St. Louis Cemetery No. 1

In October of 2023 I finally got to put a check on one of my long-time bucket list adventures. While you’ll find that I’m no stranger to the Big Easy, this would at last be my first time exploring the city during Halloween weekend. With all the typical debauchery dialed up to eleven, every bar and club packed with costumed party-goers, exploring the French Quarter for Halloween was an adventure indeed. And when you are in America’s most haunted city for it’s most haunted festivities, one must absolutely take a tour of it’s most infamous boneyard.

St. Louis Cemetery No.1 is the crescent city’s oldest operating cemetery; built in 1789 to facilitate moving the St. Peter cemetery (or at least some of it) outside of the city after the fire of 1788. Despite covering only one city block, thousands of bodies are interred within the confines of its brick and mortar walls. Famous for its beautifully constructed (and necessary) above ground crypts, St. Louis No.1 is the final resting place of mayors, judges, writers, architects and possibly even the Queen of New Orleans Voodoo, Marie Laveau. The vast majority of its tombs are family owned and house the remains of several generations of New Orleanians, some stretching back for centuries. With a history like that its no surprise that the cemetery is also reportedly one of the most haunted locations in the city.

Being a frequent visitor of New Orleans over the years, this particular tour of the cemetery was not my first. I had explored the cemetery on one previous occasion shortly after the city re-emerged from the aftermath of hurricane Katrina. During this time the cemetery was still open to the public and could be roamed at leisure, but it was also in a state of disrepair as a result of the storm and some sections of the cemetery were inaccessible. The unforgiving Louisiana humidity and only a few years of neglect resulted in crumbling tombs with their gruesome contents clearly visible, and several broken, uneven walkways. Being sensitive to the emotional energies of storied locations (and sometimes objects), I found that I could not long stay within the cemetery. The air itself was heavy and oppressive and around every corner I found pockets of forlorn despair. I was left with the impression that the residents of St. Louis No.1 were as heartbroken about the devastation left by Katrina as the living residents of the rest of the city.

Several years would pass before I would return to the city of the dead.

Fast forward to late October, 2023 and I’m finding myself waiting outside the walls of St. Louis cemetery No. 1 with a tour group. No longer open to the public, one must now book a tour through an agency (cemeterytourneworleans.com) that partners with the New Orleans Archdiocese. The Catholic Church of New Orleans has regulated entrance into the cemetery since 2015 after rampant vandalism and the desecration of several tombs provoked public outcry. The tours are led by people who have a genuine interest in the history of not only the cemetery, but of the city on the whole; and in the case of my tour guide, also a family crypt within the necropolis.

Over a decade had passed since I last stepped foot through the wrought iron gates of St. Louis No. 1 and I steeled myself against the expected wave of negative emotions. Where once I had fled a roar of despair, I now found a quiet and content hum. The air moved freely about the tombs and despite the southern humidity, managed a refreshing breeze. I breathed a sigh of relief and gathered with the group to hear the tour guide’s opening remarks.

As the guide outlined the history of the cemetery, (of which I am well versed for the most part) I noted that not only did the space feel different, it looked different. Clean and tidy…the cleanest streets in all of the French Quarter. Marble and plastered brick gleamed in the morning sun, gone were the piles of crumbling and decayed mortar and the overgrowth was relegated to sparse arboreal ferns sprouting from the higher crevices. It seems even the dead appreciate a kept house.

The tour made its way through the crypt lined alleys, eventually passing the shockingly out-of-place white pyramid that will one day be the final resting place of actor Nicholas Cage (making it possibly the only tomb in the whole of the cemetery with a single occupant), and past some of the more opulent mausoleums. In my usual manner I lagged to the tail end of the group in order to photograph and explore on my own. I had caught a few fleeting shadows just on the edge of my cone of vision and I suspected that we might have gained a couple extra (unseen) members to our group. I stopped to glance down a seemingly more ancient row of tombs, when to my surprise a crow fluttered onto the path ahead of me. It made no sound, cocked its head as birds do, and pecked at the cobble stone. I was taken back for a second; meanings of crow omens swirled in my head and one of the many tales of Marie Laveau bubbled up. I raised my phone out of instinct; camera at the ready, and then a second crow joined the first. I realized that my finger had already activated the camera and I had snapped a picture, but the picture only contained a single crow. I looked back in the direction of the crows and indeed there where two birds hopping about path. One crow fluttered atop a concrete vase at the base of a crypt and once again I snapped a photo and once again it contained only one bird. As soon as I lowered my phone, the second crow bounced out from between the tombs; appearing amused by this game of hide-and-go-seek.

