Monday, May 23, 2016

Creepiness on Chartres Street

Beauregard-Keyes House
1113 Chartres Street
New Orleans, Louisiana

The sunny, yellow façade of the Beauregard-Keyes House on a relatively quiet section of Chartres Street, does not belie the sometimes tragic history that has taken place within its walls. That quiet demeanor is shattered frequently by tour guides with gawking tourists in tow passing the house as the guides intone one of the many “legends” about this house. According to their spiels, the house is inhabited by a pantheon of shades, some quite famous.
The sunny facade of the Beauregard-Keyes House on a bleak day in 2011.
Photo by Ben Lewis, all rights reserved.
General Pierre Gustave Toutant-Beauregard, who occupied the house for about three years following the Civil War, was supposedly haunted by his defeat at the Battle of Shiloh. “…it’s General Beauregard whose presence at 1113 Chartres Street, and whose ghost seems obsessed with returning to the bloody scene of battle that traumatized him for the rest of his life—and beyond.” Mary Beth Crain in her 2008 book, Haunted U.S. Battlefields continues, “In 1893, the year of the general’s death, people walking by the house late at night reported hearing ‘the voice.’ Someone seemed to be gasping ‘Shiloh…Shiloh’ over and over in a raspy chant that sounded as if it were coming from a great distance…Who else could ‘the voice’ belong to but General P.G.T. Beauregard, the man who throughout his life was haunted by the demons of the battle he needlessly lost? …There was terror in that one word, a sense of horror that was so convincing, those who heard it bolted as fast as they could.”

P. G. T. Beauregard during his time as a Confederate
General by Matthew Brady.
For a name that is Hebrew for “place of peace,” Shiloh, Tennessee is associated with the stench death and quite possibly haunted “The Little Napolean,” as Beauregard was known, after his defeat there. The Battle of Shiloh, fought in early April, 1862, can be viewed as the first of many “Waterloos” in a war full of them. Union troops under General Ulysses S. Grant were encamped on the banks of the Tennessee River near Pittsburg Landing, Tennessee while some twenty-odd miles away, Confederates under General Albert Sidney Johnston and his second in command, General Beauregard were camped at Corinth, Mississippi. Union reinforcements under General Don Carlos Buell were expected to arrive from Columbia, Tennessee after which Grant would sweep down into Mississippi to begin a slow disembowelment of the Confederacy. Johnston, over Beauregard’s objections aimed at attacking Grant’s forces before Buell’s arrival. Beauregard bowed to Johnston’s commands and prepared a battle plans along the lines of Napoleon’s advance at the Battle of Waterloo. Coincidently, Beauregard, due to his short stature and French heritage was known as “The Little Napoleon.”

The first assault hit the Union camps around 9:30 on the morning of April 6. Union troops were taken by surprise in the middle of breakfast as Confederate troops charged into their camps bearing the red battle flag emblazoned with the blue, starred St. Andrews Cross that had been designed by Beauregard. Many troops on both sides along the three-mile battle line were still green, and scared by the ferocity of battle, fled, with many of the Union troops fleeing towards the safety of the Tennessee River where they cowered under the bluffs. But one Union line held: composed mainly of Illinois and Iowa farmers. This line, along a sunken road through thick woods and a peach orchard under the command of Brigadier General Benjamin M. Prentiss, kept the Confederates at bay for some six hours. They endured charge after charge and almost point blank artillery fire. General Johnston led the final Confederate charge when a bullet severed his femoral artery from which he died a short time later. Command then passed to Beauregard.

The Hornet's Nest during the Battle of Shiloh
in a chromolithograph
by Thure de Thulstrup, 1888.
Prentiss’ division maintained their position along the sunken road where the ferocity of fighting was dubbed “The Hornet’s Nest.” Confederates surrounded the area on three-sides and they massed artillery onto the position pouring volley upon volley of cannon-fire onto the Union position. At 5:30 in the afternoon, Prentiss and his remaining 2,200 troops surrendered. The remaining Yankees had been pushed back to the Tennessee. Surveying the situation, Beauregard surmised that he could easily wipe out the remaining troops the following morning.

The sun rose the next day on a Federal force of nearly 50,000; Buell’s reinforcements had arrived during the night. This huge force now faced Beauregard’s 30,000 troops. Slowly but surely, Union forces sliced into the Confederates with the troops falling back all the way to Corinth, Mississippi. The battlefield was thoroughly littered with the dead and dying, more than had ever been killed in any war previously fought by the United States: some 3,477 dead with some 23,000 wounded. Historian Shelby Foote described the battle as “a disorganized, murderous fistfight of one hundred thousand men slamming away at each other.” It was this murderous and costly battle that sickened Beauregard so that he took immediately sick leave without permission of Jefferson Davis, who demoted him. Grant’s responsibility in the blood bath led to his being replaced by General Henry Wager Halleck.

