Hi,
I'm in deep grief over this story! I want to cry, am is shock, can't
believe what has happened in IN. but it could be ARkansas where I live, or
anyplace!!
About 11 years ago (before I became a genealogist) we bought a 10 acre
farm, carved out of a bigger farm, but where the original settlers must
have lived, near the dirt road. It had an old log home on it, with another
room (also log) that had been added later. Also, a small newer home, well,
and two barns, were on the property. Standing a ways from the log home,
under some big trees were many tombstones, very old ones. They had been
taken from another site, we were told, by the previous owners who were
collectors. Some of these stones were very ornate, lambs, folded hands,
hand pointed to heaven, ect. I was so disturbed that these stones had been
removed from their original cemeteries, but couldn't find out anything
else about them. Someone told me these might have been taken from
cemeteries that had been moved from areas now underwater. New dams had been
built here in AR. and large lakes were formed as a result. Not knowing what
else to do, I gave up my search, but always wondered why the old stones
hadn't been taken to the new graves sites. Since we had bought the farm for
our daughter to live on and she moved away, we sold the old place. The next
owners weren't curious about the stones, but I still couldn't shake the
fact that someone HAD to know what happened to the people in the graves,
and could answer my questions. I still don't know anything helpful
regarding this mystery but will continue trying now that I know more how to
search. I have a copy of the Newton Co. AR. cemetery book, but the farm was
right on the line inside Boone Co. I'll ask permission of the new owners,
or real estate company, (it's for sale, people who bought it from us have
died) and
take photographs of all the stones (if they're still there). Maybe I can
find out where they were originally buried. Our son, Jon, and his wife want
to buy this farm, and I hope they are able to do it.
God's blessing on your house,
Sue Reddell, Harrison, AR.
siouxsue(a)alltel.net
----------
From: Karol Stanley <stanlekv(a)erinet.com>
To: INKOSCIU-L(a)rootsweb.com
Subject: [INKOSCIU-L] CEMETERIES DESTROYED
Date: Sunday, August 23, 1998 3:30 PM
Hello, all - this is from the Indianapolis Star-News of August 22,
1998. The byline on this article was by Bill Shaw. It is quite
lengthy, but please take the time to read all of it. This is probably
the worst thing I have EVER encountered! If ever the genealogists of
Indiana - in fact, all the citizens of Indiana, should rise up in
protest, it is now!
Sasha Stanley in Ohio
The Death of a Cemetery
Wayne Township graveyard destroyed for
warehouse shows final resting places aren't
so final under state law.
News
Sports
More Services
By Bill Shaw
Indianapolis Star/News
INDIANAPOLIS (Aug. 22, 1998) --
Sometime in 1844, James Rhoads, a
prominent Wayne Township farmer, died.
He was 70. His family members and
friends buried him in a grove of walnut
trees on a hill overlooking a little creek.
It was the first burial in what would
become Rhoads Cemetery. During the
next half-century, 43 members of the
Rhoads, Foltz, Shute and Rude families
would be sent to eternity in the walnut
grove.
The tiny cemetery was the scene of
extraordinary grief over the years as
members of the four families repeatedly
journeyed in horse-drawn wagons across
the sweeping fields and up the lonesome
hill to bury their children.
Thomas B.
Rhoads was 7
months old in
August 1849
when he died of
an inflamed
brain. Elmer
Shute was 2
when he died of
a bowel
infection in
August 1859.
Hiram Foltz was
an infant.
George Foltz
was 1. Lillian
Rhoads was 2
and died of
whooping cough
on Aug. 13,
1878. Casey Rhoads died of an inflamed
brain when he was 2. Emma Rude died at
18 months.
On and on they died until there were 35
children buried in the peaceful cemetery
on the hill.
By the dawn of the 20th century, the
burying ceased as the four families
either died out or drifted away from
southern Wayne Township. Nobody paid
much attention to the old cemetery
anymore.
The cemetery and surrounding farmland
changed owners several times. Each new
owner farmed the fields and tended the
old cemetery out of respect for earlier
generations of Hoosier families. The
farmers could have knocked down the
trees, plowed under the tombstones,
planted corn on the graves and made a
few more dollars at harvest.
But they didn't.
The pace of change in Wayne Township
picked up dramatically in 1931 when the
Indianapolis airport opened on 900 acres,
gobbling up farmland and triggering a
development explosion in western Marion
County.
Still, the land around the old cemetery
remained untouched, save for the annual
spring plowing. The burying ground
remained unmolested, decade after
decade, hidden on the hill in a
60-foot-wide opening in the walnut grove
Danny J. White grew up in the Lafayette
Heights neighborhood, just south of the
cemetery. In the 1970s, the field around
the cemetery served as a dirt bike track
for White and his teen-age buddies. He
crossed it many times walking to Ben
Davis High School. The old dead-end dirt
road served as a teen-age lovers' lane.
