In February 2024, construction workers digging in East Harlem made a startling discovery: human remains from what turned out to be a 17th- or 18th-century African burial ground. The City of New York responded swiftly. Officials pledged immediate preservation, public engagement, and further investigation into the history and legacy of the people buried there. The Harlem site became a renewed symbol of remembrance, a sacred site where public history and civic memory aligned.

Across the East River, however, lies a burial ground whose fate tells a more troubling story. In Elmhurst, Queens—formerly Newtown—another African burial ground lies buried and largely forgotten beneath the asphalt of a former auto repair shop and parking lot at 90-15 Corona Avenue. This site, once home to the Second Colored Presbyterian Church (later St. Mark’s AME) and an African Free School, served one of New York’s earliest Free Black communities.

Unlike its Harlem counterpart, this burial ground has not been preserved. Its history remains fragmented. There is no protective designation. There is no public memorial. The question looms: Is it lost forever?

Discovery and Silence

The Elmhurst site’s rediscovery began not with a fanfare but with a whisper. In 2004, as part of a standard development process, a cultural resource survey revealed that the lot had once housed an African-American church and cemetery. The findings were expanded by a 2006 Phase I Archaeological Survey and a 2011 Phase II Survey, which concluded that the northeastern portion of the site contained undisturbed soil likely holding intact human remains .

The reports cited evidence that only 20 of the burials were ever officially removed—to Mount Olivet Cemetery in 1928—while the rest remained beneath the surface. These surveys confirmed what local oral traditions and faint historical traces had long suggested: that the dead were still there.

Despite this, the site was never landmarked. A 2012 attempt to secure official status from the Landmarks Preservation Commission (LPC) was ultimately rejected, and the property has remained in limbo ever since—undeveloped, but unprotected.

Preservationist Kelly Carroll, reflecting on the case, noted, “This was an issue we had regarding Newtown… It felt like this part of Queens’ story was being erased.”

The Church Before St. Mark’s

In 1828, a year after slavery in New York state was finally abolished under the terms of a 1799 gradual abolition law, a group of former slaves purchased land from James Hunter, and founded the United African Society of Newtown. Its original members, John Potter, John Coes, John Peterson, George Derlin, and Thomas Johnson converted a blacksmith’s shop into the areas first Free Black church. Before this, African-American churchgoers — both free and enslaved — worshipped in segregated local churches.

Before becoming known as St. Mark’s AME Church, the original institution was the Second Colored Presbyterian Church—a spiritual descendant of the historic First Colored Presbyterian Church in Manhattan, also known as “Shiloh.” That downtown congregation was among the most prominent Black churches in antebellum New York and a critical nexus for anti-slavery activism.

The founding of the Second Colored Presbyterian Church in Newtown placed it firmly within the religious and political networks of Black New York. It was not only a place of worship but also a symbol of independence, literacy, and resistance. In a community where literacy could mean liberation, churches and affiliated schools like the African Free School that stood on the same Elmhurst site were radical acts of cultural preservation.

By the turn of the 20th century, the congregation had transitioned into the African Methodist Episcopal (AME) denomination, adopting the name St. Mark’s. The AME Church—founded by Richard Allen in 1816—was the first independent Protestant denomination founded by Black people in the United States. This change reflected the broader evolution of Black religious life in postbellum New York and marked the Elmhurst community’s enduring resilience.

The Woman in the Iron Coffin

Perhaps the most visually striking symbol of this community’s forgotten history came in the form of an iron coffin unearthed in Elmhurst in 2011. During preliminary work on the property, construction workers uncovered a cast-iron sarcophagus—a rare type of burial popular in the mid-19th century among wealthier Americans.

Inside was the remarkably preserved body of a young African-American woman, named Martha Peterson.

Though Peterson was eventually reinterred elsewhere, her discovery shook the assumptions many had about the status and complexity of Elmhurst’s early Black residents. The woman had been carefully and expensively buried—likely in the 1850s. The funeral attire, the preservation method, the dignity of the interment all pointed to a community that, despite racism and marginalization, had carved out space for autonomy, identity, and care.

Christian Ricciardi, an anthropologist who has studied the site, reflected: “That coffin tells a story not just of a person, but of a community. It disrupts the idea that the people here were poor, undocumented, or voiceless. It proves the opposite.”

James W.C. Pennington and the Newtown Nexus

Few names capture the intersection of resistance, literacy, and faith better than James W.C. Pennington. Born into slavery in Maryland in 1807, Pennington escaped bondage and found his way to New York City. He became the pastor at the Second Colored Presbyterian Church in Newtown and evolved into a leading abolitionist thinker, authoring The Fugitive Blacksmith, an influential slave narrative. He was a friend to Frederick Douglas, corresponding with him, writing for his paper, and presiding over his wedding.

Pennington was an ardent educator. He taught at the Newtown African Free School associated with the Elmhurst burial site during the early years of his career and then following a stint as pastor at the Shiloh Presbyterian Church. The Newtown Free School school was a magnet for future abolitionists and intellectuals, including Samuel Ringgold Ward, another fugitive slave who became preacher and international orator, and William “Ethiop” Wilson, who became a renowned journalist and art champion.

“Even if the school’s building is gone, the burial site is still there,” says Carroll. “That historical continuity matters. The school, which hosted abolitionist educators, adds another layer of importance.”

The significance of the Elmhurst site lies not just in its graves, but in its role as a cradle for radical thought, literacy, and activism. In a state that officially abolished slavery in 1827—but retained deep racial segregation and economic exclusion—sites like these were rare footholds of freedom.

Was It a Stop on the Underground Railroad?

Perhaps the most tantalizing historical question is whether the Elmhurst site served as a stop on the Underground Railroad. While no smoking gun exists, it would not be unusual. The area’s proximity to Flushing—a Quaker stronghold known for abolitionist sentiment—and its Black-led religious institutions make it a likely candidate.

“We don’t have written confirmation,” Ricciardi admits, “but we know that, especially after the Fugitive Slave Act of 1850, people intentionally destroyed any records that could link them to harboring escapees. That’s part of why so much of this history is difficult to trace.”

Still, the circumstantial evidence is compelling: a discreet location, a Black church with educated leaders, links to the AME and Presbyterian abolitionist networks, and a nearby Free School. “It ticks the boxes,” he adds.

Can Science Help?

With few written records and no visible ruins, can the story of this community ever be recovered?

“Yes,” says Ricciardi. “But only if we act soon—and with care.”

Modern science offers tools to uncover buried history without disturbing the dead. Ground-penetrating radar (GPR), magnetic gradiometry, and geospatial analysis can all be used to locate graves, structures, and artifacts. If done in partnership with descendant communities and ethical review, even DNA analysis and isotopic testing might one day help reconstruct ancestry and migration patterns.

But as Carroll warns, science alone is not enough. “There has to be political will. There has to be community voice. And there has to be respect.”

A Campaign for Memory

This Juneteenth, we are launching a long-term campaign to rediscover and honor the Free Black Community of Newtown.

Our mission is to recover the story of the burial ground, the churches, the school, and the people who made this place a cornerstone of resistance in 19th-century Queens. We aim to do so through a combination of historical research, scientific exploration, education, and advocacy.

Because this isn’t just about bones. It’s about identity. About memory. About correcting a historical record that has for too long excluded the Black communities of Queens.

Elmhurst’s African Burial Ground may be hidden beneath concrete—but it is not lost.

It is waiting to be remembered. And now, we begin.

WORDS: Marc Landas