illustrate life in citys infancy
Arthur Franklin Mapes, whose official state poem
Indiana helped earn him the title of Indiana
poet laureate, captured the flavor of life in
Kendallville, Noble County and the state in the late
1800s in many of his poems.
MUSIC STORE George Kihm shown here stands in his music store in this 1940s photo. The music store was located at 109 E. William St. just off Main Street in Kendallville. (Photo contributed by Phil Kaiser)
Could I but turn the hands of time
Back to my boyhood days sublime,
Id thrill once more to stories told
By bearded men of days of old.
They were the ones who knew the truth
Of Kendallville back in its youth.
This must have been a lovely place
When wagons rolled along the trace,
White-topped wagons oxen drawn
Through forest gloom into the dawn
Of an era; when from toil and strife,
Emerged the Hoosier way of life.
Here, in this spot, so old, yet new,
Our town was born; it thrived, and grew.
The winding trace became a street
As wagon wheels and booted feet
Erased the time-worn Indian trail
That hadnt known a plank or rail.
More settlers came and settled down,
Then Kendallville became a town.
Unbroken forests, lakes, and streams,
This was a place where hopes and dreams
Soon rooted deep in Hoosier soil
As hearts and hands were bent to toil.
One hundred years! Our town has changed.
One hundred years has rearranged
The forest aisles to busy streets.
Ours is a heritage that greets
The coming years with faith and pride,
To all ... her doors are open wide.As we look back to yesterday
|Lets ask ourselves, perhaps this
Could there ever be a spot on Earth
More dearer than ones place of birth?
This town of ours will always be
Loved by you ... and loved by me
|In the village, known as Northport,
Greg McDougals cabin stood.
He wus crooked like an ole rail fence,
But folks thought he wus good.
He would go to church on Sunday,
An would join in prayer an song,
But jist when folks would turn their backs
Hed allus do em wrong.
His gang would kill an plunder,
Strikin almost every place,
Then would vanish in the forest
An never leave a trace.
Then the Regulators gathered
Down at Col. Cochrans Inn,
An vowed the Blacklegs had to pay
Fer every crime an sin.
They circled round by Northport,
Down to Kendallville an back,
They searched the gloomy forests
An the bogs of tamarack.
They caught up with the Blacklegs,
An at last the truth came out,
An the pious Greg McDougal
His innocence did shout;
But the justice of the settlers
Wus strong, an swift, an sure,
Fer the plague at had beset em
There was jist one simple cure.
So a caravan of wagons
Took the road to Diamond Lake.
The men had jist one purpose,
McDougals life to take.
The sky looked dark an stormy,
Yet the wind seemed sad an still,
When they strung up Greg McDougal
Frum a tree on Diamond Hill.
They buried him at Northport
Where his gravestone can be seen,
An old an dated slab of gray
Above the grass of green.
Theres a moral to this story
at ole Sassafras has told,
Dont ever git to cravin
Fer another fellers gold,
Tis better to be down an out,
An have a mind ats free,
Than to end up like McDougal
Hangin frum a big oak tree.