Thomas Doty – Storyteller
Growing up in Medford, when the brilliant fall days cooled toward Halloween, we kids spent evenings in the neighborhood cemetery.
Once Billy picked the lock to George Lynch's tomb and we all crept inside ... for two seconds. And that same October we dared each other to slide open the drawers in the mausoleum and stare at the skeletons. As the wind scattered oak leaves and the nighttime fog crept over the hill from Bear Creek, we sensed that this cemetery was the place to be.
These days, George Lynch's tomb has a new lock. The mausoleum drawers are sealed shut. But toward Halloween, I'm still drawn to this place where childhood visions of death and beyond, are as vivid as fall.