The Death of Franklyn Calhoun

Greystone does not matter in the broader context of the world, to the point that its very existence could be considered anecdotal at best. 

Established in 1868, it was merely another failing silver camp along the southwestern borders of the Nevada desert. High pressure was expected; hard times financially, regular cave-ins, men and women alike attempting to outrun their shaky pasts. By the late 1870s, Greystone was already shrinking. 

The following account is not conventional history. Rather, it is a reconstruction assembled from newspapers, private letters, dubious eyewitness statements and the handful of surviving photographs from the fire. I have arranged them roughly in chronological order, adding spare commentary where context seems appropriate. 

On Feb. 22, 1879, the first observed President’s Day (Washington's birthday), Greystone experienced yet another tragic incident within the infamous Mount Diablo mine.

Nevada State Journal, March 3, 1879

“It is with regret that we chronicle another sad chapter in the history of Nevada’s numerous mining colonies. 

On the morning of February 22nd, the community of Greystone discovered that little Franklyn Calhoun, the only child of Mr. Jarek Calhoun and his wife Michelle, tragically lost his life during a sudden cave-in (...)

Michelle Calhoun and little Franklyn, photographed by Jacob Rothstein circa 1876.

Little Franklyn was described as ‘lively and quick’ by family friends, often disappearing from sight. On the morning in question, officials believe Franklyn was drawn by the ‘shining’ ore and curiosity in his father’s work. (...)” 

Jacob Rothstein, a family friend of the Calhouns, appears to have spoken with multiple outlets about the tragedy. As such, he acts as a primary source of information for much of the story going forward.

Reno Evening Gazette, March 10, 1879

“(...) Rothstein related that the entire camp heard an ominous rumbling (Saturday) morning. Mr. Calhoun could not locate his son. 

“(Mr. Calhoun) went straight up there,” stated Mr. Rothstein. “He told us boys, about an hour later (...) it was gruesome. I’m not really sure I can say (more).” 

Those who saw Mr. Calhoun emerge from the workings that morning described him as appearing ‘red in the face’ and ‘exhausted.’ 

Since the day of the incident, the Calhoun family has grown increasingly isolated from their community. The family has accepted little in terms of aid from their neighbors. (...)”

Those in charge were not sympathetic to the plight of the Calhoun family. Matthew Perkins, owner of Perkins Prospects, was quick to rule the incident as ‘yet another unfortunate reality of the work they do.’

Nevada State Journal, March 3, 1879

“(...) Mr. Matthew Perkins, one of the proprietors connected with the Mount Diablo workings, states that cave-ins are ‘not a daily occurrence’ and that proper timbers and shoring are maintained throughout the season. 

“We put up our timber like anyone else,” he said. 

Mr. Perkins added that the section into which the child had entered had been closed off for some time. The opening through which he apparently squeezed was described as ‘too small’ for an adult to pass. 

“Nobody saw Franklyn Calhoun enter the mines,” Mr. Perkins said. “It happened late at night or early in the morning, if we had to assume.” 

Other messrs present during the interview acknowledged the inherent danger in their work. 

“It comes with the territory of the job,” stated Mr. Oswald Rankin. “This is not a place for tykes. Never was.” 

“We really loved that kid,” declared Mr. Nimrod Jobson. “Greystone is a family. This should have never happened.” (...)” 

Many local wives expressed their sympathies and a desire to get their families far away from Mount Diablo.

Reno Evening Gazette, March 10, 1879

“(...) Mrs. Jobson, wife to Nimrod, spoke of the efforts made by neighbors to assist the stricken Calhoun family. She noted that the family didn’t appear to want any of their contributions. 

A token funeral was held February 27, little Franklyn’s resting place now adorned with a small timber cross.

Residents speak privately of seeking opportunities elsewhere, though the general bonds of the community remain strong, according to Perkins. (...)” 

The community’s concern appears to have been met with little response. The Calhouns remained largely withdrawn in the weeks following Franklyn’s death, their grief secretly festering into something else.