DC Like a Local

Horror movie buffs will probably recognize the title line as that uttered by a Roman Catholic priest when performing an exorcism, or more precisely, from the eponymous movie (and book) of the 1970's.

Initially reported in the Washington Post and picked up by newspapers from around the country, the story of the 14 year old Mt Rainier boy who had successfully received an exorcism in the 1949 was a local legend for some time. An excellently researched full description of that incident is available here, but suffice it to say that a young boy, incorrectly reported to be living in Mt. Rainier, Md, on the outskirts of DC, was taken to the local Catholic parish for assistance. While details are contested, it seems that the Catholic Church did perform an exorcism for him, both here in DC and in St. Louis. A diary kept by one of the priests chronicling their struggle has been bandied about, or at least a few versions of it, and it makes for hair-raising reading. Much of it is chilling, but one particular bit leapt out at me:

(the boy) was transported back to Maryland for a short-lived visit and on one of the the train rides he became maniacal, striking Father Bowdern in the testicles and yelling, "That's a nutcracker for you, isn't it?"

Sorry, couldn't resisit that glimpse of the devil in action.

Father Bowdern recovered by all accounts, the mysterious boy as well, and the story died down and was largely forgotten, except for a young English major at Georgetown University at the time. William Peter Blatty was twenty years old when he heard the story, and would, twenty years later, write the novel and even produce the movie that brought the 1949 incident back to life. By all accounts, The Exocist is purely a work of fiction, and any connections to actual events are loose, but the story has been woven into the fabric of Georgetown ever since, helped in no small part by generations of college students who keep the legend alive.

Best known, of course, are the famed "Exorcist Steps", shown here. A popular stop in any college freshman's initial tour of the city, they have served to help many a young man to bring an evening to a successful conclusion by exploring the "haunted steps" with a date. At the risk of being a spoiler, I should warn you young ladies: the steps have had no reported ghosts, and were simply used in the movie for their undeniably spooky nature.

A bit of the original story did happen in Georgetown, though. The initial exorcism reportedly took place at Georgetown University Hospital, which is of course still there. While here, the possessed boy was supposed to have ripped part of the bed off and used it to attack the parish priest performing the ritual. I feel that I can attest that some portion of the demonic spirit still resides there. Both of my daughters were born at Georgetown and, from time to time, I sense that elements of the spirit remained with them. Screaming uncontrollably? Check. Spitting? Check. Striking testicles and laughing? Check. Strange utterances in Latin? Not yet.

Which isn't to say that we haven't had exorcisms in Washington, DC. Besides the 1949 incident, which, whatever the real state of the lad in question, was regarded as a real exorcism by the Catholic Church, another incident took place a bit earlier. In September of 1907, the Evening Star reported that "a fine old home" on the corner of 11th and D St, NW, had been having a misunderstanding with the spirit world. The owner had been having difficulty keeping tenants, what with the hauntings and all. He walked around the corner to St. Patrick's Church, which is still thriving on 10th Street today, and pressed two priests into service.

The priests were somewhat reluctant, but were eventually swayed by the persistence of the owner. At 11 pm, Father Boyle and his assistant arrived at the house and got to work. Working through the night, the priests chased the demon from room to room. Never visible, it made itself known through moaning and wailing that moved constantly. Finally, events reached a crescendo when the unknown spirit shook the house with winds "of gale force", scattering furniture, and forcing the priests from the house.

Father Boyle, undoubtedly wise in the ways of the spirits, understood that an exorcism is a process and not an event, and offered to return the next day and finish the job. However, at this point, the owner felt that if men of God were driven out, what chance had he, so he simply choose to raze the building and start anew. I imagine it didn't hurt that the house was on a quite valuable downtown lot.

Incidentaly, this corner no longer exists. D St was ended at 9th when the architecturally challenged FBI Headquarters was built many years ago. Near as I can tell, the house stood roughly where the Bank of America ATM is now, on the north side of the 1000 block of Pennsylvania Avenue. Which explains why it ate my card so many years ago.