After losing his military rank, Beauregard’s rank was restored and he went on to serve admirably through the end of the war. He retired to the house in New Orleans that now bears his name where his lived quietly for three years. Over time, legend has risen speaking of a more sinister legacy left by Beauregard in the house. Some tenants of the house have spoken of hearing the sounds of battle, perhaps from Shiloh within and without the house. Even more interesting is the story that tenants being awakened by the sound of battle have stepped into the ballroom only to walk into the midst of the battlefield of Shiloh. While perhaps the story of the battlefield appearing in the ballroom may be only the product of the story passing through a “multi-generational telephone game.”

Of course the lone, contemplative shade of Beauregard has also been reported throughout the house. Jeff Dwyer in his Ghost Hunter’s Guide to New Orleans reports that the General’s spirit has been seen peering out the home’s windows, even seen waltzing with a female, most likely his second wife (his first wife, Marie, died in 1850), Caroline. Interestingly, Beauregard and his wife, Caroline, never lived in the house together. The dashing military man and his bride married in 1860 on the eve of the war. The young couple spent much of the war apart and Caroline died in New Orleans in March of 1864 while it was under Union occupation. After receiving news of his wife’s passing, the stunned Beauregard continued to carry out his duties.

Following the war, without a job, money, or a wife, a chastened Beauregard refused to take the loyalty oath until after he was counseled to do so by his former Confederate peers, Generals Robert E. Lee and Albert Sidney Johnston. He took the oath before the mayor of New Orleans around the time he took up residence in the elegant house on Chartres Street. He was offered positions in the militaries of Brazil, Romania and Egypt but refused the offers saying, “I prefer to live here poor and forgotten, than be endowed with honor and riches in a foreign country.” Perhaps he spent his time in the house in Chartres pining for his darling Caroline and regretting his military blunders, but that is only speculation. Novelist Frances Parkinson Keyes, who lived in the house in the mid-20th century promulgated this mythos in her 1962 novel, Madame Castel’s Lodger. The novel portrays a defeated Beauregard looking back over the remains of his life.

The Beauregard-Keyes House possesses quite a history. Built by Joseph Le Carpentier, an auctioneer, the house was designed by Francois Correjolles incorporated elements of Roman and Greek architecture. Le Carpentier is said to have started his business selling goods for the pirate, Jean Lafitte (who, incidentally, figures into many local ghost stories and legends) and was also grandfather to the master chess player Paul Morphy, who was born in the house.

An undated image of Paul Morphy.
Courtesy of Wikipedia.
A few writers mention Morphy among the pantheon of spirits in the house, though much of their information appears to be incorrect. Mary Beth Crain refers to Morphy as “Paul Munni,” though I can’t discern why. It states that he went insane while living in the house. While I have been able to determine that Morphy was in fact born in the house, his mother was Le Carpentier’s daughter, I can find nothing about his residency in the house as an adult. He returned to New Orleans towards the latter part of his life and “retired” from chess, having been victorious over all the world’s chess masters. While I’ve yet to find anything that specifically states that Morphy lost his sanity, he did live his life in seclusion. Morphy died at his home, which is apparently now Brennan’s Restaurant at 417 Royal Street (which has a number of spirits, possibly even Morphy’s), after taking his usual afternoon constitutional and then taking a cold bath.

After leaving the hands of the Le Carpentier family, the house passed through a number of hands including those of Swiss Consul, John A Merle, whose wife planned and planted the garden surrounding the house. As the owners changed, the neighborhood changed; filling with Italian immigrants towards the end of the nineteenth century. The house was bought by Sicilian wine merchant, Pietro Giacona in 1904.
The house around the time the Giacona family owned it.
Image by the Detroit Publishing Company, courtesy of the
Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division.
The Black Hand or La Mano Nero was an extortion racket commonly used among Italians and Italian Americans throughout the nineteenth and into the early part of the twentieth century when the Mafia took on subtler methods of crime. New Orleans had already seen the tragic effects of such crime in 1890 with the assassination of police chief David Hennessy in 1890. The most common modus operandi for The Black Hand was to send the victims a letter, signed with a black handprint, threatening harm unless a specific amount of money was paid. The Giacona family found themselves victims of The Black Hand, in 1908, after receiving a letter demanding payment of $3000 or the family faced death. Events reached a zenith in the early morning hours of June 17. When Commander Thomas Capo of the Third Precinct Station arrived at the house around 2:45 AM, he witnessed everything in confusion:
I saw the old man standing on the gallery with the shotgun in his hand, while his son stood almost in the doorway with a rifle in his hands. On the gallery, two of the men were stretched out in death. Their shirts were covered with blood. In the yard, at the foot of the stairs, another man was lying. From its position in the yard, I judged that he was shot while running down the stairs, and had rolled to the ground. The table around which the men were seated before the shooting commenced was littered with watermelon rind and egg shells. Some half-filled wine goblets were also on the table. (from the Times-Picayune, 19 June 1908)
A trail of blood led from the yard, over a wall and up and down a number of streets in the area. The trail led to Francisco Vitale who was found wounded at Bourbon and Ursulines Streets.

