contributed by Sherry M. [cowgirl7448@yahoo.com]

[this newspaper is online]

Rose Hill Cemetery was laid out in a circle, or say like a wagon wheel, and in the center where the spokes converge in the hub, stands the massive granite monument erected by the Relief Corps of this city in honor of the Unknown Dead soldier of the republic who died in defence of their county. This shape is quite unique for a cemetery-we know of no other like it. The ground gently slopes on three sides, and from the highest point a fine panoramic view of the magnificent Nishna Valley is obtained.

The original owners were Ransom A. Crippen and wife, Ruth D. Crippen, of Corning, Iowa, and J.N. Denison, trustee, of Boston, Mass. Mr and Mrs Crippen certified to ownership before Lew E. Darrow, then of Corning, on May 29, 1872, and Mr Denison certified in Boston on Oct 16, 1872. As first laid out the steep bluff and land next north was included, making the circle complete, but when recorded Aug 4, 1875, the bluff part was left off, leaving the circle with a slice clipped off the north side, like a partial eclipse of the moon. James L. Brown, now postmaster at Clarinda, was county recorder at that time. All the lots are 24 feet long but vary in width. The full diameter of the cemetery is 950 feet. It was Mrs Jack Crose, then Miss Anna Johnson, who gave it the name Rose Hill cemetery

A.S. Lake has had charge of the cemetery either as agent or owner for forty years, and he terraced the lots many years ago and sowed them all in bluegrass as they now appear. This was mostly done while Sam Smith, now living in Canada, was sexton. The present sexton is George W. Baldwin, who succeeded Mr Smith.

Although this cemetery has long existed under the private ownership of A.S. Lake, it has been well kept, and is now one of the prettiest burying grounds in this part of the state. This is admitted by all who are familiar with other cemeteries. Some ten years ago a movement was started to place the cemetery in the hands of a cemetery association, but before an organization was effected public sentiment was found to be so well satisfied with Mr Lake's management that the effort to change was abandoned. Some day an addition will have to be made, and some day, too, Mr Lake himself will be laid to rest in the grassy plat he has kept so well and beautified, and then a cemetery association will be in order. Not now.

During the earlier years of the town's history burials were few and far between, but as population increased, and the middle aged became old and the old dropped by the wayside, the cemetery population grew rapidly, so that now there are over 1,600 graves there, which is an average of forty per year. The number buried in a year now ill probably reach 100.

The first one buried in the new cemetery was a child--a son of Dr. W.B. Webster. According to the recollection of Jerry Brown he died in the spring of '71 and was buried near where the Shenandoah lumber yard is now, and afterwards reinterred. I found the stone that marks this first grave. It stands a short distance southwest from the center of the circle and near the large monument of J.S. Johnson. The inscription reads, "Carl C., son of W.B. and K.B. Webster, died May 21, 1871, aged five months and eighteen days." [The stone of Carl Webster is now gone - note from Pat O'Dell, Sep 2025]. Not far to the right are the graves of the Holcomb children, Theodore and Alice, bearing dates 1873 and 1875.

There is a legend that there was an Indian grave on this point of ground long ago, and it may be so, but no trace of it have been found and no local poet or romance writer has ventured to tell us of the beautiful Indian maiden who jumped off the cliff to her death because of unrequitted love. But our esteemed fellow citizen, H.S. Nichols, lost his footing once and tumbled down the steep, alighting in a pile of old tin cans and brickbats and was nearly killed. Mr Lake has never deemed it advisable to erect a railing around the bluff to protect the ghosts that walk at midnight here; but, once when he was mayor a bootlegger was caught selling whisky in the cemetery and he was fined $75 and then he got away without paying the fine.

The ground on which the cemetery was located originally belonged to Ed Whiting, and Jerry Brown says it was half covered with trees and underbrush, which he cut away. The first to purchase grave lots were R.B. Crose, Julius Swain, I.N. Holcomb, William Ellis, Dr Webster, Col. W.F. Baker and G.W. Winchester. This doesn't imply that they were the first to be buried there. Several of them are still living and do not intend to be buried until they cannot help it!

The first grave marks were wooden headboards and a few of these still remain. The next better kind was the tall thin white marble slab, but these are not durable and have gone out of style. Rose Hill is well filled with massive granitestones, some of finest polish and some partially in the rough. They will endure to the end of time. W.J. Spooner who has been in the marble bsiness here for thirty years and has placed most of these fine granties and the humbler stones, went over the ground and gives this estimate of their weight and value. Weight of marbles and granites, 600 tons, value $85,000. Of these the Spooner works has placd 456 tons, of $70,000 value.

