Showing posts with label haunted. Show all posts
Showing posts with label haunted. Show all posts

Postcard from the Haunted Excelsior House Hotel

I woke up this morning and it was 14 degrees outside. The weather lady said the wind chill was 8 degrees. It reminded me of a road trip my good buddy, Chip, and I took one winter. For a number of years now, about 3 times each year, we pack a few things, leave the women and children behind and head out on a road trip, a "Mancation" if you will. We used to feel guilty going off on a grand adventure to who knows where and not bringing the wives, but now that we're both retired and our main occupation is hanging around the house, it seems the women-folk are more encouraging we do this than they were before.

 Chip and I have been best friends for going on 50 years now, ever since we met in Pensacola, Florida while in the Navy. Somehow we kept getting assigned together and for almost 4 years we saw some "interesting" times together sailing the world's oceans and sleeping about 2 feet from each other, me in the top berthing rack and him in the middle one. It cemented our brotherhood. And now, even though we live in different states, we usually don't go more than a couple of days without touching base with each other just in case we need to argue about something.

I have always enjoyed reading and every time I read about someplace or something interesting, I put it in my "Places To See" spreadsheet and spend many hours researching to find the history and back story of those places and things. I also like to eat so every time I see something like "Top Ten BBQ Places" or "Top Ten Hamburgers," I add those to my spreadsheet too. Over the years, I've noted almost 500 of these places and it's my intention to visit them all and write about the more interesting ones. Call it my retirement job.


In order to check out some of these places, Chip and I had made plans to go on a Texpedition; driving around Texas to see some of those sites and eat at places recommended. We made reservations for our first night at a hotel that is reputed to be one of the most haunted in the whole state, the Excelsior House Hotel in Jefferson, Texas.

The day before our scheduled departure, Chip drove the 325 or so miles to my house and spent the night. We planned to get an early start the next morning but became a bit concerned when the weather forecast called for severe cold down Texas-way over the next few days. No problem we figured, as I have a good truck with new tires and we'll just take our big coats and bundle up.

A little after night changed to day, we headed out in clear, balmy 39-degree weather. After stopping for breakfast at a nearby IHOP, we turned the truck southeast and hit the road. Riding along we had much great fun in the typical fashion of two male friends on a road trip - crude humor, tasteless jokes, and numerous castings of dispersion on each other's mental capacity, driving ability, looks, and tastes in women, movies, books, and cars. During these times, we often solve all the world's problems - if people would just listen to us!

Interesting ice formed on the hub of my truck
About a hundred miles into the trip, we noticed clouds rolling in and the outside temperature gauge showed a steady decrease. It began to rain which rather quickly turned to sleet. Being the manly men we think we are, a quick conference decided since we were halfway there already, to just keep going. Soon though, we went down some backroads, roads that the locals evidently knew to stay off of when ice falls from the sky. The sleet got heavier and the roads became icy. Our talk turned to quiet as the tick, tick, tick of the sleet on the truck became heavier and our anxiety grew. I slowed down to about 20 miles per hour as the truck kept sliding from one side of the road to the other. Driving a pick-up in conditions like this with nothing but a couple of suitcases in the covered back is not fun. Thinking more weight might help, we stopped in a town and filled up with gas. The truck was covered with ice which fell off in sheets as we opened the doors.

Somehow, a few miles later, we arrived at our destination without getting stuck on the side of the road or rolling over in a ditch. The drive had taken a lot longer than expected, but we were still a little early for check-in at the Excelsior House. We went inside to let them know we were there so don't give our room to someone else. The front desk lady was extremely nice and told us we could go on to our room since it was ready. She also told us the Garden Club was holding a chili supper in the dining room that evening and we were welcome to have some really good homemade Chile if we wanted. She didn't have to ask us twice!  

Located in the heart of Jefferson's Riverfront district, the Excelsior House is the 2nd oldest continuously operating hotel in Texas (the Menger Hotel in San Antonio is slightly older). Around 1855, riverboat captain William Perry realized there was a need for a hotel in the rowdier part of Jefferson so he purchased land and built a hotel he named "Irving House." After Captain Perry died, the hotel was bought and operated by a succession of owners. In 1877, it was purchased by Kate Wood and renamed the Excelsior House. Over the years, additions were constructed and it underwent several restorations until it was sold to the Allen Wise Garden Club in 1961. Since then, many volunteers have spent thousands of hours updating and restoring the hotel. Each room has been furnished with period antiques harking back to its glory days.

Many famous historical figures have spent nights in these rooms. Presidents Grant, Hays, and LBJ have signed the guest register as well as folks like W.H. Vanderbilt, John Jacob Aster, Oscar Wilde, Steven Speilburg, and Jay Gould, who wanted to bring the railroad to Jefferson. When the city fathers turned him down, he put a curse on the town and left. He promised the end of Jefferson and said "grass will grow in the streets and bats will roost in the church belfries." Gould's curse almost came true when the town's steamboat port had to close and the population went from 35,000 to 1,000. To serve as a reminder of what might have been, the Garden Club purchased Goud's custom-built railroad car, placed it across the street from the hotel, and today offers guided tours through it.