Pietro Giacona, his son Corrado and a nephew, Pietro Bellonde were all arrested for the murders of the Barraca brothers, Giovanni and Nuncy, and Cero Cusimano. Eventually, the Giaconas and the nephew were released. Upon their return, it is said that the house was turned into a fortress. The events of that early June morning were not easily forgotten and may continue to be re-enacted. Reports from people passing the house late at night have included the sounds of gunfire and shouting, the acrid smell of gunpowder and shadowy figures flitting around the fountain in the garden.

Frances Keyes, 1921. Courtesy of
the Library of Congress, Prints and
Photographs Division.
When the house was sold in 1925, Antonio Mannino, the new owner considered demolishing the house for either a warehouse or a macaroni factory. This possibility riled local preservationists who were disturbed by the loss of such a landmark. Beauregard House Inc. took over the house and in 1944, the group rented the house to novelist Francis Parkinson Keyes who occupied the house for some 25 years. During this time, she spearheaded a major renovation of the house while writing novels that included the house and former residents. She also created the Keyes Foundation which bought and now operates the house as a museum.

Spiritual remnants from this era may include Mrs. Keyes’ beloved cocker spaniel, Lucky. The dog died only a few days after his mistress’ death. Stories also tell of a large cat that is seen darting through and around the house but then disappearing. The cat is likely the shade of Caroline, a cat that took up in the house museum’s garden. Guests and guides in the house have felt a feline rubbing against their legs.

Though the current directors of the Beauregard-Keyes House deny the existence of spiritual activity in the house, it apparently hosts a legion of spirits. These denials keep investigators at bay, though the city’s many tour operators still walk and drive tourists past the house spinning creepy, and somewhat fictional tales of the creepy house on Chartres Street.

Battle of Shiloh. Wikipedia, the Free Encyclopedia. Accessed
     2 December 2010.
Bruno, Stephanie. “A House Where the Tall-Tales Are True.”
     The Times-Picayune. 5 March 2005.
Crain, Mary Beth. Haunted U. S. Battlefields. Guilford, CT:
     Globe Pequot Press, 2008.
“Death of Paul Morphy.” The Daily Picayune. 11 July 1884.
Dwyer, Jeff. Ghost Hunter’s Guide to New Orleans. Gretna, LA:
     Pelican Press, 2007.    
Frances Parkinson Keyes. Wikipedia, the Free Encyclopedia.  Accessed
     23 May 2016.
“Giacona hearing fixed for Thursday.” The Daily Picayune. 7 July
“Giaconas held, but allowed bail.” The Daily Picayune. 10 July 1908.
“Giaconas held without bond.” The Daily Picayune. 19 June 1908.
Klein, Victor C. New Orleans Ghosts. Chapel Hill, NC: Professional
     Press, 1993.
Paul Morphy. Wikipedia, the Free Encyclopedia. Accessed
     2 December 2010.
P. G. T. Beauregard. Wikipedia, the Free Encyclopedia. Accessed
     2 December 2010.
Sillery, Barbara. The Haunting of Louisiana. Gretna, LA: Pelican
     Publishing, 2001.
Ward, Geoffrey C., Ric Burns and Ken Burns. “A Bloody Affair
     (1862). The Civil War. American Documentaries, Inc. 1990.
Ward, Geoffrey C., Ric Burns and Ken Burns. The Civil War: An
     Illustrated History. NYC: Knopf, 1990.

Thursday, April 28, 2016

The Siren of Pope Lick Trestle—Kentucky

Paranormal Day Party
Pope Lick Trestle
Over Pope Lick Road and Pope Lick Creek
Jeffersontown, Kentucky

The ghastly siren of Pope Lick Trestle has claimed yet another victim. The terror experienced by a young couple from Ohio while visiting this lonely railroad trestle is unimaginable. The couple was exploring the paranormal wonders of Louisville, of which there are many, and expected to tour Waverly Hills Sanitarium last Saturday evening. While trespassing at Pope Lick in search of the famed Pope Lick Monster or Goatman the couple was caught in the middle of the railroad trestle by an approaching train. The female was struck, thrown from the trestle, and killed. Her boyfriend was able to hang from the trestle until the train passed.

In Homer’s The Odyssey, Odysseus encounters the Sirens, beautiful maiden-like creatures who lured sailors to their death with their enchanting song. It seems the Pope Lick Monster is a variation of the sirens. In this case however, the monster lures teens with the thrill of viewing his ghastly form and when they walk the trestle in search of him some of them have been killed by a train on this busy thoroughfare.

