Ghosts of Goldfield and Tonopah

by Janice Oberding

  Mrs. Fennel jumped out of bed and scurried around the hotel room. It was going to take her longer to get ready than it would him, and so Fennel sat on the edge of the bed and waited. Dressed and ready with her makeup on, Mrs. Fennel looked at her husband curiously. She could almost read his mind.

  “There’s no way out, Curly. You’ve got to go back and testify.”

  “I know,” he nodded. “Why don’t you go down and get us a taxi?” he asked. “While you’re at it, check up on that train schedule too.”

  “Alright. But you’d better get out of that bed and get a move on,” his wife said.

  He nodded as she opened the door. “I won’t be long.”

  She smiled and closed the door. Halfway down the stairs, the sound of gunfire stopped her in her tracks.

  Racing back to the room, she found her husband lying on the bed. There was nothing she, or anyone else, could do for him now. Later, she would tell conflicting stories about Fennel’s mood in the days preceding his death. First she would say that he had been fine and had shown no sign of what he intended to do.

  Then Mrs. Fennel abruptly changed her story. Her husband, she said, had been acting very strange and kept glancing at his gun in the dresser drawer. The coroner’s inquest found that Fennel had died of self-inflicted gunshot wound. But did he? There are many questions concerning the death of Curly Fennel, one of which is what became of that $1,700 cashier’s check in his pocket?

  Then there is the matter of the $30,000, a lot of money in 1925. Was it enough to make someone kill Fennel? I believe there is more to the story, and it stands to reason that Fennel might stick around until the mystery of his death is cleared up.

  THE PORTAL IN THE ENERGY ROOM WITH VIRGINIA

  The Energy Room, as Virginia Ridgway calls it, is on the south end of the hotel’s second floor. Stand in the room, and you can feel a definite pull. Over the years, countless people have come and tested Virginia’s theory out in the mysterious Energy Room. During a recent visit to the hotel, I visited the Energy Room with Virginia during the day. With sunlight streaming through the hotel’s windows, we stood in the room.

  The author during an experiment/investigation of the Goldfield Hotel. Photo by Bill Oberding.

  Virginia Ridgway and the author experiment with an Ovilus and dice at the Goldfield Hotel. Photo by Bill Oberding.

  Virginia Ridgway and the author during a white candle ceremony in the Goldfield Hotel Energy Room. Photo by Bill Oberding.

  “The energy,” Virginia said, “is in this room. Not above or below.”

  When asked why she thinks the energy is so intense in this particular room, Virginia shrugged. “I have no idea why. It’s just there.”

  And indeed, when I raised my hands to meet Virginia’s, I could feel… something.

  “When does this generally happen?” I asked, remembering Zak Bagan’s Ghost Adventures special.

  “Anytime day or night,” Virginia answered. “For the past thirty years, every foreign psychic comes right to this room and goes to the windows and says, ‘This is a pass-through corner to other worlds.’”

  “Can this be the source of the portal?” I silently wondered. Some researchers believe that the Goldfield Hotel is one of seven portals to the other world, an open door that permits ghosts to enter and exit the building. Others believe there is nothing ghostly going on inside the Goldfield Hotel at all. What occurs here, they claim, has to do with a time warp, not ghosts.

  THE MYSTERIOUS COWBOY GHOST

  Virginia Ridgway is sure that the ghost of a cowboy haunts the third floor of the hotel, and she is not alone in this belief. Several people who have investigated the hotel agree with her. They all refer to him as the cowboy. Virginia’s first encounter with the cowboy took place years ago.

  As she describes it:

  An Esmeralda County sheriff and I were on the third floor of the hotel when we saw the smoke at the end of the hall. I thought some homeless person had crawled in and started a fire. Before I could say, “Let’s call the fire department,” the smoke suddenly dissipated, and a tall man was standing there, dressed all in black, and as I recall, his hat had a flat crown like the type worn by Wyatt Earp. He leaned against the wall, crossed his legs and just stared at us. His whole body was outlined in an iridescent light, and I wondered who he might have been.

