Immortality

In the skeletal Dakotas and deep in brooding New England, death is still the dark boatman--mystic and dreadful. But in lively, bright Glen dale, Calif., home of Forest Lawn Memorial Park (the "happy cemetery"), death is different. It occurs,--but it has given up its old funerary trappings. Forest Lawn is on the move.

Of all its progressive features, perhaps the most startling is Forest Lawn's dim, vaulted, colored marble Memorial Court of Honor--a New World Westminster Abbey with floor crypts "reserved as gifts of honored interment for Americans whose lives shall have been crowned with greatness." The court has richness, trick lighting and a famed stained-glass window depicting the Last Supper. All it needs is age and tenants.

Last week, U.S. songwriter Carrie Jacobs-Bond (End of a Perfect Day, I Love You Truly, et al.) became the second American to get space in the court. (The first was Sculptor Gutzon Borglum.)

The Gates. Mrs. Bond died on December 28. On her 84th birthday last August, she was tactfully approached by Dr. Hubert ("The Builder") Eaton, Forest Lawn's chairman and founder, who offered her the Lawn's award for achievement in music. Among other things, the award assured Mrs. Bond of post-mortem consideration for a free crypt and lessened the possibility of her escaping to some Eastern burying ground--as had happened in the case of Will Rogers. Ailing Mrs. Bond accepted.

Promptly, Dr. Eaton and Forest Lawn's Council of Regents (including ex-U.S.

Vice President Charles G. Dawes) got busy with plans for the "Immortal Memorial Committal Service" to come. (Estimated cost: $25,000.) But before the electricians had finished wiring a built-in microphone, fluorescent reading lamp and flashing light signal into the court's new carved oak lectern, Mrs. Bond died.

Dr. Eaton was not dismayed. He had built Forest Lawn from a purple-hilled wilderness into a super-cemetery with 106,259 graves (including a fairly complete who-was-who in the movies). He had ornamented its 303 acres of rolling green with happy-looking statuary, splashing fountains, the world's largest set of wrought-iron gates, and bronze memorial tablets laid flat in the grass (to do away with the headstone idea).

The preparations for the Bond funeral were in keeping. First the date was set and some 450 invitations mailed. Baritone John Charles Thomas was engaged to sing I Love You Truly. The cemetery's 500-man staff was handed thick pamphlets of mimeographed instructions and drilled like a squad of marines. Electric heaters were installed to take the chill off the marble; the white-surpliced Pasadena Boys' Choir was rehearsed for piping rendition of End of a Perfect Day. Then Dr. Eaton called a rehearsal for all hands. It went off without a hitch.

The Crown. One morning last week, when the sun caught the Last Supper window just right, a trailer bus deposited 18 red-robed council regents outside the court. They formed up behind the boys' choir. Carrying burning tapers, the procession marched into the jammed court and up toward the velvet-draped bier. After a short scripture reading, the choir began to sing Mrs. Bond's The Hand of You. Then white-maned Rufus B. von KleinSmid, Chancellor of the University of Southern California, began the "narration:" "No vote of critics, no surge of publicity can elect a composer to the shrine reserved for those who write our folk music. Only the voices of the hearts of the people may choose the candidate for this honor. . . ."

When Dr. von KleinSmid had finished, Dr. Eaton arose, and taking a crown of laurel from a page boy, began to intone the "pronouncement" Said he:

"The laurel crown has long been recognized as the traditional symbol of immortality--therefore, by this token, and by virtue of the authority vested in me by the Council of Regents ... I do herewith pronounce Carrie Jacobs-Bond an immortal of the Memorial Court of Honor." He placed the crown on the bier.

There was nothing more to be said. After Mr. Thomas sang I Love You Truly with only one mistake (inserting "cheer" for "tear" in the second line, first stanza), somebody read a poem contributed by tireless California Author Kathleen Norris ("Where have you flown to, bird, in the dawning glory . . .").

Then the guests filed out into the warm Southern California sunshine, still gripped by Forest Lawn's newest achievement--immortality. It took some time for the feeling to pass away.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.