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When it comes to haunted
experiences, there are two camps: those who believe
and those who don’t. I fall into the crack of the
reluctantly converted, thanks to my friend Shawn who
adores the idea of spirits, and last year bought an
electromagnetic ghost sensor. But even before this she
dragged me to Humboldt Park on a Saturday afternoon,
whipped out a Ouija board, lit a candle and began to
call on the spirits. Part of me wanted to laugh while
my other side was wallowing in fright. I stick to my
story, however, that we saw a ghost scamper away as we
packed up the supplies: a male figure in overalls and
suspenders skirting through the park, which had
previously been empty.
In The Wisconsin Road Guide to Haunted Places, authors
Chad Lewis and Terry Fisk, both paranormal
investigators and Eau Claire residents, document
haunted bars, campgrounds, bed & breakfasts,
schoolhouses, lighthouses, theaters and more around
the state. The ghost is usually there because a
persondeath was in that space, says Lewis, noting a
Milwaukee hotel where the ghost of one of Jeffrey
Dahmer’s victims reportedly roams.
“For me, a place is haunted when we keep getting a
variety of reports about things happening there,”
Lewis, who has also researched crop circles and UFOs,
tells me. “It’s haunted when people keep having
experiences.”
And, he says, it’s not always a visual encounter. More
often than not, sounds and temperature changes (an
unexplained hot or cold spot not coming from a furnace
or window draft) can mark a ghost. “Most of the time
it’s not visual. A lot of people who work in haunted
places will hear someone say their name [and/or] they
will hear voices even if they’re alone,” says Lewis.
Why do people believe ghosts haunt certain locations?
“A lot of people believe ghosts are there because they
loved the place after life. [Sometimes] people are
making [renovations] to their place and that disturbs
them,” says Lewis.
Whichever of the camps you ultimately fall in,
Halloween is a time for ghostly stories. In
celebration of the haunted, here are four places to
get your spook on.
The Rave/Eagles
Ballroom
Buddy Holly played his last gig on Jan. 23, 1959, at
what is now the Rave/Eagles Club (2401 W. Wisconsin
Ave., 342-7283) before flying to Clear Lake, Iowa, for
a scheduled show. Holly died when his plane crashed en
route. While no one knows for sure who is the reported
ghost haunting the basement’s swimming pool—many
musicians have reported hearing or seeing a
presence—it’s nice to imagine it could be Mr. Holly.
In fact, on the upper level is a memorial to him: a
pastel portrait, color photos and fliers from the
shows in Milwaukee and Iowa. Also, a Milwaukee
Sentinel review of his show—which is positive—is
included.
After chatting on the phone with the Rave’s Art
Director Rob Miller about the supposed ghost, I
dropped by on a weekday and he recruited another staff
person to take me into the pool room, which is always
kept locked. Before the ’80s, which is when the
1920s-era building began hosting rock concerts, the
building’s use was as an athletic club with a
gymnasium, bowling alley and basketball court.
“All the rock stars who have performed here have seen
a ghost.” I keep hearing Miller’s words in my head as
we unlock the room and step inside. And what are bands
like the Black Crowes and Gwar—both performing here
soon—going to think of this? A peek at the wall
outside the pool room reveals graffiti and scrawl
about ghosts in the pool room. It could be a farce or
the music world could be holding a great secret.
Inside the pool room, it is dark but I can still make
out high ceilings and a deep, dank empty pool painted
a light turquoise. No ghost, just lots of shadows and
us, trekking across the long room and being careful
not to trip on anything.
Miller is careful to say that no staff person has
reported a ghostly sighting. Which makes me wonder if
Mr. Holly really is stalking the new musical scene?
“The Rave is officially not speculating on that. As
far as we know, no rock stars have died here,” says
Miller.
Milwaukee School
of Massage
“I happen to believe in ghosts. I know a lot of people
think it is hokey. But I do.” So says Wanda Beals,
owner of Milwaukee School of Massage (830 E. Chambers
St., 263-1179). She laughs a little when I call to
inquire about the spirit that students joke about.
Since 1999 Beals has owned and managed the school.
Before that the brick building at the corner of
Fratney and Chambers was a neighborhood grocery store.
So it’s her guess that the ghost, whom she has fondly
named Julia, is the former owner.
For students in Beals’ massage-instruction classes,
Julia has become a common occurrence, and often serves
as an ice-breaker. When things began to fall off walls
in the southwest corner of the classroom and several
massage therapists said they felt uncomfortable in one
of the treatment rooms, Beals knew she had a ghost.
According to a vision she had, Julia is older and has
white hair.
“She’s really quite playful. Not at all scary. When
things get a little tense she is able to bring some
sense to the moment,” says Beals. “Maybe we’re doing a
topic that’s hard and people are getting a little
grumpy. She’s a wonderful break.”
It’s worth noting that Beals has given the school a
facelift, including the upstairs where devils’ faces
were painted on the walls. She and several others
painted over them, recognizing that the mood just
wasn’t conducive to providing massage treatments.
Shaker’s Cigar
Bar
Whether you’re at Shaker’s Cigar Bar (422 S. 2nd St.,
272-4222) for a cigar and scotch, or one of owner
Robert Weiss’ dinners (the next is Nov. 1 and will
feature food from Oaxaca, Mexico), don’t be surprised
if a shadow catches your eye, or an eerie presence is
felt. It’s happened to Weiss many times since opening
Shaker’s in 1986.
