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Colonel Sanders

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Every time we so much as touch a toe out of state, I’ve put cemeteries on our travel itinerary. After realizing that there are a lot of taphophiles out there, I’m finally putting my archive of interesting tombstones to good use.

Even though Cave Hill Cemetery in Louisville is the final resting place of many fascinating people, there’s no mistake about who the main attraction is. Simply follow the yellow line painted on various paths throughout the cemetery, and you’ll eventually find that all roads lead to Colonel Sanders.

Though his legendary status may lead you to believe that Harland Sanders has always been a success, he actually didn’t make his millions until late in life. When he received his first social security check for $105 in 1955, Sanders took his mother’s chicken recipe and a special pressure cooker and created what would eventually become the KFC empire.

Before that, Sanders did various stints as a railroader, a streetcar conductor, an insurance salesman, and a lawyer  (that one ended after he got into a courtroom fistfight with his own client). In 1929, he opened a service station in Corbin, Kentucky. In addition to pumping gas, Sanders served home cooked meals. They were so good, in fact, that restaurant reviewer Duncan Hines declared it a “very good place to stop en route to Cumberland Falls and the Great Smokies,” especially the “sizzling steaks, fried chicken, country ham, hot biscuits." Though he hadn’t found his secret 11-herbs-and-spices recipe yet, Sanders had definitely found his calling.

When the new interstate came through, the restaurant in Corbin took a hit. Sanders sold the property at a loss and decided to focus instead on franchising. He married Claudia, one of his waitresses (here’s a cringe-inducing quote: "I always hired widows with children, because they had to work and didn't have any foolishness about them"), and they took their schtick on the road. "Claudia and me got up sort of an act. We'd go into a franchise place, and she'd wear the old-time dress, the hoop skirt you know, and I'd be in my colonel outfit,” he once said. “She'd serve the chicken, and when I was done in the kitchen I'd come out and mingle with the guests."

Speaking of the iconic colonel outfit, he had at least 15 of them, in everything from summer linen to winter wool. The reason they were white, he claimed, was because they hid the flour well when he wiped his hands on his pants.

The franchising efforts made him a millionaire, but it was hard for the aging colonel to keep up with the demands of 600-plus restaurants. He sold the business for a pretty penny in 1964, but continued to be the spokesperson for Kentucky Fried Chicken, including making personal appearances.

Stacy Conradt

Oh, and the answer to the popular “Was he really a Colonel?” question is yes ... and no. No, he wasn’t a military colonel. But he was a Kentucky colonel, the highest honor the Commonwealth of Kentucky can give to a person. Other famous Kentucky colonels included Fred Astaire and Eddie Cantor.

Sanders died in 1980, succumbing to leukemia at the age of 90. His body lay in state at the Kentucky State Capitol in Frankfort; more than 1000 people attended the actual funeral. Even though he’s been gone for almost 35 years, Sanders remains one of the most beloved characters in the history of advertising, business, and Kentucky. And if you need proof of that, just go to Cave Hill Cemetery and follow the yellow line.

See all entries in our Grave Sightings series here.

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Grave Sightings: Alexander Hamilton
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Stacy Conradt

Every time we so much as touch a toe out of state, I’ve put cemeteries on our travel itinerary. From garden-like expanses to overgrown boot hills, whether they’re the final resting places of the well-known but not that important or the important but not that well-known, I love them all. After realizing that there are a lot of taphophiles out there, I’m finally putting my archive of interesting tombstones to good use.

Two hundred and thirteen years ago, a lifetime of political slights and injuries came to a head when Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr dueled in Weehawken, New Jersey, on July 11, 1804. Thanks to that catchy little Broadway musical by Lin-Manuel Miranda, you probably know how the story ends: Burr fired a single bullet that killed Hamilton and his own political career all in one fell swoop.

Burr made himself scarce for years after the infamous incident, fleeing the country for various locations in Europe before settling back in the U.S. under an assumed name. (In addition to killing Hamilton, Burr also had a pesky treason charge hanging over his head.) Hamilton, however, has been pretty easy to find: For more than two centuries, he's been resting at the Trinity Church cemetery at Broadway and Wall Street in Manhattan. And George Washington's right-hand man had quite a few visitors—especially the day of his funeral.

The ornate entrance to a Gothic church, with a wrought-iron fence and old gravestones in the foreground.
Stacy Conradt

The final farewell to Hamilton was extremely well attended; it probably helped that New York City declared July 14 a city-wide day of mourning. During the funeral procession from Angelica and John Church’s house (on what is now Park Place) to Trinity Church, “the sidewalks were congested with tearful spectators, and onlookers stared down from every rooftop,” wrote Hamilton biographer Ron Chernow. “There were no hysterical outbursts, only a shocked hush that deepened the gravity of the situation.”

