Collierville’s Mystery Tomb
Dear Vance,
Who is buried in that lonely tomb that sits all by itself on a hill alongside Poplar Avenue (Highway 72) as you drive through the heart of Collierville?
— H.T., Memphis.
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Hardeman Adington’s tomb has stood on a hill next to Poplar Avenue for 150 years.
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The inscription on the vault is quite specific regarding the length of his life.
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Other tombstones are reduced to stone fragments.
Dear H.T.,
I can tell you right now that nobody is actually buried — or even “entombed” — within this ancient vault. And I can also say that it doesn’t exactly “sit by itself.”
I’m not trying to be difficult here — no more than usual, that is. What I mean is that the ancient stone tomb that thousands of motorists drive by every day, probably without giving it any thought, is actually one of several gravesites in an old family cemetery that has been in use since the mid-1800s, and has even seen recent burials. On a visit last month, I noticed a shiny brass marker dated 2015.
It’s the old rectangular stone vault that catches your eye, though, and a neatly carved inscription on the west end tells the story: It belongs to H. Abington, who was born in 1810 in North Carolina, and died here in 1860, at the precise age of 50 years, 9 months, and 16 days.
The “H” stands for Hardeman, and he was a member of one of Collierville’s earliest and most important families. Besides being one of the largest landowners in this region, Abington’s second child, James, was elected the first mayor of Collierville when the town was incorporated in 1870.
Other members of the Abington family — and it was extensive, since everyone had many children and grandchildren and nieces and nephews — served as business leaders, physicians, lawyers, and even as an Arkansas state senator. And Hardeman Abington played a key role in all this, because — as his tomb carving indicates, though not as clearly as I’m about to tell you now — he was the one who moved his large family here from North Carolina.
I know these various facts about the Abingtons, and other early residents of Collierville, because I took the time to look through Collierville, Tennessee: Her People and Neighbors, at 532 pages a decidedly comprehensive history of that community, written by longtime resident Clarence Pinkston Russell, and published about 20 years ago (there’s no date) by the Collierville Chamber of Commerce.
Russell takes readers back to the days when Collierville, then known as Oak Ridge, was founded and only began to prosper when it was linked to Memphis by the railroad. Early businesses mainly revolved around cotton and other kinds of farming, though one of the thriving firms in the 1800s belonged to a coffin-maker. In those days before doctors and reliable medicine, and with yellow fever epidemics every few years, coffins were often in short supply.
Obviously, Collierville grew by leaps and bounds, with businesses crowded around three sides of the town square: grocers, butchers, druggists, livery stables, blacksmiths, dry goods stores, and even a brick kiln, with offices for physicians, lawyers, and other firms. Then as now, the railroad station formed the southern border of the square.
The Abingtons, whose main home was somewhere on present-day Sycamore Road (southwest of the downtown area) before it burned in 1922, sold chunks of their land to other citizens who, like them, had moved here, and at one point offered some acreage for use by an African-American church. Many of the original Abington family’s descendants still live in the area today.
But back to what I was saying about the “lonely” tomb on the hill. A survey of the cemetery conducted in 1970 revealed some 20 other graves, many of their markers damaged or missing, and the report of that survey noted, “The cemetery appears to have been largely destroyed.” A recent visit (as you can see here) reveals that the large “box” tomb of Hardeman Abington seems to be in remarkably fine shape — a testament to the hard work of some stone carvers in Memphis — but except for the more recent burials, most of the other, older gravestones are crumbling.
Even so, in her book, Russell notes that Hardeman was originally buried here alongside his daughter and wife, who had died several years before he did. And please note that I said he was “buried.” Again, with Russell as my source, it seems that when Hardeman died, his will specified an impressive stone vault. But with the disruption of the Civil War, things got delayed and it wasn’t until five years later that the vault was finally completed by Fisher Amis & Company of Memphis (they carved their name along the bottom edge of the vault) and hauled all the way to Collierville where, according to Russell, it was placed over Hardeman’s remains.
In other words, there is nobody — and I mean that literally: no body — inside this old tomb.
Nelson’s Business College
Dear Vance: While researching old businesses in Memphis, I’ve come across several references to Nelson’s Business College. What can you tell me about this establishment? — g.h, memphis.
Nelson’s Business College advertised that it “treats every student as a lady or gentleman.”
Dear G.H.: Surely everyone remembers the time Nelson Business College’s Fighting Stenographers shellacked the UT Volunteers in the Sugar Bowl — one of the greatest gridiron victories in college football — and business college — history.
Wait, that can’t be right. Let me check that story and get back to you.
Here’s what I know. Albert E. Nelson was a Cincinnati businessman who ventured to Memphis in 1888 and opened a small business school at 189 Madison, in a building that had once housed a boot and saddle store. Early advertisements for the school were unusual; instead of describing course offerings, as you might expect, they declared that “Nelson’s Business College Treats Every Student as a Lady or Gentleman.”
Within a year, the school moved to the second floor of a building on Second Street, and two years later moved to 390 Madison, and two years later relocated again to 41 Madison. You get the sense they couldn’t quite find a proper home. Even so, their ads began to proclaim it was “The Leading College” without really explaining why.
By 1895, Nelson was listed as the president of the institution, and C.H. Threlkeld served as the principal. Full-page advertisements in city directories now claimed it was “the only school having actual business daily from start to finish,” which is not really clear to me, and “each student is examined by practical businessmen, who sign his diploma.” Classes included general business, penmanship, rapid calculating, and commercial law. What really set Nelson’s apart from other schools, however, were these two claims: “Men Teachers Only” and — this made me laugh — “Electric Fans.”
By 1910, Albert Nelson was no longer connected with the school; I don’t know what happened to him. Threlkeld and a fellow named Oren Baker took over as co-principals. The school was now established at 290 Madison, where it would remain for years. Courses included shorthand and “expert accounting.” Their ads continued to be rather vague, declaring that “Nelson’s resorts to no guarantee schemes or other questionable methods of securing patronage” and bragged about “more than 23 years in Memphis without a vacation.” Vacation?
Even so, Nelson’s Business College managed to survive until 1930, when it finally closed, no doubt unable to compete with the larger colleges established here. The old black-and-white postcard displayed above, showing a “class drill in touch typewriting,” is the only image I have been able to find of the school. The former location on Madison is now the site of the new Downtown School.
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Email: askvance@memphismagazine.com
Mail: Vance Lauderdale, Memphis magazine, 65 Union Avenue,Suite 200, Memphis, TN 38103
