I'll fully admit that I'm still pondering ghost stories even though we're coming into the holidays, though maybe that's not as strange as it sounds. According to some beliefs Winter is a time for the spirits have more freedom till Spring comes, and I know that in the Victorian era it was more common to tell ghost stories around Christmas than on Halloween.
But these ponderings are more about the use of ghost stories, and it all began with a fine performance by magician Amy Scharleau at the Springfield Art Association's Edwards Place (http://www.springfieldart.org/Home/tabid/501/Default.aspx). The Edwards Place hosted a recreation of a seance, and even the moon was being accommodating as it was full that eve. The Edwards Place is a lovely Victorian manor, and the setting was perfect - a darkened dining room, with large portraits surrounding us. Only ten people were allowed, and we were all settled around the table. Now I will fully admit I have never been to an actual seance, though I have read enough about them to have some idea of how things are done. And I will happily say that Ms Scharleau not only set the mood well, but she smoothly made it seem that the spirits were responding. And to do that it was obvious she had had to chose a story from the Edwards' family history that would make for a believable reason for a haunting. The story she chose was a tragic one about one of the daughters of the house, who had not been allowed to marry a loving, but poorer, young man. Of course, the tale did not end well, as he went mad during his pursuit of trying to obtain a proper living - far off in Alaska as a surveyor, and not long after his return home he was committed. Nor was he long for the world as he took his life. As for the poor lady - she never married; though she lived to over 100. A tragic tale that is true, and very in keeping with many traditional ghost stories, but I wondered about the rest of the lady's story. To have lived such a long life meant that she experienced many life changes, and probably had many interests, and probably by the time of her death that the tragedy of her long lost love probably had faded to gentle ache in her heart. Would she have continued to haunt because of him? (And she may well haunt, that I don't know, but I'd bet if she does it is probably not because of him.) And before I continue further I will say that the people responsible for the Edwards Place are very good about telling fuller tales of its occupants' histories, particularly during the Haunted Night of History tours, which offer interpreters doing portrayals of those occupants. This too is an event worth going to see around Halloween. In truth the re-enacted seance was just gathering point for my thoughts, which have been playing with some questions for a while. Questions often stirred by my travels to Gettysburg, and to other historical sites, and the opportunities to go on some of the ghost tours that have been offered. Tours by their nature, whether ghostly or not, can only offer snippets of history, and docents have to have short tales memorized so they can offer those tales smoothly. Ideally these snippets might pique the visitors' interest enough so they would want to learn more. But sometimes they freeze history into just one, simplified, form, both in the eyes of the visitors and of the docents. This seems particularly true when it comes to ghost stories, since the romance of the tale often seems more interesting than the reality of the people's lives. The use of ghost stories for a historical area can really help to boost interest in a place, which, in these hard financial times, can be quite a boon. And such interest can also help with preservation. And when its done well (as I have seen it done at both the Edwards Place and the Dana Thomas House) the stories are combined in with the fuller history. However, with the proliferation of independent ghost tours for profit throughout the country, and ghost shows on TV, I suspect that a lot of the tales are "freezing" bits of history into stock molds. Tales that don't really get questioned, which can cause misunderstandings of our past. Which in my mind doesn't even seem fair to the ghosts where there are true hauntings. (Or to even just the memory of the people - where there are not).How would it feel to have all of your accomplishments and experiences overlooked - and only one episode of your life (and probably death) focused on? And in truth, probably not one of your finer moments. Granted, in some cases, it would be hard to research some of the hauntings in such depth, but I suspect that it would be best to keep in mind that people, alive or dead, are complicated beings - with many hues to their tales.
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Just a follow up to the Dana Thomas House's Ghost Stories. The second night was just as much fun as the first
(http://www.dana-thomas.org/). I was back in Cousin Flora's room, which for me was still very comfortable. I guess she approved of the stories, which rotated between, "Tam Lin," "The Hitchhiker," and "The Organ Master." I will admit that with the flow of the crowds it was more workable to settle to short tales that would fit in after I told a little about Flora Lawrence, and the lay out of the rooms. And once the crowds began it was steady till about 8:10, when the attendees were gently herded out. (With a hint of Story Musing.)
