Pushkin. Hey listeners, we're sharing an episode today from the Unmarked Graveyard, a new series from our friends at the Radio Diaries podcast. The series tells the stories of people buried in America's largest public cemetery, New York City's Heart Island. I think anyone who loves The Last Archive is going to love these stories, personal narratives that tell the history of a place that's largely off limits to the public
and full of secrets. As a New Yorker, I've always wondered about it, and I loved this series because of how attentively it brings these forgotten histories to life. It's really beautifully done, So please give it a listen, and if you like this story, check out the rest of the series on the Radio Diaries podcast. Here's the episode.
In twenty seventeen, a man was buried on a narrow mile long island off the coast of the Bronx, New York City. He'd been dead for months, but the city hadn't figured out his name, so he was placed in a simple pine coffin that was stacked in a mass grave. The only marker was a white post that read plot three eighty three. Since eighteen sixty nine, more than a million people have been buried on Hart Island. It doesn't look like a typical cemetery. There are no headstones or plaques,
just white posts with numbers on them. Each one marks a trench with about one hundred and fifty coffins inside. There's a broad range of people buried here, people whose families couldn't afford a private burial, people who couldn't be identified, and people who died in various waves of epidemics that swept the city. In the nineteen eighties, it was AIDS and most recently COVID nineteen, but for more than a century, Heart Island has been mostly off limits. This is the
Unmarked Graveyard. New series from Radiodiaries, Where were untangling mysteries from Heart Island, America's largest public cemetery.
I'm Joe Richmond.
Over the next several weeks, We'll be bringing you stories about people who ended up on Heart Island, the lives they lived, and the people they left behind.
There were thousands of questions, where's his family, where's his people?
Did he?
Playwright, novelist and author of Happy Island, Miss Dawn Powell.
Uncle Caesar was strange from our family forty to fifty years.
You can't help but wonder what her life has been.
I never went back and I never looked.
Awe him again. Today episode one, it's about the unidentified man buried in plot three eighty three. At the time he was buried, he actually had several people looking for him. He had lived two lives, in different places and under different names. We begin in inwood Long Island with his mom, who named him Neil.
My name is Susan Robert and I'm Neil Harris's mom. I kept all of Neil's pictures and memorabilia. This is the Neil box. This is his father. I always saved the picture for Neil. Neil's father and I, unfortunately were just a one night stand. But things happen, and Neil happened. This was something that Neil wrote to me when he was little in school. My hero is my mom because she has always been there for me. She always brings me and my friends to Taco Bell and Pizza Hut.
I remember when we didn't have a home or any money, and we were living with my aunt. After a while, she got a job and we got a home. And that's why my mom is my hero. Wife was good. Then I would come home and make a little dinner or whatever and redad and play a little video games. It was fun. He was cuddly. This was him sleeping with all the dogs, and the dogs adored him. We wound up calling him Doctor Doolittle because this kid loved the animals. And then as he got older, something switched.
It like if somebody flipped the switch on him. One night, I heard him talking in his room and I thought, oh, he's got somebody over. So I knocked on the door and I said, who are you talking to? The ghost? And I'm like, what ghost? And then he started fighting and he's like, they are all over me, They're all over me. And I was in my office one day and came in and he's like mah, and he pushed me and I went flying across the room and he said, you don't think that I don't know. You're trying to
poison me. He had a glare like he wanted to kill me. I was actually afraid of my son the first time in my life, and I said, I want to have him put in a hospital for psychiatric evaluation. He went and I spoke to the doctor and she said he is schizophrenic on medication. He's fine, she said, but he has asked to stop the medication, which is his right, and he has asked to be released. And if they sent him, he was twenty nine years old. I felt helpless. I felt like there was nobody there
to help, nobody. And then one day he's like, I want you to drop me off at the hum With train station and he would sleep on the platform. When we pulled into the parking lot of the Inwig train station, he just got out, took his little backpack, threw it over his shoulder, walked away and never looked behind. And there was a cop sitting in the parking field there, and I got out and I said, that's my son and he wants to be here. He wants to be homeless. And the cop said to me, and it's is right,
he said, but we'll check up on him. So I figured, okay, so I'll go every week. And the first time we went down, we looked and we did see him, but he walked away from me. And I was like, Neil, wait, I just want to give you money, and he stopped, took the money, and walked away. And that was the last time I saw him.
My name's Joy Bergman and I live on the upper West side of Manhattan, and this is my dog, JJ Jay. Let's go every day, JJ and I are in Riverside Park. This is the bench where we would see Stephen in all weather, all times of day. He'd always be sitting bolt upright on the bench, big canvas rucksack at his feet, same clothes, same facial expression. Yeah, JJ, you remember Stephen.
