Post by Okwes on Jan 29, 2008 17:33:59 GMT -5
Is legend of Native American grave buried?
First Presbyterian cemetery `mound' awed us as children
HELEN ARTHUR-CORNETT
It was shocking, years ago, as I talked with the late Eugenia Lore, our prime local historian hereabouts, when she told me no Native American chief is buried in Memorial Garden.
That knocked me for a loop. I can't believe I haven't told you about it before now. With Memorial Garden's annual world-class color extravaganza looming in April, now seems a good time for it.
As youngsters, my good friend Nancy Ridenhour and I spent summer days playing follow-the-leader down through that then-brambly-if-partially-restored old First Presbyterian Church cemetery. We'd always stop by the grave-like pile of stones on the hillside.
That, longtime local legend had told us, was where a Native American chief was buried. "What tribe?" we wondered. In the 1700s, Cherokee, Sioux, Catawba and other tribes lived throughout this region.
What had happened to the chief? How had he died? Was it in battle? Was it an accident? And why was he brought to old First Presbyterian Church cemetery to be buried?
We'd shake our heads a bit, then dash on to examine the grave of the young Scottish circus rider who had died here, then maybe look for tombstones of our ancestors. We always tried -- unsuccessfully -- to grab goldfish out of the pool and fountain by the entrance gate.
As I said, the saga of the Native American chief here was almost holy, especially to youngsters throughout the town, and maybe even the whole county, truth be known.
Well, when "Miss Genie" said it wasn't so, I wanted to shed a tear, though I was then a grown woman. But it was undeniable: She and her sister, "Miss Addie" Lore, were our foremost genealogists and local historians. And Miss Genie wasn't one to be argued with, very much.
But she and Miss Addie knew their local history and wrote books about Cabarrus County history and many of its people. Miss Genie declared that the reputed Native American chief grave, in fact, was in the Mahan family plot.
I wrote down her exact words.
"If there's an Indian there, he evidently had accepted the Christian faith. He would have to have been a member of the church to be buried in the cemetery."
She also pointed out that by 1804 -- when Concord's First Presbyterian was founded -- both the Native Americans and the buffalo that had roamed here for centuries had disappeared.
A bit of hope? Miss Genie acknowledged that while giving a program, years earlier, she referred to a Native American cairn (a memorial-type pile of stones), but she qualified it even then by saying that, if so, "he must have accepted the faith."
Now, Concord's late Mrs. J.F. Reed wrote of the legend that Native Americans were buried there, "in graves marked by three-foot granite stones, carrying no inscriptions." She wrote, "It isn't known why Indians were buried there, but older residents have passed down the fact as authentic."
"Dared we hope?" I asked myself.
No, apparently, as E. Ray "Radio" King, late editor of a local newspaper, wrote that the legend of the mound was nothing but a myth, and he gave his "true facts." But those facts are fascinating.
It seems that Concordian William Macon Coleman, who'd risen to become president of George Washington University (he studied at Princeton, the Sorbonne and Heidelburg and was an important man in his field) visited his hometown in 1910.
On his visit to the cemetery of his Mahan ancestors, he found it full, abandoned (the old church had moved to the corner of Spring Street and West Depot Street, which is now Cabarrus Avenue) and rundown, seedy and jungle-like.
Coleman, King wrote, decided to honor his Mahans, so he brought big rocks from across Cabarrus County, perhaps some even from old Mahan dwellings, and left them in the garden. (King didn't know how he planned to use them.)
Then, without explanation, Coleman left town, leaving no directions as to their use.
"Public memory is short," King wrote, and during a later cleaning of the graveyard, a worker dutifully tossed the stones into a pile.
Voila! Instant mound.
What I still want to know is, if that was the case, how and why did the Native American legend arise?
Of course, the Mahan version seems likely, if a bit humorous, but is it beyond the realm of possibility that a Native American chief does lie there?
Hmmm! Should the "true facts" be known, or should we let our legend be a legend?
You can bet many old-timers -- including me -- would swap Mahan for legend in two shakes of a lamb's tail.
A Look Back Helen
Arthur-Cornett
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Helen Arthur-Cornett is a local historian and a freelance writer for Cabarrus Neighbors. Her column is a regular feature of Cabarrus Neighbors.
