Lore - REMASTERED — Episode 4: Dinner at the Afterglow

Episode Date: May 17, 2021

Our classic tour of the Pacific Northwest's most haunted mausoleum is back, with brand new narration, music by Chad Lawson, and modern production. The chills, though, are 100% original. ————��——————— Episode Music: lorepodcast.com/music  Episode Sources: lorepodcast.com/sources  All the shows from Grim & Mild: www.grimandmild.com Learn more about your ad-choices at https://www.iheartpodcastnetwork.com Access premium content!: https://www.lorepodcast.com/support See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

The San Juan Islands are a cluster of small, wooded islands off the coast of Washington State, just across the water from Vancouver Island. The westernmost of those small plots of land is San Juan Island itself. It has a population of less than 7,000 residents, and has the welcoming feeling of a small, quiet town. But seriously, this place is quiet. The most exciting thing most people can think of about their home is that one of the residents is Lisa Moretti, a retired female WWF wrestler, but on the northern tip of the island, just

beyond Roche Harbor and the resort there, is a road that leads into the woods. What is hidden in those trees away from the prying eyes of tourists and residents alike is something so unusual, so out of the ordinary and bizarre, that it practically begs for a visit. Traveling down the long dirt road that runs into the heart of the forest like a withered artery will bring you to an iron archway mounted on stone pillars. The words, afterglow vista, are woven into the metalwork. Beyond that, deeper into the woods, is a series of stone stairs that lead up a small hill. And it's the thing at the top of the hill that immediately catches the eye of every visitor

without question. It's an open-air rotunda, a ring of tall stone pillars standing on a flat circular limestone base. They're connected at the top by a thick Maltese archways, but nothing covers the rotunda. Its interior is completely exposed and visible. What's inside it? A large, round stone table surrounded by six stone chairs. Odd, but not creepy, until you realize the purpose this monument serves.

It's a tomb. And resting inside each of the chairs are the cremated remains of a human being. I'm Aaron Mankey, and this is Lore. In the late 19th century, San Juan Island became known for lime deposits. Then, as now, lime was an essential ingredient in important products such as steel, fertilizer, and cement. And the lime industry of San Juan Island provided much of the community's jobs and revenue.

In 1886, a man named John S. McMillan purchased controlling interest in the major lime deposits, and he eventually developed the industry there to be the largest supplier of lime on the West Coast. In the process, he built the 20-room Hotel de Harro at Roche Harbor, and the company town that surrounded it. In addition to the lime factory itself, he also built the barrel works, warehouse, docks, ships, offices, a church, a general store, and many barns. He even built houses for the workers, with the single men living in a large bunkhouse

and families being given small cottages that had been built into neat rows. All the structures belong to McMillan, but his army of employees, over 800 of them at the peak of business, give them life. McMillan had a vision for everyone living in one big community. The town was self-sufficient with its own water, power, and telephone systems, and he paid his workers in company script, company currency that was only good at the local company store. Of course, workers could still draw their salaries in U.S. currency whenever they wished,

but the script was used in the store all the way up until 1956, but that wasn't all McMillan would build. In fact, he was far from done. John S. McMillan was an unusual man. He was born in 1855 and attended DePauw University in Indiana back when it was called Asbury College, where he joined the Sigma Chi Fraternity and helped guide the young organization to form a grand council and executive committee at the national levels. As a result, he was elected the very first Sigma Chi Grand Council.

In addition to his fraternity connections, McMillan was a Freemason, reaching the rank of 32nd degree out of the possible 33. He was prominent in business and politics and even counted Teddy Roosevelt as a friend, who visited frequently and stayed at the hotel. McMillan had four children and nearly the entire family considered themselves devout Methodists. Only one child, they say, left the family faith, and in doing so might very well have locked himself out of the McMillan story forever.

You see, all those worlds of interest, as different from each other as they all were, coexisted inside the mind of John McMillan. So when the time came to plan an eternal resting place for he and his family, each element had influence on those designs. The results, as you might have guessed, was the eerie stone edifice located deep in the woods. The structure really is a thing to behold. Once you're finished listening to me talk about it, you'll want to visit some websites

to see the true beauty of what McMillan built. When it was first constructed, the forest around it was far less thickly wooded, and visitors could see after Glow Beach off to the northwest, perhaps giving the structure its name. It was designed to be a tholos, a circular Mycenaean temple, and was crafted from local limestone and cement. But what's really fascinating is the large number of secret messages and hidden meanings that were built into the structure, some relating to the night's Templar, and others

reflecting McMillan's values as a Methodist and a Mason. For example, approaching the mausoleum requires traveling up three separate sets of stairs, and each set has its own meaning. There are three steps in the first flight of stairs, and they are said to represent the three ages of man. The second set contains five steps, representing the five senses. And the third contains seven steps, which stand for the seven liberal arts and sciences. Around the table are seven pillars that hold up the arches above.

