This was also in the article :
Documents
Anyone who has diaries, letters or other documentation that might help identify the remains found Monday on the USC campus is asked to provide copies — not originals — to the state archaeologist. Mail or deliver the copies to:
S.C. Institute of Archaeology and Anthropology
Attention: Jonathan Leader, state archaeologist
1321 Pendleton St.
Columbia, S.C. 29208
SOURCE: S.C. Archeologist’s office
Which brings me to an interesting side note. There was a poster (Teddykohncock) years ago who posted on the old Gamecock Nation website regarding his great grandfathers Diary who wrote about finding tunnels under DeSaussure and bones. He says that people are calling him now because they saw his post years ago and want to see the diary. Below was his original post (if you havent already guessed I am just fascinated with this story having read the post originally years ago
I know its long but if you have the time, I think you will not be sorry you read it.
Re: Past & Current USC students..ghosts in the catacombs
Many of you have heard this story many times before. Some say I posted it four years ago, but I've known the story since I was a child during World War II. My father was a graduate of Carolina in 1934, and I finished up in January of 1963 (class of 1962, a semester late).
My grandfather, Sol Kohn and his older brother, August Kohn, were freshmen and roommates at Carolina in 1888. They graduated in 1892. Sol, my granddad, later went to Cornell and obtained an electrical engineering degree. His brother, my great uncle, August Kohn, later became a renowned journalist who was a thorn in the side of Pitchfork Ben Tillman, a known Ku Klux Klansman in South Carolina who became Governor, and for whom Tillman Hall at Clemson is named. Although Clemson keeps him at arm's length, he is more responsible than any other for the founding of the then, South Carolina A & M College, later changed to Clemson College. August Kohn in the 1920s was on the Board of Trustees of Carolina, and a couple of years ago was inducted posthumously into the South Carolina Journalism Hall of Fame.
Enough background.
Through inheritance, I own my grandfather, Sol Kohn's diary which he kept faithfully throughout his entire freshman year in 1888. It is leatherbound yet frail, and one must turn its pages with care inasmuch as it is now 117 years old. Each page will tell you the temperature of the day, the weather conditions in Columbia on that day, and what happened to him and his brother that day, and the words are written with with an ink pen that was dipped into an inkwell. The script itself is artwork, unlike the communication of 2005 on the internet.
He speaks of his professor Snowden, and so forth, men of whom you recent students only know as names on monuments or buildings on the Horseshoe.
Back then, the entire Carolina was the Horseshoe, and DeSaussure was a dormitory. Sol Kohn and August Kohn lived there as freshmen in the basement. Upper class students lived on the upper floors.
On Saturday, May 5, 1888, my grandfather states, "Recited to day (sic) in least squared. We had Hagen's and Gauss's probability curves. Did some drawing in the morning. Tonight we had elections of officers. McKissick and Wiggand were candidates for President--great deal of electioneering was carried on. McKissick was elected vote standing 28-24, Aiken was elected Sect and Westfield Lit Critic. The non-fraternities did not get a single office."
Gus and I returned to our beds after a repast of bread and delicious jams of unknown berries and numerous sips of exotic sherries. Gus slept on the northernmost cot in our basement accomodations and I on the southernmost. It was Gus who noticed first the beads of sand and hubris upon his covers. We two examined this crustiness and pondered from whence it came. The mustiness and dank surroundings of our humble accommodations caused each of us to peruse the wall above and finally below his beddings, and it was there after we extricated his cot from the breach upon the northernmost wall we discerned the outline of perhaps a long gone mantle of a door frame.
With utmost care we began a quest which we kept secret for seven weeks. First we used pointed sticks to pull the damp sandiness from the wall using the the outline of the door frame as our guideance, and thence, upon reaching hardiness for which sticks no longer yielded, we employed metals which were acquired by Younginer and Blanding with whom we had shared our secret. Blanding brought a blade of Iron, hatchet like from his father's collection, and upon oath of silence, we used that blade easily to puncture the ancient bricks and rotted timbers which had befuddled our meager efforts with sticks. A great draught of air greeted us, giving rise to our knowledge that before us lay a tunnel, nay, perhaps a catacomb leading somewhere deep may be (sic) forbidding.
May 6, 1888
"Great deal of talk caused on account of the election last night-some of the news talk about organizing a new society. Did not do any studying this morning".
My interest lay more in the catacomb found in the lateness of the evening before, and without erring do in come Younginer and Blanding and with no doubt led by Gus and myself, we four launched ourselves into the darkness cradled by imagination, courage and the light of torches whose smoke was pulled before us heading in a northward direction. No more than twenty yards had we strode before we witnessed bones, casks, and remains from some time before.
