Haunted Wisconsin

by Michael Norman

  Terrace Books, a trade imprint of the University of Wisconsin Press, takes its name from the Memorial Union Terrace, located at the University of Wisconsin–Madison. Since its inception in 1907, the Wisconsin Union has provided a venue for students, faculty, staff, and alumni to debate art, music, politics, and the issues of the day. It is a place where theater, music, drama, literature, dance, outdoor activities, and major speakers are made available to the campus and the community. To learn more about the Union, visit www.union.wisc.edu.

  Haunted Wisconsin

  Michael Norman

  Terrace Books

  A trade imprint of the University of Wisconsin Press

  Terrace Books

  A trade imprint of the University of Wisconsin Press

  1930 Monroe Street, 3rd Floor

  Madison, Wisconsin 53711-2059

  uwpress.wisc.edu

  3 Henrietta Street

  London WCE 8LU, England

  eurospanbookstore.com

  First edition published by Stanton & Lee, copyright © 1980

  by Beth Scott and Michael Norman

  Second edition published by Trails Media, copyright © 2001

  by Michael Norman and the Estate of Elizabeth C. Scott

  Third edition copyright © 2011 by Michael Norman

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any format or by any means, digital, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, or conveyed via the Internet or a website without written permission of the University of Wisconsin Press, except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles and reviews.

  Printed in the United States of America

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Norman, Michael, 1947 June 29–

  Haunted Wisconsin / Michael Norman.—3rd ed.

  p. cm.

  First ed.: Sauk City, Wis.: Stanton & Lee, c1980.

  Includes bibliographical references and index.

  ISBN 978-0-299-28594-4 (pbk.: alk. paper)

  ISBN 978-0-299-28593-7 (e-book)

  1. Ghosts—Wisconsin. 2. Legends—Wisconsin. I. Title.

  BF1472.U6S37 2011

  133.109775—dc22

  2011015991

  * * *

  Earlier versions of “Summerwind” and “The Phantom Congregation” appeared in Haunted Heartland, published by Stanton & Lee, copyright © 1985 by Beth Scott and Michael Norman. An earlier account of the Davis Theatre ghost in the chapter “No Exit” appeared in Haunted Homeland, published by Forge Books, copyright © 2006 by Michael Norman. A story about the Walker House, Mineral Point, in the chapter “Someone to Watch over Me,” appeared in Haunted Heartland, published by Stanton & Lee, copyright © 1985 by Beth Scott and Michael Norman.

  A name marked with an asterisk (*) indicates the use of a pseudonym.

  * * *

  This book is dedicated to my mother,

  Elizabeth Jean “Bette” Norman

  Contents

  Cover

  Imprint of the University of Wisconsin Press

  Title

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Preface

  Haunted Wisconsin

  Part I: The Haunted North

  The Gmeiner Enigma

  Another Voice

  Ghost Island

  The Lynch Affair

  Confirmation

  The Paulding Light Mystery

  Do Not Disturb

  A Flame in the Window

  There Goes Mamie!

  Uncle Otto

  Don’t Mess with Elmer

  A Dream So Real

  The Summoning

  House of Chimes

  The Girl in White

  Spirits on the Land

  The Coulee Road Ghost

  A Quartet of Wisps

  No Exit

  The Pendant

  The Lady in Brown

  Psychic Sisters

  The Phantom Congregation

  Summerwind

  Part II: Southern Frights

  The Music Box

  Someone to Watch over Me

  Wayfaring Strangers

  Mrs. Courtney’s Return

  Voice on the Bridge

  He Comes by Night

  The Phantom Rider of Pumpkin Hollow

  The Possession of Carl Seige

  Murder on the Boardwalk

  Footsteps in the Dark

  The Hille Curse

  Marie

  Muffled Screams

  Mrs. G’s Boardinghouse

  House of Evil

  Face on the Bedroom Curtain

  The Restless Servant Girl

  Ghostways

  Terror in the Night

  The Legacy of Mary Buth Farm

  The Strange Case of Henry James Brophy

  Always Time for Ghosts

  Arthur, the Impudent Ghost

  Cassandra

  The Ridgeway Ghost

  Selected Bibliography

  Index of Place Names

  Preface

  Come over here, sit by me. I’ll tell you a ghost story.

