Union-Made Ashes

If you take the time to talk to the caretaker of the old Missouri Crematory and Columbarium at 3411 Sublette Ave., he will give you a tour. It's not often that the living seek his company and he welcomes the opportunity to converse with someone other than himself. But he is quick to add that he likes the solitude. The dead, he says, can't cause you any harm.

The crematory, which opened in 1887, shut down a few years ago, but the columbarium still has some space available, if you're interested. Those who have chosen to be cremated over the years came from all walks of life. For example, in the basement of the columbarium, an imposing crypt-like edifice, there is a bronze plaque on the wall that honors members of Brewers Local 6, many of whose ashes are interred here.

Since 1875

The city is layered in time, with decades overlapping themselves, defying the concept of linear reality. Passing by on the Interstates, commuters rarely glimpse the urban history that surrounds them, the places that have somehow managed to endure against the odds, including some establishments founded in the 19th Century that remain open today. Two of these venerable businesses, located on opposite ends of the city, first opened their doors in 1875. At 2501 N. 14th Street, on the near Northside, Marx Hardware still sells nuts and bolts as it did during President Ulysses S. Grant's administration. Likewise, Carondelet Bakery, at 7726 Virginia, in deep South St. Louis, has been serving fresh pastries and cakes at the same location for 130 years.

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

Outside the van, on Lindell Avenue, the young woman pleaded with my partner not to boot her late-model Toyota Scion. The Saint Louis University student, had just completed her last final of the semester. That temporary relief had suddenly been replaced with the anxiety that her car might soon be towed away for non-payment of parking tickets. She wore a small gold ring in her nose and her skin was the color of coffee with extra cream. The knit cap, pulled low on her brow, bore pins that espoused her social awareness. I watched from inside the van, listening to a Christmas carol on the radio. After we drove away from the scene, I felt vaguely depressed until I switched stations and happened to hear the Bottle Rockets singing $1,000 Car, a humorous lament on the poor man's transportation plight. The student could afford to pay her fine.