Tag Archives: Landmark Inn

Don’t be scared…

I’m going to tell you a ghost story today.

Don’t be scared.

Hallway lights--beneath which the Librarian once walked.

I wasn’t going to tell you a ghost story.  All week I pondered.  “Should I or shouldn’t I tell my readers about the ghost at the Landmark Inn in Marquette last weekend?”

The truth was–I didn’t want to ruin a perfectly good ghost story.  Who wants to be the ruin of a magnificent ghost story about a fair maiden on the top floor of the Landmark Inn who wasted away after her lover dashed to his death on the floor of Lake Superior, never returning to his beloved?

Chairs? Ghosts?

Here is the Infamous Ghost Story as presented by the Inn (where Kiah and I stayed last weekend during a wonderful wedding celebration for her friend, Amber):

Ghost Story of The Librarian (from the Landmark Inn’s Website)

During the 1930′s when the Northland Hotel (Landmark) opened, it was the social and cultural center of town. Downtown Marquette was considered a larger town in the Northern Midwest where many in remote outposts came for supplies. An Ore boat’s arrival was a major event bringing a crew to enjoy shore leave before the ship sailed again, full of iron ore.

One crew member was a regular visitor to the town library and caught the eye of the spinster librarian. Being 30 and unwed was a hopeless situation for a women in that day, but hopes revived as the librarian fell in love with the visitor. Her love was returned and the two decided to make Marquette their home.

The crewman left for his final cruise on the big lake. He would collect his pay and return to marry his love. As fortune would dictate, the ship met with one of the infamous Superior storms and was swept away taking the crew to a cold wet grave.

The librarian never recovered, she couldn’t work or eat and soon died from her broken heart. It is said that she looks out from the Lilac Room on the 6th floor and waits for her love to return.

Don't be frightened...

OK, that was my introduction to the ghost. 

I decided it was my duty–as a blogger–to make contact with the ghost and see what was up.

Let’s back up to last Thursday night.  First, I wrote a blog about a leopard dress which attacked me in Target.  This entertained me tremendously as I wrote the story while sitting in the upper tier of the Landmark Inn’s bar and sipping a fine Chardonnay. 

My heart was light and happy and filled with delight and–upon laying down in bed–decided it was time to make contact with The Ghost.


Of course, most of you would probably wait for The Ghost to make contact with You.  In which case you would still be waiting.

I decided to approach her directly.  That means (OK, lean close, I’ll tell you my secret) you sit there in bed with your eyes closed and address the ghost in your thoughts.

You may laugh and think this is imagination.  But, dear reader, I have had at least sixteen incidents in which “imagination” turns out to be True.

This is how it unfolded. 


Don’t be scared.

“Hello, Ghost, this is Kathy,” I say in my thoughts.  “Are you there?”

No immediate answer.

“Hello!” I say cheerily again, waiting.

“Hello,” a voice in my thoughts replies.  “Oh hello!  How are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” I say.  “Hey, are you the Librarian?”

“That’s what they call me,” the voice replies.  “Who are you?”

“I’m a Blogger,” I say.  “I have to say–upfront–that I’m here to write about you.  So please don’t say anything you don’t want to see in print.”

“A blogger?” the Librarian replies.  (You can tell she’s offended.  It’s not a book.  She’s a Librarian.)

“Indeed,” I answer, perkily.  “So, how are you, after all these years?”

She pauses.

I wait.

“I’m doing much better,” she says. 

“Did your lover drown in Lake Superior?” I ask.

(This is where you might want to ignore my story if you–truly–want to believe the original version of the Librarian offered by the hotel.)

Out the top story window of the Landmark Inn--near where the Librarian lived.

“He didn’t die,” she sighs.  “He just left me.”

“He left you?” I ask, intrigued.  “I thought he died and you mourned him years and years and finally wasted away…”

“He left me,” she insists. 

“But I’m learning–” she says, continuing on, “to love myself.  You know, back then I thought that loving another person was the most important thing.  But I’m learning to love myself is the most important—”

(Oh, reader, you can call this my imagination.  You can.  Because that’s something I agree with entirely.  Honoring and loving ourselves is one of the most important things we can do.)

“I’m really not here much these days,” she continues.


“Because a few years ago, these people came to the hotel and tried to convince me that it was time to ‘come to the light’ and quit remaining here,” she says.  “So I don’t come back here often.  In fact, I may not be here much longer…”

“I can’t believe you’re TALKING to me,” she adds.  “Most people just come here and want to see a ghost.  No one wants to talk to me.  They wouldn’t believe it wasn’t their imagination.  Thank you SO much.   By the way, have you been reading any good books lately?”

So, there, you have it, dear reader.  My conversation with a Ghost.

You weren’t frightened, were you?

I DID say to the Librarian, “OK, nobody is going to believe that we REALLY talked.  Can you show yourself to me?  Please?  In the middle of the night?”

