Not really. The lot is private property now, covered in weeds and “No Trespassing” signs. But you can drive by and squint. If you’re brave enough—or nerdy enough—you can hunt down the historical marker near Wilkinson Street. It mentions the funeral home briefly, as if the town is embarrassed by the whole thing. And maybe they are. After all, Dillinger’s ghost has more charisma than the local Walmart.
Still, I love this story because it’s a reminder that history isn’t just battles and dates. It’s a furniture store that became a funeral parlor, owned by the father of America’s most famous crook. It’s the banality of evil meets the banality of small-town commerce. You can’t make this stuff up—even if you tried.
So next time you pass a lonely field in Indiana, consider this: under those weeds, someone once sold a casket to a gangster’s dad. And if that’s not a story worth telling, I don’t know what is.