Oddly, one of the seven pillars is broken, the westernmost one, but it was intentional. Only a small portion can be seen on the base and protruding from the archway above. This break is said to be a reminder that death never lets us finish our work. There's room around the table for seven chairs, but the spot that would hold the seventh, the closest to the broken pillar, in fact, is missing. Some say it was never there to begin with, and that it's meant to represent the son who walked away from McMillan's Methodist faith. Depending on who you are, if eternity is a gathering at the table, not finding a seat

with your family would be a ruthless punishment indeed. These are all fantastic architectural details. But what's missing from every photograph of the mausoleum is the long list of reported sightings, all of which started sometime in the mid-1950s. The mausoleum was built with no dome on top, although that had originally been the plan. It was expensive, amounting to about 40% of the total budget, and so it was scrapped near the end to save cash. Even still, visitors on rainy days have frequently reported that they feel no rain on them when

inside the ring of stone pillars. Some people have spoken of cold spots near the table, while others have heard voices, even when no one else is around. Those daring enough to actually sit on one of the chairs, keeping in mind that they are tiny little tombs containing the remains of the McMillan family, say that they felt very uneasy doing so, and more than one person has reported the sensation of hands pushing them away. A frequent account is the sight of strange lights at night, including blue lights that

seem to hover above the chairs. Some visitors have reported seeing the members of the McMillan family themselves on nights with a full moon, seated around the table while laughing and talking. But the mausoleum isn't the only place with unusual activity. Originally, John McMillan built the family home right beside the Hotel de Harro, and his longtime secretary Ada Bean had a cottage on the other side of the hotel. Later, the Roche Hotel was built around the old hotel, and the other buildings were combined into the structure.

Bean's cottage, for example, became the current dining room and hotel gift shop. And that dining room restaurant has been the focus of quite a bit of the unusual activity. The resort's restaurant manager has reported that, on more than one occasion, he has closed up shop, turned out the lights, and headed for the door, only to look back over his shoulder and see that a candle on one of the tables had reignited. When he had walked back in and blown it out, all of the kitchen hood fans turned on at once. Other appliances have been known to turn on as well.

These over the years have reported stoves, blenders, and toasters turning themselves on and off. The storeroom door has been known to open and close by itself. Furniture in the back room has even been found rearranged in the morning, with no explanation. The gift shop, located in another part of the old cottage, has also been home to unusual activity. One former employee once watched as several glass shelves cracked and shattered one by one, all without anyone touching them.

And in the hotel itself, there are rumors of ghosts as well. The second floor is reported to be haunted by what has been described as a middle-aged woman wearing a long dress. Employees have told the owners that they frequently hear the sound of rustling clothing in rooms where no one else should be. The sound, perhaps, of the ghost woman's dress. It's funny how the people who live around us have a way of making an impression on us. We feel them when they're here, like the gravitational pull of another planet, but

sometimes we even feel them when they're gone. They leave memories behind when they go, treasured gifts or belongings, or perhaps a worn spot on a favorite piece of furniture. Ghosts are a concept almost as old as time. The people we love are here for a while, and then they're gone, and humans have always struggled to understand what happens to them after death. Many ghost stories are a way for us to grapple with our own loneliness and loss. Perhaps they're our way of bolstering ourselves against our own impending death.

We must go somewhere, right? Are we ready? Or will we be forgotten? John McMillan believed with all his heart that his life needed to be remembered, and that his body, and those of his family, deserved a resting place equal of their position in life. The afterglow vista stands as proof of one man's faith in something beyond the veil. And that light over the limestone seats that some people report to have seen since the

50s? Well, it turns out there just might be an explanation, depending on what you're willing to believe. Remember how the building that houses the hotels give shop and dining room used to be the home of Ada Bean, McMillan's longtime secretary? So along with being a key figure in the day-to-day business of the company, she also helped as a governess to the McMillan children. She was practically part of the family.

So when Ms. Bean died prior to Mr. McMillan, it was obviously an emotional loss. Rumors persist to this day that her death was by suicide, but official records list nothing more than natural causes. Regardless, the family lost someone dear when she passed away. After her death, her body was cremated and placed in a mason jar, and that jar somehow made it onto the mantle in the office of Paul McMillan, John's youngest son. It wasn't until the mid-1950s that the resort manager learned from Paul, still alive and working for the company, that her remains were there.

