Spring water flows from a springhouse on the
grounds of an old Cherokee Nation district courthouse near Rose recently.
Lisa Melchior is heading efforts to raise funds to restore the courthouse.
Below: Lisa Melchior, president of the Saline Preservation
Association, and Cherokee tribal leaders like Councilor Johnny Keener
(right) are trying to save the 1880s-era Saline District Courthouse near
Rose.
DAVID CRENSHAW / Tulsa World
Effort under way to save tribal courthouse
If through the cobwebs, nests and deafening cover of time these walls
could talk, well, what a tale they could tell about this empty, former
tribal courthouse in the woods of far western Delaware County.
They'd better start talking fast. The one-time Cherokee Nation Saline
District Courthouse is the last of its kind still standing, and at close
to 120 years old it may not last much longer.
Not without help, anyway.
"It doesn't really matter how much it costs," Lisa Melchior said. "It's
worth saving."
Melchior, a Cherokee, is president of the Saline Preservation
Association. She has joined forces with tribal leaders to raise money for
restoring the 1880s-era courthouse.
Cherokee Nation Deputy Chief Joe Grayson is one of those leaders
calling for the building's revival.
"It has a very colorful history," Grayson said. "A lot of people will
want to work on this, and we'll find a way to get them involved."
The inspiration behind that perspiration, tribal officials believe,
will be a love of history. The Saline District Courthouse -- so named for
nearby salt wells -- is the only
one remaining of nine district justice venues built within the tribe's
boundaries to handle misdemeanor and civil cases in the mid-to-late 19th
century.
Bigger cases were taken to Tahlequah, typically, but amateur historians
argue that much more than petty thievery and business grievances were
aired on the courthouse grounds near the Rose community.
"Once upon a time it was known that there was a hanging tree here,"
Cherokee Councilor Johnny Keener said. "And they did use it."
Others are unwilling to go out on a limb concerning the hanging tree
stories. But everyone concerned with the Saline courthouse agreed that the
place is full of stories -- old grave markers of lives cut short by
disease and mayhem, reputed murders and a clear, cool spring which never
seems to run dry.
The SALINE COURTHOUSE was a
center for the local Cherokee community. A general store and blacksmith's
shop operated only a stone's throw away, Melchior noted.
The Cherokees disbanded the district courthouse system near the turn of
the 20th century, she said. The Saline building was then sold to the
highest bidder and served as a residence until about 1970.
That was the year that Connie Jolliff's mother, Florine Ransom, sold
the house to the state of Oklahoma. More than a decade later the state
sold it back to the Cherokee Nation.
Jolliff, who now lives in Tahlequah, remembered how much she loved
growing up in such a mysterious, historical home.
"It was fascinating," she said. "We heard a lot of stories from the old
Indians around. It was like a paradise to us."
Paradise lost, it turned out. The state promised to keep the property
up, Jolliff noted, but didn't.
She is thrilled that someone has finally stepped forward to try and
save the SALINE COURTHOUSE.
"That was my mother's dream to have it redone," Jolliff said. "She
passed away last year."
An architect has volunteered to check out all of the old courthouses
deficiencies and needs -- from the glassless window openings to a rotting
porch to the lead-based paint clinging to walls.
Whatever the problem is, Melchior vowed, will be no big worry. An aged,
yet sturdy roof has kept out much of the moisture and, besides, she
believes the place is too valuable not to fix.
"I'm sure there are a lot worse buildings that have been restored,"
Melchior said.
The SALINE COURTHOUSE is
listed on Preservation Oklahoma's endangered list. Supporters like
Melchior, Keener and Grayson believe it deserves a better fate than
gradual collapse, serving as a late-night spook house for teenagers, or
worse, demolition.
They see it as a possible historical hotspot for sightseers. Visitors
could once again walk the home, sit quietly at the spring house or study
the weather-worn tombstones at the front of the property.
Either way, it'll get people talking again.
"This building is important," Keener said. "Once we get started, I
believe the community will come back."
For more information on the old Cherokee courthouse or the Saline
Preservation Association, contact Melchior at (918) 825-7868.
Rod Walton 581-8457
rod.walton@tulsaworld.com