The Great Story City Bank Robbery, or, How To Get Free Money in Iowa

As I write this, I’m enroute back to Newfoundland, after a fabulous week at the STORY! Festival in the fortuitously named Story City, Iowa. I’ll post more on that later, but in the meantime, there is one story I have to tell first. 

I started off the festival telling stories in local schools, and finished up early one afternoon, with some free time on my hands. My host and local guide was the fabulous Deb Mortvedt (above left), who drove me around to the schools and then walked me around Story City’s downtown. She took me to a few of the local antique shops, and made sure I found the secret stash of free Tootsie Roll Pops in one.

As we were walking up the street towards the theatre, we passed the Great Western Bank. The door was propped wide open, and looking in, we could see that there was a table set with something that looked suspiciously like snacks.

We paused, peering in. Our conversation went something like this:

Deb: Do you want to go into the bank?
Dale: Why, is there something happening?
Deb: I don’t know. Maybe they will give you some money.
Dale: Do the banks in Iowa just give money to strangers when they walk in? 

Deb: You never know, they might!

So we walked in to the bank, which was for the most part devoid of customers. I entered behind Deb. A table was set up close to the tellers, and on it sat two cakes.

“Do you want cake?” asked one of the bank ladies, and before I could answer, added, “Chocolate or Vanilla? It is customer appreciation day today, but you missed the pork butt sandwiches.”

I cursed my timing.

“Vanilla!” said I, making the best of the lack of pork products. A plastic plate and fork were fetched and handed over to me, and then I was steered towards the cake table.

“You have to help yourself,” said Bank Lady. “It’s like an Iowa wedding reception!”

The gathered ladies laughed, and Bank Lady added, to more laughter, “All you need now is a dollar dance.”

I looked beseechingly over towards Deb for help with translation, but Deb was busy stuffing herself full of free lemonade, and was of absolutely no help to the foreigner.

“I’m Canadian,” I confessed. “I have no idea what a dollar dance is.”

I was then given a short ethnographic description of an Iowa dollar dance, where the bride dances with men at the reception, the men giving her a dollar bill to dance, as a way of raising money for the new married couple.

“Ah,” I said, shaking my head sadly. “That would never work in Canada. We don’t have dollar bills, only dollar coins. The bride would get too weighed down with loose change to dance.”

Bank Lady perked up at this, and sang out to a Junior Bank Lady behind the counter.

“Canadian money! Do we still have that Canadian money?”

Junior Bank Lady immediately vanished in the recesses of the Great Western Bank’s vaults to check. She returned with a bag of coins, dumped out the contents, and handed it to me.

“Here you go,” she said. “We can’t do anything with this stuff.” 

So I finished my free cake and free lemonade, said my thank-you’s, and, still clutching my free Tootsie Roll Pop, made my way out into the bright Iowa sunshine, richer by the grand sum $2.73 (Canadian).

“See, I told you they might give you money,” said Deb. “And there are four more banks in town.”

“We should hit them all.”

Final night for Ghosts of Signal Hill - Sat Sept 15th, 8pm

Well, it has been a fabulous run! A total of 33 shows, 3 storytellers, 90-ish rounds of black powder ammunition fired off, great crowds, media hits, a newspaper article, a guest appearance at the MUN Arts Alumni night, and not a single finger cut off with a bayonet. Not bad at all!

Thanks to all who helped out from Parks, including the lovely Lilly and Jacqueline, who were our live powder girls for most of the summer. And thanks to all of you who came and shivered and laughed and went home slightly more spooked than when you arrived.

If you haven't seen the show, tonight is your last chance for 2012. Tickets are limited, and we start at 8pm from the Signal Hill Visitor Centre. Tonight is a special night, as well, in that it is the 250th anniversary, to the day, of the Battle of Signal Hill, which figures so prominently in the show. Bring on the fog!

The Horse vs The Phantoms - a ghost story from Holyrood

A little while ago, I was asked for some ghost stories from Holyrood. I dug through my files, and came up with this gem.

