Lunation, non amplius—a Halloween tale.

October 29, 2011 — American Civil War, Central Park, Civil War, Ghost, ghosts, Green Door, Halloween, Haunted, James Brown, New York, New York City, Nor'Easter, snow, spooky, The Ear Inn

It has been fifty-nine years since an inch of snow fell in Central Park before Halloween, only the fourth time since the Civil War era, when the Silk Stocking Regiment made Park Avenue Armory its social hub. Discussing important civic matters of heaven and earth, gathered in ornate gas lit Veteran’s rooms, polite uniformed attendants would bring these elite officers aged whiskies and cigars, served on elegant silver Gorham trays.  The ghosts of New York seldom fade away completely.  They simply layer one on another forming a spectral pastiche that you can see and hear, if you know where to look and how to listen.

I am startled upon waking first thing this morning. Expecting Autumn rain, instead, I am greeted by swirling white flakes blowing and wailing; disembodied spirits spinning in the cross currents. As the day progresses, the cold, dankness settles into its chill and unease that gives me an eerie feeling I can not shake. Weather like this is unnatural, prescient of bad things to come. Snow before the green leaves fall does not harken a return to the natural order of things: the green canopy turning scarlet fading to nut-brown, just in time for Thanksgiving. Detached leaves drifting and gathered in corners, against walls, cracking underfoot.  All seems lost today. Yeti, a most unwelcome guest– our bewildering bugaboo– opens the creaking crypt door to admit Mr. Cold Miser and his friends the goblins and ghouls of Nevermore.

Late this afternoon, bundled up and trudging down my block, I see shivering, hunched-over men deliberately shoveling the dirty slush off the cement walks; snow, the bleached color of rotting bones.  

The gloaming has faded: I am now settled back in my apartment.  It is very dark outside, a cozy a candle lit against the black, sightless window pane. My powered on laptop offers the comfort of normalcy. I have no plans tonight.  Feeling somewhat restless, in need of good company–and in a spooky mood, I send an invitation to my friends to join me later at The Ear Inn (also known to old-timers as The Green Door), the oldest working bar in New York City… and one that is notoriously haunted.  Built in 1817 by tobacco trader James Brown (not the soul singer), it is a Federal Era townhouse, rational, elegant and intimate. According to legend, “Ghosts have been seen and heard within, particularly, “Mickey” a sailor still waiting for his Clipper ship to come in.” What better way to end an odd, claustrophobic and unsettling day, in a haunted bar swilling strong spirits with a dash of bitters?  The Ear Inn is well-named for an establishment that provides safe harbor to the dead. Remember what I advised–the only skills you need to see the departed in this city are the ability to listen and see beyond the concrete. Three hours to go before I make my way out into the night, I wonder what awaits on the other side.  Hmm, let’s see what comes up online if I Google…”signs of the paranormal…”