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Home to President Woodrow Wilson
Ivy scaled Monmouth’s outer walls
Laughter of youth from decades past
Resonated in marble-floored halls

The theater building was set apart
Further down Cedar Avenue
Another spirit stalked the stage
Where college actors made debuts

A gift from the Monmouth Race Park
Actors’ dressing rooms were stalls
Where a stealthy ghost spied silently
As thespians answered cue calls

Arriving early one April night
Eager to recite the witty lines
Of “Blithe Spirit’s” Madam Arcati
Rehearsing her séance foremost in my mind

In character I asked, “Is anyone there?”
Was it a true spirit who answered?
A short young man swept down the aisle
Stage lights my vision hampered

“Hello,” I called as he disappeared
Into the workroom below the stage
For a moment I stood frozen
Losing my place on the script’s page

Curious, I followed his path
But the work area was empty
Where did he go?  Whom did I see?
Unanswered questions tormented me

A bit of fear entered my heart
To doors above the seats I raced
No one else was in the theater
My terror was not misplaced

But as I opened the door to leave
Professor Harrison entered
Stunned, I gasped, and he had to ask
“What’s wrong?” (I was usually centered.)

“A man came in as I rehearsed,”
I panted, “wearing a shiny hat
And a jacket of dark blue satin.
He vanished, gone, just like that.”

My mentor grinned as I composed
“Believe me, what I’m saying’s true.”
Harrison smiled and said calmly
“Huh, I guess you saw him, too.”

I wasn’t first, perhaps not last
To see the lost jockey searching
For the stable that held his steed
As the great race was approaching



*October 16, 2014

True story.  It turned out many students had seen this jockey's ghost.  Professor Harrison worked on set construction and I could sometimes hear him talking to the "ghost."  Happy Halloween!
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