by Joe Nickell
Holzer's use of “psychics” in ghost hunting was once examined in the Journal for the Society for Psychical Research. The reviewer found that Holzer's verification methodology was so unsatisfactory as to “cast considerable doubt on the objectivity and reliability of his work as a whole” (quoted in Berger and Berger 1991, 183). I myself have reviewed Holzer's work and have reached a similar conclusion (Nickell 1995, 61–63).
ELVIS'S GHOST
Among the places Dorothy Sherry claims to have astrally traveled with Elvis is the Las Vegas Hilton. His spirit reportedly haunts “numerous locations” in the building (“Haunted Places” 2008), and the site is listed in Dennis William Hauck's Haunted Places: The National Directory (1996, 262). (Again, see figure 8.1.)
In hopes of catching a glimpse of the specter, I visited the Hilton during a stay in Las Vegas. (Although I was there to receive an award, I decided to make the trip a working one as well.) I was accompanied to the famous hotel and casino by colleague Vaughn Rees (then with our CFI/West office in Los Angeles).
We prowled the spacious resort's byways but were unable to see the King's ghost. A security guard discounted the idea that Elvis haunted the site. So did an information agent, who responded, “Absolutely not!” She told us she had worked there for thirty-five years, extending back to the time when Presley actually performed at the hotel. (She added that her father had once received a Cadillac as a gift from him.) Yet she stated that she had neither experienced nor even heard of Elvis's ghost haunting the premises.1 Here, as elsewhere, it seems ghosts are only likely to appear to those with vivid imaginations.
However, on one occasion I was challenged to explain a “spirit” photo of Elvis and his twin Jesse that supposedly depicted their visages and hands. In the photo, they appeared in mist behind an erstwhile Elvis impersonator who purports “to host the soul” of Jesse (“Best Epiphany” 1994). The singer made highly emotional claims about the picture (a rejected shot from an entertainment magazine's photo session). He called it “miraculous” and “supernatural.” However, I explained otherwise when he and I appeared together on the radio show The Night Side with Richard Syrett (CFRB Toronto, February 25, 2001).
I had in the meantime investigated the case with photo expert Rob McElroy. We learned from those on the photo shoot that the “mist” was cigarette smoke blown in blue light for effect. The photo effects were “an accident,” according to the art director. It was she who actually snapped that photo while a writer at the shoot darted in and out of the scene to adjust the singer's collar. “I always knew it was me,” the writer admitted. The glitch was affected by the combined burst of light from the electronic flash and the slower (quarter-second) exposure from the camera's shutter. The result was that the singer's right hand and face were both sharp and blurred and that the intruding writer's underexposed hand and face appeared as extra images (McElroy 2001). Not surprisingly, perhaps, the singer did not accept this explanation.
The impulse that prompts Elvis encounters is the emotional unwillingness of fans to accept his death. This is the same impulse that has helped fuel the Elvis-impersonator industry, 2 just as it made possible the impostors of an earlier time who claimed to be the “real” death-surviving cult personalities of John Wilkes Booth, Jesse James, or Billy the Kid (Nickell 1993). However, no credible evidence that Elvis survived has surfaced since his reported death at age forty-two. And as the pathologist who performed the autopsy on him is quoted as saying, “If he wasn't dead before I did the autopsy, he sure was afterwards!” (“Elvis Presley Phenomenon” 2008).
Although his rocky life shows he was in many ways ill-suited for stardom—let alone mythology or, heaven forbid, deification—Elvis Presley does remain a larger-than-life figure for his influence on pop culture and, especially, for music that will no doubt last for generations.
Tales of spectral soldiers, who haunt battlefields or other sites, abound, and they are told in numerous books such as Ghosts of 1812 (Winfield 2009), The Field Guide to Ghosts and Other Apparitions (Evans and Huyghe 2000), and Haunted Places: The National Directory (Hauck 1996). But are such stories true?