After some time collecting stories of ghosts and hauntings in Washington, DC, a few themes start to jump out. Abandoned buildings will inevitably become haunted, often to the point where it becomes difficult to ascertain what happed first, the ghost or the owners moving out. For every good, solid, meaty story where the ghost does something tangible, there's at least a dozen "mysterious thumps in the night". Either ghosts were more active in the late 1800's and early 1900's, or newspapers were simply more amenable to reporting them, often as fact.

But I'm starting to notice that the tale of Washington ghosts overlaps quite heavily with the tales of Naval ghosts. It's entirely possible that as a former Naval Officer myself, I simply take not of them disproportionly. I mean, I love a good sea story as much as a good ghost story, so it's entirely possible that combining the two catches my eye.

Even considering this, I was surprised at how many ghosts in DC have a Navy or Marine Corps connection. In fact, we joked while developing the Capitol Hill loop of our tour that the problem was not finding stories, but finding stories where it wasn't a Marine doing the haunting. Which really shouldn't have caught us by surprise. Until relatively recently, the Navy Yard and it's associated Marine Barracks were the largest employers in town and Capitol Hill, especially the portion south of Pennsylvania Ave, was very much a Navy Town.

But even throughout the city, we stumble across ghosts associated with the sea services with astonishing regularity. The much haunted Halcyon House in Georgetown was built by the first Secretary of the Navy, Benjamin Stoddert. In yesterday's Vampire Story, the Brentwood Mansion was owned by a succession of Naval Officers, presumably when the vampire stalked the grounds. And in 1890, then Secretary of the Navy Benjamin Tracy refused to take head of warnings of a ghost in the house he purchased on Farragut Square not far from the White House. Sadly, the house caught fire and his wife, daughter, and maid were killed in the conflagration, which local lore says liberated the restless ghost.

Being a fan of the limited but fascinating Washington, DC Naval ghost genre, the natural place to search for ghosts is, of course, the Washington Navy Yard in southeast DC. Searchers need not be disappointed, either; it is well haunted. I particularly enjoy the tale of Capt. Thomas Tingey, the first Superintendent of the Navy Yard, who had the distinction of building it twice, the second time being after he ordered it burnt to deny it to the British in 1814. Commodore Tingey remains on watch at the Navy Yard, keeping a eye on things. In addition to his protective spirit assisting at Quarters A, originally his home and now the residence of the Chief of Naval Operations, he has been sighted late at night, inspecting the Yard. He wears the period fore and aft hat, familiar to any fan of pirate movies, and carries a spyglass. His authority is further confirmed by the sword belted to his waist, but somewhat dimmed in that it is belted over his nightshirt.

Fellow fans might enjoy Eric Mills new work, The Spectral Tide: True Ghost Stories of the U.S. Navy, which is an excellent collection of tales, well written and thoroughly researched, two traits often missing in the world of ghost stories. It highlights, among it's many stories, several of the ones listed above, including a great description of the Tracy House fire. I'l leave it to Mr. Mills to tell that one.

Ghosts in Navy Blue

It's fair to say that many, if not in fact most, buildings older than, say, a hundred years old have their share of peculiar happenings and are perhaps even haunted. It's also not terribly difficult to find reference to ghosts in the District of Columbia, especially in the older neighborhoods. But a vampire? Now, that takes some doing.

I'm pleased to report that I have found at least one vampire in Washington, DC, and that despite their kind's known aversion to publicity and the harsh glare of, well, anything, our vampire has made it into the historical record at least once. A Washington Post article from the 1920's goes into some detail about the story and I share it with you in the hopes that, with Halloween fast approaching, we can remain on guard and armed with knowledge against the undead.

There's little reason a tourist would find themselves in the section of town we discuss here today, but some of my local readers might want to keep their garlic handy as they walk down Florida Avenue near Gallaudet University, in Northeast Washington. Florida was once known as Boundary Avenue, as it was the dividing line between the City of Washington and the rest of the District of Columbia. That distinction has long since disappeared, but at the start of the nineteenth century, farms and empty space prevailed here. Just over Boundary, supposedly on the site of Cogswell Hall (itself haunted), was the mansion of Robert Brent, first mayor of Washington, DC. He left it to his daughter, Eleanor Pearson, and it remained in the family (more or less) until it finally burned in 1917, after a long period of decay.

