Spooky Season 2025

It’s that time of year, and the ghosts have come out of hiding and won’t leave (including myself—yes, I’m still here).

It’s not very often we hear of new ghost stories in the OWE, but we have one or two new ones and a few old ones to recall and to add onto!

Firstly, you will perhaps recall the name of Harry Ficklen, at one time a well-known figure in Danville.

The Haunting of Harry Ficklen

 

Harry Campbell Ficklen was born in 1862 and arrived in Danville with his family in 1860. You can read more about the Ficklens here.

The Ficklens owned a large tract of land on West Main Street. The great house, directly across from the intersection of West Main Street and Mount Vernon Avenue, was called Oak Lawn on a large plot of land that became known as Ficklen’s Field.

Harry moved away to attend the University of Virginia and then went on to study law. After graduating, he moved to New York City and began pursuing a writing career, working for publications such as “Life” magazine, for which he became a major contributor as a writer, while Charles Dana Gibson illustrated his articles. Mr. Gibson would later marry Mr. Ficklen’s cousin, another famous Danville native by the name of Irene Langhorne.

Mr. Ficklen was well on his way to becoming a literary success when, in 1872, his father passed away and Harry was called home to Oak Lawn, which was, even then, ill-kept and falling down. But it was home, and so he returned home to stand guard over the old homestead.

“The town was growing fast,” wrote our favorite author, Julian Meade, “and all about the Ficklen Place houses were built and pastures for cattle became streets for men. But Mr. Ficklen, living alone in his dilapidated house, would not sell an inch of his valuable land. … The house was hidden from the street as though it was lost in a wilderness of green: it was said to be ‘hanted’ and the ladies who lived nearby could not keep cooks, so frightened were most … by the very thought of this Ficklen’s Field where spirits were said to walk after dark and the groans of the dead broke the silence of the night.”

Amongst the people from whom Harry Ficklen protected his property were a “tribe” of “dirt-eaters”, the town’s poor folk, who came each morning to collect the sweet red clay that was considered especially fortifying. At all times he was known to carry a small leather bag at his waist, in which some said contained “every mystery and device of the devil.”

In 1916, Harry did two things that shocked and scandalized the Old West End and Danville at large. The confirmed bachelor married and moved out of Oak Lawn.

Mary Loise Tucker was hailed by the Danville Bee as being “one of the loveliest and gentlest ladies ever to live along the Dan,” and was further given credit as being uncommonly learned.” She was therefore a suitable, if surprising match, for the somewhat eccentric Harry.

Mary had a home on Grove Street, the now demolished house at 866, a once beautiful wood-frame Italianate home with a big tree in front, and on whose porch Harry would sit and talk with his wife or lure passersby to come while away a lonely evening—lonely for certain when Mary passed away suddenly in 1929. Harry was never the same after that. Visitors to the widower’s Grove Street home would find him dressed in a claret-colored housecoat, ready to receive anyone who might call upon him, and seemingly ever-prepared for his potential visitors with two easy chairs sat before a sparking fire and a table between them on which were set cigars and whisky—an open invitation to those who did come that they were welcome to sit and stay awhile.

Years later it was said, that that poor, sad old man in the claret-colored coat could be seen sitting on his porch, waiting to receive the visitors who had long since quit coming—or, and this is more likely, hoping for dear Mary to return.

Harry returned to her in 1937.

The Bee remembered him thusly: “Some people used to shake their heads and to say that Harry Ficklen had misapplied himself and that he could have gone far in national affairs. But that was not the character of the man. He loved the people amongst whom he lived, he loved to champion the cause of the poor man and by the power of his imagination often raised their issue to magnitude. … We shall remember him always as a stalwart figure marching up Main Street with his head up, the gleam of battle in his eye, a cigar vicariously lit carrying the little brown bag which intrigued the imagination of Danville people for thirty years.”

 

 

Ghosts on Green Street?

It is typically my habit to write these blog posts in third person, disappearing behind the story and delivering the facts—and lore—in a manner (which I hope is) unobtrusive. I can’t do that this time. Or at least I feel in a mood to get more personal and share a story of my own.

Last year I purchased the home at 931 Green Street, built over a hundred years ago as part of the estate of Nathaniel T. Green. I bought the wonderful home from our beloved neighbor, Dr. Anne Garbett who, in 1978 purchased the house with her husband, the late Dr. Coy Garbett.

The house, in a way, is two or three houses put together. That is, the main four rooms (two up and two down) were built in the 1850s and the front added onto in 1904.

