Edward T.
Yelp
I'm a bit ambivalent in writing this, as the last time I was here was in the 1990s, and I was still a bit "green" when it came to touring historic cemeteries, and taking photos in said cemeteries. Times have definitely changed in the decades since I was here-- when it comes to taking photos now, there's Iphones and Smartphones, and websites like "Find A Grave." I was armed only with a book called "Permanent Californians" and another, more irreverent book (the title escapes me), in which they referred to the security at this particular cemetery as "Cemetery Nazis" (their words; not mine). The book indicated that they weren't pleasant, and if they saw you with a camera, they were confiscating it.
I was staying with friends, had rented a car, and decided to visit as many LA cemeteries and bookstores as I could during the day, spending nights with my friends (my co-workers back East never got my interest in visiting historic cemeteries; they nicknamed me "Obeah Man."). Forest Lawn was often described as the premiere LA cemetery, the most lovely and picturesque, and obviously it had a prominent place on my itinerary. I also wanted to find the gravesite of a distant relative of mine, old time character actor J. Carrol Naish. The person I talked to on the phone told me he was buried here (turns out, he isn't). When I got to the front gate, Irma Grese...sorry, I mean the security person in charge...asked me why I was there. When I told her about Naish, instead of her informing me that I was mistaken and that he wasn't buried there, she simply said, "They weren't supposed to give you that information." But she let me drive in...albeit reluctantly (my camera discreetly tucked away, of course).
I wasn't trying to be deceitful, or disrespectful, but I didn't feel that trying to take a photo of the gravesite of an actor(s) whose work I had admired and respected, whose art had provided entertainment and/or escape from some of life's depressing realities during my tenure here on Earth, was somehow the equivalent of trying to heist a company payroll from a Garda truck.
My first stop was the Great Mausoleum, where Gable and Jean Harlow are buried, but my inexperience made me timid (I was awkwardly holding my camera under my vest), so I sat numbly with some other tourists, feigning interest in "the Last Supper" exhibit (and having flashbacks to my childhood, when I was forced into attending church). Actors I was more interested in-- W.C. Fields and Lon Chaney-- were entombed on the floors above, which were completely inaccessible to peons like me.
I had better luck outside. I found the graves of Errol Flynn and Spencer Tracy, even Walt Disney. At this point, I should mention that the acres of rolling grounds, the trees and foliage, and the distant hills that comprise the scenery are exquisitely beautiful. Even the numerous statues, which might under other circumstances seem tacky, are elegantly artistic.
Throughout the cemetery are "private gardens," accessible only to family members with a key. One of my favorite actors, Humphrey Bogart, was buried in just such a "garden." I either got very lucky, or Humphrey's shade was in the vicinity, and decided I was in need of a break. Gardeners were pruning trees and bushes, and the garden door was unlocked and ajar. My timidity deserted me. I moved boldly into the garden like a family member, located Humphrey's modest marker, and took my photo. I disturbed or intruded on no one in mourning, and like to think I conducted myself with discretion and respect. At the very least, I don't think Humphrey would have minded.
The "Freedom Mausoleum" wasn't so closely guarded, and I was able to get photos of the graves of Chico Marx, Larry Fine, Gracie Allen (George Burns was still among the living at the time), and Clara Bow.
These days, I imagine taking photos, given the technology, isn't so restrictive or difficult (although I have to believe that getting a photo of Liz Taylor or Michael Jackson's last resting place isn't gonna be easy). I get the need for respect, and dignity, and that families...whether related to "stars" or not...should be able to mourn in private, without fans or gawkers intruding on their grief. But...well, it is LA. At the risk of sounding callous...doesn't it come with the territory?
With other "celebrity" cemeteries in LA, it didn't seem to be such an issue.
Still...maybe that's why Cagney, Edward G. Robinson, Mae West, John Garfield, and Joan Crawford chose to be buried in NY, instead of LA.