Long Description:Found the grave site in one part of town and memorial in another.
Grave is in the Ridge Park Cemetery, Memorial is downtown by the
court house on the North West corner of the square. There are lots
of stories on the net about Jim, but here is the best, and the one
I like.
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Jim was just a plain black and white setter, but in all the
annals of dogdom there has never been anything his equal.
Psychology professors from Washington University in St. Louis and
the University of Missouri observed the uncanny things he could do.
They shook their heads in wonder and had absolutely no explanation
for his behavior. Even his master, Sam Van Arsdale, could offer no
clue to his remarkable gift. Jim earned his reputation during the
hectic Depression days of the 1930s; the demonstrations he gave
hinted of a power beyond the comprehension of mortal man. So unique
were this dog's talents that he became known throughout the land as
Jim, the Wonder Dog.
My introduction to Jim came one warm summer afternoon in the
little west-central Missouri town of Warsaw, when I was just a lad.
Noticing a crowd gathering around some sort of commotion on Main
Street, I drifted over. The attention was focused on Sam and Jim.
They had just driven up in Sam's car and an audience had
immediately begun to collect. During the next hour we were treated
to a remarkable and completely puzzling exhibition of the dog's
extraordinary cleverness. "What would I do," Sam asked, "if I had
the stomach ache?" Jim wagged his tail, apparently in sympathy,
then trotted over to where Dr. Savage, the town physician, was
standing. He nudged the doctor gently. The crowd gasped its
astonishment, for this was Jim's first visit to our town, and he
had no way of knowing one person from another — no visible way,
that is. Sam patted Jim on the head. "What made Henry Ford rich?"
he asked next. The dog walked over and stood looking at a Model-T
Ford. "See if you can find a car," requested Sam, "with license
number 132875." Jim promptly crossed the street, looked up and down
and placed his paws on the running board of the county tax
collector's car. The license corresponded. Then someone in the
crowd spoke a few words in French. Van Arsdale looked puzzled since
he did not understand the language. Not so, Jim. He slipped through
the crowd to its outer fringe and began nudging an interested
spectator. It was our Methodist minister. Van Arsdale turned to the
questioner."What did you say to Jim?" he asked. "I asked if there
was a Bible in the crowd," replied the French-speaking spectator.
The pastor had a quizzical look on his face as he reached into an
inside coat pocket and produced a small Testament. I learned later
that Jim could understand and would carry out orders given to him
in Greek, German, Spanish or any other tongue, even though his
master could not speak a foreign language and did not understand
the question. Jim accepted the entire proceedings calmly. He did
not seek praise for his efforts but ventured out on each mission
with a confident air. When it was accomplished he would return to
sit quietly at his master's feet until ordered out again. Later Van
Arsdale and Jim walked over to the drug store. The owner asked Van
Arsdale if Jim could find the soda fountain. Van Arsdale ignored
the question and went on talking. Five minutes later he pointed to
the druggist and asked Jim: "What was this man talking about?" Jim
put his paws on the fountain.
Jim was born in Louisiana, on March 10, 1925, one of a litter of
seven pups. When he was a couple of months old he was sold to Van
Arsdale, who lived in West Plains. Sam placed the young dog in a
kennel where he was to be trained as a hunting dog. Jim required
little training. He seemed to know instinctively where the quail
were and how to make a perfect point. When Jim was three, Van
Arsdale moved to Sedalia where he bought a hotel. One warm fall day
when the two were out in the fields hunting, Van Arsdale said,
"Let's sit in the shade of that hickory tree and rest." Jim trotted
over to a hickory tree and sat down. Bemused, Van Arsdale told Jim
to show him an oak tree. Jim did. In quick succession then, at his
master's suggestion, he found a walnut tree, a cedar, an ordinary
stump and even a hazel bush. It was the first real inkling that Jim
was something special.
Not long after this, Van Arsdale and his family moved to
Marshall where he had acquired another hotel. That fall I became a
student at Missouri Valley College in Marshall and was able to keep
up with Jim's remarkable career. I will never forget the afternoon
that Jim was brought out to the college to give a demonstration
before a class studying Greek. Van Arsdale asked that a request be
written for Jim in Greek. The professor wrote on a piece of paper.
Confidently, Van Arsdale placed the paper on the floor in front of
the-dog. Jim didn't move. Van Arsdale's cheeks began to turn red
with embarrassment. He picked up the paper and handed it to a
member of the class. "Evidently Jim won't do this one," he
apologised. "Will you read it for us, so we will know more about
it?" The student began to smile. "It says nothing," he answered.
"It's only the Greek alphabet."
People traveled hundreds of miles to watch Jim perform and to
test him themselves. They were always utteriy astonished and
completely convinced of his ability when they left — and just as
mystified as before. Jim was rapidly acquiring a national
reputation. Although everyone was amazed, Van Arsdale himself was
intensely interested in finding out how or why Jim could perform as
he did.
