Summer Wave of UFO Sightings Sweeps Berkshire County


Learn the art of paranormal investigation exploring this breath-taking haunted mansion in the Berkshires! Learn methods from ghost hunters with over a decade's experience and then put those skills to the test throughout the mysterious former Thomas Colt House. Saturday, October 3. For more info & to reserve tickets:


Berkshire County, MASS- What began as a trickle at the beginning of the summer, by August has become a steady stream from around this region, in reports of unidentified objects spotted in the skies above.

As the weather warmed, a few miscellaneous reports surfaced, largely on the online databases that (for better or worse) have become the norm for filing UFO reports for quite a few years now, more or less comparable to any other year for this region around this time.

On May 13, a driver on Rt 116 in Savoy reported “a very large, bright white light shot across the sky in front of us.”

“Our view only lasted for a couple of seconds, due to the trees on either side of the road. It seemed to be very low and close to us. It was getting lower in altitude. There was no tail. The color was pure white…. It is in our opinion that if the light/object had maintained its course it would have made contact with the ground.”

While what was described in this anonymous report to the National UFO Reporting Center seems not inconsistent with possible meteor activity, accounts a few weeks later would tend to lean more toward bright lights that hovered in place for longer periods.


On May 29, Pittsfield resident Timothy Le Blanc posted images of an object he said appeared in the sky above the municipal airport between 8AM and 9AM.

“One was much higher than the other I couldn’t get the photo of. .. hovering rolling and tumbling…Changing color from jet black to silver. We stared in awe ..”  Le Blanc said, emphatic that he did not believe the object to be a drone.


Le Blanc later provided photos, also with an enlargement said to be taken by another person from West Housatonic Street the same day (click to see larger):

11231261_10206676198331089_8388311859845398850_n 11951814_10206676511578920_5916641319470083273_n

Cheshire MA UAP pic 8-17-15
Cheshire, July 15, 2015

On July 15, an unknown object cropped up in this photograph taken in Cheshire and posted to

Another report substantially similar to the one from Savoy came in from West Stockbridge on July 30.

“Upside down teardrop dropping great speed, moving straight down to earth, extremely fast…” [VIA MUFON] “Glaring pure bright white, brighter than any terrestrial aircraft, a blaze of white, brighter than a full moon in telescope eyepiece, had width of 1 finger, not small, not a meteor as it moved straight down towards earth 1 inch lower from planet.”

In August, sighting reports grew in frequency:

On Monday, Aug 3, around 9pm-10pm, at least three people allegedly observed unidentified lights hovering for at least a half hour above downtown Pittsfield

Later that week, on August 8 “I saw a line of lights in the sky over west Pittsfield about 2 Saturdays ago around 10:30/11PM,” posted Chris Crocker [to TMH via Facebook 8/25].  “I was with about 6 others that saw them too. I believe they were green in color.”

The same weekend, Amy of Rowe, MA saw “a small black thing wizzed through the yard just above tree line… going very fast.”

Cassie Lord reported a “large light” that hovered over Greylock, then moved away rapidly, evening of Aug 12 or 13

On August 18, a restaurant employee in south county driving home that night was disturbed by an encounter with an unidentified object that approached her position rapidly.  Seen while heading north on Route 41 in Monterey, she described a “big orange light,” seemingly triangular in shape, that “dipped down” toward her, then turned and flew upward before disappearing.

Unaware of this, a woman named Lydia reported seeing something the same night, seven miles away in Sandisfield “… a very, very large, black triangular shaped thing in the air…very quiet. At first I thought it was airplane. It most definitely was not…it was just too quiet.”

On Aug. 24, Michael Paul Esposito watched an orange light that appeared to be hovering over an area in Richmond for approximately 25 to 3o minutes.

…Of course, almost of all these reports did occur during the overall period of the Comet Swift-Tuttle’s passing (July 17-Aug 24), which peaked in visible meteor activity on August 12-13… and so, for skeptics of the cocky, broad-hand-sweeping variety of “skeptic,” we are already done here.  Mystery solved: meteors. 

Here in the messy ‘Shire X-Files office of These Mysterious Hills, where casual certitude is approximately as abundant as field investigatory resources (Dammit Jim, I’m an amateur historian/folklorist, not a Ufologist) … we shall continue to entertain a variety of potential perspectives, including [but not limited to] that most popular of the non-paradigm theories:  the presence of nonterrestial intelligent biological organisms… or Extraterrestial Biological Entities (EBE) if you’re a real stickler for preferred nomenclature.

UFO “Waves” in the Berkshires

In the hey day of Ufology, when major resources were being devoted to documenting the source of ongoing UFO reports- by government, academia, media, and a goodly percentage of America’s middle aged engineers and aviators in their off hours – some theorists felt that certain patterns could be found in increases of UFO sightings over finite periods of time in certain geographic regions.  These “waves” or “flaps” could range over days, weeks or months; areas where UFOs are continuously, chronically reported over a long period of time have been referred by various writers on the subject as “window” areas, “triangles”, or perhaps most colorfully, Ivan Sanderson’s “Vile Vortexes.”

Basically all of these terms, to a greater or lesser degree, have loaded connotations that concern me; but we work with the tools in the toolkit available.

Locally, there was talk of a wave of UFO activity in the summer of 2011.  WAMC public radio reported on a spate of sightings concentrated in the first week of August and primarily in south county, and sightings along with one ambiguous photo continued to emerge for several days after.

In the winter of early 2013, online reports to the primary three databases of UFO sightings in the Berkshires were approximately double their average level.  Speaking by phone with two MUFON investigators in different areas of New England, and there seemed to be a general consensus that sighting reports had been running high in western Massachusetts, though certain high profile videos from the Amherst area that from January were considered dubious.

What’s transpired this summer outpaces either of those recent periods; such concentrations have not been seen in this county, to the best of my knowledge, since such peak years as 1975 or 1967.

It is quite up for debate, of course, whether these periods that some Ufologists call “flaps” or “waves” represent an actual increase in activity, an increase in witness visibility, or a clustering in reportage of sightings often aided by media (or now social media) coverage.

