VVitch-Finder General

In keeping with our witchcraft theme (why not? It’s Tuesday) Meanwhile, back in 17th Century England…the year was 1644. While their Civil War raged, the English government found time to create a high-ranking position for the task of ridding the country of its dark arts. This man’s title? The Witch-Finder General, of course.

In his new-found position, Mr. Matthew Hopkins was hard at work putting a lot of innocent people to death. For a hefty fee, he elicited as many “confessions” as possible. One of his favorite methods of torture was called “swimming the witch.” It was used to determine the guilt or innocence of the accused. It worked like this: the defendant’s limbs were bound tightly with rope. He or she was then lowered into a pond. If innocent, they would sink, drown, + subsequently go to heaven. If guilty, they would float. 

Another favorite, “waking the witch” involved 24 hour supervision. The accused would be deprived of sleep by constantly walking them back + forth across the length of their cell for two or three days without interruption. The accused would confess to anything by the end. It is estimated that more than 230 people were killed under Matthew Hopkins’ watch.

So, where did this witch hysteria come from in the first place? It’s a long + sordid history, but I’ll keep it brief. Way back in the 1480’s Pope Innocent VIII hears rumblings that some satanists are practicing in Germany, that demons are on the rise there. He asks two friars to investigate. They eventually publish a definitive work on witchcraft called, “Malleus Maleficarum” or, “Hammer of Witches.” The book, backed by the Church, makes it known to Christians that it is their responsibility to rid the world of witches–they take their responsibilities very seriously. Over the next 200 years it is estimated that tens of thousands of people were executed as witches across Europe.

Witchcraft came to England when King James was engaged to Princess Anne of Denmark in 1591. While on their way TO their wedding + BACK James + Anne’s ships were caught in terrible storms, which were blamed on witchcraft. This probably would have faded away, except that when the couple arrived in Denmark, six women confessed that they had created the storms to stop the wedding.

King James took this very personally + seriously. Eventually, witchcraft + the fear of it made its way across the Atlantic in the minds of those arriving in the new world. As expected, it then flourished within the English colonies.

VVitches

 

 

Oh, now who doesn’t love a good vvitch story on a Monday? As this is October 17th, I would like to share with you the tale of how all of those, “…wicked and detestable arts, commonly called witchcraft and sorcery…” made there way across the pond, not only to New England, but to Olde New Yorke.

The most famous + well documented witch trials are of course those that took place in Salem, MA in 1692. A little-known outbreak of hysteria landed where it often does today, in The Hamptons–except this was way back in 1658. This case takes place in Easthampton (yes, in the 17th Century it was all one word.)

Town records show that Elizabeth Gardiner Howell, aged 16, a young mother from a prominent family fell violently ill. Writhing in pain, shrieking endlessly + hallucinating, it seemed there was nothing for her. In the midst of her fits she bolted upright + pointed to the foot of her bed saying, “A witch, a witch! Now you are come to torture me because I spoke two or three words against you!” She told her father that a dark figure standing at the foot of her bed tormented her. She identified one Elizabeth Garlick as the witch + the cause of her suffering. The following day, Elizabeth Gardiner Howell died. The town formed a panel to investigate Howell’s claims. Witchcraft was serious business in 1658. Under British law it was punishable by death.

At the time, the town was riddled with petty disputes that tended to turn ugly. People were constantly at each other + taking matters to court. It was a truly bitter atmosphere. Add to that a deep + abiding belief that the devil was out to get you + your neighbor probably sent their cat to kill your cow in cold blood + by means of magic + you’ve got a recipe for disaster.

Enter John Winthrop, Jr. A new face in town who also happened to become Sheriff. Winthrop was well-respected. His father had helped to establish the Massachusetts Bay colony. He tended to think rationally about cause + effect. He was an enlightened man who saw that Garlick was a little difficult to get along with. She wasn’t nice. She didn’t always do what was “expected” of her. She ruffled a lot of feathers. Resentment built up, time passed, some livestock died, a baby got sick after she held it and boom, you’ve got yourself a witch. In the end, Garlick was found not guilty of witchcraft. Winthrop asked the townspeople to try + live by the golden rule…and magically, they DID. No further accusations of witchcraft were reported out of Easthampton after his ruling.

