Believing in ghosts
Officially, I don't believe in ghosts and I'm sticking to that rule whenever I'm in some dark and spooky spot in life and feeling the ominous presence of grim spirits. Unofficially, I believe the universe is ultimately beyond comprehension so anything goes.
Have I seen any ghosts? I saw something I've never forgotten, something I used in "Thomas Jefferson, Rachel & Me" as the model for Mr. Jefferson's descent from the woods across from the Visitor Center at Monticello to Jack Arrowsmith's old BMW 325, in which Jack and Rachel Carter are waiting to take their new pal off to see something of the world.
I was 15 years old, spending my first night on a trip across half the country to Grandby, Colorado, to Vagabond Ranch. My father had been sent to a dude ranch when he was 15 so now he was sending me. The kids from the Northeast all convened in late June at the Rumsey Hall School in Washington, Connecticut for a cookout. The next morning, very early, we were to start our week-long journey in a caravan of cars with trailers including a chuck wagon, the whole assemblage referred to as "Wagons West."
We all slept that night in a row of two-man mountain tents pitched along the edge of a soccer field across the road from the school's office — a lovely old 18th century white clapboard house on a knoll with a lighted sign by its driveway.
I wound up with a tent all to myself — I was shy or a jerk, whatever. I woke up for no particular reason, rolled over on my stomach and flipped open the flap of the tent to look outside. It was a clear, dry night and I gazed at the swirl of stars -- something that most 15 years olds from the Northeast never see anymore (too much light pollution even far from the big cities).
It was 2 a.m. I remember because I had a new watch on and I gave it a lot of attention.
I was not dreaming.
A ball of pale white light appeared off to the right across the soccer field from me. It was moving along the road that bordered the other side of the field, its lowest part hidden from my view by an old stone wall, the kind that crisscross the New England landscape. This ball of light was about the height of a man and it moved at the speed of a walk.
I watched it carefully, without alarm, wondering what it was. There was no focal point to the glow; it was a uniform fluorescent oblong blob. My reaction was something like, "Huh. Wonder what THAT is."
It tracked along the road, from my right to left, and when it reached the driveway of the Rumsey Hall School office, it changed course to follow the driveway up the little hill until, reaching the hanging sign alongside the driveway that was lit by a single bulb, it merged into its pool of light and disappeared.
That's it. That's what I saw.
In the morning, I excitedly told all the kids in my Wagons West car all about what I'd seen. I got branded the ghost seer for the rest of the summer. But I did not see any more, even though I kept an eye out for them.
When I came home late that summer, I was telling my Aunt Jean about it. She asked me to repeat where the Rumsey Hall School was located.
Washington, Connecticut, I told her.
"Why, Washington, Connecticut is known for ghost sightings! Didn't you know that?"
No, I didn't, but I eventually found some articles that confirmed its reputation. I vaguely recall one that reported a theory that had something to do with the place having a lot of static electrical activity or something and it produced these blobs of light people were seeing now and then.
I saw my blob of light way back in 1965.
I made Mr. Jefferson into that ball of light for his foray off his mountaintop along the path through the woods to Jack and Rachel. It's a scene that feels real to me even though, of course, I made it up.
One of these days I'm going to visit the Rumsey Hall School. It's still there, apparently. Wonder if the kids have seen anything weird.
Have I seen any ghosts? I saw something I've never forgotten, something I used in "Thomas Jefferson, Rachel & Me" as the model for Mr. Jefferson's descent from the woods across from the Visitor Center at Monticello to Jack Arrowsmith's old BMW 325, in which Jack and Rachel Carter are waiting to take their new pal off to see something of the world.
I was 15 years old, spending my first night on a trip across half the country to Grandby, Colorado, to Vagabond Ranch. My father had been sent to a dude ranch when he was 15 so now he was sending me. The kids from the Northeast all convened in late June at the Rumsey Hall School in Washington, Connecticut for a cookout. The next morning, very early, we were to start our week-long journey in a caravan of cars with trailers including a chuck wagon, the whole assemblage referred to as "Wagons West."
We all slept that night in a row of two-man mountain tents pitched along the edge of a soccer field across the road from the school's office — a lovely old 18th century white clapboard house on a knoll with a lighted sign by its driveway.
