Ghosts I have chanced to meet.
I have always been a bit sensitive to to the Spirits .
>
> My experiences date back from childhood, but I have have had many as an
> adult.
>
> I have worked in varying capacities in theaters .
>
> For whatever reason , these venues always seem to be wrought with ghostly
> types.
>
> Most of my encounters relate to locations in Portland Oregon where I spent
> most of my life.
>
> This is an account of the Paris Theater located in Downtown Portland.
>
> This was a theater that dates back to the vaudevillian days but went through
> many changes throughout the years.
> The Paris Theater is built on top of the Shanghai Tunnels which run through
> all of which is known as "Old Town" .
>
> Many businesses in this local are noted for it's haunting's.
>
> I began work at a new incarnation of the Paris in about 1995.
>
> As a young person I attended and ushered there when it was known as the
> Storefront actors theater.
>
> This was the golden age of gay theater in the late 70's and 80's
>
> When I wound up there in about 1994 or 95, a friend had taken out a lease to do a cabaret /
> nightclub which was host to various groups which would later become very
> well known , such as the Dandy Warhols and Brian Jonestown Massacre.
>
> I lived at the theater for a brief time and it was during this time which I
> was unsolictously met with the ghosts who resided there.
>
> My first night of sleeping there was my first encounter.
>
> I was sitting in the theater with the manager Bill.
>
> We sat at a table talking about various strategies for the furure and what
> not.
>
> It was getting late , around 2:30 AM when I announced that I should get to
> bed.
>
> Of course I had my apprehensions about sleeping in an old theater all alone
> and my mind raced but I tried to calm myself ,telling myself that I should
> not jump to conclusions based on past paranoia.
>
> I had my hair up in several bobby pins and had taken them out.
>
> When Bill said he would be leaving ,I though for a moment that I shouldn't leave
> the pins there in case they should mysteriously disappear during the night.
>
> I said inwardly that that was rediculous and said good night and went up to
> sleep in a tiny room along side the projection room.
>
> I awoke in the morning , got up and made coffee and set about a routine of
> making friends with the spirits that might just happen to reside there.
>
> After a tech routine and cleaning I went to the table where Bill and I had
> been sitting the previous night , only to find that the bobby pins I had
> taken from my hair were in fact gone.
>
> No one else had been in the place since then , but still , I tried to not
> freak out about it .
>
> Of course I was spooked.
>
> The following night , I decided to go to another bar for a nightcap.
>
> This was in February and it was bitter cold.
>
> I returned to the Paris at around 2:30 AM
>
> I unlocked and locked the pad lock of the first gate and then then padlock
> chain that went around the double doors which were the entrance to the
> theater.
>
> I locked everything ,and put my set of keys in the pocket of my floor length
> winter coat , went up to my small room and got in bed, putting my coat over
> me for extra warmth.
>
> About 15 minutes later ,I was aroused by the very distinct sound of someone
> unlocking the front door and walking in.
>
> I could hear the footsteps on the carpet and at first thought it was one of
> my cohorts bringing a date in for a night cap.
>
> Then I heard nothing.
>
> No laughter , no voices. Nothing.
>
> I then began to get very uneasy.
>
> I waited as over a 10 minute period I would hear footsteps on the
> carpet.
>
> I got really freaked out and got my knife out of my stocking.
>
> I got up and slowly crept up.
>
> There were small windows from the projection room in which you could peer into
> various parts of the theater.
>
> I held my breath for nearly 20 minutes , waiting.
>
> Nothing happened but my heart was ready to jump out of my chest and all
> over third street!.
>
> Finally , I crept back to my bed and got under the covers , knife in hand , for the rest
> of the night.
>
> I awoke in the morning thanking my lucky stars that nothing had happened to
> me.
>
> The Winter sun beamed in throught the frosted glass of the leaded French
> windows.
>
> For no particular reason , something made a clinking sound from the small
> table at the foot of the bed.
>
> I sat up .
>
> There wasn't anything on that table but on the floor lay a small key.
