The relationship between the living and the dead is not fixed; it is unstable. The relationship is not reciprocal. We are above ground thinking about the dead who are below ground, ignoring the living.
The population of Holy Cross as it currently stands is 163,471. You can call the mortuary office for this figure, though the employees can be reluctant to give it.
The last time I called was a couple of weeks ago, so we can assume more people have moved in since then, to begin disintegrating.
Just a stone’s throw away from the cemetery, at the entry to or exit from the 90 Freeway, depending on which direction you’re coming from, there’s a sign that says Welcome to Culver City, Population 38,883. This figure is taken from the 2010 census. At the time of the 2000 census, the population was 38,816. Population is up ever so slightly in this city that is primarily encompassed by the city of Los Angeles though also borders several unincorporated areas.
Whereas Holy Cross’s residents reside in graves, niches, or crypts in either individual or collective arrangements, within its 5.1 square miles Culver City’s inhabitants live primarily in condominiums and single-family houses, along with a significant number of apartment buildings and even a trailer park right next to the cemetery. I would venture that a family plot is the equivalent of a single-family house; a crypt in the mausoleum is the counterpart of a condo or a nice apartment; while a crematory niche is obviously a small studio.
This is the only statistical data I can offer in terms of the structure of these two populations, but some general conclusions can still be drawn.
Holy Cross is more densely populated than Culver City. It has a higher number of humans, if you can still call them that, per unit of area. I should probably go further into the quantifiable characteristics of the cemetery’s tenants, but I’m worried if I do I might go too far.
Above ground, though there may appear to be movement, all those drivers in their automobiles twisting their necks and checking their little mirrors, their beautiful cars brushing up against one another without crashing into each other—a shining example of civilization and its collective repression of all those death-wishes—Culver City is static to the point of being stagnant. Below ground, and behind those niches, Culver City is bustling, booming, thriving. As long as there is space to inter and inurn, Holy Cross can only keep growing. People in this modest corner of LA seem to be less interested in being born and more intent on dying.
And who can blame them? Outside the metal gates, Culver City is neither picturesque nor stimulating, just buildings and billboards and freeways, glass and steel and concrete in various formations, interrupted here and there by straggly palm trees.
Inside the gated community of Holy Cross, despite the initial visual letdown, you sense there is something more vital than life teeming beneath us. Apart from the maintenance men tending the grounds in their livor-blue uniforms and the occasional stray Goth visiting Bela Lugosi, I often feel like I have the place to myself, but I’m aware this sensation of tranquility and solitude is just an illusion.