I have
been digging back into the archives, reading some of the stories that I wrote
way back when for a local newspaper. I was tasked with writing ‘stories from
the past’ for the Eastern Passage and surrounding areas. Some of the stories came
to me by way of my Dad. I want to preserve some of them here and with Halloween
coming, I thought this one would be appropriate to begin with.
**
Ghostly
Tricks in Eastern Passage
Are
you superstitious? Panic when you see an owl in daylight? Knock on
wood? Shrink when a black cat crosses your path, your heart skips a beat
when you break mirror so you tie your handkerchief in a knot to ward off
evil? If you're one of those people who avoids walking under ladders or
counts crows this story of a prank played on an old Eastern Passage resident
who was superstitious will appeal to you. Leo had an active imagination and was genuinely spooked by ghosts.
Ghost is a word derived from the Saxon word gaste, meaning spirit. In
common usage, a ghost is the soul of a dead person that becomes visible to the
living. Psychic researchers refer to a ghost as a recurring apparition. A ghost does not inter react with the living
but rather repeats the same action over and over, like a tape being replayed
again and again. Leo was well aware of the activity of ghosts and it sent
him into a tizzy just thinking about it.
In the 1940s, the young men of Eastern Passage could often be found hanging out
at the Myers Pool Hall on Quigley's Corner. Leo was one of the usual
suspects. You could spot him easily by his wild tuft of curly hair
fopping about while making his way around in his bare feet on his trusty
bicycle. Not a fan of the washtub, his
idea of 'cleaning up' was applying a little powder and he was ready to
go. He was a comic sort, often a casualty of horseplay.
Al and the other guys in the pool hall were notorious storytellers. Devising antics of tomfoolery and telling
harebrained fibs while chalking up their cues. He knew Leo was
scared of the dark and particularly of ghosts. At nightfall, Leo would
always rush home, passing the graveyard at St. Andrew's Church. He would pedal
fast, his heart racing until he was safely by without incident. Al knew
this and used it to his advantage.
One evening, Al was in the mood to rile up a little mischief. Night fell
to a black hush and Leo mounted his bicycle giving himself a push start off
home down the dirt road. As usual, the closer he came to the graveyard,
the quicker his pulse raced. St. Andrew's cemetery sent chills down his
spine especially in the dark. Al, being good with detail knew all of this and
decided he would treat Leo to the fright of his life. Leo pedaled with a
fevered pace evading all that goes bump in the night, stiff on top of his bike,
focusing straight ahead. Al was waiting for him behind one of the larger
headstones in the cemetery with a ghastly white sheet draped over his
head. When Leo approached, sweaty and nervous Al, in his clever disguise
jumped out at the wiry haired man aping the sounds that we imagine ghosts make.
“WOOWWWHOAAAA!” Leo's eyes widened with sudden fear and jumped ten
feet in the air nearly throwing himself off of his bicycle. He jerked his
pedals so hard he snapped the chain spinning his dirty feet creating a
billowing cloud of dust behind him. Al watched Leo, spooked to his core
race off pushing his bike with his feet all the way home. All Al could do
was laugh. He returned to the pool hall to recount his caper to the boys.
The next evening Leo told the story of how he was attacked by an aggressive
spirit rising out of the cemetery. He had every man in the pool hall in
stitches, standing in the middle of the room replaying the scene, his hair
still wild, and his eyes popping. Al chuckled and confessed to Leo it was
him dressed up in a sheet trying to fool him but Leo wouldn't hear any of it,
he knew better than to believe anything that came out of his mouth. He went
on believing that there was in fact a ghost out for revenge and pedaled quicker
every night after on his way home.
**
I miss
my Dad telling me stories, especially after being afforded the opportunity to
tour through the Myers homestead yesterday with family. The walls vibrate with
history and stories and shenanigans. I wish I knew every single one of them so
I could write them down.
I’ve
got a few more ghost stories from the area I used in those news stories to share
here in the coming week. It’s so much fun re-reading them now.
In
propinquity,
Nic