Now, isn’t that a refreshing change?

Really?

I’m not saying that there are. And I’m not saying that there aren’t. One of those enduring questions that arises when discussing ghosts, hauntings + other wonderful things is:

If ghosts exist, how come we never hear stories about dinosaur ghosts?

They’ve ruled the planet for 228 million years (yes, they’re still here. Birds of today are considered a type of dinosaur because they have an ancestor in common with the OLD dinosaurs. However, all dinosaurs that didn’t fly are extinct.)

So, is there a great beyond for our super-sized friends? (seriously, the largest of them weighed about 80 tons.)

The internet has a lot to say about this.

There’s the theory that they’ve been dead so long that they are entirely at peace with themselves and we can no longer perceive them. According to the ghost community, their spirits are magnetic + so we wouldn’t be aware of anything that passed on before the last of Earth’s pole reversals. Some also say that dinosaurs have no souls because animals have no souls + then the dog + cat people get mad + then vegetarians come in about cows, fish + chickens.

People get really riled up about this. Buzzfeed says their ghosts only appear to Steven Spielberg.

Honestly, if they have to get riled up about something online, if there’s any trolling at all, I’m happy to be reading about Dinosaur ghosts instead of politics for the time being. Whether dinosaurs would have been Democrats or Republicans is an entirely different thread on Reddit.

Spirits at 1600

We’ve all managed to live through the second Presidential Debate. To celebrate, let’s take a field trip to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. As this is October 12th, I would like to share with you the many ghost stories of America’s most famous haunted mansion, The White House.

There are several spirits who regularly visit The Executive Mansion. Fourteen of them have been officially profiled by The White House Historical Association. The most famous of these is, of course, our 16th President, The Great Emancipator himself, Abraham Lincoln. 

Sightings of him are numerous. My favorite of these involves Winston Churchill. The story goes that Churchill was given The Lincoln Bedroom as his sleeping quarters on one state visit in the 1940’s. He did not care for the room. One evening, he emerged from his bath naked + walked into the adjoining room to find Lincoln’s ghost leaning against the fireplace mantle. Much to Churchill’s embarrassment, Lincoln + Churchill looked each other in the eye before Lincoln promptly disappeared. In 1942, Queen Wilhelmina of The Netherlands, awakened in the middle of the night by a knock at her door, arose to answer it. When she opened the door, she was met with old Abe’s ghost. She fainted on the spot. (SIDENOTE: The room that is today known as The Lincoln Bedroom was actually a meeting room during his administration. Though there have been additional sightings that describe him lying in the bed or pulling on his boots.)

The cast of those passed also includes William Henry Harrison, our 9th President + the first to die in The White House. Apparently he is very fond of the attic. Abigail Adams, our country’s second First Lady, chose to hang her clothes to dry in The East Room. The White House was built in part over a swamp. In 1800, when The Adams family moved to The White House, the driest, warmest room in the house was The East Room. Staff have reported seeing her walking into the room as if carrying laundry, along with the sudden, strong scent of lavender, a favorite of Mrs. Adams.

There’s also Andrew Jackson’s thunderous laugh heard every now + then, Thomas Jefferson’s ghost enjoys playing violin in The Yellow Oval Room, John Tyler is very fond of The Blue Room. Perhaps the most Halloweenish of all the ghosts of Pennsylvania Avenue is nameless. President Taft’s staff referred to its presence as, “The Thing.” In fact, in 1911, Taft’s Military Aide, Major Archibald Butt wrote to his sister Clara, “The ghost, it seems, is a young boy about fourteen or fifteen years old . . . They say that the first knowledge one has of the presence of the Thing is a slight pressure on the shoulder, as if someone were leaning over your shoulder to see what you might be doing. Taft told the staff that anyone caught telling tales of “The Thing” would be fired.

Who knows who may be haunting The White House next?

