The Lasting Spirit(s) of Theatre

On the last day of an often vexing year, we decided to end it on a high note by all piling into one car (not so bad on a cold and rainy day) and taking in a late afternoon show at The Gaslight Theatre. The musical comedy was loosely based on a Christmas favorite and fittingly titled “Elf’d.” I think we all laughed more than we had all year and won’t soon forget all the pizza, popcorn and Rootbeer floats!

It’s impossible to overstate the rustic ambiance of the wooden walls, floors, and stage.  Lining the knotty walls are images in black and white and glossy color of past and present Gaslight stars that lend a sense of graciousness surpassed only by the warm handshake you receive from each actor on your way out the door. 

Naturally (or not), on the ride home I thought about all the shows; the actors, and the patrons who keep the live stage theater alive and kickin’. And of course, I thought about those who’ve passed on.

Thinking about theater ghosts took me way out of my desert digs to a place on the south coast of the Isle of Wight; in the English Channel, where more than a few ghosts tenaciously linger at the Ventnor Operating Theatre. 

“The prettiest place I ever saw in my life” ~ Charles Dickens

The Royal National Hospital for Diseases of the Chest at Ventnor saw upwards of 100,000 patients in under a century. Most suffered from consumption – or Tuberculosis; a disease for which a cure had not yet been found, leading to much speculation and an alarming amount of experimental surgeries being performed in the Ventnor Operating Theatre. 

By the time the last patient left in the summer of ’64, plans were already forming for repurposing the grounds in anticipation of brighter days, without the pall of death and sickness.

 

The first phase went as planned and the Ventnor Botanic Gardens soon flourished across the half-mile stretch of land where terminal patients were once housed.  Problems began with the demolition of the hospital itself.  To all who witnessed, it seemed the hospital was not willing to go.

There were equipment malfunctions, and utter failures - tractors, excavators, and a Ball Crane were all wrecked in the process - unexplained accidents, and grizzly sightings of moaning ghostly figures that led even the toughest worker to flee from an honest day’s pay. 

"Ventnor is a sun-box - north winds would have to confess that they have not even a visiting acquaintance with her." - Ward Lock Guide (1931)

When at last only the Operating Theatre remained, and all other efforts had been vehemently resisted, it was decided that the remaining demolition would be done by hand, there were few takers. Those who dared attempt to complete the work, left with their sledgehammers long before dark each day, having endured being scrutinized by disapproving spirits since sunrise. At least a couple of the workmen who saw the demolition to the end recall the strong smell of ether as they stood in the icy rubble of a stoic Theatre on a balmy summer day.

Once it was clear that not so much as a weed would grow where the hospital once stood, it was paved for a parking lot; a place where lights often flicker at night and dogs won’t approach by day. 

Have you been to the Isle of Wight? Would you visit Ventnor Botanic Gardens?

Phantoms of Vallecito

Nothing seems as distant as your destination when crossing the desert in summer. Sometimes even a brief stop at a ramshackle gas station proved refreshing when we could run inside and take turns standing in front of the fan on the counter while grandma pumped gas out front. 

Of course, back in the day, I’m about to tell you about, there were no gas stations. Anywhere. But there is a place where you suddenly glide down from the menacing high desert mountains into a veritable wonderland of flatland grass and a natural spring. No wonder everyone stopped there.

Nestled in the heart of ‘earthquake valley’ in the Anza Borrego desert are remnants of a once bustling stagecoach station called Vallecito (little valley), where weary travelers and their burros could rest and replenish water and supplies.  However, having come through the ‘journey of death’ across the unforgiving desert, many weren’t able to go any further.

Such as the Lady in White, who was assumed to have traveled cross-country alone to meet her prospective husband (some speculate she was a mail-order bride), only to die of exhaustion and dehydration in a back room of the station. Although she was buried in a wedding dress found in her suitcase, and hers is one of only three gravesites in the old cemetery, her restless spirit is said to roam the valley ridges on moonlit nights, an unsettling vision; in tears, and flowing white.

As the first official transcontinental route (between Yuma and San Diego) for stage lines and emigrant caravans alike, especially during the Gold Rush days, Vallecito became a principal stop for the antecedents of the Pony Express, though back then it was called Jackass Mail. 

While the stagecoach that ran between Carrizo wash and Vallecito station is of small note in history these days; stories abound of sightings of four mules pulling a coach with a driver who sits slumped over. If by morning you’re not sure you saw what you think you did, wagon wheel tracks in the deep, soft sand are quite convincing that someone (perhaps the mailman?) wants the trail to remain open.

And then there are the fireballs. Reportedly seen (since as far back as 1858) north of Vallecito station as burning balls; projecting soundlessly up and exploding into cascading flames that light even the darkest of night skies. If there is an explanation for these sightings, I haven’t found it. But, as one local historian puts it; “Don’t gaze long into the darkened night…for something is undoubtedly looking back.”

Do you have a favorite road trip memory? Would you camp in earthquake valley? What do you think those fireballs are?

Anza-Borrego Desert State Park

Dark Desert Highway

Not everyone can claim they’ve ever seen a UFO, much less a cigar-shaped craft of gleaming silver streaking across the sky, though throughout history in the villages of Arizona’s Navajo nation a great many people swear they have, and are eager to share their stories as well as ancient depictions; painted on handmade pottery and carved on the walls of caves. While generally attributed to the peculiar philosophies of those accustomed to seclusion, the stories continued and grew in such numbers as to eventually warrant a team of experts called the Navajo Nation Rangers to investigate such reports as multiple lights hovering low before jetting straight up and out of sight, followed by a sonic boom and power outages in the town of Chinle.

One retired Lt. described being followed by an orb for over 30 minutes on his way to investigate such accounts as that of a Skinwalker, posed as a human-sized rabbit in a distraught woman’s driveway, or coins falling out of thin air near the home of an elderly man. 

But in the four corners area, the dark desert highway; widely recognized as one of the most dangerous and downright haunted stretches of highway in America, known as The Devil’s Highway, was largely left to fend off its demons without assistance or scrutiny; leading to historically high numbers of accidents with fatalities. Some cases involved Satan’s Sedan; a sleek black car that bore down from behind until the driver drove off the road, or causing the same effect with a head-on approach. There are reported incidents of a possessed Semi-truck barreling down the center line; causing multiple-car crashes in a one-mile stretch. Hitch hikers were noted as well, though perhaps not the typical stranger one would expect, because they look like someone you know or have known – until they get into your car.

Oddly enough, fatalities and disturbing accounts in general declined dramatically in 2003 when the highway was, not quite by an act of congress, renamed (re-numbered) to Route 491, from its former moniker Route 666.

And speaking of state routes, I’ll be watching a Cavalcade of Cars parade down SR 260 for the 33^rd annual Run to the Pines car show this weekend as I embrace the first brisk days of fall! I hope your weekend is unusually fun too!

If you thought you saw a UFO, would you say so? If you could skin-walk, what would you choose to be? Do you believe the very name of a highway could affect events occurring on it?