Stories of the hauntings of the Excelsior House are numerous with many people who do not know each other and are unaware of the stories all telling of the same, strange and unexplainable happenings. Several of the rooms are named after the historical people who slept in them. While there are three rooms that seem to be the most haunted, the Gould Room is by far the most famous. There have been many reports of an ethereal headless man who has been seen walking the hallway outside the Gould Room. A number of guests have told of a woman in black sitting in a rocking chair rocking a baby in the Gould Room. It appears there is a least one ghost who likes to lightly touch people on their face or tickle their neck while they sleep. Sometimes it will yank the covers off in the middle of the night. Voices speaking in German have been heard coming from rooms where nobody was staying. Many reports have been of guests smelling a strong perfume in one room which quickly dissipates when the room is entered. A well-liked prostitute known as Diamond Bessie, tragically murdered in the nearby woods, used to stay in the room and was known to always wear a strong, sweet-smelling perfume. 

The famed movie director, Steven Spielberg, was booked to stay in the Excelsior House in the early 1970's while filming Sugarland Express. As it happened, he was given the Jay Gould Room. According to him, as soon as he walked into his room, he felt uneasy, as if someone was watching him. It had been a long, hard day and he wanted to lay down for a few minutes so, dismissing his unease, he walked on into the room and casually tossed his briefcase onto a rocking chair in the corner of the room. The briefcase immediately flew back into his face, as if it had been thrown back at him. He decided to go eat and get to bed early, but when he returned and lay down, he had trouble sleeping, again feeling as if someone was watching him. Finally drifting off, he was suddenly awakened by a little boy tugging on his nightshirt and asking if he was ready for breakfast. While staring wide-eyed at the little boy, the figure slowly vanished and through the apparition, Speilburg could see the rocking chair in the corner rocking back and forth. It was only 2:00AM, but he got up, packed his things, woke up his film crew, and made everyone drive 20 miles to the nearest Holiday Inn where they stayed for the rest of their time filming around Jefferson. After filming on "Sugarland Express" ended, Spielberg wrote the screenplay for his next movie, "Poltergeist."


Our Room
When Chip and I arrived, we found the lobby area to be filled with interesting old pictures and antiques. The lady who checked us in, gave us an old-fashioned room key and told us how to get to our room in "the original section of the hotel." She informed us they had turned on the wall furnace so the room should be warm, but if we needed, there were extra blankets and quilts in the wardrobe. Grabbing our bags from the truck, we passed through a door from the lobby, walked a short way down a hall and hauled our bags up a skinny flight of stairs which creaked and groaned with each step. On the 2nd floor, we turned left to the end of the hall to our room. While inserting the key into the lock, the door creaked open. It had not been locked. I guess the maid just forgot to lock up.

On entering and closing the door, we found the room to be clean and fully furnished with old antique furniture except for the flat-screen TV. The bathroom was antique as well with an old sink and claw-footed tub, but there was also a tiled shower stall and, of course, the toilet. It was only then I started remembering some of the stories I had read - a rocking chair in the corner of the room, two beds with carved, wooden head and footboards made of Circassian Walnut, a large wooden wardrobe, a club-footed tub - we were in the Jay Gould Room! In for a dime, in for a dollar, and besides, who really believes in ghosts? As we unpacked a few items, it seemed the room, even with the ancient wall furnace turned all the way on high, was not warming up. After such a tiring drive and it being several hours until the chili supper, we decided to take naps. The outside temperature was in the upper 20's and it didn't seem to be much warmer in our room. Covering up with the covers on our respective beds, we both crashed.


Waking up a while later, we noticed the door was slightly ajar. I was sure I had locked it before my nap. Worried that maybe someone had come in and taken something, we took inventory of the things we had brought up with us. Everything was right where we had placed it except for one thing - Chip's iPad. We searched high and low, in his suitcase, everywhere. Nope, it was not there. Finally, I asked, "Are you sure you brought it in from the truck?" "I'm pretty sure," he replied. "Well, let's get bundled up again, go outside and look in the truck just to be sure." We searched the truck. Not there either. Well, crap. We locked the truck doors and started to head back inside to report the theft when Chip said, "Hey, here it is!" And there, wrapped in its black leather case sitting on top of my black pickup bed cover, now under a good 1/4" of sleet pellets, was his iPad, right where he had set it while getting his suitcase out of the truck. It had been sitting out in public in full view of anyone passing by for several hours in mid-20's temp and getting covered in sleet. We rushed back inside, back to our room and found the door once again partially open. Chip turned on his iPad and low and behold, the thing started right up!

Our bathroom - before the deep freeze
Before heading down to the "new" section of the hotel to the dining room, we turned our attention to the door that wouldn't stay closed. After several minutes, we figured out that if you lifted up on the door, the lock would fit into the cutout and be secure. Our haunted door was nothing more than a misaligned lock.

