Dateline>City of Angels

For Halloween chills, there are few adventures more spine-tingling than a midnight stroll through an old, abandoned cemetery. Unfortunately for us Angelenos, many of our earliest and most historic burial grounds have vanished forever beneath the urban sprawl. Their locales today are more often marked by parking bumps than aging, chiseled tombstones. Read on after the jump to see my picks for L.A.’s Top 5 Forgotten Cemeteries. Who knows? In visiting these sites you may yet find yourself haunted by the long-lost spirits of our past…

No. 5: Plaza Churchyard. In the early days, Mission San Gabriel served the sacramental needs of the fledgling pueblo of Los Angeles. But with the mission nine miles away, a trip to the cemetery was quite a trek. In 1822 the Plaza Church of Our Lady of the Angels was completed, and its graveyard soon opened for business. Most burials took place in the Campo Santo along the building’s south side (to the left in this photo; click on thumbnail to view), although some graves are rumored to exist on the north side as well. Regardless, you’ll find no markers – the names of the deceased are known only from the Church’s sacramental registries. By 1837, the tiny courtyard was overflowing with dead, prompting Church officials to consecrate a new burial ground near the northern end of Eternity Street (now Broadway) near Elysian Park. La Placita’s boneyard was finally declared closed in 1844. [521 N. Main Street]

No. 4: Fort Hill Cemetery. In a town where virtually everyone was Catholic, a common church cemetery originally made sense. But as Los Angeles grew and diversified, its newer arrivals naturally began to pine for Happy Hunting Grounds reflecting their own distinct heritages. In 1847 a powder magazine exploded atop Fort Moore Hill, claiming four American soldiers as victims. Their burial on the spot led to a new Boot Hill that by 1871 boasted about 600 dearly departed, with designated sections for Protestants, Free Masons, French, Chinese, city firemen and other groups. In fact, some of L.A.’s most riotously colorful figures were laid to rest here. In 1879, however, the city closed the site, eventually parceling it out to various interests, including the Board of Education in the mid-1900s. While there were many attempts to relocate the dead, they weren’t all that successful — as evidenced by the numerous caskets unearthed by the recent construction of L.A.’s new Central High School No. 9. [Bounded by Hill St., Caesar Chavez and Grand Avenues.]

No. 3: “America Cemetery.” The details surrounding this second Protestant graveyard are all but lost to time. Historians aren’t even 100-percent sure of its name, let alone its exact location. Consensus seems to be that it operated from 1858-61 in the vicinity of Flower, Figueroa and 9th Street, an area characterized today by the famous Pantry restaurant and sleek, modern high-rises. Whatever its name and wherever it was, its brief life was apparently cut short by a 19th-Century lawsuit of some sort.

No. 2: Home of Peace. L.A.’s first Jewish cemetery is believed to have been founded around 1854-55 by the Hebrew Benevolent Society on land once belonging to Jose Andres Sepulveda near the Elysian Park Reservoir. Ironically, experts say the former Naval and Marine Reserve Center – aka, “The Old Armory,” now an LAFD training post – occupies the site. (Supposedly there was also a “potter’s field” for indigent Angelenos in the area as well.) In 1902 a new Home of Peace cemetery opened in East L.A., and the former cemetery’s 360 or so occupants were transfered there. The original site was designated California Registered Historical Landmark No. 822 in the early 1960s. [Chavez Ravine, between Lookout Dr., Lilac Terrace and Stadium Way.]

No. 1: Old Calvary. Ask a Cathedral High alumnus why the team moniker is The Phantoms. Here amid the hallowed halls of the private Catholic boys school lies the site of Old Calvary, which succeeded the Plaza Churchyard as L.A.’s principal cemetery in 1844. By the late 19th Century, however, its collection of picturesque sepulchers and monuments had become a sorry, weed-ridden haunt for vandals. In the early 1900s, the cemetery’s faithful departed were exhumed for relocation to New Calvary, several miles east of the L.A. River. Rumor has it, however, that not everyone made it to the new digs. Tales persist of grave-shaped sink holes forming on the grounds after heavy rains, with coffin hardware still occasionally surfacing – along with a few restless spirits now and then. [Corner of N. Broadway and Bishop's Road.]