The Railroad House, in Marietta, Pennsylvania
One night, after a performance at an old inn in Pennsylvania, Ted saw a ghost—maybe. Oh, and happy early Halloween!
While this is our October issue, I know it’s a little early for Halloween, but why should Walmart and Target have all the fun? So, here’s a story about a haunted night on the road.
I used to play a chain of bars and inns in southeastern Pennsylvania, and the inns routinely put up the bands after the gig. A lot of those inns had a reputation for being haunted. One had photos of glowing orbs and whisps floating in mid-air taken in various rooms, and some were said to have spirits that played games with patrons, switching lights on and off, blowing in sleepers’ ears, playing tug of war with bedsheets, or the sound of long-gone steam locomotives whistling in the night. At the time, my band was a Mississippi-hill-country-inspired duo, called Scissormen, and several of my drummers experienced these things, but not me. I typically just slept as well as a chronic insomniac can.
Until one night at the Railroad House Inn in Marietta, Pennsylvania. During the gig, I noticed placards on the tabletops for regular meetings of the Pennsylvania Paranormal Association. After the show, I asked the owner, “Is this place haunted?” And he regaled me with ghost stories, noting that a couple staying in the room at the end of the second floor hall, where a gray lady dressed for an earlier century occasionally appeared, had a tug of war with this haint over their bed covers just the week before. Then he added, “I don’t even want to tell you what happened in your room.” Of course, I had to know. Turns out, over a hundred years ago a traveler had been brutally bludgeoned there for the contents of his purse.
Suddenly, I was less tired then I’d thought I was. So, my drumming compadre at the time, R.L. Hulsman, and I, thought it might be nice to sit on the second story back porch of this beautiful structure built in 1823 and enjoy the sweeping woodland view with a wee dram of Jameson—my other frequent traveling companion in those days. It was a warm but beautiful night, with the stars and moon filling the sky like poetry, and one hour quickly become another and another. R.L. and I could chew the fat for ages.
“I saw a gray figure wearing a bonnet, a Victorian skirt, and a frilled blouse go by. I was silent.”
Then, to my left, at the end of the porch, where the window to the haunted room stood uncurtained, I saw a gray figure wearing a bonnet, a Victorian skirt, and a frilled blouse go by. I was silent. Surely, John Jameson and his sons were playing tricks on me. But after about 20 minutes, Rob leaned in and said, gesturing toward that window, “Hey, did you see…?”
“Yes!“ I shouted back. And after a wee bit more liquid courage we decided to investigate.
The door to the allegedly haunted room was open, and we bumbled in, checking the closet, looking under the bed, tugging the bedcovers to see if we’d get a tug back, and checking for the cold spots that seem to be everywhere on paranormal-investigation TV shows. We sat on the bed for a while, but nuthin’. So, we left, and it was time for me to go back to my murder-scene room.
I changed into my PJs, put a glass of water on the bedside table, and spent some time reading a railroad magazine. (Yes, I am also a hardcore train nerd.) The breeze from the open window was delightful, and I soon fell asleep, waking up about 10 hours later, after one of the most wonderful rests I’ve ever had on the road. We lit out for the next gig, relaxed and ready to roll ’n’ rock, in that order.
If you expected a cataclysmic encounter with the souls of the dead, I’m sorry to disappoint. This doesn’t mean I discount others’ experiences, because I have seen and experienced some strange things, indeed. Maybe this spirit was kind, as well as playful, and gifted me the night’s sleep she knew I needed. And while I never played the Railroad House again, I do treasure this night and the memory of the sighting I either did or didn’t have—just another weird tale from decades spent on the road.
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Ted D. at an early gig, circa 1988.
For affirmation, education, and socialization, there may be nothing better than performing live.
Play a gig! That’s my advice on how to become a better player, and maybe even a happier and better human. Sure, plenty of us have played plenty of gigs, but I know a lot of people with a room full of gear who have never taken any of it out of the house, save for maybe the beach or around a fire. And honestly, there’s nothing wrong with that, but why deny yourself the experiences that come with performing live in front of strangers through a PA? Take your acoustic to an open mic in a basement or local watering hole, or sit in with a friend’s cover band for a few songs. Maybe even sing, too. Just take any opportunity to get on any stage that you can, and let it rip.
Why? Because practicing at home is not the same as actually performing. And performing, which, to put it bluntly, lights a fire under your ass, has unlimited benefits. If you have some stage fright or general shyness, what better way to get over it than learning the techniques to cope that come naturally after a couple performances? To say nothing of the confidence that you’ll enjoy after you’re survived a few gigs. You learn to breathe differently (with your instrument), attack the guitar differently, to sing and play into a mic and sound system and grasp how it can be used for dynamic effect or to underscore a lyric, or how your guitar sounds amplified in a larger space when you pick or strum at various places along the strings or flip the pickup selector or roll back the volume.
Perhaps the best benefit of gigging is how it broadens your world.
For me, playing solo and in bands has been great therapy, as well as a ticket to adventure. The confidence I’ve grown into standing in front of strangers and even talking to them during performances is one of the greatest gifts I’ve received. I was a shy, odd kid, and performing has taught me how to engage with others in a deeper and personal way, and lessen my fears about, well … everything! Also, the desire to be good and to entertain is a strong motivator for musical improvement. (That fire, again!)
But perhaps the best benefit of gigging is how it broadens your world. You meet other musicians, and invariably some of them become friends. Who doesn’t like making new friends? Plus, if you deliver a song or a set with a modicum of confidence and engagement, strangers will connect with that and want to offer you praise or commiseration or even their own stories if, say, something you sang or said resonated with them. That kind of sharing is a beautiful thing.
If you play a gig, and play more gigs, and keep getting better, and people start coming to see you on a regular basis, the connections deepen. I’ve had people tell me my music has helped them feel like they’re “at home”—a home they’d left years ago and long for. A few have told me that my recordings have brought solace to a dying loved one, or become a joyful bond of listening shared with a difficult parent. That has touched me deeply and made me feel better about choosing to travel a road that, at times, has been quite difficult.
If I hadn’t first stepped on a stage at a diner (that served cheap beer) in the woods outside of Worcester, Massachusetts, and kept pushing through the first 50 gigs that gave me the terrors, all that and more would never have happened. I am grateful that I did.
So, go play a gig. Then maybe another, and another. Each gig becomes a flagstone on the path of musical pursuit and, more important, life. They can lead to wonderful places and things.