The addition of the “front” with its foyer and staircase meant that the (then owners) the Perkinsons, I think, had the opportunity of creating higher ceilings in the new rooms than were in the older part of the house (which, oddly, has ceilings that are just over eight feet), and so that creates this odd phenomenon upstairs where you have to go down stairs a little to get back into the old part of the house. It’s weird, but actually really kind of cool, because (and this is the point I’m getting to) the old part of the house feels kind of separate and, well, OLD.

So my first week in the house, I arranged it so that I could be here alone and get acquainted with it and its ghosts. I … do believe in ghosts, quite enthusiastically, actually. And I’m therefore disappointed I haven’t seen more of them. I have seen ghosts … but that’s a story for another place. Ask me later, and I’ll tell you.

At any rate, I had a couple of days to prepare and get ready for my kids to move in, and, since the house came with a treasure trove of wonderful things that the previous owner hadn’t gotten rid of, and some junk too, there was a lot to do to organize and clean and make room for all our stuff.

So I arrived that first day, moved my things into my bedroom, set myself up, and, in the evening, prepared to go to bed, which I did.

Now I need to back up a little bit and tell you about the wonderful people who lived here before.

Firstly there were the five unmarried adult children of Mr. Green—a little like my own situation, I suppose. In 1864, the Green heirs sold the home and, for the next forty years, it was used as a boarding house. In 1904, the house at last welcomed its first owner occupants since the Greens.

Sarah Perkinson was a widow who shared the home with her two adult children (again … coincidence?) Mrs. Perkinson died in 1903, and her son, Albert, inherited the house. Albert was a tobacconist, and it was he who added the Victorian front onto the ante-bellum house. I can just see him, standing there with one hand thoughtfully hooked in the pocket of his waistcoat while the other holds a cigar to his lips. He puffs away as he considers the improvements he intends to make, the addition of a new entrance, a grand foyer with high ceilings and a new staircase that winds its way upward… The removal of the old staircase in the central hall will make it possible to add a bathroom, a proper bathroom with running water upstairs, complete with a claw foot bathtub! He imagines what it will take to patch the floor above and to run new joists to support the weight of it. He marvels at the developing wonder of indoor plumbing.

Now here’s where the ghosts begin to come in. Are you ready?

Mr. Perkins had retired from tobacco but got bored and became an accountant. By 1954, his health had taken a severe turn for the worse, and he retired a second time. One evening, after pouring a bath in the clawfoot tub that sat heavy-footed over the patched over stairwell, he slipped and fell. He didn’t die, but he broke his hip. Two weeks later, he passed away at Memorial Hospital.

Bookmark that!

The Perkinsons sold the home in that year to Miles Talmadge Bennett.

He’s a looker, am I right?

I can just see him, cigar in hand, examining his new home, puffing away as he considers the improvements he’ll make … Colonial Revival papers, to replace the old fashioned Victorian ones. … Some fresh paint … maybe he’ll plant a tree. A big one. Right in front.

Miles married Viola Edward Davis in 1921. He operated a grocery store and was part of the Sheriff’s Department here until 1970. In 1978, Viola died of a heart attack while residing at Roman Eagle, and Miles shortly thereafter sold the house.

That was the year the Drs. Garbett bought it, a young married couple fresh out of college and excited to start their lives in Danville’s historic district. They both loved antiques and old houses. Coy, especially, was enormously enthusiastic about saving Danville’s historic architectural treasures (a bit like me, I guess). I can just see him, a hand at one hip, his other holding a cigar to his mouth. He puffs away as he dreams of restoring this wonderful house, and of the contributions he’ll make to improving the neighborhood, the time and effort it will take, and the feeling of purpose it will give him.

Both the doctors worked at Averett, and that’s where Coy was on the 28th of April 1984, just six years into their home restoration adventure together, when Coy suffered a sudden heart attack and died. Anne was called to come to his office, but it was too late. Only 42, he had passed away.

So jumping forward to my first night in this house. I was hot and sweaty by the end of the day, and all I wanted was a bath in some Epsom salts. I poured a bath in a heavy-footed tub that sits over a patch in the floor where a staircase once stood, and I soaked in flower scented water.

And then I went to bed.

I woke up in the night, as I do, to use the bathroom. Ok. For the sake of the story, I’ll be honest. I woke up twice.

The first time, the bathroom smelled strongly of flower-scented bath salts.