Astounded at this turn in a chapter of events, we four sat reverently and shone the light of our meager lantern upon what lay before us. The light then shone upon what no doubtedly were The Stars and Bars of The Confederacy, a tattered and moistened old staff whose remains enveloped the bones of its bearer sealed in this chamber. Tears welled upon my eyes as I thought of my own father, Theodore Kohn of the Confederate Rifles in Orangeburg who lost his hand in that terrible conflict, yet now I saw what lay by the fallen soldier a hand-written notation what lay upon the small skeletal remains of that in his arms. The fragile notation, writ then perchance twenty-five year ago offered, "May Our God Bless and Keep this young creature, born the daughter of a Negro slave who was pusued by Northern aggressors who have plundered and sought rampage upon our humble land and who sought and was freely given refuge here in these quarters as Sherman and his band of ravagers are now within our hearing leaving cannonballs upon us loudly.
We were awestruck at that revelation, yet Younginer, Blanding, Gus and I pressed forward. The tunnel led us ever Northward, yet each one of us notated that there were numerous forks leading to the east and to the west leading to perhaps unthinkable sites and homages.
Often we espied bottles of whiskies along the route and we were risibly taken about the societies which perchance preceded us along this path!
OK--There you have more than I have ever divulged.
Indeed there are tunnels, or maybe catacombs fanning about from Carolina all over Columbia's downtown and leading even to the Columbia Canal (more to come).
There are vile as well as heroic tangential sidestories which emanate from these ancient stories. Truth or fiction?
I know the stories are true. I believe them because I heard the stories 55 years ago, and what's more I have a written chronicle.
But for the record, there is no mention of a 3 eyed silver creature anywhere near Longstreet Theatre in the written documents I have.
The tunnels emanate from the Horseshoe, blocks from Longstreet.
Re: Past & Current USC students..ghosts in the catacombs
I continue from Sol Kohn, my grandfather's diary:
"Wed June 6, 1888. Ther(mometer) 90 degrees.
We had no recitation in Principles of Mechanism or Mechanics. Dr. Woodrow is still sick so we did not recite in Astronomy. I spent the whole day in reviewing Principles of Mechanism. Examinations were held to-day in, 3rd German 1st German 4th Greek 3rd Latin & Pharmacy"
I was eager to return to my base-ment room where Gus, Younginer, Blanding and I scheduled to meet at 4 O'Clock PM to make grave decisions as to what action was needed. My last memorandum in this volume occurred on May 6, sorely one month ago this date. For posterity and my sanity, I have sanctioned my will to record here to-day the events which occurred between my last writings and to-day.
We four "hoodlums" returned to our secret passageway upon the dawn of May 7, 1888. This day we were pre-pared with foodstuffs, extra fuels for our lanterns and torches, and an especial will to discover historical revelations. Yet upon our descent into the abyss we each contemplated the punishment that would be-fall us for having wrecked the north wall of DeSaussure, for having oped the longwithstanding sealing of an ancient portal. Yet the spirit of youth prevailed and we, with our excited inquisitiveness, embarked upon our journey. My memories of that day perchance are clouded by the expulsions of horror which befell upon us that dark morning, but with clear mind it is my intentions to record those events to-day.
Gus first, then Younginer and I and finally Blanding went. We passed the graveyard of the sad Confederate and the poor negro child which he held. We passed the strewn whiskie bottles and thence unto a darkness. The smoke from our torches drew not northward but was diverted to the west perhaps seven hundred yards further. It was Younginer who first noticed this factual event, and it was we who agreed with him that the catacombs major divergence was to our left hand--to the West. And toward that direction we scurried and each of us notated the continuum of countless whiskey bottles lain upon the path in which we were partaking. The tunnel then drew narrow and each of us became concerned yet until later in retrospence none of us was willing to con-cede we were afraid in that harrowing moment.
It was Younginer who whispered that he would forge on, and it was he who implored that we would with quiet call his name, "Younginer" and it was our challenge to call after him, "Kohn". And dids't we. "younginer" came the cry, quietly as he became distant in our view. "Kohn" came our reply!
"Younginer" came the yell, though faint. "Kohn" came our reply in unison and in strong voice. Moments passed and we three, Gus and I, and our friend Blanding awaited the call for too many moments, but finally we could discern a far off wailing, "Younginer". And we three in voice aloud yelled "Kohn"! And again, "Kohn". And moments later, "KOHN" we said. Yet, came no reply.
In the dank and wetness from which we sat, and the darkness only lit by our now low glowing lantern, we became untowardly afraid of our position and what may lay ahead, yet rational thought prevailed, and we knew one of us need go forward and aid our friend. Therefore, it was I who waned in dispiritness and optioned to forage toward our friend.
Gus and Blanding whispered their encouragement and thence I went off upon my hands and knees toward the doppler soundings of Younginer's plea. Perhaps I had accommodated a thousand yards in thus an awkward position, my knees and elbows bleeding, when I passed numerous skeletons, and noticeably I felt my lungs collapsing causing my respiration to inhale undue volumes of air in order not to expire in that dark spot beneath the earth of my own Columbia, yet upon reflection, it was that respite that encouraged my weary body to plod on, to find our friend, to perhaps reach his corpus, to touch him. My fear, and the fear of all the ages began to descend upon me, my perspiration was rampant and mingled with the cold drippings of the waters seeping upon me from above me when I discerned a slight illumination ahead. Seemingly, my descent was downhill, yet in the darkness, murkiness, and dankness I was unable to track my own bearing, yet somehow I felt the gravity of a downward track toward that illumination, dim, yet discernible.
