The Science of Ghosts

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The Science of Ghosts Page 14

by Joe Nickell


  First of all, theaters are places where magic and mystery are presented on stage—along with “ghosts” themselves. For example, Shakespeare brought several specters on stage, including Banquo's ghost in Macbeth and the shade of the prince of Denmark's father in Hamlet. That the bard really believed in ghosts is by no means certain, for he also wrote this exchange in Henry IV, Part I (act 3, scene 1): When Glendower boasts, “I can call spirits from the vasty deep,” Hotspur replies, “Why, so can I, or so can any man; but will they come when you do call for them?” Nevertheless, dramatists found many ways of producing ghostly figures on stage (such as magician de Philipstahl's “phantasmagoria,” utilizing a magic lantern, which debuted in London in 1802 [Nickell 2005, 126]).

  Not only could “ghosts” appear on stage, but they could be seen offstage as well—especially by imaginative (even fantasy-prone) people, as theatrical folk are often likely to be. Also, when one is tired (say at the end of a performance), or daydreaming, or otherwise in a period of reverie (as when performing routine chores, for instance) one is more likely to have an apparitional experience, in which a dreamlike image from the subconscious is briefly superimposed on the visual scene (Nickell 2001, 216–17). As people relate their supposed encounters, they set the stage, so to speak, for others to do likewise. In such a climate, exaggerations—even pranks—are almost sure to follow. And as Ogden (2009, 11) says with more justification than he seems to be aware of, “once they've manifested, phantoms tend to stick around.”

  More than most places, theaters offer a variety of ghost-inspiring factors: dramatized stories, scenes of make-believe, historical figures in period costumes, romantic ambiance, plays of light and shadow, opportunities to be virtually alone in a spooky building late at night, the effects of faulty wiring and noisy steam pipes, and so on. Here are some “haunted” theaters I have investigated.

  BIRD CAGE THEATRE

  Tombstone, Arizona, has been called “one of the most haunted places in North America” (Smith 2002, 26). Among the sites I visited there on Halloween 2003 (with fellow investigator Vaughn Rees), was the notorious Bird Cage Theatre [sic]. It opened under that name on December 23, 1881, when Tombstone had swelled from a silver-mining camp to a boomtown. It is an original entertainment hall—a combination saloon, gambling hall, opera house, and brothel—where Wild Bill Hickok and Diamond Jim Brady once played poker. Suspended from the ceiling are fourteen “cribs,” seven on each side, where prostitutes were displayed, and reportedly, with the red velvet curtains drawn, where they entertained clients. According to a persistent legend, the hall originally opened under another name but changed it after a popular song's refrain, “She's only a bird in a gilded cage.” The song was penned by British lyricist Arthur J. Lamb, after (says the legend) he stood at the theater's bar and, in an inspired moment, saw the girls in their “cribs” as caged birds:

  She's only a bird in a gilded cage,

  A beautiful sight to see.

  You may think she's happy and free from care,

  She's not, though she seems to be.

  ’Tis sad when you think of her wasted life

  For youth cannot mate with age;

  And her beauty was sold for an old man's gold,

  She's a bird in a gilded cage.

  (Cottrill 2005, 170–71; Ogden 2009, 66–75;

  Smith 2002, 26–30)

  Actually the story falls apart when we realize that Lamb (born August 12, 1870, died August 10, 1928) would have been only eleven years old when the Bird Cage was named. And the song was not published until 1900 (“Harry Von Tilzer” 2011; “Arthur J. Lamb” 2011).

  Be that as it may, the Bird Cage is reportedly a hive of ghostly activity, having been featured in various television ghost hunts, books, and Internet sites. It is “allegedly home to 31 different ghosts” (“Bird Cage” 2011a), one of which is the most often reported. A version of the story was collected by Hauck (1996, 23) and related in a single sentence: “The apparition of a man wearing a celluloid visor and carrying a clipboard has been seen walking across the stage.”

  Now, for some time I have been working with CFI Libraries director Timothy Binga to track story elements—folklorists call them motifs—in narratives that offer paranormal claims. For example (as discussed in chapter 6), Tim tracked for me on the Internet motifs from a University of Tennessee legend about a dorm resident's suicide (which had actually never occurred there). This turned up many similar tales across the country, recognizable as variants (to use another folklorist term) of “a migratory legend—part of the narrative lore of college folk, transmitted widely” (Nickell 2010).