Towards the end of the 1800s, one enterprising man by the name of William established a wagon business to haul goods and people to and from Holyrood along Salmonier Line. William invested in a particularly fine horse, strong and healthy, which he had imported from Canada for the purpose of hauling the wagon and its freight.

One night, on his way back into the North Arm section of Holyrood, the wagon driver and his beast of burden underwent a terrifying ordeal. The path that William had chosen took the wagon through the middle of an old graveyard. As the wagon clattered along the road, a strange noise was heard. It sounded as if the wagon was going over a wooden bridge, the wheels making the distinctive noise of rolling over wooden planks. The horse stopped dead in its tracks.

Will got down off the driver's seat to investigate. As he jumped down from the cart, Will's leather boots crunched against the gravel of the path. At this sound, he knew that there was no wooden bridge underneath them.

The wind blew through the graveyard, whistling around the tombstones. Much to his horror, the wind was joined by another sound. The clamour of voices, all jumbled together like the unintelligible din of a crowd, began to emanate from the graves on all sides. This noise grew louder, and closer, and then was combined with the sound of people climbing onto the wagon. The wagon rattled and creaked and then grew silent, as if the invisible throng was waiting for their ride to begin.

White-faced, Will decided that they had already dallied too long in the boneyard. He slapped the horse on its hindquarters, and urged it to move along and out of the vicinity of the strange noises. The horse obliged, and started forward. The creature leaned into its yoke, straining against an invisible weight. The wagon creaked to life once more, and started to move.

The horse pulled, hard. Will walked alongside as the horse strained harder and harder. Every so often, the driver looked back in fear at the empty wagon. The beast soldiered on, but it acted as if the weight of the wagon was immense. It would move forward along the dark road only about two wagon lengths before it would stop, drained of energy. Its owner urged it forward again, and the horse would drag itself forward another short distance before grinding to a halt once more.

The horse travelled very slowly under the heavy, ghostly load. Suddenly, the wagon lurched forward with a tremendous jerking motion, as if its intangible passengers had leapt off all at once.

The horse plodded on a little further, but then gradually slowed, dead tired, and unable to pull any more. Taking pity on the horse, and not wishing to remain out of doors any longer than was necessary, William unhitched the horse. He left the wagon behind, and started off, leading the horse by the bridle.
By the time the weary coachman got home, it was very late. The horse looked in poor shape, and by the time it was placed into its own barn, it was two o'clock in the morning. Too tired to do much more, Will went into the family house, woke his father, and asked the father to go feed the exhausted animal.

Will's father went out to feed the horse, but soon came back wearing a puzzled expression. He asked Will what had happened to the horse, as the beast refused to eat the oats which had been offered. Dragging himself from the warmth and comfort of his bed, Will went back outside to check on the horse.

The horse refused to eat, and simply stood there in its stall, breathing heavily, overcome with the events of the night. William waited by the side of the horse, stroking its mane and talking to it in a soothing voice. Several hours later, at around 5 o'clock, the horse sank down to its knees, gave a great heaving breath, and died.

St John's Public Library's Ghost Story Writing Contest 2012

We are back again for another year of scary tales and ghoulish fun!

The contest is sponsored by the St John's Public Libraries for young authors aged 7 and up. Deadline for entries is Friday October 19. All entries must be accompanied by an entry form found on our blog http://stjohnsghoststorycontest.blogspot.ca/ or ask for more information at any of the St John's Public Libraries!

This year's celebrity judge is Susan MacDonald author of Edge of Time.

Grand Falls Ghost Story on the Silver Screen

First time filmmaker Mike Hickey grew up in Grand Falls. A fan of horror movies and ghost stories, there was one local tale from his childhood that stuck in his mind.

“I remember when I was a kid, there was a house that was kind of spooky,” remembers Hickey. “It was this big mansion downtown off Goodyear Avenue, on a street called Dunn Place.

“The story was that there was a little boy that lived in that house that was playing superhero one time,” says Hickey. “He was sliding down over the banister with a towel as a cape, or a scarf, or something like that, and it got caught, and he was hanged. It is a really sad story, it was devastating for the family, but it became known that this house might be haunted by this little boy.”