[On a related note, feel free to send accounts, photos, tips and rumors of unidentified objects, mysterious lights, flying triangles, and/or any other unexplained occurrences locally to ]

Lindon Bates Jr, and the Missing Monument To Sacrifice



Just up the hillside on Route 20 in Hancock lies this small plot, the final resting place of several members of the Bates family who owned the land on this side of Mount Lebanon a century ago.

At one time, plans were drawn for a 115 foot granite obelisk on this hill, a “Monument to Sacrifice” to honor the 1,960 victims of the sinking of the Lusitania, among them Lindon Wallace Bates, Jr.


DSCF3449Captain William Wallace Bates, who at 25 built “The Challenge” the first clipper ship on the Great Lakes. (A replica is on display at Discovery World)
Their daughter Mary was among the very first crop of accredited female doctors in the U.S., a prominent suffragette and crusader for human rights

In a corner lies Lindon Wallace Bates, Sr the engineer who raised the Galveston flood plain, enlarged the Suez Canal, fixed the port of Shanghai and changed the history of the western hemisphere with the Panama Canal

DSCF3448Lindon Jr was also an engineer who wrote several books on scientific and technical topics, but was best known as a gifted statesman and humanitarian. In the New York legislature, he forged support for a rigorous progressive platform that would influence the nation, getting legislation passed for Workmans Compensation, civil service merit systems, and various kinds of aid for widows, orphans and the unemployed.

DSCF3426Even in his 20s, some saw Lindon Jr. as a potential future President. Even one of his political adversaries said of him, “He wanted the right thing done, and he did not care whether he or someone else did it.”

He sought no plaques or credit; he genuinely appears to have believed in the concept of Noblesse Oblige (and this alone makes this stranger lore than any ghost or cryptid I’ve covered).

When the Great War broke out, Lindon Jr devoted all his time and efforts to refugee relief efforts in Europe. Against advice of family and friends, he set out personally on the Lusitania to aid relief efforts in Belgium. Like the thousands of other civilian passengers, he had no idea that U.S. and British governments had packed the ship with munitions, in order to bait a German attack so they could enter the war.

Lindon Jr. was last seen putting his own cork life preserver on a boy who didn’t have one, and ducking below deck to help more survivors.DSCF3461

Presidents and poets wept at his funeral. One eulogist wrote,

“Thus it stands forever. The bravest are the tenderest; the loving are the daring. Lindon Wallace Bates. Son of America. Friend of the helpless and destitute. The life that he lived and the death that he died endure in the judgment of an unforgetting God.”

10368962_10152267071666374_1029005496947157076_oLindell, younger son of Lindon Bates Sr, along with a few others successfully lobbied the government to expand the search for the Lusitania’s victims. He crossed a war zone and was briefly detained as a suspected German spy in order to retrieve his brother’s remains 230 miles from his death and bring them here to his beloved Mount Lebanon.

Designs for the “Monument to Sacrifice” called for a permanent light at the top of the obelisk that could be seen from Pittsfield to Albany. Plan were postponed until after the war, and then postponed again. Lindon Jr’s loss took a terrible toll on the Bates family, and its fortunes, which became increasingly over-invested in schemes for improving naval ship armor against torpedoes. A century later, all that remains is this small plot set within the 224 acres of former Bates land now belonging to the state park system.


The Goshen Tunnel Enigma

As may be apparent, I like mysteries. Many of the local enigmas I’ve covered in this column offer little hope for ultimate resolution; often it is a question of belief – you believe in ghosts, and that a particular house is haunted, or you don’t and it ain’t. Some can’t be scrutinized closely enough from afar: for instance, when some strange object whizzes across the sky, unless you’re there to see it, who knows?

Some local mysteries are a little more accessible, built into the landscape itself. Their existence is plain as day, their idiosyncrasy unimpeachable. This is especially true in the case of the stone tunnels dug into the earth in Goshen.

The casual observer, coming across the simple stone shaft not far from the cemetery might not think too much of it at first. One might easily surmise that this hole, 15 feet deep and about 3 1/2 feet in diameter, once served as a well. However, near the bottom, this “well” opens onto two more stone-lined shafts protruding out in each direction. The lower tunnel runs west and is narrower and appears to have been meant as a drain to keep the main shaft from filling up with water. It is capped off by flagstones about 70 feet from its mouth. Above it, a slightly wider tunnel measuring 2 by 2 1/2 feet – just large enough to accommodate a crawling adult – runs east about 15 feet toward the cemetery. It is believed that this upper shaft once opened onto a chamber of about 10 square feet, but this caved in long ago.

goshen2People have been wondering about these stone tunnels for a long time. Tradition has it that the tunnels were discovered in the early 1800s by two boys who chased a rabbit into its burrow, and in the process of trying to dig it out, they dislodged the flagstone covering the main shaft, which had been buried under sod and bushes. The construction is sometimes called the “Counterfeiter’s Den,” in keeping with a local legend that they are part of a vast network of tunnels that ran to a hideout under the cemetery used by a savage gang. Some say that the hideout was dynamited and that the ghosts of the gang still haunt the cemetery. Another variation of the legend has it that they were really grave-robbers, not counterfeiters. The truth is, there’s really no evidence to connect any criminal gang with the Goshen tunnels, and their discovery took place before the cemetery was laid.

The Hampshire History speculates that the structure might have been a shelter from Indian raids. The only problem with that theory is that Goshen, first settled in 1761, was never in any danger of having to worry about such raids.

The sheer time and effort required to quarry and place the flagstones with which the entire complex is lined more-or-less precludes the possibility that anyone could have constructed it in the last two centuries without some historical record existing to describe who built it or why. The very fact that there is no definitive answer to these questions argues strongly for a pre-colonial origin.

It may be that the structure was built by some Native American culture that moved on from these parts long before any white people arrived. If so, it must have served some important function, for so much work to have been put into something so difficult to traverse. It is also likely that that it was not a solitary effort. Archaeologist Salvatore Trento suggests that the tunnels “in all probability, are part of a larger complex of underground constructions yet to be found in the meadows surrounding the Mill River.”

