Most treasure stories are not true but may have a basis in some facts that are presented within. By that I mean a treasure lead often has bits and pieces which are true and are the basis for the rest to be filled in by imagination. Sometimes it pans out and sometimes it doesn't. A while ago, I related a story here about a cache I recovered based on a single sentence of a diary entry which I first read in a woman's magazine back in the 1970s while waiting for the dentist. A small fact which turned into a cache for descendants of the family with a bit for me.
I look at any treasure story (that purports itself to be one) with a very jaundiced eye. When researching leads, I often completely discard any that are related to a treasure magazine story in any way. Those stories are full of sensationalized accounts which are embellished by the writers with so much fiction that they become worthless as real leads. Whenever I see "the stolen money was never found" I see the police adding to their retirement funds, a practice that was very common back in the early 1900s and late 1800s. Crooks on the run don't often have time to find a hiding place and, believe it or not, are not often smart enough to plan one ahead of time. If the crooks are killed in a shootout, all the better. The money is divided between the posse members and, lo and behold, another treasure lead is manufactured by a dishonest posse that doesn't want to be seen as greedy but otherwise honest citizens.
The leads I find valuable are stories in private journals or in small town newspapers. Even those, I investigate by trying to tear the story to bits. During the building of a 19th century short line railroad (a link between two points of commerce), I read about a shootout between railroad workers and a land owner in his cabin on the rail right of way. He was defending his property even though it had been given to the railway. He died in the shootout and was probably deprived of his 4th Amendment rights but that's all history now. Today, he would be viewed as a bit of a nutcase, willing to die for principles. Well, the small article about it was in a newspaper clipping that was republished in a newsletter in a small rural Connecticut town. I stumbled across it and was intrigued. The fellow's name was Randall, as I recall, and he was a hermit kind of guy by today's description. He worked as a wood cutter delivering wood all over the south east corner of CT and by all accounts was a success at it.
I made it a point to find the now overgrown railway line and hiked it a few times just for the thrill of imagining what it was like to build it. Then I researched the possible locations for Randall's cabin and managed to pin point it quite nicely by a signal tower that stood exactly where his homestead was. The tower was long decayed but the footings remain. The rest of this story is unimportant and boring research, speculation and no small amount of chance. It's not worth retelling. Suffice it to say, I found his bank. Or did I? There might be more but at the time I was satisfied that I had it all. Did I miss any? Did he have another stash? Perhaps. Only time will tell.
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« Last Edit: December 03, 2010, 03:52:46 pm by GoldDigger1950 »
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It's all about that moment when metal that hasn't seen the light of day for generations frees itself from the soil and presents itself to me.
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