At some point, in it's heyday in post-Civil War Washington, a young lady of the Pearson family was found dead with the requisite two puncture marks in the death. Whether this was inflicted by a stranger, or she had been having an affair with a dark-haired European prince as some allege, is unknown. As a side note, much of DC's social history in the Gilded Age concerns young, well to do, fashionable ladies falling in love with European "royalty", often with less than optimal results.

Anyway, the young lady was laid to rest in the Brent family vault and that's when the fun started. Remember, this area of town was largely rural at this time, in many ways a small hamlet in the woods in close proximity to the Captiol. Initially, a white-robed figure was seen to roam the area, but little attention was paid until a groom at the nearby stables turned up dead, with two puncture marks in his neck. The servants warned that this was the mark of the undead, and the local residents confirmed this when one night, the figure of Vampiress was again seen leaving the burial vault.

Once day returned, the vault was investigated, and the locals were horrified at what they found. The coffin had been remeved from it's recent resting place and the still freh flowers were distrubed. But most dismaying, the body of the young lady lay with rosy cheeks and "lips a bright red." Worse yet, the watchers "discovered the front teeth were as long and sharp as the teeth of a wolf."

The remains were re-interred, and quiet resumed in the sleepy hamlet. The locals slowly moved on, until one evening several months later a passerby came upon the vision of the young woman, who turned towards him and gave a terrible laugh. The man reported that "he caught the foul odor of the charnel house and saw the gleam of hell fire in the eyes of the thing that came forth from the dead to the eerie sound as of whispering among the dead, holding communion with the dead." The man was dead within a week of this report.

Shortly after this, the last resident, Eliza W. Patterson, fell on hard times and the house began it's drift downwards. The mansion, and it's associated vault, fell into disrepair and remained an object of fear to all who live around there. Eventually, the land was subdivided and sold off, and this portion was purchased for Galludet University, the nation's first school for the deaf. It's a beautiful campus, and nothing remains of the dark events of a hundred and thirty years ago. Still wouldn't wander alone under a full moon though...

The Vampire of Brentwood

Often, as we explore DC's history in our pursuit of the spirit world, our tales peter out with "the house was destroyed, and the ghost was never heard from again". This is unfortunately all too common, as great swaths of our history have been bulldozed, only to be replaced by monolithic chunks of buildings that no self respecting ghost would deign to haunt.courtesy of Library of Congress

But from time to time we find that the act of destruction itself seems to release the spirits of the past. And so it was in Dupont Circle, where in 1902, the Washington Post noted an unusual phenomenon on the site where "Stewart's Castle" had recently been torn down.

The Castle had been built as Nevada Senator William Morris Stewart's residence in DC by renowned local architect Adulf Cluss. It was among the first of many grand buildings in the wave of construction following the Civil War that transformed Dupont Circle from the dusty outskirts of the city to a thriving high class neighborhood. After a devastating fire in 1879, the house was leased to the Chinese Legation from 1886 to 1893.

Then, in 1899, this crazy-eyed bastard, Sen. William Clark of Montana, purchased the Castle. Somehow, it wasn't quite grand enough for him, and he razed it in 1901 to build something larger. Financing ran thin, as he worked things out, the lot sat vacant.

Which is where our story begins. One summer evening in 1902, a Mr. S. L. Lwehg was walking home to Georgetown, and it being a particularly warm night, decided to stop and rest on a nearby park bench. While there, he noticed the erratic movements of a man dressed in Chinese garments walking upon the newly razed site of Stewart's Castle. At first, it seemed he might be looking for something, but the man simply seemed to be wandering about the site. Finally, as Mr. Lwegh watched, the man vanished completely. Following this sighting, others noticed the spirit, who "at first seems only one of the picturesque figures to be seen in the vicinity of the Chinese legation". However, upon further inspection, "in the glare of the electric light, the flowing sleeves of his dark red jacket appear very filmy, and the gown of light blue looks like mist." What's more, his "feet make no sound as the ghostly saddles pass along the walks."

