Why just south of San Francisco there lies a little town where the dead outnumber the living 1,000 to 1.
Colma, California is a bright green expanse of manicured lawns and small white buildings nestled inside the crowded tangle of communities that make up the San Francisco Peninsula. It’s easy to spot from the air as a large splotch of seemingly underdeveloped land paradoxically squatting next to some of the most expensive and in-demand real estate on Earth.
Driving through town, quiet country roads wend past neatly kept residential neighborhoods and a single school that serves the children of Colma’s roughly 1,800 residents. At first glance, the town seems idyllic and peaceful, if a bit heavy on cemeteries.
At second glance, Colma actually does have quite a few cemeteries. Like, a lot. Way too many for such a small place. Every major street seems to connect to a cemetery, necropolis, columbarium, or other polite suburban Californian term for a corpse dump.
The last time anybody counted, the town had 17 graveyards with something like 2 million individual graves and tombs for people who died and were buried sometime in the last century. Who these people were, and how they got to sleepy little Colma, reveals a lot about San Francisco’s early growing pains.
Growing Pains of a Dynamic Young City
Spanish missionaries founded San Francisco as a small mission town on the El Camino Real trail that linked their missions, and it barely grew under either Spanish or Mexican rule. In 1848, at almost exactly the moment that Mexico ceded California to the United States, people literally struck gold in the Sacramento River, marking the beginning of the Gold Rush.
In a single year, tens of thousands of Americans from back east, as well as thousands of Irish refugees fleeing a famine in their homeland, swarmed through the city of San Francisco on their way to easy riches in the Sierra Nevadas. Most of them never found gold, but the City by the Bay had opportunities of its own to offer, and so many of the emigrants put down roots there, where the jobs were.
San Francisco’s population tripled in the 1860s, and then it tripled again before the end of the century, creating a human scrum of nearly half a million people living packed into slums and getting into fistfights over the inadequate common drinking troughs, which were the only source of “fresh” water for the poorest people in town.
In this crowded, unhygienic environment, it was inevitable that some Malthusian disaster would come along eventually. In fact, San Francisco suffered four disasters in a single generation, and the mass death set the stage for Coloma to become California’s deadest city.