Visiting with the Dead

My sister, Jean, of blessed memory has been gone for a couple of years now and I wonder if she is trying to pay us visits!
by Charlie Leck

I’m not a believer in ghosts. Not at all! I’ve written about that here before and it got several comments out of readers who did (sort of) believe in them. My sister, dear Jean of blessed memory, believed in them. She became agitated when I told her the idea was impossible and defied the laws of science. She claimed that she had seen ghosts and knew that the spirits of the dead were always nearby – and that I was wrong, science or no science!

If some sort of earthly life after death were at all possible, I wouldn’t put it past my departed sister to try to prove it to me.

One of my daughters sent along a message a few days ago.

“Dad,
I should tell you about a great dream I had--so real.
I was at a family gathering, kind of a party. In an oversized chair sat Aunt Jean--a little younger with darker and more hair, a bit of make-up, and a bright, bold top. I was so surprised to see her. When I went to give her a hug, I actually crawled on her lap. I squeezed and hugged her as hard as I could. Then I woke up with the sense that someone was hugging me too. I was crying--real tears. Jim was on his side of the bed with his back to me, so I couldn't help but feel that Aunt Jean visited me. It was amazing.”

Well, all I can say is: “I wonder!”

I’ll try to be alert around this season of the year that she loved so very much. She came up from Texas and spent her last Christmas on earth with us here in our Minnesota home. She brought a teenage grandchild with her because she wanted the girl to experience a northern Christmas. She had hoped it would be a white, white Christmas; however, when her plane landed the earth laid uncovered and wintry brown.

However, on Christmas Eve, as we sat at the dining room table, the snow was falling heavily and all the land and the trees were covered with a lovely, white blanket. My dear sister couldn’t stop smiling. She believed God was giving her a special and very blessed holy day. She had been to an afternoon mass.

“I prayed for this at church today,” she told us as she looked out the windows at the wondrous, white world. She was beaming with pride. “I knew it would snow. I knew it!”

In my entire life, I have never seen such a glow of happiness and thankfulness.

She loved coming to Minnesota to visit us. For some reason, she liked coming during the winter so she could see the stark differentness from the Texas winters. It reminded her of winters at our home in New Jersey when we were young. The photo in the heading is from her 2003 visit. She was also here in 1991 when we were moving into our newly constructed home on Halloween Day. The moving vans came with all our furniture and it began to snow as the men began unloading. They hadn’t gotten half our things out when they realized how hard it was snowing and that they might have trouble maneuvering back down our long, zigzag, up and down driveway. They retreated and promised to return with the rest of our furniture another day. Dearest Jean stood in our kitchen, looking out the window and listening to the radio warnings about a very serious winter storm. Well, we broke all the records for such an early snow. More than 31 inches fell and we were to be isolated for two or three days before plows could get through to us and get our driveway opened up. Though she had been frightened at first, the old girl reveled in the absolute beauty and wonder of the whiteness that surrounded us. She had stories to tell to her friends, when she got back to Texas, that they were never going to believe. She urged me to take photograph after photograph for her.

Now, as this Christmas approaches, the land here is covered with a heavy blanket of clean, bright, white snow. I believe, if my sister was going to visit anywhere on earth at this time of year, it would be here, in Minnesota and in our home. I’ll try to stay open to the possibilities. I’ve never missed anyone as much as I miss her. I think of her nearly every day.

“Come on, dear Jean Madeline – come and see all the beautiful snow that God has spread upon the earth!”

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Ghosts Redux

They claim the ghost of Molly can still be seen, haunting Forepaugh’s Restaurant. Don’t believe it! Instead, just enjoy the spectacular Beef Wellington or “Donald’s Duck” that Chef Donald Gonzalez so elegantly creates.
by Charlie Leck

Forepaugh’s is a terrific local dining spot – if one can call our nearly 40 mile drive to St. Paul local. I think it was nearly 35 years ago when I dined there the first time and I’ve gone back every five years or so to enjoy this lovely setting and the good dinners they serve.

The main reason we went this time was to view again the photograph of Forepaugh’s Ghost. I wrote about ghosts on a blog last month and expressed strong doubt about their existence. A friend here in the Twin Cities called me to remind me of the Forepaugh ghost and the old photograph of it that had captured its existence so definitely. So, we all decided to dine at the grand restaurant to take another look at the picture.