The Post, being a reputable newspaper, did some investigating and found that when the Castle had been the Chinese Legation, it had been no stranger to dire events:

courtesy of Library of Congress

"It was said that early one morning a passerby was surprised and horrified to see the body of a dead Chinaman hanging over the windowsill in one of the upper rooms. A long black cord tightly twisted and knotted showed the manner in which he had met his death. As the legation building was under international law, as much a part of China as the Celestial empire itself, the authorities of the United States could not trespass in order to learn the cause of the man's death and punish those responsible for it, if punishment was due."

So was the dead attache, haunted with his own ghosts or perhaps searching for those who had sent him onward, the same "Ghost of the Chinaman", as the Post somewhat offensively named the article? The ghost's final action is telling: before he vanishes, he attempts "to loosen the long black cord that is tightly twisted and knotted about his neck."

Perhaps because of the ghost, or more likely Sen. Clark simply lost interest in being a Senator and living in DC, the land remained undeveloped until 1923, when Riggs Bank (now PNC) built their branch on Dupont Circle it feeds into Massachusetts Avenue to the Northwest. So next time you go to the ATM, see if you can spot a lost soul from the Celestial Kingdom.

Ghost of a Chinaman

As Halloween approaches, I thought we'd spend a little time sharing some of the haunted happenings of the Nation's Capital. In keeping with DC Like a Locals goals, we're going to depart from the standard Demon Cat of the Capitol and Abe Lincoln at the White House tales that seem to be the standard diet of ghost stories around here. We're going to branch out a little and share a little about our lesser known neighborhood ghosts we've found researching our Ghost Tours. A few of these are on the various tours; most were simply just great tales where the ghost was discourteous enough to not haunt a site close to our route. As they are too good to go untold, we'll share them with you here.

We're always looking for new scary stories of DC, so if you have any, please share them with us at comments@dclikealocal.com.

For the first of our ghostly tales, we'll take up a story from The Hill is Home, written by my good friend and ghost tour partner, Robert Pohl: The Phantom Cyclist.

It was a late night in 1892. A Washington Post reporter was taking the street car down B Street (Now Independence Ave) past the Capitol. The street car turned north onto 1^st St. SW and was proceeding towards the Garfield Statue when the gripman threw on the brakes and brought the car to a shuddering halt. “Quick, John, I’ve run over a bicyclist sure this time!” cried the gripman, and he and the conductor disappeared under the front of the car, where the bicycle and its rider were presumed to have ended up.

There was, however, nothing to see. The two trainmen searched under the rest of the car, and came up empty. Finally, certain that no one had been struck, they continued on their way.

The Post reporter smelled a story and asked the gripman for more details as they continued up 1^st and turned onto Pennsylvania Avenue for the long run to Georgetown. “Strange.” said the gripman “I would take my oath that I run down a cyclist then. I saw him plain as day come darting at full speed down Capitol Hill, and I caught him just as he left the shadow of the bushes.”

As they continued the trip, the reporter drew out the gripman some more. “This is the fourth time I have been taken this way, and each time it has happened at that same spot., where the Capitol Hill driveway emerges into First street, near the circle. […] I am haunted by a cyclist, and if you like I’ll tell you why I, more than all the other gripmen, should be thus cursed.”

It turned out that the gripman, while operating one of the horse cars-which were DC’s public transportation option before cable-drawn street cars became the norm-had had a bicyclist ride into the front of his carriage, separating it from the horses which were pulling it. The cyclist had been run over by the carriage and died shortly thereafter. And now his ghost was exacting revenge on the driver by repeatedly appearing to come to the same end. The only difference was that the original cyclist had been riding a penny-farthing bicycle (with his legs draped over the handle bars, no less) and his ghost had chosen a more modern conveyance.

Presumably with the retirement of the gripman, so too has the ghost retired. There have been no further incidents of ghostly cyclists careening down Capitol Hill.

 

The Phantom Cyclist