Tonight was the first night of "Ghost Stories at the Dana Thomas House" (http://www.dana-thomas.org/), and it was a grand night. I'm hoping I can get a walk through and hear some of the stories in the other rooms, since the docents, and Mike Anderson, are telling stories that have actually occurred at the house. I have heard snippets, and those are indeed intriguing as it seems to be a very active house. Nor is this surprising since Susan Lawrence was a serious student of Spiritualism, (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spiritualism), and hosted seances at her home. She also a student of other faiths, such as: Theophists (spiritualists), Bahais, and adherents of the Unity church. And to reflect this she called her home, "The Lawrence Center for Constructive Thought." I was allowed to perform my storytelling in Cousin Flora Lawrence's room, which is very rarely opened to the public. Flora Lawrence was dependent of Susan's father, since he was Flora's only male relative. When Susan had Frank Lloyd Wright redesign her home into what became one of his masterpieces she made sure that both Flora, and Susan's mother, had comfortable rooms. Flora had sitting room, a private balcony, a private bath, and her own room. And from what I heard this evening from the docents they have learned that she was not only a lovely woman, but a well-read one, and one whose opinion was much sought. She predeceased Susan, who had cared for her during her long illness, and some of the docents think that Flora has remained at the house. As for myself, I (so far!) passed a pleasant evening up in her room. The visitors came up to the room, and not only asked after its history, but stayed for a tale. The only "odd" moment was when two ladies entered, and suddenly the temperature in a very warm room dropped. But only while they were there. So that was the first eve, and I would heartily recommend that folks take advantage of the tour tomorrow eve! Some of the folks I met, and conversations I had, at Old Settlers' Day deserve their own blog post.
As I mentioned in "Story Musings" I had the pleasure of hearing Richard Hart discussing his pamphlet about the Underground Railroad in Springfield. This is available through the Sangamon County Historical Society (http://www.sancohis.org/). In the course of the short lecture Mr Hart talked about William K Donnegan's activities as a conductor on the Underground Railroad, and as a friend of Abraham Lincoln. He also was brutally murdered during the 1908 Race Riot. His death was one of the major catalysts for the NAACP. As I listened to Mr Hart explained where various individuals lived I began to realize that my grandparents had lived near a lot of history. And with my grandfather, Walter A. Townsend, being a newspaper editor that he would have known much of the pulse of the city. And I remembered that for a vital moment he entered history - he was one of the few that was a witness for the prosecution against the men who murdered Mr. Donnegan. I also had pleasure of meeting one of the founders of the African American History Foundation (http://www.spiaahf.org/). He told me a little bit about the oral history program they are working on, and about the efforts for a dedicated museum. Another historical group represented was the 114th Infantry Illinois Volunteers (http://www.114thillinois.com/). They had set up a display of a Civil War Field hospital, but due to the earlier threat of storm they had been established on the second floor the Strawbridge-Shepherd House. And really it looked rather realistic; the room was stark, and probably very similar to the many rooms, in the many houses, where such hospitals had been established after a battle. The combination of historical interests offered a very enriching overview of what is offered in Springfield, and in Illinois. This entry could also be entitled, "Marathon Storytelling."
