I have visited the parking lot behind the Ernest Guinn Justice Center multiple times — more than multiple if you count the era when it was a practice surface for Cleburne middle school football players and elderly men chipping golf balls — and I have never seen Indians on the premises.
You’d think I would have if there were any around. I’m Indian.
I know this because every time I dance it starts to rain.
Even though I haven’t seen Indians behind the Justice Center, I’m willing to accept that they must be around as ghosts.
Those who claim to know say this expanse was originally an Indian burial ground.
And that it became Cleburne’s first city cemetery.
And that when some of the persnickety white folks found out their family members had been buried near Indians, they threw a hissy fit and demanded the white folks’ remains be transferred to a new cemetery that didn’t cater to Indians.
Which supposedly is how Old Cleburne Cemetery came to be.
That part must be true because we can drive by Old Cleburne Cemetery any time we want and see it with our own eyes.
Unfortunately, we can’t see the Indian burial ground behind the justice center. There’s a lot more cement than dirt.
Historian Jack Carlton wrote about parks in our millennium edition a few years back and noted the importance of Indians in the 19th century community calendar:
“Our parks began with a Cherokee Indian camp near our present-day American Legion building on West Chambers Street. It would become Biro Park.
“Ten-year-old Francis Marion ‘Babe’ Williams and his father, at the reins of a wagon and a team of mules hauling military supplies from Galveston to Fort Belknap, saw many campfires along Buffalo Creek and stopped to rest for the night.
“They found not settlers but a huge Indian camp. Chief Palasado, who had lost a young son, quickly accepted the travelers at the camp. Their association developed into a lasting friendship.”
This requires an explanation.
White folks and Indians generally did not get along in those days.
Indians would cross the Brazos River, just a few miles west, and rob the white folks blind.
White folks, in turn, would cross the Brazos and decimate the Indians’ land.
Come to think of it, this may be how the Indians got snookered out of Oklahoma.
I’ll grant you that some white folks and Indians must have coexisted, as Mr. Williams and Chief Palasado presumably did.
Maybe the chief had some beads to trade. Maybe Mr. Williams had a son.
Indeed, he did.
“Later, when young Babe was left without a father,” Carlton continued, “Chief Palasado literally adopted him. Babe would spend his young life growing up playing the Indian version of baseball, inspiring his love of sports.
“Chief Palasado and Babe both became famous Texas Rangers. Palasado scouted for Captain Ross, and Babe became famous in North Central Texas, being responsible for a large territory of Johnson County. Babe spent his retirement years doing volunteer community service.”
And now we get to the juicy part:
“As years passed,” Carlton continued, “and he survived the great War Between the States, Babe would forever place his name in our history when he volunteered to relocate Anglo graves from a former Indian burial ground to Cleburne’s present Memorial Cemetery.
“It developed from knowledge of early pioneers like Babe that the area behind today’s Guinn building on South Buffalo Street was the burial ground of the Indians.
“After the long hard task of re-interment to Memorial Cemetery, Babe was rewarded with a free plot, where today he and his family rest in Lot One fronting Washington Street. He died Feb. 11, 1927.
“Among his accomplishments, Babe dug the water well on the grounds of the 1883 courthouse. He graduated from high school in 1932, saying it was his greatest achievement, even though he had been successful in many hand-to-hand combats with hostiles and outlaws.
“Babe desired to see a park for the citizens of Cleburne. Biro Park became his project. A swimming hole was dug and filled with cold water from a spring that flows behind our present-day juvenile holding center on Mill Street.
“The new park and swimming pool was well attended, but the water was so cold that the site was abandoned in two years and a new park sought. Thus, Cleburne began to be a city of parks.”
The burial ground behind the present justice center became noteworthy for other uses in later years, of course.
Cleburne ISD, needing a place to play football after the original fairgrounds blew away in a cyclone, constructed Rhome Field, with the west goal posts facing Walnut Street. It was named for Joe Rhome, a star running back for the Yellow Jackets’ 1920 state championship team.
The Yellow Jackets celebrated a lot of wins at Rhome Field in the ’20s, far fewer wins at Rhome Field in the ’30s, then shut the gate and built Yellow Jacket Stadium some 70 years ago.
You could probably still play football on Rhome Field, but you wouldn’t want to fall when you’re tackled. You might scrape an elbow on the cement.
And you might get scalped by an Indian.
After all, it was their land before it was yours.