“I’m having trouble doing that these days,” she sighs.  “I’ll try, but it’s hard.”

Your blogger then, mercifully having fulfilled her duty to contact The Ghost, falls asleep.

She awakes an hour later to a feeling that her legs are being touched.

See the orb in this photo? I'm sure it's the Librarian, aren't you?

No kiddin’.

“Thanks,” she mumbles to The Ghost.  “OK, maybe I’ll blog about you–maybe–you can leave my legs alone now–”

And that’s the Story.  Please feel free to share your own Ghost Stories in the comments.  Or, if you don’t have any, feel even more free to talk with your dearly departed and TRUST that they are really responding to you.

Scout’s honor, I think they are.  :)

The leopard dress that tried to strangle me

I have been thinking a lot about the way different humans process and experience and think about the world.

For example.

How many of you have ever had a leopard dress try to strangle you?

Or would you–perhaps more realistically–think that you had a little trouble taking your leopard-print dress off?


There seems to be at least two types of people in the world.  The kind of people who try to truthfully and exactly relate what is happening.  They are known as the practical folk, the serious folk.  They look at the sun and see a sun.  They look at a street and see a street.  They look at a computer and see a computer.

OK, so it's not a leopard. Please use your imagination.

Then there is the other type.  We look at the sun and see a shining orb burning in the sky, perhaps mischievously attempting to chase renegade clouds away.  Or muttering under his breath (you see, we often call the sun a “he”) “Where are you dear, Moon?  It’s been too long since we crossed paths.”  We see a street and think, “Ahhh, the path of life!  The path upon which we travel to our adventurous destination, where angels and demons trod.”  We see a computer and name her “Miss Ellie” because, of course, as anyone knows, computers have personalities and ought to be addressed politely.

We, of the second inclination, are often accused of exaggerating by the more steady truthful folks. 

When someone–yes, it could have been me–tried on a leopard-print dress in Target a couple of hours ago–and couldn’t get it off–she suddenly began telling stories in her head.  She suddenly thought perhaps the leopard was strangling her.  And that created peals and peals and peals of quiet laughter that probably embarrassed her more serious reality-telling daughter who was waiting outside the dressing room. 

“What’s happening?” she asked, sighing, because she’s convinced her mom is–well, certainly not a serious reality-telling personage.

“The leopard is attacking me!”  I whispered amidst a fit of giggles.

She sighed.  A long sigh that says she will never, ever, ever, fathom this mother of hers.  (My mom is the same way.  She and her granddaughter take after one another.  They are probably kindred reincarnated souls.  You see?  I can’t just tell a simple story.  I must elaborate.  I must pretend, play, connect words, connect thoughts, connect disparate ideas, put together two seemingly opposing concepts.)

Dorothy clicked her red heels together. "I shall never stop playing, I shall never stop playing, I shall never stop playing..."

I started laughing about this again with so much delight in the hotel room (we are staying in the Landmark Inn in Marquette for two nights while Kiah is a maid-of-honor in her friend’s wedding) that my daughter shook her head and said, “You know, you could go crazy and we would never know.”

That, I am afraid dear reader, sent mama into another peal of laughter.  Life is SO delightful!  Life is filled with mystery and adventure and excitement and joy.

Spiritually mature folks say that we must grow up and let go of the stories of life.  I disagree.  We must, perhaps, let go of our attachment to the stories of life.  If you label something a dress or a leopard–what is important (in my mind, that is)–is that the words and concepts and stories aren’t cemented.  That they aren’t dead.  They are alive and flowing and changing and moving.

That you can make a dress into anything creative you might dream.   That infinite possibility exists in every moment.  That your mind becomes like river-water flowing to the sea.

OK, OK, I suppose our minds could become too flowing.  We all need to agree on a standard of reality in able to converse and write blogs and talk sanely and sensibly. 

I like that a leopard dress can try to strangle you–and it feels like a grand joke, the funniest joke ever told, and yet you know it’s only a dress in Target and, heck, you really don’t like that leopard dress very much even though your daughter thinks you should buy it and wear it to the wedding and she’s a great fashion advisor.  You know the difference between a leopard and a dress, darn it, but one is interpretion is funny, hysterical, delightful and drenched with joy.  The other is…how can I put it politely?…a dress.

My new dress for the wedding. Not that awful leopard. He's back in the jungle. LOL! (It's a joke, folks, a joke, only a joke!)

So, dear readers, of which type are you?  Are you mostly creative and story-telling?  Or do you look at reality very clearly and factually? 

P.S.  And I suspect that most of us are both–each of us probably has both sides in us.  I know that when I’m doing taxes and journal entries I’m one of the most logical practical folks on the planet.  No foolin’ around then! 

Oh, by the way, guess what?  There is a GHOST that haunts the Landmark Inn.  She is a librarian.  If I find her tonight or tomorrow tonight, you’ll be hearing the story.  Just the facts, mind you.  Just the facts.