The legend of the Pope Lick Monster is, like most urban legends, rather hard to pin down. The tales appear to have begun circulating in the mid-20th century. At that time, the trestle was a remote place where local teens would congregate to party and “neck” (in other words, to make out or have sex in the parlance of the period). Perhaps it is one of these teens who first saw the mysterious creature described as being half-human and half-sheep or goat. David Domine, a local writer, historian and expert on area legends and lore describes him as having muscular legs “covered with course dark hair. He’s got the same dark hair on the parts of his body. His face is alabaster they say and he has horns as well.”
The Pope Lick Trestle over Pope Lick Creek, 2013, by David Kidd.
From Flickr.
Some descriptions state that the creature uses hypnosis or other mind-altering methods to lure victims onto the trestle. Other stories note that he uses mimicry to recreate the voice of a child or loved-one. Once on the trestle, it’s too late for the victim to escape a passing train. Perhaps nowadays with the preponderance of thrill-seekers especially looking for paranormal thrills, just the thought of seeing the Goat Man’s visage is enough to lure the unwary.

Since the late 1980s, the siren of the trestle has claimed its fair share of victims. A young man died from injuries sustained in a fall from the trestle in 1987. The next year a young man was killed here in February. In 2000 local headlines note another young man killed after falling from the dangerous trestle. With the most recent victim, that makes four, though I suspect there may be more that didn’t immediately appear in newspaper searches. The trestle was constructed in 1929 and there may have been many deaths here over the years.

The exact identity of this murderous creature is also hidden in lore. Some stories make the connection between this creature and the Goatman that haunts the woods of Prince George’s County, Maryland. That creature is supposed to have escaped from a Beltsville, MD government lab, though the creature must do quite a bit of traveling between the two locations. Other stories indicate that the Goatman is the product of an illicit relationship between a local farmer and a member of his flock. Still other stories note that there may have been some type of Satanic ritual involved. The tale of a traveling circus involved in a railroad accident near here tells of the escape of a freak from the car carrying the circus’ freak show is also mentioned as an explanation for the monster here.

In 1988, Louisville filmmaker Ron Schildknecht premiered his short film, The Legend of the Pope Lick Monster. Norfolk Southern immediately expressed concern that the film might encourage locals to trespass on the trestle. Schildknecht added a note about this to the film to appease the railroad. It does appear that the film and the ensuing controversy served to stir up interest in the legend and perhaps add a bit to it.

Walking along railroad tracks, bridges, and trestles is considered trespassing. While these places are seemingly open to the public, they are private railroad property. The young woman killed at Pope Lick isn’t the isn’t the first ghost hunter or legend tripper killed on railroad property in recent years. In 2010, as a group of ghost hunters explored Bostian Bridge near Statesville, North Carolina, a train appeared and one of the young men was struck and killed by it. The victim pushed a young woman to safety and she was injured in the fall. This group of ghost hunters were looking for the ghost train that is known to appear here reliving the horrific train crash that occurred here in 1891.

Pope Lick Trestle may be safely viewed if one travels down Pope Lick Road. A walking trail also parallels the road and passes under the trestle as well. Do not trespass on the trestle! If you hear the siren call of the Goat Man of Pope Lick Trestle, shut your ears and leave the area, he may be calling you to your death.

Brown, Alan. Haunted Kentucky: Ghosts and Strange Phenomena
     of the Bluegrass State. Mechanicsburg, PA: Stackpole, 2009.
Bryant, Judy. “Trestle of death: Film depicting legend stirs fear
     of life imitating art.” The Courier-Journal. 30 December 1988.
Bryant, Judy and Lisa Jessie. “Film puts Pope Lick trestle” fatal
     attraction in the spotlight.” The Courier-Journal. 4 January 1989.
Gast, Phil. “’Ghost train’ hunter killed by train in North Carolina.”
     CNN. 28 August 2010.
Gee, Dawna. “Numerous urban legends tell of Louisville’s Goat Man.”
     WAVE3. 9 May 2014.
Holland, Jeffrey Scott. Weird Kentucky. NYC: Sterling, 2008.
Kuwicki, Holden. “Local legend may have contributed to Pope Lick
     death. WHAS11. 25 April 2016.
Strikler, Lon. “The Pope Lick Monster’s Deadly Trestle.” Phantoms and
     Monsters Blog. 30 May 2014.
Tangonan, Shannon. “19-year-old does after falling from railroad trestle.”
     The Courier-Journal. 7 November 2000.
Wilder, Annie. Trucker Ghost Stories. NYC: Tor, 2012.
Yoo, Sharon and John Paxton. “Coroner: Woman killed by train while
     investigating ‘goatman’ myth.” KLTV. 23 April 2016.

Thursday, April 7, 2016

Life Returns to the Dead of Belmont—Elkridge, Maryland

Belmont Manor & Historic Park
6555 Belmont Woods Road
Elkridge, Maryland

Last year just about this time, life began to return to Belmont Manor when it was reopened to the public. The estate had been a private residence for almost two centuries before it was donated to the Smithsonian Institution in 1964 for use as a conference center. The Smithsonian sold the property in 1982 to the American Chemical Society which used it as a meeting facility. They sold the property to Howard Community College which closed the property in 2010 after facing financial difficulties. Until the property sold in 2012, the grand house quietly sat in a pall of silence. Only the dead stirred.