>
> I tried to think nothing of it and got up and went about my business.
>
> Made coffee , cleaned wrote out a schedule and so on.
>
> At around 2:00 PM the phone rang.
>
> It was an out of town band who had arrived and wanted to load in early.
>
> I told them I would open the double doors so they could come in.
>
> To my alarm, the key to the padlock on the main door was NOT on my key ring.
>
> A picture of the little key on the floor by the bed table appeared in my
> minds eye.
>
> I went upstairs , picked the key up off the floor and went back downstairs and
> unlocked the door with it.
>
> Every hair on my body including many that didn't exist crawled in every
> direction and I told the band to load in and I would be back.
>
> How did the key get off the ring and why did it make a distinct clnking
> sound on the floor by the bed?
>
> It was after this I learened that Bill and another friend of the club had
> been getting ready for a show one afternoon and were sorting out the
> magnetic letters for the marquis.
>
> These letters when not on the marquis are very large.
>
> They decided to take a break for lunch.
>
> When they returned , the marquis letters were not there , however they found
> them all mixed up on the florr of the stage.
>
> These incidents were some of the minor ones that were to occur as time went
> on.
>
> Many other people reported seeing a green outline of a person near the
> concession stand in front of the basement door.
>
> Maybe this explains why I always got a terrible feeling when coming in late
> at night after a gig elsewhere , sometimes so severe that even though I
> barely had any money I would call a cab to just come and get me out of
> there.
> I never went into the basement until one time an out of town band was so
> annoyed about waiting for their pay , I found the manager and his friend in
> the basement getting stoned.
>
> As I went down the narrow stairs into the bowels of the venue I felt my
> breath being stifled.
>
I thought I would be smothered!
>
> I thought that anyone who could hang out in this basement , getting stoned at that must be
> so cut off from feeling anything . I was astonished.
>
> After I quit the theater , other people came and took over for awhile , but
> the stories of ghostly encounters were overwhelming.
>
> Who were these spirits that stuck around and what were they trying to convey
> to the new comers?
>
>
> My experiences date back from childhood, but I have have had many as an
> adult.
>
> I have worked in varying capacities in theaters .
>
> For whatever reason , these venues always seem to be wrought with ghostly
> types.
>
> Most of my encounters relate to locations in Portland Oregon where I spent
> most of my life.
>
> This is an account of the Paris Theater located in Downtown Portland.
>
> This was a theater that dates back to the vaudevillian days but went through
> many changes throughout the years.
> The Paris Theater is built on top of the Shanghai Tunnels which run through
> all of which is known as "Old Town" .
>
> Many businesses in this local are noted for it's haunting's.
>
> I began work at a new incarnation of the Paris in about 1995.
>
> As a young person I attended and ushered there when it was known as the
> Storefront actors theater.
>
> This was the golden age of gay theater in the late 70's and 80's
>
> When I wound up there in about 1994 or 95, a friend had taken out a lease to do a cabaret /
> nightclub which was host to various groups which would later become very
> well known , such as the Dandy Warhols and Brian Jonestown Massacre.
>
> I lived at the theater for a brief time and it was during this time which I
> was unsolictously met with the ghosts who resided there.
>
> My first night of sleeping there was my first encounter.
>
> I was sitting in the theater with the manager Bill.
>
> We sat at a table talking about various strategies for the furure and what
> not.
>
> It was getting late , around 2:30 AM when I announced that I should get to
> bed.
>
> Of course I had my apprehensions about sleeping in an old theater all alone
> and my mind raced but I tried to calm myself ,telling myself that I should
> not jump to conclusions based on past paranoia.
>
> I had my hair up in several bobby pins and had taken them out.
>
> When Bill said he would be leaving ,I though for a moment that I shouldn't leave
> the pins there in case they should mysteriously disappear during the night.
>
> I said inwardly that that was rediculous and said good night and went up to
> sleep in a tiny room along side the projection room.
>
> I awoke in the morning , got up and made coffee and set about a routine of
> making friends with the spirits that might just happen to reside there.