Beau James + The Trouble on Gay Street

If it ain’t “Beau James,” New York City’s Jazz Age Mayor, Jimmy Walker–in trouble with then Governor Franklin Delano Roosevelt over the “Dirty Frame-ups” of several women about town charged unlawfully with prostitution. Walker was always with his mistress, Ms. Betty Compton, Ziegfeld Girl extraordinaire, roaring through Manhattan. Tammany was hot, bathtub gin was cold + corruption ruled the day.

Some say that Walker still roams the 1827 townhouse at number 12 Gay Street in the West Village that he bought for Ms. Compton. Known as The Pirate’s Den, Walker acquired the former speakeasy as a “second home.” An entity has been seen there many times over the years. Those who know the block have nicknamed the entity, The Gay Street Phantom. A tall gentleman in tails + a top hat. The figure always seems to smile just before he disappears. In life, Walker had many things to hide.

Did I mention the dead woman in Van Cortlandt Park?

It was the beginning of the end for Walker when Vivian Gordon was murdered in February of 1931. The headline of every newspaper around, it caused a fine-tooth comb to be taken to city police practices + to Walker’s administration. The Seabury Commission, empowered by FDR to look into city corruption, ultimately led to Walker’s downfall. FDR was looking to show his leadership skills + secure the Democratic Presidential Nomination in 1932 without losing support from some Tammany bigwigs + The Seabury Commission led the way.

Vivian Gordon was no girl scout. She was known as “a woman of acquaintances.” A big time madame In the business of blackmailing wealthy men–gangsters among them. It isn’t a big jump to figure out how she met her end.

Here’s how it went: to gain custody of their daughter, Gordon’s ex-husband had her picked up for prostitution. Vivian Gordon wanted revenge. She vowed to take down everyone she knew about to get her daughter returned to her.

Five days before her death, she testified to The Seabury Commission that it was common practice for officials to fabricate prostitution charges for women in order to line their own pockets. (There were Sheriffs making $8,500 a year who found themselves with a half million dollars in their bank accounts., while the Mayor’s office looked the other way.) The public learned Ms. Gordon + her lawyer were more than good friends. That was bad for business. He put a hit on her + there you have it. After her death, police found hundreds of names in her diaries. Men who owed her money, along with men she feared. Two thugs were charged with her murder. They came up not guilty: one was sitting shiva while the other was at the movies. Solid alibi’s.

The more the Seabury Commission saw, the more the finger pointed to his honor, the Mayor. Not for murder, but for laziness. He had a habit of taking bribes + a general lack of concern for affairs while the city went to pot. Jimmy Walker resigned under pressure from The Seabury Commission.

History was made + the Phantom still roams the halls at 12 Gay Street.

Victorian Figure Skating Ghost Sisters

Meet Janet + Rosetta Van Der Voort. Two wealthy sisters who lived on Central Park South in the mid-to-late 19th Century. Their over-protective father would not allow them to go hardly anywhere without a chaperone–except for what was then a pond at the Southeastern corner of Central Park near 59th Street. The pair were regulars in their skating costumes–bustled–one in a red dress, the other in purple, gliding gracefully across the icy pond, rosy-cheeked in the bitter winter cold.

The two sisters grew old + died within weeks of each other in 1880. Legend has it that dozens of sightings of the pair have been reported over the last century, both in summer + winter months–at what is today Wollman Rink, which was built in 1949. (Shhh…don’t tell the Van Der Voort sisters.)

The Manhattan Well Murder Revisited

 

Well, the times they are a-changin’.
What was once Lispenard’s Meadow, + then the basement of 129 Spring Street…is still the basement of 129 Spring Street, but is now a clothing store.

Here’s one from the archives: On the evening of December 22, 1799 Ms.Gulielma Elmore Sands of Greenwich Street went missing. Her body was later discovered strangled at the bottom of a well in Lispenard’s Meadow, which today is the basement of 129 Spring Street in Soho. The well, pictured here, was rediscovered by the building’s owners + excavated in 1980.

Ms. Sands left her home late that December evening to meet with Mr. Levi Weeks, a boarder in her family’s boarding house with whom she had a secret romance. According to Sands’ cousin, the two had planned to elope that night.