  Those words, or some variation of them, have been spoken over the millennia and within every society of the inhabited world. Whether young or old, rich or poor, famous or obscure, many of us find extraordinarily compelling those tales of a hidden world coexisting with our own, one that on occasion allows us a glimpse of its denizens—in the form of ghosts or apparitions or spirits or poltergeists or whatever you want to call them. I am amazed at that. When Beth Scott and I set out in 1977 to collect Wisconsin ghost stories, our biggest concern was that, for any contemporary “true” stories, people might be reluctant to share their experiences. Could we even find enough material to fill our pages? That is certainly not the case in 2011. The supernatural has gone mainstream. From cable channels endlessly programmed with all manner of “ghost hunter” series to bookstore shelves groaning (hideously?) under stacks of books devoted to haunted places and “true” ghost encounters and on to Halloween tours of haunted hot spots in hundreds of communities around the nation, we seem to be awash in stories about apparitions of the dead and (not quite) gone. Has there been a noteworthy surge of interest in “things that go bump in the night”? I’ll leave the heavy analysis to others, but it seems to me there has been, and there may be a few reasons for interest in the supernatural to have moved closer to center stage.

  First, and contrary to some popular opinion, we have become more tolerant of, or at least we’re more used to, diverse beliefs and ideas even if some of them, such as alleged encounters with the supernatural, are contrary to the laws of physics as we know them. We see and hear some rather amazing things on the unfiltered Internet or via one of the hundreds of available cable or satellite channels. It seems everyone has an opinion or belief about something, and it all comes at us in tsunami waves of information. It seems too that more of us are willing to share our own personal experiences—however trivial—with the wider world, or some small portion of it. This would undoubtedly apply to relating an encounter with dear, departed Aunt Edna when she comes visiting. Again. Also, the very definition of privacy is changing so that a greater percentage of the general public seems to be more comfortable spilling once closely guarded secrets.

  Second, although there have been no known scientific “breakthroughs” by way of confirming the existence of the paranormal, there continues to be enough anecdotal “evidence” to feed the audience for such material. Thirty years ago, when the first edition of Haunted Wisconsin was published, we were amazed to find so many common people describing very uncommon experiences with what they took to be the supernatural. Today, they seem to be every
where. I don’t know if that’s progress or not. Perhaps there always were far more individuals who brushed up against the “unknown” than we realized, but back then social norms, personal uncertainty about what actually took place, or pressure from family or friends might have kept them quiet. Many people told us we were the first outside their immediate circle of friends or family who heard their story. Then, too, there were far fewer platforms available from which they could talk about their extraordinary encounters if they so desired.

  Third, we never fully leave behind us our childhood fear of the dark, of the unknown, of the unseen. Nor can we understand with absolute certainty—and I know this differs from the spiritual beliefs of some—what happens to us after death. So just as we did and do squirm at the notion of walking into a deserted cemetery on a moonless night or blanch at the thought of our name whispered hoarsely from somewhere behind us in an otherwise empty room, so also do we search for answers to that deepest and darkest fear of all—that when we die, it is unequivocally, undeniably finis. That there is no spiritual Great Beyond . . . beyond the immediate physical universe we inhabit. That we won’t be returning in any manner, shape, or form. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.

  And yet there are those occasional intimations of immortality that this may not be the case. That we are a long, long way from understanding the universe and its infinite possibilities. That’s where those ghost stories that do not spring from a novelist’s fertile imagination come into play. Those are the stories derived from the experiences of those individuals to whom something extraordinary has happened, something they believe may be of supernatural origin, or at least they are open to the idea. Scoff if you will, but there are legions of us out there.

  Us? Yes, that legion now includes this author among its number. I won’t say that what happened to me was of “supernatural” origin—it was a brief, single incident so I’m not ready to climb up on that rock quite yet. What transpired took place not long ago, after years of interviewing scores of other people about their own ghost stories, of visiting countless allegedly haunted places, and all the while, unfortunately, never seeing, hearing, or feeling anything even remotely supernatural. I’ve been an open-minded skeptic on the subject. So with that in mind let me tell you what happened to me.

