Curious, Pious Make Pilgrimage to Grassy, Quiet Hill : Cemeteries: Staff won’t give directions to the small, well-hidden gravestone of Nicole Brown Simpson, but persistent tourists seek it out.

They didn’t know her. They didn’t mourn her.

But one recent sunny afternoon, they tramped through this deeply quiet hilltop cemetery, determined to find her.

“It’s not that I want to come out here and jump on her grave,” said 70-year-old Jean Dove of Portland, Ore. “It’s not that I’m morbid or anything.”

People such as Dove are not an unusual sight at Ascension Cemetery. A steady procession of strangers comes almost every day seeking the simple grave site of Nicole Brown Simpson.

Ever since Simpson’s headstone was laid in December, word of mouth has turned this secluded spot into Orange County’s oddest, most clandestine attraction. Like the trial of her ex-husband and accused killer, O.J. Simpson, the victim’s final resting place attracts a crowd, which includes the curious and the pious.

Family members tried to keep trespassers away from Ascension, a private Catholic cemetery where rabbits once outnumbered tourists. They waited six months to mark the grave, then asked cemetery officials not to tell strangers where it is.

“But people find it anyway,” Ascension superintendent John Callaghan said with a rueful shake of his head.

Such persistent interest does not surprise those who study the way fame and death complement each other in American culture.

“Folks want to be close to danger and death because it gives them a kind of mastery,” said C. Allen Haney, a University of Houston sociology professor specializing in death and mourning. “And if you can be close to a high-profile death like Nicole Brown Simpson, then it’s all the more powerful.”

Many who seek out Simpson’s grave, Haney said, probably identify with Simpson, a victim of domestic violence, or use her tragic story as a religious touchstone.

Others just yearn to be near someone so famous.

Celebrities are tantalizing because they seem so distant, Haney said. Then, suddenly, death brings them to heel.

“When they’re dead, their mortality is writ large. And being dead, they do indeed become manageable. You can touch a hero. You can touch a celebrity.”

The Simpson grave is particularly popular on weekends, said one woman whose house overlooks the cemetery. People often arrive with video recorders, and recently the woman sat on her porch watching nearly a dozen people gather around the grave, some reclining in lounge chairs.

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Ava Rabago, a Lake Forest resident visiting her son’s grave at Ascension, said she once relished the cemetery’s air of sanctuary. Now she sometimes vies for parking with tourists whose cars bear out-of-town license plates. Not long ago, she was astonished to see a group of teen-agers congregating around the Simpson grave, watching the O.J. Simpson murder trial on a portable TV.

And yet, Rabago confessed meekly, she also visits Nicole Simpson’s grave from time to time, compelled by an urge she found hard to explain.

For their part, Dove and her daughter-in-law, Diana Marshall, wanted to see something that might answer--or at least render moot--questions raised daily in the Los Angeles courthouse 45 miles north.

Something drew them here on this gloriously sunny weekday afternoon, Dove insisted. Something more than boredom kept them searching after half an hour.

“Maybe I’ll say a little prayer for her,” Dove mumbled, stepping carefully across the lumpy, uneven earth.

Soon, Dove and Marshall noticed that they were not alone. Twenty yards away, they saw a man wandering among the headstones, his head bent. He was MacDonald King Aston of Colorado Springs. A member of something called the Assn. for Gravestone Studies, he was searching for Simpson’s grave with his sister, Kristen Aston.

But the Astons also were having no success.

Comparing notes, the four searchers agreed: Simpson’s grave was either unmarked or purposely nondescript. Family members, the four guessed, probably hoped to preserve some vestige of their privacy.

So Dove suggested searching the cemetery’s southeast corner, one corner where there seemed to be several new, unmarked graves.

MacDonald Aston followed, trying to explain the grim lure that famous graves hold.

“I think most people, they need to live out their lives through someone else,” he said, dodging sprinklers. “Most people will never be rich, never be famous. So there’s a need to get close to someone who is.”

Aston said he likes to visit Los Angeles cemeteries, where he finds swarms of people hunting the remains of celebrities and celebrated victims. The most popular grave is that of Sharon Tate, the actress slain by members of the Manson family 25 years ago.

Some days, Aston said, you cannot get near Tate’s grave.

“I do this because of the social and cultural implications,” he said. “But people are out there visiting stars .”

With an expensive camera dangling around his neck, Aston wanted to document ornaments and gifts left at Simpson’s grave.

“At Wyatt Earp’s grave,” he said, “people leave cigars and poker chips.”

Just then, Kristen Aston began to suspect that cemetery officials were using sprinklers to keep the searchers at bay. Taking it upon herself to shut off the water, she inspected all the damp headstones.

Still, nothing.

Remembering that a friend lived across the street, Kristen Aston jumped into her car and sped off to ask the friend for precise directions to the grave.

From behind MacDonald Aston came a cry:

“Here she is!”

He and Dove hurried to where Marshall stood. The sight of Simpson’s headstone--the size and color of a blank TV screen--stopped them cold.

“Awww,” said Dove, her shoulders slumping and her face suddenly drawn with sadness.

She studied the inscription: “Nicole Brown Simpson. 1959-1994. Always in Our Hearts.”

Soon eight strangers were standing around Simpson’s grave, everyone staring at the ground.

Dove gazed around the cemetery, at the 4,000 less famous inhabitants of Ascension, and she marveled that Simpson’s grave was not more ornate.

“She just sort of blends in,” Dove said. “Like she’s just a normal person.”

Unable to take their eyes from the headstone, the group lingered in the cool shade of an unruly juniper tree. For a few moments, they discussed the O.J. Simpson trial. Then, one by one, they drifted to their cars, until only Dove and Marshall remained.

“My husband thought it was weird,” Marshall said. “Coming out here and looking for her. But now it’s like we know her. It’s like she’s a friend.”