The Historic City Cemetery

David Kohler The Man Who Dug the City  This portrait shows David Kohler , a man whose lifetime of labor is buried beneath the streets you walk on today. Kohler arrived in the Tonawandas in 1836, when the area was little more than mud, timber, and canal traffic. Over the next sixty years, he became one of the community’s most familiar figures — serving as tax collector, canal collector, town supervisor, street commissioner, and assessor for North and South Tonawanda. But titles only tell part of the story. Late in life, Kohler pointed out a ditch running beneath Goundry Street and quietly told a reporter, “I helped dig that ditch over sixty years ago.” Long before pavement and sidewalks, he cut drainage channels by hand — shaping the ground that would later be built over, widened, and paved. By the time this photograph was taken, Kohler was nearly eighty years old. He walked the city with a quick step, startling younger men with his energy, moving through streets he had once he...

This grave belongs to Franklin Holdridge , a largely ordinary man whose name survives today because of the unsettling legend attached to his daughter, Ella Holdridge — sometimes called Ellie in later retellings. In the late 19th century, Ella Holdridge was known for wandering cemeteries alone. While other children played in streets and schoolyards, Ella preferred places of mourning. She walked the paths of City Cemetery , as well as St. Francis Cemetery and Salem Cemetery , lingering near fresh graves, watching funerals from a distance, memorizing names and dates carved into stone. Newspaper accounts and later retellings describe her as fixated on death — not frightened by it, but comforted by it. She reportedly learned funeral schedules. She knew which bells meant burial. She understood how grief gathered people together. And according to period press stories that later became infamous, that knowledge turned dangerous. Ella’s obsession with cemeteries and funerals allegedly escala...

On a cold December evening, William and Rose Cook came here together—just as they left the world together. They were part of a small skating party on Ellicott Creek: two brothers and two sisters enjoying the winter ice. Friends warned them the ice was unsafe, but the surface looked solid, and they skated on. Beneath them, hidden by snow and darkness, was a deep excavation where the water plunged more than fourteen feet. The ice broke without warning. In the chaos that followed, the two young men did not think of themselves. Each fought to save his sister in the icy water. Michael Coleman managed to hold his sister above the surface long enough for neighbors to hear her screams and pull her to safety. Exhausted and numb, he then slipped beneath the ice and drowned. William Newman never let go. Witnesses later said that when the bodies were recovered, William and Rosa were found locked tightly in each other’s arms , carried together by the current beneath the ice. Even in death, it was d...

One morning, visitors to this cemetery noticed something strange. A man stood alone among the graves, digging into the frozen earth with an old, broken spade. He was not preparing a burial. He had no coffin. No name. No permission. He was looking for a village. The man was Thomas Mullen , an escaped inmate of the Buffalo State Hospital. After slipping away from the institution, Mullen wandered until he reached Tonawanda—where he was found digging here, in this very cemetery, by Patrolman John Kreher. When questioned, Mullen gave an explanation that chilled those who heard it. He said he had come from Lancaster seven years earlier—and that the village had since been submerged . According to Mullen, the only way to find it was to dig. So he did. Using nothing but a damaged spade, he cut into the cemetery soil, searching beneath the dead for a place that existed only in his mind. Hospital attendants later identified him by markings on his clothing. He was known at the asylum only as Pati...

George Kleiber was not a stranger to danger—or to the police. Known throughout Tonawanda as a volatile fisherman, Kleiber lived much of his life in conflict: with the law, with other men on the river, and eventually with his own family. His name appeared repeatedly in newspapers under grim headlines— attempted murder , illegal fishing , violent assault . One summer night, inside the bottling department of the Tonawanda Brewing Company, an argument erupted between Kleiber and another fisherman, George Walrath. Each accused the other of illegal fishing on the Niagara River—specifically the use of dynamite, a destructive and outlawed method. Words quickly turned to threats. Witnesses later said Kleiber became enraged, shouting that he would kill Walrath “if it took all night.” When others tried to remove him from the building, Kleiber drew a revolver from his hip pocket, leveled it, and pulled the trigger. Only the quick action of a bystander saved Walrath’s life—the bullet struck the bui...

The Niagara River was not just a boundary—it was an opportunity. In 1865, as the Civil War had just ended and enforcement struggled to reassert control, smuggling flourished along the water between Canada and Western New York. Whiskey, goods, and contraband crossed quietly at night, often landing on Grand Island before being hauled into the city. One of the names that surfaced repeatedly in court records was Elijah V. Day . According to contemporary newspaper accounts, Day was arraigned before Justice Albro on charges far more serious than smuggling alone. He stood accused of feloniously assaulting and shooting Emanuel Hensler , a deputy customs officer, with a pistol loaded with gunpowder and lead— with intent to kill . The shooting allegedly occurred on Grand Island on July 10, 1865. Day waived examination and was committed for trial. At the same time, federal authorities pursued him for a related offense: resisting a deputy collector in the discharge of his duties during a smuggli...