As word of the killing spread, “The Manhattan Well Murder,” caused a sensation, with the press contending that Sands was pregnant + that Weeks had murdered her. Sands’ grieving family was so incensed that they publicly displayed her corpse outside their boarding house to stir public outrage.

It became the trial of the century. Thanks to prominent family connections, Weeks’ defense team was lead by none other than Aaron Burr + Alexander Hamilton. (Just four years later then-Vice-President-Burr would kill former-Secretary-of-the-Treasury Hamilton. But, back to THIS murder.)

It was the first trial in US history to be recorded in full by a court stenographer. After three days of testimony, + literally five minutes of deliberation, Weeks was acquitted. He was, however, forced to leave the city as the public remained unconvinced of his innocence.

Weeks died in 1819 in Natchez, Mississippi, a married father of four.

Former building owners + workers claim to have felt a ghostly presence in the building’s basement. The Murder of Gulielma Sands remains unsolved to this day.

Gertrude Tredwell’s Time Capsule

As this is October 6th, I would like to share with you the story of Gertrude Tredwell, who is as dedicated a daughter in death as she was in life.

Gertrude was born in 1840, the youngest of eight children of Seabury + Eliza Tredwell. Her siblings included: Elizabeth, Horace, Mary Adelaide, Samuel, Phebe, Julia, + Sarah.

Seabury Tredwell was a wealthy hardware merchant. In the 1830’s, his offices + his family were located near Manhattan’s South Street Seaport: a dirty, busy, loud + congested area. Those who could afford to do so moved their families north. If you can believe it, E. 4th Street was about as far north as you could get back in 1835 when Tredwell purchased the Federal style townhouse at number 29. The neighborhood, then known as “The Bond Street Area” was well-heeled + prestigious.

Following the end of The Civil War in 1865, the area began to change. It became more industrial. All of the houses on the block were demolished to make way for commercial spaces or converted to boarding houses. The Bowery, a rough + tumble place even then, loomed large. The Tredwell house, on the other hand, remained unchanged because of Gertrude’s steadfast dedication to keeping things exactly as they had been while her father was alive.

Today, the house has become The Merchant’s Museum. What is striking to most visitors is an undeniable sense of daily life in 19th Century New York, “…it’s as if the Tredwells have just gone out shopping…and they’ll be right back.” The house itself has remained completely unchanged since its construction in 1832. It is not a restoration. All of the items in the house actually belonged to + were used by the family. Everything from the furnishings, artwork + decorations–right down to the dishware, is kept today just as it has always been.

Gertrude Tredwell was born in an upstairs bedroom in the house + died in that same room in 1933 at the age of 93. She never married. (The story goes that Seabury Tredwell did not approve of her beau as a young woman.) Spending all of her 93 years in that same house, many say that she still resides there.

Her presence takes many forms. She sometimes appears as a young woman, though most encounters are with her elderly self. She is most often seen walking the staircase leading to the second floor. Visitors report that she stays within view of the front door, curious about her guests. Walking past the house after hours, some have reported hearing lovely piano music coming from inside, though the Tredwell’s late 1840’s piano has been in disrepair for decades. Gertrude is apparently very attached to her tea cups. They have been known to travel from the kitchen to the oddest places…

If you’re in the neighborhood + looking for some Halloween fun, the museum hosts several events in October. it’s definitely worth a visit: http://merchantshouse.org/october2016/

The House With The Hoodoo

As this is October 5th, I would like to share with you, the strange story of “The House With a Hoodoo.” As reported in The Brooklyn Daily Eagle, this spooky dwelling was a hot topic in the Summer of 1890. The house sat on the South side of Front Street in Hempstead, Long Island. (Why are these houses always in Long Island?)

It was built in 1844 by Mr. Canan Doolan. A man of great reputation + integrity, the house was a solid one with cellar walls two feet thick + laths that were cut by hand. Its lot was a pleasant one, with apple trees + a babbling brook in the backyard. With such a solid foundation + built out of such good intentions, it’s difficult to imagine where this Hoodoo began.

