Ghosts of St. Augustine

by Tom Lapham

  One Friday evening, sometime later, the Pattersons were preparing to go out. Maggie went to her jewelry box to get a ring. She noticed that three of her nicest were not there. “Pat, have you seen my rings?”

  “No, dear. I haven't been in your jewelry box,” Pat answered patiently.

  This was exasperating, Maggie thought. Her jewelry was either on her person or in her jewelry box. She was very meticulous about that. She tried to think when she had worn any of the rings. It had been months. Rats! Then she thought of her purses. Very improbable. Maggie was as meticulous with her purses as with her jewelry. She had a routine that never changed.

  Maggie had a mania for purses. She had hundreds of them, and she selected a purse with the same care and thought that she gave to her dress and jewelry. Maggie was very particular. She never, never carried the same purse twice in a row. When she returned from being out, she always emptied her purse, put the contents on her dresser, and put the purse away in her closet. Then, when she went out again, she chose a new purse.

  No, she could not have left the rings in a purse. Still, it was worth checking. But after looking into thirty or forty purses that she might have used in the past few months, she realized the rings could not have been left in any of them. She was very upset, but she went on with the evening, choosing other jewelry, and the rings slipped to the back of her mind.

  A year later Pat was gently chiding Maggie about her purses. “Maggie, do you suppose we could get rid of a few purses? The closet is getting crowded.”

  Maggie took the hint and began sorting through them to pick out those she would keep. In the back of the closet were several boxes of purses she hadn't used in months, even years, and as she went through these, she opened one for no particular reason. There in the bottom of that purse were her three lost rings.

  On another occasion Pat had been given an antique ring by the widow of a close friend. They had been friends for many years, so, besides the ring's value as an antique, it was sentimentally priceless to Pat. Pat never wore the ring but kept it in his jewelry box and took it out only occasionally just to look at it. One day he looked for it, only to find it wasn't there. “Maggie, have you seen my antique ring?” he called to his wife.

  “Why, no, dear. I haven't been near your jewelry box.”

  They searched the dresser, the rest of the bedroom, the bathroom, dressing room, and closet, then the whole second floor. The ring was gone. Pat was beside himself. For many weeks after, he was depressed about losing that ring, because it had meant so much to him.

  Then one night about six months later, Maggie had a dream. In the dream a ghostly figure told her about a hidden compartment in the closet wall and told her how to get into it. “You will find something in there,” the figure had said.

  In the morning she woke Pat up. “You're not going to believe this, dear, but I had a crazy dream last night.”

  Pat opened his eyes and smiled. “Tell me. I can believe anything, my love.”

  Then she related the dream. They got up and went into the closet. Following the instructions the ghost in the dream had given her, they found the compartment. It was too narrow and too deep to see into, so Maggie reached her hand down into it. As her fingers touched the bottom of the compartment they felt something. She grasped it and took it out. Pat's lost ring!

  One Sunday morning Pat rose before Maggie to go to early service at the church across the street. He let her sleep because they had been out late the evening before having dinner with friends. He dressed quietly without waking her and left the house.

  Sometime later Maggie awoke to a cacophonous racket. It sounded like someone sliding a heavy piece of furniture back and forth across the floor. It was coming from the third floor. “What is Pat doing up there?” she said aloud, angrily. Throwing off the covers, she put on a dressing gown and started for the door. Just then Pat came in.

  “What's going on up there?” she barked at him.

  Pat had a blank look on his face. “What are you talking about? I've just come in from church.”

  “Listen,” Maggie said.

  Pat could hear the noise, too. They went upstairs to the third floor, which was empty except for Dr. Lindsley's pine-wood coffin. The coffin was sliding back and forth slowly across the floor. No one was there. Maggie and Pat shrugged at each other and went downstairs for breakfast. Their ghosts were at work again.

