No 5: Ninth Street Cemetery

In the middle of downtown Logansport, Indiana lies the antiquated, diminutive Ninth Street Cemetery. Its nearly 700 inhabitants barely make themselves known to those passing by on the quiet street below. And yet, upon climbing the stairs and stepping onto the grounds, I am immediately and seductively drawn to the left.  Not by any mysterious, spiritual energies, but having been here before I know that this is my goal.

In this corner, there is a meditative atmosphere which allows me to experience the very persons with whom I have lived ever since my fascination, yes, obsession, with family history began.  Nearly fifty years I have lived with these individuals, learned the facts of their lives, become acquainted with their personalities, experienced their joys and sorrows.  Yes, I know, they are actually not here, but I know, and can experience, that at one time all stood on these same grounds. No place anywhere on the continental United States are there any grounds such as these upon which so many members of the Rice family and its components have trod and remain in the form of monumental grave stones. Here is truly a place to meditate, to dwell upon the lives of our ancestors.

Logansport is the one city which truly experienced the combined branches of the Rice family. It is here that many remain, albeit in the form of gravestones, as nothing else remains.  Not their homes, their business places, their churches, their court house. All has disappeared through fires, floods, and uncaring futures. But the stones remain.

Starting on the upper right, the two “black” stones. The first Lucretia Rice, the other her son Gilbert. Behind these, a tall white stone is for Gilbert’s half-brother Benjamin Spencer and his wife Clarissa. The tall white stone in the foreground is for Minerva and her son Seldon. It was Minerva, Julia Potter Rice’s sister who was the reason for the arrival of the Potters. On the immediate left, lying barely visible on the ground are the remains of the stone for Anselm Potter, Minerva and Julia’s father.  True examples of the end of time, and yet, a continuance of the same.  With the stories I write, their lives might be remembered.