Crandell Mansion.

Crandell Mansion, Ballston Spa NY *Updated, October 2015*

In the spirit of the Halloween season, I decided to keep with the ghost tales and spooky location theme. Below is a blog I posted last December with some updates added to it. I hope you enjoy!...beware.

Most people I know love a great Ghost story and the idea of the old Haunted Mansion on a hill. The kind of place that spirits can be seen roaming through the house at the dead of night. The walls dripping blood with demonic voices saying the usual “Get out” These days with the popularity of reality Ghost shows and tales of the unknown we dial into all things that suggest that there is other worldly phenomenon that cannot be explained. Every culture and society has their own tales of ghosts and spirits. Here in America we seem to be drawn to old mansions and graveyards with celebrity psychic mediums telling us of the demise of those spirits while in human form. 

I grew up in a Village in Saratoga County that has its share of interesting 'haunts'. One such notorious place is the Crandell Mansion. This old victorian home is immediately in front of the elementary school; where I along with many other children in the 80’s ran around on the playground pretending to hide from old ghost Crandell and his silhouette in the cupola. We would tell tales amongst ourselves of the ghostly inhabitants and that children who got too close would end up missing. The imagination of children can be as far fetched and expansive as the earth itself. Behold, the Crandell Mansion.

One day while speaking with an old co-worker, she had brought up the house in passing saying that her immediate family are the current owners of the house and property. (I will leave her nameless). She mentioned that there is also Apartments that have been built into the massive house with tenants claiming no experiences, to seeing and hearing things that had them scared. I could not believe my ears!

She mentioned that there has been some odd occurrences that have been experienced as well as eyewitness accounts of apparitions including photos with orbs and other unexplainable images. Whether you believe or not, this blog entry is not here to state one way or the other if the house itself is truly haunted. Every person has their own thoughts and beliefs on the matter. As a grown up, I decided to do a little research on the home and found some information that is quite tragic and terrible.

I had heard rumors that Sylvester Crandell had tortured his family and that he hung himself in the cupola and on certain nights you can see his body hanging. All sorts of tales and ghostly stories to make anyone fearful. All these years it has been difficult to distinguish between fact and town folklore. Attached is a newspaper article from the NY times dated December 20, 1887 outlining the horrid events that had taken place on December 19, 1887. 

My fascination has gone beyond the “purported” hauntings of the home and into the events leading up to and the tragedy itself. I sit back and wonder to myself as a family man, how could anyone become so enraged that one would Murder his family. Especially given the fact that this tragedy was just days from Christmas where we are supposed to be thankful for the gift of life. (assuming the family was christian). As I pondered to myself about all the info I have read and stories I heard as a child I overheard a financial report about this current holiday season for 2014. The report stated that most families would be more conscious on spending this year.

The report made me think of all those in the world who have lost everything or on the very verge of such financial defeat. It seems almost everything is driven by financial gain and the mentality of those with the most toys wins. I myself, have been guilty of this mindset. I have seen firsthand friends and loved ones become torn apart by the nightmares of finances and ownership. With a house as grandiose as the Crandell mansion had to have been in the 1800’s brand new, I can only imagine the mindset Mr. Crandell had as he pursued public office and lived a privileged lifestyle. Eventually it appears that all fell away from him. Including his stability of mind and body. 

I pondered, was the mindset & family situation of that tragedy that cold snowy day in December of 1887 really that different from today’s family stressors? I'm not claiming Adults are committing homicide on their families on a routine basis. But does the unhealthy desire and pursuit of wealth create as many family problems today as it did in the Crandell house? In short, I believe it does. Perhaps it is the human nature of wanting more, or simply trying to hold on to what we have creates words of anger and action that affects the ones around us. When some are faced with the reality of losing an apartment or a custom built home in a development. The idea and embarrassment of having to relinquish an expensive vehicle or belonging can lead even the best of us as humans to lash out and act in ways we wouldn’t. I come away thinking that even if this tragedy separates us by 128 years; the core element remains that finances impact every family from every race, background and culture. It is one of the most driving forces in the world. In the case of an individual such as Sylvester Crandell who clearly was not in his right mind led to the unspeakable. Murder

Perhaps, for a moment, we can all suspend our disbelief and assume that the stories of the ghostly inhabitants are true? Are these spirits trapped? or perhaps they visit to serve as a warning to us all so that history does not sadly repeat itself. “If” there is truly such a thing as spirits, I cannot help but think that perhaps there spirits along with Mr Crandell could be looking for a way to rewrite the history of that dark day. Again, “if” those spirits are in that house. I hope that they can find peace as the anniversary of their deaths quickly approaches. 