TRUTH BE TOLD
No doubt many stories are sincere accounts of a ghostly encounter, yet that does not mean the perceived phantoms were real. Even ghost hunter Jeff Belanger (2006) admits, “Battle sites are hallowed grounds, and one doesn't have to be a psychic or sensitive to stand in the middle of a battlefield such as Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, and imagine what it must have been like.” Indeed, some people's imaginations are so intense they can easily “see” soldiers and actions that exist only in their minds.
This is certainly true at Gettysburg, where the clash of armies claimed thousands of Union and Confederate lives in three days. In his Ghosts of Gettysburg and More Ghosts of Gettysburg (see a pattern?), Mark Nesbitt reveals himself as a credulous raconteur. While faulting skeptics and attempting to invoke science, he offers little more than dubious ghost tales—many of which sound like yarns spun around a campfire. Others appear to have been collected in that fashion. For instance, “Now, on particularly sultry moonlit summer nights on the battlefield, when the mists hang low in what is appropriately known as the Valley of Death between Little Round Top and Devil's Den, there can be seen, slowly picking his way down the rocky western slope of the much-fought-over hill, a lone horseman, replete in the finery of a Civil War officer” (Nesbitt 1991, 60). Or so unnamed informants allegedly claim. (For more, see Nickell 1995, 56–57.)
STRANGER THAN…
And then there are the suspicious stories. For example, during the filming of Gettysburg, some Civil War reenactors went to the famous battlefield's Little Round Top site to view a beautiful sunset. They were surprised by a haggard old man, in the garb of a Union private, who appeared, smelling of sulfur from gunpowder. He walked up to the trio and handed them some musket rounds, saying, “Rough one today, eh boys?” then turned and—as the men examined the rounds—“vanished into thin air.”
If the story sounds too good to be true—an ethereal spirit looking completely solid and carrying real, nonethereal ammo—it apparently is. According to a posting on a reenactors forum (“Ghosts” 2006), the tale “was entirely made up.” Indeed, “the originator of the story (who went so far as to tell it on Unsolved Mysteries) admitted it as being false.” Noting that another tale actually resulted from “a student's creative writing project,” the source adds, “the battlefield used to be a quiet, peaceful, reflective place at night, but that has changed. Now, it is impossible to sit atop Little Round Top without seeing a flurry of flashbulbs of people in Devil's Den, and hearing gaggles of teenage girls shrieking at the top of their lungs whenever a squirrel causes a branch to move.”
A classic of the made-up ghost-soldiers genre is a First World War tale called “one of the most curious in the annals of the supernatural” (Haining 1993, 19). It grew out of the horrific Battle of Mons on August 23, 1914, when British soldiers—outnumbered ten to one—stood off fifty German divisions and greatly assisted in the withdrawal of the French. Soon a story was told of a British infantryman who uttered a prayer in Latin and in response saw phantom bowmen firing silvery arrows into advancing German troops. The enemy fell by the hundreds and, when their bodies were examined later, they bore no wounds! A published account, “The Bowmen,” inspired countless readers, and, eventually troops returning from France told how they had witnessed the ghosts—by then called angels—raining destruction on the enemy from the sky.
As it happened, however, “The Bowmen” was entirely a work of fiction—a short story penned by Arthur Machen (1863–1947). Hearing the testimonials, Machen quickly came forward to insist that he had made up the tale. However, probably in part due to his being a journalist, having attributed the alleged occurrence to a real and impressive battle, and publishing it in the London Evening News, many people did not listen to his protests (Haining 1993, 19–22).
MISTAKEN IDENTITY
Reenactors are even frequently mistaken f
or ghosts. For instance, at Kennesaw Mountain Battlefield in Georgia, I was investigating with CFI librarian Timothy Binga and videographer Adam Isaac at the site of Kennesaw's fiercest fighting. We saw coming toward us on a trail what appeared to be a lone Confederate soldier (figure 9.1). When he came close, I asked him if he had ever been mistaken for a ghost. This brought a smile and a story. He had once been off by himself, sitting quietly and meditating on the history of the place. From behind, a tourist approached him cautiously and gently touched him on the shoulder, wanting to know if he was real and alive (Hawkins 2011)!
