Fifty years after his death, hundreds of people come each year to visit his grave and listen to stories about Jim the Wonder Dog. Schoolchildren come by the bus load, and families on vacation make the pilgrimage to Jim's grave, which is never without flowers. This dog spent most of his life making people happy by performing for them. This is not to suggest Jim was some dumb mutt trained to respond to a stimulus like Pavlov's dog. To the contrary, Jim was so intelligent he confounded scientists, educators and doctors. He could identify objects and people, predict the future and respond to questions spoken in a foreign language.

As a native of the Show Me state, I considered it necessary to check out the claims about Jim and the admiration that is his after all these years. So, in the dead of winter I traveled to Ridge Park Cemetery in Marshall, Missouri, to confirm or dispel at least the accounts of the number of visitors and the constant presence of flowers.

Was It True?

The cemetery sexton, tired of serving as a tour guide, pointed to a sign attached to a distant tree. "Down there," he said. There was no path, and I was forced to blaze a trail in the ankle-deep snow. Underneath the tree a small mound suggested what I was looking for lay buried below. A bouquet of faded, artificial flowers, burdened by the weight of wet snow, bowed prayerfully. Gently, almost in reverence, I removed the snow as if it were a veil separating the mortal from immortal, the common from uncommon. There in granite was this inscription: Jim the Wonder Dog Mar. 10, 1925-Mar. 18, 1937. Instinctively I whispered, "Is it true what they say about you, Jim?"

I found the answer in published reports and the testimony of those still living who were witnesses to Jim's wonderful accomplishments. Some residents, like the sexton, had grown tired of retelling the stories, but those willing to speak of the town's most famous resident did so with enthusiasm, pride and a kind of awed veneration.

Sam Van Arsdale, Jim's owner, first noticed his dog's unusual ability to understand and to identify objects during a hunting trip near Sedalia, Missouri. Jim was 3 years old and had already proven himself a very capable English Setter. One warm fall day man and dog had criss-crossed fields and timber until Sam grew weary and suggested they rest. Sam remarked that he wanted to sit under a hickory tree. Immediately the dog went to a hickory tree and placed his paw on its trunk. Sam thought that was interesting; he also thought it just a coincidence. Not willing to let the incident pass, he asked Jim to show him a black oak tree. Jim did! Then he identified a walnut, a cedar and a clump of hazel bushes.

Sam could hardly wait to tell Mrs. Van Arsdale. En route home he began to review what had happened and developed some doubt about what he had seen. Just to be sure, he stopped, took Jim into a different wooded area and repeated the instructionsówith the same amazing results! Upon hearing this fantastic tale, Mrs. Van Arsdale insisted they not say anything to friends or relatives. Disappointed by her attitude, Sam put Jim through the performance once more. Pearl Van Arsdale became a believer.

A God-Given Gift

Thus began a lifetime of performances that took dog and master across the country to sporting events, fairs, and to meetings with educational, civic and political organizations. And Jim's uncommon abilities drew people to Marshall by the hundreds from far and near. In the 1932, the Disney film company offered Van Arsdale $364, 000 for Jim to work in the movies. The offer was rejected! Convinced the dog's talent was God-given, Sam refused to capitalize on what God had done. Neither did he bet on Jim's ability to predict race results, which included six Kentucky Derby winners for six consecutive years.

Jim had his doubtersópeople who wanted a "sign." A few accused Sam of devising signals to get the dog to respond to his commands. Among the early doubters was a close friend who wished to test Jim "since he is so smart." The man wrote his auto tag number, 19-248, on a piece of paper and asked Sam if Jim could find his car. Sam cautiously admitted his dog had never been so severely tested, but he showed the numbers to Jim and asked him to find the man's car. Jim went down the street about half a block and put a paw on a car with the license plate number 19-248!

At the Missouri State Fair, Jim attracted many doubters, including Gene Moses, editor of the Joplin Globe. Moses wanted a demonstration. Nearby band members had just completed a performance and were packing their instruments. Jim was asked to identify the person who played the tuba, whereupon the dog walked to a young man holding big, bass horn. To further satisfy Moses, the dog was told to find a red-haired woman. Jim went through the spectators until he stopped in front of a lady with red hair.

Demonstrations involving color were especially popular because dogs are generally considered to be color-blind.  At a Chamber of Commerce meeting in Sikeston, Missouri, Sam asked his dog to find a man wearing a r-e-d-s-w-e-a-t-e-r. Jim circled the large gathering of men, finally stopping in front of a man wearing a hunting coat. The chorus of "ahas" gave way to loud cheers as the gentleman unbuttoned his coat to reveal a red sweater!

College Exams

Not all the demonstrations of Jim's amazing talent were done in the presence of the general public. Professors at nearby colleges and universities regularly brought students to Marshall to "interview" Jim. One student, thinking he's outwit the Wonder Dog, wrote on a piece of paper and placed it on the floor for the dog to see. Van Arsdale asked Jim to do what was written, but Jim just sat there, his large eyes expressing bewilderment. Then Sam asked the student to read his request. "I can't," he replied. "It's only the Greek alphabet!"

In a attempt to satisfy the scientific/educational community, Van Arsdale arranged for a demonstration at the University of Missouri. Dr. A. J. Durant, a veterinarian, and Dr. Sherman Dickinson of the College of Agriculture supervised the performance, which Paramount Motion Picture Corporation filmed. After a thorough examination, Dr. Durant announced that physically Jim appeared to be no different from any other English Setter. The test included the usual routine of identifying trees, license numbers and various colored objects, except this time some professors spoke in English, some in French and others in German and Italian. Jim made a perfect score, much to the surprise of most everyone but himself and Sam. Professor Dickinson concluded Jim was the smartest dog he had ever seen, but Dr. Durant remained a skeptic. Later he decided Jim possessed some occult power.

Eight days after his 12th birthday, Jim's master took him for an outing at the Lake of the Ozarks. Jim always liked the great outdoors, and once the car door was open he ran down the hill toward the lake. But before reaching the water he collapsed and sank to the ground. Quickly Sam determined his faithful companion was gravely ill and immediately took him to a veterinary hospital in Sedalia. Jim died in Sam's arms before a doctor could examine him.

Hundreds of spoken words and dozens of letters and telegrams could not assuage the anguish of the Van Arsdales. The St. Louis Post Dispatch ran an obituary as did many local papers. Sam wanted his dog buried in Ridge Park Cemetery, but strict regulations prohibited it. He was buried just outside the park, but later expansion of the cemetery included the areas where Jim was laid to rest. Sam's wish was fulfilled as if it were planned that way.

I went back to Ridge Park for a last look at Jim's grave. The trail I had blazed through the snow earlier in the day was now a hard-packed walkway, and a new bouquet of flowers decorated the grave of Jim the Wonder Dog!

Richard Bradley (Sr.) is the father of A Rock In My Shoe's Richard Bradley. He is retired and lives on his ranch, Beulahland, in rural Missouri.

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