Ghosts of Cheesman Park in Denver

Cheesman Park, a verdant oasis nestled amidst the urban landscape of Denver, Colorado, presents a paradox to its visitors. By day, it’s a vibrant tapestry of rolling hills, mature trees offering dappled shade, and sprawling lawns that invite picnics and leisurely strolls. But beneath this tranquil facade lies a history as unsettling as it is fascinating, a history interwoven with tales of forgotten souls and restless spirits. Unbeknownst to many enjoying the park’s beauty, they may be unknowingly walking upon the final resting place of individuals interred there in the 19th century. Surrounded by the stately Capitol Hill mansions, Cheesman Park in Denver is not merely a botanical haven or a scenic overlook with a 150-mile panoramic view from its iconic pavilion; it’s also rumored to be a gathering place for spectral residents, forever bound to the land.

The story of Cheesman Park in Denver begins in 1858, a period of rapid expansion and territorial claims in the American West. General William Larimer, a figure synonymous with Denver’s early development, seized the claim of the St. Charles Town Company and established the town that would become Denver. However, this claim was itself problematic, as the land rightfully belonged to the Arapaho Indians. In November of that year, Larimer designated 320 acres for a cemetery, a space that now encompasses both Cheesman and Congress Parks. This burial ground, initially named Mount Prospect Cemetery, was meticulously planned, with prime locations on the hilltop reserved for the city’s elite and influential citizens. The outer reaches were relegated to criminals, paupers, and the marginalized, while the middle class found their final repose somewhere in between.

Abraham Kay, succumbing to a sudden lung infection, was the first to be buried in this new cemetery on March 20, 1859. However, a more sensationalized narrative often prevails, claiming that the first interment was a man hanged for murder. This macabre tale, perhaps due to its dramatic flair, has become the favored version, adding a touch of grim folklore to the cemetery’s early history.

The second recorded burial was that of John Stoefel, a Hungarian immigrant who arrived in Denver to resolve a dispute with his brother-in-law. On April 7, 1859, Stoefel shot his relative, allegedly motivated by a desire to seize his gold dust. With no official court nearby, a "people’s court" was convened, convicting Stoefel of murder. He was hanged on April 9, 1859, from a cottonwood tree at the intersection of 10th and Cherry Creek Streets. Despite Denver’s modest size at the time, the execution drew an estimated crowd of 1,000 spectators. Afterward, both Stoefel’s body and his brother-in-law’s were unceremoniously interred in the same grave at the edge of the cemetery.

As the periphery of Mount Prospect Cemetery filled with outlaws, vagrants, and the impoverished, the citizens of Denver began to refer to it with less-than-respectful nicknames: "Old Boneyard" and "Boot Hill." Further contributing to the cemetery’s notorious reputation was the death of Jack O’Neill, a popular professional gambler. In March 1860, O’Neill was fatally shot outside a saloon following a heated argument with a man named "Rooker." The dispute, sparked by a perceived slight to O’Neill’s heritage, escalated when O’Neill challenged Rooker to a knife fight, which Rooker declined. A few days later, Rooker ambushed and killed O’Neill. When the Rocky Mountain News reported on the incident, the cemetery gained yet another moniker: "Jack O’Neil’s Ranch." These unflattering names underscored the cemetery’s descent from a dignified burial ground to a place associated with the city’s darker elements.

The aspiration for a respectable final resting place envisioned by Larimer never materialized. Denver’s influential citizens increasingly chose to be buried elsewhere, leaving Mount Prospect Cemetery primarily for the poor, the criminal, and those afflicted with disease. This further cemented its reputation as a neglected and undesirable location.

When Larimer departed Denver, a cabinet maker and aspiring undertaker named John Walley claimed ownership of Mount Prospect. In 1866, a report indicated that 626 individuals were buried within its grounds. Walley proved to be an inadequate caretaker, allowing the cemetery to fall into a state of severe disrepair. Headstones were overturned, graves were vandalized, and livestock were even allowed to graze on the land. Some accounts even suggest that homesteaders began to occupy the property, further blurring the line between burial ground and public space.

