Ghost Story #5: Le Nain Rouge or a Mere Rogue Spirit?

The Detroit Free Press, October 11, 1872

Synchronicity should never be dismissed as face value happenstance nor irony as anything but a working cog of the great Karmic machine. The fact that I re-found this article on the eve of the Marche du Nain Rouge is proof of that sentiment.

The legend of The Nain Rouge, a mythic and grotesque harbinger of tragic events, dates back to the days of Cadillac and some 300+ years of Detroit history. To re-hash the legend and the historical consequences of his appearances would be a greater tragedy than the catastrophes that followed the purported sightings of this gnomish devil, The Red Dwarf.

Instead, I'll try to add to the allure and mystery of an enduring and endearing folklore with a short addendum in the mythos, though minus a MacGuffin it sadly falls short.

Jane Dacy of East Elizabeth Street was at home performing errands on a Wednesday night in October of 1872 when she entered a dark room and saw what the Free Press describes as a ghost. However, the description of "blood-red eyes, long teeth and rattling hoofs" sounds more akin to the famed Nain Rouge. The fright of seeing the creature caused Dacy to faint and become bed-ridden the next day.

Even though I morbidly wished for some tragic event in the days after the sighting--it's not as if I can change the past-- there were none to be found. Outside of the typical murders, assaults and the fact that a nearby suburban village, Farmington, nearly burnt to the ground the previous night, I can find no local disasters, tragedies or weather events that occurred to further support the legend. Though it should be noted that he has appeared before only to menace some unlucky person and not primarily to precede a cataclysmic event.

Ghost Story #4: The Buchanan Street Spectre

The Detroit Free Press, June 1, 1922

I suppose that for every legitimate ghost sighting there are a hundred specious ones. This one seems to cross both realms in that it was seen by over a hundred people but was apparently as nefarious as a sock puppet, having been born in the vivid imaginations of moonshine imbibers and pranksters.

Today, only the empty husk of the Craig's Chapel Baptist Church remains along Buchanan street between 31st and 32nd. Where street cars and automobiles ran concurrently along the bustling tree-lined avenue now only a few straggler cars pass by every minute or so.

Road construction along Buchanan Street circa 1914

The block stone street of the early 20th century gave way to modern contrivances with much of the tedious labor of removing the moldy blocks from the road being accomplished by thrifty neighbors who filled their sheds with the useful bricks.

The alley behind the church is thick with underbrush and pockets of grass poking above the cracked and separating concrete pathway. Trash, weeds, broken tree branches and wildflowers fill the remaining landscape in the moribund area buttressed by W. Grand Blvd., Livernois, The Edsel Ford, Warren Avenue and Michigan Ave. a few miles southward.

But in the waning days of May, 1922 a spectre hung over the area. A ghost that is, which materialized, spooked and tantalized the residents along Buchanan street. It appeared only at evening hovering above the back fences in the alleyway as dusk fell into darkness. As word spread about the neighborhood, droves of curiosity seekers lined the street with only the brave daring to enter the mouth of the haunted passage.

Each evening the crowds grew for nearly a week. Being that it was dark and the hovering spectre moved quite rapidly it left merely a foisted shadow behind in the wake of each passing. Only the sober and the quick-sighted were able to spy the phantom in its fleeting flights.

Five days after the frenzy commenced it culminated in a whitewash of spectators clogging the street and stopping all traffic for half an hour. When the police finally broke up the party it was determined that a hoisted nightshirt controlled through clandestine means was as much to blame for the commotion as was the free flow of moonshine.

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The Owosso Argus-Press - May 31, 1922

The Detroit Free Press, August 24, 1904 (enlarge)

Ghost Story #3: A Spooky Tooth Bites No More in Palmer Park

Palmer Park is known today for containing the last standing log cabin in Detroit but in 1931 there resided a homestead which supposedly shook with ghostly fright. So bad were the shrieking noises that resident John Peterson and his family fled the home in terror.