I wound up with a tent all to myself — I was shy or a jerk, whatever. I woke up for no particular reason, rolled over on my stomach and flipped open the flap of the tent to look outside. It was a clear, dry night and I gazed at the swirl of stars -- something that most 15 years olds from the Northeast never see anymore (too much light pollution even far from the big cities).
It was 2 a.m. I remember because I had a new watch on and I gave it a lot of attention.
I was not dreaming.
A ball of pale white light appeared off to the right across the soccer field from me. It was moving along the road that bordered the other side of the field, its lowest part hidden from my view by an old stone wall, the kind that crisscross the New England landscape. This ball of light was about the height of a man and it moved at the speed of a walk.
I watched it carefully, without alarm, wondering what it was. There was no focal point to the glow; it was a uniform fluorescent oblong blob. My reaction was something like, "Huh. Wonder what THAT is."
It tracked along the road, from my right to left, and when it reached the driveway of the Rumsey Hall School office, it changed course to follow the driveway up the little hill until, reaching the hanging sign alongside the driveway that was lit by a single bulb, it merged into its pool of light and disappeared.
That's it. That's what I saw.
In the morning, I excitedly told all the kids in my Wagons West car all about what I'd seen. I got branded the ghost seer for the rest of the summer. But I did not see any more, even though I kept an eye out for them.
When I came home late that summer, I was telling my Aunt Jean about it. She asked me to repeat where the Rumsey Hall School was located.
Washington, Connecticut, I told her.
"Why, Washington, Connecticut is known for ghost sightings! Didn't you know that?"
No, I didn't, but I eventually found some articles that confirmed its reputation. I vaguely recall one that reported a theory that had something to do with the place having a lot of static electrical activity or something and it produced these blobs of light people were seeing now and then.
I saw my blob of light way back in 1965.
I made Mr. Jefferson into that ball of light for his foray off his mountaintop along the path through the woods to Jack and Rachel. It's a scene that feels real to me even though, of course, I made it up.
One of these days I'm going to visit the Rumsey Hall School. It's still there, apparently. Wonder if the kids have seen anything weird.
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My vote, Paul, is you saw a real Forty-Niner.Your tale reminds me of a neighbor down the street in North Haven (a suburb of Sag Harbor with more deer than people) who told a mindboggling story of his son seeing a Native American woman in very dirty smelly deerskin in his bedroom. She tried to yank the crucifix that was on a chain from around his neck. The father did not know this story until after he told the son he'd felt the hair on the back of his neck bristle while working in his basement shop and had turned around to see a Native American woman in dirty smelly deerskin standing there staring at him. When he shouted in panic she fled and was never seen again. The son revealed his story after the father told his.
Go figure. They did drink a hell of a lot of beer, those guys. Meisterbrau, which was something like 2.99 a case.
Far out. I believe that the consensus with believers in the "beyond" is that disembodied spirits appear as orbs of light or energy which corroborates your story. It's great to hear what in your life spurred you on to your description of Jefferson's initial apparition. My disbelief was totally suspended!
Inside Out: a not-so-smalltown editor's life
Bits and pieces from my newspaper column as well as some riffs on the horrors of novel writing and trying to get one's work the attention it deserves.
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So many people have seen ghosts, they must be real, right? Or not. Maybe belief explains the inexplicable, or lends hope for an afterlife. Maybe humans invented ghosts because we need them. Unless they're as real as we are.
I won't say much about my own brush with a ghostly figure, except that he passed right by my home office window in broad daylight and I only caught a glimpse. Purely my imagination, of course, but the man made no sound on gravel and wore 19th century gold miner garb, common enough in this part of California 160 years ago. Same as the apparition my neighbor and (apparently) his dogs swear is an occasional otherworld visitor to his old ranch house 5 miles from here. The friend had just that week moved some art pieces to my house for temporary safe keeping. (I'll skip that story, but do ghosts appreciate sculpture?)
I know there was nothing there, except maybe a bird swooping past, because in the few seconds it took me to bolt for the door and run out front it had disappeared. Officially, I don't believe in them either, but I try not to be too vocal about it. Might piss them off.
PAUL SHERMAN