Getting back downstairs and milling around with some of the Garden Club members while waiting for the chili and fixings to be spread out on a table, we talked with the lady who had checked us in. She said it should be quiet for us tonight as we were the only ones in "the old section." I asked her, "Do you mean anything by saying it "should" be quiet for us tonight?" "I'm not sure I know what you mean," she replied. So I asked her, just to be sure, "Which room are we in?" "Oh, you guys are in the Jay Gould Room, one of our most comfortable. If you need anything, Phyllis will be the night manager on duty." Seeming to not want to answer any more questions, she excused herself and walked away.


The chili was great. There must have been ten different topping choices, free sweet tea, and cupcakes for dessert. Everyone was friendly and we had a number of good conversations. Several of the Garden Club members seemed to make funny, sideways glances before edging away from us when they found out we were staying in the Gould Room, but that was probably just my imagination. After eating our fill, we headed back to our room for a good night's sleep.


The door that refused to stay locked
It was quiet going back to our room and very obvious we were indeed the only guests in the whole section. Arriving at our door, once again, the damn thing was ajar. I was positive I had jimmied the door so it locked securely when we left earlier. Entering the room, it seemed even colder than before. Chip took a chair and jammed it up against the door to ensure it stayed closed and nobody could get in while we slept. We fired up our laptops to check email and the news. It had gotten colder outside with the temperature now down to 18F. I don't know how cold it was in our room, but it was cold, damn cold. We got ready for bed by pulling out and dividing up all the blankets and quilts in the wardrobe and piling them on those already on the beds. Keeping our clothes on, we crawled under about 25 pounds of covers on our respective beds. Quite often, we will stay up late talking lies and telling sad truths we hope the other will think are lies, but not this night, not when it's so cold you can actually see your words leaving your mouth. 

It was warm under all those covers and I slept pretty comfortably through the night. No weird sounds, no empty creaking rocking chairs, no covers pulled off and nothing touched my face or neck. Evidently, it was too cold even for restless spirits. What was really hard was crawling out of those covers into our very cold room. Eventually, my bladder told me cold or not, you better get out of bed and take care of business. In the bathroom, I held things up as looking down into the toilet, I found it was a solid hunk of ice. I turned to the sink and turned on the hot water - nothing. I tried the tub and the shower - not even a drop of water. The pipes were frozen. I turned on the TV as I told Chip he needed to get up since we had to go find a bathroom somewhere. The weather guy on the TV informed us the temp had dropped to 8 degrees - a record low for that day!


The hallway outside our room where
a headless man is said to walk
Grabbing our overnight kits, we headed over to the newer section hoping to find a suitable place to take care of our needs. The chair against the door was still in place so we moved it out of the way and quickly went down the stairs. In the lobby, it was, thankfully, much, much warmer. We met Phyllis and after telling her about our frozen pipes, she heartily apologized and showed us to a little bathroom. She explained they only serve breakfast on weekends (we were there on a weekday), but she had a fresh pot of coffee going and she broke out some breakfast muffins. 

After a couple of muffins each and starting on our 2nd cup of coffee, we got to talking with Phyllis about the hotel. She gave us a wonderful little tour and told us all kinds of interesting information about each of the many pictures on the walls and items in the display case. She showed us the famous signatures in the hotel's register. We got her to talk about the hauntings and she admitted sometimes late at night, she would hear things - footsteps, voices. But she claimed nothing bad had ever happened and she didn't get scared. She also told us about the old hotel across the street, The Jefferson. She informed us that the Excelsior is famously haunted, but in her opinion, the Jefferson has more ghosts and some of them are not nearly as innocuous as the Excelsior's. 


The courtyard from the balcony outside
our room. That's not snow, it's sleet
She told a wonderful story about a poor fella that accepted a job as night clerk at the Jefferson. Since the nights sometimes were long and dark when there were few or no guests in either hotel, they would cross the street and visit to pass the time. One dark night, she saw the gentleman run out of the front door, jump in his car, and drove away like a bat out of hell. That would be the last time she ever saw him. He called her the next day to say he couldn't take it anymore and he would never go back. He said he had heard footsteps on the 2nd floor and knowing there were no guests that night, he went upstairs to find out who had snuck in. He walked all the way down the hall, not seeing or hearing anything until he came to the end of the hall when all of a sudden the locked door to the room swung open and he saw a pair of red eyes staring at him. He turned and ran back down the hall, but the disembodied red eyes followed him and as it went by the individual rooms, each and every door slammed open! The eyes followed him all the way to the front door as he ran away screaming. The gentleman and his wife quickly sold their house, moved away, and have never been back.

The fountain in the courtyard in the morning
As we checked out, Phyllis talked about her husband and how he goes fishing nearly every day on nearby Caddo Lake. She said she doesn't mind because when he stays home, he gets bored and finds things to fix, but he's not very good at it and just generally gets in her way. She then jokingly said, "If you meet my husband, don't tell him what I said!" Before heading out the door, we asked for her recommendation of a place to get breakfast and she directed us to the Port Jefferson Outpost, "the place where the locals go."

