Monthly Archives: April 2017

MOBY DICK

Nationality: American, Irish
Age: 56, 85
Occupation: Financial executive, retired carpenter
Residence: Winchester, MA; Medford, MA
Performance Date: 3/17/17
Primary Language: English

The two interviewee’s will be denoted through the initials ER and FK.

 

ER: “Mr. Keaton, remember when were up at Shawtown, and we’d go in the boat, and we’d go over to the other lake and we’d go under that bridge, and you would always say: “Mooobbby Dick”

 

FK: “Yea, well, Moby Dick, cause when you kids were all small, especially the girls, and we used to go over, ya know, from our lake, down the river, and go under the bridge.  And we called it Moby Dick’s bridge…  And I told the kids “When you go over there, you can look around that bridge” and I says, “Moby Dick lives there.”  They says, “Whose Moby Dick” I says, “You know, Moby Dick, the one in the story.”  “Ohhhh”  So they’d come back from that little lake, I says, “Did you see Moby Dick?”  And they says, “No we looked all over Mr. Keaton, we couldn’t find him.”  They were all looking for Moby Dick”

 

ER: “Yea it was pretty funny, I remember thinking “How could a massive whale live under this little bridge?”  But you told us he did and we believed you.  Everytime we, uh, went under that bridge, we’d make our voices real low, low as we could, and say “Mooobyyy Dick”.  And now everytime I go under a bridge in a boat I still say it.  And I’m 56 haha.

 

Conclusion:  This is a funny little story that has remained firmly in the mind of Evan (ER), a buddy of my Dad’s.  Frank (FK), a friend of my grandfather, was always playing little tricks on the kids and telling them stories like this.  I thought it was hilarious that Evan, who boats frequently in the waters off of Cape Cod, still makes his voice real low and says “Moooobyy Dick” every time he boats under a bridge.  Pretty funny habit/superstition to have as a 56 year old guy.

The Brooks Mansion Ghost

Nationality: American
Age: 18
Occupation: student
Residence: Boston, MA
Performance Date: 3/15/17
Primary Language: English

The interviewer’s comments are denoted through initials JK, while the interviewee’s responses are denoted through initials MJ.

 

JK:  Got any stories weird stories from your past growing up in the suburbs around Boston?

 

MJ:  Yea I’m from a town called Winchester about ten minutes north of the city.  I live across the street from these woods called the Brooks Parkhurst Forest.  So, there’s an old mansion called the “Brooks Mansion” in the middle of the forest close to this pond.  Apparently it was built at some point in the late 1800s.  The town tried to restore it and turn it into this kind of landmark at some point over the last 20 years, but people didn’t keep it in good shape and… so it kinda fell into ruin.  Anyway, me and some of my buddies had always heard it was haunted by the ghost of the lady that owned the house and died there sometime in the early 1900s.  Now, being normal people, ya know, we all thought this was bullshit….  We did not believe in ghosts.  In the past, I’d walked by the house with my dad.. but I’d never gone inside.  I’d heard stories about other kids going there to drink, but that was pretty much it.

 

JK:  Was there specific kind of story that you had heard about this ghost?

 

MJ:  Yea, a couple kids who were a few grades ahead of us told us they went in the house one night in the early fall.. had heard a bunch of weird noises, got freaked out, and left.  They mentioned they had heard the front door slam while they were upstairs in the mansion, and that made them freak and run out one of the back doors.  I told them it was probably the wind, but they all said it was a super calm night with no breeze at all.  So anyway, like a year later, me and two of my friends are smoking a spliff out in the woods and we start talking about the mansion and how some people think it has a ghost.  We all decide to take the 10-15 minute walk through the woods to get to it.  It was a mid September night, probably around 60 degrees– and get this– no wind.  Like none.  It was a wicked nice night, that’s why we were out there smoking in the first place.  So basically, we get to the mansion, open the front door and roll inside.  At this point we were definitely all a little high, but no one was stoned.  The inside was pretty run down.  The floors creaked, the walls were a mess.  A lot of windows broken, some graffiti on the walls.  It was all typical abandoned house stuff.  So we walk around taking it all in and head up stairs.  As soon as we get to the top we hear this noise that sounds exactly like wind blowing through an empty house…. But there’s no wind at all.  The night is dead still.  We look outside and none of the trees are blowing around.  This starts to get us scared.  Maybe we were higher than we thought.  After like 15 seconds of this, we hear the door slam, like loudly slam, beneath us.  We all let out a couple swears and bolt down the stairs and out one of the back doors.  Freaky stuff.  I’ve never gone back in the house.

 

Conclusion:

This sounded like a classic old haunted house story:  old lady dies in her mansion and then her spirit stands guard over it for the rest of time.  When I asked the kid if he now believes in ghosts, he said, “Uh well before I didn’t but now I don’t really know what to think.  Maybe I was higher than I thought, but that door definitely slammed and there was no wind– or other people around– to do it.  Definitely makes you think.”  From this response, it is clear the interviewee is still unsure about the existence of the supernatural, but– if I had to bet– I would say he is slightly leaning towards believing in ghosts.  