  I was performing in a summer stock production of Love Letters by A. R. Gurney in a theater on a college campus. There is at least one substantiated story that the ghost of a former faculty member who designed the theater complex nearly forty years earlier haunts the place. He seems benevolent enough, even protective of the space he planned but didn’t live long enough to work in.

  So on that particular June evening a few years ago, I found myself in the Gurney play, which is a touching piece, relatively easy to rehearse and perform as it doesn’t require script memorization. Two actors, a man and a woman, sit at a table on stage reading the correspondence they’ve written to each other over a lifetime. It’s not a technically challenging show. A few light cues and that’s about it. For that reason the stage manager was positioned up in the light booth at the rear of the theater and not backstage. In fact there was no one backstage, which I wasn’t entirely happy about. It’s always good to have a crewmember back there during a performance in case someone wanders in or, God forbid, a fire breaks out. I voiced my concerns, but no one was available. The stage manager locked the doors to the backstage area before the performances, and we thought all would be well. The show must go on.

  We were in the second night of a three-performance run. The first act went well; the audience laughed at the right moments and we got some nice applause. As I recall, we—Sandee, my fellow actor, and I—sat backstage during the intermission and quietly visited. Around us were the set pieces being used during rehearsals for the next production that summer, the musical Forever Plaid. I noticed that offstage to the left were a couple of tables full of the quirky props used in that popular show—a sombrero, castanets, a ukulele, a cardigan sweater, scarves . . . you get the idea. We saw no one else during that ten-minute break.

  We took our places for act 2. Lights up, and we began. A few minutes into the act, I came to the end of a short piece of dialogue. Then, as Sandee began her lines, from backstage to my left came the clear, distinct resonance of someone running a finger over the strings of that ukulele I’d seen on the prop table. A single, distinct riff.

  I tried to remain focused on the show and said my next line. Yet I was thinking someone was backstage goofing around. After all, a ukulele doesn’t play by itself ! What’s next, a drunk staggering out to disrupt the performance?

  Well, what happened next was . . . nothing.

  No one walked out on stage. No one followed up with a quick ukulele solo. I didn’t break character and yet I wondered what the heck was going on. More than anything, I wanted to get up, go backstage, and solve this peculiar mystery. But of course I didn’t.

  I also wondered whether I might be hearing things, perhaps having an auditory hallucination. It’s been known to happen.

  The play ended, we took our bows, and we left the stage. Once we got backstage, the first words out of my mouth were: “Sandee, did you hear that?!” I described the ukulele strum and when I’d heard it, and she allowed that she had been aware of “something” offstage at that point in the second act but she had been preoccupied with her line reading.

  Was I certain of what had happened? Absolutely. I might have become less confident but for what happened a few minutes later, when we went out into the lobby: the house manager, who had been standing at the back of the theater during the performance, and the stage manager up in the light booth, listening to us on headphones via a microphone backstage, told me they heard the same thing I did—the single strum of a ukulele that seemed to come from backstage. Both were as puzzled as I was.

  There was, as far as I could determine, no easy access to backstage during the performance—the stage manager had locked the stage door. A heavy set of metal “barn doors” leading to the scene shop were closed (and anyway rattle when they’re slid open), and a narrow, poorly lighted spiral staircase in a backstage corner that leads to storage space under the stage was not in use for the show.

  There it is. Not a roaring, disembodied apparition. Not a levitating table. Not even errant footfalls in the night. A small event, some might say. Yes, it was. Except it’s a riddle I’ve not been able to solve. Is it possible someone got backstage, walked over to the prop table, and then, for some unexplainable reason, ran his (or her) finger across the ukulele strings before making a hasty exit? Yes. Is it probable? No.

  What I offered by way of explanation, and only half in jest, was this: the ghost in that theater—his name is Sanford Syse—assumed the role of backstage crew that night (and perhaps on other nights as well), and this was his rather astonishing way of letting us know that he was on the job making certain that nothing unexpected transpired backstage. Far-fetched? Perhaps. But I have trouble coming up with any other explanation.

  You can read more about the ghost at this theater in the chapter “No Exit.”