  He didn’t seem to be as curious about us as we were of him. We asked a lot of questions, things like, “Do you need any help?” “Can you tell us your name?” “Do you know what year it is?”—that sort of thing. I’ll always regret that neither one of us thought about going down there and touching him.

  Since then, Virginia has encountered the ghostly cowboy a number of times while leading tours. During one television documentary, the ghostly cowboy made a brief appearance and is seen in shadow just for an instant. Among the many negative spirits and energy here, the ghostly cowboy is one of the good guys. Whoever he was in life, he does not seem to be malicious to those who come to his area of the hallway.

  SUICIDE AT THE GOLDFIELD HOTEL

  Suicide was a common occurrence during Goldfield’s gold rush. Rather than face the harsh realities of life in a mining camp, some chose death as a means of escape. Among women, the favored method for dispatching oneself out of this world and into the next was poison, opium or morphine. Men resorted to either poison or a bullet.

  There are at least two deaths recorded at the Goldfield Hotel. Both deaths were ruled suicides, and both took place long after Goldfield’s gold rush had passed.

  It was barely past midnight on October 1, 1915, when night clerk Irving Truman realized that he hadn’t seen J.B. Findly, the night porter, for several hours. Truman wondered what could be keeping the normally conscientious man from his job. As soon as he could get away from his duties at the front desk, Truman went straight to Findly’s room in the employee section of the hotel.

  When he got no response from his knock on the door, Truman opened it and walked in. There on the floor was J.B. Findly’s lifeless body, already cold to the touch. Lying next to the body was a revolver. While everyone remembered Findly acting strangely, no one could understand why he had killed himself. His reasons were his own, and they would go to the grave with him. But that wasn’t the last of J.B. Findly.

  The death was reported in the Goldfield Daily Tribune on Friday evening, October 1, 1915: “HOTEL PORTER IS FOUND DEAD. J.B. Findly is apparent victim of his own hand.”

  Allen Metscher is a Goldfield historian. The founder of the Central Nevada Museum in Tonopah, Metscher was born and raised in Goldfield; he has lived here all his life. He doesn’t know if the hotel is haunted or not. However, he does remember the story his grandmother told him long ago about her strange encounter with a ghost.

  Metscher’s paternal grandmother was employed as a maid at the Goldfield Hotel. On the morning after J.B. Findly’s death, Mrs. Metscher arrived at the hotel, unaware of the incident. She was greeted warmly by some of her fellow employees at the front door and went about her work. As the day progressed, a co-worker casually remarked that it was too bad about J.B. Findly. Curious, Mrs. Metscher asked what was too bad.

  “You haven’t heard?”

  “No, what?” she asked.

  “Findly shot himself in his room this morning,” her co-worker replied.

  “But he’s all right,” she said.

  “He’s dead.”

  She stared at the man in disbelief. J.B. Findly had been one of the employees who said hello to her as she came to work that very morning. Not given to flights of fancy, Metscher’s grandmother told the story of her ghostly encounter with the dead night porter for the rest of her life.

  For those who are curious, the employee section of the hotel where J.B. Findly shot himself was located on the first floor in the area of Room 109 and not on the fourth floor, as some believe.

  Does the restless ghost of J.B. Findly still roam the halls of the Goldfield Hotel? Perhaps he does. Before Allen Metscher shared his
grandmother’s story, most ghost investigators were not even aware of J.B. Findly, much less aware of his suicide. It is interesting that Metscher told the story many times but never mentioned the fact that Findly was an African American. I bring this to the reader’s attention because of the following incident.

  During a ghost investigation of the hotel one evening, a psychic/medium involved in the night’s activities came running up to me and said, “There is an African American man who wants to talk to you.”

  “Did he say who he is?” I asked, convinced that she had encountered the ghostly J.B. Findly.

  “No, but he said he has something to tell you,” she answered.

  I quietly left the group and went to the area of Room 109. “What did he have to tell me?” I wondered. Calling out to Mr. Findly, I turned on my voice recorder and asked what he wanted to say to me. After several minutes of nothing but silence, I decided that whatever it was, it would have to take place another time.