After a eulogy delivered by Gouverneur Morris, Hamilton’s friend and the author of the preamble to the Constitution, Hamilton was laid to rest—but not beneath the grand grave marker that denotes his final resting place now. The large tomb, topped with an urn at each corner and an obelisk in the middle, was donated in 1806 by the Society of the Cincinnati, a Revolutionary War fraternal group of which Hamilton was President General.

It seems obelisks were a common theme for memorializing Hamilton. Another organization Hamilton belonged to, the Saint Andrew’s Society, had a 14-foot marble obelisk [PDF] with a flaming urn erected at the spot where Hamilton fell. Sadly, the monument was repeatedly vandalized, including by souvenir hunters chipping away pieces to add to their collections. By 1820, it was completely gone except for a plaque. The plaque ended up at a junk store before it was eventually donated to the New-York Historical Society.

Just as the cenotaph at the duel site slowly faded away, so did the mourners who paid their respects at Hamilton’s grave site. Visitors likely picked up again after Eliza Hamilton died in 1854, but aside from that, their plot at the Trinity Church cemetery was much quieter before the Broadway hit.

The flat, rectangular white marble gravestone of Eliza Hamilton, inscribed with her name, relationships, birthday and deathday. Pennies have been strewn across the stone.
Stacy Conradt

But Alexander isn’t the only Hamilton at Trinity getting love from the public these days. Previously forgotten to the annals of history, Eliza Hamilton’s contributions and sacrifices have been brought to light in recent years by Chernow’s biography and Miranda’s musical. As a result, she has just as many fans as her husband—if not more. “She tends to get more gifts than he does," Trinity archivist Anne Petrimoulx told NPR in 2016. "I think the musical makes people identify more with Eliza than with Alex."

Peruse all the entries in our Grave Sightings series here.

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Grave Sightings: Satchel Paige
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Stacy Conradt

Every time we so much as touch a toe out of state, I’ve put cemeteries on our travel itinerary. From garden-like expanses to overgrown boot hills, whether they’re the final resting places of the well-known but not that important or the important but not that well-known, I love them all. After realizing that there are a lot of taphophiles out there, I’m finally putting my archive of interesting tombstones to good use.

If you’re looking for life lessons at a cemetery, you’re probably imagining something abstract: A little reflection, and some deep thinking about the meaning of life and how fleeting our time on earth really is. Visit the gravestone of legendary baseball player Satchel Paige, however, and you’ll get step-by-step instructions.

Engraving on the granite tombstone of Satchel Paige with six pieces of advice on
Stacy Conradt

Originally printed on Paige’s business cards, this sound advice is just the beginning of what you can discover about the pitcher by paying your respects. The massive monument, which sits on a plot of land at the cemetery aptly named “Paige Island,” provides details about Paige’s career and personal life, including how he got his unique nickname:

Close-up of an engraving on the gravestone of baseball player Satchel Paige that details how he got his nickname.
Stacy Conradt

Part of the gravestone of baseball legend Satchel Paige and his wife, which provides the highlights of his career. The top of the grave is dotted with baseballs and coins.
Stacy Conradt

Paige died of a heart attack in 1982 at the age of 75—though he never did slow down much. In fact, on September 25, 1965, he became the oldest pitcher to ever play in a major league game, when the Kansas City Athletics put him in for three innings. The team made a big show out of getting the 59-year-old Paige a rocker for the dugout and hiring a nurse to oil and massage his pitching arm, but fans shouldn’t have worried that his “advanced” age would slow him down: In three innings, only one batter managed to get a hit off of him.

The granite gravestone of baseball legend Satchel Paige, with an engraving about his marriage and children. Fans have left baseballs, coins, and a necklace along the top of the stone.
Stacy Conradt

The large gravestone is a replacement for the original, a modest marker that can still be found at the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum in Kansas City, Missouri. The first stone was donated by a fan who played up Paige’s reluctance to reveal his real birth year by inscribing a question mark for the date. Paige’s family was said to appreciate the donation, “but not for the perpetuation of the ruse over the pitcher’s age,” as his biographer Larry Tye wrote. As far as anyone knows, the 1906 date on the current tombstone is correct.

The granite gravestone of baseball legend Satchel Paige, with the dates of his birth and death and a bronze engraving of his likeness. Fans have left baseballs and coins on the top of the grave.
Stacy Conradt

If you’d like to learn a life lesson (or six) from Satchel Paige himself, you can find his grave at Forest Hills Cemetery in Kansas City, Missouri. Don’t forget to bring a baseball.

Peruse all the entries in our Grave Sightings series here.

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