Is the Rose Theatre haunted?

This is one of those rare times when the reporter writes in the first person about a personal experience.

This is also a story that should begin with a disclaimer: I do not necessarily believe in ghosts, but I enjoy a good mystery.

Rumor has it the Rose Theatre in downtown Bastrop is haunted. I wanted to find out if there was any truth to the legend, so I asked permission to spend Wednesday night in the theater alone.
Whether or not I was really alone, I will leave to the reader to decide.

Part of the inspiration for this little experiment comes from the 1966 film “The Ghost and Mr. Chicken,” in which Don Knotts plays a newspaper reporter who spends the night in a haunted house.

Another part of the inspiration comes from a story published in the El Dorado News Times several years ago, in which a reporter for that paper tried to spend a night in El Dorado’s haunted Rialto Theater.

I say that he “tried” because, according to the paper, the sound of ghostly footsteps coming down the theater staircase persuaded him to pack up and leave.

The skeptic in me says that old buildings -- and especially old theaters -- are just plain eerie places in which wooden floorboards and rafters creak as the temperature drops at night.

But some things are not so easy to explain. Before conducting my investigation, I wanted to hear from people who have had ghostly experiences in the Rose.

“I’ve heard some strange noises here at night,” said director Hal Robinson. “But I’ve never been afraid to be here alone.”

Robinson said former director Dr. George Brian was working backstage one day when he heard someone playing the piano in the orchestra pit. Brian came out to find no one was there. When Robinson arrived later, Brian asked him if he had been playing a trick on him.

When something like that happens, people tend to blame it on “Miss Rose.”

Some quick history: The Rose Theatre was built in 1927 by C.J. Goodwin as a venue for traveling vaudeville acts and silent motion pictures. He named the theater for his wife, Rose Ames Goodwin, whose portrait now hangs in the foyer.

The Rose Theatre closed in the 1970s and stood empty until 1985, when the Goodwin family donated it to the Cotton Country Players and volunteers began cleaning out a decade’s worth of dust and cobwebs.

Miranda Williams has participated in many shows at the Rose and shared some of her own eerie experiences with me.

Williams said one day, she was in the theater office typing play bills for a show called “Thousand Cranes.”

“I was sitting there typing with my back to the wall and I heard the front door open,” she said. “I looked in the mirror and I didn’t see anybody. So I turned back around and started typing again.

“I heard breathing behind me, over my shoulder. So I turned around to look and I didn’t anybody or anything, and so I kept typing. I heard it again over my shoulder, then I heard a sigh. I didn’t think anything of it, but then I heard heavy breathing and another sigh.”

Williams said she heard the same heavy breathing and sighing while working in the storage area for the recent production of “Jekyll & Hyde.”

“The front door opens up by itself, and people say it’s Mrs. Rose coming and going,” said Williams. “Props in the dressing rooms and around the stage area tend to disappear and nobody knows where they went. When people take pictures during performances, there are little light blobs on the film.

“Do I believe the Rose is haunted? Yes I do, but the stories I’ve heard of Mrs. Rose are all good. I don’t think she’s a bad spirit, I think she just wants to have a little fun.”

Since I do not own any fancy ghost-hunting equipment, I came to the theater Don Knotts-style, with just a sleeping bag, flashlight, camera and notebook.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” asked Robinson with a chuckle as he let me in for the night.

Before trying to sleep, I took my flashlight and did some exploring.

Backstage were many of the props and set pieces from “Jekyll & Hyde,” including a rubber hand on a table in the scene shop. In the second story dressing room I found a painting of an anthropomorphic rabbit with eyes that seemed to follow me, and on the third floor stood an Indian statue from a long-ago show.

No doubt about it: The Rose can be a creepy place when you’re alone there at night.

Not many people know the Rose has a basement dating back to the original construction, with a narrow concrete staircase. Robinson was kind enough to show it to me in the daytime.

I took my flashlight up to the balcony and thought about another story I had been told.

Nancy Shawhan, formerly of Bastrop, said she and other thespians often heard strange noises in the Rose.

“We always assumed that it was just the creaks and groans of an old building settling,” she said. “We only worked late in the night a few times, but never had anything unusual happen.”

Well, almost never. Shawhan said one time, she and LaDonna Hixon needed to go up to the storage area behind the balcony. She told her daughter, who was four years old at the time, to wait for her at the top of the staircase.

“When we came out of the storage room, she was standing right where she was supposed to, looking down the stairwell, and engrossed in deep conversation with somebody,” said Shawhan.
“We couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation as we approached, but we could hear her answers. When we got almost to her, she laughed out loud, as though whoever was on the stairs had said or done something really funny.”

Shawhan said her daughter clapped and pointed at the person on the stairs.

“We looked over the railing, and nobody was there. I said, ‘Sweetie, who are you talking to?’ Her smile and laughter vanished immediately, and in a very solemn voice, she said, ‘Nobody, Mama.’ Even when I asked about it later, she would only say that she didn’t want to talk about it.

“Ghost, or imaginary friend? Since she had always introduced me to her imaginary friends with careful politeness, I have to wonder why she wouldn’t introduce this one.”

From the balcony, I looked down on the empty stage and recalled some things I had read in the Enterprise archives.

The Enterprise reported June 18, 1931 that a traveling mystic who called himself “Professor Ali-Din” would perform at the Rose for one week.

The paper ran ads in which Ali-Din wore a turban, tuxedo and somber expression. The source of his mind-reading abilities, according to the paper, was his ability to grasp mental “viberations” from the audience.

Ali-Din held at least one seance in the Rose “for ladies only, at which time questions of a personal and intimate nature will be answered.” The Enterprise advertised on June 25, 1931 that Ali-Din would present his “Spirit Slate Writing” followed by a showing of a film called “The Cat Creeps.”

Several ads for local businesses also appeared in the paper, featuring Ali-Din’s disembodied head with faux questions and answers. For example:

MY NAME IS -- Average Bastrop Citizen.
QUESTION -- Where can I always be sure to find good wholesome meals at reasonable prices?
ANSWER -- You will make no mistake if you will eat at -- LOUISIANA HOTEL COFFEE SHOP.

You get the idea.

Psychics seem to have been popular in the 1930s, as the Enterprise advertised another one at the Rose on Sept. 5, 1935: “SELVIN ... England’s Most Famous Spiritualist on the Stage at Rose Theater ... Ghosts Appear Among the Audience ...”

Did ghosts really appear among the audience at either man’s performances? Neither Ali-Din’s “viberations” nor Selvin’s spirits were recorded in the paper.

About 11 p.m. I unrolled my sleeping bag on a couch in the foyer, where I could hear footsteps coming down the balcony staircase should Miss Rose decide to pay me a visit.

There were some creaking sounds, the passing of traffic and the soft patter of rain outside.
At 11:45, I noted in my journal a curious sound that seemed like a combination of a whispering voice and heavy breathing. It was brief and unintelligible, and seemed to come from the doorway into the stage area right behind me. I looked to see if someone was standing in the doorway, but of course no one was there.

Was this the same breathing/sighing noise Williams described hearing? Or was it something else that had a logical explanation? I only heard it once.

Then the traffic began to die down outside, and the theater became silent as a tomb. It was just too quiet  to fall asleep.

I listened to the creaking and settling of an old building full of history, where countless people have come and gone over the years, shared in creative endeavors and made lasting memories together.

Around 3 a.m. I gave up the ghost (so to speak) and headed home to get some sleep with the TV providing background chatter.

Is the Rose Theatre haunted? I don’t know. The mystery remains, as it should.