Some scholars see similarities between Goshen’s underground lair and a stone tunnel in Upton, and with hundreds of other ancient sites around New England – such as Salem, N.H.’s “Mystery Hill,” a.k.a. “America’s Stonehenge.” Many of these sites have been put forth as possible examples of exploration by Vikings, Celts or other visiting cultures that left no other record of their stay. Signs of human presence at Mystery Hill date back possibly as far as 2000 B.C., and at least one source has stated that the samples of soil from around the tunnel indicated that it too might have been dug thousands of years ago. I haven’t been able to substantiate this last, so at the present time the age and purpose of the complex remains as much an enigma as ever.

I find myself very curious about the ancient people who might have been here. Were they building a hideout from enemies? A place to store precious treasures? Did it have some ritual significance, as with certain similar prehistoric tunnels found in Scotland and elsewhere? I can’t help but wonder what went through their minds as they dug holes into these hills, unaware of the tantalizing mystery they were leaving behind for later inhabitants.

Legend of Camp Windigo

Within the wooded expanse of the Windsor State Forest, a short hike from the pleasant cascading waterfall of Windsor Jambs, a decaying nest of old buildings slipping back into nature has long fascinated lore seekers from around western Massachusetts.  Once a beloved summer camp, over the past couple of decades the camp has taken on a more sinister reputation- a site of grisly legends, alleged ghost sightings and spooky explorations.

Alumni remember Camp Windigo, as it was known and operated until the 1980s, as a place of warm childhood memories.  In the nearly three decades it has stood abandoned, however, a darker story of tragedy has emerged.

These days, the yarn one is most likely to hear if you ask around the Berkshires is some variation of the following, culled from an internet posting made a few years back:

“This is a camp that may have been up in the 1980’s and is haunted by 6 little girls and a crazy woman.  The story is that a camp couselor went crazy and hung 3 girls in a barn on the property and drowned 3 more in a tub then she went and killed herself.”

Occasional more recent tellings set the time of the murdered campers in the 1800s.  This is problematic, since this property was a farm then, and would not become a camp until the mid 20th century.  A trail of internet mentions over the years suggests that this change of era may have originally stemmed from a combination of typos and misinterpretations of vague mentions of “80s.”

Otherwise, this a fairly consistent version of the story as it tends to be told in the region- seven deaths, including a camp counselor and six young campers she murdered.  Typical tellings usually but not always conform to the notion that three were hung, and three drowned.

This is a story that seems to have been around for well over a decade, and I have received a steady trickle of comments about it since I first began publishing These Mysterious Hills in the Advocate several years ago.  Several teams of amateur ghost investigators have tromped around the property, and tell of orbs and “mysterious shadows” in their photos, child-size hand prints appearing inexplicably on windows, or the disembodied voices of children crying.  At least one purported psychic has claimed to have “made contact” with the spirits of the six murdered girls.

Fortunately for nostaligic former Windigo campers, there’s no compelling reason to think these murders ever took place there.

An exhaustive check of records over the years has uncovered not a single shred of evidence to support the claim that six campers were murdered here, or anywhere else in the vicinity.  Vital records, local law enforcement files, and media sources for the area are consistently devoid of any reference to such an occurrence, which, if true, would no doubt have made lurid headlines around the region and nationally.

Is it possible that such an atrocity might still have taken place, and somehow become lost or obscured in the folds of history?

While I will allow for this truly remote possibility, I would direct the reader to a few relevant points of reference.  During the late 1970s through early 80s, at least three young girls from northern Berkshire County were abducted and murdered: Kim Benoit, of North Adams, Cynthia Krizack, of Williamstown (whose body was found not too far from Windigo, down an embankment in Windsor), and Lynn Burdick, from the town of Florida.  There are many in the area that remember these vividly.  The slightly more recent murder of Jimmy Bernardo by Lewis Lent in 1990 remains hauntingly vivid to Berkshire residents more than two decades later. Scads of material on all of these can be found around the internet.

Yet no one over the age of forty has any recollection of this rumored murder of six children in the tiny town of Windsor.  When I first heard these rumors years ago, one of the first people I asked about it was veteran Berkshire newsman Glenn Drohan, who edited or worked at every major paper in the county since long before the camp slaughter was said to have occcured.  He had no idea what I was talking about, and that clinched it for me right there.

Still, as belief in this legend grows- mostly among those born after the supposed event- and recent years have seen a great growing fascination with the site, a bit of historical background on Camp Windigo might be of interest.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

History of Camp Windigo

The camp was founded in 1942, by Florence Ryder and Muriel Logan, both Physical Education professors at Smith College, on 75 acres of what had been the farm of John Decelles.  The farm house itself dates to 1790, as evidenced by signage on the edge of the house.

About 30 boys and girls would spend July and August at Windigo each year, where they tried their hand at farming with various educational tasks.

“The daily activities which were of the most importance were tending to the animals,” said Karen Sawyer, attended there in the early 60s, “Every week there was an animal rotation so a camper got to experience feeding and cleaning up after each type of creature which included bantams, goats, sheep, pig, horses and Eeyore the donkey.”

There were six horses in total, and also ducks, laying hens, rabbits, dogs and cats around the little farming camp.  The grounds also included a pond, blueberry field, and apple orchard.

“Miss Ryder and Miss Logan also knew all the areas around camp and at least three days a week we took hikes to various areas around the camp,” according to Abby Zanger, who was also a camper there during the 60s.

At some point in the 1970s, it was purchased by the Latter Day Saints and became a camp for young Mormons children, with a similar agricultural bent.  Neither campers from the first era nor those during its Mormon period have any recollection of any stories about murdered campers ever being told there.

The camp closed in the early to mid 1980s. It was later deeded to the state and became part of Windsor State Forest.  In 2010, the Department of Conservation and Recreation were considering tearing down the structure, but at the time of this writing it still stands.

One of the enduring curiosities of the camp is it’s name.  To the Algonquin people, the word Windigo (also known as Wendigo, Witiko, Weetigo, and other variations) refers to a cannibalistic supernatural creature, a source of fear and dark tales.

