Legends 88: Tell-Tale Heartland
Lore
This episode of Lore Legends explores dark tales from America's heartland, focusing on haunted sites in Ohio such as the Majestic Theater, a site of historical tragedy
Key takeaways
- The Majestic Theater's history as a bank, opera house, movie theater, and morgue during the Spanish flu pandemic has left deep spiritual imprints on its grounds.
Main topics
- The Majestic Theater's haunted history
- Spanish flu pandemic aftermath in Chillicothe, Ohio
Notable quotes
It seems only right that she would spend her death there as well.
Conclusion
The heartland's quiet landscapes conceal a legacy of forgotten tragedies and unresolved suffering.
Transcript preview
Speaker 1 (0:08) Names hold a certain amount of power, especially when it comes to the place you live. With just a few syllables, you get a sense of history, culture, people, a whole identity in a few small letters. I live in New England, and even hearing those two words brings up specific images. Old stone walls, clabbered houses. Fall colors and quiet winter nights. New England can mean different things to different people. To some, it means Martha's Vineyard and Cape Cod, the Kennedys and summer ice cream. To others, it's Salem and witches and Stephen King. The perfect setting for Halloween scares. Head west from New England and you'll get to America's heartland. The name's simple, but it's evocative. The industry that made America's cars, the coal and iron that built its cities, and the farmers that grow its food, all of them make up the beating hearts of the country. The state of Ohio's name conjures up a specific image as well. It's from a Seneca word, which means great or beautiful river. The name evokes something natural, peaceful, nurturing, and serene. But just like in New England, this bright side of Ohio has a dark counterpart. Ohio grew during a time of great change. Westward expansion, industrial revolution, changes to culture and traditions all left their mark. And in this great upheaval, some people, or their spirits, got left behind. A lot has changed from what Ohio looked like even 150 years ago. But in the forgotten corners of old buildings and shadowy woodlands, memories remain. And every now and then, they make themselves heard again. I'm Aaron Manke, and this is Lore Legends. Speaker 1 (2:06) By 1918, the Majestic Theater had been a lot of things. In 1802, it was built as the first bank in Chillicothe, Ohio. By the 1830s, it had become a Masonic Lodge. From there, it led many lives, serving a stint as an opera house, a vaudeville venue, even as an early movie theater. And now, a morgue. The disease had come from Camp Sherman, an army facility just north of the city. Soldiers coming home from the war in Europe had brought home more than just battle scars and bad memories. Each case started innocently enough. A sore throat, a fever, a headache. But soon, coughs and sniffles would give way to more severe symptoms. Strange odors, teeth and hair that fell out, bleeding from the mouth, the nose, and the ears. And a creeping discoloration turning the face blue. And finally, pneumonia would take over, and as their lungs filled with fluid, victims of the illness that people were calling the Spanish flu would drown in their own beds. Throughout 1918, this new deadly strain of influenza had been cropping up around the world. It was believed to have first appeared somewhere in Kansas shortly after the new year began. But with World War I raging in Europe, all the countries involved were keeping a tight lid on reporting any possible weaknesses, and that included illness. So the sickness spread unchecked, only gaining a name and a reputation when neutral Spain started to report cases. By the time the plague came to an end, 50 million people had lost their lives. And that fall in Chillicothe, nearly 2,000 at Camp Sherman would die. Beyond preventing infection, the people of Chillicothe had another problem on their hands. What to do with all the dead bodies? The military morgue was full, as were the funeral homes around town. So the Majestic Theater answered the call. Embalmers set up shop on stage, while the seats were taken out to make room for the coffins. The alley behind the theater was rechristened Blood Alley after the bodily fluids that were dumped in it nightly. The bodies themselves were stored in the dressing room, stacked on top of each other like so much firewood. And in some cases, these poor souls weren't actually resting in peace. More than once, a body was brought up for embalming, only for the mortician to discover that the patient was still alive. After the epidemic ended, the Majestic returned to its previous life as a theater. But while the bodies left the stage, some souls stayed for an encore. Multiple people have spotted a man laying on the stage when no one is supposed to be in the theater at all. It's only when they get closer that they realize that the man is wearing an old-fashioned army uniform from World War I. And the spot that he's laying in? Right where Spanish flu bodies were prepped for burial. The soldier, though, isn't the only person who hasn't moved on from the Majestic. Other sightings seem to be related not to the flu epidemic, though, but to the theater itself. Like Abigail. According to legend, Abigail was the daughter of a traveling actress. She spent her childhood playing in dressing rooms and watching backstage as her mother toured across the heartland. One night, after the curtain fell on her mother's performance at the Majestic, a fire suddenly broke out. Fleeing the flames, Abigail ran to the basement, but she couldn't find her way through the thick, acrid smoke. And according to staff and actors at the Majestic, she has never left. Backstage, actors have reported hearing a little girl's laughter echo through the halls. Crew members have noticed a small, shadowy figure dancing in dressing rooms and dark hallways. And in one instance, a performer followed Abigail as she skipped down to the basement. only to watch her vanish through a closed door. Abigail spent her life growing up in the theater. It seems only right that she would spend her death there as well. The Majestic is still a functioning theater today. In fact, it's the oldest continuously operating theater in America, and visitors love to see the history of the place. There's the old neon marquee out front. the classic red curtains and chairs, pictures of stars who graced its stage from Buffalo Bill to Laurel and Hardy. They're especially decided to see the usher in his old-fashioned uniform who guides patrons to their seats in the theater. It's not until after the performance, when they ask the staff about him, that they learn the truth. The majestic hasn't employed an usher in over 60 years. The usher seems to be a genuine lover of the theater. Some actors have reported feeling his invisible hands straightening their costumes backstage. Guests have heard his disembodied voice whispering directions to their seats. And at the end of the show, when the audience applauds, the usher can be seen, just by the exit, clapping along with them. The Majestic has been operating for 173 years now. That's 173 years of curtain calls and encores. But for some spirits that call the theater home, it seems it's not quite time for their final bows. Speaker 1 (7:42) It sounds a bit like a problem on a standardized test. One train is traveling west at 60 miles per hour. The other is going east at only four miles an hour. When will they meet? And at what time? And more importantly, who will survive? Unfortunately for two trains traveling through Republic, Ohio, this wasn't a hypothetical question. And on January 4th of 1887, at two o'clock in the morning, the passengers on board learned the deadly answer. In this situation, one of those trains was a freighter heading east, and the other was a fast-moving express train heading west on the same stretch of tracks. The freight train's plan was to arrive at the Republic station, pull aside to a separate track until the express train passed in the opposite direction, and then continue