Neighborhood families held picnics
beneath a massive, gnarled oak tree just
east of the cemetery.
White, 41, is a tool and die maker and an
Indy Racing League mechanic. He helped
fabricate the car Eddie Cheever drove to
victory in the 1998 Indianapolis 500.
Every day driving to work along I-465
near the airport, he'd glance to the east
through the sprawl of hotels, office
buildings, warehouses, parking lots, gas
stations and fast food joints, and take
comfort that the solitary hill and the dark
grove of trees remained in this mass of
concrete and asphalt.
"Even when I was a kid the cemetery and
the area surrounding it was
breathtaking," he recalled.
In the name of development
By 1995, the fields that stretched to the
horizon when James Rhoads was buried
so long ago had shrunk to 21.2 acres.
Now jet planes scream overhead, and the
rumble of nearby I-70 and I-465 is
constant. Cement trucks and construction
equipment line the old lovers' lane, and
new buildings seem to appear daily,
landscaped with skinny stick trees,
surrounded by acres of asphalt.
One day about 18 months ago, Danny J.
White was driving to work and glanced
toward the familiar hill and the concealed
cemetery. He was startled to see it
surrounded by yellow trucks, graders,
backhoes and dirt scrapers.
He raced immediately to the cemetery
and felt his stomach heave. The
tombstones were gone. There were ugly
gashes in the earth. The big yellow
machines had pulled the graves from the
earth.
"It was sickening," he recalled. He was
furious. He made dozens of phone calls
and fired off angry letters to an
assortment of government officials
seeking an explanation.
He got one.
It was all quite legal, according to state
officials. Now go away and quit bothering
us, Danny J. White.
He wondered how such an abomination
could occur in conservative, family-values
Indiana where, he, like most Hoosiers,
was raised to respect the dead and
revere their hallowed, final resting place.
"How did this happen?" he asked. "You
don't mess with graves."
Well, here's what happened, Danny. They
do mess with graves.
James Rhoads, Thomas, Henry, Casey,
Elmer and the other children and eight
adults who rested more than 150 years in
the safety of the walnut grove became
the property of Duke Realty Investments
Inc.
Duke, which owns or manages 60 million
square feet of real estate in eight states,
bought the 21.2 acres and the
360-square-foot cemetery in 1995.
"We purchased the land for development
purposes," explained Donna Coppinger,
the helpful vice president of marketing
for Duke. "We couldn't develop a site
with a cemetery on it."
Why?
"It wasn't what we wanted to do," she
said.
Duke will soon level the hill and build a
458,000-square-foot bulk distribution
warehouse on the 21.2 acres, obliterating
the one-tenth-acre Rhoads Cemetery.
It's legal
Nearly two years ago, after they bought
the land Duke hired an archaeology
company called NES Inc. in Blue Ash,
Ohio, and together they filed the
necessary forms with the Indiana
Department of Natural Resources
Division of Historic Preservation and
Archaeology to dig up the Rhoads, Foltz,
Shute and Rude families.
State laws, which are made by the 150
members of the Indiana General
Assembly with extensive guidance from
corporate lobbyists, allow property
owners to demolish old cemeteries they
find on their land. Throw away the
tombstones, plant corn or build a
warehouse on the graves. It's legal.
DNR's chief archaeologist Rick Jones is
monitoring the Duke demolition. He said
his agency issues about 10 cemetery
relocation permits a year. How many
cemeteries simply are destroyed, he
doesn't know. "We have no way of
knowing," he said.
But throwing away tombstones and paving
over graves doesn't require a permit.
Just do it. It's legal. In fact, old
tombstones often end up in flea markets.
"Most people think cemeteries are
forever," Jones explained slowly and
uncomfortably. This is not a topic most
state officials enjoy discussing. "In
Indiana, cemeteries are not forever. If
you own the property, you can bulldoze
them down. Basically, in Indiana, nothing
is sacred."
Digging into graves and moving them does
require some paperwork, except for
farmers who are exempt from even that
minor inconvenience.
"Farmers can just throw away the
tombstones and plow up the graves," said
Jones. "And they do. The Indiana Farm
Bureau got the legislature to exempt
farmers."
A couple years ago, DNR proposed a bill
to offer some mild protection for old
pioneer cemeteries. Corporate lobbyists
smothered the bill in committee, and it
never received even token consideration.
The end of Rhoads
Anyway, Duke's cemetery demolition
project proceeded under DNR Digging
Permit 960062.
NES Inc. archaeologist Jeannine
Kreinbrink directed the removal of
"remains," once known in another life as
James Rhoads, Elmer, Thomas, Casey and
others.
Kreinbrink, who now works for Natural
and Ethical Environmental Solutions Inc.
of Liberty Township, Ohio, did not return
phone calls.
She did submit a preliminary report, as
required, to the DNR's Rick Jones.
It's a haunting document, complete with
photographs of the "remains." In many
cases, much remains of the remains, like
the perfectly preserved bones of little
children, their arms crossed, lying in tiny
hexagonal coffins. Pieces of shoes and
clothing remain.
