BEWARE THE IDES OF MARCH... At Least the Irish Stew

I hope everyone had a fun and safe St. Patty's Day. I had the pleasure of hanging out with my In Rare Form friends (and guests) at a place called "Pineapple Hill,” which is the local watering hole/sports bar type place. It was a good time, shared in a couple of drinks, had a few laughs, and ate that damned Irish Stew.

Out of curiosity, I have looked up the LA County Health Department score for Pineapple Hill. It's a 96. Not too bad, right. Actually that's really good. That's why I'm shocked that my post St. Patty's Day has been taken over by Montezuma's Revenge. That's right, you heard me, and that's all I'll say as far as details go. I wasn't the only victim though; there are two other confirmed victims of our Mexican foe. I won't give their names, my way of protecting the innocent. I won't however, protect the guilty. Pineapple Hill, your Irish Stew was poison. You should never serve it again. At this time, I move that anyone who reads this avoid eating at Pineapple Hill @ 4454 Van Nuys Blvd in Sherman Oaks less you want to end up like the rest of us. OK, maybe that's a little harsh... just be wary. As for the LA County Health Department, you need to outlaw Irish Stew, unless made by the Irish, or Gordon Ramsey. Even then, you might want to double check it to be sure.

On a separate note, look for some awesome news in the coming weeks about my Involvement in a Indie Film being shot here in LA called "LA Paranormal." Till next time...

JLP

Browington and the Wampus Cat

My dad’s side of the family has long been settled in the community known as Browington Tennessee. In fact, if you drive through, you’ll notice the Parks name on lots of roads. Several legends and stories come from this area. One of which is the Marble Plains Baptist Church. The Church, which is only yards from the entrance to the Tim’s Ford State Park, is the source to one of the most horrific stories I’ve heard, and it’s true.

In the early 1900s, during a Sunday service, a man named Dwight Denkins decided he had had enough of being the community outcast. He barricaded the front doors and boarded up the back doors. He then proceeded to see the church on fire. Due to the fact that the widows were too high off of the ground, and the doors were sealed shut, everyone burned alive.

Now of course, this is a terrible story. However, that’s not the end of it. The church was rebuilt exactly as it had been; on the exact same spot it was located before the fire.

If that weren’t enough, years later, the church was remodeled. A new entrance was added and a large kitchen was constructed on the back of the church. The only problem, there was nowhere to add these additions as the cemetery was too close to the church. So, in a move worthy of the movie Poltergeist, the additions were built on top of the graves. Supposedly some of the graves were moved, however, you can clearly see old headstone built into the foundation of the kitchen attached to the back of the church.

The Browington area is also the location for the story my grandfather told me about the time he, his brother, and a man named Carol Lewis were in the woods Raccoon hunting. Avid hunters, the men had been on this same hunt dozens of times. Of course like all of these hunting trips, at some point in the night, there is a lull of sorts when the dogs are off doing their thing. It’s at this point that my grandfather and his cohorts decide to sit, and have a drink. On this particular night, they didn’t get the chance. No sooner than they sat down, they heard the dogs barking wildly, and then they heard the dogs running toward them. As the dogs sped past without stopping, they heard something else. It was much louder and bigger than a dog, and was moving through the trees and the brush very fast, much faster than the dogs. Suddenly a terrible odor filled the air as whatever has coming toward them let out what has been described to me as a “very unnatural growl.” Without another thought, the three men were off running back toward their truck. Behind them, whatever it was was getting closer. Finally, they got to the truck, climbed inside and locked the doors. Minutes later, the creature arrived and began climbing on the truck shaking and clawing it violently. After a while, whatever it was gave up, and went on its way. The men stayed in the truck till sun up.

The next morning, they climbed out of the truck to find the vehicle covered in deep claw marks. The terrible smell lingered also. Around the truck were tracks left by the animal. It appeared from the tracks that whatever it was, it stood upright, and only had three toes or claws. The claw marks on the truck also showed only three claws. Under the truck, the men found there dogs, too scared to come out, but otherwise unharmed. To this day, ask my grandfather what attacked them that night, the only words from his mouth are, “Catty Wampus.”

The “Catty Wampus” or “Wampus Cat” as it is more commonly known by is a creature of legend in Tennessee and around the southern states. Said to be a creature from Cherokee Indian lore, there are tons of reported incidents that have been blamed on the creature.

JLP

The Witches Grave

Growing up in Lynchburg, you get to hear and experience a lot of unusual things. I personally have never seen a ghost, or anything I have ever perceived to be a ghost. My older brother on the other hand, has seen a lot of strange things on several occasions, like the shadowy figure that floated through the bedroom and closed the door on him at my grandmother’s house. Someone once told me that certain people are more in tune to see these kinds of things. I do believe in ghosts, and for most of my adolescent life I had heard of one in particular in the neighboring town of Tullahoma. Off of Highway 55, behind the National Guard Armory lies People’s Cemetery.