While getting ready for a Christmas-party event at
Shaker’s a few years ago he felt a tap on his
shoulder. Nobody was in the place. “I looked into the
mirror and my jacket is literally going up and down at
the shoulder,” he reports.
In the early ’90s two psychics stood in the center of
the bar and asked Weiss to feel the space encircled
between them, saying, “This is Elizabeth, a little
girl who resides in the ladies room.”
“As I reluctantly did so, I had the sensation of
reaching into a blast freezer,” Weiss wrote in a
description of the moment, which is available at the
bar.
Elizabeth has become so famous—and well liked—that the
Elizabeth’s Raspberry Martini is named after her. Her
presence is described as playful and fun. Weiss says
she will often startle the user of an occupied
restroom stall door by knocking, and a pair of
19th-century style shoes have been sighted under the
door. Strangely, a series of photos of a little
girl—perhaps Elizabeth?— hanging in the ladies room
have disappeared and returned a few times with no
explanation.
In addition to Elizabeth, who reportedly died in the
1850s by falling from an apple tree and breaking her
neck, Weiss tells me there are “malicious spirits” in
the basement, as well as others who roam the bar from
time to time. For example, often people claim to hear
the piano playing—and no one is sitting on the bench,
he says. Or, “Sometimes at night you’ll see a cloud in
the back room and it’s not caused by cigar smoke. And
it’s not unusual for glassware to fall off the
shelves,” he says. Several waiters and waitresses have
walked off their shifts when asked to get ice or beer
from the lower level, out of fear that the basement
could be haunted.
Reported to roam the place are spirits such as
Suspender Guy, who sits with his legs crossed smoking
a pipe; the Merchant Marine Captain, with sideburns
and a thick nautical-style peacoat, who likes to look
at reflections in the mirror and hang out near the
wine cooler; the Bouncer, a large brooding man on a
bar stool; and a Sicilian man who appears in a cloud
of smoke in the back of the bar. There is also the
Longshoreman, a very angry and malevolent man who
brings a cold feeling with him.
After some small talk I’ve decided I want to check out
the basement, where two men were reportedly killed
during Prohibition in the ’30s. A group of city
officials were having a meeting here and drinking—as
they usually did—when a fight got out of hand. Today
there’s a 7-foot by 3-foot line in the foundation and
no clear reason for it, leading many to believe a
murder victim was buried here.
Weiss hands me a flashlight (“So you’ll feel more
comfortable,” he says) and shows me the back
stairwell. A worker at the top, inside the door,
startles me, but we apologize and move on. Nervousness
has already set in. But, alas, I see nothing except a
creepy basement.
Weiss remains a firm believer that the Shaker’s
building—which was built in 1894, and was a former
wooden barrel producer for brewing—is haunted, and
that “Energy has to go somewhere. This is an old
building,” he says. “You can’t come here expecting to
see something. When you least expect it is when you
see something. The busier we are, the more inclined
they are to come out.”
Brumder Mansion
Carol Hirschi, owner of Brumder Mansion, a
Victorian-decorated bed-and-breakfast (3046 W.
Wisconsin Ave., 342-9767), has no fear about the
unexplained activity that has been rattling her house
and business since 1997, when she bought the place and
began renovating it to its current state. But the
first time she experienced a ghost she was not so
chipper. Sleeping in the Gold Room (one of the
mansion’s five suites) with her then-husband and her
blind dog, she awoke to an odd noise. A spirit she
later called Aunt Pussy—the name of the mansion’s
former owner George Brumder’s aunt—was speaking to
her.
“I got up in the middle of the night and had this
weird presence,” she says. The spirit told Hirschi to
get the dog out of the bed or she would do something
terrible to it.
“She does not like dogs. That’s just a real problem
for her. She would prefer they were not above the
first floor,” says Hirschi. Another thing that upsets
Aunt Pussy, she says, is Victorian décor; she prefers
simpler decorations. In fact, many of the sightings
began right after the renovations.
Another strange occurrence that Hirschi reports is the
frequent shifting of flatware on the dining room
table, which Hirschi would set out at night before
bed. In the morning the spoons would all be turned 90
degrees despite her setting them straight. And a
television set that would often make “popping noises,”
says Hirschi, worked fine when she gave it to a friend
for use in his home. (Believers claim that paranormal
activity can disrupt television reception.)
The Gold Room is where most of the sightings have
taken place. In that room, a visiting psychic had a
psychotic breakdown and an Indian medicine man in town
to perform a wedding, and staying at the mansion, felt
very uncomfortable, reports Hirschi.
Once owned by Brumder, a publisher of sheet music, the
mansion was later used as an upscale boarding house
owned by a Swedish woman, a lodge for war workers
during the 1940s, a church parsonage and an activity
center.
In early October a local group of paranormal
enthusiasts and investigators scouted out the mansion
and found activity. According to Hirschi, there are
tapes and photos available that document their
experiences.
A theatrical, interactive event inside Brumder
Mansion—Dracula Papers: Van Helsing, The Journey
Concludes (Oct. 21-31)—will include readings of the
original text and a fictional grave-digging. |