 

Three Finger Joe

Nationality: American
Age: 19
Occupation: Student
Residence: Houston, TX
Performance Date: April 5, 2017
Primary Language: English

Subject: Retelling of a Camp Legend

 

Informant: Lauren Herring

 

Background Information/Context: Camp Mystic is an all-girls camp in Hunt, Texas. It was founded in 1926 by a coach at the University of Texas, and it is still an incredibly popular camp today. In fact, the camp is so popular that in order to enroll, your parents have to call the head of the camp and ask to put you down on the wait list no longer than a few weeks after you are born. Ideally, a spot would clear up for you by the time you are the age they accept campers, but this is not always the case. Lauren Herring, from Houston, Texas, was lucky enough to get off the wait list, and has been attending Camp Mystic since for twelve years–the past two years as a camp counselor. So Camp Mystic has been a huge part of her childhood, as she has spent each of these past twelve years attending the camp for one month during the summer. I asked her if she ever had any ghost stories or heard any legends from Camp Mystic, and this was her response:

 

“I don’t know who started this story, but it’s kind of always been a big thing at Mystic. So there’s this little shed near Chatter Box, which is one of the cabins. You live in Chatter Box your third year. And there’s this random little shed with a lock on it right next to Chatter Box, and no one knew what it was for, not even the counselors. It was kind of just there. And it was scary looking, like really old and falling down and stuff.

 

So there was a story that there was a man that lived in it, and at night he would come into Chatter Box and scratch your back, but he only had three fingers. You knew he had come into your cabin that night if someone woke up with three scratches on their back.

 

His name was Three Finger Joe. We were all really scared and paranoid, because we were like nine and really completely believed it. And I think some of us would lie for attention or to mess with the rest of us or whatever because people would wake up and be like, ‘Oh my God, I have three fingered scratches on my back!’”

 

I loved hearing this story from Lauren because it reminded me of when I was younger and would listen to similar stories at the camps that I would go to. Growing up, I loved hearing ghost stories, and this one really took me back. I could tell when Lauren was recounting the memory to me that she enjoyed this kind of reminiscing as well.

Sarah Kingamen

Nationality: American
Age: 19
Occupation: Student
Residence: Los Angeles
Performance Date: April 23, 2017
Primary Language: English

Subject: Family Legend

 

Informant: Talitha Barkow

 

The following narrative is a story told to me by Talitha Barkow about someone in her family. The story dates way back to the time when an ancestor far down the line moved to the United States. The story has been passed down in her family for generations, and by now, as Talitha told me, she isn’t quite sure how accurate the whole story is, and it is missing significant details that have been lost as the story has been passed down again and again. However, the narrative is an important one to her and her family, as it tells them where they came from, and how their family got to the United States, where they reside now.

 

“I’m part Irish, but it’s a very small part compared to my German ancestry. But I do have one Irish ancestor who came to America when she was eighteen years old. She came on a boat alone.

 

She went to Canada on the boat, and then went down to Minnesota—I’m pretty sure it was Minnesota, but we don’t really know anymore.

 

Her name was Sarah Kingamen.

 

And then from there, in Minnesota, she met—this is such a German name, you’re going to need me to spell it for you—Reinard Barkow—and Sarah and Reinard got married.

 

She wasn’t even five feet tall, and I’m five foot ten! She also had really, really red hair—she was very Irish.”

“Thank You For All The Useless Things You Have Given Us.”

Nationality: Cuban
Age: 56
Occupation: Retired
Residence: Florida
Performance Date: April 10, 2017
Primary Language: English
Language: Spanish

My family members on my dad’s side of the family have a tendency to poke fun at each other, especially my dad and his siblings, and when someone does something that the others can make fun of them for, they hold it against them for as long as they can. One example of this is a story about my dad when he was little. My aunt joyfully told me the following story about her brother:

 

“My father (your Abuelo) [my grandfather], was a Doctor in Cuba. At times he would have to visit his patients on horseback—many of them lived in the country, and it was just more accessible that way. On one occasion, he took your dad to visit a family that needed treatment. When they arrived, he told José [my dad and her brother] to be still and behave—something that a four-year-old would have had a problem doing, but he really looked up to Dad. He knew that he was a very important person, doing a very important job. When Abuelo was finished, the family was so grateful to him, they wanted to pay him, but they had no money. Abuelo told them not to worry about it—they were poor. So they offered him things from the garden: a dozen eggs, a chicken, bread, and some vegetables. Abuelo was very gracious. He asked them to give it to his son, as he folded up his stethoscope packed up his doctor bag. He then turned to José and said, “What do you say?” José said, “Thank you for all the useless things you have given us.” Bringing up children is never easy…. [sighs].”