8 spooky stories about Birmingham’s haunted past

What was once a quiet area deep in the woods now rings out with a baby’s cries in the night. In an old mansion, a gray lady paces the floor, waiting for a soldier who will never come home. A ghostly serial killer still stalks his prey in his favorite dark alley. Birmingham is filled with apparitions of the past who haunt the passageways of our city’s history. These ghost stories were born out of real-life events and people—but it’s up to you to decide if they live on in the afterlife.

HARRY THE HACKER

Early Birmingham resembled a Wild West town. There were miners, gamblers, saloons, brothels, and even shoot-outs. It was during this chaotic time of astounding growth and change that Harry the Hacker arrived on the scene. At first, people feared that Jack the Ripper had relocated to the Magic City, but that monster did not cross an ocean to kill our local street walkers. We had our own serial killer. Although similar to Ripper in that Harry targeted women of the night, he developed his own style. One of the ladies was left without her lady parts in the dark alley across from the YMCA and the Concord Building, where Harry plied his deadly trade. Along with the ladies, a black man was found hung from a window grill, probably more a victim of racism than one of Harry, but it was convenient to blame the Hacker. Or was he perhaps a witness? Harry’s identity was never discovered, since the only clues were his dark clothing and hat. That hat has shown up in group photos snapped in Harry’s alley during the haunted tours by Birmingham Historic Touring Company.

LOST LOVE

As the Civil War launched from the statehouse in Montgomery, men signed up for war. One man, faced with his teary-eyed fiancé, shoved his sword into a tree and declared his love would last as long as the sword remained. He never returned. When the tree was later cut down, it revealed a sickle, more suited to a farmer, plus a sword that would come in handy on the battlefield. The sickle was placed in the Arlington Antebellum Home and Gardens, but after numerous mysterious movements of the tool, it was placed in a frame to keep it from roaming. Speculation is that the bride-to-be is still looking for her lost soldier.

Docents also have spotted a gray lady in a long gown standing on the upper porch, thought to be Miss Florence Mudd, daughter of Judge Mudd who built the house. She said she would “never leave my lovely mansion.” According to Wolfgang Poe, founder of Birmingham Historic Touring Company, the director no longer looks back in the house when he hears the creaking sound of an empty chair rocking of its own accord. Visitors have also heard the sounds of boots tromping above, probably from the Federal soldiers once stationed there.

LIVING ON IN THE LAKE

If you hear a splash one evening at East Lake Park, don’t look. It could be the spirit of May Hawes, a little girl who got in the way of Daddy’s new life. Poor little May rode on the rail out to East Lake with her father Richard Hawes, maybe hoping they would take a boat ride. Unfortunately, her only destination was the bottom of the lake. Worse still, no one could identify her body—even classmates were paraded past her corpse. Soon after, her mother and sister were found in the Lakeview lake, where the Highland Golf Course stands today. You can still see the grand staircases that once led to the family’s wondrous Victorian Resort. Her daddy was plucked off of the train as he passed through Birmingham with his new bride. Before he could be hanged at the old jail, the site of what is now the YMCA (beware the haunted pool!), riots from those who preferred he be lynched took more lives than Hawes’ murders. The murders became international news. Forever six-years-old, May slips in and out of the lake, pets the geese, and calls for her mother and sister.

A FAMILY TRAGEDY

In 1908, General Louis Clark built a two-story building on the corner of 20th Street and Fourth Avenue North. The bottom floor opened up for shops, and his family lived on the second floor. His wife suffered from what was then called a “nervous condition,” and rather than send her to the mental institution, he chose to keep her at home. She enjoyed bouts of normalcy where she entertained friends, but occasionally would leave her own party abruptly to lie down. The couple had two boys who would watch for their father from the two windows facing 20th Street. It was always a joyful greeting for father and sons. One day, there were no faces in the window and no greeting. Clark found his two sons smothered in their beds and his wife in a bathtub of blood leaking from where she had cut her own throat. People now have seen the two boys in the window, still waiting for that long-overdue reunion.

FEEDING THE FIRE

As the century turned to 1900, Sloss Furnaces pumped out Birmingham’s prosperity in the form of pig iron. It was a hot and dangerous job. Dozens of men lost their lives feeding the hungry furnaces. The most famous ghostly occupant of Sloss is Theophilus Calvin Jowers, who vowed to his wife “as long as a furnace stands in this county, I’ll be there.” This assistant foundryman lost his footing while working at Alice Furnace (a secondary location of Sloss), falling into the molten iron. Very little of him was fished out. True to his word, his shadow was claimed to be seen in places too hot for mortal man, urging his crew to keep the furnace hot. Forced to relocate due to Alice’s demolition, he now casts a shadow at Sloss Furnaces, where even his son, John, swore he saw his father in the smoky air.

In death, Jowers has to compete with James “Slag” Wormwood, a sadistic foreman of what literally became the graveyard shift under his supervision. Pushing his crew beyond the boundaries of safety, 47 crew members perished while taking dangerous risks, more than any shift at any time of Sloss’ 89 years of production. In October of 1906, Slag fell prey to his own recklessness and landed in the boiling furnace. Did he fall, or did someone push him? This evil apparition has been heard rasping out, “Get back to work!” And more than one worker supposedly has felt a push coming from an empty space behind him.

