Ghosts and Haunts of Tennessee

I

appalachian apparitions

Haints of East Tennessee and the Smokies

CHAPTER 1

Big Orange Hauntings

If Knoxville is famous for one thing, it is the Big Orange. For the uninitiated, Big Orange stands for the University of Tennessee—and the University of Tennessee stands for football. On select weekends in the autumn, Knoxville comes to a virtual standstill as fans fill Neyland Stadium to watch the Big Orange play—and win.

For some Big Orange fans, it may come as a surprise to learn that something other than sports goes on at UT. The University of Tennessee in fact possesses many outstanding academic departments and programs. Less publicized, however, is the fact that the UT campus is also possessed of something else—possessed of the spirits of the dead. The home of the Big Orange is haunted—quite haunted, in fact.

Now, in fairness, UT is far from unique in this regard. Many colleges and universities, especially those of long standing, have accumulated various and sundry ghosts. As Betsey Creekmore, an associate vice chancellor at the university, once observed, A campus as old as ours . . . would not be much of a campus if it didn’t have ghosts. A campus ghost or three is as much a part of many schools’ traditions as, well, football. Freshmen at UT are often instructed as to such hallowed traditions on—when else?—Halloween.

Far and away the best-known and most commonly encountered ghost on campus is Sophie. Sophronia Marks was born in Shelbyville, Tennessee, in 1817. After marrying Dr. Joseph Strong, a Knoxville physician, at age sixteen, she spent most of her married life in the city, raising twelve children before dying in 1867. It was not until 1915, however, that her son Benjamin gave the tract where the family home once stood to the university. He donated the property in his mother’s memory with the proviso that a women’s dormitory be built on the spot and that it should always have a flower garden in front—a tribute to the June roses residing within, no doubt. (A June rose was a young lady of quality who was graduating—more commonly from finishing school in those days.)

Sophronia Strong Hall was constructed during the early 1920s. By 1925, the first female students began to take up residence there. It was not long before the ghost nicknamed Sophie began to make her presence known.

When Strong Hall opened, each room featured a full-length mirror, so the young ladies could make sure they were properly groomed and attired. In the dormitory’s early days, one resident was brushing her hair before the mirror when she saw Sophie standing behind her. When she turned, the ghost was gone. Ever since, on the anniversary of her birthday—February 17—Sophie appears in dormitory mirrors, all dressed in white.

Each new generation of students encounters her anew. Most commonly, Sophie makes her presence known by means of poltergeist-like pranks played on dorm residents. Girls planning to go out for a night on the town may suddenly find themselves locked in their rooms. Coeds needing to go to the toilet may discover that the bathroom stalls are all locked, even though empty. Cups and glasses move about on their own, as if by an unseen hand.

Such manifestations are commonly attributed to Sophie’s desire to make sure the hall’s residents behave like proper young ladies. Sophie is frequently in evidence when tempers fare between coeds; she has even been reported to have forcefully intervened to break up arguments. Similarly, Sophie seems concerned about the residents’ morals; some of her actions seem directed at female students maintaining their chastity.

While Sophie has been seen all over the building, one room in particular seems to warrant her special attention. The resident assistant’s quarters on the fourth floor are commonly called Sophie’s Room, and whoever is posted there is referred to as Sophie’s roommate. It is rare that any resident assistant assigned to the room lasts long, so intense are the paranormal phenomena they are subjected to.

While meeting Sophie for the first time may be scary, most who have encountered her agree that she is more maternal than malevolent. Late at night, it is not uncommon for Strong Hall residents to see something float by in the corridors. Some describe it as a light and others as a diaphanous, glowing cloud, but everyone knows it is Sophie. As one alumna put it, "When you live in Strong Hall, you will see Sophie before the year is up."

Two blocks from Strong Hall on Cumberland Avenue sits Hoskins Library, the favorite haunt of another campus ghost. What her actual name in life may have been is unknown, but the ghost is generally referred to by students and staff as Evening Primrose. The library’s elevators have been known to travel from floor to floor without any riders, while books in the stacks are prone to removing themselves from the shelves and falling to the floor. At other times, people in the library hear the sound of footsteps behind them. Turning to find out who it may be, they see no one at all. Sometimes, library staff even report smelling the distinct aroma of fresh cornbread throughout the building, although nary a square of bread is in evidence anywhere. Presumably, Evening Primrose loved her cornbread.