Assuming for a moment that the founders of the camp, of whom alumni glowingly, did not intend to evoke such dark associations, I at first wondered if they simply had heard the word without context.  Perhaps they simply applied it as a neat sounding native word, in the politically incorrect manner of many camps of the era.  This was before the age of serious Native American scholarship and long before the renaissance of cryptozoology and para-creature interest of recent decades.  Unless they were aware of an obscure psychological disorder or Algernon Blackwood’s classic 1910 horror story of the same name, they might simply not have known.

The bicentennial History of the Town of Windsor offers an alternative explanation, however.  According to its brief entry, the camp was dubbed Windigo “because it is in the town of Windsor, the wind often blows there, and the place was originally known as the Windlow place, which is an Indian name.”

So is the camp name derived ultimately from another Native American word besides the fabled Wendigo? I have not been able to find the word “Windlow” in what has been preserved of the Mahican language, that of the people encountered by first colonial settlers of the area- or in cursory checks of other Algonquin dialects.  This does not rule out the possibility it could have been a word among one of these long dead languages.

Meanwhile, there are ample numbers of Winslows in the Windsor Bush Cemetery right next to the old camp


Even if the name is nothing more than a striking coincidence, modern awareness of the violent connotations of the Windigo may well have helped inspire the gory myths of the camp.  Then again, a look at the larger lore of murdered campers in our culture, perhaps such a story was inevitable.

Murdered Campers: The Not-So Urban Legend

The subject of murdered campers is fairly well-worn folkloric territory, intimately connected to the very nature of the oral tradition of ghost stories, which we so often associate with camping that the term ‘campfire tales’ is one of its most common synonyms.  For the camper around the fire, the danger to oneself is the clincher which drives home the classic scare story, the whole ominious nature of “and some say he stalks the woods to this very day.”  The historic threat and its proximal location is the underlying peril intended to give such tellings their “jump” factor.

Folklorists believe these kinds of stories have a greater impact on the psyche and imagination because of the inherent vulnerability of the setting in which they’re told, and take place.  In the woods, in the dark, far from the familiarity of their own beds and the supposed safety of populated areas, such narratives take on a slight degree more plausibility to the listener.  Thus, “camp” becomes a more inherently perilous place, and we are quicker to believe in gruesome tragedy befalling the faceless unnamed campers that went before.  The camp boogeyman known as Cropsey is at least a century old, and tales of “Boyscout Betty” and the murdered youths of “Boy Scout Lane” are classics of the scouting community.  I still have fond/traumatized memories of the animal-killing psychopath our scout masters convinced us was stalking Camp Chesterfield during the summer of ’91.

The 1980s saw this theme explode into a profusion of gory franchises, from Friday the 13th and Sleepaway Camp to Harvey Weinstein’s “The Burning.”  Counselors and campers by the dozens were stalked to their demise around the cabins and shores of places like Crystal Lake; the theme was virtually continuous on the silver screen during the decade Camp Windigo first closed.  The meteoric rise of such legends coincides so neatly with the time period during which this little Windsor sleepaway camp fell into unsettling decrepitude that it is hard to believe that these developments are unrelated.

In the realm of urban legend, this story of Camp Windigo bears a striking resemblance to that of Camp Lulu, in Brownsville, Texas.  There, it is said, a camp counselor went mad and attacked and killed several campers in his charge.  As with Windigo, the victims were all said to be girls, and in most versions the deranged counselor takes his own life, and the camp is closed down in the wake of the tragedy.

Another tale with passing familiarity comes from a closer abandoned camp, that of Camp Connecticut in Colchester.  There, the insane counselor is said to have perhaps killed as many as 60 campers!

Though no records of any such happenings support the ghostly legends of these three camps, they may be partly inspired by a very real horror that took place in Oklahoma in 1977.  On the first late spring night of Girl Scout camp at Camp Scott, near Tahlequah, Oklahoma, three young Girl Scouts, Doris Denis Milner, Lori Lee Farmer, and Michele Guse, were taken from their shared tent and brutally murdered in the woods.  An escaped convict was arrested, but later acquitted of the deaths, and the case remains open.  Camp Scott was closed down and abandoned after 50 years of operation.  The horrific crime occupied national news for weeks and months- as the supposed murders at Camp Windigo no doubt would have, had they actually occurred.

Whatever Walks There, Walks Alone

If the legendary murders at Camp Windigo most probably never took place, does that mean it’s not haunted? Such proclamations are not for me to make.

There is, however, the following anecdote from one Deborah Phillips, whose husband lived in the old house for a time in the 1980s, after it was closed as a camp…

“During one visit I did see (don’t laugh) some ‘ghosts’…an old man in overalls and a young girl in a dress, out of the corner of my eyes when I entered the living room.”

As one internet tipster maintained, “There is something down in the basement that has a very strong presence.”

I must admit that I did feel a second or two of anxiety on my last visit to Camp Windigo, and it was just as I was entering the basement.  Then again, it might have been because the top three stairs were missing.

Scandal and Rumor Surround Great Barrington’s Haunted Castle

This story, originally appearing in 2007 in the Advocate Weekly newspaper, has been updated in places and enhanced with photos by Amanda Rae Busch.  

I have always had a soft spot for the many fine manor houses that dot the Berkshires, those opulent and gargantuan self-memorials that the uber-rich, with surreal modesty, called cottages. Though constructed in a range of different styles and gradients of grandeur, they all somehow bear the very distinct mark of the Gilded Age in which they were midwifed into existence. Throughout that mythic era of vast fortunes, stretching for all practical purposes from the post-Civil War Reconstruction to the dawn of modern income taxes with the ratification of the Sixteenth Amendment, wealthy socialites and industrials descended on the Berkshires in waves.

front_castle -For a variety of factors, ranging from the area’s established cultural pedigree and natural beauty, to the large-scale availability of fine marble and other crucial building materials, they raced to snatch up local land for their summer estates. While the lion’s share of these estates went up in Lenox and Stockbridge, it is Great Barrington that can boast possession of what is perhaps the most colorful and interesting of these palatial domains.