He told us he had even shown up once, inadvertently, in a “ghost” photo. This happened at Gettysburg, where a tourist snapped his picture from a distance, then took the supposedly paranormal photograph to the visitor's center to show it off. Although himself a believer in ghosts, he admitted that at least half of the “apparitions” he had experienced were surely nothing more than his vivid imagination responding to his intense desire to commune with the past. I suspect all of the apparitions were so caused, especially when he stated that the more intense ones invariably occurred where his own Civil War ancestors had fought.
Another story is related by a teacher in Smithfield, North Carolina:
I was on a scavenger hunt for my Johnston County history class, and I was in full uniform, because I had just taught a 4th Grade class about the life of a soldier during the War Between the States. One of the places on the list was River Side Cemetery, the oldest Cemetery in Johnston County, and I was walking through there going from tree to tree looking for the oldest tombstone. Next thing I know I hear a car slam on brakes and people are looking at me with their mouths wide open in amazement. They looked like they saw a ghost. (“Mistaken for a Ghost?” 2011)
MISCHIEVOUS “GHOSTS”
And then there are outright pranks. At Gettysburg's historic bullet-pockmarked Farnsworth House, I interviewed the manager (O'Day 1993). She told me that some of the battlefield sightings of “ghosts”—especially those at night—are believed to result from the mischief of reenactment soldiers.
Such pranks are common. For instance, one Gettysburg reenactor writes:
One night, at around 11:30–midnight, I decided for no particular reason to just put on my uniform and go for a stroll down some of our very pretty country roads. So I'm walking along in the moonlight, and these cars are slowing waaaaaay down as they pass me and staring as they go by. I'm not overly concerned with them, so I just ignore them like they aren't even there. Eventually, this one car with a guy and a girl who are somewhere in their late teens actually follow alongside of me for about 30–40 yards. Then they pull ahead, and I see them start to turn around in a drive way. Well, I couldn't resist: I jumped off the road and hid behind a tree and laughed while they freaked out trying to figure where I had gone. (“Mistaken for a Ghost?” 2011)
(Such pranks are distinctively reminiscent of certain “Bigfoot” hoaxes perpetrated by persons dressing in fur suits [Nickell 2011, 68–73, 77–83].)
ON BALANCE
Many reenactors are like one I talked with at Kennesaw Mountain who was giving demonstrations of cannon firing. The soldier stated that he had been a reenactor for many years and had never encountered a ghost—even though he had often camped out at Kennesaw and other sites, which should have provided many such opportunities.
Yet ghost hunters and ghost-tour operators are doing a thriving business. According to a source quoted earlier:
The ghost stories have done more damage than anything else. People are no longer using the National Military Park for its intended purpose—to honor and study the people and deeds of the past. They're using it as a cheap-thrill amusement park. I summarily reject the notion that “oh, it gets the kids interested in history.” When I was growing up, there were no Ghosts of Gettysburg books, tours, videos, t-shirts, or glow sticks, and yet by some miracle, I found myself enamored with the battlefield, the Civil War, and history.
The inscriptions on the battlefield monuments tell us something. “Entrusted to the care of a nation we were proud to serve.” “In memory of our fallen comrades.” “Erected by the survivors.” These men wanted to be remembered for who they were. REAL PEOPLE. To instead focus on questionable stories serves only to cheapen their memory and trivialize what actually happened here. Particularly those stories which are blatantly made up, and sold to tourists who seem to have no better use for their money. When you consider that the Civil War was as real to those who experienced it as WWII was to our veterans alive today…why are there no ghost tours at Normandy or Iwo Jima? Why aren't people charged $5 a head to walk by a VA Medical Center to have someone carrying a lantern tell the tale of PFC Jones who went crazy after he came back from the war and there are those who say he still walks these halls today, ooooOOOO ooooOOOooohhh? Because it's tasteless and disrespectful. (“Ghosts” 2006)
The historic Van Horn Mansion in the Village of Burt, New York (Newfane township), was built in 1823 by James Van Horn Sr., an early settler whose gristmill was burned by the British during the War of 1812 (Townsend 2005, 8). Now, allegedly, the mansion hosts both the living and the dead (figure 10.1). I have spent quality time on the grounds over the years, even attending some séances there undercover, and I have learned much about how such a place can become “haunted.”
