Ghosts in the Depot

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Ghosts in the Depot

The Depot in Steamboat Springs on a snowy day [Click here to view full size picture]

Restless Spirits--Ghosts in the Depot

By Ruth Willett Lanza, courtesy of the Steamboat Magazine, Winter/Spring ’98-99

Restless Spirits

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Were they the spirits of fallen Ute warriors or the tortured souls of Arapaho captives tossed into the hot springs during the early 1800’s? Perhaps a theater company passed through Steamboat Springs at the turn of the century on one of the first passenger trains, leaving thespian ghosts trapped in the depot. Or maybe the ghost of an early station master, who disapproved of theater people, paces back and forth in the dusty basement. And who is the lost child?

Many theories have been posed by people who swear that restless spirits inhabit the stately rail station in Steamboat. Passenger trains stopped running through the old cowboy town years ago, and the building lay abandoned to its cobwebs and shadowy spirits for a long spell.

Then in 1973, the arts council began hosting community activities in the cavernous relic. Once again, the depot hummed with life—art shows, writers’ workshops, ballet and theater. Under the direction of the late Eleanor Bliss, the sturdy, old, brick structure underwent renovation and was placed on the National Register of Historic Buildings.

Evidently, the restoration project and the arrival of the Steamboat Repertory Theater in 1979 awakened the sleeping spirits. Members of the new acting company became aware of the shadowy specters soon after their arrival from New York, Minneapolis, Denver and Los Angeles. Within days, they sensed they were not alone in the basement dressing room.

During a rehearsal for the company’s production of “Jessie and the Bandit”, SRT administrator Marcia Fitzpatrick was sitting in the booth in the back of the theater with technician David Gray. The actors were reciting their lines on stage when the lights began to flicker. They grew dimmer then brighter. Try as hard as they could, Marcia and David couldn’t control the rheostat.

Then for no apparent reason, the iron weights that hung from a chain below the booth began to clang together. They clanked again and again, resounding across the theater. This continued until the director called out, “For God’s sake, what are you doing to the lights?”

When Marcia climbed down to investigate, no one was there. She stood motionless, disbelieving, watching the iron weights slam together—stop—then crash together again, with no visible force moving them. A chill crept up her spine and when she reported what had happened, the unnerved cast voted to cancel rehearsal for the rest of the day.

The theater company’s decision to build a tunnel under the baggage room resulted in more inexplicable mysteries. The passageway was designed to lead to a comfortable Green Room that could be accessed via trapdoor from the stage or from outside. From the day the excavation began, the ghostly spirits became even more lively.

Set designer Michael Duran and his crew often worked into the early morning hours. Several times, they reported hearing a child crying in the lobby. Yet when they went to investigate, they found the room empty.

Late one night a crew member went into the darkened lobby and lay down on the couch to take a short nap. He was awakened by the insistent rattling of the double doors leading to the parking lot.

“Who’s there?” he called out.

No one answered. Even though it was a still night, the doors continued rattling as though someone or something was trying to force them open. By now wide awake, John ran back to the baggage room, where the rest of the crew was working.

Shortly after that, they heard footsteps on the risers and turned to see who had come into the theater. The bat-wing doors that separated the lobby from the baggage room were swinging back and forth, back and forth. But as usual, they saw no one.

David Gray may have experienced the most hair-raising encounter with the restless spirits. One evening, after an especially good rehearsal, the cast and crew adjourned to the old Brandywine restaurant. They left David in the basement Green Room to finish up his project. He agreed to join them later.

When David’s work was done, he climbed up the ladder through the trapdoor that opened onto the stage. As he shut it and started to fasten the padlock, he felt someone knocking on the underside. He knew no one was in the basement of the Green Room. So who could be pounding on the trapdoor?

He held the square plank down with all of his strength while someone underneath tried to push it up. Remembering the other tales he had heard of ghostly visits and recalling the trouble with the rheostat, David grew faint. His hands shook as he forced the padlock closed. He jumped off the stage and ran across the baggage room, taking the risers two at a time. He flew through the swinging doors into the lobby. As he was unlocking the double doors to let himself out, he heard the bat-wing doors swinging back and forth behind him.

He yanked the outside door open and stepped into the night, hurriedly pulling the door closed behind him. When he turned the lock, he felt someone from inside yanking on the door, trying to force it open.

He darted out onto the bridge that spanned the Yampa River. Panting for breath with cold sweat beading on his brow, he ran the five blocks to the Brandywine restaurant without looking back.

When he came skidding to a stop in the restaurant, he was as white as snow. Breathless, he related his harrowing experience to all of them, between frantic gulps of beer.

They agreed that the depot was indeed haunted by more than one ghost, including a child. But who were they? And why had the presence of the theater company stirred them up after at least fifty years of silence? We’ll probably never know. The repertory company disbanded shortly after that incident.

Perhaps the restless spirits of the old depot will remain silent, as they wait in the shadows—watching, watching, forever watching.

Ruth Willet Lanza’s work has appeared in western magazines, anthologies, and literary journals. Formerly of Steamboat Springs, she now makes her home in Colorado Springs.