Abandoned and Condemned

Once, it was a stunning mausoleum, hailed as 'magnificent.' Constructed with durable concrete and adorned with Italian marble and granite, its walls were filled with crypts both inside and out. Some were embellished with vases for flowers, others with crosses. The names of the deceased were inscribed in gold-tone letters.

In 1976, an organization called Westminster Associates envisioned creating a serene final resting place with a chapel where loved ones could visit their departed.

Ownership changed hands in 1994 to Larry Deminski. The mausoleum and its surrounding cemetery were incorporated as Westminster Memorial Garden, with Mr. Deminski as the sole proprietor.

In 2001, the property was donated to an entity named Unity Light of Christ Church, with which Mr. Deminski was associated. However, no official records of this transaction exist.

By 2003, the grounds were overgrown and neglected, with water and electricity cut off. The property was burdened with a tax bill exceeding $20,000, and no maintenance was being performed.

Larry Deminski passed away in 2004. Although he claimed there were funds reserved for perpetual care, he alleged they were stolen by someone who forged his signature on a bank slip.

In 2005, a county tax auction took place, during which Lawrence Lee and Victoria Evstafieva acquired a property for just $4,500 without having seen it beforehand. Some believe they were unaware that they were buying a cemetery. In 2012, Lee and Evstafieva went to court, arguing that the property should not have been auctioned because it was a burial ground and thus tax-exempt. However, they lost the case as the statute of limitations had expired, and the previous owner had never applied for tax-exempt status.

Throughout their ownership, Lee and Evstafieva made no changes to the property. By 2015, they owed over $15,000 in unpaid taxes. That year, the mausoleum was condemned, its doors locked, and the outdoor crypt areas marked with yellow tape.

Jump to 2022.

While researching another mausoleum, I learned about the situation of Good Shepherd and vowed to visit it. Unsure of what I would find, as most of my information was outdated, I set out on a cold and dreary November day last year. I packed my camera and some snacks and drove several hours to the entrance of Good Shepherd.

As anticipated, it was locked. The paperwork signed and displayed by the building inspector earlier in the year declared that 'use or occupancy was strictly prohibited.' However, someone who had been there previously decided that a locked door wouldn't prevent them from entering. A large hole had been smashed through the left side pane of glass, big enough for anyone to step through, and I knew that's where I would enter.

After gathering my camera and putting on shoe covers, an N95 mask, safety glasses, and gloves, I transitioned from the outdoors into a place I had only seen on my laptop.

It was much worse in reality.

The stained glass window was riddled with holes, erasing the face of the "good shepherd."

Drippings of rust and who knows what else stained the marble.

A lift designed for installing or removing caskets from crypts stood unused in the corner.

The speaker's podium had not echoed with solemn words for years. I observed that two crypts in the background had missing inscriptions. Who rested there? It's rumored that the burial records have been lost.

A cross and various artificial flowers were scattered on a floor covered with a dirty carpet, surrounded by an assortment of items: shattered bricks, dead leaves, and broken candles.

Here is a lovely example of one of the flower vases.

And one more.

A crucifix from one of the outer crypts.

An improved perspective of my entrance and exit.

I removed my safety gear and strolled around outside. The concrete cantilever overhang on the left side is in such poor condition that I felt more apprehensive walking beneath it than entering the mausoleum itself. Are those orbs you see, or is it just a camera glitch? You decide.

On the right side, most of the roof cantilever is missing. Several bodies have also been removed.

There was a time when the township allowed funeral directors to enter the property to remove a body, provided the deceased's relatives obtained a court order and the funeral director signed a liability waiver. However, nowadays, the cost of relocating a body and reinterring it elsewhere can amount to thousands of dollars, which could be unaffordable for many.

What about those deceased individuals who no longer have living relatives? Are they destined to remain in a crumbling building that might one day collapse into debris, exposing caskets and possibly bones?

I strolled down the driveway toward the building that used to house the office. By this time, it was raining. Perhaps tears from heaven?

Vines and shrubs covered the entrance door, making it inaccessible.

Many of the windows were either partially open or shattered. From the outside, I could glimpse rooms cluttered with piles of objects and papers.

I pondered what all of this could be and whether anything significant might be hidden within. For now, finding that answer would have to wait for another day.

From the office, I looked out at the cemetery's neatly trimmed grass. Some graves were adorned with potted plants, and flags fluttered in the wind over the veterans' plots. It seems that family volunteers might have taken on the task of mowing, aiming to demonstrate a sense of respect for their loved ones and others.

Seeing all of this left me feeling sad. My journey home was quite somber and reflective. It appeared as though everyone simply stood by and watched as the years passed.

There's a saying, "The road to hell is paved with good intentions." I think the original planners of Good Shepherd kept their promise to build a splendid mausoleum and chapel. However, due to numerous unfortunate events, mismanagement, and a general lack of empathy and care, it turned into a nightmare for the families of those buried there.

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Christine Shephard is a photographer, writer, and avid taphophile. She makes her home in Central New York.

Images captured by Christine Shephard Photographic Design and the written content cannot be utilized in any other format or publication without explicit permission.