  We used a similar approach for the onstage man with the visor and clipboard, turning up a number of hits. While these were consistently linked to the Bird Cage, they nevertheless showed many variants—evidence of the folkloric process at work. For example, in various Internet sites the specter is described as “a stagehand,” “a man in black,” and “a stage manager.” He sometimes wears a visor but carries no clipboard, or he had both and is dressed in “period clothing.”1 Two books on haunted theaters provide other variants. One is based on an interview with the theater's owner, Bill Hunley (Smith 2002, 28). He recalled several purported sightings of the ghostly figure, who, he explains, “walks from stage right to stage left.” Hunley mentions no visor but states: “He's wearing pinstriped pants and carrying a clipboard. He's intently looking at the clipboard. You see him for about a second, maybe a second and a half, then he's gone.”

  In contrast to Hunley's description of a simple action played over and over, Tom Ogden presents in his book (2009, 72–73) what is termed a “residual haunting” (Kachuba 2007, 26)—a more elaborate version, attributed to one “Charlotte.” In this, the “man dressed in black,” with visor and clipboard, is not briefly walking across the stage but is actually at work “onstage setting up”; indeed he “busied himself near the back curtain.” This version even has a punchline: when “Charlotte” tells a tour guide of seeing the man—whom, importantly, she did not perceive as spectral—she is told, “‘The man you saw’ the guide started cautiously, ‘well, he was one of our ghosts.’” Some sources take the ghost even further beyond the single action, one saying of the man with the clipboard: “He is not fond of being shoved in the chest. The ghost was also known to smoke cigars” (“Bird Cage” 2011b). However, this is clearly an example of motifs from “other” ghost tales of the Bird Cage becoming grafted onto the narrative of the clipboard-carrying man (see, e.g., Smith 2002, 740).

  Such evidence by itself does not conclusively disprove the existence of the ghost with the clipboard, but of course the burden of proof falls on whoever would make such a claim, not on someone else to disprove it. The principle of Occam's razor—that the explanation with the fewest assumptions is to be preferred—favors the non ghost hypothesis: that however the spectral figure originated—as a mistake, a prank, or a trick of the mind—it has persisted and multiplied due to processes best understood by psychologists and folklorists.

  LANCASTER OPERA HOUSE

  Lodged in an Italianate building whose first floor houses the Lancaster, New York, Town Hall, the Lancaster Opera House is a charming two-story theater that opened in 1897. (It later became a distribution center for the needy during the Great Depression, a parachute factory during World War II, and a civil defense headquarters after the war. It was restored beginning in 1976, and it was revived as a theater in 1981 [“Area Landmarks: Lancaster Opera House” 1998].)

  The most-talked-about phantoms of the opera house are twofold. One is “William,” a gaslight-era prankster “who moves objects about, opens and closes doors and plays with the elevator” (“Area Landmarks” 1998). Such “poltergeist” phenomena, however, may be simply due to some mundane cause of which the percipient is unaware; for example, certain openings of locked doors were attributable to the janitor (Nelson 1992). As well, a given door might not have been pulled completely shut so that the latch clicked in place; thus it could pop ope
n unexpectedly later, perhaps with changes in temperature. As to the “haunted” elevator, it was known to occasionally malfunction (Kazmierczak 1998). Also, as I have found in many other cases, the urge in some people to play ghost pranks on others is practically irresistible (Nickell 2008).

  The other opera house entity is known as “the Lady in Lavender,” so called because she reportedly wears a lavender gown. Her name is said to be “Priscilla.” She is only glimpsed, however—invariably in the theater's balcony (figure 21.1)—and these sightings are as rare as they are brief (Nelson 1992; Winfield 2006, 78–79). She has never appeared to me on my visits, even when my wife Diana Harris and I sat in that very area during a February 28, 2009, performance of Hound of the Baskervilles (based on the Sherlock Holmes novel). Significantly, both “William” and the lavender gowned “Priscilla” were first identified—perhaps we should say conjured up, if not invented—by local psychics (Nelson 1992).