  MEMORIES OF THE GHOST ADVENTURES GOLDFIELD HOTEL LIVE GHOST HUNT

  Just before their TV show gained worldwide fame, the Ghost Adventures team did two live ghost hunts. One was conducted at the Goldfield Hotel in Goldfield.

  The Goldfield Hotel Live Ghost Hunt was the Ghost Adventures team’s second event, and in many ways, it was the better of the two. True, it was so cold in the century-old hotel that icicles were literally hanging from some of the basement walls, but c’mon now, we ghost hunters are used to the cold and dark. There was no power in the hotel, and the nearest restrooms were blocks away at the Esmeralda County courthouse or the local bar. Take your pick. If you needed to go, you had a short walk (in the cold) ahead of you. But if you cared to look up at the night sky, you would have seen myriad stars. This place offers some of the best stargazing in the United States.

  Food? Anyone who had the munchies after 11:00 p.m. was out of luck; what do you expect in a town that has fewer than three hundred citizens? For the hunt, Zak had also secured the old Nixon office at the John S. Cook Bank building. Can you say creepy? Think of a mannequin with spider web threads glistening out of its nose, old typewriters, a Christmas tree and photos of long dead but very famous Nevadans adorning the walls.

  So that no one was walking over someone else, groups were formed and logistics worked out in Tonopah. Once in Goldfield, we all went our separate ways: some to the fourth floor, some to the dreaded basement where Zak and Nick had encountered the flying brick and some to the Nixon. And so the groups rotated throughout the evening. Smooth!

  Throughout the night, people gathered EVP and photos. At the group EVP session, everyone chose a room and stood in the doorway with recorders on the floor at the ready. This is where the provocation began. There are those who frown on provoking spirits, and there are those who find it great fun. I admit to falling somewhere in the middle. On this night, Zak was at his taunting and challenging best. “I have gotten braver since the last time I was here,” he announced to the Goldfield’s ghosts. “You don’t scare me.”

  Remembering how he fled the basement screaming his head off during his hit documentary, I chuckled and hoped this was true. In all honesty, I would not want to spend one minute in that pitch-black basement by myself. For one thing, it’s a maze, and given my lousy sense of direction, I may never find my way out again. For another, it’s just plain spooky. Call me guilty of scaring myself if you want, but there is something about being underneath an old hotel in the middle of nowhere at 3:00 a.m. that makes you wonder, “What if Hollywood is right, and there are terrible demons lurking here just waiting?” Nah! That’s what being tired and hungry will do for you.

  All in all, the Ghost Adventures team members are very likeable guys, and their Goldfield investigation was great fun, even the strange experience with Virginia, although she might disagree. While I clearly saw the two strange black blobs coming toward us, I never thought they were demonic. Evil, oh yes, but demonic they were not. Virginia insists that this is what happens when you provoke and make the spirits angry. For the longest time, she felt that the ghosts of the Goldfield Hotel were angry with her and blamed her for Zak’s provoking of them.

  CHAPTER 4

  TONOPAH GHOSTS AND STORIES

  THE BELMONT MINE DISASTER

  A sculpture in front of the Tonopah post office commemorates the worst mining disaster in Tonopah history. Honoring the hero of the Belmont Mine fire, the sculpture was built by Adam Skiles and depicts William F. “Big Bill” Murphy carrying a man to safety.

  Sometime between 2:30 and 4:30 a.m. on February 23, 1911, a fire broke out 1,166 feet below the surface of the Belmont Mine. Although the cause of the fire was never officially determined, it was surmised that someone on the night shift had started the fire by carelessly leaving a candle burning.

  Fires were deadly in mines; as acrid smoke filled the tunnels, all thoughts aboveground were on how best to get the men to safety and stop the fire. Many miners were able to crawl into the cage and out of the mine. Others were trapped far below the surface, battling for air in the hellish blinding smoke. Big Bill, the day shift cage operator, learned about the fire when he went to work that day. Amid the confusion and fear, Big Bill took the cage down to the 1,100-foot level, loaded up as many men as possible and took them to safety. After repeating his feat for a second time, he was asked if he was up to continuing the task. He reportedly said, “I’m nearly done in, but I’ll go again.”