“The people who bought the house after used to have a big thing on Hallowe’en,” Hickey adds, “where they would do up the house really well, which added to the spookiness of it. It was always that spot you were kind of wary of you were a kid. I had some friends who lived by it, and the house always creeped me out. It was this huge mansion of the road, and there not many of those in Grand Falls. That one certainly gave me the spooks.”

Now living in St. John’s, Hickey took part in an introductory filmmaking course with NIFCO, the Newfoundland Independent Filmmakers Cooperative. There, he came up with the idea of basing a film on the Grand Falls ghost story.

“The class develops a film,” explains Hickey. “The idea came up there, and even though the class ended up deciding on something else, I decided I was going to take that idea and run with that for my first time film.”

In addition to the course, NIFCO also offers a first time filmmakers program to help new artists make their first movie.

“You apply, and give them a script, and if it is approved, then they provide you with all the gear, they help you organize a volunteer crew,” says Hickey. “It is a great, great tool for young and early filmmakers. It is fantastic for them to have this to work from. NIFCO is such a great tool that a lot of people don’t know is there.”

Hickey worked with local fimmaker Roger Maunder on the project.

“He taught the course, helped with the movie,” says Hickey. “I couldn’t have done it without him.”

The story of “Our House” revolves around a couple who arrive in a new town. They move into an old house, where strange things start to happen.

“I’m from Grand Falls, I wanted to incorporate something from my childhood,” says Hickey. “Kid ghosts are always kind of scary. It is always that little bit more creepy when it is a little kid, so I took that story and made up a ghost story from that anchor. It was inspired by that, but there were some changes to it, to make it different.”

The film is now finished, and Hickey plans on a local screening sometime over the next few months. After that, he will submit the film to festivals.

“Where it is a bit of a ghost story, there are not just local, independent and short festivals, but a lot of genre festivals,” he says. “Where it is a ghost story, that can open a few more doors.”

Hickey is hopeful that “Our House” will be a step towards getting more movies made.

“Telling more ghost stories is my intention,” he states. “That is why I got into filmmaking. I really like horror movies, and the ones I wanted to see with a certain style weren’t actually there. There is still that door for me to get in and make the one that I want to see. “Our House” is a start.”

Hickey is coy on how the movie ends, however.

“It’s weird talking about the story without giving too much away,” he says. “It’s only a ten minute movie. I don’t want to spoil everything for everybody!”

For details on the launch, you can follow @hickeycommamike on Twitter.

Great feedback from tonight's sold out "Ghosts of Signal Hill" performance

The show this evening generated a few comments on Twitter:

Amelia ‏@nutmeg74
@DaleJarvis: Ghosts of Signal Hill is the best of @SJHauntedHike, especially the ambiance inside the Queen's Battery. Awesome job tonight!

Rhonda McMeekin ‏@rhondamcmeekin
Amazing time at Ghosts of Signal Hill! @DaleJarvis never disappoints!

Thanks! If you haven't seen the show, advance tickets are available from the Signal Hill Visitor Centre on Signal Hill Road. The show runs every Friday and Saturday evening at 8pm till September 15th, which just happens to be the 250th anniversary of the Battle of Signal Hill.

Carved by the Sea - Storytelling and Traditional Music in Bay Roberts, this Sunday

Carved by the Sea - Storytelling and Traditional Music in Bay Roberts
Sunday, July 15, 2012, 2pm 

As part of the Holdin' Ground Festival in Bay Roberts, the Bay Roberts Cultural Foundation presents "Carved by the Sea - Storytelling and Traditional Music" with UK storyteller Red Phoenix, performing along with local musicians, at the Bay Roberts Tourism Pavilion, on the Veteran's Memorial Highway, Sunday July 15th. 2pm.

Terrie Howey, better known as storyteller Red Phoenix, has been performing and facilitating performance workshops since 1992, and has been the Artistic Director of Red Phoenix Storytelling and Productions since its founding in 2007. Terrie founded Red Phoenix Storytelling and Productions to share her love of storytelling and make it more accessible to a wider range of audiences, whilst supporting and developing up and coming tellers.