I knew that the pacing would be picking up as I neared Halloween, and had rather braced myself. A couple of weeks earlier I had done Lincoln Memorial Gardens' Indian Summer Festival, which leaned very heavily towards "summer" with a mini-heat wave. I was so used to it being cold that I hadn't even thought to bring out my sun hat, but fortunately the Gardens' well-stocked gift shop had one. The show was soon followed by Riverton Elementary School's Fall Fling and Book Fair. This too was a lot of fun, though I will again say, "I need a GPS unit!" After a brief bit of breathing room I launched into this weekend. Saturday began with the Elijah Iles Foundations' "Old Settler's Day," which is a fundraiser for the Strawbridge-Shepherd House; this is one of the oldest farmhouses in the area. The day started off with some threatening clouds, which, after I had just gotten into my civil war era gown, let loose. We all took to what cover we could find. But once that was done the festival settled into a pleasant rhythm. Since the rain had delayed any attendees all of the volunteers came in to hear Richard Hart give a talk on the Underground Railroad in Springfield. He kiddingly asked one young lady, who he knew, if she had learned anything at the end of it. And she said, "No. I have a short attention span." Which didn't reassure me when her mother suggested that both that young lady, and her younger sister, come over and hear stories. I decided to try "Tam Lin," since it has often caught a young lady's attention. And it did again. At the end of the story the self-proclaimed restless one said, "I've never heard anything like that. All you find are werewolves, and vampires and stuff." She then settled to hear "Jack and the Gower," which is a "dragon-slaying" story from Missouri, though the dragon is an enormous alligator in the tale. All of this led into a pleasant hour of discussing books and pets. I was only scheduled for a short performance run; this had been at my own request, since I thought I would rest up before Clayville's Haunted House. However, with the day having turned fine, and there being other dogs at the festival, I went back home to get Winston (my 2 year old Coonhound). He too had a grand time greeting many friendly people. Much later I drove out to Clayville for their "Raising the Dead" Haunted House (http://clayville.org/home). The moon was full, with a veil over her, and her light was eerie on the ancient stagecoach stop. I had a new Halloween performing costume - a black velveteen "opera coat" with a hood. So I would have been eerie myself - except that I had to keep hold of my coffee mug so it wouldn't get knocked over by the straw bails. I had been stationed by the bonfire so I could entertain those waiting for the tractor to bring the wagon over. Though adults and children were excited (and scared) with anticipation of the hay rack ride and the house they were all a good audience. I complimented one young lady (a return member of the audience) on being a good listener. To which she replied, "It takes good stories to make a good listener." (Wise words from a twelve year old, and very appreciated.) I was also pleased to hear the rave reviews of the haunted tour - the Clayville planners had outdone themselves! it was a late drive home, and an somewhat early morning on Sunday. The Rock the Playhouse at the Prairie Capitol Convention Center was a lively scene. I had two half hour, almost back-to-back, performances on their main stage. And despite everything being offered around there were several families that stayed to listen. This morning I heard that they ran out of tickets twice over, which was very good news for the American Foreclosure and Mortgage Relief Foundation http://www.afamr.org/. The Fall has gotten off to a energetic, and good, start with the Hope School Fall Festival. With even the weather offering its finery for the day; with crystalline blue skies, scudding fluff ball clouds, a bright sun, and a light breeze to keep the temperatures comfortable.
Though my own travels didn't quite start off auspiciously, despite leaving on schedule. My sole comment here is, "I need a good GPS unit." But with a little backtracking and I got to the Hope School on time. I was actually one of the first entertainers to arrive, though I had to do a very quick change into my pirate attire (the theme being "Pirates"). Fortunately said attire was a brown leather vest over my clothes, and a pirate hat, and I was quickly read. And then I was on, and I offered: "The Yellow Thunder Dragon" of a young Chinese boy who's much-wished-for adventure arrived at his family's garden;" "Tam Lin," with fair Margaret of Scottish lore courageously facing down the Fairy Queen for her love, Tam Lin; and "The Old Woman and the Oni," of a feisty Japenese lady who wasn't about to lose her dinner to the hungry (large) spirits. I had been asked to keep the stories "safe," but magical, since many of the students of Hope School have seen and experienced some truly frightening things, but they also wished to dream. So I softened some of the descriptions in "Tam Lin" and "The Old Woman and the Oni." My part of the festivities was to act as filler between the musical presentations if needed, but the various dance groups were ready to go at their given times. So I was only needed at the start, and was able to enjoy the shows. The St. Andrews' Dancers of Springfield, led by Beth Oglivy, offered some fine examples of Scottish and Irish dancing. Tom Oglivy played the pipes. A Middle Eastern dance troupe offered some traditional and some more modern belly dancing. And then there was Salsa dancing. The instructor has been involved with the Hope School fall festival for a number of years, and he worked true magic as he encouraged not only the students, but staff, and care worn parents out to dance. And for a moment cares were danced away and a moment of freedom in music was found as they all danced to their own rhythms. A gift in the viewing. And I was offered another one as it was said, "I hope you'll come back." Which I will with delight. This is a recurring story that has puzzled me over the years. I have run across it in Scottish and Irish folklore, and am now coming across it in Missouri and Kentucky folklore. The most recent of my "finds" was in William Lynwood Montell's, Ghosts Across Kentucky.
