Channeling the behavior of a proper card-carrying ghoul I recently returned to Greenridge Cemetery in Saratoga Springs to roam the rest of the property. I found an interesting mix of monuments. Let’s get to it.
I think this is a tomb stone. It was flanked by typical headstones, each spaced the same distance from it. In other words, there was no empty space implying something else should have been there. It is possible it is a marker of some sort, but it had no companions. I saw no markings on it, either. Could be a hat or a board game piece. Maybe a candy dish. I should I have checked it for candy. Darn.
I looked up expecting a giant ACME brand 16 ton weight, or to notice I was under large box propped up by a stick with a string tied to it. Sadly, there was nothing. The symbol actually refers to Heaven or The Heavens where the recently deceased is (supposedly) going.
“Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord”
Every inch is covered with small clusters of striations. The anchor symbol could mean the person was a sailor but it was often used as to mean hope or everlasting/eternal life.
An Egyptian themed mausoleum.
Mr. Batcheller and his wife Catharine had quite the life. He was a judge in Egypt who died in Paris. She died in Alexandria, Egypt. The final word on the door is fitting.
This stone marks the resting place of a member of the fraternal order Woodmen of the World. This was a new one to me. The group is well known in the Midwest, but from what I read these graves are not common in the East like other fraternal groups.
Discerning zombies trust Purdy’s Discount Wines and Liquors for when only the finest spirits will do.
I like the columns and the rays of light carved out of the stone above the door.
A closer look at the cross.
Similar designs. I don’t know if the first stone has a base beneath it covered by soil. I try not to bother the residents. I do know it contains a medieval knight who holds a shield bearing the next clue to the Holy Grail. That much I am certain.
This is the only monument I saw with death masks. If you are unfamiliar with the term, these busts are the faces of those buried here sculpted shortly after there death. The empty frame awaits a mask that will never come.
Word on the street is William Worden was a soldier of the republic.
And then we have this humble memorial. The plague indicates a soldier lies here too, but the simple crosses held no name I could see. Quite the contrast from William’s site.
Yes, that is a giant clam shell. It’s covered with very faint writing. They looked names and dates, which would make sense. And finally…
When Willoby’s broken body was found across the tracks on the edge of town the authorities called it a tragic accident. His family, however, knew better. Their son was murdered. They pleaded with the police to re-open the case but no one would listen to them. The ramblings of grieving parents, the townsfolk called it when the McMillan’s were out of earshot. The less forgiving accused them of pointing a finger of blame at every shadow in the hopes of catching the imagined criminal hiding within. They paid no bother to any of the whispered words carried unseen upon the wind. They knew the truth. A new stone was erected over their poor, shattered son. It carried the killer’s name and image for all to see. You can still see it today. “Willoby McMillan was killed by his engine.”
It says so right there.
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