Terrie is an Arts Award Advisor for Trinity College London, an international initiative for young people 7 - 25yrs to gain qualifications and gain experience in the arts. Terrie’s career has led her to perform and lead workshops all over the world, and she creates her own original tales as well as researching and drawing from historical sources.

Check out her website at http://www.redphoenixstory.co.uk

The Lady in Blue - A Fairy Story from Spaniard's Bay

Near Seymours Road, in Spaniard’s Bay, off in a field, away from the road, there was once an old stone walkway. Part of the path was lost when new houses were constructed along the road, but the sections further out still exist, known to those who grew up in the area.

One of those locals is Sheena Butler, who has an interest in local stories of the unexplained. According to Butler, that track up behind Seymours Road goes by the name of “The Fairy Path.”

Around 2000, Butler and some friends went out picking berries.

“We were picking partridge berries just in the field across from my house,” says Butler. “It was just a stone path that was called the fairy path. I don’t know why it was called the fairy path, it is just what it has always been called.”

The berry-pickers looked up, and there, a fair distance off, they saw a woman.

“She was dressed all in blue,” remembers Butler. “She was an older woman; she had on a blue dress. She was also picking berries.”

The woman was far away, but they could tell she was an older woman with greying hair. She had on something that resembled an old sundress.

“Are there any good berries up there?” they yelled out to the woman.

“She never answered, she never looked, she just went on doing her own thing,” says Butler.

A moment later, the woman straightened up somewhat, and struggled up over the hill.

“It honestly looked like she had a bad back,” recalls Butler. “She was hunched over, and when she stood up, she didn’t stand up straight, she had that hunch.”

“We said, ‘let’s go see what she was looking at’ and we went up over the hill,” says Butler.

When they got up over the hill, there was not a soul to be seen.

“It was as if we had been talking to nobody,” says Butler. “She went up over the hill, and we never saw her after.”

Locals called her “The Lady in Blue” and the berry-pickers that day were not the first to see her.

“She has always been around the fairy path,” explains Butler. “We don’t know her name, we don’t know where she came from, but she is there.”

Other people have had strange experiences along the fairy path. One dark night, around the time the berry-pickers met the Lady in Blue, another group went out along the path. They took a candle, and were sitting around, telling stories.

The candle started to flicker, and then went out. Thinking it was just a breeze, the friends lit the candle once more, only to have it go out a second time. Then, they heard movement in the bushes behind them, off to one side.

The movement stopped. Then, on the opposite of the storytellers, there was a movement in those bushes. Listening, the group then heard what sounded like creepy, eerie laughter off in the bushes.

The friends took off back to the safety of their houses, leaving the darkened path to its fairy owners.

If you have heard a similar story from Spaniard’s Bay, or know of another Newfoundland and Labrador location that is fairy-haunted, email me at info@hauntedhike.com

(photo courtesy Frank Kovalchek / CC BY)

Buried Treasure, Moving Rocks, and a Ghostly Guardian

The richly-named Money Point is located about a mile from the now-abandoned community of Ireland’s Eye, at the southwest end of Trinity Bay. There, a large pile of rocks is said to hide a fabulous treasure.

An old story from Ireland’s Eye tells that there was money buried on the point, a treasure of some sort. The rocks are said to look like they were put there by hand.

In a recorded interview done in the late 1960s, an Ireland’s Eye man remembered the pile of rocks, and a strange story associated with it.

“They had to be put there, carried there,” said the man. “There is no place around where the rocks are piled up, like they are at Money Point.”

“I’ve heard them say that a person was digging for it one time,” he remembered, “and when then went back in the morning, the rocks would be placed back again. They’d go up and move them one day, and when they’d go up the next day the rocks would be back.”

I love it when I hear pirate treasure stories, particularly ones I have not come across before. There are certainly no shortage of them in Newfoundland and Labrador. There are rumoured treasures buried on Signal Hill in St. John’s, on Tracey Hill in Red Bay, and at Gallows Cove in Torbay. Each of those have a ghostly guardian of one sort or another, ranging from a headless African pirate to a ghostly dog.