Wouldn’t you know! We got there to find the photograph wasn’t available for viewing. The restaurant had just remodeled and the photograph had gone missing in the process – perhaps swiped by one of the many people involved in the work or, perhaps, by the ghosts themselves. One of the employees – the bartender I think – told us there was a negative of the photograph somewhere but it had not yet been found.

“I’m sure you can find the photograph on-line,” the young bartender said. “Just google Forepaugh’s ghost.”

Well, I did. And I didn’t have any luck.

Joseph Forepaugh’s mysterious death
You can see from the photograph above that the restaurant is in an unusual setting. The old house sits on the corner of Exchange and Chestnut, just west of downtown St. Paul. It’s been beautifully remodeled – this grand mansion built in 1871 by Joseph Lybrandt Forepaugh. It’s reported that the gentlemen suffered from bouts of depression and sold his home in 1886 and traveled with his family to Europe for an extended time, seeking a change of scenery and, perhaps, relief from his dogged fight with gloominess. The family returned in 1889 and Mr. Forepaugh built another spectacular home up on prestigious Summit Avenue – a location from which he could overlook his former and beloved mansion.

In Irvine Park, not far at all from his two homes, on the evening of July 8, 1892, Joseph Lybrandt Forepaugh evidently put a bullet in his head. He was found there, in the park, dead and with a pistol in his hand. His family’s story was that depression and his struggles with business finally became too much for him to handle. However, as soon as the news of Mr. Forepaugh’s death got back to the mansion, a servant girl, named Molly, went to the attic and hanged herself. Of course, this fired up rumors about the relationship between the girl and the gentleman; and gossip has persisted to this day that Molly was pregnant when she did herself in.

In the years following the two deaths, there have been many reports that both Joseph and Molly have been seen in the old house on Chestnut and Exchange. Even in recent years, employees of the restaurant have claimed sightings. Sometimes, they’ve reported, there’s a strange chill in the air and then this woman in 19th century clothing – and not theater-type reproductions – breezes through a room unaffected by the real-life people surrounding her. Or, the image of a handsome and splendidly dressed gentleman is seen, fading in and then out.

Of course, I say this is all nonsense and the product of out-of-control imaginations. Ghosts? Nonsense! The rules of science disallow it. Such claims are wildly burlesque.

The restaurant, however, is a wonderful place to take one’s love for a romantic and enchanting evening; and, in the candlelight, you may consider occasionally glancing over your shoulder.

The menu is small, but grand. The place is famous for its Beef Wellington, which now is supposed to be better than ever. I had Donald’s Duck and enjoyed it immensely. The menu describes it as "blackened duck breast and chili glazed duck confit, served on a bed of sautéed cilantro, basmati and port-Salut topped with a pineapple salad and a citrus chili sauce." I found it to be quite spectacular. For dessert, the girls shared deconstructed banana cream pie and I envied their every bite.

Chef Donald Gonzalez originally opened Chambers Kitchen in the Chambers Hotel over in Minneapolis. That was one of my favorite restaurants in town; and I am now pleased to follow him to St. Paul.

Visit Forepaugh’s web site.

A recent, brief review of Forepaugh's Restaurant in City Pages

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Ghosts

Anna and Grandma Anne (summer of 2010)

A ghost detector sounded its alarm and frightened the beejeebers out of my granddaughter!
by Charlie Leck

The manor house, in Ludlow, Pennsylvania, a perfectly wonderful place for ghost detection, was built in 1917. Albert J. Bodkin, of Philadelphia, designed it for my wife’s grandparents after first refusing. Bodkin had told George W. Olmsted that the grandeur of the place was too much for such a modest, little town. “Something” made him relent and do the design and remain there, in Western Pennsylvania, for a year to supervise its construction by the Hyde-Murphy Company of nearby Ridgway. Remarkable gardens were designed for the estate by famed landscape architect, Alling S. DeForest. The grounds work had begun 5 years before the construction of the house was undertaken. DeForest had to figure out a way to channel the waters of the vast hillside springs and get them under control. He met the challenge brilliantly. Garden Magazine (1923) described the waters as “smoothly falling from one level to another in an interestingly designed series of basins.” Blacksmith Samuel Yellin did all the wrought iron work for the fences and gates and his production has been called both “brilliant” and “inspirational.”