In fact, it is one of the most frequent questions asked by travelers on their first visit to the town: “What’s the deal with that castle?”


Kellogg Terrace, aka Barrington House, aka Searles’ Castle, of late the John Dewey Academy campus, has been enshrouded in legend virtually since the time of its construction.

Rumors of scandal, infidelity, fraud, and murder, have all at one point weaved their way into the castle’s legacy, along with whispers of hidden staircases, secret tunnels and restless ghosts. The castle’s story revolves around Mary Hopkins Searles, born Mary Frances Sherwood in Great Barrington in 1826. As a girl, Mary attended the Kellogg School run by her aunts on the very land where the present mansion now stands. In 1854 she married Mark Hopkins, her first cousin and great grandson of Samuel Hopkins, the first Congregational minister in Great Barrington. Known for his skill at turning a profit, Mark became one of the “Big Four” founding owners of the Central Pacific Railroad. At the time of his death in 1878, he left Mary with a fortune valued at around forty million dollars, equivalent to over 830 million in today’s money. Following his death, Mary kept herself busy overseeing the completion of their mansion atop Nob Hill in San Francisco, begun in 1875 (destroyed in the 1906 earthquake, the Mark Hopkins Intercontinental Hotel is built on the spot it occupied).

In 1881, her last remaining Kellogg aunt died, leaving her the Great Barrington property. The widow Hopkins quickly set about preparations for the palatial chateau seen today, engaging the help of decorator Edward F. Searles, who had worked for her on the Nob Hill home. In the course of the four year, multi-million dollar construction of Kellogg Terrace, Mrs. Hopkins and Searles found themselves more and more in each other’s company, and in 1887 they married. He was 46, a comparatively modest decorator with a known taste for massive estate houses. She was 68, and the wealthiest woman in America at the time.

Naturally, people talked.

One of the most amusing stories that circulated was that Searles had in fact been pursuing the marital mother lode for some time, but continued to be gently rebuffed by the Mrs. Hopkins (it was even rumored that the widow favored a different suitor entirely). Finally, while seeing her off for the train to New York, he slung an arm around her waist and kissed her full on the mouth. The widow found herself faced with scandal, with half of Stockbridge society looking on. Without missing a beat, so the story goes, she loudly introduced her nearest companions to her fiancé, Edward Searles. Such stories earned Searles the nickname “the Napoleon of love.”

As for the house itself, it has been called the finest example of the French chateau period in America. The exterior was designed by the firm of McKim, Mead & White, and built from blue dolomite quarried on the property. The final structure measured 180 feet across and 100 deep, varying from four to six stories in height, with a total of 68,000 square feet. The interior, with its many rooms and halls, was overseen by Searles, and outfitted lavishly in a dizzying variety of styles. Coming through the huge, German-made bronze doors that used to adorn the front entry, the early visitor came through the vestibule and into the great hall, paneled in English oak. This opens into the atrium, a vivid example of Greek Ionic architecture recreating the Erechtheum in Athens. The atrium is surrounded by 16 matched marble columns, with walls of rose ivory marble quarried in the Atlas Mountains of Africa.

According to legend, the eccentric Searles also oversaw the construction of a network of secret passageways and staircases throughout the mansion. In one version of the legend which appeared in a recent collection of folklore, Searles used one of these staircases to carry on an affair with one of the servants while Mrs. Searles, then sickly, remained bed-ridden in the master bedroom. In this version, Edward eventually poisoned the ailing Mrs. Hopkins Searles, but within weeks of her death both the maid and Searles died of accidents in the house. It almost goes without saying that “all three are said to haunt the manor to this day.”

In fact, rumors of foul play surrounded the death of Mrs. Searles almost from the moment it occurred. The newlyweds took up residence at the castle (which Searles had renamed Barrington House) in 1887, and from the beginning their life together was shrouded in mystery. Only a very limited number of guests were invited to the few parties which took place there, a strange thing for such a significant estate. On the streets, Mrs. Hopkins Searles was always seen with a black parasol, and holding a black fan which obscured her face. And years later, former servants told of Edward’s habit of constantly moving furniture and making loud noises throughout the house at night, something they believed he’d done to scare her.

According to her obituary, Mary Frances died on July 26, 1891 of complications with “dropsy” (edema) following a long bout with “the grip” (influenza), at Edward’s Pine Lodge estate in Methuen Massachusetts. Her funeral was a small invitation-only affair held in the Methuen house, with no one admitted to the burial at a mausoleum constructed elsewhere on the grounds. In Great Barrington, rumors abounded that she’d actually been buried at night, on the grounds of the castle, with no one but servants present.

Whatever the circumstances of her death, the reading of her will was a very real bombshell. It awarded virtually everything, amounting to more than 50 million dollars and including a substantial part of Central Pacific Railroad, to Searles, specifically disinheriting her adopted son Timothy Hopkins. This lead to a lengthy and heavily publicized legal battle, as Timothy and a variety of other vague relations challenged the nature of her marriage to Searles. Searles spent three full days testifying on the stand. With a candid eloquence that would have made Anna Nicole blush, he declared that he had married for love and for money, but love was the stronger motive. Later, he quietly settled with Timothy for a few million.

Searles spent less and less time in Great Barrington following Mary’s death. In Windham, New Hampshire, he built a medieval castle based on Stanton Harcourt in Oxfordshire. The majority of the best furniture and treasures from the Barrington House were spirited away to his Methuen estate, or to their Fifth Avenue home in New York. Searles died in Methuen in 1920, sparking off another wave of legal claims from potential Hopkins heirs as the fortune changed hands again, the Great Barrington castle going to a business associate of Edward’s named Arthur T. Walker.

In modern times, the existence of such truly excessive monument estates as single family homes –and seasonal ones at that- has become untenable, to some even unthinkable. One by one throughout the 20th century, the vast cottages of the Berkshires became resorts, schools, yoga centers. Barrington House was no exception. In the 1920s it was sold to Barrington School, and once again the Kellogg grounds became host to a girls’ school. Through the fifties, the castle was owned by the Home Insurance Company and became a storage place for records they didn’t want to lose in the event of a nuclear holocaust in New York.