The Outpost just before the local guys arrived
Following Phyllis's directions, we found the Outpost a few blocks away. The front 3/4 of the store is one of those little Mom-&-Pop places that sell all kinds of things like scented hand-made soap, knick-knacks, signs, sauces, and jams. Go all the way through though and in the back is an ordering counter, several picnic tables, and a sit-down counter. On a little table at the end were several urns of hot coffee where you can help yourself. The girl we gave our order to was very nice and a full breakfast was very reasonably priced. We wondered a little if this really is where the locals come since we were the only customers. However, just a few minutes after we sat down, a couple of older gentlemen came in, then a man and his wife, then a few more guys, all wearing gimme hats from Massey Ferguson, Farmall, John Deere, or Janes Farm and Feed. Everyone was friendly, smiled, and said hi. Finally, a bearded gentleman in another gimme hat strolled in and everybody called him by name. He was obviously a popular guy. Getting a cup of coffee and telling the counter girl he would have his usual, he came over and took the last open seat which just happened to be next to us. They all talked about fixing tractors, barn roofs, and boat motors, but mostly they discussed fishing - were the fish biting, where are they biting, what are they biting and who all is going fishing today. The conversation took a lag so Mr. Popular turned to us and stated with authority, "You guys aren't from around here." Every head in the room was focused on us, wanting to know our story. We told him no, we were just passing through and had spent last night at the Excelsior House. "Oh," he exclaimed, "then you must have met my wife, Phyllis!"

Small world! We talked about various things for a while and then the guys started drifting out one-by-one to go fix something or to go fish. Our breakfast was finished so with bellies full and cups of coffee for the road, we said our goodbye's to Phyliss' husband and headed out for our next destination, the town of Uncertain. Don't worry, Phyliss, we never said a word.

A Mother's Love Never Dies

South of Kilgore, Texas on Highway 259 is a small country cemetery named Pirtle. In the middle of the sacred grounds, hidden among ornate gravestones pointing to the sky, is the grave of a small boy that is no longer marked. When it was fresh, his daddy, a hardworking but poor farmer, couldn't afford a formal marker so he carved his son's name and the year he died into a sandstone rock and placed it there. Over the years though, it has been lost or stolen or maybe the carving weathered away and a well-meaning groundskeeper thought it was just a rock and removed it. 

In life, that little boy was terrified of the dark and the monsters he believed came out when light went to sleep. It’s normal for children to be afraid of the dark and what might be lurking within it, but this little boy, for reasons known only in his innocent mind, was deathly afraid of it. Whenever he found himself in darkness, he would scream in fright and curl up on the ground in a shaking, quivering ball. He even had trouble trying to take a nap in the daytime because when he closed his eyes, the light dimmed.

It had been a difficult pregnancy and mother and baby had both barely survived the birth. He would be her only child as she could never have another. From the time his mother figured out why he would cry every night, she tried to calm him and keep the darkness away. Every night she would sit beside him on his bed with an oil lantern glowing on the table. She would whisper her forever love for him and kiss his forehead. She told him stories of brave knights who slew dragons for kings and queens who lived in far off castles and would softly sing lullabies until he finally drifted into sleep. Only then did she tip-toe to her own bed, leaving the lantern burning low. She would get up often during the night to check on the lantern, because if it burned out, he would wake up crying in terror.

The boy never got over his fear of the dark even as he got older. His few friends from the neighboring farms made fun of him and his father, despite love for his family, grew angry at the boy and resented his wife for her indulgence. Like all little boys, he desperately wanted his father to be proud of him so he tried hard to control his fears, but no matter how hard he tried, he could never suppress them.

One day shortly after he turned six, he “took The Fever” as they said back then and became very sick. For several weeks, his mother stayed at his bedside day and night, cooling his hot little body with a rag dipped in cool water she fetched from the well. Nothing more could be done though and she became ever more frantic as she helplessly watched her young son slowly get worse. In the middle of a dark moonless night, despite all of her efforts and prayers, the boy gave up the fight. With his eyes open and looking at his loving mother, he passed away. 

The next day, neighbors came to take the child’s body for burial, but the mother hugged the corpse to her chest crying, “You can’t take him! He’s afraid of the dark! He's so afraid of the dark!” Eventually, the doctor was summoned and he gave the woman laudanum so she would fall asleep and the dead child could be taken from her for burial.

After the burial in Pirtle Cemetery, the mother visited his grave every evening as the sun set and stayed there the whole night. Newcomers to the area would often ask about the flickering light they would see in the cemetery after dark. Was the cemetery haunted by spirits? No, they would be told, it's only a mother who was crazy with grief. The residents would sadly shake their heads and explain she thought she was comforting her dead son. She kept a lantern lit all night as she sat next to her little boy's grave, telling him she would never stop loving him, softly singing lullabies and telling tales of kings and queens and brave knights in shining armor who rode white horses and slayed dragons. She wouldn't leave until the morning sun rose above the horizon and filled the day with light.