>
> After a tech routine and cleaning I went to the table where Bill and I had
> been sitting the previous night , only to find that the bobby pins I had
> taken from my hair were in fact gone.
>
> No one else had been in the place since then , but still , I tried to not
> freak out about it .
>
> Of course I was spooked.
>
> The following night , I decided to go to another bar for a nightcap.
>
> This was in February and it was bitter cold.
>
> I returned to the Paris at around 2:30 AM
>
> I unlocked and locked the pad lock of the first gate and then then padlock
> chain that went around the double doors which were the entrance to the
> theater.
>
> I locked everything ,and put my set of keys in the pocket of my floor length
> winter coat , went up to my small room and got in bed, putting my coat over
> me for extra warmth.
>
> About 15 minutes later ,I was aroused by the very distinct sound of someone
> unlocking the front door and walking in.
>
> I could hear the footsteps on the carpet and at first thought it was one of
> my cohorts bringing a date in for a night cap.
>
> Then I heard nothing.
>
> No laughter , no voices. Nothing.
>
> I then began to get very uneasy.
>
> I waited as over a 10 minute period I would hear footsteps on the
> carpet.
>
> I got really freaked out and got my knife out of my stocking.
>
> I got up and slowly crept up.
>
> There were small windows from the projection room in which you could peer into
> various parts of the theater.
>
> I held my breath for nearly 20 minutes , waiting.
>
> Nothing happened but my heart was ready to jump out of my chest and all
> over third street!.
>
> Finally , I crept back to my bed and got under the covers , knife in hand , for the rest
> of the night.
>
> I awoke in the morning thanking my lucky stars that nothing had happened to
> me.
>
> The Winter sun beamed in throught the frosted glass of the leaded French
> windows.
>
> For no particular reason , something made a clinking sound from the small
> table at the foot of the bed.
>
> I sat up .
>
> There wasn't anything on that table but on the floor lay a small key.
>
> I tried to think nothing of it and got up and went about my business.
>
> Made coffee , cleaned wrote out a schedule and so on.
>
> At around 2:00 PM the phone rang.
>
> It was an out of town band who had arrived and wanted to load in early.
>
> I told them I would open the double doors so they could come in.
>
> To my alarm, the key to the padlock on the main door was NOT on my key ring.
>
> A picture of the little key on the floor by the bed table appeared in my
> minds eye.
>
> I went upstairs , picked the key up off the floor and went back downstairs and
> unlocked the door with it.
>
> Every hair on my body including many that didn't exist crawled in every
> direction and I told the band to load in and I would be back.
>
> How did the key get off the ring and why did it make a distinct clnking
> sound on the floor by the bed?
>
> It was after this I learened that Bill and another friend of the club had
> been getting ready for a show one afternoon and were sorting out the
> magnetic letters for the marquis.
>
> These letters when not on the marquis are very large.
>
> They decided to take a break for lunch.
>
> When they returned , the marquis letters were not there , however they found
> them all mixed up on the florr of the stage.
>
> These incidents were some of the minor ones that were to occur as time went
> on.
>
> Many other people reported seeing a green outline of a person near the
> concession stand in front of the basement door.
>
> Maybe this explains why I always got a terrible feeling when coming in late
> at night after a gig elsewhere , sometimes so severe that even though I
> barely had any money I would call a cab to just come and get me out of
> there.
> I never went into the basement until one time an out of town band was so
> annoyed about waiting for their pay , I found the manager and his friend in
> the basement getting stoned.
>
> As I went down the narrow stairs into the bowels of the venue I felt my
> breath being stifled.
>
I thought I would be smothered!
>
> I thought that anyone who could hang out in this basement , getting stoned at that must be
> so cut off from feeling anything . I was astonished.
>
> After I quit the theater , other people came and took over for awhile , but
> the stories of ghostly encounters were overwhelming.
>
> Who were these spirits that stuck around and what were they trying to convey
> to the new comers?
>