Rest In Pieces

It might sound like an urban legend shared around a campfire or a tale from Ripley's Believe It or Not. Read on to discover how two people, separated by a century, came to meet.

On the night of October 18, nearly 32 years ago, someone was rummaging through the already desecrated contents of the mausoleum where John Jacob Crouse and his family were interred. The goal? To locate a human skull.

The Crouse Mausoleum, a Romanesque Revival structure, is located on one of the rolling hills in Oakwood Cemetery, Syracuse, New York. It contains the remains of patriarch John Crouse (d.1889), his wife Catherine (d.1885), and their sons John Jacob (d.1886) and Daniel Edgar (d.1892).

They were among the wealthiest families in Syracuse at the time, owing to John the elder's investments in railroads, telegraph stock, and government bonds, his role as a board member in banking, and a successful partnership in a wholesale grocery business. Their wealth also funded Crouse College at Syracuse University.

John Jacob, the eldest child of John and Catherine, was raised in his father's grocery enterprise. In his later life, he rose to become the president of both the Trust and Deposit Company and the State Bank of Syracuse. Before being elected mayor in 1876, he served as an alderman of the city.

Struggling with health problems and weighing around 300 pounds, he passed away at the age of 51 due to a massive heart attack while he was asleep.

As is often the case with older cemeteries, Oakwood eventually turned into a spot for drinking and partying.

Located just a short distance from Syracuse University, it became a popular gathering spot for students and others seeking a place to unwind. It was not unusual to find the area strewn with trash, beer cans, and bottles.

Mausoleums were broken into, and resting places were disturbed. This was a stark contrast to the Victorian era when families would travel from the city in carriages to visit their deceased loved ones and enjoy picnics on the lawn.

Kevin McQuain was a talented freshman art major at Syracuse University. As a scholarship recipient, he wanted a skull to assist with his drawing classes. Buying one was costly, so when a cemetery "regular" mentioned knowing where a skull could be found, McQuain seized the opportunity. Later that evening, he went to the Crouse mausoleum.

It didn’t take long for him to find what he needed among damaged caskets, decomposing limbs, and assorted debris. Placing John Jacob's skull in a paper bag, he headed back to the Flint Hall dorm on the SU campus.

When you picture a skull, you might envision the pristine white bone atop a skeleton in a medical setting. However, this specific skull was grimy, with remnants of old flesh still clinging to it.

The next day, McQuain took a trash can, filled it with water and bleach, and started boiling the skull on the communal stove located on the dorm's third floor. It wasn't long before a disturbingly foul odor spread through the halls. Campus security was notified, and then the police were called.

McQuain was arrested and charged with the felony of body stealing.

There was significant commotion when authorities identified who the skull belonged to. During his court appearance, the judge gave McQuain a history lesson about John Jacob Crouse. McQuain was sentenced to 200 hours of community service. Syracuse University also revoked his scholarship. Unable to afford tuition, he left school the next year and returned home to New York. It was a costly lesson for the desire of a skull.

The incident led to him being nicknamed "Skully," a name he later used for the record label he founded in New York City in the mid-1990s.

Currently, the outer doors of the Crouse Mausoleum are secured with chains. It's challenging to see beyond them and a second set just behind.

I managed to catch a small glimpse of white marble and a faint hint of color on the upper back wall from one of the few remaining stained glass windows in the tower.

So there you have it. Truth can be stranger than fiction, and sometimes, people lose their heads. But it makes for interesting reading, and I hope that's what you've found here.

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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.

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