I'm Billy Billy Healy. I used to sit up at the corner there feed my little birds. And that's when I talked to him, and he told me that he was from Long Island and his name was Steven. It was like pulling teeth to get him to say anything. He was not a talker. He didn't seem to trust people much. At the time, I still wasn't sure if he was sleeping in the park because I see him sitting on the bench every day with his knapsack, but I never saw him sleep. So I called the Outreach
for the Homeless. They went to talk to him and they told me Steven doesn't want any help.
It was always kind of reassuring to see him because he was such a big guy and so gentle in his presence. He was a constant presence in the park, but a mysterious one. Couldn't quite figure out where he was from, what he was doing here, and why he just never left.
Neil Harris was last seen and Inwood, New York, on December twelfth, twenty fourteen. He was last seen wearing a tan Carhart jacket but I could eat blue jeans, tan work boots and a backpack. If you have seen or no Nils whereabout. This was a missing person's flyer that we made and that went out every week every week like clockwork on Mondays Monday morning, on every social media
platform that I could get my hands on. It went out, and then a year went by nothing and then another year still nothing.
After about maybe a year of seeing him in the park, I was going to recycle some magazines or something one day and I said, oh, maybe I'll bring him to the guy in the park. Maybe like something to look at. So I would bring him periodically bags of magazines and I would see him as I walked away start looking through them with interest. He never said thank you. He just kind of gave me a half nod as I would approach.
After seeing him for so long, and seeing there were some needy things, I told them, Oh, do you like pork ribs or do you like potato salad? I would ask him and he would say yes. So my wife would put something in the microwave of leftovers, and I would bring him a plastic container with a fog. And when it got real cold, I brought him a winter coat and he said, oh, no, I don't want When I have one in my pack, I said, do you like this? And I was wearing a burgundy hoodie and
it had like fake fur inside or something. It was long, and he said, yeah, I like that. So he wore it for two years that.
I know of.
I know he died in it.
My name is Jim Littlefield. I was formerly a director of security for the Trump Organization and ran security for four condominiums on Riverside Boulevard, luxury condominiums with Broadway actresses, baseball players of note. I believe it was around Easter time, early spring. I pulled up that morning and parked my car, and then I looked over and I noticed a backpack
sitting on top of like a milk crate. And then I looked and I saw a person sitting down knees bent and his head was hunched down, almost as if in contemplative prayer. I thought, ah, maybe he's asleep, you know, poor guy, and go to let him stay there? Can I walk away and went to work. Next morning, I came back to work and I saw he basically in the same position, so I kind of yelled loud a fella,
you are right. He didn't budge, and at that point I touched him and a seventy year old retired New York City police sergeant I know what rigor mortis feels like, and he was in it. This guy had reached at the end of the road, called nine to one one the police arrived. I was happy that I was able to do what I could do, and then went to work.
I think I spoke to the police officer again a week or two later, and I said, identify that young man and he says he didn't, that he didn't think anybody did at that point.
It was the next day I was told they found him dead. Right away, I said, was it trauma? Was he murdered, you know, with something bad done for him? And they said, absolutely, no trauma. It looked like he just had a hot attack or something.
After he died, people put flowers on the bench where Steven would sit. They put signs up and cards. You know, when you live in a big city, there's the anonymity of the big city that I think we all sort of treasure. But then there are the constant presences, the people whose names you don't know but you see them every day. The guy who sells the fruit on the corner, the guy you see sweeping the sidewalk. These are people that become woven into your fabric of your experience in
a neighborhood. And when one of them goes away, there is a loss.
There is a loss.
He was a sweet young man and many people have thought that about him. Rest in peace, Steven.
My name is Jessica Brockington and I'm a journalist. I was living on seventieth Street. I have two little dogs and we would walk in Riverside Park. I felt sad that he had died. I felt sad that the bench was empty. You know. Maybe it's a year later, a year and a half, I'm looking in a database of missing persons and as I'm scrolling through the photos, I recognize a photo of Stephen and I thought, holy shit. I know that person, and it's got a name attached
to it, Neil Harris Junior. So I take the name and I turn around and start googling it, and I find a Facebook profile. I was going through every single post on that Facebook page trying to figure out who's set it up. Who is Susan Hurlbert.
Monday July second, twenty eighteen, Still missing, still praying, I'll never give up on.
Noticing pretty quickly that Susan Hurlbert is posting a plea every Monday.
Monday July sixteenth, still missing, Still praying. If seeing please tell him he is missing. Monday July twenty third, twenty eighteen, still missing. Still Monday August six still missing, still.
Praying, and I'm completely obsessed with it at that point.
Help me locate my son. I will never give up on you, Neil.
I know that the person is dead, and I know that somewhere the New York City Police Department have information on him that would help her. But when I talked to the detective who had the case, he says that he's reviewed what he has in his files and the photos I've sent him, and he has decided that this is not the same person. So I called the organization that is helping Susan Harlbert put out missing persons posters and I tell the guy I don't want to upset her if it's not as sure as it should be.
But he turns around and calls her immediately.