CRIES IN THE NIGHT

Late at night at “cry baby” bridge in Irondale, listen carefully for ghostly wails. The baby’s mother was caring for her large brood when she realized her smallest child had gone missing. By the time she found her baby, it was too late. Wild dogs had dragged it away, hoping for a meal. She grabbed the dying child, and jumped off of the bridge to both of their deaths. You can still hear the sobs and spy the lady hunting for her child. It also could be the influence of nearby Bass Cemetery, where Montezuma Goodwin lies restlessly after being murdered by his brother-in-law. To be fair, Goodwin tried to kill him first. Burwell Bass, a Revolutionary War soldier, gives his name to the cemetery where Civil War soldiers and slaves are buried. The screams heard from the graves could mean the fight continues.

HOTEL HAUNTINGS

Two jollier ghosts inhabit downtown Birmingham, playing music and cooking for guests. Guitar picking comes from “Old Hank” at the Redmont Hotel. Ghost hunters speculate that Hank Williams may have already been dead when hotel porters carried him down and put him into that Cadillac for his final ride in 1952. Guests have heard country music in the night emanating from an empty room. And someone whispers “Old Hank,” the name he gave himself at the ripe old age of 29. Apparently, he has not seen the light.

Cleanliness rules at the Redmont, where deceased owner Clifford Stiles still demands pristine rooms. Known in his day to actually beat housekeepers who failed to meet his standards, today he must follow stricter HR rules due to the lack of a body. Unsatisfactory housekeepers find sheets pulled off of the beds and toiletries dumped in the sink or tub, expressing Stiles’ dissatisfaction. Stiles also kept dogs, and one now fills the role of Birmingham’s cutest ghost.

At the Tutwiler, an invisible chef makes a mess in the kitchen preparing ghostly gourmet. It started with an oven turned on or the refrigerator door popped open. Then, complete meals with an open bottle of wine were found in the morning, and the kitchen was a mess. No one living took responsibility for the mystery meals, perhaps served to non-living guests. Staff suspects their midnight snacker may be Colonel Edward Tutwiler himself, since he loved to cook and lived in an apartment in the building. He often invited his neighbors to savor his culinary creations. The Tutwiler’s bartenders still end each evening by calling out “Good night, Colonel. Please leave the lights and stoves off, and don’t make a mess.”

In Room 416 in the Tutwiler, a face, not your own, might appear in the mirror. Supposedly, a big, bad bodybuilder turned pale and ran away from an old, gray lady smiling and waving at him from the chair in his room, before she faded away. He refused to go back up and even get his luggage and demanded a hotel change—to the Redmont. Hopefully he liked the music.

The Hayes family lived in the Tutwiler in Rooms 613 and 615. The gentleman took the call to arms and perished in World War I. The wife died soon after from tuberculosis, leaving a small girl orphaned. She was probably taken to the war orphan home, which burned, taking the lives of 10 children. Today, if a man stays in that room, he will likely complain about the freezing air conditioning that can’t be adjusted, as well as noisy children when there are none. A woman is more likely to have a mischievous knocker with little girl giggles. The daughter has been spied skipping down the halls of the sixth floor sporting an old-fashioned dress and pigtails.

BOOKS AND BURIAL GROUNDS

It’s not just the city center with a haunted history. Renovations of the Homewood Library infuriated its unseen residents so much that the contractor had difficulty turning on his equipment. The workers watched as their tools rolled across a flat floor and dangerous-looking beams floated above them. The librarians were accustomed to seeing DVDs tossed like Frisbees across the room and electrical cords doing the twist in the air. It was the disembodied laughter that made them feel like they must be missing some other worldly party.

The ghost at the Linn-Henley Research Library comes in a tamer version. Believed to be the former librarian, Fant Thornley seems to prefer the third floor. A hint of his presence is preceded by a whiff of a Chesterfield cigarette, a real clue that you are going back to the 1950s, when you could smoke anywhere. A true bibliophile, Thornley shows a fondness for pencils which do not permanently mark books. As such, pencils often roll by themselves on desks or even stand on end, depending on whether he approves of your research.

Indian Meadows is a polite way of saying “former Cherokee burial ground.” This Adamsville community shares Burgundy Drive with Oak Grove—perhaps the name of the road is insulting to the Native Americans who haunt it. If you walk along the road at night, you might feel a tingle on the back of your neck—the alert that someone is following you. If you turn around quickly, you may see ghostly figures. The people living on the road have seen shadows of people rushing past their homes, or worse, inside their homes. Lights and stoves have turned themselves on and off. Scariest of all, sometimes your name is spoken out loud when you are alone.

Many sober and sane people have experienced these apparitions. Some of Birmingham’s residents have clearly chosen not to leave, even as death parts their way. Hints of haunted houses dot the city, indicating there is a shadowy world existing behind the veil of night. When you pass through that cold spot on a warm day, remember those who came before us, and who live with us still.

Details

To explore some of our city’s ghostly haunts, take a tour with Birmingham Historic Touring Company and visit bhamhistory.com

This story appears in Birmingham magazine’s October 2019 issue. Subscribe today!