What is equally interesting is that there are also a number of Money Point legends, from all over the North Atlantic. There is a Money Point in County Cork, Ireland, and another Money Point in Chesapeake, Virginia on the Southern Branch of the Elizabeth River. The Virginian Money Point was named, as local folklore goes, for treasure the pirate Blackbeard buried off of the shores of Money Point.

Yet another Money Point is located near Ingonish, Nova Scotia. It was named after a cove where a French galleon was purportedly wrecked. For years after, gold coins kept washing ashore, giving rise to a local legend spread by old-timers. They said that one could stick a piece of tar on the bottom of a long stick, and pluck up gold and silver coins close to the shoreline.

Legends move and blend together, so I am curious about the Trinity Bay Money Point story. Is it possible that the early settlers in Ireland’s Eye, moving in from Conception Bay and from Dorset, England, brought stories of ghostly pirates and buried gold with them? Or is there truly something hidden under that strange pile of stones?

One Trinity Bay story tells of a man named Paddy who heard about the Money Point treasure, and travelled to Ireland’s Eye with a metal detector. Apparently, he left empty handed, and no money was ever found. So, if the treasure remains hidden, you might still have the opportunity to strike it rich.

Just beware of the ghost, and the moving rocks.

photo: stone wall, English Harbour, Trinity Bay, taken by Dale Jarvis.

The Ferry Captain: A Ghost Story from Trinity, Trinity Bay

In the early part of the twentieth century, an outport girl named Grace moved from her community to work in the town of Trinity, Trinity Bay. While there, she lived with her aunt and uncle.

One evening in February, the aunt went up to a friend’s house and stayed to tea. When she went up, she did not intend to stay, so did not have a light with her.

Time passed, and when Grace came home from work, it was quite dark

“Go up and carry the light and fetch your aunt home,” said her uncle.

It was a slippery night, with ice snow on the ground, but off she set with flashlight in hand. Around 7 o’clock, she came to the house with a white picket fence where her aunt had stayed for tea. As soon as she came in through the gate in the fence, a strange thing happened.

Grace heard a little noise, and she looked toward the woodhouse. She turned her flashlight toward the woodhouse to see if there was anybody there, but she saw no one. Then she turned the light onto the fence.

There, the other side of the fence, she saw something like a man’s face and figure, with the body resting its arms on the face. She could not see the lower part of its body, but she saw that face, with long white whiskers. The figure wearing an old-fashioned with a shiny bill, like style of hat a captain might wear.

Grace managed to get into the house, and when she came in, the aunt saw immediately that there was something wrong.

“What’s wrong with you maid?” the aunt asked. “Who was chasing you? What did you see?

“I didn’t see anybody living,” said the girl, after a pause.

“I suppose you didn’t see anybody dead then,” said the aunt, but the girl made no response.

The two women said their farewells and left. They came down the path, and as they did, Grace flashed her light up and down the fence.

“Put your light down on the ground,” said the aunt, uncomprehending. “That’s where i’m going to tread!”

“When I get up over this hill, I’m going to tell you something,” said Grace.

True to her word, when they got up over the hill, and away from the property, Grace described what she had seen, down to the whiskers and the billed cap.

“But it was nothing living, with such a strange face,” said Grace.

The next day the aunt decided to find out if someone had died in that house, or if there was a similar story. She went over to a neighbour and asked who had died in the house.

“Oh yes,” said the neighbour. “Old Bobby died there.”

The aunt asked what he had looked like.

“Well, he had long white whiskers and anytime you saw him, he had a cap on,” said the neighbour. “He used to run the ferry that went up the Southwest Arm, and when he was an old man he went to live with his daughter. Every evening, just about 7 or 7:30, he’d go outdoors and lean on the fence and look up the arm, just to check on the ferry.”

(Photo 11.05.008, View of Fisher's Cove, pre September 1902, courtesy of The Geography Collection, Coll - 137Arranged and Described by Linda White and Claire Jamieson, Archives and Special Collections Division, Memorial University of Newfoundland,  September 1999.)