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First Presbyterian cemetery `mound' awed us as children
HELEN ARTHUR-CORNETT
It was shocking, years ago, as I talked with the late Eugenia Lore, our prime local historian hereabouts, when she told me no Native American chief is buried in Memorial Garden.
That knocked me for a loop. I can't believe I haven't told you about it before now. With Memorial Garden's annual world-class color extravaganza looming in April, now seems a good time for it.
As youngsters, my good friend Nancy Ridenhour and I spent summer days playing follow-the-leader down through that then-brambly-if-partially-restored old First Presbyterian Church cemetery. We'd always stop by the grave-like pile of stones on the hillside.
That, longtime local legend had told us, was where a Native American chief was buried. "What tribe?" we wondered. In the 1700s, Cherokee, Sioux, Catawba and other tribes lived throughout this region.
What had happened to the chief? How had he died? Was it in battle? Was it an accident? And why was he brought to old First Presbyterian Church cemetery to be buried?
We'd shake our heads a bit, then dash on to examine the grave of the young Scottish circus rider who had died here, then maybe look for tombstones of our ancestors. We always tried -- unsuccessfully -- to grab goldfish out of the pool and fountain by the entrance gate.
As I said, the saga of the Native American chief here was almost holy, especially to youngsters throughout the town, and maybe even the whole county, truth be known.
Well, when "Miss Genie" said it wasn't so, I wanted to shed a tear, though I was then a grown woman. But it was undeniable: She and her sister, "Miss Addie" Lore, were our foremost genealogists and local historians. And Miss Genie wasn't one to be argued with, very much.
But she and Miss Addie knew their local history and wrote books about Cabarrus County history and many of its people. Miss Genie declared that the reputed Native American chief grave, in fact, was in the Mahan family plot.
I wrote down her exact words.
"If there's an Indian there, he evidently had accepted the Christian faith. He would have to have been a member of the church to be buried in the cemetery."
She also pointed out that by 1804 -- when Concord's First Presbyterian was founded -- both the Native Americans and the buffalo that had roamed here for centuries had disappeared.
A bit of hope? Miss Genie acknowledged that while giving a program, years earlier, she referred to a Native American cairn (a memorial-type pile of stones), but she qualified it even then by saying that, if so, "he must have accepted the faith."
Now, Concord's late Mrs. J.F. Reed wrote of the legend that Native Americans were buried there, "in graves marked by three-foot granite stones, carrying no inscriptions." She wrote, "It isn't known why Indians were buried there, but older residents have passed down the fact as authentic."
"Dared we hope?" I asked myself.
No, apparently, as E. Ray "Radio" King, late editor of a local newspaper, wrote that the legend of the mound was nothing but a myth, and he gave his "true facts." But those facts are fascinating.
It seems that Concordian William Macon Coleman, who'd risen to become president of George Washington University (he studied at Princeton, the Sorbonne and Heidelburg and was an important man in his field) visited his hometown in 1910.
On his visit to the cemetery of his Mahan ancestors, he found it full, abandoned (the old church had moved to the corner of Spring Street and West Depot Street, which is now Cabarrus Avenue) and rundown, seedy and jungle-like.
Coleman, King wrote, decided to honor his Mahans, so he brought big rocks from across Cabarrus County, perhaps some even from old Mahan dwellings, and left them in the garden. (King didn't know how he planned to use them.)
Then, without explanation, Coleman left town, leaving no directions as to their use.
"Public memory is short," King wrote, and during a later cleaning of the graveyard, a worker dutifully tossed the stones into a pile.
Voila! Instant mound.
What I still want to know is, if that was the case, how and why did the Native American legend arise?
Of course, the Mahan version seems likely, if a bit humorous, but is it beyond the realm of possibility that a Native American chief does lie there?
Hmmm! Should the "true facts" be known, or should we let our legend be a legend?
You can bet many old-timers -- including me -- would swap Mahan for legend in two shakes of a lamb's tail.
A Look Back Helen
Arthur-Cornett
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Helen Arthur-Cornett is a local historian and a freelance writer for Cabarrus Neighbors. Her column is a regular feature of Cabarrus Neighbors.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------