I really like whimsical people. These are the kind of folks who do things, well, just for the fun of it.
Some of the things whimsical people do make little sense to most of us. In fact, most whimsical people would strike many of us as plain weird.
Yet the oddities often associated with them — while not necessarily utilitarian — serve to bring some sparkle into all our lives.
Right at the top of my list of whimsical idols would have to be Don Norton. By a lot of standards, he was an everyday kind of guy.
He was one of the Nortons of Nortonburg. a small hamlet near Hope that was populated mostly by Nortons. Back in the 1930s he served as maintenance superintendent for the State Highway Department and in the 1940s worked at Camp Atterbury.
But while many of his work duties were pretty mundane, Don had a streak of whimsy that popped out in all sorts of places.
I mean, how else would you describe a fellow who put a stone marker adorned by a handmade frightening face in his front yard as a deterrent to motorists who had a bad habit of driving through it?
And then there was his door (also made of stone) to dirt built into the wall holding back the huge mound of earth under Sand Hill Cemetery on east Indiana 46.
Both the marker and door have become Bartholomew County landmarks.
It has been a tradition in many families to drive past the marker at the intersection of Marr and Rocky Ford roads so that children could be reassured of the reality of the world just because it was always there.
And that door to dirt … just think of how many explanations have been offered to that entryway under a burial ground.
Don worked with stone on a lot of things. The house and accompanying garage at Rocky Ford and Marr are said to be his creation.
He became so identified with stone that he figured in a couple of implausible legends.
One was that he was the artist for the iconic Stone Head in Brown County. Nevermind that the Stone Head dates back to the 19th century — long before Don was born. Since it was made of stone, some people were sure he must have been responsible.
And it should come as no surprise that he’s given credit for the stone marker at the entrance to Camp Atterbury. That story has some legs in that Don did work at Atterbury during World War II and thereafter, but it’s generally acknowledged that the marker was the work of someone else.
There’s no question as to his responsibility for the scary face in front of his old house and the door under Sand Hill Cemetery.
No one is really sure as to when the scary face was put into place, but the late Ray and Grif Marr told me years ago about how it came to be.
Don’s house was at a popular intersection frequently crossed by drinking drivers. A little jog in the road — combined with the influence of alcohol — often resulted in cars using the front yard as a roadway.
Don responded with the scary face, which really didn’t cut down on traffic through his front yard (in fact, a few motorists even clipped the marker) but did draw attention.
Back in the 1990s the face had deteriorated (or been chipped away) to the point that only an outline remained on the marker. Fortunately, a Norton admirer named Brent Breeden manufactured another face that still adorns it.
The door to the cemetery emerged as part of Don’s duties with the highway crew that was putting in the new Indiana 46 back in the 1930s.
It was a pretty straightforward assignment, part of which involved cutting into the hill on which Sand Hill Cemetery was located.
In order to hold back the hillside, workers erected a wall (made of stone, most likely per Don’s suggestion). Apparently the Columbus stone mason felt that the wall was lacking something.
That something turned out to be the door, an addition that has captured the imagination of just about anybody who has driven by the spot.
I was reminded of Don and his whimsy by an email from the new owner of the home on Rocky Ford and Marr roads — Ben Zwissler — who had sought background information on the property and its former owner.
The new owners are doing some restoration on the buildings but are aware that a good portion of Bartholomew County is much more familiar with the marker in their front yard.
It’s pretty old, but it still has a lot of Don Norton’s whimsy associated with it.
Harry McCawley is associate editor of The Republic. He can be reached by phone at 379-5620 or by email at harry@therepublic.com.