More tales from the Graves
Dexter Graves, that is. Not a lot is known about the man, other than that he was one of the first Chicagoans, he ran a hotel, and he died around 1844. About 65 years later, a new monument was commissioned for his gravesite, titled Eternal Silence. It might be one of the most chilling representations of Death ever created. Some say that, like a vampire, it can't be photographed, but as you can see, my camera proved them wrong.
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The figure of Death was sculpted by Lorado Taft, whose far less creepy Alma Mater statue is familiar to alumni of the Univeristy of Illinois.
Be forewarned -- I could go on for weeks about everything I saw at Graceland Cemetery! The following picture is of the massive Palmer monument:
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In the late 1800s, Potter and Bertha Palmer thought of themselves as Chicago royalty, and the temple they erected to their memories testifies to that. I took this picture from across a small pond in the center of the cemetery. Near where I was standing are buried Ludwig Mies van der Rohe, Bruce Goff, and Ruth Page, all modernists (in contrast to Lorado Taft).
At the north end of the pond is a tiny island on which lies the remains of architect and urban planner Daniel Burnham (who was more of a Lorado Taft kind of guy). The island is landscaped in a naturalistic style, possibly in homage to Burnham's colleague Frederick Law Olmsted, who was the architect of Jackson Park's Wooded Island. The path to the island was a muddy mess the day I was there -- Olmsted would not have approved.
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