The basic story is that a mysterious tunnel is found, and the locals want to find out where it goes to. After a while a Piper, or a Fiddler, offers to go, and says that they will play all the way. The people follow the sound for quite a while, but after while don't hear anything more. However, the music is occasionally heard over the years (centuries. Some variations has the musician's dog follow him in, but come out hairless, and it usually dies. This is usually in the Scottish or Irish versions. I haven't seen it in the American. And while its pretty equal with pipers and fiddlers in the British Isles I have only found fiddlers referenced in the American. One other variation I came upon was set in Edinburgh, and it wasn't a musician but a young thief who was offered his freedom if he went in. Of course, he never came back. I can understand one or two variations, or even how it could be spread through the British Isles, but it continues to "haunt" me why this strange theme would be one of the folkloric "survivors" that came with the settlers, and found roots in America. The 4th of July has come and gone, but not without fond memories, particularly since I was able to perform at two of favorite places - the Elijah Iles House and Clayville.
Friday night, though warm, was a perfect evening for the Elijah Iles House' Strawberry Festival, and allowed them to have most everything outdoors. After I changed into my civil war era dress I was shown a rocking chair in the children's tent, with a oriental rug laid out for comfortable games of marbles, which they had set up impressive playing boards for. (Though I was quite surprised to find how few children actually know how to play marbles!) On the table they had an array of 19th century wooden toys - Jacob Ladders, and tops, and hoops, and ball and cup. It was a delight to see not only the children fascinated, but the parents too. The Ball and cup seemed to be the challenge of the day. The young lady in charge of the table pretty much had to learn on the cuff how to work the toys, but she got into the spirit of the evening quite quickly. As for storytelling - it was a rewarding evening. While the children wore themselves out some of the adults would wander through, and would listen. Once gentleman thanked me and said he wish his two grown daughters were in the country to hear the tales. Later, as the food was eaten, and the sky was shading to evening the children settled to hear the tales; along with some parents. One little girl, and another little boy, happily kept begging for more stories (which did my heart good), and we pretty much closed the festival. The best words I could have heard was from one little girl, "I want to hear you again." Not only was the evening rewarding for a storyteller - it was a magical evening. I watched as people slowed down, and chatted together over dinner. Then came to play ring toss with their children, and got down to play marbles. Even if they were making up the game - they had grand fun. It was truly a evening of community spirit! The next day my friend, Amanda, and I drove out to Clayville for their 4th of July Celebration. The day was much warmer, and more humid, but mercifully that didn't lessen anyone's enthusiasm. I was shown to the same cabin I had performed in for the Spring festival; the Battenington Cabin. This time the main focus of the celebration was the car show so many of the people were there for the car show, and didn't really linger for tales. But it was still a great day. Many a person wandered in with their own tales and memories of Clayville's past. In John Mack Faragher's, _Sugar Creek_, he mentions that "pioneer" comes from the French term, "pionnier," which signified foot soldiers sent ahead of an army to clear the way. And later the westward moving pioneers are compared to nomadic bands.
