A serene expanse of greenery amidst Denver’s bustling urban landscape, Cheesman Park often presents itself as an idyllic haven for recreation and relaxation. Yet, beneath its beautifully manicured lawns and towering trees lies a deeply unsettling history, a past that continues to echo through the present in spectral whispers and unexplained phenomena. Many visitors to Cheesman Park remain unaware that they walk upon a former cemetery, a burial ground where thousands still rest, their repose disturbed by a scandalous disinterment and the park’s subsequent development.
From Cemetery to Park: A Troubled Genesis
The story of Cheesman Park begins not with recreational plans, but with a need for a final resting place in the rapidly expanding frontier town of Denver. In 1858, General William Larimer, the founder of Denver, unilaterally claimed land belonging to the Arapaho Indians and set aside 320 acres for a cemetery. Initially named Mount Prospect Cemetery, it was envisioned with clear social distinctions: prime plots on the hill crest for the city’s elite, an outer edge for criminals and paupers, and the middle ground for the burgeoning middle class.
Early Burials and Infamous Residents
The first recorded burial at Mount Prospect was Abraham Kay in March 1859, a man succumbing to a sudden lung infection. However, the more enduring and captivating narrative speaks of a murderer as the cemetery’s inaugural resident. This tale revolves around John Stoefel, a Hungarian immigrant who shot his brother-in-law over a gold dust dispute in April 1859. Convicted by a “people’s court” in the absence of official jurisdiction, Stoefel was hanged and his body, along with his brother’s, unceremoniously dumped into a single grave at the cemetery’s periphery. This early, violent interment foreshadowed the troubled destiny of the grounds.
As the ‘boot hill’ section filled with outlaws and indigents, Mount Prospect earned grim nicknames like the “Old Boneyard.” Another colorful character, professional gambler Jack O’Neill, met a violent end in March 1860, shot down after a heated quarrel. His dramatic demise led locals to christen the cemetery “Jack O’Neil’s Ranch,” further cementing its reputation as a less-than-respectable burial ground. Despite Larimer’s grand intentions, the cemetery never garnered the reverence he sought, becoming predominantly a resting place for Denver’s poor, criminal, and diseased.
Neglect and Disrepair
Upon Larimer’s departure, the cemetery fell into the dubious care of John Walley, a cabinet maker and aspiring undertaker. Under Walley’s tenure, Mount Prospect descended into severe disrepair. Headstones were toppled, graves vandalized, and the land itself became so neglected that cattle were allowed to graze among the burial plots. Reports from 1866 indicated 626 interments, yet the lack of upkeep suggested a profound disregard for the deceased. Legends even claim homesteaders began to live on the very cemetery grounds, a testament to its abandonment and the disrespect shown to those buried within.
The Denver City Cemetery Era and the Push for a Park
In 1872, the U.S. Government, having acquired the land from the Arapaho Indians by treaty in 1860, sold the property to the City of Denver for $200. The cemetery was subsequently renamed the Denver City Cemetery. Over the following years, distinct sections were allocated for various religious, organizational, and ethnic groups, including Odd Fellows, Masons, Roman Catholics, Jews, and a segregated area for Chinese immigrants near the pauper’s graves. While some sections, particularly those maintained by family descendants or organizations, were well-kept, much of the rest of the cemetery continued to suffer from neglect, growing wild with weeds.
The ‘Pest House’ and Potter’s Field
A somber addition to the cemetery’s history came in 1881 with the establishment of a “pest house” – a quarantine hospital for smallpox patients – just south of the Jewish Cemetery. This facility often served as a final stop for the sick, elderly, and handicapped, many of whom were left there to die. Behind this ‘hospital’ lay Potter’s Field, a section where most of the deceased were buried in grim mass graves, further adding to the tragic legacy of the grounds.