As the house was being renovated and restored by Howard County, its new owner, the dead continued to stir. Workers on the estate observed a little girl running about. The county contacted Inspired Ghost Tracking who investigated and was able to captured an image of the spectral girl peering around a corner.
Belmont Manor, 2015, by Scott218. Courtesy of Wikipedia.
This ghostly child can be added to the legend recorded a little more than a hundred years ago in John Martin Hammond’s 1914 book, Colonial Mansions of Maryland and Delaware. In addition to relating the histories of these magnificent estates, Hammond included the occasional ghost story when they popped up. The Belmont Ghost, as Hammond dubs the spectral event, usually happened at least once every winter. On a dark, windy night, residents and visitors to Belmont would hear the sounds of an invisible carriage approach the house. Upon opening the door, the living would see nothing but continue to hear the sounds of an invisible retinue enter the house. Once unloaded, the carriage would be heard to head towards the stable.

Since opening to the public last year, Belmont is now playing host to weddings and other events while the public explores the historic woodlands that remain unchanged since the building of the house in 1738. Now that the dead have been discovered on the estate, Howard County has brought out paranormal investigators and those interested in learning about the spirits around us to learn about paranormal investigating here. According to the Baltimore Sun, the next public paranormal investigation will be held this summer.

Bonk, Valerie. “Ghost investigations at Belmont gather people
     curious about the paranormal.” Baltimore Sun. 6 April 2016.
Gunts, Edward. “The past is prologue for Elkridge’s Belmont
     Mansion.” Baltimore Sun. 20 September 2012.
Okonowicz, Ed. The Big Book of Maryland Ghosts. Mechanicsburg,
     PA: Stackpole Books, 2010.
Yeager, Amanda. “Elkridge’s historic Belmont Manor reopens.”
     Baltimore Sun. 13 April 2015.

Monday, April 4, 2016

Crime and Punishment in South Georgia

Crime and Punishment Museum
(Old Turner County Jail)
241 East College Avenue
Ashburn, Georgia

The war in Europe had been heating for only a few months when the front page of The Atlanta Constitution noted that a touch of winter was being felt in Georgia. The paper was almost entirely taken up with news from the fighting that the minor note on page 7 might be totally disregarded by the average reader.

12 September 1914
Page 7


Ashburn, Ga., September 11.—(Special.)—Miles L. Cribb paid the death penalty on the gallows in the county jail here this afternoon at 1 o’clock for the murder of his mother-in-law, Mrs. Mary E. Hancock, near Rebecca, in November, 1913. Only a few close friends of the family were allowed to witness the execution.

After bidding his aged mother, brothers and little 9-year-old son goodbye the condemned man mounted the scaffold with signs of nervousness.

Sheriff King sprang the trap at exactly 1 o’clock. Twelve minutes later Cribb was pronounced dead. The body was turned over to relatives who will leave tonight for Jones county where Cribb will be buried tomorrow.

The murder for which Cribb was hanged was serious enough to make a headline on the front page of The Atlanta Constitution’s front page.

8 November 1913
Page 1


Miles Cribb of Rebecca, Ga., Kills His Mother-in-Law and Seriously Wounds His Wife and Sister-in-Law.


Estrangement Between South Georgia Farmer and His Wife Leads to the Death of Aged Woman and Wounding of Her Daughters

Cordele, Ga., November 7.—(Special.) Enraged because his wife would not agree to a reconciliation with him after a brief separation of two weeks, M. L. Cribb, a Turner county farmer, living about two miles from Rebecca, tonight about 6 o’clock shot and instantly killed his mother-in-law, Mrs. J. G. B. Hancock, fired two bullets into the body of his wife, probably fatally wounding her, and then turning the pistol on his sister-in-law, Miss Sallie Hancock, fired the remaining bullets, inflicting a wound from which she will probably die during the night.

Reports are to the effect that Cribb went to the Hancock home about 6 o’clock and, pushing open the dining room door without a word of warning, ripped out a revolver and shot Mrs. Hancock, 70 years of age, dead in her chair at the supper table, fatally wounded his wife and seriously wounded his sister-in-law, Miss Sallie Hancock.

[…]Cribb hastily left the scene before aid from nearby neighbors reached the wounded women and sought a hiding place in the woods nearby.

Miles Cribb made his way to his brother’s home where he attempted suicide by putting his revolver to his head but his brother, Rev. W. J. Cribb, was able to grab the weapon from him and urged him to surrender. The article notes that this horrific incident stemmed from his mother-in-law’s attempt to get custody of the couple’s child, presumably the son mentioned in the article about the hanging. The 1913 article concludes with the gathering of a mob wishing to lynch Mr. Cribb.

[…]Feeling is strong against Cribb in the Rebecca district, and is rapidly growing stronger, and it is believed that Warden Putman is trying to get Cribb to a place of safety early enough prevent mob violence.

[…] Late reports from the little town are that a mob has formed near the scene of the shooting and will make an effort to take Cribb from the officers f they are located. These reports have not been verified.

The streets of Rebecca are practically deserted, nearly all the male citizens having gone to the scene of the tragedy.