  Given the opinion of many psychologists that it is people—not places—that are haunted, I used a questionnaire to collect and study the experiences of five people associated with the Lancaster Opera House. The questionnaire is designed to record and quantify one's alleged ghost encounters as well as measure the individual's propensity to fantasize. The results showed a clear correlation: the more experiences a person reported, the higher his or her fantasy-proneness (FP) score proved to be. (That is, one person with no ghost experiences had a very low FP score; three persons who each claimed a few experiences had a moderate FP score; and one person who reported numerous experiences had a high score, indicative of a fantasy prone personality.)

  The highest-scoring person—both in ghost experiences and in traits associated with fantasy proneness—was a self-described spiritualist medium. Among such traits (identified in a classic study by Wilson and Barber 1983), she reported a claimed “psychic” ability, a “healing touch,” past-life experiences, vivid dreams, ease of being hypnotized, ability to speak with spirits of the dead, and so on. As a child she had also had “make-believe friends,” another trait commonly associated with a fantasy-prone personality. As this and other evidence I collected shows, the ghosts of the Lancaster Opera House appear to be figments of the imagination, pure and simple.

  RIVIERA THEATRE

  Located in North Tonawanda, New York, the Riviera Theatre [sic] was built in 1926 in Italian Renaissance style from plans drawn by well-known theater architects Leon H. Lempert and Son. Installed in the new theater, a Wurlitzer theater organ, called “an orchestra in a box,” provided accompaniment for the latest movies, vaudeville acts, and music events. Over the years, the theater became part of the Shea's and Dipson chains, was sold and resold several other times, then was finally acquired in 1989 by the Niagara Frontier Theatre Organ Society, which began extensive renovation.

  According to the Riviera's artistic director David Bondrow (2008), the “main story” relating to the theater's alleged haunting tells of the accidental death of a child performer named “Mary.” Supposedly, scenery was being changed at the wrong time and the girl was struck by a batten (a long strip of lumber used, for example, to strengthen or fasten canvas). “Whistling cues” were reportedly being used to signal the scenery changes, and someone was whistling a tune at the time, thus causing confusion that led to the tragic accident.

  Unfortunately, this rather implausible tale is completely unsubstantiated, there being no evidence that such a girl was a historical person. Nevertheless, a “psychic entertainer” in recent years kept sensing “Mary,” so the name became attached to the legendary girl. In time, “Mary” was credited with any odd occurrence at the Riviera. Indeed, late one night she reportedly put in an appearance. Technicians were designing a show and “went to a blackout” (i.e., all lights on stage being turned off in anticipation of the next lighting cue), whereupon a ghostly figure was seen (whether by one or more persons is unclear) floating down stage. It was reported to be “Mary.”

  Now, the fact that the ghost appeared just after the lights were turned out suggests the alleged apparition may have been a type of optical illusion—the negative afterimage (a well-understood retinal phenomenon) of, say, someone on stage who had been bathed in bright light. The resulting spectral figure—retained by the eye in the dark—would thus move, while appearing to float in midair, as the viewer's head turned, and then it would dissolve. Even one person having had such a striking experience could have spread it to others by suggestion (a process called folie à deux—see appendix).

  But could a completely fictitious entity come alive—so to speak—as a ghost? Just such a possibility was demonstrated by a famous long-running experiment, conducted by a group of eight psychical researchers under the direction of Toronto parapsychologists Iris M. Owen and her husband, A. R. G. Owen, during the 1970s. The group invented an imaginary ghost named “Philip Aylesford.” According to his make-believe biography, he was born in 1624, served as a knight and a spy for Charles II, and had an extramarital affair with a gypsy girl who was burned at the stake after his wife accused her of witchcraft, whereupon he committed suicide in 1654 at age thirty. One of the researchers even painted a portrait of “Philip.”

