The crewmembers were understandably frightened. Some even asked for transfers to daylight trains or better still, to any other train that did not have to pass through Oxford—and the Justus Cemetery.
Once again, a few nights later, the train made its customary and needed stop at the Oxford water tower. The crew had completed the task when the ghost appeared. The train began to get up a head of steam but was unable to move for several minutes, its wheels spinning on the track. The crewmembers became nearly hysterical when suddenly with a jerk the train began to roll free from whatever horror had held it tight in its grasp. Fear and panic consumed the crew, and with open defiance, the train’s crew refused to take the train into Oxford on its next run. Railroad officials were at a loss to know what to do and finally hired a detective.
After visiting Oxford and talking to some of the citizens, he was able to persuade a few to accompany him one night as he visited the cemetery. This was scary business he was proposing. As the small group waited and watched, they observed some of the young men of the community creep into the area just before the train arrived to take on water. One of them carried something white—a sheet. The detective left his hiding place, and the others followed as he approached the young men. The youthful pranksters admitted they were responsible for the ghost. They had attached a wire from the top of the water tower to the cemetery and were pulling a sheet, draped over a coat hanger, along this “track.” They also confessed that they had rubbed soap on the railroad tracks to make it difficult for the train to get traction once it had stopped. The pranksters were set free with a stern warning that if this ever happened again they would be arrested.
That ended the life of the ghost of Justus Cemetery—or did it? There were some among the train’s crew—those who had been frightened into near hysterics—who didn’t believe that it was a prank.
ELKHART COUNTY
Oliver Crane began platting Goshen, the county seat, in 1831. According to one local tradition, Crane chose to name the city after his hometown, Goshen, in Orange County, New York. However, another tradition states the land was rich and productive, like the biblical Goshen, and thus the city was named for the biblical land.
Goshen College, a private preparatory school, was founded in 1894 by the Mennonite Church and was originally called the Elkhart Institute of Science, Industry, and the Arts. The institution moved to its present campus in 1903, where it became an accredited four-year liberal arts school and changed its name to Goshen College. Still owned by the Mennonite Church, Goshen College continues to expand; one of its newest additions is the John S. Umble Center for the Performing Arts. In 1980 Goshen became the first American undergraduate school to negotiate a fourteen-week educational exchange with a college in China.
Elkhart city, located on the south side of Elkhart River, was platted by Dr. Havilah Beardsley in 1832. Elkhart was incorporated as a town in 1858 and a city in 1875. Beardsley’s wife, Rachael Calhoun Beardsley, was said to have been a cousin to Vice President John Calhoun.
Until the railroad arrived in 1851, the city was an active river port, shipping flour, pork, and other produce to Lake Michigan.
Elkhart city also boasts a rich musical history—one that began when a cornet player, C.G. Conn, injured his lip. As a result of this injury, Conn invented the rubber mouthpiece. He began selling them in 1873. This sparked Elkhart’s musical instrument industry, which led to the city being known as “The band capital of the world.” At one time there were eleven Elkhart factories manufacturing band instruments. Today there are approximately eight involved in the manufacturing of woodwinds, brass instruments, and pianos.
At one time Elkhart manufactured more than twenty makes of automobile, second in the state only to Indianapolis. Elkhart is also known as the “recreational vehicle capital of the world,” with approximately two hundred firms manufacturing mobile homes, campers, or other recreational vehicle-related products.
Another Elkhart resident who would become notorious, Dr. Franklin Miles began marketing his home remedy, a sedative known as Dr. Miles’s Restorative Nervine, in 1884. The company achieved fame in the 1930s as the producer of Alka-Seltzer. Several years later One-A-Day vitamins and S.O.S steel wool pads were added to its product line. Miles Laboratory since has been purchased by Bayer AG of West Germany, the developer of Bayer aspirin. The billion-dollar, high-tech Miles Laboratory headquarters are still located in Elkhart.
In front of the Greek Revival-style courthouse at the northwest corner of Main Street and Lincoln Avenue sits an octagonal limestone structure. Built by the Work Progress Administration (WPA), the structure was erected across the street from the town’s bank—a highly guarded location following the notorious Dillinger gang’s widely publicized bank robberies in neighboring cities. The police manned the bullet-proof enclosure around the clock from 1939 to 1969.
The 155-acre Bonneyville Mill County Park is of historical interest. The state’s oldest continuously operated gristmill is located here. In 1832 Edward Bonney constructed a dam on the Little Elkhart River and erected the water-powered mill. The Bonney Mill is listed on the National Register of Historic Places.
Bonney led a colorful life. He was arrested in 1842 for counterfeiting. He managed to escape from prison, and he and his family moved near the Mormon community of Nauvoo, Illinois.
In a published autobiographical account of his life, The Banditti of the Prairies or The Murderer’s Doom: A Tale of the Mississippi Valley, he told of working for the Pinkerton Detective Agency. During his tenure there, he led a thirteen-month chase after nine thieves and murderers across a four-state area. He also served in the 127th Illinois infantry during the Civil War. After his death in 1863 at age fifty-nine, his body was returned for burial near the mill.
A Tree with Spirit
A few miles southwest of Elkhart on County Road 19 is the village of Jimtown (Jamestown). It was laid out in 1835 by James Davis, for whom it was named. The village has remained just that—a village—a quiet and comfortable place to live. Like in many other small communities, everybody knows everybody. In such a peaceful environment, a visitor passing through would feel certain there was nothing to fear. But those who live in and near the community know the truth.
Some time back, a terrible auto accident occurred just west of Jimtown on Cable Line Road (County Road 26). The driver died on the spot. No one recalls the exact date of the accident or even the name of the driver, but nearly everyone in the area agrees the accident did happen. It left a legacy—a terrible legacy.
As the story is often told, it began on a moonless night. A cold mist hugged the ground. An eastbound car traveling much too fast on County Road 26 was nearing the intersection at County Road 11. Suddenly the driver lost control. The vehicle crashed headlong into a large tree just off the side of the road. On impact, the driver was thrown through the windshield, crashing into the tree.
A nearby family heard the crash and called the sheriff’s office. People watching the wreckage cleanup commented that they could see the exact spot where the man’s body had hit the tree. Curiously, his body was never found.
Some believed he had survived the crash and in shock had wandered into the woods where he died. Others had a different theory. They believed the force of the impact was so great that the tree had actually captured the man’s body—and his spirit!
As