The following day Mr. Cribb again was in the front page headlines of The Atlanta Constitution:

9 November 1913
Page 1

I Know I Must Pay Penalty But Save Me From Lynchers, Cries Cribb, Women’s Slayer

Cordele, Ga., November 8.—(Special.) Miles L. Cribb who was the principal actor in one of the dastardly and horrible crimes ever enacted in the section of Georgia…is now safely confined in the Dougherty county jail [in Albany, GA]. While he is now probably safe from mob violence, feeling in the community near the scene of the tragedy continues [to be] very intense, and it is thought that until he is given trial, if then, it will not be advisable to return him to the Turner county jail.

[…]Upon the arrival of Putnam [the warden who arrested Cribb] and Cribb on the outskirts of Ashburn they found a mob had gathered there, intending to do violence to Cribb if he was brought there. [Sheriff John A.] King was notified of the whereabouts of Cribb, and eluding the angry citizens, he took him in an automobile as rapidly as possible to Sylvester and then to Albany.

Once the furor died down, Mr. Cribb was eventually transferred to the Turner County Jail where he faced a jury next door in the Italianate halls of the Turner County Courthouse on January 6, 1914. Both Cribb’s wife and sister-in-law survived their wounds and were present. Word of the trial was not published in The Atlanta Constitution until nearly a month had passed.

7 February 1914
Page 12


Wife Smiles as Ashburn Man Is Sentenced for the Killing of His Mother-in-Law.

Ashburn, Ga., January 6.—(Special.) “We, the jury, find the defendant guilty,” was the verdict returned this afternoon by the twelve men who had been chosen to decide the fate of Miles Cribb, who was placed on trial in Turner superior court this morning at 8:30 o’clock charged with the murder of Mrs. Mary E. Hancock, hos mother-in-law, in the Rebecca district last November.

Silence pervaded the crowded courtroom from the time the bailiff in charge of the jury announced to the court that they were ready to enter until the last word of the sentence of death was uttered by Judge Cox, fixing Tuesday, March 3, 1914, as the date of execution.

Between his aged mother on the right and the Rev. W. J. Cribb, his brother, on the left, the unfortunate man sat with bowed head for the most part throughout the trial which lasted from 10 a. m. to 1:30 p.m. The mother of the defendant sobbed constantly, as did the defendant, himself, as his counsel feelingly pleaded for mercy from the jury.

[…]The wife of the defendant, together with her relatives, who occupied the front seat, smiled her approval of the verdict and sentence as the condemned man was turned over to the sheriff.

[…]It is very likely that Cribb will remain in the jail here until his execution as the bitter feeling toward him immediately after the crime has almost subsided.

Cribb languished in the Turner County Jail for a number of months before he was executed there in September, less than a year after his heinous deed. The Turner County Jail is not atypical of turn of the century jails that remain in small towns throughout the South. It’s a heavy brick building in the reigning vernacular style of the period with some Romanesque-revival elements. The building takes on a very solemn air, especially when compared to the righteous flamboyancy of the courthouse next door. The jail features a tower-like element on its west corner that echoes the clock tower on the courthouse and the steeple of the Baptist church that can be seen between the two when viewed from College Street. This solemnity gives the building the air of strength, order, and as a place to avoided.
Old Turner County Jail, 2015, by Jud McCranie. Courtesy of Wikipedia.
According to a 2003 article, the jail’s strict architectural lines led it to be referred to as the “Turner Castle” by locals. It was constructed in 1906 for Turner County which had been established the previous year. The jail opened in 1907 for inmates. As was common in small town jails, the building provided a home for the sheriff and his family as well as room for inmates. The sheriff’s wife was tasked with providing meals for the inmates as well as her husband and family.

At the back of the building a metal staircase leads to the second floor where male inmates were confined in small 7’X 7’ cells. Two bunks on either side provided sleeping accommodations for the inmates, four of which could be confined in a single cell. The second floor also held a “death cage” where Cribb would have been confined in the hours leading up to his meeting with state-sanctioned fate. This cell is just a few steps from the steel trap door that would drop Cribb to his death at the end of a strong rope. This harsh conditions persisted until the county opened a new jail in 1994.

According to the jail’s documentation in the Georgia Architectural and Historic Properties Survey, the solemn mood of the jail sounded like something akin to a revival service for Cribb’s hanging, the last hanging conducted in Turner County and the second hanging in the jail (the other was in 1907). Mrs. Netta Shingler, who sang a hymn before the execution, described the event as a “once in a lifetime” event attended by the sheriff, deputy sheriff, school superintendent, and a prominent local Methodist minister. A service was held where Mrs. Shingler notes that “if the prisoner heard us he made no signs but those conducting the service were overcome.”