  This third edition of Haunted Wisconsin includes most of the stories from the two earlier volumes. I’ve added a few new stories and updated others where I’ve become aware of additional incidents. As in the earlier editions of this book, some sources asked that their real names not be included. In those instances where a pseudonym is used, you’ll find it marked with an asterisk (*).

  The origins of Haunted Wisconsin over thirty years ago are relatively straightforward. Writer Beth Scott and I decided to write a book. Period. Looking back, it seems such a simple decision, undoubtedly one that is made daily by scores of authors. Little did I think that three-plus decades later I’d be compiling a new edition of the book.

  We didn’t even have a subject, though we had narrowed it down to the vague notion that it would be nonfiction and about Wisconsin. In time, I discovered a passage in the book Wisconsin Lore, by Robert Gard and L. G. Sorden, that claimed the state “
contains, if the yarns are an indication, more ghosts per square mile than any state in the nation.” While I realized it simply may have been an extravagant, unsupportable claim by these two authors (after all, who counted?), I pointed out the passage to Beth and suggested that maybe here was our subject—a book of some choice Wisconsin ghost stories that could be added to the state mix of brats, beer, and cheese. Though Gard and Sorden included a short chapter of primarily historical ghost tales, there was no book on the subject. Indeed, there were only a handful of regional ghost story collections, and most of those focused on the American South or the New England states, as might be expected.

  Early on, we made the decision that we would strive for an impartial, open-minded point of view in our stories. Both of us were journalists by inclination and training and wanted the facts to carry the story; in that way we thought readers might draw their own conclusions. In a very few cases, we did try to explain what might have happened or solve the “mystery,” as with the relatively famous Paulding Light. If the haunting took place some years before—perhaps as long as a century removed from the present—it was simply not feasible, so we relied heavily on what witnesses and participants at the time had to say about the events. For contemporary accounts for which we were able to interview witnesses, we believed—and I continue to think—that they were honest and sincere in relating their experiences. And, of course, a few years ago I had my own slight experience, which I related earlier. That certainly helped me understand how anomalous events such as these can be unnerving, possibly even leading to a revision of one’s outlook on events termed “supernatural.”

  Any book is the result of numerous contributions, either in the writing process or as it wends it way through a publisher’s prudent hands. The author(s) have received assistance from many individuals for each edition of Haunted Wisconsin, especially the following: Dennis Boyer, Dodgeville; Beverley Christ, Ripon; Krista Clumpner, Houghton, Michigan; Marjorie Davies, Wisconsin Dells; Al Denninger, Rhinelander; John Dettloff, Couderay; Betsy Doehlert, Madison; Tim Ericson, River Falls; Deb Fenske and Steve Fenske, Waupaca; Charles “Chuck” Golden, River Falls; Richard Heiden, Milwaukee; Tom Heinen, Milwaukee; Ervin Kontowicz, Milwaukee; Stacy Kopchinski, Rochester; Elizabeth Lefebvre, Madison; Jeanie Lewis, Ridgeway; Carol Matara, River Falls; Barb McMahon, Hayward; the late Willis Miller, Hudson; Jerry Minnich, Madison; Mary Beth Mueller, Milwaukee; LaDonna Nieland, Waupaca; Steve Nieland, Waupaca; Kathy Olson, Stone Lake; the late C. W. Orton, Ridgeway; the late Dick Owens, Renton, Washington; Don Petzold, River Falls; Phil Pfuehler, River Falls; Will Pooley, Eau Claire; Gerald Schneider, Milwaukee; Debbie Schuerman, Rochester; Mara Westerhouse, Waupaca; Paul Woehr-mann, Milwaukee; Mrs. Verne Worthing, Evansville; Ezra Zeitler and Micah Zeitler. For this third edition, thanks to the wonderful staff at the University of Wisconsin Press, including Raphael Kadushin, Sheila Leary, and former sales manager Fred Lauing for their generous support and encouragement; and to my editor, Sheila McMahon, who was incredibly patient and thorough throughout the editing process. Finally, thanks to my treasured friend, literary colleague, and the man who first steered Haunted Wisconsin to publication thirty years ago, Mark E. Lefebvre, Madison, without whom this book would not have been possible; and to the memory of Beth Scott, my friend and coauthor on the first edition of this book.