10/16/2026
“I follow your posts and admire your respectful journalistic approach to all things historical. With special permission, would you like to do Hillside Chapel in Cincinnati? I work there. Built in 1887.”
This is a message I received earlier this year. A quick Google search caught my interest, but I had no idea what was in store for me here.
📍 Hillside Chapel and Crematory, Cincinnati, Ohio
A while back, Angel, the office manager at Hillside Chapel, reached out and told me she thought this place would be right up my alley. At first, I wasn’t sure. The photos I found didn’t really show the history this place holds. But once I started researching, I realized just how important it is.
The Cincinnati Cremation Company was organized in 1884. Cremation began there in 1887, and the chapel was added in 1888. Hillside is part of the early history of cremation in the United States, and it remains one of the country’s oldest operating crematories.
Before I went inside, I drove by to get a better sense of the building. From the outside, it looked more modern than the history I had read about. Then I noticed the huge Indiana limestone blocks near the base. Around the back were doorways that seemed both massive and miniature at the same time. I started wondering what older parts of the building might still be hidden beneath the additions. I reached out to Angel and told her I definitely wanted to come by.
When I arrived, I told Angel I wanted to approach the place with respect for the people who have been cared for there and the families still connected to it. She feels that responsibility deeply. She cares about the history, the people remembered there, and even the officers who keep watch outside. That care came through in the way she talked about the building and everyone connected to it.
Angel walked me through the entryway, past a quiet memorial with names, and into rooms lined with glass fronted niches holding urns. There were so many, each connected to a person and a family. Some familiar Cincinnati names are remembered there too, including broadcaster Ruth Lyons, soap maker Andrew Jergens, and Mary Shillito of the department store family.
I learned that the building holds more than 10,000 urns. That’s hard to grasp. This is hallowed ground, and I felt blessed to be standing there, reading those names and remembering the people behind them. I had never been anywhere like this before. I didn’t even know a place like this existed. It made me wonder how many other remarkable historic places around here have slipped through the cracks.
We went downstairs into the older part of the building, where the old retorts are. They were once powered by coal. The electrical switches and other equipment at the back of these huge ovens, for lack of a better word, look more modern than the originals, but they are still old.
I took some photos down there, but I haven’t decided which ones, if any, I feel comfortable sharing. I wasn’t there to make the place seem creepy. I wanted to understand its history and remember what each name and urn represents.
But yes, it was definitely creepy for me.
I wasn’t exactly scared. I think that was because Angel was there with me. After all the time she has spent there, I figured she would know if something was wrong.
While I was looking at the retorts, she thought she heard a woman’s voice upstairs. She had locked the doors, so there shouldn’t have been anyone inside. Then she said, “Something is here.”
I had a little internal freak out because it was pitch black down there. The electricity in the basement is currently out after recent storm damage to the building.
Of all places for me to be standing when she suddenly turned her head and asked, “Did you hear that?”
Right in front of those massive oven doors, in the pitch black.
It was right there that I took a photo I would later notice had something in it I can’t explain.
Days later, while editing at home, I noticed what appears to be a person standing at one of the oven doors, looking over their left shoulder right at me.
I am not a ghost hunter, and I am never looking to capture anything like this. I wish I could explain what the strange shape in my photo is, but I can’t find a mirror, unusual light, or anything else that seems to account for it.
Maybe I’ll share the photo at a later date. It could be a strange camera glitch with a perfectly logical explanation. I don’t want that part of the visit to derail the history and the story of this place.
Let’s just say this is a first for me, even after photographing all the spooky and sketchy places I have.
The tour continued into a large room with stained glass windows, names worked into the glass, and rows of small compartments for urns. Imagine a massive locker room that is also like a church. A board covered in keys stood in the middle of the room, with keys to the niches that hold the urns.
Later, Angel showed me the chapel, with more stained glass and a quiet beauty of its own. The birds at Hillside have their own history too.
Because the original retorts were coal fired, canaries could serve as an early warning of dangerous air conditions. At one point, a grieving family brought birds to Hillside as companions for people visiting the property. The family came back regularly for years to clean the cages, trim the birds’ nails and beaks, arrange veterinary care when needed, and give them plenty of love.
Eventually, the birds reached the end of their lives, and the visitors who came to Hillside no longer had those cheerful companions waiting to greet them.
One story I found about this place especially caught my attention as a Superman fan.
George Reeves, the original television Superman, was cremated at Hillside. After his death in California, his mother had his body brought to Cincinnati for another autopsy because she suspected foul play. His remains were at Spring Grove Cemetery before the cremation. Angel later found paperwork documenting his cremation at Hillside.
Superman history right here, so close to the Hall of Justice down the street at Union Terminal!
We spent nearly three hours talking about the place, our shared fascination with history, and the losses we’ve both experienced.
I shared with Angel that I learned the owner of Hillside was the same person I turned to for my mother’s funeral. It isn’t something I talk about much on here. It was a devastating chapter of my life, and I remember the care we received from this company. It is the kind of service you hope you never need and deeply appreciate when you do.
By the time I left, I understood why Angel thought Hillside would be right up my alley.
It is a piece of Cincinnati history, but it is also a place where real people and families entrust others with something deeply personal. That deserves to be documented with care.
I told Angel I wasn’t sure how to approach sharing the photos I took inside. For now, I’ve decided to hold back on sharing them.
I’m still learning about Hillside. I would love to go back sometime and see it again, and I hope to share more as I go.
Thank you, Angel, for spending so much time with me and helping me understand this place.
Have you or someone in your family had a connection to Hillside? Do you remember it, know more about its history, or did you even know it existed? Share whatever you’re comfortable sharing.
Hillside is an active, private facility, and the property is monitored by police.
