As you approach Waldheim cemetery in Forest Park, the winds begin to howl and the leaves rustle and blow. It is just now approaching dusk in this infamous cemetery. As you approach the entrance gate, you think you hear voices of men chanting, but the sounds are so soft that you struggle to hear. You wonder if they are others’ voices or really just your own. Just then you see a large old sign that reads, ‘Warning: Enter at your Own Risk (Of Death).’ You don’t heed the sign, because the voices continue to whine, and it’s your name they’re calling in pain.
You don’t know why you came. You don’t live in Chicago, but in a suburb, and you’ve never heard of Waldheim Cemetery until you studied the Haymarket Riot.
Now, as you slowly walk, the air is getting very cold, like ice. It is just the start of May, that now feels like the coldest November day. Your fingers start to ache, then burn with frostbite…or is it actually rigor mortis setting in? You know you are alone in this place, yet you sense the presence of others.
Now you’ve walked, it seems for hours, maybe even days. You’re no longer in the cemetery, but what appears to be a city walkway. Yes, you look up and the street sign says Des Plaines, and Randolph Street ahead.
By now it is twilight and there is not a light except for streetlights and the eerie glow of what looks to be a small statue or memorial. You try to walk closer to the statue but you’re pushed back and thrown down by a supernatural force stronger than you. You gather up all your strength and crawl to the foot of the statue. There are four men, their images a blur. The first man asks you to listen to his voice and the words he says. He says, “It is so lonely out here, for all these years I have spoken, yet no one has heard a sound. My name is Spies and all I wanted was freedom for myself and my fellow man.” Upon hearing his cold voice uttering these words your ears begin to ring, becoming louder and louder until it is like a train running through your head, a train that will not stop, for it is a never ending track….a track into eternity. The piercing sound continues and you feel as though your ears are going to pop and your head explode. Now all you hear is him crying out, “I died, and for that I didn’t care, because to live without freedom and justice, that I couldn’t bear.”
Then, the next man says, “ I am Parsons, and I am drowned in fear. I have not been in contact with a living soul for this century as a whole.” Within seconds he reaches out to grab your hand, forcing you to jump back without a moment’s haste. Within seconds he has your hand. At first his hand is warm and gentle, then his flesh starts to burn against yours. He strokes your arm and repeats the refrain…“Come walk with me so I won’t walk alone, accompany me on the long walk home. I ask not that you save my soul, for it’s the price I paid for trying to make the world whole.” Now your flesh is burnt and full of scars, and you can’t go very far. You stumble and fall. From the last two men you must escape, for you cannot take it anymore. Still, they look at you with their piercing, yet sorrowful eyes. Their eyes see right through to your very soul. Their pain becomes your own.
Daylight begins to break and you rush to leave this cold and tormented place with aching ears and burnt out flesh. The trail of tears you shed marks your way back home to your comfy bed and away from the living dead. Maybe it was all inside your head.
On November 11, 1887, the prisoners were brought out to the hangman’s platform. Albert Parsons, August Spies, George Engel, and Adolph Fischer stood before the crowd with hoods covering their faces. And then Spies spoke: “The day will come when our silence will be more powerful than the voices you are throttling today.” The trapdoor opened.
