Cementery provides moments of peace

Only a couple blocks south of the high rises, there is a silence so far removed from the bustle of Philadelphia that it takes the occasional roar of an airplane overhead or the honk of a nearby car to provide a sense of place. Students who have taken refuge in the winding maze of walkways threading through Woodlands Cemetery have discovered a secret caretaker John Leech has kept for 25 years. "It's very peaceful," Leech said. "I'll be here in the afternoon when there's not many people around or when the place closes, and you just get the sense that you're apart from everything else." Responsible for maintaining Woodlands' 32,000 burial plots, Leech lives with his wife on the cemetery's sprawling grounds in a large Confederate house, which is itself steeped in history. In 1734, colonial lawyer Andrew Hamilton bought the 250-acre estate, which then contained a much smaller manor house. When his grandson William Hamilton -- a famed botanist and the University's Class of 1762 valedictorian -- inherited the estate in 1747, he constructed the mansion that now stands on the property. Legend has it that President Thomas Jefferson gave the younger Hamilton seeds that Lewis and Clark collected on their expedition west. The seeds were then planted on the estate and produced trees that still grow among the vegetation dotting the cemetery's landscape, Woodlands Cemetery Corporation boardmember Catherine Fussell said. The site became a cemetery in 1840, years after William's death, when a group of prominent Philadelphians bought the property and founded the corporation to which Fussell now belongs. Today, the corporation entrusts preservation of the cemetery's quiet and peace to Leech. "It used to be a lot busier," the caretaker said. "There used to be roses all over and people watering the stones. People have gotten away from visiting grave sights." And while it's true that some of the walkways have faded under weeds and grass, University students still frequent the cemetery, if only to jog or stroll through the grounds. "They're always here," said Earl Hood, the cemetery's bookkeeper for 20 years. "They'll jog by and wave and I'll wave back." Wharton junior Ken St. Hill said he often comes to Woodlands when the tension of college life gets to him. "It's peaceful there and an escape from how hectic everyday life is," he said. "I remember when I was taking a rest from running how I would look at the names on the headstones and wonder who the people were or what they did when they were alive." Leech, who seldom leaves the grounds and is at this point almost as permanent a fixture of the cemetery as its headstones, is an expert on the history of his "neighbors." "Look," he said, pointing towards a protruding monument crowned by an angelic statue. "That's where the guy who wrote 'Little Town of Bethlehem' is buried." He walked in the direction of the monument and stood over the small inscription at the bottom. "It's just one line," he said. "Everything you do just boils down to one line. It's not worth trying to hoard all that money or conquer the entire world because we all end up here anyway." As one might expect, Leech's reign has allowed him ample time to philosophize about life -- and death. "Look at the life span," he said, again pointing to the epitaph. "You just get the feeling out here that life is so short. These people came and went. You just have to enjoy it as much as you can while you're here."