One modern legend has it that in the late 1970s, a boy snuck into yet another secret tunnel, this one running from the basement out beneath the pond behind the castle. The tunnel caved in, killing him and flooding the basement. The tunnel was cemented shut, and the boy became yet another resident ghost.

Since 1984, the estate has been home to the John Dewey Academy, a preparatory school for troubled teens. After more than two decades there, the school has faced some struggles with operating out of castle, and the possibility of relocation has hovered for some years.  In recent years, the academy sought to find a buyer for the property, valued in 2006 at 4.5 million dollars (about 2% of its cost to construct, in adjusted dollars). That’s a whole other story, one which, as Thomas Bratter, founder and headmaster at the Academy, once told me, in itself “borders on insanity.” With the long term future of the castle uncertain, what are we to make of the past? Did Edward Searles marry his wife for her money, and then kill her for it? Perhaps. Then again, perhaps us common folk just can’t help but be suspicious of what goes on with the people who live up in the castle.

John Dewey Academy from Keith Forman on Vimeo.

Living With Ghosts: My Time At the Butler Goodrich House

Exterior frontPittsfield’s second oldest house, located just north of downtown on Route 7, was built by one of the city’s most prominent early citizens and has since accrued a curious history over the centuries.

It is also, according to some, quite haunted … a reputation which prompted me, in early 2014, to jump at the chance to temporarily take up residence in the storied house.

Historic Home

goodrich houseTechnically, only half of the “Goodrich House” qualifies as the second oldest construction in Pittsfield (after the Brattle Farm on Williams Street), as its rear portion is 20 years older than the main wing of the house facing North Street, just slightly south of and across the street from the historic entrance to Springside Park’s Elmhurst mansion.

The architecturally interesting homestead, once used as a model example and historic museum by the Berkshire Historical Society, was owned by the Goodrich family and its descendants for more than 150 years before becoming the historical society’s property in 1963.

Its first owner was Maj. Butler Goodrich, whose father Caleb Goodrich came to Pittsfield from Wethersfield just prior to the outbreak of the American Revolution, in which he served as lieutenant under Capt. John Strong, leading a company of 54 Pittsfield men against Gen. Burgoyne and ultimately participating in the British commander’s surrender at Saratoga.

Butler was born in 1768, and later served in the local militia, where he acquired his own title rank.

In the late 1700s, he married the wealthy widow Lydia White, and with her went on to have 11 children. Goodrich owned a medium size farm property, 163 acres (of which 60 acres was woodland), but his primary profession was as a skilled carpenter. He gained a reputation for being the go-to craftsman for difficult and somewhat dangerous projects. He was instrumental in the construction of the Bullfinch Church that preceded the current First Church on Park Square, and also in making improvements to that park. A friend and confidante of early local politicians, Butler was also an active member of the Washington Benevolent Society as well as serving on the town’s Cemetery Commission, from which he railed against the then-common problem of local grave robbing.

IMG_20150115_162143The house that he constructed had its origins slightly farther up North Street, where what is now the rear wing was first built in 1792 on a hilly area of his property, on what is now Montgomery Avenue. Family tradition indicates that Lydia prevailed upon her husband to relocate the place closer to the center of town, and certainly their rapidly growing family had need of more space.

The larger front portion of the house Butler built in 1812, in the Federal style, with woodwork considered of very high quality. It included eight more rooms, of spacious size for the period, five fireplaces, and a broad entry hall with a handsome L-shaped staircase.

“Few Federal houses with pilasters and pedimented front doorways remain in Pittsfield, so the architectural design of this house has considerable importance,” according to a historical “Form B” inventory prepared by Elizabeth Fitzsimmons for the Massachusetts Historical Commission.Upstairs front alcove

Hence it was understandable that the Berkshire Historical Society would take interest in such a building, and in summer 1963 it purchased the house from Joseph Knight Jr., a Goodrich relative who’d inherited the property from his father in 1942.

BHS President Margaret Hall said she was “delighted to find much of the original building in good condition,” and the society began work to restore it to a state of greater period authenticity almost immediately (this was a time of much less laborious permitting processes, remember.)

Architect Terry Hallock of Richmond worked from old drawings and photographs provided by the Goodrich family to generate renderings recreating its original appearance as much as possible. In particular, the removal of a Victorian porch added in the 1890s to restore the entryway to its original look posed a challenge.

Ironically, this goal was accomplished with the help of a ghost — in the sense of a term used for a particular architectural phenomenon. While Hallock had been busily redrawing what the original door pediment might have looked like from images of other homes from the period, the contractor working on removal of the porch discovered the “ghost” of its real pediment on the underlying clapboard planks, a shadowy outline it had left on the wood from being there for so many years prior to its removal.

Besides demolishing the porch to restore the door, other renovations included removal of asbestos siding, installation of new window sashes, and repainting of the house to a more authentic color (which has since been replaced with a bright red exterior). Some of the building materials used were obtained from a demolished 18th-century house in Hinsdale, formerly known as High Point Farm.

The interior of the house was furnished with painstaking care using an array of period antiques, a majority of them made locally, and most purchased from the closed down former Barn Restaurant at Pleasant Valley Sanctuary. Some particular gems displayed in the house included an 1837 portrait of Elder John Leland, who commissioned Cheshire’s famed Mammoth Cheese for President Jefferson, along with the writing desk on which the Rev. David Dudley Field composed his sermons, and Norman Rockwell’s original oil sketch for the Berkshire Life Insurance mural of North Street. Another artifact included a rare early map of Vermont the society discovered in Goodrich House upon moving in.

On June 5, 1965, 230 people attended the opening of the new museum, which later that month opened daily throughout the rest of the summer season.

“Visitors expressed as much interest in the restoration of the building, which is one of the oldest in Pittsfield, as they did in the historic objects on display,” according to The Berkshire Eagle.

For the next decade, the house was open to visitors six days a week from mid-June through Labor Day, and then weekends through mid October, with special events and school field trips sporadically throughout the rest of the year.