In closing, maybe the spirits stay in that house not to scare the school children behind the house, but perhaps to plant the seed in those children that while Money is a necessity of life it should not be everything. At 35 years old, if this is the lesson, then I have heard loud and clear. Whether through the sight of the house, the newspaper articles, speaking with family who have ties to the home or the folklore of the family’s ghosts. We are entering a time of year to take pause and be thankful for what we have as well as lending a helping hand to others. 

Perhaps through love and goodwill, we can help those who need help the most stay clear of what could be another senseless tragedy and loss of life. Just an average joe's opinion.  

“Love takes off the masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within” - James Baldwin.

Questions, comments? Email me!

The Calling Road

The following piece was originally written by me back in 2007 when I was still attending night school at Sage College of Albany. It was meant for my creative writing course. It was one of three that I wrote but felt it never quite made the grade to be submitted. I decided to do a few updates to the original and thought it would be a nice piece to post for this week. I hope you enjoy -Mark

“When you finally go back to your old home, you find it wasn't the old home you missed but your childhood” - Sam Ewing

The Calling Road….

Avery drove down old route 12 just outside of the historic township of Abaddon’s Landing. The closer he approached the township the tighter his grip became on the steering wheel. It had been almost ten years since he was this close to the area of his former life. Of all tasks he had been given, this was one that he could not completely comprehend. The winding road was full with forest line and broken down stone walls used to separate property lines almost one hundred years ago. The mossy growth on some of the rocks reminded Avery of the days when he would dare his closest buddies to  remove the moss and eat it. No one could quite stomach the task and many of those stones had the blankets of green growth still covering them.

One mile outside of the town was a small road that led to the local church. Making a last minute decision,  Avery quickly jerked the wheel kicking up stones and dust as he slid on to the road leading to the only place he could go to collect his racing thoughts before driving through the only place he really knew for the first 25 years of his life. He pulled up outside of the beautiful white painted church. The sign outside said “Welcome all, service Sundays at 11:00am.

Avery scanned the exterior of the grounds to see if any cars were parked. There was nothing indicating that someone else was here. Grabbing the flask from his bag, he took a shot of whiskey and felt it’s liquid courage trickle down his throat into his chest. He re clasped the flask and then exited his car. Tipping his fedora, he breathed heavy and was hoping to cover all of his distinguishing features as he crossed the line between who he is now and what he was  just ten years before.

The side church door opened and closed quietly. "good'' said avery, any loud noises would draw attention, and this was the last place of earth he wanted attention. He simply wanted to be a passerby with no destination, just an old traveler seeking spiritual refuge on a journey marred by question and disbelief.

Avery inhaled the smell of the candles burning and listened to the creaking of the old wooden pews that he so fondly remembered sitting in as a child. The church with all its furnishings and stained glass always carried an echo of the smallest noise.

The old organ sat pristine and ready to be played, no doubt Old Ms. Kathy was still in charge of the music here. Her sheet music was always in place and the hymns were always perfectly played as if a choir from heaven itself made a guest appearance.

It was Four thirty in the afternoon and the sun lit up the altar like a picture perfect painting. It was that very spot that he married his true love, Elise. Closing his eyes his mind brought him back to moving her veil backwards, looking into her eyes and kissing her in front of a full church of family and friends. It was the beginning to a life that seemed unstoppable.

His memory was interrupted by a voice directly from the pew behind him.

"I wondered if I would ever cross paths with you again-how are you my child?"

"shit!" It was the voice of Father Jessman, his voice deep and stern, just as Avery remembered it. He could feel Father Jessmans deep blue eyes looking straight through him.

"Avery...have you lost your ability to speak"? questioned the old Catholic Priest

"I'm sorry, Father, I'm not quite sure who you are referring to"?

With a stern tone, Father Jessman snapped back! "Do you dare willingly come into the house of the lord and freely lie to me"? I know it's you Avery, I've known you since you were a child, it doesn't take a voice or my own eyes to know when someone who I've taught for years is here. It's a presence my child. You have one of the strongest presences I have ever encountered in my 25 years here."

"Forgive me Father. I was simply....trying to..stay...well...gone" Avery, replied

Father Jessman leaned back in the pew and let out a deep sigh. He was quiet for a moment and the smell of his musky aftershave permeated the air. then with the voice of a fatherly figure, he leaned forward and spoke.

