From taquerias to Target, there is so much life on central Lake Street that it is easy to overlook the dead. But some of Minneapolis' earliest residents are resting for eternity between an Aldi and a Boost Mobile near Cedar Avenue — and their burial ground is a quiet respite from the din of the city.
Pioneers and Soldiers Memorial Cemetery, historically known as "Layman's," is one of the most uniquely urban cemeteries in the state. And it is one of the oldest, with burials predating Minnesota's statehood in 1858. Beneath its diverse array of stone markers are people who platted the city's streets, broke racial barriers in public service, helped run the Underground Railroad, fought in the Civil War and even committed a murder that captivated the area. Many of the dead are immigrants. Thousands are children.
More people are familiar with its grander cousin, Lakewood Cemetery, which is the final resting place of many of the city's early industrialists. But the inhabitants of Pioneers paint a more honest picture of the city's early history.
"It's more typical of the immigrant experience, of the working-class experience — frankly the majority of people in Minneapolis, say in the 1870s and the '80s," says Sue Hunter Weir, who leads the Friends of the Cemetery preservation group.
The cemetery is also a rare stretch of green space along Lake Street, one of the city's most active commercial areas, making it a great place for an afternoon stroll. It is maintained by the city of Minneapolis and welcomes daytime visitors during the warmer months. It even hosts the occasional evening outdoor movie screening.
"Bring a sketchbook. Bring a chair. Bring a camera, whatever. Just come in and hang out. It's parklike," Hunter Weir says.
Layman's Cemetery was named after the farmer who allowed burials on his land in what was then a remote part of town. It grew to become one of the city's primary cemeteries in the mid-1800s. But before its neighbors included an all-you-can-eat buffet, some bristled at the cemetery's isolated location. One newspaper account likened it to an "open, bleak prairie field."
"We know not the causes which led to the selection of our burying ground," the Minneapolis Tribune wrote in 1868. "The situation remains a monument of someone's ignorance and barbarism."