The specter inhabiting Hoskins is definitely female. She is generally thought to be the ghost of a graduate student who, having been told by her faculty adviser to rewrite her massive doctoral dissertation for the hundredth time, camped out in the library in order to finish that last, worst hurdle on the road to graduation. Evening Primrose died in the stacks, her frail frame slumped over a pile of dusty tomes. Apparently, nobody paid attention to the deceased doctoral candidate, assuming her to be just another pallid grad student burning the midnight oil. So Evening Primrose wanders the corridors of Hoskins Library, forever doomed to be ABD (All But Dissertation).

Across the street from Hoskins rises an acclivity simply called The Hill. Although a cluster of academic buildings encircles The Hill, the eminence itself is of most interest to ghost hunters. On the steps leading up The Hill and around the knoll itself, visitors may encounter the spirit of a young man dressed in garb that is strangely out of date. He wears a bowler hat and an old-fashioned removable celluloid collar.

This odd young man is commonly encountered pacing, head bowed, hands behind his back, as if deep in thought. The story goes that at some time in the 1930s, he was a student at UT. The earnest young scholar was in love with a girl. Thinking she felt the same way about him, he had intentions of making her his wife. It came as something of a shock, therefore, when she eloped with another man. Worse still, she ran of with a Yankee from Boston!

In a fit of despair, the young man took a revolver to his temple and blew his brains out one moonlit night on The Hill. Ever since, it is said, he paces the place of his demise. Mostly, he ignores passersby. Occasionally, however, he politely tips his bowler hat. It is then that visitors may see the gaping hole in his skull where his temple should be.

Another apparition is also said to inhabit The Hill. But this is an entity of a far more sinister sort. On rare occasion, visitors encounter a large, ominous-looking black canine. It has glowing red eyes, like two coals. Its long, sharp fangs drip a slimy goo as it bares its teeth at passing pedestrians.

The black dog that haunts The Hill is no stray pet but what is called a barghest—not like Lassie but more of a hound of the Basker-villes sort. This hound from hell howls a ferocious cry at all hours of the night, prompting calls to the campus police. But when a patrol car arrives, the beast has vanished into the dark.

Whence the creature came, no one knows, but it seems tied to The Hill, rather than any specific building nearby. Some have theorized that the spectral hound is the ghost of Bonita, a beloved family pet buried on the grounds of Tyson House, several blocks away. That seems unlikely, as the black hound of The Hill was never anybody’s pet. It is commonly believed that just looking upon it will bring misfortune or even death.

The canine apparition may in fact date to before the creation of the university. Numerous prehistoric Native American graves are known to have existed on campus. Some are still untouched, but many have been desecrated over the years. It has been theorized that the beast could be a protective spirit summoned by some dead Indian shaman to watch over the skeletons of his ancestors and prevent them from being further disturbed. If that is indeed the case, then giving this dog a bone may not be the wisest thing to do.

Just down from The Hill and nestled next to Neyland Stadium is the Alumni Memorial Building, the abode of one of UT’s more famous ghosts. To most on campus, the phantom of Alumni Memorial is known simply as Fannie.

According to tradition, Fannie was a beautiful young coed from the 1920s who had aspirations of movie stardom. The young lady’s dreams seemed to be coming true when a moving picture was shot in Knoxville and Fannie landed a small role in it. The producers took notice and offered her a movie contract if she ever showed up in Hollywood. Sadly, before she could take the film moguls up on their offer, Fannie contracted tuberculosis and died.

Ever since Fannie’s death, her unfulfilled acting ambitions have caused her spirit to haunt UT’s theaters and auditoriums. Fannie’s first phantom abode was the old Science Hall, which once held an auditorium used to stage plays in the 1920s and 1930s. Fannie had performed in various productions there in life, so it was understandable that her shade should continue to haunt its footlights.

Alas, in 1967, Science Hall, a landmark since 1894, was torn down to make way for campus improvements, and Fannie was left homeless. But soon after the theater in Science Hall was razed, students and staff in the Alumni Memorial Building began to report uncanny occurrences in that building’s theater.

Campus productions are frequently rehearsed in Alumni Memorial’s theater today. It is at such times that Fannie’s presence is most in evidence. The pallid apparition is strongly attracted to the roar of greasepaint and the smell of the crowd (as it were). UT’s thespians have become used to Fannie’s occasional antics. She haunts the wings like some eager understudy hoping for the leading lady to really break a leg. Being a theater ghost, after all, is a role to die for.

The campus home of the Big Orange has many other apparitions, to be sure. A Civil War battle fought virtually on the campus may account for several sightings of ghosts in Yankee uniforms, for example. And Reese Hall, the General Counseling Center, and Tyson Hall all claim resident specters. Still, for sheer devotion to her avocation, none of them can beat UT’s Fannie.