  Once more he took the cage down, but this time he didn’t return. Later it was discovered that Big Bill had perished in the fire, and his body had been horribly mangled in attempts to hoist the cage up. The hero had lost his life along with others who were trapped underground. In all, seventeen men perished in the Belmont Mine disaster. The next morning, all the bodies were brought to the surface. Two days later, a funeral was held in a raging snowstorm, and victims of the fire were laid to rest in the (old) Tonopah Cemetery.

  A funeral procession for the victims of the Belmont Mine fire disaster. Photo courtesy of Central Nevada Museum.

  THE OLD TONOPAH CEMETERY

  Do you love clowns? Then there is a perfect spot for you in Tonopah: the Clown Hotel. It’s a favorite of ghost hunters and those who like something a little off the beaten path. However, if you suffer from coulrophobia, fear of clowns, the Clown Motel might not be your best bet when looking for a place to stay the night, and likewise if you’re not thrilled with ghosts and hauntings. Fans of the quirky Clown Motel claim it is haunted because of its proximity to the old Tonopah Cemetery, located right next door. Imagine the couple who woke one night to see a group of “greyish misty men” stumbling around their room. Awake, they realized these were specters, but it made no difference. They hastily packed and hit the road, leaving the haunted Clown Hotel far behind.

  Not everyone flees ghosts. Those who seek out such events have made midnight forays into the old cemetery and came away with some interesting EVP for their troubles.

  The first residents of the old Tonopah Cemetery were laid to rest in 1901. Tonopah’s dead would continue arriving at the cemetery until late 1911, when the new cemetery was ready for occupants. Among the last to be buried here were Big Bill Murphy and several other men who lost their lives in the Belmont Mine disaster. Early residents of the old cemetery included those who died in what was called the “Tonopah Sickness,” a strain of pneumonia that occurred in the spring of 1905. The disease affected both Goldfield and Tonopah and was so prevalent that newspaper headlines warned of the sickness, calling it a plague and frightening people from going to either camp for fear of catching it. Many people succumbed to the dreaded disease in 1905, including Virgil Earp, deputy sheriff of Goldfield.

  Of those buried in the old Tonopah Cemetery, Nye County sheriff Thomas W. Logan may be the most famous. Sheriff Logan may also be responsible for the amazing EVP of a gunshot that was recorded at the cemetery one spring night by my friend and fellow ghost investigator Jeff Frey. According to Jeff, he came to the cemetery alone and spent a
bout seven minutes trying to collect EVP. Hunger struck, and he decided to scrap the impromptu ghost hunt and head to the local McDonald’s. While waiting for his meal, he listened to his recording. To his amazement, he had recorded something that sounded like a car backfiring. He listened again and again. “Wait a minute,” he thought. “It was so quiet in the cemetery, and I didn’t hear anything like this.” After playing his recording for other investigators, he realized he had recorded the sound of gunfire—gunfire from the hereafter. Long-dead Sheriff Tom Logan, the most famous resident at the old cemetery, was most likely testing one of his guns in the afterlife.

  Tom Logan served as Nye County sheriff from 1899 until his death on April 6, 1906. In her recent biography of Logan, author Jackie Boor called his death “scandalous”; there is no better word to describe Logan’s demise than that.

  On the night he died, the well-respected sheriff, a married man with eight children, was with May Biggs, owner of the Jewel, a red-light district saloon in nearby Manhattan. Besotted with Biggs, Logan spent most of his free time at the Jewel.

  Logan was killed because a gambler named Walter Barieau shoved May when she asked him to leave. Hearing her scream, the sheriff came running to her assistance, clad only in his nightshirt. He was shot several times in the ensuing altercation. Barieau pleaded not guilty, claiming he shot Logan in self-defense. Barieau was defended by Patrick McCarran.

  On July 12, 1906, the Tonopah Sun reported how defense attorney Patrick McCarran had informed the jury that Logan’s family was neglected after the sheriff met May Biggs. Warming to his subject, McCarran called Biggs “an enchantress who had wound herself into the life of a man inclined to do right and making him a slave to her every will and wish.”