The story goes that the poor mother died not a year later of grief. Her husband buried her beside their son, but it seems she sometimes pays a visit to her little boy at night. Many people have reported seeing a lantern light flickering in the darkness in the middle of the cemetery. The old-timers are sure it's that forlorn mother still comforting her son from beyond the grave. Proof a mother’s love never ends.

Postcard From Fort Concho


Fort Concho Parade Grounds
Fort Concho, located in what is now the middle of San Angelo, Texas, was built in 1867 to protect settlers when the area was still subject to Indian attacks. The fort was actively used until it was decommissioned on June 20, 1889.

The original plans called for the construction of 40 buildings situated on 40 acres with a large, open parade ground in the middle. When the first soldiers began trying to construct the buildings with pecan wood as planned, they found the wood to be too hard and difficult to work with so they switched to using adobe bricks. However, none of the soldiers had any experience with making adobe bricks so they were mighty disappointed when almost 2 months of hard work making bricks and starting to construct buildings with them proved to be wasted when the bricks literally melted in a heavy rain storm. It was finally decided to use sandstone from several nearby quarries and to import stone masons from the town of Fredericksburg. 
Original ruins along Officer's Row
Once the Indians had been effectively removed from the area, the fort was decommissioned and abandoned and the buildings fell into disrepair. During this time the first reports of unexplained activity began to be heard - mysterious lights floating in and around the buildings even though nobody was there; the sound of horse's marching in the night, vague men's voices shouting commands. Before long, nobody would go near the ruins after the sun set.

In 1935, the city was able to purchase the old fort and began to save the 23 buildings deemed to be salvageable and started reconstruction of the other 17 from old photos and the layout of the ruins.  And something strange began to happen. The workers told of tools left overnight that disappeared with no trace only to mysteriously reappear several days later in the same exact spot where they had been left. In 1961, Fort Concho was declared a National Historic Landmark. Once the buildings were opened to the public, people began reporting ghostly activities mainly in 3 of the buildings; the fort's headquarters, the officers' living quarters, and the fort chapel.

The current site of the visitor center and
museum is the area where the ghost of
Sergeant Cunningham is often seen.
Although the soldiers posted at Fort Concho were active participants in several battles against Indians and Comanchero's (Mexican and American traders conducting illegal profiteering, kidnapping and looting), the battles all took place in the surrounding area and the fort was never itself attacked. Due to this, there was only one casualty recorded in the fort.
Second Sergeant James Cunningham, a hard-core alcoholic, did not die in battle, but rather from cirrhosis of the liver. Despite his nightly drinking, he had managed to report for duty each morning and was by all reports, a good soldier who was well liked by his fellow soldiers. Unfortunately, the alcohol finally caught up to him and upon being informed by the post doctor that he had only a few months to live, he was removed from active duty. A few weeks later, Sergeant Cunningham returned to the fort and requested he be allowed to spend his last days at the headquarters so he could be with his colleagues and friends, the only family he had. His request was granted. Six weeks later, he died in his sleep. A uniformed soldier has been seen walking near and even inside the old fort headquarters which has been converted into a museum. In nearly all cases, the apparition appears for only a few seconds, but the smell of whiskey will linger. Witnesses who see the ghost consistently pick out an old photograph of Sergeant Cunningham, apparently still hanging around the last earthly home he knew.
Reconstructed Officer's Row
Benjamin Grierson, the regimental commander of the 10th Calvary, lived on Officer’s Row with his wife and young daughter, Edith. Shortly before Edith's 12 birthday, she became very ill and died in the upstairs bedroom. Since the building was restored, many people have told of seeing a young girl sitting on the floor of an upstairs bedroom quietly playing jacks. The game was known to be Edith's favorite and her grieving parents placed a cloth sack containing a small ball and jacks in her coffin before her burial. The bedroom where she is seen was the exact room in which the little girl breathed her last. The apparition usually appears to be oblivious to anyone who sees her, but occasionally she will look up and smile before slowly vanishing. Visitors often state that room is colder than any other even when no ghostly visitor is seen.