"Son, I've buried 100's of folks in the graveyard out back, I knew the day of your funeral that something wasn't quite right. There is a feeling you get presiding over the shell of a person, you feel the spirit of the deceased with you at those times, as if they themselves cannot understand what it is they are watching. But on the day of yours, I felt your presence in the form of one that does not occur. I felt no spirit..because you were not dead. I'm not sure whose corpse I presided over, but my blessings of you going to meet the heavenly father were not meant for that day.

Avery sat looking at the altar, he thought about the day of his funeral, how he had to watch his burial from a car in the distance. "Father, I did die that day, perhaps not in the traditional sense. But I had to walk away from the life I had. I was given a new life, a new name and therefore, while my soul is still encased in this body, the being who I once was, died, and was buried on that day. My wife, my two daughters they deserved better than me. I was in a place where I needed to make amends and was given the chance for a new start making lives better for others"

"Avery, you need not explain why you live the life you live to me. Sometimes in life..it's not us that choose the path we lead, but it is that life itself that will seeks us out. There are times where our callings do not make any sense to others, but we have to trust that this is what is meant to be. I've heard countless confessions over the years from people who believe that they have failed. But the lord doesn't give you what you cannot handle. You are where you are; because there was a plan to get you here"

Avery sat in silence as he he tucked his lips in and his breathing became short. Clenching his jaw he did his physical best to stop the tears as they began to roll down his cheek. Listening to his priest, provided the fatherly figure that all men and women need at times in life. Religious or not, sometimes all need to hear that the direction towards the northern star is just when they sail the oceans of life without a navigator.

"Why did you come here Avery?"

With a giant sniffle, Avery muttered out the words.."I don't know...I guess I wanted to remember..why, I miss my family so much"

Father Jessman leaned even closer to Avery as the old pew creeked, "Turn to me, let me see you my child"

Avery, reluctantly, turned his torso in the pew and looked at the aged priest, whose face while wrinkled and sagged; still contained the bright blue eyes that he forever knew in his times of pain and sorrow.

Father Jessman looked Avery in the eyes and said, “your new life has aged you. It is an aging I know all too well. To take upon the burden of many robs you of what youth you may posses. But it it an honorable and just cause. I do not know what life it is that you lead now, Avery. But your eyes and face tell me that it is one of importance to many, while still a mystery to you. I will respect what it is that you do. But remember, you never truly died, nor are you alone in this world. When you are faced against immeasurable odds, remember that you do not walk alone, and that I will always be here for you.

the tears streamed down avery's face, the wetness was soft against the stubble of his ungroomed two day travel.

"I miss my girls, are they okay?....

"Yes, Avery, your family is fine, I would hope one day, when your new mission in life is complete, that you will let them gaze upon you as I have today"

Avery sat quietly, as the priest looked at him.

"Go forth my child, continue on with your tasks. I hope that this meeting has been the reassurance you need to carry on".

Avery stood up, he composed himself and tipped his hat forward. Biddding farewell to Father Jessman, He stepped out of the pew and walked down the aisle heading for the door, he reached down and grabbed a church bulletin as he stepped out of the front door and walked to his car. He choked back more tears as he opened the door and sat inside. His head pounded and his heart raced. He closed his eyes for a moment to try to let it all settle.

When he opened his eyes, the church was boarded up and the paint was chipping. Avery startled, sat up to attention, the stained glass had been broken and the church had fallen into disrepair. The front door was ajar from where he had opened it behind the boards used to seal off would be trespassers.

"What the hell"..Avery, still clutching the church bulletin nervousy looked down to see the paper was stained and aged. The date was from November 19, 1916...7 years ago. The back bulletin was a tribute to the recently deceased Father Jessman at the age of 78.

Looking up from the bulletin the church was falling apart, the shutters were hanging and the bushes were grossly overgrown. The front sign was rotting and all but the w and e remained of the message on the sign...the church must have been closed after the passing of father Jessman, perhaps they could not find a replacement.

This all took place three years after he left. Avery rubbed his forehead trying to make sense of what just happened, when he noticed a figure in the rectory window..it was Father Jessman, he nodded to Avery, blue eyes piercing and then..he vanished.

Avery now understood, he does not walk alone in his path. Father Jessman is with him. He was called back to this spot as a meeting, why? Avery grew tired of the visions, but Father Jessman was one that he for once welcomed, and hoped he would continue to see. Starting the car, he placed it in drive and drove down the road, looking in the rear view mirror he could see the images of him and his boyhood friends running on that road as the old church disappeared out of his line of sight.

He needed to press forward, he still had a job to do…

Mark Schmidt,

October 07, 2015.