  On another Friday evening, the Pattersons invited friends in for coffee. Their guests were Mrs. Maguire, an elderly lady who lived down the street, their friend, Barbara, and her twelve-year old daughter, Sara. Everyone was sitting around the living room talking when Maggie stopped in mid-sentence and gazed intently into the hallway. They all turned to see what she was looking at. A tall figure dressed in a cape or raincoat had stepped into the room. His clothes were dark, colorless, and they couldn't quite make out the features of his face. He took two steps into the room, stopped, and looked around as though he had been surprised by their presence. Then he backed into the hall, walked into the living room again, stood for several seconds, and vanished.

  The five sat speechless, until Pat broke the spell. “I guess he wasn't dressed for the occasion. At least, he could have excused himself.” They all laughed.

  The months and years passed, and the Pattersons settled in. Glasses and jewelry and books disappeared, but they always turned up, eventually. The dishwasher in the kitchen had a habit of starting up at odd times, though an electrician and a repairman could find no reason, but the oral threat of pulling the plug always turned it off. At one point, their heavy statue of St. Francis on the loggia began walking toward the garden gate and had to be muscled back to his spot every day. Finally, they moved him into the dining room, and he quit his wandering. But these were minor inconveniences, and the Pattersons got along quite well with their guests. Or was it the other way around?

  Still, Maggie longed for a really “significant” experience. She wanted to “meet” someone from the past. Finally, she got her chance. On yet another Friday evening she and her oldest grandson were sitting in the dining room; Pat was in his pantry office next to it. Their grandson was reading, and Maggie was absorbed in study. She and Pat have a passion for Mayan culture and history, and she was taking a course at nearby Flagler College.

  Suddenly the boy looked up. “Grandma, I don't like what they're doing out there.”

  Maggie was engrossed in her study and wasn't paying much attention. “It's just the cars passing by on the street,” she said, and went back to her book.

  “No, Grandma, I don't like what they're doing.” And, much agitated, he jumped up and ran out of the room.

  Maggie looked into the living room and caught her breath. There, walking into the dining room not three steps away was a tall, handsome gentleman dressed in European fashion from the mid-1600s and wearing high cavalier boots and a plumed hat. His clothes were dark shades of gray and black, and he looked like he had just stepped out of a black-and-white movie. There were no sounds of footsteps or rustling of clothes or breathing. The “gentleman” glided toward Maggie and stopped in front of her. Then he smiled, doffed his hat, and bowed gallantly in greeting. Maggie stood and turned toward the pantry to call Pat. When she turned back again, the “gentleman” had vanished.

  Several weeks later Maggie received a box of things the previous owner had dropped off, memorabilia and historical items concerning the house. With her busy schedule she didn't get to it for months. Finally, she opened the box and slowly unpacked it. There were historical articles, some small items recovered from an old kitchen in the back, and a couple of French officer's shirt buttons, found in a hidden vault during restoration. But, in the bottom of the box was a picture of a man dressed exactly in 17th Century clothing. The picture was a modern photograph of an actor dressed as Don Pedro Horruytinér, the governor, but his clothes were exactly the same clothes her visitor had been wearing. Had she actually received a visit from the governor himself?

  Don Pedro
has not called since that time, and the Pattersons have had to be content with their poltergeists, Spanish sentry, and cat. Still, Maggie hopes he will call again. She has many questions she wants to ask, and, besides, it's always flattering to receive the attentions of such a handsome gentleman.

  A few weeks before this book went to print, my friend, Sandy Craig, called. She was excited. The Patterson house is one of the stops on her nightly “A Ghostly Experience” tour. Her group of about twelve people was standing across the street from the darkened house by the Trinity Episcopal Church, and Sandy had been talking for ten minutes or so.

  Suddenly, the outside light came on and quickly went out. Then the foyer light came on for several seconds and went out. Then, the light on the stairs appeared. One of the men on the tour happened to be looking through the transom window above the front door and saw a woman, actually the bottom half of a woman, because the top of the transom blocked his view. He could make out a floor-length, off-white dress with green and yellow flowers. And he could see the bottom of the woman's petticoats and white shoes, because she had lifted her skirt slightly to keep from tripping. The woman ascended the stairs and disappeared from view. Finally, all the second floor lights came on for a few seconds; then the house went dark. Three others ran to the man's side and were able to see the woman also.