Well, let’s start with Valentine Doolan. After his parents died, he moved into the house. It was shortly after that when people began to talk. He had become “queer,” they said. Miserly. Wearing his clothes until they were absolutely threadbare before he would consider buying anything new. He had developed a taste for eating tropical fruit in Winter. Watermelon in January? He was out there, they said.

Then, in 1884, after he was made to pay the sum of $50 to a tenant in another of his buildings, when a lease fell through, Valentine Doolan took a turn. He became distraught. Weeping + exhausted by having to pay this sum, he took to bed. Relatives came to watch over him. Then, at midnight one evening, while his relatives slept, “[He] walked out of his back door…proceeded to the rear of his lot among the clump of trees, and there and then, with malice aforethought, stuck his face in a foot-depth of water and drowned.”

Before he died, he confided in a relative that he had hidden money throughout the house. Relatives found at least $20,000 in cash + holdings in the home. Adjusted for inflation, that’s about $500,000 today. So many “relatives” showed up to claim their due, that after all of the lawsuits were settled, each was paid exactly $1.54.

The hoodoo didn’t stop there.

The house sat empty for two years, No one dared step foot over the threshold for fear the place was haunted. Enter Alfred Weeks. A family man with a wife + six children. Hard times had come to Hampstead + it became difficult to make ends meet. Weeks walked to the rear of the lot, among the clump of trees…

Official cause of death was ruled “a heart attack…as a result of accidental discharge of a gun while in his hands.” Shortly thereafter, his daughter, young Sadie Weeks, contracted diphtheria + died. Mrs. Weeks promptly moved her family out of the house.

That’s when John Griscom + his family came to Front Street. Griscom, an inventor, invested $50,000 in creating an incubator that didn’t work very well at all. He drove to his New York office, turned on the gas in a drop light tube…

There are others whom the townsfolk say also met misfortune in that house, “One after the other of the occupants of the house have become the victims of accident, disease, insanity or of the suicidal mania. Avarice, eccentricity, sadness, disappointment have had full sway under the weather-beaten shingles. The shadow of the house seems never to have fallen upon anyone but to leave some of its blackness behind.”

I haven’t looked to see in the house on Front Street in Hempstead is still there.

The Ear Inn

As this is October 3rd, I would like to share with you the story of one of my favorite haunts, The Ear Inn. This beautiful Federal Townhouse-now-Bar was built in 1770, though it did not become a drinking establishment until 1817. It sits at 326 Spring Street in Soho–it once sat only feet away from The shoreline of the Hudson River. (In 1825, that part of the city was filled in, and the riverfront relocated to about a block + a half away.)

Some still refer to the place as The James Brown House. It was built by Mr. James Brown, an African American Revolutionary War Hero + former aide to George Washington. (SIDENOTE: it is widely claimed that Mr. Brown is shown accompanying Washington on his fateful crossing of the Delaware, as depicted by Emmanuel Leutze in his famous portrait.)

Following the war, Mr. Brown owned + ran a very successful tobacco farm. He opened the ground floor of his home as his tobacco shop. Following Mr. Brown’s death, the property has seen many incarnations: it was used as a brothel, a prohibition- era speakeasy, a rooming house + of course, a bar. In the 1930’s it had no name. Having a green front door + no sign, it became known as “The Green Door.”

The building’s original nearness to the water made it a favorite for longshoremen…and the ever-present spirit of a sailor named Mickey. Legend has it that Mickey, a regular, was hit by a car one night in front of the bar…and hasn’t left since. He has been known to have penchant for the ladies…goosing waitresses, having a nap in the upstairs apartment, + even stealing a swig or two from unsuspecting patrons, according to a current owner, Martin Sheridan.”It’s not a tale, It’s a fact. Although lately it’s been people who notice a little too much of their drink missing. They look around and start accusing their friends.”

Incidentally, the word BAR on the sign was changed to EAR with a little paint in the ‘70’s. As an historic landmark, the DIY change of name kept the paperwork away. Stop by for a round if you’re in the neighborhood. You just may run into old Mickey.