The jail has been preserved as a museum examining the harsh jail conditions that once existed throughout the South. Among the artifacts displayed here is a bloody shirt collar of Miles Cribb’s shirt from his execution. While the museum explores the spirit of crime and punishment in the South, spirits persist here as well, trying to tell their own stories. The spirits slam doors, shake beds, and have been noted to leave indentions in the old mattresses in the cells. Museum staff have allowed a number of paranormal investigation groups investigate the jail with one of the groups, Southeastern Paranormal Investigative and Information Team (S.P.I.R.I.T. Paranormal), having a piece of tile thrown at investigators in the basement during their 2012 investigation. Reportedly, the tile shattered on an opposite wall.

During this investigation members of the team had a variety of personal experiences seeing, hearing, and feeling things. A member of the Ghosts of Georgia Paranormal reported that during their investigation in 2013 that he heard voices throughout the building. The Albany Herald has just recently reported on ghost tours of the jail that are now being conducted on Friday and Saturday nights by the Paranormal Society of Middle Georgia. Perhaps Miles Cribb is still pitifully pleading forgiveness for his heinous deeds.

“Ashburn, GA. Museum puts a lock on history.”
     15 July 2003.
“Ashburn man spends the night in haunted jail.” WALB.
     12 June 2015.
Big Bend Ghost Trackers. “Investigation Report for the
     Crime and Punishment Museum.” 6 October 2007.
Blanchard, Haley. Georgia Architectural and Historic Properties
     Survey: Turner County Jail. No date.
“Cribb must hang for bloody deed.” Atlanta Constitution.
     7 February 1914.
Ghosts of Georgia Paranormal Investigations. “Investigation
“Hanged for the murder of his mother-in-law.” Atlanta
     Constitutition. 12 September 1914.
“Historic jail in Ashburn offering ghost tours.” Albany Herald.
     27 March 2016.
“I know I must pay penalty but save me from lynchers. Atlanta
     Constitution. 9 November 1913.
S.P.I.R.I.T. Paranormal. “Investigation Report for Crime
     & Punishment Museum.” 23 June 2012.
“Three women are victims of enraged farmer’s fury.”
     Atlanta Constitution. 8 November 1913.

Saturday, March 19, 2016

Getting Personal--Cherokee, North Carolina

Nota Bene: My thoughts regularly return to my second home, Cherokee, NC and recently these wonderful memories have been jarred again. This is a freshly edited account from 2012 of some of my paranormal experiences in Unto These Hills Cast Housing, a place lovingly referred to as “The Hill,” and at the Oconaluftee Indian Village.

“To the Cherokee, the supernatural is just natural.” a Native friend said in and I think it succinctly sums up the attitude of the Cherokee towards the spirit world. They are simply blasé about it; it is just another facet of the world that exists around them. Overall, this world is very different from the world of Western thought where magic and superstition, in the name of science, are banished to the remote deserts of distasteful fiction. Working here among the Cherokee has been a challenge to how I think about the paranormal.

Since late May I have been working in Cherokee, North Carolina, at the heart of the Qualla Boundary Reservation, as a reenactor at the Oconaluftee Indian Village. The village is a recreation of a mid-18th century Cherokee village and is operated by the Cherokee Historical Association which also operates the outdoor historical drama Unto These Hills where I spent three glorious summers in college. While I’m working in the Village, I’m living in cast housing for the drama (known as “The Hill”). When I worked up here previously, I heard stories from the Mountainside Theatre and a few stories from The Hill, even having an experience of my own (which I discussed here). Returning some nine years later with a paranormal blog, I began asking for stories just after arrival and I’ve been bowled over as the stories have poured forth.

The Cherokee possess a deeply engrained spirituality and connection with nature. Certainly they are so much more open to the interactions between the living world and the spirit world and in inquiring about their experiences, their responses are often related in a mundane tone than those I would find elsewhere. From an early age, children here are warned by parents and elders about sgi-li or boogers and how they should not fear them. Children will be taught about the Yun-wi Tsuns-di or Little People, mischievous and protective beings that live all around. Their world is populated by wonderful, scary and magical creatures like the Nunne-hi, Uktena and the witch, Spearfinger, who steals children’s livers while they slumber. Truly the world of the Cherokee is a marvelous place of signs and omens, spirits and boogers, good and bad medicine. To truly appreciate the Cherokee universe, one must adjust their worldview and see it through very different eyes. These are also eyes that see spirits everywhere and not just in specific, “haunted” locations.

It’s unusual for me to have paranormal experiences. I’ve had a few throughout my life, but they are scattered and fairly rare. But since my arrival here in May, I’ve had a variety of unusual experiences; personal experiences that have, at times, even left me questioning my own sanity. Perhaps I’m too eager to experience things. After all, I’m fascinated by ghosts and I’m surrounded by people who have unusual experiences frequently. However, I do believe these experiences should be documented, thus adding to the plethora of information available on the weird world that we live in.