Colonel Ranald MacKenzie
(historical photo)
Colonel Ranald MacKenzie was the commanding officer of the fort when it was decommissioned.  In letters and records, Colonel MacKenzie often stated Fort Concho was one of his favorite duty stations. In fact, Colonel MacKenzie retired as the fort was decommissioned and he elected to remain, living in his home on Officers' Row until he died several years later. One December several years ago, a female staff member was working in the Mackenzie house preparing for a Christmas event. She said she heard footsteps behind her and turned to see who was there, but just as she turned, she was pushed up against the wall by a strong hand and felt a blast of cold air. Seeing nobody in the room with her, the frightened woman stood there for several seconds trying to make sense of what had just happened when she heard the sound of knuckles cracking. Before she could bolt from the room, a misty, almost transparent figure of a man in soldier's uniform materialized in front of her. It seemed to somehow be floating just above the floor and as the woman looked down, she noted the apparition seemed to be invisible below the knees. As abruptly as it appeared, the misty man disappeared. Colonel Mackenzie had been known for the habit of cracking his knuckles. There was no doubt the lady staffer had come face to face with the fort's last, and perhaps forever, commander.
The 3rd building where unexplained things happen is the chapel. The chaplain, George Dunbar, was said to be a very devout Christian, a loving, devoted husband, and a dedicated father to his 6 children, all of whom lived with him at the fort. He was known to get so involved in his sermons that his voice could be heard across the fort on Sunday mornings shouting that week's message of God. After several years at Fort Concho, the chaplain was transferred to Fort Sill. It was unsafe for his wife and children to accompany him however as Fort Sill was often being attacked by Indians. His family was allowed to stay at Fort Concho until it was safe for them to travel to Fort Sill. On the morning he left, George promised them he would return. Several months had passed when a messenger arrived one day with sad news from Fort Sill. While under attack by a large group of Comanche’s, one of the soldiers inside the fort had been mortally wounded. As he lay dying, Chaplain Dunbar ran to his side and began praying over him. While comforting the dying soldier, the chaplain was himself killed. He was eventually brought back to Fort Concho where his wife claimed the body and a proper burial was conducted. Today, visitors and staff report hearing a loud and powerful male voice delivering a sermon. There have also been sightings of a soldier in uniform kneeling in prayer inside of the chapel.  Occasionally, a female voice is heard accompanying the male voice, speaking quietly, perhaps in prayer. The staff likes to think this is the good chaplain's wife, the two of them spending eternity together.

On the day I visited Fort Concho, there were only a couple of people walking around the grounds. I made my way to the gift shop and since I was the only visitor, I struck up a conversation with the male staff member working there. After discussing the history of the fort for a while, I brought up the rumors it was haunted. At first reluctant to talk about it, he finally told me they were not supposed to discuss it as it often made people uncomfortable. He did tell me he hated to be the only one at the fort after dark and that many of the staff members simply refused to stay after the sun went down. I said, "So the ghost stories are true then?" He replied, "I wouldn't say this place is haunted, but I will say that I and a lot of the other staff have at one time or another personally experienced something not easily explained. It's just really spooky around here in the dark."
Floating balls of lights, the sounds of horses being rode as if in a parade, men's voices in the middle of an empty parade ground, and even an occasional unexplained loud boom as if a ceremonial cannon has been fired are still heard today. There were no large battles with horrible loss of life at the fort, no unsolved ghastly murders, no desecrated burial grounds, so It is unknown why Fort Concho seems to be haunted. Perhaps not all ghosts are tortured souls unable to cross over. Perhaps Fort Concho simply was the place of good memories for the dearly departed and it is where they are content to spend eternity. Only they know for sure.

Spooky Alton Bridge

The one-lane, wooden-floored "Old Alton Bridge," as it is known, was constructed in 1884 to connect the Texas towns of Lewisville and Alton in Denton County. It well served the communities and surrounding farms until it was replaced by a new bridge in 2002. My family and I lived just a few miles from the old bridge and before it was replaced, often drove over the creaking, rather scary structure to visit friends on the other side of the creek. Although the bridge shaved three miles off the closest alternate route from our friend's house to ours, I rarely drove over it after dark.

For several miles the little 2-lane black-top road on either side of the bridge goes through an isolated area with no houses and no street lights to break up the dark. Large trees grow in thick profusion on both sides of the roadway. Very pretty in the daytime, very spooky in the dark. The bridge itself takes courage to drive an auto across. The bed is made of wooden boards laid crosswise and you have to carefully steer your car to keep your tires on the thick lengthwise boards. While you cross, the bridge creaks and pops, the boards moan and you see water rushing by in the creek below through spaces in broken slats. It's impossible to not hold your breath and clench your hands on the steering wheel until you reach the far side. Unsettling in the daytime, positively unnerving in the dark.

The bridge the morning after my
spooky encounter.
One cold winter night, for some illogical reason, I dared to drive that spooky route. As if to prove to myself that I'm not afraid of the dark, I stopped my car on the road just before reaching the edge of the bridge. As usual, there were no other cars in sight and it was extremely dark as even the moonlight was blocked out by the overhanging trees. I turned off the headlights and rolled down the window, but even though my car was rather new and the engine was very quiet, its hum was all I could hear so I turned the key off. The silence in that blackness was total with none of the normal sounds you would expect to hear; no birds chirping, no dogs barking in the distance, no traffic noise on some distant road, no nothing. My senses told me something was not right.

Suddenly, there came a noise from the woods and it was very close! It sounded like some animal, maybe a coyote or a feral pig skulking through leaves. It was just a short sound and before I could react, all was quiet again. I looked as closely into the woods as I could, all my senses on high alert, but for a number of seconds there was still no sound. The seconds seemed to be minutes until with no warning, I heard a sound like a twig breaking under a footstep and then a rustling of leaves several times in procession. It sounded for all the world like somebody, a 2-legged somebody, was slowly walking through the leaves in that black jungle. I didn't wait to see if I could find out what it was. It took about 2 seconds for me to start the car, roll up the window, put it in Drive and get the heck on down the road!