  Then the group, none of whom were psychics, began trying to communicate with the nonexistent entity. At first all they felt was “a presence,” but after several months they opted for the improved ambiance of a Victorian séance. Soon “Philip” was communicating with rappings (once for yes, twice for no), followed by table tipping and other occurrences, even with some sitters (inspired by electronic-voice phenomena) perceiving whispered responses to questions from Iris M. Owen. The researchers believed they were producing psychokinetic effects with their minds (Guiley 2000, 286; Winfield 2006, 134–38). Instead, of course, they were demonstrating how belief, leading to expectation, could produce ghostly effects best attributable to misperception, imagination, unconscious muscular activity, and so on (see appendix).

  GHOSTLIGHT THEATER

  Converted in 2001 from an old German Methodist Church (built in 1889), a theater in North Tonawanda, New York, soon became the Ghost light Theatre, and therein lies a tale.

  Despite reports of paranormal activity at the theater, ghost light is a theatrical term. Found in every theater, the ghost light is simply a lamp or, typically a naked light bulb set atop a light standard. Rolled onstage before the manager locks up at closing time, it is used as a sort of night light, for safety, so that anyone who enters later will not trip over stage props or fall into the orchestra pit. It probably gets its name from the idea that the only ones left in the building when the light is lit are “ghosts.” Hence, the superstitious say that the light is to keep ghosts at bay or, contradictorily, to keep the spirits company during long nights (“What's a Ghost Light?” 2008; “Ghost Light” 1995).

  Certainly, Ghost light Theater welcomes the association with ghosts. I attended a 2009 pre-Halloween performance there based on Washington Irving's ghost tale “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow,” and the program noted that previous productions have included such paranormal fare as Night of the Living Dead, and Nosferatu: The Legend of Dracula. One actress's program bio mentions that she “loves to ghost hunt” and “tries to go to every haunted house, real or otherwise during the autumn season.” The program also contains an ad: “Buffalo Erie Paranormal Society/For when things go bump in the night…. If you are experiencing paranormal activity give us a call” (Legend of Sleepy Hollow [program booklet] 2009).

  Such alleged activity at the Ghost light is the subject of a chapter in Haunted Buffalo (Claud and O'Connor 2009), as well as a segment of a documentary DVD, Ghost lights: Folklore, Skepticism & Belief, on which I appear, filmed at various Western New York theaters, including the Ghostlight. (I attended the film's premier in 2008 at the Riviera Theatre [LaChiusa, LaChiusa, and Kupezyk 2008].) One highlight has local actor Paul McGinnis observing—not surprisingly—that ghostly phenomena seem more plentiful whenever the Ghostlight is putting on a play with “supernatural aspects,” su
ch as the ghost in Dickens's A Christmas Carol.

  Indeed, one ghost seems to have stepped off the stage of that show's performance. A young theater worker was busy painting bricks for a set—and so was engaged in the kind of routine activity that can lead to a reverie and hence to a ghost sighting. (See appendix for “apparitional experience.”) She began to feel as if someone were watching her, and this set the stage, so to speak, for her subconscious to conjure up a ghost—the figure of a lady sitting in the front row of the otherwise empty Ghostlight seats. Of course the lady was dressed in quaint attire, which the stagehand described as being of the era of A Christmas Carol (LaChiusa, LaChiusa, and Kupezyk 2008).

  The young lady's father, the Ghost light's technical director, Jesse Swartz, compared her description to the one given by an actress who had also seen a ghost lady on another occasion, and he declared a match. But not so fast: the actress reported the dress of the lady she saw as being consistent with the 1895–1900 period, whereas attire comparable to that of A Christmas Carol (published in 1843) dates from more than half a century earlier—so there would seem not to have been such a good match after all.

  Nevertheless, folk at the Ghost light have already dubbed their female ghost “the Lady in Red” (LaChiusa, LaChiusa, and Kupezyk 2008)—seemingly their version of the Lancaster Opera House's “Lady in Lavender”—and now they even say she has company from yet another costumed lady, a “woman in black” (Claud and O'Connor 2009, 109–12). Offering a dubious photo, sightings, noises “that can't be explained,” ghost hunters’ “orbs,” and alleged psychic impressions (LaChiusa, LaChiusa, and Kupezyk 2008; Claud and O'Connor 2009, 109–12), the Ghost light's reputation of “being deeply haunted” (Dabkowski 2006) can be expected to attract an even larger cast of theatrical ghosts.

 

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