THE PERAMBULATING TOMBSTONE
The mansion's resident ghost is supposed to be “Malinda”—actually Malinda (Niles) Van Horn, wife of James Van Horn Jr. She died in 1837, at the age of twenty-one. The rumormongers have had a field day with her. One source, reporting her marriage in 1836, adds:
But within a year, Malinda died under strange and unknown circumstances. Some say she was killed by James Van Horn Sr. Others say she was thrown down the stairs by her husband because she could not bear children. Whatever the case, the Van Horns hid the scandal carefully, burying her on the grounds of the mansion on January 13, 1837, ten days after her 21st birthday. (Townsend 2005, 8)
On the other hand, some sources state she was killed by a falling tree limb (Winfield 1997, 64), while others insist Malinda simply died in childbirth (Wiseman 2000; Lee 2008, 64).
Another legend gives the site of Malinda's burial as the flower garden near the mansion. However, my investigation (which included visiting the relevant sites and archives) revealed that hers, like all the Van Horn graves, was originally in the family cemetery at some distance from the house. From there the various remains were relocated in the 1930s to the Glenwood Cemetery in Lockport (Smitten 2004, 195) where they were given newer granite stones. The old gravestones, including Malinda's, were afterward stored in the carriage shed. That is where Malinda's reposed when the Newfane Historical Society acquired the mansion (“Van Horn Mansion” 2011). However, the stone did once reportedly lie at the present flower garden site “for many years,” although, significantly, it had not been there earlier, during the tenure of grounds workers from 1909 to 1933. It may have gotten there about the time the Van Horn graves were relocated to the Glenwood Cemetery, at which time, according to a rumor, one of the stones fell off the wagon transporting them to the carriage shed. (See the report of the Newfane historian, Heck n.d.) This could account for the marble tombstone having once been broken, but the township historian stated that the stone “had been broken by vandals at the Van Horn family plot” (Heck 1989).
Subsequently repaired, the tombstone was placed in the flower garden (figure 10.2) because two dowsers—Bill Tolhurst and Dorothy Ludemann (who has also had various ghostly encounters)—“located” Malinda's supposed gravesite using “dowsing rods” and other doubtful approaches (“Van Horn Mansion” 2011).1 The dowsers’ error in believing Malinda Van Horn was buried in the flower garden may have been compounded by the stone's earlier existence there, as well as its inscription (which could seem to refer to the flower garden, but no doubt does not):
Sleep Malinda Sleep;
Sleep [softl]y here
Where flowers blo[om &] zephyrs sigh
&n
bsp; [Wher]e I may come to shed the tear
That streams unbid from sorowing [sic] eye.
Now, several sources (copying from others) ignore the fact of a word in the first line being illegible and give it as “calmly” (e.g., Lee 2008, 64)—I suspect because of the current notion of Malinda's troubled spirit. Having actually examined the stone, I believe the initial letter was s, and I and reconstruct the word as “softly,” which fits the space better.2 “Softly” also comports better with tombstone versification of Malinda's time. The township historian (Heck n.d.) inquired about the actual location of Malinda's grave and concluded: “Malinda was not buried in the garden; but her stone became located there through an accident.”
Malinda's actual remains were almost certainly never removed from the original family burial site; otherwise, there should have been a stone for her at the Glenwood Cemetery. Some reports insist that, indeed, “her grave is several hundred feet east of the marker's present location” (Nelson 1970). While the old tombstone, beautifully carved and inscribed with profound sentiment, bespeaks a loving burial, Malinda's grave does appear to have suffered neglect by the time the graves were relocated nearly a century later. I suspect this was in part a consequence of her husband's later remarriage—a familiar story in such circumstances.
THE SIGHTINGS
Of course, that her remains lie elsewhere does not preclude her imagined ghost from seeming to haunt the garden and house, but it does detract from the pretty story used to promote the “ghost.”