The second time … still bath salts…

In the morning when I got up, I went to the bathroom again. This time, the bathroom smelled strongly of cigars.

I don’t know if any of these men smoked cigars. That’s just a guess, but cigar smoke smells like cigar smoke, and that’s the plain truth!

Since then, my oldest child who occupies the room where the previous owners slept and where Coy’s belongings were stored up till the day I moved them, have seen shadowy figures move around, and there are two doors, both in the old part of the house, that do not like to stay closed.

Say what you like, I think we are haunted–and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

 

High Street Haunting

 

If I’m completely honest, I don’t know if High Street Baptist Church is haunted, but, for all its endured, it has a right to be.

As slaves, those African Americans who attended First Baptist Church had worshipped from the balcony. Once freed, these faithful men and women left that church and formed their own congregation which they called the First African Baptist Church. The group at first met in the old Civil War hospital on “Hospital Hill” located on Lee street near the National Cemetery. In time, they moved to a second location which met in a warehouse at the corner of High and Union streets. New members of the church were baptized by immersion in the canal. The image below was taken from the September 22, 1866 edition of The Day Book out of Norfolk, Virginia.

(For more on the canals, keep reading)

In 1873, the first of three buildings was erected on the present site of High Street Baptist Church. The first minister of the church was Rev. Harrison Scott who came to Danville from Richmond. Very little is known about Reverend Scott. He was apparently educated and literate, but his wife, Catherine, was not. And it was owing to that fact that his life was cut short.

On the evening of September 25, 1875, Rev. Scott fell ill. A doctor was called in and he prescribed two medications. The first was nitro-muriatic acid, ten drops of which was to be diluted in a half glass of water. The second medication was aromatic spirits of ammonia and morphia administered by the teaspoonful. The directions were clearly written on the bottles, but Mrs. Scott, unable to read them, confused the prescriptions and gave her husband a teaspoonful of undiluted nitro-muriatric acid. “It immediately produced the most intense agony, and though medical aid was at once summoned, Mr. Scott died,” just five months after his daughter Celia was born. She would later marry Dr. Albert Winslow who would have a doctor’s office in Almagro.

Rev. Scott’s funeral was attended by thousands from the community and from Richmond.

In the early 1880s, the church was partially destroyed by fire. The building was rebuilt and it, too, was destroyed by fire in 1901. A new building, the one that stands on the location today, was constructed that same year. The building was damaged once again in 1995 when a severe thunderstorm with tornado-like winds ripped the back of the sanctuary off.

The church is famous not only for its significant to the city’s religious community, its architectural contributions, but also for having hosted Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. in 1960. Today it is a center of community and spiritual enlightenment for many people, black and white (and other) alike.

 

 

The Canal’s Contributions to Danville’s Ghost Community

(a snapshot)

First a little history and context. The beginnings of the canal date back to about 1794, according to recent research conducted by Travis Hackworth of the Danville Historical Society and provided a means of transporting various items like cotton and tobacco to the ports. The canal was a cooperative venture between the states of Virginia and North Carolina.

The canal used to run parallel to the river from the White Mill to a little bit north and east of entrance of the River Walk trail near the northbound section of the Main Street bridge (Patton St).

Here’s a photo provided to Cardinal News from the DHS showing the layout of downtown  prior to the demolition of lower main street.

The canal provided a means of passing over the river in places where it was too shallow and operated by a system of locks that raised and lowered the water level so that that boats, or batteau, could pass through. For a more complete history and explanation of the canal system and its contribution to Danville history (and its part in present revitalization efforts) please read this wonderful article from Cardinal News and Travis Hackworth.

Undoubtedly the canals provided the opportunity for a lot of tragedy and misadventure, but as we don’t have a complete record of newspapers prior to the 19-teens, it’s in those years we get our first glimpses into just how dangerous the canal could be.

Danville Register and Bee, Feb, 23, 1913

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Danville Register and Bee July 25, 1917

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Danville Register and Bee December 29, 1926

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Nine Year Old Dickie Tolley Drowns in Canal

Danville Register and Bee February 28, 1956

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(Additional accounts of tragedies in the canal can be found on my personal website on the Scrapbook: Danville, VA page.)

 

During a period of massive urban redevelopment in the late 60s and early 70s, the commercial buildings on the west side of lower Main Street were demolished and the ruble used to fill in the canal to create Memorial Drive.

At the time of demolition.

Present day c/o Google Maps

*Featured image by Julia B. Lloyd, artist, author, illustrator, creative extraordinaire for V.R. Christensen