Ten years after it opened, however, the museum at Goodrich House was closed. The year 1975 marked a major change in the mission of the historical society, as it got out of the financially cumbersome business of acquiring historic houses to save them, and narrowed its mission to one focused on education and tourism. That year, it sold the three properties it then owned — Goodrich, Interlaken’s Citizen’s Hall, and its headquarters at 113 East Housatonic St. — in order to make the $100,000 purchase of Herman Melville’s Arrowhead home, which while architecturally less interesting than the others, had a more clearly widespread historic appeal.

Goodrich House was sold for $32,500 to Anthony and Marianne Rud, owners of the Berkshire Learning Center previously operating on East Housatonic Street — amidst some amount of outcry in protest from residents concerned about the lost asset to historic education, as well as the loss of an active preservation organization in the county; an issue that continues to provoke concern, as evidenced by Pittsfield’s recent Preservation Summit.

A quarter century later, the Ruds sold the North Street building in 1999 for $86,000 to Mayer Kirkpatrick, and its purpose changed again. Kirkpatrick reopened the house as Spanda Holistic Center, a private practice for acupuncture and other alternative modalities such as herbalism and Chi Quong.

In 2006, Kirkpatrick leased the house to Raynee Bird and it became Spa Med and Laser Clinic, until the property was foreclosed upon in 2009. In 2011, it was purchased at auction for $76,500 (about half its current assessed tax value) by Upstairs fireplaceShane and Molly Hunter, who returned it to residential usage for the first time in half a century.

It is currently operated as a boarding house of rooms rented on a month to month basis. When I first went inside in the fall of 2011, a few months after purchase by the current owners, it was inhabited by a half-dozen 20-somethings, and had taken on a kind of frat-house environment, an empty sign post outside and a glass enclosed bulletin board in the main hall the only traces left to suggest it had once been a historic educational site.

As it stands today, the house has seen better days. A noticeable lack of upkeep and proper maintenance has seen it languish with broken doors, decaying bathrooms, and walls left only partially painted. Pittsfield Health Department records indicate the building was cited for a number of code violations during a 2013 inspection.

Haunted Habitat
Beyond its noteworthy history, I had become intrigued with the Goodrich House on other levels since I first read an old reference many years ago, just the briefest 1920s footnote in a local paper to its “reputed” haunted-ness.

It was in 2007 that this possibility re-emerged to public attention when, according to the personnel of the Spa Med clinic, things began to get weird.

It started with a contractor who was doing some work on the house. According to owner Raynee Bird, the man was shocked one day when suddenly, he looked up from his work to see a woman in a long dress “float” up the stairs.

A few months later, a customer reported also seeing an unknown woman in the house. She told staff that she had become upset, assuming the woman was an employee, and while she stood at the door knocking, no one let her in. The only problem was, no one from Spa Med had been there at the time.

Strange banging sounds, unexplained feelings of fear, and other sightings of “mysterious figures” were also among the occurrences witnesses reported. One employee claimed to have looked through the window and seen a man standing on the front stoop, “dressed out of place, with a large brimmed hat.” At first she had taken him to be the mailman, but then realized it was a holiday. Whether the curious man was some stranger looking in, or something more strange, was never established.

Other accounts involved the sound of something slamming on the second floor when no one was upstairs, and a cabinet door next to the upstairs fireplace opening and closing on its own.

“One of the weirdest things that has happened to me personally was I received a phone call on my cell phone from the spa when I was the only one there,” Bird told Advocate Weekly reporter Nichole Davis.

On another occasion, she said, she was walking into the kitchen, located on the second floor, when suddenly “a wine glass flew off the table, hit a sugar bowl and broke it.”

As odd occurrences began to pile up, proprietor Raynee Bird put in a call to the Berkshire Paranormal Group, which had formed three years earlier in North Adams. In September 2007, BPG conducted a lengthy evening investigation of the house, armed with an array of popular modern ghost hunting equipment.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

In his writeup of the case, team leader Josh Mantello reported that they encountered several curious occurrences, including sightings of a what appeared to be a shadowy figure.

“While performing an initial sweep of the building,” Mantello stated, “in the area of the Salon and hair washing room I saw a shadow walk across this very small room. This shadow was pronounced enough to startle me, and I asked if any one was inside.”

Upon entering that room to investigate, Mantello said he then saw another shadow move across the hallway outside it.

In another instance, a piece of equipment allegedly went “flying off a table and crashing to the floor — completely on it’s own.”

They had been recording with audio devices at the time, and a short sound clip archived on the group’s website captures a crashing sound of the alleged incident, complete with the shocked, profanity-laced reaction of team members

According to their report, a majority of the electronic activity they found most interesting occurred around the main staircase, where the apparition of the woman had reportedly been seen.

“Being a group who likes to show solid presentable evidence after a case to prove a haunting, we were unable to do so in this case and this was somewhat disappointing after the experience we had in the building,” Mantello concluded. “But, I did walk out of the building with a strong sense of another presence inside after performing the EMF Experiment on the stairs. I do feel that some sort of paranormal activity is taking place inside this building and further investigations are needed to either prove me wrong or to gather that solid presentable evidence we seek.”

Legend Tripping

On a personal level, the decision to actually move into the former master bedroom of a house said to have exhibited its fair share of inexplicable activity also represented an interesting intellectual challenge. Over the years, I have often preferred to conduct my work in this area from the “armchair” analyst’s position, safely cloaked in the role of amateur folklorist and historian, charting the anthropology of paranormal allegations.

I have never entirely shied away from active field work, however; logging plenty of all-nighters quietly tip-toeing behind ghost-hunting clubs, staking out sites of alleged repeat UFO sightings, and camping forests areas where people have gone missing or suffered unsolved demise.

Still, the prospect of vacating an apartment I’d become rather comfortable in to take up an extended residence in a boarding house full of both practical and esoteric uncertainties was a bit daunting, and I would come to berate myself as a darned fool more than once over the coming months.