I drove onto the bridge and didn't take my foot off the gas even where it is usually prudent to slow to a crawl to be sure your car is situated correctly on the boards for the drive across. Fortunately, I made it over safely, fearing at any moment that something, man or beast, would pop up in front of me at the end of the bridge. That was the last time I ever drove that route after dark. I decided to see what I could find about that bridge and the area around it. I figured it was just too spooky to not have some kind of history associated with it. I figured right.

 
In the early 1860's as the Civil War raged, a bunch of area cowboys took it upon themselves to punish a slave goat-herder named Jack Kendall for some offense which has been lost to history. They tied one end of a rope around his neck and the other end around a sturdy tree limb  of a large oak tree which was growing next to the creek right where the Alton Bridge would later be built. They drug him to the top of the creek bank and threw him out toward the water. It was a long fall and the rope used was thinner than it should have been so when poor Jack Kendall hit the end of the rope, his head was severed and his body dropped into the creek. Stories of a headless apparition wandering up and down the creek, apparently in search of his missing head, have been told for over 150 years now.

 The story which has taken hold and gained the most notoriety though is of Oscar Washburn, an African-American man who gained a reputation in the 1930's as an honest, dependable business man who raised and sold goats and goat products. He and his wife and children lived in a small cabin in the woods a short distance from the Alton bridge. He was popular with many of the locals for the quality of the goat meat, milk, cheese and hides he sold at a very reasonable price. To help the unfamiliar easily find him, he hung a big sign on the end of the bridge which read, "This way to the Goatman." Unfortunately, this popularity came to the attention of the local Ku Klux Klan who didn't take kindly to a black man taking away business from other local goat raisers.


The exact spot where Oscar Washburn was
hung over the side of the bridge.
One dark night in 1938, with their car's headlights off, the Klansmen drove across the bridge to the Goatman's little cabin and dragged him away from his wailing wife and crying children. They took him back to the middle of the bridge to a noose they had prepared ahead of time and after roughly slipping it over his head, flung the pleading Goatman over. Much to their surprise, they heard a watery splash below the bridge and when they looked over the side, they were shocked to see an empty noose and no sign of their victim.

 The Night Riders split up and quickly ran to both ends of the bridge where they scrambled down the embankments to the water's edge. After frantically searching for half an hour with no sign of their intended prey, they returned to the Washburn residence. After a quick search proved he was not there, the men barricaded the front door and with mother and children huddled together inside, the cabin was set on fire. They hoped the screams of his family would bring the Goatman into the open where they intended to capture him, securely tie him up and throw him alive onto the raging inferno, but their plan didn't work. The screams of the innocent mother and children were silenced as the burning walls crumbled.


Oscar Washburn was never seen again. Some believe that just like poor Jack Kendall, the Goatman's head popped off that night when he was hung and his body was washed away by the quickly flowing waters after it dropped through the noose. Others believe he survived the botched hanging and ran far away from the area, leaving behind his poor family to suffer a horrible death. To this day, what is certain though are the eerie and strange happenings on and around the Alton bridge.


Many say the unforgiving spirit of the Goatman still haunts these woods. Locals warn to not cross the bridge with headlights turned off for if you do, you will surely be met on the other side by none other than the vengeful Goatman himself. There are persistent reports of a ghostly apparition herding a bunch of almost transparent goats being seen in the dark on the road leading from the bridge. The apparition and goats disappear as quickly as they appear. Others have seen a pair of unholy red, glowing eyes staring at them from the tree's or have glimpsed the fleeting image of a large goat-headed-man-beast in the shadows of the forest which is usually accompanied by the revolting smell of rotten flesh. Often there are tales of unexplained noises such as hoof beats of goats running across the bridge, loud splashing in the waters below the bridge or a low non-human growl coming from the trees near the bridge.

There has been a rash of documented cases by the police where people have vanished with no trace around this seemingly cursed bridge. In the 1950's, a local high school boy and his girlfriend were reported missing when they failed to return from a Friday night date. The boy's car was found the next morning parked in the woods beside the bridge with both front doors open. They have still never been found and the case is a total mystery. On November 15, 1967, a Ford Mustang was found by police parked at the end of the bridge. They eventually found out who owned the car, but the person has never been found.

In 2002, a new road and bridge was built to replace the old one. The original Alton bridge is still there, but since then, the odd happenings and reports of strange apparitions and unexplained phenomena seem to have decreased some. Daring teenagers like to hang out there at night in groups, spray-painting graffiti and trying to scare each other. But even the most daring teenagers do not go there at night alone.

 I don't know what I heard the night I stopped on that dark, lonely road. I didn't stick around trying to find out. One thing I do know for sure though, it wasn't just my imagination...something was out there.




 

Bye-Bye Spooky New Orleans

With only one day left in our New Orleans adventure, the Mama-woman and Youngest-daughter wanted to visit the Audubon Aquarium of the Americas and do some shopping while I wanted to visit the acclaimed World War II Museum. They had no interest in my museum and I had no interest in more shopping so it was adios, catch you later, see ya and off our separate ways we did go.

