Histories Etched in Stone
- Headmistress Jill Miller
- Sep 6
- 6 min read
I’ve always been fascinated by cemeteries.
When I was a little girl, we’d cut all the flowers from our yard before Memorial Day and take the nearly three-hour drive to Fowler, a little, dusty town in southwest Kansas, to “decorate the graves.” Relatives would gather at the Fowler Cemetery to spread flowers and little flags around the gravestones to honor those who had gone home to meet their maker.
As a kid, it felt like we would die of boredom before we’d finally get to leave for Aunt Edna’s house just down the road for lunch straight off the farm - fresh green beans, juicy homegrown tomatoes, deviled eggs, crispy fried chicken, and the best pies in the world.
Since it didn’t matter how much we pestered the adults to leave, my sister and I explored. Parts of the cemetery were really old, with much more interesting headstones than the boring granite slabs that marked the more modern graves. We read the faintly etched poems and brief life stories of people who died while this frontier town was being built in the late 1800s.
My sister and I were always amazed at how many of these old graves were for children, with carvings of little lambs and sweet angels. The one that has stayed with both of us is the marker for a little girl, her image in a raised cabochon sealed in stone and glass, hair curled in tight ringlets. My sister and I always grabbed a few flowers to put on the grave for this long-forgotten girl.
Before widespread vaccinations, diseases we rarely see today were often deadly to children. Once-common childhood killers like diphtheria, measles, polio, whooping cough, and smallpox—responsible for hundreds of thousands of cases and tens of thousands of deaths each year in the U.S.—have either been completely eradicated or are now considered rare diseases thanks to vaccinations.
As I got older, I thought of cemeteries as mystical places. In my rebellious early 20s, I explored Maple Grove Cemetery with my friends, often at the midnight hour, with bottles of cheap wine. We never did any damage. We’d hide behind the headstones and jump out to scare each other, have picnics with the dead, and enjoy the peaceful stillness of the night amongst the moonlight-lit gravestones. The most daring thing we did was to lie on graves, with our arms crossed, imagining the person buried beneath.
My favorite story about cemeteries was told to me by a friend who wanted to buy a historic mansion in my neighborhood, built in 1887. He’d always dreamed of owning the grand Queen Anne mansion and kept an eye on it while it was in probate for a year, waiting for the “for sale” sign to appear in the front yard. He decided to take otherworldly action to give the purchase a little push.
“Before my house went on the market, I decided I would take any help I could get to make it mine. So, I found out where the original owners were buried, and on Friday, I went to visit them. I only had a teeny bunch of flowers to take, but I gave it to them, introduced myself, and explained how much I loved their house. I asked for any help they could send my way and promised to bring them better flowers the next time I visited. The following Tuesday, I got the call that I had a walk-through scheduled for Wednesday. At which point I said “Ah! It takes one business day for the dead to get things done!” On Wednesday, I walked through the house, made my offer, and the following Monday, the house was mine.”
What a grand dam Queen Anne!
The cemetery my friend visited was the Highland, right across the street from Maple Grove at Hillside and Murdock, where I used to play. We never ventured across the street to the older cemetery to explore in those times. Its dark and creepy, foreboding vibe didn’t feel like the place to frolic, so we stayed away from these sinister grounds. Maybe we weren’t Goth enough. Still, I’ve always been curious about Highland, though I’ve never explored its ominous grounds, even in the light of day.
It turns out that the Highland really isn’t creepy at all, unless you’re creeped out by history. This cemetery is the “resting place of pioneers,” filled with Wichita’s founders and earliest settlers. William Mathewson, the original Buffalo Bill, is interred here. Not to be confused with the Buffalo Bill from the Wild West Show fame, this Wichita famous Bill got the nickname after he supplied starving settlers with buffalo meat to get them through the winter in 1860, before Wichita became a city.
Roland P. Murdock, the business manager and the brother of the founder of the Wichita Eagle, and his wife, Louise Caldwell Murdock, are here too. Louise Caldwell Murdock was the first interior designer in Wichita and is responsible for our incredible collection of American art at the Wichita Art Museum. (Read more about this inspirational woman here.)
Internationally famous painter, John Noble, A. Price Woodard, Wichita’s first Black City Commissioner and Mayor, and many more notable people can be found at the Highland. (Read more about the Cemetery’s fascinating history here.)
The Highland came up in conversation during our last Badass Women Crappy Craft Party. Barb Myers, a historian and author specializing in local history, shared with us her work in caring for this neglected historical gem. She is passionate about preserving Wichita’s history by caring for the place where history lies.
It seems no one has ever wanted to care for this historic landmark. Responsibility was passed from Maple Grove to a group of women who made up the Highland Cemetery Improvement Association, formed in 1903. The association’s funds and momentum died out in the 1950s. After that, it was abandoned until the City of Wichita was forced to take over, and little has been done to officially ensure its care since.
Vandalism and age are taking a toll. Horrified at the shape of the grounds and graves, Barb spearheaded the Friends of the Wichita Pioneers at Highland Cemetery in 2016. This small group of volunteers is doing important work, having repaired and cleaned over 300 stones after researching and attaining their decedents' permission, the largest volunteer effort to date to restore Highland Cemetery. (Here’s a video from a presentation Barb gave on their work.)
They’re not done yet! The organization just received a generous anonymous donation that will be used to buy much-needed equipment for lifting heavy stones. They are a federally recognized 501 (c) (3) nonprofit organization, and donations are usually tax-deductible and can be made from individuals as well as from corporations, including retirement funds.
I twisted Barb’s arm just a little bit, and she’s agreed to give us a two-hour historical tour on Saturday, October 25th, starting at noon. We only have a limited number of spaces available for this intriguing event, so don’t wait to register here.
The Badass Women of Wichita Alliance will be making a donation to the Highland Cemetery Friends Group to help with their efforts. I’m asking for a minimum donation of $10 to attend, but feel free to give as much as you like! You can also donate through their GoFundMe page here.
I’m excited to spend time exploring the cemetery that once gave me the creeps with Barb’s expert guidance. Unlike when I was a bored child hanging out at the family Memorial Day festivities, I’m dying to mill around, relive old memories, tell tall tales, and talk about how we’re all connected to one another.
Maybe we should go get pie afterward.
Headmistress Jill
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