In 1872, the U.S. Government declared that the land upon which the cemetery stood was federal property, having been ceded to the government in 1860 through a treaty with the Arapaho Indians. The government then offered the land to the City of Denver, which purchased it for $200. A year later, the cemetery was officially renamed Denver City Cemetery.

Over time, the cemetery became segregated, with designated areas for various religious, organizational, and ethnic groups. Sections were established for the Odd Fellows, the Society of Masons, Roman Catholics, Jews, the Grand Army of the Republic, and a segregated section for the Chinese community located near the pauper’s graves. While some of these sections were meticulously maintained by family descendants or affiliated organizations, others were left to deteriorate.

In 1875, twenty acres in the northern part of the cemetery were sold to the Hebrew Burial Society, who diligently maintained their section. However, much of the remaining graveyard was overgrown with weeds and neglected.

In 1881, a "hospital" for smallpox patients was established just south of the Jewish Cemetery. This facility, more commonly referred to as a "pest house," served as a quarantine zone for individuals suffering from smallpox and other contagious diseases. Some were genuinely ill, while others were simply elderly, sick, or disabled. Tragically, many "patients" were abandoned at the pest house to die. Behind the building lay the Potter’s Field section of the graveyard, where the deceased were often buried in mass graves.

By the late 1880s, the cemetery was rarely used and had deteriorated further, becoming a major eyesore in what had become one of the most prestigious areas of the burgeoning city. Real estate developers began lobbying for the conversion of the unused cemetery into a park. Colorado Senator Teller successfully persuaded the U.S. Congress to authorize the city to vacate Mount Prospect and transform it into a park. On January 25, 1890, Congress granted the city permission, and Teller promptly renamed the area Congress Park.

Families were given 90 days to relocate the remains of their loved ones. Those who could afford it began transferring bodies to other cemeteries throughout the city. Due to the large number of graves in the Roman Catholic section, Mayor Bates sold the 40-acre area to the archdiocese, which established Mount Calvary Cemetery. The Chinese section of the graveyard was entrusted to Denver’s large Chinese population, who resided in the "Hop Alley" section. Most of these remains were exhumed and shipped back to China.

However, the majority of those buried in the cemetery were vagrants, criminals, and paupers. With most bodies unclaimed, the City of Denver contracted undertaker E.P. McGovern to remove the remaining remains in 1893. McGovern was tasked with providing a "fresh" box for each body and transferring it to Riverside Cemetery for $1.90 per body. The macabre work began on March 14, 1893, attracting crowds of onlookers and reporters. Initially, the removal process was orderly. However, McGovern, driven by greed, soon devised a scheme to maximize his profits. Instead of using full-sized coffins for adults, he employed child-sized caskets measuring only one foot by 3 ½ feet long. He dismembered the bodies, sometimes using as many as three caskets for a single individual. In the chaotic frenzy, body parts and bones were scattered everywhere, and "souvenir" hunters began looting the open graves and coffins.

The Denver Republican exposed the scandal on March 19, 1893, with a headline declaring "The Work of Ghouls!" The article detailed McGovern’s practice of hacking up the often-intact remains of the deceased and stuffing them into undersized boxes. The article vividly described the scene:

"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 Health Commissioner launched an immediate investigation, and Mayor Rogers terminated McGovern’s contract. The city erected a temporary wooden fence around the cemetery, leaving it in disarray with exposed graves. Although numerous graves remained untouched and others lay exposed, no new contract for removing the bodies was ever awarded.