Only a couple weeks into my stay I had my first experience. Two of my fellow reenactors were hanging out on the lower porch of the Boys Dorm. Joining them, we discussed, joked and laughed about a number of things including ghosts. The hours stretched on and we found ourselves still chatting around three in the morning. Everyone else on The Hill appeared to be in bed. My two friends were sitting and I was standing at the top of the porch stairs with my back to them.
The porch of the Boys Dorm where something poked me. Photo September 2012
by Lewis O. Powell IV, all rights reserved.
I felt a finger poke me in the middle of my back. It had definite pressure and it lasted for a moment just as someone would poke someone to get their attention. I immediately felt with my hand, in the event that it was an insect, but the pressure had been too much to be from that. There was nothing there and I turned to see if someone was standing behind me. The Hill was quiet and empty. Nothing else stirred. I mentioned it to my two companions, both of whom are Native American. Both simply raised their eyebrows and one addressed the spirit, “Thank you for letting us know you’re here. “Please, leave us alone.” he said calmly.

Until just a couple weeks ago that was my only experience on The Hill this summer. The drama had its final performance and most of the cast left fairly quickly to resume their normal lives. I’ll remain, with the other reenactors, until the Village closes. Only a few people were left and I was off to watch a movie with a few people in the day room of the Boys Dorm (on the opposite end of the building from where I was poked). While walking up the hill towards the building I hear the whinny of an Eastern Screech Owl (Megascops asio). Being a birder, usually I would have thought, “Eastern Screech Owl, very cool!” but being in Cherokee, the sound sent a shiver through me. The whinny of the owl is considered to be an omen of death to the Cherokee. In accordance with Cherokee tradition, I tied a knot in my shirt to acknowledge that I’d heard the “laugh of death” and I continued into the building.
The Boys Dorm. The Day Room where I saw something pass
the window is at the top of the building at the left side of this
picture. Photo September 2012 by Lewis O. Powell IV,
all rights reserved.
While watching the movie I turned to one of the young ladies sitting near me. I had intended on saying something when I saw something white and vaguely human-shaped move past the window next to her. For a moment I watched to see if it would happen again and nothing happened. I waited also to see if someone else saw it. Alas, no one else saw anything; they were all intently watching the movie. I turned to the window behind me and looked towards the door expecting someone to enter, but there was nothing but darkness. After mentioning the incident and finding that no one had witnessed the figure but me, I stepped outside to see if anyone else was about on The Hill, nothing else stirred. Perhaps this was the same sgi-li or booger that I’d heard before entering the building.

Just last week I’d headed out with a native friend to see the Thomas Divide Lights, we saw them and spent the time discussing many of the haunted places in Cherokee. When she dropped me off back on The Hill, we spent some time talking in the parking lot, directly in front of the Boys Dorm porch where I’d been poked. As we stood talking, I began seeing a dark shape move back and forth across the porch. This was all in my peripheral vision. When I looked directly towards the porch, there was nothing there. I began to wonder if I was seeing the frames of my glasses but I was not sure. I asked my companion if she was seeing anything. “You mean the thing on the porch?” she replied.


“Yep, there’s something up there. I keep seeing it out of the corner of my eye.” And she was not wearing glasses. Nothing else was stirring.

In the Village there seems to be a good deal of activity that’s being witnessed by employees, myself included. Just last week during my lunch break I decided to lie down and close my eyes on the porch just off the costume shop. Twice I heard the definite sounds of footsteps on the porch. Raising my head, the footsteps ceased. These were definite footsteps from a hard soled shoe on the deck. I was alone on the porch.

Within the Village I spend most of my time in one of the cabins. Interestingly, this seems to be the cabin that has been the subject of numerous stories. One afternoon while returning to the cabin with some firewood I glanced up to see a figure enter the cabin. Usually, it’s not uncommon to find tourists or other employees in or around my cabin when I return. I sped up my pace to greet the visitor, but arrived to find the cabin empty. (I detailed this experience with photographs here.)

The beds in the cabin are sometimes too inviting and I may nap when there’s no one around. While napping one afternoon I was awakened by the sound of a man’s voice speaking in Cherokee. Before opening my eyes, I imagined a small Cherokee man standing in the corner, though I could not understand what he was saying. I raised my head and no one was in the cabin. Getting up, I looked outside and even looked behind the cabin and no one was around. Nearby, nothing else stirred.
The entrance to the Oconaluftee Indian Village. The box office
in under the round sign on the right and the gift shop is located
on the left side. I saw a figure walking between these two sections.
Photo September 2012 by Lewis O. Powell IV, all rights reserved.
My parents came up for a visit about a week before the drama ended. We saw the show together and I walked them to their car afterwards. They had parked in front of the Village visitor’s center and as we approached I saw a shadowy form move under the breezeway between the gift shop and the box office, an area that is not well lit. The figure passed behind a column and I fully expected to see someone emerge into the light on the opposite side of the column. No one did. My parents saw nothing, but I walked over to see if someone was walking around. Not a soul was there.   

A native friend suggested that perhaps I may have become more sensitive as I have spent more time in the mountains. Or perhaps all of this is simply the product of an over-eager imagination. All I can say is that these things happened and I have no immediate explanation for them. Perhaps the spirits really are getting personal.