Backpacking through Europe in 1994

Day 23 • September 29, 1994
Paris, France

Visiting Jim Morrison’s Grave

After exploring the Palace of Versailles, I rode the metro (the subway) over to the Père Lachaise Cemetery to pay my respects to Jim Morrison, the co-founder and lead singer of the 60’s rock band The Doors.

Père Lachaise, a sprawling cemetery covering 110 acres, is the largest cemetery in Paris. With more than 3.5 million visitors annually, it is the most visited necropolis in the world. In addition to Morrison, other famous people buried at Père Lachaise include Frédéric Chopin, Édith Piaf, Marcel Marceau, and Oscar Wilde. The cemetery opened in 1804 and takes its name from the confessor to Louis XIV, Père François de la Chaise (1624–1709), who lived in the Jesuit house built in 1682. I found the historical connection between Louis XIV, whose palace I had just been, and the cemetery I was in, fascinating.

During my teenage years, I became a big fan of The Doors. During this backpacking trip, I brought along my portable CD player and a case that held twenty CD’s. One of those CD’s was the band’s self-titled 1967 debut album.

Fans surround Jim Morrison’s grave in the Père Lachaise cemetery.

My Photographs from today

My second stop was the Père Lachaise cemetery to visit Jim Morrison’s grave.

Day 23 / 9-29-94
Paris, France

James (Jim) Morrison was born in Melbourne, Florida, in 1943. A poetry buff, singer, performer, rock star, and all-around charmer, Jim moved to Los Angeles, California, when he was 20 years old and began to study cinema at UCLA. While he was in college, he met the other members of The Doors - Ray Manzarek, John Densmore, and Robby Krieger - showed them his poetry, and began putting his words to music.

The following years would prove extremely successful for the band, and they were soon top-tier rock stars in both the music scene and American popular culture. Their songs, including “Light My Fire”, “Riders on the Storm” and “Break on Through” provided a soundtrack for both my high school years and this very day as I walked over to the cemetery.

After recording the album “LA Woman” in 1971, Jim Morrison decided to take a break and head to Paris with his girlfriend, Pamela Courson.

Shortly thereafter, on July 3, 1971, at the age of 27, Jim Morrison died from an apparent drug and alcohol-induced heart attack and was buried in Père Lachaise Cemetery.

As I entered the cemetery, I was immediately struck by the graffiti on other people’s headstones left by fans that pointed the way to Morrison’s final resting place. I was actually quite saddened by it.

I didn’t need to get a map to lead me to it, I just followed the path of graffiti.

I turned a corner and saw a group of people about my age gathered together and I knew I had arrived. I put my The Doors CD in my portable CD player, hit play, and took my place in the group.

I stayed for an hour or so, and during that time I witnessed several amazing scenes.

There were a few people crying, a few others sitting quietly. Some people looked as if they had just arrived a few minutes before me, while others looked like they had been there for days.

I watched a group of Japanese tourists approach, take their pictures, and leave, all within a few minutes. It seemed as if they came just to check this spot off their list of things to see.

I had a black Sharpie magic marker in my camera bag, and added my message to Jim’s grave: “Rest Easy, Man” along with the peace symbol.

Two girls saw me and asked to borrow my marker, and then left their own tribute to Jim.

The most touching and poignant moment though, was witnessing a young man, about my age, who was smoking a marijuana joint. He smoked about half of it, and then placed it, still burning, upside down in the dirt on top of Morrison’s grave and said “Jim, the rest of this is for you man,” and quietly walked away.

What a spot-on tribute to the king of counter-culture and an icon of the 60’s hippie and drug movement.

After a few minutes, something even more apropos occurred.

Another man, also about my age, who had just arrived on the scene, looked down and noticed the half-smoked marijuana joint.

He reached down, scooped it up and lit it, saying out loud, “Jim, you wouldn’t want a perfectly good joint to go to waste, would you?”

No, he wouldn’t, of this I am certain.

A feeling of melancholy swept over me at the tragic and senseless death of Jim 23 years earlier. I wondered what would have become of his life had he lived. This combined with the feelings of mortality that exist for me anytime I pass by a cemetery.

As I dealt with these feelings, I determined it was time to leave and continue living my life. The next person I wanted to visit was also a cultural icon, and was also dead. However, to see her didn’t require visiting a cemetery, because she was resting in the Louvre museum.

Her name is Mona Lisa.