In 1894, grading and leveling commenced in preparation for the park’s construction. However, many open graves were not filled in until 1902, when shrubs were planted. The park was finally completed in 1907 without removing the remaining bodies. Two years later, in 1909, Gladys Cheesman-Evans and her mother, Mrs. Walter S. Cheesman, donated a marble pavilion in memory of Denver pioneer Walter Cheesman. The donation was contingent upon designating a portion of the park as Cheesman Park, and so it was. The pavilion stands to this day, a landmark in Cheesman Park in Denver.

In 1923, the bodies from the Hebrew Burial ground were relocated to other sites, and the cemetery land was returned to the city, where it now serves as the reservoir in Congress Park.

The area that once served as the Chinese cemetery was used as the city’s tree and shrub nursery until 1930, when a Works Project Administration (WPA) project transformed it into an extension of Congress Park.

In 1950, the Catholic Church moved the remains from Mount Calvary Cemetery and sold the land back to the city. This land is now the location of Denver’s Botanical Gardens.

The vast majority of present-day Cheesman Park in Denver occupies the area that was once the Protestant section of the old cemetery. A residential community separates Cheesman from Congress Park.

Today, it is estimated that approximately 2,000 bodies remain buried beneath Cheesman Park in Denver.

Given this history of forgotten, looted, and desecrated remains, it is perhaps unsurprising that the spirits of these individuals are said to linger, not only within Cheesman Park but also in the surrounding neighborhood.

Almost immediately after the body removal began in 1893, strange occurrences were reported. One of the first accounts involved a gravedigger named Jim Astor, who claimed to have felt a ghost land on his shoulders. Astor, who had been looting graves as he worked, fled the cemetery and never returned to his job.

Residents living near the cemetery began reporting sightings of sad and confused-looking spirits knocking on their doors and windows, as well as moans emanating from the still-open graves.

Today, these restless spirits are said to continue haunting the park, and numerous tales of paranormal activity persist. Many visitors report experiencing feelings of inexplicable sadness or dread in a place that is otherwise intended for leisure and recreation. Other accounts are more specific, describing hundreds of whispering voices and moans that seem to originate from the areas where the open graves once lay.

Children have reportedly been seen playing in the park at night before mysteriously disappearing, and a woman is said to have been observed singing to herself before vanishing without a trace.

On certain moonlit nights, the outlines of the old graves are said to become visible. Others have claimed that after lying on the grass, they have found it difficult to rise, as if held down by unseen forces.

Still more reports describe strange shadows and misty figures wandering through the park in a state of confusion.

Cheesman Park in Denver is located at Franklin and 8th Streets and is open from dawn until 11:00 p.m.

Slackjaw of Cheesman Park

One personal account details a chilling encounter within the park’s boundaries.

A man named Lee Cook, who lived and worked near Cheesman Park, shared a story about a late-night walk he took with a friend, Rubin. While strolling through the park, Cook heard the sound of a rattling chain. Rubin, however, heard nothing. As they sat down to smoke a cigarette, they witnessed a disturbing sight: a child riding a bicycle with a chain dangling from his pocket, circling a thin, pale man dressed in a blood-soaked hospital gown.

The pale man, his jaw visibly broken, approached them and asked for a cigarette. He claimed to have been stabbed fifteen times and showed them what appeared to be deep stab wounds on his arms, back, and chest. He said he had been released from the hospital because he had no money and warned them to watch out for "them," repeatedly stating, "I’m going to get them!"

After this unsettling encounter, Cook and Rubin fled the park, convinced they had encountered "the walking dead." Cook dubbed the ghost "Slackjaw."

The legend of Cheesman Park in Denver serves as a poignant reminder of the city’s complex and often-overlooked history. While the park provides a valuable green space for recreation and relaxation, it also stands as a silent testament to the thousands of individuals who were unceremoniously buried beneath its verdant surface, their stories largely forgotten. For those who believe in the supernatural, Cheesman Park in Denver offers a glimpse into a realm where the past refuses to remain silent, and the spirits of the dispossessed continue to wander, searching for peace in a place that was once their final, and often disrespectful, resting place.