Over the last month I have been given the opportunity to ponder about those pioneers, and about the blessings and curses that come with that drive. And I will apologize now, since I am trying to weave many memories, thoughts, and events in order to make up for my silence. I fear that there might be some tangles along the way. The comparison with a nomadic tribe does not stretch far when it comes to the american pioneers; whereas nomads follow ancient routes in a cycle that is a rhythm in their lives the pioneers were going from one place to another - in hopes of a better place just over the hill. And that was whether they came from across the ocean, or the next state. And I will not retell the whole of history, which would recount how they dislodged other peoples in their course. Though that too has had its own pattern through the millennia. Early in May one of the Chamber of Commerce directors was kind enough to invite me to attend the Governor's Prayer Breakfast, which I greatly appreciated. I had never been before, and this one in particular sounded like it would be worth going to, since the main speaker was to be Paul Rusesabagina, about whom the move “Hotel Rwanda" was made. Unfortunately, Mr. Rusesabagina needed emergency surgery, and Mr. Endless, the senior advisor to his foundation spoke in his stead. Even told by another Mr. Ruseasabagina's story is a moving example of how conviction and a great heart can stand against unreasoning hatred. Mr. Endless said that one tool that Mr. Rusesabagina used was to keep asking questions - so his advisories had to enter into conversation with him. To deal with him as a another individual. And as I listened I realized that Rwanda is a modern (unfortunately one of many) example of what happens when two peoples are thrown together, and differences stirred to an explosive, brutal, point. And somewhere in the back of my mind I heard echo the last line of Dan Keding's story, "The Two Warriors," which ends with, ".. you cannot hate someone when you know their story." A morning to humble one, and make you wonder if you could have such conviction and heart. And all I could hope is that I could use my gift of story to help in some small way. As the month wended on I spent a wet and chill day at the St. Andrews' Highland Games in Chatham, Il. As someone said, "we've imported the weather again." And chill and wet we may have been, but the sense of companionship held us in good stead, and the Games went on. And between tales, wrapped in my plaid, I had the fun of speaking with many people who are seeking the trail of their ancestors - seeking back to when their various families were the wanderers seeking a glowing home. With the ending of the month came the Clayville Spring Festival, and there was awakened the spirits of those long gone settlers as all of the volunteers poured out their love and energy to put on a spectacular 2 and half day event. I was only able to be there on Saturday, and a hot Saturday it was. I went out with a friend who was volunteering, and was soon settled in a cabin to tell my tales. For this day I was dressed in a civil war era gown (with hoops), and soon discovered the challenge of sitting in a chair with arms. And the greater challenge of telling while trying to keep the front of the hoop from flying up. It was a wonderful day, with such a powerful sense of community. And the visitors were a gracious and attentive audience - whether it was the 80 year old man who had come to reminisce about when Dr. Preston had the cabins moved, or a 6 year old girl. The end of the day also offered a chance for a little adventure as I took a ride in a real stagecoach. The first adventure was just trying to in (now in modern clothing) as I tried to balance on the toe pad for the last lunge. We only went around Clayville at a walk, but that was enough to bounce my teeth up into my nose, and threaten to bounce my head up into the ceiling. My salute to all those ancestors who traveled by stagecoach. They were indeed far heartier than I. Journeys are interesting, even if the journey is a short one. Last Wednesday I set out for a show in Hillsboro, where I would be telling at a church for their Mother/Child banquet.
It was a pleasant afternoon, with the temperature just right and the sun shining, but not even this alleviated my nervousness in the drive, and as I started out onto the highway I realized it had been years I had needed to drive 65 miles an hour. Now I should explain I have never been one to drive for pleasure, and particularly not one who relaxes on a long drive. So it is a rarity, though I am not terrified by it to the point of inability to function. As mentioned, the day was pleasant, and fortunately I was traveling at a time when traffic wasn't heavy. Plus I had good maps. So I was able to appreciate that gradual change in landscape as I headed further south, and saw the gradual rise of hills. And it really didn't seem an hour before I entered Hillsboro, and soon saw the church parking lot. The theme was "The Seeds of Kindness," which the ladies of the church were indeed practicing that evening as they invited me to join them for dinner. And a very good dinner indeed - as one of their relations is a trained chef. Nor could I have asked for a better audience as even the youngest girls settled down, and the audience was attentive through my half hour show. And as I told I realized I had the right stories for the night - each emphasizing some kindness. One was the Chinese story, "The Magic Tapestry," another was the Scottish story, "The Stolen Bairn," and the third was the Japanese story, "The Fox Wife." And later I realized that the three stories also emphasized something else - female determination and creativity. The first begins with the old widow weaving for three years after she has fallen in love with a water colored painting that she was wishes to create in thread. The mother of the stolen bairn must create two items that the Sidhe have not seen before. And the wife in the "Fox wife" must be recognized for what she truly is - fox and woman. All were well received, and it was a supporative group that offered praise at the end of the evening. It helped to fuel me for the long drive home. And though I did get lost (and wish for a GPS unit) it was still good - I even saw a doe grazing by the side of the road as I came back into town. She looked up at me, gazed a while, and went back to eating as I passed. A gentle sign and closing for the end of my evening's journey. |
Cathy Mosley
I am a Springfield, IL based storyteller with a fascination for how folklore travels, and for history. Archives
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