The report also contains a diagram of
each grave's location, the shape of the
coffin and what was in it. Each former
person is identified by a letter and a
number.
For example, C-2 was the "well-preserved
remains of an adult. Sex unknown. Head to
west. Arms at side."
B-10 contained the "well-preserved
remains of an adult. Arms folded with
hands over waist."
Mr. D-1 was obviously a wheat farmer
because he was buried with a wheat
scythe and a small plate.
Infant D-6 was buried beneath 2.8 feet
of dirt in a decorative metal coffin called
a sarcophagus with a glass viewing
window.
E-7 was an older adult male with a
engraved tulip on his coffin and the
words "Rest In Peace."
A-1 was the "poorly preserved remains of
an infant, sex unknown. Few scattered
post cranial remains."
B-1 was an "adult female 20-35 years.
Well-preserved remains."
And on it went in graphic detail. Most
people were buried under only 2 feet of
dirt, symbolically facing the setting sun,
the western horizon.
"I feel a connection with these people,"
Rick Jones said quietly, flipping through
the depressing document. "You feel
something looking into a child's grave
after 150 years. These are people that
used to live, walk around and breathe.
We're literally looking into the past and I
feel a profound sense of respect."
He paused, blinked a couple times.
"This is a serious thing."
Once Elmer and the others were dug up,
labeled with numbers and letters, they
were shipped to anthropologist Stephen
Nawrocki at the University of
Indianapolis on the Southside.
He was hired by Duke under terms of
digging permit 960062, which required an
"osteological" investigation by an
anthropologist. That is a study of the
bones and "artifacts" for historical
significance.
"I haven't been cleared by Duke to
discuss this with reporters. I'm just a
sub, sub contractor," said Nawrocki.
Jeannine Kreinbrink called and told him
not to talk, he said. Her firm is paying his
fees.
When will your report be done, doctor?
"I don't know."
Once his report is complete, DNR will
either order Duke to rebury the
"remains" somewhere else or they will "be
kept in a lab for future study," said
Jones.
Last December, Blair D. Carmosino,
Development Services Director, Duke
Construction Inc., fired off a stern letter
to DNR officials.
"Duke's schedule for construction
start-up in this project area is rapidly
approaching, so it is imperative that the
(DNR) properly issue a clearance letter
for this project area."
Part of the reason for delay was DNR's
displeasure with Jeannine Kreinbrink's
preliminary report. Jon C. Smith, director
of DNR's Division of Historic
Preservation and Archaeology, found
about 40 points in her report he wanted
explained, corrected or expanded upon --
like what did Duke plan to do with the
"unwanted" headstones they dug up?
On July 22, DNR issued a conditional
permit to begin "ground disturbing
activities" but demanded an archaeologist
be present in case additional "human
remains" are uncovered.
"We'll probably start drainage work and
soil things soon," said Donna Coppinger,
the Duke marketing person. "Site
preparation before winter means if we
can get the site ready, we construct our
industrial warehouse product this winter.
The building will be 1,032 feet long and
440 feet wide."
This is good news? "It is good news.
We're good corporate neighbors," she
said.
Property of Duke
The other day Danny J. White visited the
old cemetery one last time before the
ancient walnuts and solitary oak are
bulldozed, the hill flattened and the
"final" resting place for 35 kids and eight
adults is erased from the face of the
earth.
He hiked through the alfalfa field,
brimming with buzzing bees, butterflies
and summer wildflowers and up the hill.
He rummaged around through the dense
brush at the edge of the cemetery. Day
lilies planted 150 years ago around the
graves still flourish.
"Look what I found," he said suddenly,
emerging from the brush with the broken
top half of a tombstone bearing the
words "WIFE OF JAMES RHOADS.
DIED." He found it in a bulldozed pile of
dirt between two old tires, beer cans and
soda pop bottles.
What to do? Surely the DNR would want
Mrs. Rhoads' broken tombstone. It
couldn't be left in the pile of tires and
broken glass. Somebody might steal it. It
might be demolished in "site preparation."
It could be lost forever, a historic
treasure, the last poignant symbol of a
person's life, sacrificed on the altar of
economic development and corporate
neighborliness.
A quick phone call to DNR research
archaeologist Amy L. Johnson provided
the answer.
"Put it back," she said firmly.
What?
"Put it back," she said again.
Why?
"It belongs to Duke. It is their property."
James Rhoads' wife's name was believed
to be Hannah, and she died on July 24,
1849, at age 85. Her husband, remember,
was the first person buried in the
cemetery in August 1844.
Her broken tombstone, which was
carefully placed in the Hoosier soil during
solemn, no doubt tearful, ceremonies 149
long summers ago, was returned to the
pile of bulldozed dirt, tires, broken glass,
beer and pop bottles.
It belonged to Duke.
It's the law.
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