Whispers in Will S. Green Park, Part II: The Restless Beneath the Oaks
Research confirmed Colusa’s first cemetery lies beneath Will S. Green Park, with some graves never relocated. Findings by Sadie Ash and Danielle Hendrix reveal remnants near Webster Street, reviving reflection on the town’s forgotten past.
When the wagons stopped rolling and the fences were gone, Block 85 fell quiet. The ground lay bare, its purpose erased. For years, grass grew where marble had stood, and the town went on as if the dead had never been there.
Then, in 1920, Colusa’s trustees met to plan a new municipal swimming pool. They debated several sites before agreeing on the best one in California — the land of the old cemetery. The Colusa Herald called it a perfect choice, “a waste place ready for recreation.” Officials promised that any remains still in the soil would be carefully removed. No record shows how many were found.
By summer, the concrete basin gleamed in the sunlight. Children played where mourners once stood. The dead of Block 85 had been buried twice, first by time and then by progress.
For decades, the pool stood as a symbol of renewal. When it was finally filled in and the land converted into what is now Will S. Green Park, the memory of the cemetery was almost gone. The tramp’s story faded into folklore.
But history, like the river, finds its way back.
While researching the park’s history for a grant project, Sadie Ash, the city’s grant writer, uncovered records that placed Colusa’s first cemetery squarely beneath the park. Maps from the 1800s confirmed the boundary. Old meeting notes hinted that “some graves were never located.”
“It’s unsettling,” Ash wrote, “to think there may still be graves beneath the playground and the trees.”
Her findings reached Danielle Hendrix, manager of the Colusa Cemetery District. Comparing burial maps and city plats, Hendrix concluded that several graves likely remain under the park’s northeast corner near Webster Street. Brass survey markers once noted their location but have long since disappeared.
No one can say who rests there.
Most residents see the park as nothing more than a patch of green where families gather and children play. Yet some notice the difference in the air. The northeast corner feels cooler even on hot days. The wind moves differently through the oaks. Dogs sometimes stop and refuse to walk forward.
Every October, the whispers return. Old-timers tell the story of the tramp who saw the dead rise. They recall his warning that the town had forgotten its own. Whether it was truth or madness, no one denies that Colusa did forget, until the past began to stir again.
Historians say that hauntings are not always ghosts but memories pressing against the present. The restless beneath the oaks are part of the town’s conscience, reminders of the people who built Colusa and were buried beneath its progress.
The park is peaceful now. The laughter of children rises where hymns once did. Yet some evenings, when the fog drifts from the river and the lights flicker along Webster Street, the air grows still. The rustle of leaves sounds almost like a voice, soft, patient, and eternal.
If you listen closely, it says only one thing: remember.
Editor’s Note: Based on research by Sadie Ash, Grant Writer for the City of Colusa, and Danielle Hendrix, Colusa Cemetery Manager, referencing The Colusa Daily Sun (1909) and The Colusa Herald (1920). Whispers in Will S. Green Park is part of the Haunted Colusa series exploring forgotten and legendary corners of local history. Part 2 of 2.