The Transformation into Congress Park
By the late 1880s, the cemetery was rarely used and had become a significant eyesore in what was rapidly becoming one of Denver’s most prestigious residential areas. Real estate developers, eager to capitalize on the prime location, began lobbying vigorously for its conversion into a public park. Colorado Senator Henry M. Teller successfully persuaded the U.S. Congress to authorize this transformation. On January 25, 1890, Congress approved the vacation of Mount Prospect, and in a gesture of recognition, Teller immediately renamed the area Congress Park, setting the stage for its dramatic and controversial metamorphosis.
The Gruesome Disinterment Scandal
With the authorization to convert the cemetery into a park, families were given a mere 90 days to remove the remains of their loved ones. Those who could afford it promptly transferred bodies to other cemeteries across the city. The Roman Catholic section, due to its many graves, was sold to the archdiocese, becoming Mount Calvary Cemetery. The Chinese section’s bodies were largely repatriated to their homeland, China, by the thriving Chinese community in Denver’s “Hop Alley” district. However, a significant portion of the deceased, primarily vagrants, criminals, and paupers, remained unclaimed.
E.P. McGovern’s Macabre Contract
In 1893, faced with thousands of unclaimed bodies, the City of Denver awarded a contract to undertaker E.P. McGovern to disinter and relocate the remaining remains. McGovern was tasked with providing a “fresh” box for each body and transferring them to Riverside Cemetery for $1.90 each. The gruesome task commenced on March 14, 1893, drawing crowds of morbidly curious onlookers and reporters. Initially, the process appeared orderly, but McGovern, driven by greed, soon devised a horrifying scheme to maximize his profit.
Rather than using full-sized coffins for adult remains, McGovern resorted to child-sized caskets, measuring a mere one foot by three and a half feet. To fit adult bodies into these undersized containers, his crew brutally hacked the remains apart, sometimes using up to three small caskets for a single body. In their haste and depravity, body parts and bones were strewn haphazardly across the site. The chaotic scene quickly attracted “souvenir” hunters who shamelessly looted the open graves and coffins, adding another layer of desecration to the already appalling situation.
“The Work of Ghouls!”
The horrific details of McGovern’s operation quickly reached the press. On March 19, 1893, the Denver Republican published a sensational headline: “The Work of Ghouls!” The article vividly described McGovern’s gruesome practices, detailing how intact remains were butchered and crammed into inadequate boxes. A chilling excerpt from the article painted a grim picture: “The line of desecrated graves at the southern boundary of the cemetery sickened and horrified everybody by the appearance they presented. Around their edges were piled broken coffins, rent and tattered shrouds, and fragments of clothing that had been torn from the dead bodies… All were trampled into the ground by the footsteps of the gravediggers like rejected junk.”
The public outcry was immediate and immense. The Health Commissioner launched an investigation, leading Mayor Rogers to swiftly terminate McGovern’s contract. Despite the ongoing horror, the city merely erected a temporary wooden fence around the shambles, leaving numerous graves exposed and others still untouched. A new contract for moving the remaining bodies was never awarded, ensuring that thousands of forgotten souls would remain beneath what was destined to become a public park.
Cheesman Park Emerges
In 1894, the transformation of the former cemetery into a park officially began with grading and leveling work. However, some open graves remained unfilled until 1902, when extensive shrubbery was planted. The park, despite the incomplete removal of its former residents, was finally completed in 1907. Its iconic marble pavilion, a lasting landmark, was donated in 1909 by Gladys Cheesman-Evans and her mother, Mrs. Walter S. Cheesman, in memory of Denver pioneer Walter Cheesman. Their donation came with the condition that a portion of the park be designated Cheesman Park, thus giving the area its enduring name.
Further land adjustments occurred over the years. In 1923, the remains from the Hebrew Burial ground were finally moved, and that section was returned to the city, now serving as a reservoir in Congress Park. The land once occupied by the Chinese cemetery was used as a city nursery until 1930, when a Works Project Administration initiative expanded Congress Park. By 1950, the Catholic Church relocated the remaining interments from Mount Calvary Cemetery, selling the land back to the city, which now hosts the beautiful Denver Botanical Gardens. Today, the vast majority of present-day Cheesman Park largely encompasses the Protestant portion of the old cemetery, separated from Congress Park by a residential community. It is estimated that a staggering 2,000 bodies still lie buried beneath its picturesque landscape.