Searching for an answer, he arranged for a demonstration at the
University of Missouri with the skeptical Dr. A. J. Durant, head of
the School of Veterinary Medicine, conducting the proceedings.
Durant was assisted by Dr. Sherman Dickinson of the College of
Agriculture. The Paramount Motion Picture Corporation was there to
film the event. As a starter, Dr. Durant gave Jim a thorough
examination. He could find nothing abnormal or different from any
other dog. The tests, attended by numerous faculty members and
students, as well as psychiatrists from Washington University in
St. Louis, were held in a large quadrangle on the campus. Van
Arsdale began: fquot;Jim there is a college professor here named
Dickinson. Show him to us." Jim did, and then was deluged with a
succession of commands. A professor asked in Italian to be shown an
elm tree. Another directed Jim in French to point out a certain
license number. One, speaking in German, wanted to be shown a girl
dressed in blue. A fourth requested in Spanish that the dog find a
man wearing a black mustache. Jim responded promptly and accurately
to all requests. Then someone asked Jim to point out a boy who had
just had a permanent wave. It was the dog's only failure that day.
Before he could get to him through the crowd the embarrassed lad
had run away. At the conclusion of the tests the professors held a
conference, then told the crowd they were convinced that Jim
possessed an occult power that might never come again to a dog in
many generations.
Such were Jim's powers that he could even look into the future
and foretell coming events. For seven years in a row he was shown a
list of entries in the Kentucky Derby, and picked the winner each
time in advance of the race. With equal ease he could correctly
predict the sex of babies yet unborn. In 1936, just before the
World Series games were played, Van Arsdale, in the presence of
friends, placed before Jim two pieces of paper upon which the names
of the teams had been written. He explained, "Jim, I have here the
names of the two teams that will be playing in the World Series.
Will you show us the one that will win?" Jim placed a paw on the
slip bearing the word "Yankees." Later events proved him
correct.
Again in 1936, Jim was asked to predict the winner of the
presidential race. The names of Roosevelt and Landon were written
on pieces of paper and placed in a hat. The slips were drawn out by
two ladies. Then Van Arsdale said, "Now, Jim, one of these ladies
holds the name of the next president of the United States; will you
show us who it is?" Jim went immediately to one of the women. She
unfolded her paper and read the name "Roosevelt."
Although Jim could apparently predict the outcome of any future
event with certainty, Van Arsdale refused to take advantage of any
of this knowledge by betting; neither would he permit anyone else
to reap a profit from Jim's uncanny ability. At one time Van
Arsdale was offered $665,000 if he and Jim would work in the movies
for one year. He turned down the offer with this explanation:"I
feel that Jim's powers are beyond my comprehension, and I do not
care to commercialise on them in any way." It seemed that Jim could
do everything well. For this reason, he was insured for $100,000
against accident. He was the most famous hunting dog of this
century — during his career more than 5,000 birds were shot over
him.
On one occasion he was invited to Jefferson City to demonstrate
his powers before a joint session of the Missouri Legislature. He
picked out various people from their complexions and from certain
types and colors of dress. He obeyed an order given him in
shorthand. But the thing that puzzled the lawmakers most was the
readiness with which he followed the instructions communicated to
him in Morse Code.
Then came the fateful morning of March 18, 1937. Jim lay curled
up on his favorite easy chair, his long, deep muzzle nestling on
his paws, his eyes seemingly cast in dreamful reverie. His nose
would occasionally twitch — the famous nose that in younger days
have been uncanny in its`swift certainty, a nose that had allowed
him to go downwind, running like fire, stiffen in the middle of an
effortless bound, twist his leg in the air and light rigidly
pointing at a covey of quail 100 feet away. Van Arsdale stuck his
head inside the door and whistled. Instantly alertl Jim bounded
from the chair his eyes bright with anticipation. The two got into
Van Arsdale's car and headed for a fishing trip down on Lake of the
Ozarks. Parking the car, he opened the door for Jim to jump out.
The dog ran down the hill a short distance, then suddenly collapsed
on the ground. Van Arsdale rushed frantically to his side only to
find his companion near death. He picked him up and sped to a
veterinary hospital in Sedalia. The dog breathed only twice after
being placed on the table.
Because Van Arsdale considered Jim one of the family, he tried
to arrange for his burial in the family plot in the Ridge Park
Cemetery in Marshall. The authorities would not permit this, so he
was buried, in a specially built casket, just outside the cemetery
gate. There was a large gathering of friends at the ceremony.
Ironically, the cemetery has since been enlarged and Jim's grave is
now within its boundaries. Officials report that more people visit
his grave than any other in the cemetery.
How was this fabulous setter able to do all the amazing things with
which he is credited? Probably Jim himself did not have the answer.
Any logical explanation for the phenomenon lies in a realm beyond
the ken of man.