Master BedroomI also wondered (mostly jokingly I think) if there was going to be any, well, awkwardness, in my taking up quarters in the bedroom of a man who’d once publicly threatened to burn down the facilities of the early Berkshire Medical Society, an institution in which one of my own Durwin relatives had been a part of the early founding membership.

Though feeling a bit silly as I did so, I even made a point to verbalize aloud upon my arrival that there were certainly no hard feelings about this on my part, even going so far as to point out that Butler Goodrich and Ephraim Durwin had been parishioners of the same church, and emerged on the same side of the schism in said church, when a portion of the congregation fled William Allen’s aggressive political preaching at First Congregational to form the Union Parish.

My own amateur examinations of the property, like those of Berkshire Paranormal six years earlier, also yielded little in the way of evidentiary results.

As I have stated repeatedly in articles on this subject matter, I am not, nor have I ever considered myself to be, a “ghost hunter,” an undertaking I generally consider to be more or less an example of the social activity folklorists refer to as “legend ostension” or more simply “legend tripping,” than the scientific discipline it’s sometimes portrayed as. Nonetheless, as I’d moved into the house primarily for the experience of the thing, I was committed to giving it the old college try, and getting my feet thoroughly wet in the legend tripping of my residency.

Over several months, I took hundreds of photographs within the house, made extensive use of a simple EMF detector (which measures electro-magnetic fluctuation), and set up an audio recorder randomly for periods of time in different locations. I also employed a few old-fashioned tricks no longer in fashion (including some picked up from former MCLA professor and parapsychologist Ali Allmaker), things like laying very simple machines — old windable alarm clocks, piles of coins, and a handbuzzer — around in different locations.

Theoretically, when placed somewhere unlikely to be upset by natural forces (breezes, vibrations) any upset to these sort of objects could be a sign of more subtle, psychic/ghostly activity.

Only once did I find one of the coin piles disturbed, and no surprising noises came from the other objects. I did occasionally encounter fluctuations in employing the EMF detector, sometimes in areas where ghostly activity had been previously reported, sometimes in other places. Skeptically speaking, it’s always worth bearing in mind that any number of factors can generate such fluctuations, and I had no way of knowing the layout of the house’s wiring or when various electronics might have been in use by other tenants.

Upstairs rear wingAs for photographs, three different cameras employed never produced a visual record of anything that could be called truly anomalous … other than perhaps their sheer poor quality. As the editor of this publication could no doubt attest, I have never been a particularly exceptional photographer. Still, the fact that such an overwhelming majority of photos, even taken under what would normally be considered very good lighting conditions, turned out so deplorably bad, was perplexing to me. I emerged from my stint there with but a scant handful of pictures that could even be considered “functional” for ordinary purposes.

For what it’s worth, of the small number of visitors who I showed around the place, two remarked on feeling something strange as they walked up the main staircase. In one case, I suppose the individual could have done a little research in advance and read up on BPG’s investigation, had he been so inclined, though he said nothing to indicate he’d had any such foreknowledge. The other, an elderly friend who abhors most modern technology, I am quite certain has never used a search engine in her life.

Another visitor, who quite a number of people have attested to being quite sensitive, in the psychic sense, reported some very potent feelings about the upstairs portion in the rear wing of the house, the earliest part of the structure that dates back to 1792.

“It was as though I’d stepped into the mind of an agitated, mentally disturbed person,” she told me.

Personally, during my stay, I never saw an apparition, heard any disembodied voices, or felt particularly disturbed or spooked in any part of the house. By far the most overtly creepy things I endured there involved a couple of the other tenants that cycled through the premises.

While I never did encounter any clear, full-blown manifestation of the unexplained in my time at Goodrich House, I did experience something more ambiguous, on a personal level, that in some ways I find even more interesting.

Beginning very soon after I moved in, I embarked on a period of what, for lack of a better term, I would term incredibly bad luck. This extended from a dramatic increase in simple occurrences, like broken objects, phone and computer malfucntions, along with stubbed toes, cuts, and other minor injuries … to much more significant grievous financial problems, and some major hiccups in both my personal and professional life.

I also experienced an extremely high level of negative emotion, with persistent bouts of anxiety and depression. To be candid, such feelings are in no way unknown to me, but the intensity and frequency of these emotional states gradually rose to a level I’d not known in years. While I don’t want to be accused of seeking patterns where perhaps none exist … I cannot help but wonder.

More than any other work I have undertaken in this area, my residency at the Goodrich House led me to reflect deeply on the work of scientist George P. Hansen, whose mammoth and rigorously researched book “The Trickster and The Paranormal” is by far the most fascinating work on parapsychology and related fields I’ve read.

One of the many carefully interrelated subjects Hansen explores in this tome is the social history of different fields of para-research, making a formidable case that those researchers who most directly confront the subject matter of their discipline tend to have a high incidence of trouble in their personal lives. Some of these maladies, such as an increased rate of divorce or financial turmoil, could be explained by skeptics simply by the repeated mantra of belief that “they’re all crazy,” but on the more extreme end of the spectrum, these scholars also seem to exhibit a higher than average incidence of lives ending in murder or accidental death (parapsychologist D. Scott Rogo and Harvard UFO-logist John Mack being just two of the most famous examples).

By comparison, researchers who study psi phenomenon from a more remote, arms-length capacity seem to fare better and experience less of such tragedy in their lives. While the intricacies of Hansen’s voluminous book are far too extensive to get into here, essentially he argues that elements of liminality, destabilizing and destructuring attributes long associated in cultural studies with the archetype of The Trickster (whose close identification with things considered supernatural is taken as a given in many world cultures), are at play in such situations.

Whatever the case may be, all I can attest to myself is that the more time passed after my departure from the Goodrich House, the more improved my life circumstances became. Whether I am perhaps reading a correlation into pure coincidence, or some more complicated psychosocial or inexplicable element factored into this, I have no set conviction, and will leave up to the reader to draw his or her own conclusions based on their own beliefs.

While I am comfortable with this sense of ambiguity about my time at Goodrich House, I can say it will at least give me pause, the next time the opportunity arises to go live in some “haunted house.”