In death as in life there are distinctions of wealth. Besides the costly granite that runs inot thousands stands the humble stone of $25,000. These do not measure the love and affection for the departed or the lack of it, but rather the financial condition of the decease. But

The most expensive stone in the cemetery is that of Joseph Van Buskirk but many others are a close second in beauty, size and cost. Here as elsewhere the plain and unpretentious is very often the most beautiful. The contract has just been let for the Fishbaugh monument to an Omaha marble dealer, and we are told it will excel all others in cost and magnificence. There are two ballbearing monuments that are very handsome, the Crose stone and that to John Henry Gallup. The fine red granite shaft is mounted by a large globe. These cost about $500 each. The most unique and to my notion the most beautiful is that of the Collinsons, Simeon and Margaret. It is a huge gray granite cube, 34 inches square, set upon one of its angles or corners. This couple who lived a long life almost recluse shine in the graveyard. John C. Latimer has a nice monument to his memory, and deserved it. He was born the same year as John M. Phipps, 1812, and he ran Uncle John a pretty good race but dropped out in 1902 at the age of ninety. Nearby lies Enoch Thompson, one of the earliest pioneers northwest of town, his nearest neighbor for many years being ten miles distant.

There are only five minsters in the cemetery-Rev Foskett, Baptist, Rev Stephenson, Congregational, Rev Wilcox, Saints, Rev Ellerby, Episcopal, Rev Ladd, Methodist. No editor has yet arrived. As a class newspaper men here have managed to outwit death and the devil.

One of the most striking of the beautiful grave lots in Rose Hill is that of John M. Phipps, the over-centinarian. Mr Phipps has achieved what no other citizen of this community has ever attained, or expects to attain. He has lived over one hundred years, and if he lives till next St Valentine's day he will be 103 years old. His extraordinary age makes him one of our most distinguished citizens. He was born at the beginning of the war of '12, when Ohio was a frontier state. Lincoln was born three years earlier than he, but Lincoln has been dead fifty-eight years. Yet at this advanced age Mr Phipps' physical and mental faculties are about like those of a man of seventy-five or eight. In the picture he is seen standing on the spot which is to be his long home. He realized the shortness of his remaining life and prepared this cemetery lot just as he would have it.

It pleases him, he loves it, and he has fixed it in his memory so that it will doubtless be a delight to him through all eternity. The white figures are marble statues, emblems of innocence and beautify, and with the help of the imagination we may say they are angels guarding the loved dead and strewing the flowers of spring as often as the annual resurrection day comes round. One stands at the foot of his wife's grave and the other bends over the grave of his granddaughter, Mrs Goldie Stewart-Stevens. Mr Phipps is a firm believer in the Christian religion and in answer to a question stated his expectation that his spiritual body given him at death, would take on the form of his earthly body at its prime.

One of the most attractive of the best earlier monuments is that of S.S. Lingo, erected to the memory of his wife. The tall shaft is surmounted by an angelic figure, bending sweetly over the grave. A pretty story is told of this monument. A bright eager minded little girl of Arbordale was coming to town with her parents. As she caught sight of the cemetery with its many white grave stones glistening in the sunlight, her young eyes opened wide in wonder at what is all could be. She was told that it is the place where people are buried when they die. A little further along the girl figure on the monument came into view. "Oh, mamma," she exclaimed, "here is one that hasn't been buried yet!"

Two small family mausoleums stand in the cemetery, built by Edgar Faust and John Beadles respectively. They are of cement and just large enough for two crypts with an aisle between for a table and chair. Dread of the cold, damp ground and the inevitable decay, no doubt prompted the building of these above ground tombs. Anyway they are a very pleasing and excellent way of caring for the dead. When the bodies are placed the mausoleum will be hermetically sealed. The same verse is engraved on the door of each--

This is a poetic fancy, of course, but the lines give expression to the universal sentiment of the human heart--a sentiment that is exalted and beautiful.

The cemetery is a good place for meditation, for introspection and for infinite questionings. Job undoubtedly stood by a grave 3400 years ago when he propounded his age long query, "If a man die shall he live again?" and Thomas Gray mused at evening in a country church yard when he conceived his immortal Elegy. The impenetrable silence that pervades this voiceless city of the dead, bears heavily on mind and heart. Here all inequalities fade away and end in the listless inert dust. Beauty, that gloved in the face and form of the maiden is no more than the wrinkled brow of age. Side by side lie "the youth to fortune and to fame unknown," and "that sweetheart of mine." The man who boasted of his farms, his house and his cash holds no advantage over the toiler in the ditch. He who for a brief space held in his grasp the destiny of his city or his state, is soon forgotten here. The polished shaft that marks the grave of the good citizen is beautiful to see, but equally beautiful is the grave of the hero whose only memorial is the starry flag and the flowers that bloom in the spring. Here all come for final rest in the arms of good old Mother Earth, from whose bosom they all sprung. What wonderful stories of struggles and triumphs, of victories and defeats, of love and riches gained and lost, these graves could tell! This much we are all assured of--a funeral dirge and a little house 4x6, whose walls are clay and whose roof is grass. But what lies beyond? Ah, do not ask me. As well ask what lies beyond the stars or at the end of eternity. All who come here come with a hope--a hope that like a bright star in the night has guided them and illumined their pathway thus far. Perhaps it was more than a hope, that beyond the "frozen gates of sleep" they would find a better world, a fairer, sweeter life, an eternal home. Let us trust they will realize all they fondly dreamed of and longed for.