A metal cemetery in Brooklyn, New York

Welcome to New York's Most Metal Cemetery

Welcome to New York's Most Metal Cemetery

Atlas Obscura
Your Guide to the World's Hidden Wonders
Nov. 13 2014 8:15 AM

The Most Metal Cemetery in New York

Atlas Obscura on Slate is a blog about the world’s hidden wonders. Like us on Facebook and Tumblr, or follow us on Twitter.

Glimpsed from the L train as it rumbles up to the open air at the Wilson Avenue station in Bushwick, Most Holy Trinity Cemetery isn’t immediately different from the other numerous burial grounds that cluster around the Brooklyn-Queens border. Yet step inside its entrance at 685 Central Ave. before it dead-ends, and a rolling landscape of rust stretches before your eyes.

All except the most recent graves are wood or metal, an early regulation set in place by the German Catholic Most Holy Trinity Church to enforce posthumous equality. As the church’s website explains, “from the earliest days, stone monuments were not allowed because no distinctions were permitted to be made between the rich and the poor.”


The New York City cemetery dates back to 1851, replacing an earlier church cemetery that adjoined Most Holy Trinity Church in Williamsburg. While the Bushwick neighborhood has shifted around it with few traces of the German Catholics to be found, and the cemetery is no longer administered by the parish as part of the Catholic Cemeteries of the Roman Catholic Diocese of Brooklyn, its 23 acres still contain this history, warped and worn as it may be.

According to the New York Cemetery Project, there are an estimated 25,000 graves in Most Holy Trinity. It’s remarkable given that many are a century old and that the hollow tin monuments and even a few wood markers remain. Some were also copper, although attracted more theft over the years, as in 1990 when two men were caught tossing them over the fence into a shopping cart. Walking among the graves you are likely to be alone with the metal statues of Mary and Jesus slowly sinking into the soil as if drowning in earth. Rap your hand gently against a monument and a sonorous reverberation resounds against the air as the L train rumbles by overhead. Nowhere else is there a cemetery quite like this, and in its decay of jagged edges and tumbled crucifixes, there’s an unexpected, barbarous beauty.

Other out-there graveyards:

Allison Meier is a Senior Editor at Atlas Obscura. She works as a writer on art and overlooked history, and is an avid cemetery explorer. Follow her on Twitter.