  The incident caused quite a stir on the tour, because Sandy knew the Pattersons were not at home. There was no one in the house. Was the governor entertaining a lady guest while the Pattersons were out of town? Later, when Sandy related the incident to the Pattersons, Maggie and Pat just looked at each other and smiled.

  HARRY'S

  Rick Worley managed or owned what is now Harry's Seafood Bar & Grille for over ten years and has countless stories about the place. One day he was cutting meat in the kitchen when Lynn, one of his employees, came rushing in from the back room.

  “Rick, there's a fire back there! There's a fire in the laundry basket!”

  As Rick puts it: “I rushed back to see what the problem was. We used to do our own laundry, napkins, table clothes, uniforms, and things. We had a washer and dryer. During the day, the prep cooks would watch the laundry and make sure everything was okay. I couldn't imagine what Lynn was talking about. When I got to the back room, a laundry basket of clean, dry tablecloths and napkins was smoldering. There were no chemicals back there. There were no cigarettes, nothing hot enough to have caused a spontaneous combustion. There was no way that fire could have started—but there it was. It was really weird.”

  Nothing like that has happened since, but there have been numerous unexplained and unexplainable events in the house at 46 Avenida Menendez.

  The building is very old. Existing records take it back to 1800, but the original house was built around 1745, when Juan Navarro, a St. Augustine native born in 1729, married Francisco do Porras. Francisco and Juana had nine children. Catalina, probably the youngest or second youngest, was born in 1753. The family lived in the house, on what was then Bay Street, until 1763 when the Spanish relinquished Florida to the British. The de Porras family sailed for Havana on October 28, 1763, never to return—except for Catalina.

  Having spent the first ten years of her life in the house, she had a strong attachment to it. About 1770 she married Joseph Xavier Ponce de Leon in Cuba. In 1784 Spain regained possession of Florida, and Catalina returned to St. Augustine with her husband to reclaim her old home on Bay Street.

  To her dismay her beloved house, which had been unoccupied during the twenty years of British rule, had been seized as property of the Crown and was a storage shed for the pilots who worked in the bay. Joseph and Catalina petitioned Governor Quesada to recover the house, but it was not returned to them until 1789. Catalina was thirty-six years old, and she died only six years later, so she wasn't able to enjoy the home of her childhood for very long.

  The great fire of 1887 that swept through much of St. Augustine destroyed the dwelling, but, thanks to a series of sketches done by John Horton in 1840, the house was rebuilt in 1888 on its original foundation to its original Spanish specifications, this time with poured concrete instead of tabby.

  Various people lived in the new building until 1976 when it became the Puerta Verde Restaurant and, subsequently, the Chart House, Catalina's, and now Harry's.

  Back in the Chart House days, Rick had contracted with a local family to clean the place every night, some time between closing and the opening the next day. On more than one occasion while cleaning the ladies restroom on the second floor, one of the family, Ann, would see a woman dressed in a long, white dress, almost like a wedding dress, out of the corner of her eye. Always, when Ann looked at her, the woman would disappear instantly. Once Ann saw her walk right through the restroom door.

  Many others have had experiences in the house. Once, Mark, who cleaned up during the day, approached Rick. “You're going to think I'm crazy, but on the second floor near the ladies room, I've been smelling this woman's perfume. It's so strong, it almost stinks.”

  Rick laughed. Ann and several of the other employees had been making the same observations for years. Mark was new and had never heard any of the stories about the ghost.

  On another occasion, Rick planned to do an inventory, which he normally did early in the morning. At about five, Ann, who was still cleaning, was sitting in the lounge taking a break, having coffee and blueberry muffins. She heard the patio door opening and thought Rick was coming in. She called out, “Rick, what are you doing here so early?” No one answered. She got up and walked across the room to see who was on the patio. The door was jiggling and she saw the lady in the white dress. The lady looked at Ann, then passed through the closed door and disappeared. Rick didn't arrive until almost six o'clock.