The noises began in April of that year. After a few nights of haunted happenings the police were summoned to search and stake out the home. Situated in the spook enclave were patrolman Norbert Hoffman and three other Detroit officers. Around midnight there was a "shivering crash" and Hoffman in panicked flight rammed his face into a door, knocking out four teeth in the melee. The other cops retreated as well, quipping that "something funny" was going on inside.

Reinforcements arrived in the form of 10 patrolmen and 6 newspaper reporters. 20 minutes after their arrival another "shivering crash" rattled the building but once again nothing was found upon further inspection. While Hoffman spent the morning in a dentist chair his commanding office Lt. Thomas Kane scolded their cohorts and promised to bring an end to the mysterious events.

Ghost Story #2: Puss Martha was no Don Gato

The Detroit Free Press, February 13, 1915

If you ever sang the children's song Señor Don Gato in elementary school you remember that the protagonist fell from a roof while reading a letter from his love--the fattest, whitest, and sweetest kitty from miles around--and died. As his funeral procession trailed through the city streets it passed a fish market which reanimated the amorous kitten to his first love: food. Happy ending be thine!

The same mirth wasn't afforded Martha the Angora. The tabby, who belonged to Highland Park's Justice of the Peace, Richard F. Lanagan, suffered an unfortunate demise via salmon can suffocation. While her frozen body was found behind the residence on 68 Grand Avenue, her spirit apparently lingered, unsurfeited by a last meal of tin can asphyxiation.

Each night unearthly caterwauls pierced the winter din and kept the couple from restful slumber. Mrs. Lanagan was at wits-end with the development and the good Justice vowed to relocate his family if the wailing did not cease and desist.

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If the house still stands and renumbering wasn't precedent in Highland Park as it was in Detroit proper then one of these two faltering structures before might be it. For the sake of this great rememberance let's hope that Google maps is wrong once again.

Ghost Story #1: Peter Erb & the 8 Foot Spectre

The Detroit Free Press, April 23, 1873

I've been sitting on a pile of Detroit area ghost stories for a while now in hopes that I could further each history beyond the lone mentions in newspaper articles but unfortunately I've been unable to do much with that premise. Hence, I'm going to dump them here with a brief synopsis and see if they joggle any spirits with knowledge of the incidents and invite them to come forward and testify.

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Putting the vagaries of names and points on a map aside, the haunting of Peter Erb was strange enough that the ghost may have been none other than himself. Seeing as his name was popular enough that it covered the ranks of saloon keeper, fireman, womanizer and local ruffian we can only surmise who this Peter Erb was.

From the lone newspaper account he resided at the corner of Dequindre and Marion. Which, if my accounting is accurate and certain grid marks hold true to present day form, would be out Hamtramck way. On the outskirts, at least, where city meets city within the confines of Detroit.

After an evening of shopping in the Midtown area he was accosted by an 8 foot ghost. An ethereal titan, really, which audibly approached with foot soles slapping hard down on the pavement that announced its coming. Erb turned to greet the fellow. They shook hands. One mortal paw meeting the icy claw of nevermore. It gave sir Peter a fright. He attempted to flee from the abominable no-man but Fate had no recourse other than to see him struck by the apparition and crumple down to the sidewalk.

Several hours and an inch of snow later pedestrians found the stricken man prone where he lay. Thinking him dead they retrieved the corpse and took shelter inside a nearby house. There the Good Samaritans found that a sliver of life remained in the frigid vessel of flesh. A doctor was summoned and by the rituals and advancements of 19th century medicine, à la the great elixir whiskey, he was roused from his prolapsed state. Thus began his supernatural tale.

With a doctor and policeman as witness and family en route, Erb raved and ranted, then became clear-minded and spun the aforementioned yarn. No amount of coaxing or forensics could convince him otherwise. He saw it. Lucid as any teetotaler. Only a scientist could disapprove the earnest retching of an honest and occupied gentleman with his own staid opinions. And the good physician did just that. You're damned well right he did. But being that we are the keepers of the faith shall we not demure on the saner side of reason?