It is here that the “Witches Grave” is supposed lie. All of my friends in Middle and High School would tell me how they would go there and walk around grave and chant her name and crazy things would happen. I’ve heard of cars starting on their own, crazy lights and orbs chasing people from the area, the wind swirling up and blowing so hard that people could stay standing. Once again, I’ve never seen any of things and I had never actually seen the witch’s grave until my third year of college. It was this year that I was writing for the school paper and decided to write an article about ghosts and legends across the state. Of course, being the good little anthropology student that I was, I had to do some research. So one weekend, while I was home from school I decided to visit the witch’s grave.

I knew I had found it immediately. It was a three foot tall stone pillar with two smaller grave stones on each side. Candles had been burned on the grave stones and it was obvious lots of people had visited the site due to the amount of wear around the area. I spent about an hour at the location waiting for something to happen, but of course I got nothing. So like the true man of science I am, I decided to go to the local library and see if I could dig up any information on both the legend and the facts of the witch’s grave.

I learned legend said that the grave belonged to a woman named Kitty Kathy, and she was said to be a witch who lived near Normandy in an old shack. It was said she was responsible for a string of missing children that plagued the area in the 1960s. When she died, she was buried at People’s Cemetery and her old shack was torn down. The grave draws a cult following of pagans and wiccans who are said to perform séances on the grave.

The only facts I was able to gather showed the set of stones belonged to a Romanian Family who moved to the area in the 1890s. The person known as Kitty Kathy, her grave is actually one of the smaller stones and there is no evidence that anyone buried there was ever a witch. However, I did find strong evidence that they may have been gypsies that immigrated to the area before the turn of the century to avoid persecution.

So no proof either way... I have been to the grave site once since, a couple of years ago and the large pillar has been torn down and stolen or thrown away. The used candles and coins were still there, telling me that the witch’s grave appears to still be business as usual. For me, if I were in Tullahoma, I would travel a bit further down Highway 55 to Concord Cemetery to visit the grave site of Sadie Baker, whose ghost is one of the state's oldest known, and has been seen on many occasions sitting at her headstone playing with her dolls. Until next time…

JLP

Ghost Stories

I was watching Paranormal Activity last night and it got me thinking about ghost stories. Growing up in the south, especially in my family, one thing you learn very early in life are ghost stories. I thank both of my grandfathers for this gift, and have decided this Halloween to pass some of these stories on to you.

Most Ghost stories in Tennessee are well know, the Bell Witch, the Chapel Hill Train and tons of others. Today, I want to tell you a story my grandfather told me. It seems one night, coming home from coon hunting (which is my grandfather's way of saying he got drunk), my grandfather decided to take a short cut through Duboise Hollow just south of Huntland Tennessee on the Alabama side of the state line. It was 1957, and at this time no one lived in the Hollow, the road was only cut through by loggers who had been working the area. It was very late, and though he wasn't sure of the time as he didn't have a watch. As he drove down the old gravel road, he saw someone walking ahead, in the distance. At first, he thought he was seeing things, after all, he was extremely tired, and who would be walking out here at that hour. As he got closer, he realized that not only was he not seeing things, but also it was a woman. He described her as being in her twenties and very pretty. He said she was wearing a fancy blue dress and looked like maybe she had been to a party or something. Of course being a good Christian man, he decided to see if she needed help, so he stopped, opened the passenger side door to his 1952 Chevy pick-up and asked her if she needed a ride. Without saying anything she climbed in and closed the door. Now something else my grandfather told me was that she was very pale, and shivered like she was ice cold. This was odd to him because it was the middle of June. He turned on the heat for her and tried to ask her is she was alright, but he got no response. Finally, as he neared the end of the road, were it reconnects with highway 65, he said she began to shake. as he got closer to the highway, she began to scream, louder and louder until finally, his wheels hit the black top. Then she was gone. Of course, the language my grandfather uses to tell that last part, isn't really fit for this story, so I'll just say, that I don't think he was making it up.

Years later, they started to build houses up the hollow and the gravel road got a blacktop face lift, a body was found. It was the skeletal remains of a woman. In the shallow grave were the body was found, was remains of blue silky fabric. The Alabama State Police labeled her "the lady in the blue dress" and her identity was never discovered. Forensic evidence led them to believe that the body had been there since at least the early to mid 1950s. As for my grandfather, there was never a doubt in his mind that the lady in the blue dress was his passenger that late night in June 1957.

JLP