Soon thereafter, I reached the breach of the illumination, a small hole emanating upon a rocky bluff. It was there upon my exertion of extrication that I was able to breathe cool air and espy the bloodied form of my friend, Younginer. I heard muted voices below, perhaps forty feet down a steep incline and it was then I recognized the Cotton Canal below me, and I could see the barges alit with lanterns and the laughter of their crew and the cursings and their darings. Yet my attention was to Younginer whose forlorn and bloodied face and hands caused me great forlorn, and I positioned myself behind him and with great effort, with my arms enfolded under his, I drew him up to my chest, and thence whispered to his ear, "Younginer, what has happened?--are you mortal?" And David whispered back to me, "Did you see the bones? Did you see the BONES, Kohn?"
And that, my friends were the words written on June 7, 1888.
Re: Past & Current USC students..ghosts in the catacombs
Since my initial post on this thread initiated by GamecockWarrior, who no doubt by his own words has heard of the 'catacombs', and through his thread I was encouraged to repeat and perhaps expand my posts concerning this subject of five years ago.
Although I have posted and quoted truly from my Grandfather Sol Kohn's diary, I have received a number of PMs questioning my quotations from it and its accuracy as well as my truthfulness. To those PMs I will here state that I am truly recording accurately and without question verbatim what is written in that diary. I now quote partially from the entry recorded June 8,1888:
'Ther(mometer): 92 Wea.(ther) Bright'
"Examinations held to day in Logic, Ethics, Zoology & Civil Engineering. Guss (his brother August, also spelled Sol Kohn as 'Gus' numerous times), stands in Logic (meaning August Kohn was required to recite in Logic), ..."Guss said he came out alright"--I spend most of the day reviewing Mechanics, both book & notes. Sent a letter to Eng Gardner of the Alt Coast to try get a job since Prof Sloan gives me a recommendation to him."
Yet my truest thoughts are not to a job, but rather to the events I last recorded here on June 6, those being the events in which I and Younginer were embraced and afraid, bloodied and brandished, exposed on the brink and espying the events below us on the Columbia Canal. I held David his back to my chest, heaving for breath of cool air as did I and I feared for my friend's life as there were volumes of blood streaming from his torn body, but it was then I noticed my own bloodied hands, knees and face mingling with his own sanguine blood, and suddenly I questioned my own mortality.
Were I to die also on this forlorn bluff after ascending certainly from the Hell from whence both David and I ascended? Yet we in our youth, after inhaling God's gift of pure fresh air were soon resusitated from our forlorn state realizing our wounds were superficial. Upon contemplation, and upon searching around and upon us, we soon came to Believe that our fears were self im-posed, self inflicted, and that our clamorous wounds were of our own causing incited by the grisly sights we had beheld in the darkness behind us in the tunnels, yet we both, in a moment of repose, could not divert our eyes nor our attentions from the movements of the barge workers below, their drunkeness, their cursings, but especially, their seeming cavalier attitudes.
We were struck by their casual cursing words and their barborous laughter and some joking, but especially struck by the ladies who flitted upon the wharfings below and who seemingly were the instigators of that laughter.
Younginer and I could clearly see from drift above that site, the bloused dressings cut low upon those ladies, exposing clearly by the moon-shine above, such voluptuous bosoms exposed as never had we seen before, and cleavages which aroused us, I am sorrily to admit as is Younginer.
The hollerings and biddings below on the pierages which ensued for their favors caused us to witness events which were heretofore only rumors we had heard before.
We instinctively knew in that moment, that the sailors on the wharfs of the Cotton Canal were carnal and that the ladies we saw and heard were 'whores', eg: poor women who were reduced to giving their virtuous bodies to egregious men for payment unto them for favors outside the Holy State of Marriage.
Instinctively, Younginer and I wrought into prayer to Our Father for forgiveness of our arousal upon that sight, and we, as we forged through the breach on the bluff to re-unite with Gus and Blanding, we beseeched our Lord to be sanctified and purified, and as we passed the bones of the bereft and lost in our route through our passage did we come to understand that in this dastardly place those poor bones were perhaps the remains of young ladies forcibly and wretchedly dragged and beaten full within these dark tunnels and havoc wreaked upon them and unimaginable sins forced upon them, and then death imposed upon them. We verily wept upon passing their chalk white bones upon our attempt to reach our friends and rid our minds of this tempestuous place, yet in our crawlings and exertion Younginer and I talked that similar episodes were occurring below us moments before, yet now our delicate Southern virtuous ladies laughing and being flirtatious with their bodies, and that the chalk bones of perhaps 25 year ago were those of true Southern ladies taken by Yankees or reconstructionists devoid of manners or ethics. And we debated surely in that moment the possible progressions of sin upon mankind.
And thus, I quote from my dear Grandfather's diary dated June 8, 1888.
As a man thinketh in his heart, so is he.
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