Henry Kleiber’s name appeared in the Tonawanda newspapers again and again—not for achievements, but for arrests. He lived on Niagara Street and made his living as a fisherman on the river. To authorities, however, he was something else entirely: a river pirate . Game protectors accused Kleiber of illegal fishing with a seine, a practice that stripped the river clean. In one raid at the mouth of Rattlesnake Creek, officers seized more than 500 pounds of carp , along with the skiff used in the operation. Kleiber and his partner were marched to the police station while their catch was confiscated. But fishing violations were only part of his record. In 1906, Henry Kleiber achieved a distinction few could match. He was the first man sentenced that year in Tonawanda police court—and the last . On both occasions, the charge was intoxication. Each time, he asked to be sent to the Erie County Penitentiary. Each time, the judge granted him thirty days . His name opened and closed the court led...

  George Lebherz did not die in battle, nor from illness, nor in old age. He died doing the quiet, dangerous work that kept a growing city clean. On an afternoon in 1911, George was working high above Main Street, removing awnings from the windows of the Chamber of Commerce building. He was 41 years old, a skilled window cleaner who had done this work for more than a decade. His safety depended on a leather harness and a pair of ropes—standard equipment at the time, and utterly unforgiving of error. As George passed an awning through a fifth-floor window to his coworker, one rope suddenly failed. Witnesses below saw his body fall backward into open air, turning end over end as it struck the building’s stone cornice before crashing to the sidewalk. Hundreds of people were on the street that day. Many saw him fall. None could help. When authorities reached him, his injuries were catastrophic. His body was covered with papers while the crowd was pushed back, and the city moved on...

Edward C. Flatow (1878–1931) “By a Barrier of Flames” Here lies Edward C. Flatow , a man whose life included a moment of extraordinary courage and survival—one that briefly made newspaper headlines in North Tonawanda. In the early morning hours of March 25 , Edward was working as a night watchman , stationed in a small shanty on Payne Avenue , guarding a home quarantined for smallpox . At the time, contagious disease was feared deeply, and watchmen like Flatow stood long, lonely shifts to protect the public. Edward was a one-legged man , relying on an artificial limb , which he had removed while resting inside the shanty. Just after 5 a.m. , an oil stove exploded , instantly filling the small structure with fire. Trapped inside, Edward threw a carpet over the stove and managed to hurl the burning heater out of the building, suffering severe burns to his face and arms. His hair and eyebrows were scorched away as flames surged higher. Before he could reach his artificial leg, fire blocke...

Here is buried Marvin Craig , a ten-year-old boy whose life and death deeply affected the Tonawanda community. Marvin was the son of James Craig , a blind peddler who lived on Adams Street . Despite his young age, Marvin played an essential role in his family’s life. Newspapers described him as bright, dependable, and well known to local businessmen , whom he encountered daily while guiding his father through town so he could earn a living. For the Craig family, Marvin was not only a child, but a helper and protector. On a July afternoon, Marvin accompanied his father to fish from the Lefalver & Company lumber docks at Gratwick along the Niagara River . While moving along the edge of the dock, the boy fell into the water. Unable to swim, he was quickly swept away. James Craig heard the splash and desperately tried to reach his son, but disoriented among the stacked lumber and unable to see, he could not find the edge of the dock. His cries for help went unanswered for several minu...

In the winter of 1885 , disturbing truths surfaced about Tonawanda’s South Side cemetery—truths that suggested the dead here were not resting peacefully . Newspapers reported that the cemetery had fallen into chaos and neglect . Burial records were so poorly kept that lot boundaries vanished , numbers were altered, and families unknowingly buried their loved ones on top of strangers . Some plots were packed so tightly with bodies that no one could say with certainty who lay where. Worse still were allegations that corpses were secretly exhumed —removed under cover of darkness and relocated to the pauper’s field to make room for new burials. Families were not notified. The dead were moved without ceremony, their identities lost to careless recordkeeping. One incident haunted readers most. During the funeral of a well-known Tonawandian, the grave digger uncovered another body already in the grave . With the funeral procession moments away, there was no time to explain. The exposed co...

Here rests Frederick “Fred” Yerke , a young man whose short life reflects the hardships and emotional strain faced by many working-class families in early 20th-century Tonawanda. Fred Yerke was 26 years old and lived with his parents on Erie Street . Like many young men of his generation, he struggled to find steady work during a period of economic uncertainty. He was known to be inseparable from his boyhood friend, John Schrier , a companionship so close that local newspapers described them as “life-long chums.” On January 31 , the two young men met at a saloon on Main Street . What followed shocked the community. After sharing a final drink together, they died within minutes of one another. Newspapers of the time reported that their deaths appeared to have been planned together , though the exact reasons were never fully understood. Authorities noted that both men were unemployed, and speculation ranged from despair over their circumstances to youthful bravado. No clear explanation ...

 Levant Graff  Gravestone Tour Stop: Levant Graff — Tug Fireman of Lake Erie Here lies Levant Graff , a dedicated mariner from Tonawanda whose life was bound to the rugged life of Great Lakes towing. Levant worked as a fireman on tugboats , the hardworking crew member responsible for stoking the fires, maintaining steam pressure, and keeping the engines running—an essential but dangerous job in the era of steam-powered vessels. On a Sunday afternoon, while the tug Colorado 18 was moving past the foot of Main Street en route to the Great Lakes Transit Corporation dock, Levant was lost overboard. Despite the Coast Guard’s efforts, which spanned seven hours of search and recovery , his life was taken by the cold, unpredictable waters of Lake Erie . The Great Lakes were—and remain—a vital transportation network, connecting towns and industries across states and provinces. But they could also be unforgiving. The work Levant and his fellow mariners carried out was essential t...