The guide announced that the tour was moving to another section of the necropolis, and I left the crows to continue their game. We made our way to the back of the cemetery which contains the graves of the few protestants interred on (and in) the grounds. Post-Katrina this section of the cemetery had been largely overgrown and several of the bordering crypts were crumbling and open…long decayed remains visible to any and all. This was the area that had felt the saddest, but this time was different. This time it was as content as the rest of the block. The moss and vines had been cleared away from the handful of below-ground graves, their broken stone slabs repaired and clean. The destroyed tombs where I had previously glimpsed a moss covered skull staring from the shadows, were now sealed and whole again.

With our tour nearing its end (and our extra shadow guests still flitting about my peripheral), the guide lead the group back toward the gates on Basin Street. Our final stop before exiting the cemetery was the Glapion Family crypt; long believed to contain the earthly remains of New Orleans’ most famous and revered Voodoo Queen, Marie Laveau. During my last visit of the cemetery, the crypt had been a dilapidated, hulking shrine, festooned with rotting Mardi Gras beads of every vintage and littered with crumpled notes and mini liquor bottles. Every square inch of the crumbling mortar seemed to be covered with groupings of three “X”s; most etched into the tomb with the corner of a broken brick, some with pens or pencils, others with what may have been charcoal. The degree of vandalism and neglect was appalling. But now, like the rest of cemetery, the tomb was clean and restored. No random offerings littered the base (save for a few pennies) and only a handful of “X”s marred the white plaster. It could have been any other mausoleum on the path…and that made me somewhat sad. The restoration effort was remarkable; but it didn’t seem proper that the most infamous tomb in St. Louis No. 1 no longer stood out in stark contrast from its neighbors.

The Tour guide finished up by explaining that the Glapion crypt had actually played a major role in the current restrictions at the cemetery. Apparently, sometime in 2013, someone had entered the necropolis after dark and painted the entire crypt bright pink. This final act of vandalism prompted the Archdiocese to shutter St. Louis No. 1 to the public, leaving only those holding family plots and members of the Save our Cemeteries foundation with free access. The latter utilizes proceeds from the tours to fund cemetery restoration efforts across the city.

While strolling the remaining yards to the exit, I was struck with a distinct impression that a child had joined our group. The static hum had gotten only a bit more intense as we neared the gate, but I was certain that a little girl had followed the tour just short of the cemetery wall. A young couple in our group had a baby fast asleep in a stroller and I felt that our unseen tag-along simply wanted to see the other child. Was she one of the shadows that trailed the group for much of the tour? I do believe so. And I feel her presence manifested more intensely as the living child that had peaked her interest exited the city of the dead. A tinge of forlorn regret, a slight tug on a heart string, and then the content hum returned. I stepped back onto Basin street and into the living city of New Orleans, tipped my tour guide and made my way to the Copper Penny across the street. The extensive craft beer menu helps to facilitate the collection of ones thoughts and emotions.

I like to believe the atmosphere within St. Louis No. 1 that day was due in part to the season. It was only a couple days from Halloween and with the veil nearing its thinnest, the residents of the cemetery were likely enjoying the revelry taking place within the city. It seems New Orleanians, both living and dead, love a reason to party. What better time for the departed to walk among the living then a during the one holiday when the streets are filled with hundreds of people dressed as ghosts, goblins and aristocrats from a bygone era. Over the years I’ve encountered dozens of specters on the streets of the French Quarter…most are agreeable, some lost in time, some not so agreeable (especially the one that sits in the back corner of Lafitte’s), but I’ve never felt as much at ease as I did during my last tour of St. Louis No. 1.