was not…? I mean unless you consider cancer dark but I mean all the other people mentioned were into hardcore drugs, gambling, and whores, so I failed to see the comparison.) ANYWAY, we started our little amble and began to explore.
This cemetery must be in a rich area because WOW was it in a gorgeous, landscaped area, across the street from something called Windemere that looked like if a poor walked up there they might be shot by private police. And the addition of a hawk that was eating only the fattest of squirrels sort of proved my theory. Even the animals here are posh enough for wild obesity. I got immediately distracted taking photos of pretty trees including a cherry tree in full bloom. But as I got too close to a tree near the center something screamed at me and I looked up to see the hawk, it’s half eaten lunch dangling from his talons. He was none too happy to see me again and angrily flew away to the back of the cemetery where he continued bitching until the crows found him and presumably beat the crap out of him and robbed him of his lunch. In fact this cemetery was somehow both amazingly peaceful for people living and dead, and a sight of bloody bird turf warfare. Two cardinals even got into this and divebombed the ground as they were engaging in their midair boxing match – red feathers were flying everywhere like daytime fireworks. Birds. You always think they’re so sweet and innocent until you realize they’re probably all murderers.
These distractions were entertaining but not really cemetery related. I was however happy to find out that the stones weren’t as bland as they appeared upon driving in. Some had quite some charm! Whether it was the most perfect last name ever: Goodenough, or the weird cement stones you used to be able to buy out of a Sears catalogue, or a memorial to what appeared to be a demonic gaggle of children, it was all here. There was even one which read, “We took the road less travelled by and that made all the difference” with an engraving of Valley of the Gods above it. Just the sentiment and graphic on that was so perfect. It was like I was meant to find it. What a beautiful monument!
I was also surprised to see a number of different ethnicities represented here. Some of the stones had Asian characters, some what I think was Farsi, still others were maybe Greek or possibly Russian characters? And there was a very decent smattering of markers with rocks and stones left behind on them denoting Jewish burials (or mourners) as well. I like that. A real melting pot. Maybe if we can’t get along in life we can in death.
We still hadn’t found Gilda Radner though. Turns out this is because her stone was flush with the ground, real humble, although clearly still well visited as she had by far the most flowers and tokens on hers. She wasn’t far from the cherry tree and had her own bench. I sat on it a bit. It was 80 degrees and I struggle with the heat something fierce. Still, it was a nice little break and I felt very relaxed here. I lamented it was sad this one died so young, at the prime of her career, to ovarian cancer.
When we moved on I decided we should go look for Benny Goodman too as he was also buried somewhere in this cemetery. He was near the back, another stone flush to the ground, much harder to find as the only token on it was a single rock. Sad. But I understand jazz musicians, even the most notable ones, weren’t exactly treated well by our society back in the day. Though I have come across several in my wanderings they’re always like this – simple. Not a single one dared to be as outrageous and noticeable as the music of their owners. Thinking back on it I probably should have left a penny.
And that was it, we ambled back to the car and I went back to fighting traffic for three and a half hours. Would I recommend this cemetery? If you happen to really love Gilda Radner or Benny Goodman it’s worth it, otherwise I think I’d mostly recommend it to people who already happen to be in the area. Although it was nice it wasn’t big enough to fill a whole afternoon and be worth a very long drive for most people. But that’s OK, it was still gorgeous and perfect for myself and my companion.