Nearly 100 years later, the manor house still stands and one can manage to see how elaborate and stunning the gardens must have been. This past weekend, some of the children at our family reunion wandered through the gardens carrying a “ghost detector.” My oldest granddaughter, Anna, tagged along. Near a particular shrub, which Anna later pointed out to me as “the place,” the detector’s alarm went off. It warned that there was a ghost in the vicinity. Several of the younger children on the adventure, including Anna, took off in great fright and headed back toward the retreat center where the adults were holing-up.

“Grandpa, there’s a ghost out there!”

“For heaven’s sake,” I replied in great surprise, “whatever do you mean?”

This sweetheart told me of the ghost-detecting machine and the adventure she’d been on. She was clearly frightened and shaken. She had no desire to return outside to the grounds of the estate.

“There’s no such thing as a ghost, Anna.” I told her firmly that I did not believe in ghosts and would stake my life on the fact that such phenomenon did not exist. “It’s only nonsense. It’s drivel created by silly minds.”

“Whoa,” came a voice from nearby. “I certainly believe in ghosts. I’ve seen them and therefore I count you wrong even though you’ve staked your life upon your ignorance!”

“No, Anna,” I said, turning back to the little, frightened girl, “Grandpa assures you that there are not ghosts here or anywhere. No scientific evidence has ever been presented to prove there are ghosts and those who claim to have seen them are generally foolish, gullible people who wish to see them and want to believe in ghosts.”

Of course, the argument was now on in full breech. The defenders of ghost-sightings were astonished at my ignorance. Those on my side of the case laughed uproariously at those who dwelled in lives of superstition. The director of the retreat center, who spent most of his hours on the grounds, asserted that he had felt the presence of ghosts and had seen shapes and outlines that vaguely reminded him of Grandfather George Olmsted and of Grandmother Iva Olmsted. Even one of our daughters, grown and wise, contended that she “felt the presence” of a ghost in one part of her neighborhood – whatever that means!

I found a convenient way, with Anna, to slip out from the fray and seek some fresh air. I asked the child to show me just where the ghost-detector had been set off. We walked down toward the south porch of the manor house. Her pace slowed noticeably as we neared a large shrub on the left side of the pathway. Then, several paces from it, she stopped completely.

“There,” she pointed to the elegant bush, “that’s where they found the ghost.”

I watched as she began to back away, ready to flee if need be. To show her the foolishness of her fear, I moved up to the bush and stuck my head inside it, and then withdrew and wandered around it, moving branches this way and that with my hands.

“No ghost here, Anna. Never has been and never will be. The ghost-detector is merely a toy. It’s meant to entertain and excite children. It’s not real.”

The kid wasn’t buying anything her grandpa said. She continued to move backwards, away from the area. I calmly returned to her side and we walked to other places in the gardens, far away from the haunted bush.

My sister believed in ghosts and contended she’d seen them. I always told her it was nonsense and that always irritated her. I’ve told others the same thing – nonsense!

Two friends we know – mother and daughter – claimed to have had a very frightening experience with a ghost at a hotel in the Cotswolds of England. Their claims may be explained by the fact that they were southern Californians. The ghost, by their story, actually attacked one of them in the night and tried to smother her with a pillow. I chuckled at their retelling of the story. Several years later, when I was staying at the same hotel, I didn’t realize that these friends had prevailed upon the innkeeper to put us in that very room, hoping we would encounter the ghost also. When we arrived there, we found twin beds and I raised a ruckus with the hotel manager because we had reserved a full size bed. He moved us. The next day at breakfast, some English friends joined us and, having been forewarned of the scheme, waited for some kind of reaction from us about ghostly experiences. They were mighty disappointed to learn we had changed rooms.

A number of times over the years, I have placed myself in territory or rooms that were supposed to be haunted just so I could encounter a ghost if such a thing existed. Of course, no encounter ever happened. My sister, explaining such things away, always contended that “ghosts do not like you and, therefore, avoid you!” It seems to me that it would be just such a person that ghosts would make a fool of or even angrily attack.

I have always said that experiencing a ghost with absolute certainty would be a life changing experience; for it would alter one’s view of many things, from the metaphysical to the theological. The experience would speak volumes about life after death and pervert my current concepts and beliefs. So, I have always said, bring on the experience.

“Show yourselves, you stupid ghosts, that I may see and experience you!”

“The silence,” as someone once said, “is deafening!”

Don’t believe such nonsense, Anna!

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