How Things Work at Green-Wood Cemetery

Last week I posted an open query about the decrepit, sealed-up state of the mausoleum of poor old Eugene Fairchild in historic Green-Wood Cemetery in Brooklyn. 

Soon after, I received some illuminating information from Green-Wood—not necessarily about Fairchild, but about how things are done at the burial place in general. Read and learn:

There are a couple of reasons mausoleums get sealed up, like the Fairchild’s. First, if it has been filled to capacity, the family may opt to have Green-Wood to seal the mausoleum. Or, when Green-Wood is unable to find surviving heirs to make the necessary repairs to a mausoleum, the entrance is sealed with masonry or wood. And last, others may have had stone doors which broke away from their hinges under their massive weight or metal doors that just rusted away.

In keeping with our rustic, rural cemetery layout, we actually do let some areas of the cemetery “go native.” Our superintendent of grounds knows the whole place like the back of his hand and has his crew on the grounds every day. So no area is just untended. Art is a big fan of naturalistic settings and some areas of Green-Wood are purposely allowed to grow over.

All that being said, we do have a preservation department that works to recreate iron gates and doors and to replace the wood closures. We’re also working to restore entire mausoleums like the marble one heading into Clinton Dell. All in time, as we have labor and resources to work through the list. With 478 acres, it’s a tall (if not never-ending) order.

Poor Fairchild

Most of the tombs at lovely Green-Wood Cemetery in Brooklyn look like this. Kept up fairly well and looking pretty grand for their age. Who know how many family members visit on a regular basis, but someone's looking to their appearances.

This vault, high on a slope in the southwest corner of the cemetery, is not so lucky. I was attracted by its untended, unloved facade. Both doors have been boarded over, one with wood, the other with brick. The stoneface has fallen away in places, revealing the red brick beneath. There's been no tending of the grounds surrounding it. And one of the names of the formerly interred has been removed.

The one that remains is E.B. Fairchild. Who was this unlucky son of a bitch? I checked the Green-Wood burial database and uncovered one Eugene B. Fairchild as one of only two Fairchilds with the initials E.B. buried there. The name corresponded with the lot number number where I found this crypt, Lot 42.

Eugene was buried on July 11, 1881, according to Green-Wood. The New York Times reported that  a Eugene B. Fairchild died in 1877. (Perhaps it takes a few years to build a crypt. I don't know.) The Times described him as "a well known and much respected gentleman, who as President of the Waverly Boat Club and a prominent member of the Masonic fraternity." A lot of Masons attended his funeral.

Who knows if this is the same guy. The name was probably not that uncommon a one back in the 19th century. But what happened here? Given that the doors are shut up, I can't imagine Eugene's still in there? Did he find space at a better cemetery?

The Fool With the Huge Obelisk

Think someone's overcompensating here?

Green-wood Cemetery has a lot of grandiose monuments erected by a lot of self-important people. But this one may take the cake. This obelisk marking the final resting place of Stephen M. Griswold may be the tallest in the cemetery. It's certainly the tallest I found during a recent tour of the western end of the famous burial ground.

So who was this grandee? Well, Griswold was famous in a way. But probably not in a way he would have liked.

A few weeks back I took a tour of the landmark Plymouth Church in Brooklyn, the one where Henry Ward Beecher was pastor. There I learned that a number of the parishioners were among the pilgrims that Mark Twain made fun of in his bestseller "Innocents Abroad." Apparently, Twain traveled to the Holy Land with the group in 1867—it was the first trans-Atlantic American cruise—and later used them as the models of the uncouth boobs featured in a series of articles, which were then collected into a book.

Griswold and his wife were in that group, and they were not portrayed in a favorable light. Maybe that indignity was what Griswold was trying to correct when his family commissioned this mile-high tombstone. Griswold was a jeweler otherwise, and the president of the Union Bank of Brooklyn, though he was a New York State Senator from 1886 to 1887. Guess his voters didn't read much Twain.

Inside the McGovern-Weir Greenhouse

There are many old structures in the good old City, but among those edifices that just plain look incredibly old, I would have to nominate the McGovern-Weir greenhouse on the western border of Green-Wood Cemetery. (There used to be many greenhouses near the entrance of the cemetery, as you might guess.)

It was built by James Weir, Jr. (son of founding florist James Weir), in 1880, at the corner of 25th Street and Fifth Avenue. Architect Mercein Thomas designed the glass and wood building. Fifteen years later, Weir hired architect George Curtis Gillespie to enlarge the greenhouse. The sign at top was once visible from a long way off. Buildings were shorter then. Weir and his two sons, James E. and Edward, all lived on 25th Street near the greenhouse. Cozy.

It is the only Victorian-era greenhouse left standing in New York.

The Weirs owned the greenhouse until 1971, when they sold to the current owners (McGovern, I assume). I stepped foot in the place for the first time this past weekend. My God, the thing is ancient. (Does the Landmarks Commission prevent the owners from giving the building a new coat of paint?) In a world of steel, it's completely wooden structure comes as something of a shock. Reminded me of the Cyclone, somehow. The spiderweb pattern of the domed roof is awe-inspiring. The rusted, chipping windows are less so. They belong in a haunted house.


There's a building next door that was obviously once part of the greenhouse. The architectural style is the same and it appears to be of the same era. The windows are boarded up now. But there are some awfully curious, designs etched into the vertical timbered, once painted green.