The Enduring Hauntings of Cheesman Park
Given its tumultuous and tragic past, it comes as no surprise that Cheesman Park has earned a reputation as one of Denver’s most haunted locations. The spirits of the forgotten, looted, and desecrated bodies are said to continue making their presence known, not only within the park itself but also in the surrounding neighborhood residences.
Early Accounts of Paranormal Activity
The paranormal phenomena reportedly began almost immediately after the grisly disinterment process in 1893. One of the earliest accounts tells of Jim Astor, a gravedigger who, after looting graves, claimed a ghostly presence landed upon his shoulders. Terrified, Astor fled the cemetery and never returned to work. Residents living near the graveyard quickly reported sad and confused-looking spirits knocking at their doors and windows, accompanied by eerie moans emanating from the still-open graves. These early reports set the stage for a century of persistent hauntings.
Contemporary Encounters and Persistent Phenomena
Today, these restless spirits are still said to actively occupy Cheesman Park, fueling countless tales of paranormal activity. Many visitors experience inexplicable feelings of profound sadness or dread, a stark contrast to the park’s intended atmosphere of pleasure and relaxation. More specific reports include the disconcerting sound of hundreds of whispering voices and moans, seemingly rising from the fields where the open graves once lay. Children have been observed playing in the park at night, only to mysteriously vanish. A solitary woman is often reported singing to herself before she, too, suddenly disappears into thin air.
On moonlit nights, some claim to discern the faint outlines of the old graves beneath the grass. Others describe an unnerving sensation after lying on the lawn, finding it difficult to rise, as if unseen forces are holding them down. Yet more accounts speak of strange shadows and misty, confused figures wandering aimlessly through the park, perpetually searching for something lost or misplaced.
Personal Account: The ‘Slackjaw’ Ghost
The chilling personal encounter of Lee Cook, a local musician and resident near Cheesman Park, provides a vivid modern ghost story. One evening in November 2005, while walking through the park with his friend Rubin, Cook heard the distinct sound of a rattling chain. Though Rubin heard nothing initially, the sound persisted. Later, they encountered a bewildering sight: a young boy on a bicycle, a chain dangling from his pocket, circling a thin, pale man. This man was dressed in what appeared to be a shredded, blood-stained hospital gown, and his jaw was visibly broken.
The pale man approached them, asking for a cigarette. When asked who was responsible for his state, he chillingly replied, “The ones who did this to me. They stabbed me fifteen times.” He then showed them what looked like deep stab wounds on his arms, back, and chest. When asked if he should be in a hospital, he claimed, “They let me go because I had no money.” The man then cryptically warned them to “watch out for ‘them'” and repeatedly declared, “I’m going to get them!” After reassuring him, Cook and Rubin watched the pair casually move into the darkness before fleeing to Cook’s apartment, convinced they had encountered “the walking dead!” Cook subsequently dubbed this tormented spirit “Slackjaw,” a testament to the enduring and often terrifying presence of the past within Cheesman Park.
Conclusion: A Park Shrouded in Mystery
From its origins as Mount Prospect Cemetery, through the scandalous disinterment orchestrated by E.P. McGovern, to its current status as Cheesman Park, this Denver landmark carries a history unlike any other. What began as a solemn burial ground became a site of profound desecration and neglect, a wound in the city’s past that many believe has never fully healed. The beautiful lawns and recreational spaces of today stand directly atop the resting places of thousands, many of whom were unceremoniously abandoned. These untold stories and restless souls contribute to the park’s palpable atmosphere, making it a compelling, if sometimes unsettling, destination. Whether viewed as a serene urban oasis or a nexus of paranormal activity, Cheesman Park remains a poignant reminder that history, especially when it involves such deep human tragedy, often refuses to be silently buried. Its haunting legacy ensures its place as a truly unique and enigmatic treasure in the heart of Denver, perpetually inviting visitors to ponder the mysteries that lie just beneath the surface.