And that's when they moved her. Where did they take her remains? Why to join the others, of course. Her ashes were added to the copper urn in one of the seats around the stone table in the mausoleum, putting her back where she belonged, among friends as dear to her as family. But Ms. Bean might not have been too pleased about that decision. Perhaps after looking over the family in a state for all those years, being moved to the cold, dark tomb didn't settle well with her.

It was only after the move that people began to see lights and hear voices there. At the same time, the pranks and unusual activity started up inside the hotel. Coincidence? Or the actions of an upset woman who would rather spend her eternity away from the tourists and cold rain of the afterglow vista? And honestly, can you blame her? Stories like the afterglow vista have an attractiveness to them, and perhaps that's well-deserved. It combines family history, tragic events, and a monument that can still be seen today.

And amazingly, it's not the only one of its kind. Check around after this brief sponsor break to hear one more tale of families and funerals. Francis Wainwright was about as famous as you could get for a man living in colonial Massachusetts in the early 18th century. To begin with, his father had been famous, and that always helps, doesn't it? His father, also named Francis, had been born in England in 1623. But thanks to his apprenticeship to a man named Alexander Knight, he moved with the Knight family to the colonies when he was just seven years old.

Together, they became some of the first settlers of Ipswich, Massachusetts, a place that still looks very much the same today, thanks to the large number of early colonial homes that have survived. After arriving, Francis Sr. served as a young teen in the Pequot War of 1637, and would stay a career soldier all the way through to King Philip's War four decades later. He was reported to have used up all of his ammunition during one particular skirmish, only to run into battle holding his rifle by the barrel like a makeshift club. Brave?

Or maybe just a little crazy? I'll let you decide. Francis Jr. though was born right there in Ipswich in 1664. He graduated from Harvard by the age of 22 and then followed in his father's footsteps with a career in the military. His first wife passed away in 1709, but a short while later he met Eliza Hearst, a young woman from Salem, and the couple fell in love. Francis did everything you might expect an early 18th century groom to do in the months

leading up to the wedding. He had a new will drafted. He helped make all the arrangements for the many wedding guests who would be arriving that July, and he had a new family tomb built for he and Eliza. When guests arrived that hot summer day for the wedding, something seemed off. They traveled from far and wide to be part of this new start in life for Francis and Eliza, but when they reached the Wainwright home they found it absent of celebration. Instead, Eliza waited for them, but she was not dressed in the traditional white of a

new bride. No, Eliza was clothed for mourning. Her white traded in for black in a gesture that was about as symbolic as you could get. She was mourning because Francis, the man she had planned to marry, had died. It was sudden, and I can't find anything in the town records that hint at the cause, but the death of Francis Wainwright came as a shock to every person who arrived that day. He had only been 46 years old, young even by 18th century standards, but now he was gone.

Well, sort of. He was actually still in the house, down in the basement in fact, but that's probably just a matter of semantics. Guests were allowed a chance to see him, and then later that day they all got dressed up in their finest wedding attire, and then held a funeral parade all the way down to the new tomb. Over time, that basement in the house became filled with rumors. When a man so well loved, so well known, and so deserving of a new beginning is tragically

taken, that void has a tendency to attract stories. And thanks to his brief internment there, most of those stories revolved around the idea that the basement was now, in fact, haunted. Local fortune teller Jane Hooper was said to hold office hours in the basement from time to time because she liked the mood of the place. And of course, all the stories added to the drama, something she was very well known for. In a twist that was equal parts proper and perplexing, the first wife of Frances Wainwright was disinterred and moved to the new tomb Frances had built for himself and his bride

to be, which left Eliza alone, untethered, and adrift. I've dug around a bit though, and managed to find one last record about her, from February of 1716, five years after the death of Frances. It was a marriage announcement, this time to one Walter Price. And I don't know about you, but I really hope that this groom stuck around for the wedding. This episode of Lore was researched, written, and produced by me, Aaron Mankey, with music by Chad Lawson. Lore is much more than just a podcast.

There is a book series available in bookstores and online, and two seasons of the television show on Amazon Prime Video. Check them both out if you want a bit more lore in your life. I also make and executive produce a whole bunch of other podcasts, all of which I think you'd enjoy. My production company, Grim and Mild, specializes in shows that sit at the intersection of the dark and the historical. You can learn more about all of those shows and everything else going on over in one central

place. Grimandmild.com And you can also follow this show on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram. Just search for Lore podcast, all one word, and then click that follow button. And when you do, say hi. I like it when people say hi. And as always, thanks for listening.