The WWII museum is very extensive and informative. I thought the ticket price was a bit high at $22 per person. but if you are active military or a veteran, you get a real nice discount so I paid a much more reasonable $13. Following the displays and artifacts through the maze-like corridors proved to be a bit of a challenge as the proper chronological route is not always clearly marked and several times I found myself in rooms I had already seen and had to backtrack to figure out what turn I had missed. Other than that minor complaint though, I found it to be interesting and would certainly recommend it. Allow yourself 3 or 4 hours to go through it.

Amazing architecture throughout the city,
but especially in the French Quarter
Later that afternoon, I hooked back up with the women folk and we just walked around, taking pictures and enjoying the sites until we were able to meet the Sis-in-law for supper. She just happened to be in New Orleans attending a business conference during the last 2 days of our visit, but couldn't get away to meet up with us until after the conference was over. While waiting for our food to be delivered, we told her about the ghost tour we had gone on the previous evening and she told us of her own interesting experience the night before. While we paid good money in search of ghosts, she actually had a frightening up close personal ghost encounter and it came free with her room!

When she decided to attend the conference, she simply picked one of the hotels nearby. She made her reservation at the Hotel Chateau Dupre' not knowing it has the reputation of being haunted. It wouldn't have mattered to her anyway. She had an open mind, but didn't actually believe in "any of that nonsense."  And the first night, absolutely nothing happened except she got a good night's rest in the old, but well-kept room. It was the second night that challenged her non-belief.

After being at the conference all the next day and then going out to eat with some of her business associates, she returned rather late to her room ready to relax and prepare for the following day's activities. Her "room" actually consisted of 2 rooms - the bedroom and a sitting room with a television which led to the bathroom. She had just settled into the bed with all of the lights out when she heard a noise. It sounded like someone slowly, softly walking across the room. She was looking toward the sound trying to see something when the light in the sitting room came on. Scared now and certainly unnerved, she called out, "Is somebody there?" All was quiet for several seconds when the TV came on! 

Entrance to the Hotel Chateau Dupre
She was pretty freaked out now, but was sure she had locked the only door into her room and absolutely knew nobody was in the room before turning out the lights. She worked up her nerve, slowly got out of bed, picked up a large bag of rather heavy written material she had brought back from the conference, and tip-toed to the sitting room. When she looked in, nobody was there! She turned on all of the lights in the whole room, checked the bathroom and was positive nobody was there. She decided it must just be something weird going on with the electricity in this old building so she turned off the TV and all of the lights and went back to bed.

She was laying there trying to calm her nerves and go to sleep when once again, the light came on and a few seconds later the television came on, this time with the sound turned up! This time she was just mad so she got up, marched into the sitting room and saw again that nobody was there. At least, nobody visible. She spoke in her most authoritarian voice and said, "OK, enough of this! I'm tired and I have a big day tomorrow so I need to get to sleep!" She reached over, turned down the volume very low on the TV and said, "I'll leave the TV on for you to watch, but don't turn up the volume. And I'll leave 1 lamp on over here for you, but do not turn on the big light overhead and YOU LEAVE ME ALONE SO I CAN SLEEP!" She went back to bed, pulled the covers up to her chin and went to sleep with no more problems from her unseen visitor that night.

Room 203 - where a spirit likes to play tricks on guests?
The next morning, not only had she not been bothered the rest of the night, but when she went through the sitting room into the bathroom, she noted both the TV and the side lamp were turned off!  She was taking a shower when she noticed the shower curtain moving a little peculiar  As she watched, she could make out a hand that was gently  brushing from left to right! Once again, she screwed up her courage and peeked out from the end the furthest away from where the indention was moving. As soon as she looked, the indention and shadow disappeared and she saw absolutely nothing. She said, "I told you to stop it. Now leave me alone!" And that was the end of any eerie activity.

Now I've known this lovely lady very well for many, many years and I've never in all that time known her to not tell the truth or even embellish a story. Still, I asked her if she was yanking our chains and she assured me she was telling the absolute truth. I was really impressed. If that had happened to me and I was by myself, I'm not so sure I wouldn't have gone running out of there screaming like a little girl and demanding a different hotel or at least a different room!

Youngest-daughter not so sure she wanted to go into the
Hotel Chateau Dupre'



With bellies full of food, we parted so she could catch her flight back home and we went back to our non-haunted hotel to pack and get ready to head home ourselves early the next morning. It had certainly been interesting and we had totally enjoyed our time in this unique city. If you've never been to New Orleans, you don't know what you're missing. Laissez les bons temps rouler!




The inside of the St. Louis Cathedral

Another picture inside the St. Louis Cathedral



Beads left over from Mardi Gras. Notice some person's sense of
humor - One "Day"

Entrance to Saint Louis Cemetery - eternal home to Voodoo
Queen Marie Laveau and many other voodoo practitioners 

The Saint Louis cemetery is supposedly 1 of the 10 most
haunted places in America