  Activity hasn't been confined to the first and second floors of the building. Rick's office was on the third floor. At the time one of the waitresses, Mary Kate, who was going to school and working part time at the restaurant, often stayed late to use the copier or computer and to do her school work. One evening, after an inventory, Rick was at his desk absorbed with his calculator. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of white pass behind him headed for the copier. Naturally he thought it was Mary Kate. He called out to her, “Mary Kate.” There was no answer. “Mary Kate,” he called again. Still no answer. Rick rose from his desk and went back to the copier. No one was there. He went down to the second and first floors. No one was in the building. Rick checked the locks and left without bothering to go back up to the third floor.

  On several occasions lights have come on after everyone has left. Once, Tracy, Rick, and a waiter all left together. Tracy was the last out, and she was just locking the door when she noticed some of the lights still on. She knew she had turned everything off. Rich and the waiter both swore they hadn't gone back into any rooms to turn them on. Even stranger, candles have been lit after everyone has left, and strangest of all, Rick's wife, Gloria, has reported fire in the fireplace spontaneously igniting on more than one occasion after being cold all night and with no ashes which might have contained hot embers.

  But the majority of activity centers around the ladies restroom on the second floor. Not long ago, four girls from Virginia Beach, Virginia, came for lunch and asked Lance, who waited on them, about the ghost in the ladies bathroom. He told them to come back for supper since she was more active in the evenings. Two of the girls decided they wanted no part of it, but the other two did return. Four or five times they went into the bathroom, but found nothing. Lance teased them and suggested they go in and hold a séance. Then he went off to attend to other tables. When he came back up, the girls were on the balcony, quite shaken. One of them had the red outline of a hand on her upper arm where Catalina had apparently slapped her as she was leaving the ladies room. Catalina was not in a very good mood.

  Usually, she isn't so physical. A stack of small tissues sits on the counter in the ladies room. Melissa, one of the waitresses, used to go to the restroom every coup
le of hours to make sure everything was in order and to replenish the tissues and paper, if necessary. One evening she reported: “It was really weird. I went into the ladies room about four o'clock, and the tissues were scattered haphazardly all over the counter. I didn't think anything about it. I just put them back in a neat pile and straightened up. Two hours later, I went back up, and the tissues were scattered around again—exactly as they had been at four. That's happened to me twice.”

  When the restaurant was called Catalina's, Jason, another long-time employee, saw Catalina frequently. “At the upstairs waiters' station, we had a mirror, and I often saw an image of a woman in a white dress out of the corner of my eye, but when I looked straight at her, she disappeared. And I saw her a lot going down the hallway on the second floor. We heard her a lot, too, after hours when it was quiet.”

  When asked if these experiences were frightening, he just smiled. “No, not really. I mean, I'd get chills, but I never ran down the stairs screaming. Actually, I usually saw her once or twice a week. When I didn't, I kind of missed her. She's really a friendly person, er, ah, ghost. The only thing is, I never saw her face, and I'd really like to have seen that.”

  Catalina is not the only ghost in the house. Several people, employees and customers alike, have reported seeing a man dressed in an old-fashioned black suit, perhaps from around the turn of the nineteen century. One time a lady customer asked the waitress who the man in the funny black suit on the far side of the room was. The waitress had no idea. She turned around to look, and the man disappeared.

  Several times he has been seen near the wine case. A waitress once saw him coming down the stairs and kept an eye on him as he walked toward the wine case. She followed him. When she went around the corner to the wine case, no one was there—nothing except the wine case.

  Stories from the past mention an unidentified man who died in the 1887 fire. And in 1993 a girl who was retracing her family tree contacted Rick. She told him her great grandfather had lived in the house. Sometime around 1900 the building was empty and in probate, so the family who owned it sent him from Ohio to live in it. He was in poor health, and his doctor thought the Florida climate would be good for him. He died in the house, around midnight, a short time after arriving. Whoever the ghost is, his presence has been seen many times in the restaurant, although never with Catalina. Perhaps, they are bickering about who owns the house.