CHAPTER 2

Gatlinburg Ghosts

Time was, Gatlinburg was a sleepy little village far removed from big-city trappings. Today, as the center of Great Smoky Mountains tourism, this scenic Appalachian community has plenty of hustle and bustle. It also has plenty of ghosts.

Visitors by the hundreds of thousands descend on the area every year to play. With the Great Smoky Mountains National Park just around the corner and many other scenic wonders nearby, they hang their hats at one or anther hotel, motel, or resort in Gatlinburg. In fact, some become so attached to the place that they stay around forever.

The Greenbrier Restaurant is one such place where folks like to hang out. Sitting astride a winding mountain road just outside downtown Gatlinburg, the Greenbrier has been a popular haunt for decades. Locals wanting slow-cooked prime rib or a good Smoky Mountains strip steak that’s been marinated for days know where to go—the cozy log lodge that houses the Greenbrier. Little wonder that regulars often linger over dinner and drinks until closing time.

And then there is Lydia. Before the Greenbrier was a restaurant, it was an inn—the Greenbrier Lodge—where a raven-haired lady named Lydia lived. Lydia was young and deeply in love. In due course, she became engaged to a young man from town. On her wedding day, Lydia dressed in a long white gown and went into town to meet her lover at the church. She stood at the altar waiting for her fiancé—and she waited, and she waited. The appointed time came and passed, and still no beau.

Finally, Lydia returned to the Greenbrier Lodge unmarried, brokenhearted, and alone. She climbed the stairs but never made it to her room. On the second-floor landing, Lydia tossed a rope around a stout wooden beam and, still clad in her nuptial gown, hanged herself. Needless to say, she is still hanging around to this day.

A caretaker who lived in the lodge some years back was constantly awakened in the middle of the night by Lydia’s pitiful cries. Night after night, he heard her moaning, Mark my grave, mark my grave! Finally, the caretaker had enough. Having grown up in Gatlinburg, he knew exactly where Lydia lay buried. So, one moonlit night, he made his way down the mountainside and put up a marker over Lydia’s grave. From that night on, the caretaker slept undisturbed.

When the Hadden family bought the Greenbrier in the early 1980s, locals told them about Lydia. At first, they dismissed her story as just a typical tale that came with an old house. But as the Haddens renovated the log building and transformed it into the scenic restaurant that welcomes guests today, each member of the family became aware of Lydia’s presence.

Becky Hadden, who manages the lounge at the Greenbrier, tells of the time her young son called out, Daddy! Dad! When his father turned around to see what was disturbing the preschooler, the boy exclaimed, A girl was there, but now she’s gone! The restaurant was closed at the time, and no one was present but staff. Becky is convinced her son saw Lydia. Nor was he the only one. Oftentimes, Lydia is seen on the second-floor landing where she died. Patrons have witnessed her small, sad figure wandering the lodge. Others have felt a chilling presence without actually seeing her.

Like Lydia, many of Gatlinburg’s other ghosts seem to have been lodgers in the city’s many inns and hotels. Far and away the most active hostelry in terms of ghosts is the Garden Plaza Hotel. Formerly known as the Holiday Inn Sunspree, the Garden Plaza is one of the more venerable resort hotels in Gatlinburg. For decades, this four-hundred-room hotel has accumulated specters and restless spirits.

The Garden Plaza actually consists of two buildings—a main structure referred to as the Toilsome and an addition called the Tower. Both have unique resident spooks.

The oldest phantom in the hotel is named Alvin. Alvin was a longtime employee who worked as a cook from the time the resort opened. In recognition of Alvin’s many years of service, the original owners gave him a brand-new boat as a birthday present. Tragically, the first time Alvin took his boat onto the lake, it sank. Unable to swim, he drowned.

Ever since then, employees in the hotel’s two kitchens have had to share their workspace with Alvin’s ghost. In the early-morning hours, cooks have reported an unseen entity that whispers their names. At other times, dishes fly across the kitchen and break against the wall. The faucets also turn on and of by themselves. Old Alvin is apparently fond of playing pranks on his fellow cooks.

Room 413 has a reputation as the most haunted room in the Holidome. Back in the late 1970s, two young women were murdered by a stranger they’d picked up in a bar. The stranger drowned one girl in the bathtub. He strangled the other, then dragged her body onto the roof, where he dumped it. Ever since then, members of the housekeeping staff have had chilling encounters while cleaning Room 413. Maids often report noises coming from the bathroom. Objects in the room mysteriously move from one place to another.

Several more ghosts are known to abide in the Tower. Room 471, for example, was the scene of a suicide in the late 1990s. A businessman, upset over personal disappointments, killed himself with a .357 Magnum. Allegedly, he left a $3.57 tip on the night table. Various people have seen his shadow facing the pool at night. Others have