And he's like, I have some information for you. Do you know a Jessica And I'm like, Jessica, no, and he's like, well, I think she knows where your son is. And I was really overjoyed. And he's like, well, if it is Neil, then he's deceased. And I'm like oh. And she called me and she said, okay, So there's this guy that's been sitting in Riverside Park and I'm like, Riverside Park? Where is that? She said, in Manhattan. It's on the West Side. I'm like, are you kidding me?
Neil never he was petrified of the city. So she said, who's Neil. Then she's like, oh, that's right. I keep forgetting.
She said, I know this guy is Stephen. That's what he called himself, right, And.
I'm like Steven, she said, you know, I'm just going to tell you what I got from him. She said, I would walk through the park I have two dogs, and they would immediately run to him.
And he'd just reached down and started petting them and kind of smiled and wasn't necessarily smiling at me, but was focused on the dogs.
And I'm like, that's got to be Neil. And then I'm like arguing within my own head, my head, you know, saying no, no, no, and then saying maybe maybe no no, no, no no.
And then I sent her the medical examiner's photo of her son after his autopsy.
And the picture came up. He was more like disheveled. I could tell like he hadn't shaven in a while. But I know my son, and I knew as soon as I saw that picture that was my son. I felt like I couldn't catch my breath. He died from an ULCA. That's what they have down on the death certificate. Dear friends all together and dear neighbors. His real name was Neil.
We in the neighborhood only knew him a Stephen.
That was his adoptive name.
There's a church on seventy fourth Street, a community church. The pastors there and the congregation there also knew Stephen, and they decided that they would have a service for him, Susan and her family, a bunch of his friends, and then all these people from the neighborhood came.
I walked in and looking at all these people and I'm like, I don't know these people. Neil didn't know these people. And I said it to my sister. I said, you know, Neil didn't know them, and she looked at me and she said, well, obviously he did listen to what they're saying.
I talked to him at least two or three times a week.
When I didn't see him.
I stopping after ray with Stephen, because he was always.
Children came up to me and said, oh, we knew him.
We said hello to him. He was after Neil no longer occupied his sprange, like we realized in the neighborhood how much he had become a part of the fabric of our lives. My husband nudged me and he said, get up there and say something. And I'm like, I don't know what to say. I haven't that good at this, not good, But I have to tell you, I said it from when I first heard from Jessica. You're all angels, every one of you who watched over my son. You take care of them, and that was all I ever prayed.
For for four years.
There are people that really really care, even if it's a stranger, they care. That's phenomenal. That was the only good feeling I came out of there with, because other than that, it was not good feelings. I was hurt that I was left out of his life as his mother. I kept saying I did something wrong? What did I do or what didn't I do? Everybody kept saying, well, at least now you have closure. There's no closure. I don't understand what people think when they say, well, at
least now you know. I'd rather not know. I'd rather keep on looking.
This is in the company, yes, yeah, this is the market right here where your loved one is very.
So. This is Neil. That's Neil. Here. I am at Neil's gravesite. Finally, I still have your PlayStation, Neil. I love you, I miss you. When they first told me that he was here in Hart Island, I was pretty upset. I was like, oh disgusting, how could Oh my god. There are other bodies also in there with him, a bunch of them stacked together. And that's the only thing that's a little unsettling because I worry about is his
neighbor a friendly neighbor. I know these things sound crazy, but these are the things that go through my mind. So yeah, thought about no, I gotta get him out of that. But then I remembered his father is also buried on Hart Island, buried down the block a little bit. I guess he died and the family couldn't afford to have a proper funeral or anything. Neil was only nine, and he did always say he wanted to come here.
Neil always wanted a relationship with his father, and I'm my hope is that they're together now and they're developing a relationship and they're hanging out somewhere together. The trees are beautiful, it was water around. It's a very quiet, serene spot. And that was Neil, who was very quiet in life. So yeah, this is where he will remain.
That was Susan Hurlbert, remembering her son Neil Harris Junior. It's only been a few years that family members have been allowed to visit Hart Island, and after decades of being largely inaccessible, the island is expected to open to the general public later this year. Our story about Neil Harris Junior was produced by Elisa Scarce. It was also an official selection at the twenty twenty three Tribeca Festival. Our team includes Nellie Gillis, Michaeh Hazel, Di, Na Engelstein,
and myself. Our editors are Bench Piero and Deborah George. Sound mixing by Ben Shapiro. Special thanks to Jessica Brockington, who shared research and audio from her search for Neil Harris's family. This story would not have been possible without her work. We also couldn't make this series without the help of Melinda Hunt and the Heart Island Project. Visit heartiland dot net to learn more. And thanks to filmmaker Eric spink A Vacant Light for his recording of Neil's
memorial service. Also Matthias Bossi and Stellwagon Sympinett for the song Plaintiff into Our broadcast partner nprs All Things Considered to hear more stories from the Unmarked Graveyard. Subscribe to Radio Diaries wherever you get your podcasts. I'm Joe Richmond.
Thanks for listening.