Grays Armory was duly rebuilt, its once-mighty drill hall shortened but still an impressive space , and the structure's stocky profile is now mostly hidden by the commercial real estate grown up around it. From time to time, efforts have been made to bulldoze Grays Armory for further development, but those more appreciative of the history, in these bricks and stones have prevailed, so far.
It was erected as the ceremonial headquarters of the Cleveland Grays, the city militia founded in They took their name and their uniform color from the shade of garment preferred at West Point, and they were hardly alone in their choice of a role model; similar regional companies of "Grays" were founded in the 19th century, in cities and territories from California to the East Coast. Grays even assisted in the forays against the Mexican bandit Pancho Villa; panoramic photos of the troops in the field hang on the walls, attesting to adventures near and far.
Over the years, Grays Armory has hosted all manner of cultural events in its 10,square-foot ballroom and the drill hall.
Before the great concert space to the east, Severance Hall, became the Cleveland Orchestra's regular home, the world-renown musical ensemble performed its first concert at Grays Armory. Opera singer Mario Lanza made his local debut there in the s. Annual car shows and home shows began here, and military-memorabilia exhibits, boxing matches, wedding receptions and trade shows continue to use the drill hall, as do parties and special functions.
Cleveland police practice marksmanship at a shooting range in the basement, and the Grays color guard still march in city events. The meeting rooms and galleries are festooned with faded banners, portraits, hunting trophies, weapons and epaulets, the remembrances of past glories.
When night falls in November, Grays Armory becomes the subject of other stories. The late Frank Tesch, who oversaw Grays Armory, is credited with helping the rumors along; anything to encourage public attention and support to the Grays in an era of tight budgets. An additional peculiar aspect of the apparition, according to the witness, is that he appeared entirely monochrome, even to his flesh.
Like an image from the tube of a black-and-white TV set. Leaving their scaffolding unattended for a moment, they heard footsteps echoing up and down the main staircase, but could see nobody making the racket. When they returned to their work, they found their brushes, paint and materials tipped over and scattered in disarray.
The door was still locked, no culprit visible. It was late in the year; night had fallen. A cadet was sent downstairs to the vast, vacant drill hall on an errand. He returned, ashen, having seen something - but what it was he did not say. Only that he would not be going down there alone in the dark again.
Maintenance supervisor Bill Jenkins, who has lived inside the Armory for several years, said that he has never seen anything strange in his tenure, despite the stories.
Emphasize the word "seen. Lou Grosser, a major in the Grays, actually died in the Drill Hall, and his funeral was held there.
During his life, Major Grosser frequently smoked a particularly aromatic and sweet brand of tobacco. Not long after his death, one of Jenkins' associates asked if there was anyone just outside the front door, smoking.
He could smell it. It's just you and me here. It smelled just like Lou Grosser's pipe. He asked, 'Who else is in this building? Jenkins said he has heard sounds at night and sometimes felt a menacing atmosphere around the Armory that reminded him of the catchphrase made famous in The Amityville Horror, an angry shrieking "Get out! Still, that unmistakable flavor of pipe smoke remains inexplicable to him. A true squire of this castle, Jenkins is knowledgeable about the Armory and its people, the American presidents who have played billiards in the upstairs pool room, the Grays' sally against Pancho Villa in Mexico, the grand memorial ceremony that was held here for Conrad Mizer, a Clevelander much beloved by the city's children for the many free concerts he mounted around town; literally thousands of kids turned out to pay their respects in the drill hall.
But Jenkins tolerates the ghost tours and the occasional paranormal investigators who have come his way since Frank Tesch's tenure. Jenkins indulges them their jargon, their gadgets and devices. He remembered one ghost-chaser taking some sort of sensor reading at a wall panel and declaring excitedly that the energy levels were high. A few of the ceiling fans - not all, just a few - began to rotate on their own, despite their power being switched off, and some strange instrument readings were recorded.
Every so often an adventurer shows Jenkins a photo taken in Grays Armory with curious shapes and foggings that he can't explain. He can explain the resident poltergeist, "Patrick.
Jenkins said it arose spontaneously as a sort of inside joke. The Civil Air Patrol simply invented Patrick one day. During a meeting, a heavy, potted plant suddenly fell over, and someone came up with the name on the spot: "Cut that out, Patrick!
On two separate occasions, self-proclaimed psychics and sensitives went to the second floor to try out their mojo. Both described very much the same entity, visible only to them. It was a Civil War-era soldier, in baggy, unkempt attire, standing by the grand piano on the second floor. Submitted by: Grandma Fern.
Update: I grew up on the outskirts of Lucas, Iowa, next to Cleveland My dad who is still living and 71 years old has been in that area all his life. At one time he was made the mayor of Cleveland, he condemned the cities streets so he could officially close the town and purchase the land to make into farm ground. John L. Lewis's house foundation is on his property; old cement steps are all that is left to date.
While places like the Wild West are famous for or, rather, infamous for ghost towns, quaint places like Ohio are not widely known for abandoned communities. Cleveland is, interestingly enough, home to an abandoned telescope factory and observatory. There sure are! Throughout the Buckeye State, you will find a number of fascinating hikes. Some of the abandoned places in Ohio have grown largely forgotten by locals, and they now live on as local legend.
In Southeast Ohio, you might hear whispers of an abandoned town called Mineral as you travel among the rolling landscape. While our ghost towns may be few and far between in this modern day and age, you can always visit a lovingly restored replica of an s ghost town , or just admire the fascinating forgotten buildings throughout the state that sit in an eternal state of decomposition. Posted in Cleveland October 06, by Nikki Rhoades.
During these uncertain times, please keep safety in mind and consider adding destinations to your bucket list to visit at a later date. Welcome to Little Egypt Ohio Ghost Town Exploration Co. This community thrived from to , but its remnants are mostly part of Walton Hills today. This community succeeded thanks to the canal, farming, and mills.
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