Some of the employees and volunteers at ISMHP have talked about giving midnight ghost tours. This is a ghost town after all, and such tours would probably be popular. Think about how creepy it would be to walk through abandoned buildings from the 1930s, at our near nighttime, especially if it was nice and foggy (often the case). Well, there is at least one ghost story, which has been documented in local tourist books and tv shows.
Phil Coleman was a miner at the Independence Mine during the late 1930s. After the mine closed in 1950, he was brought in to act as a caretaker. According to one woman (Willie Pederson) who lived at the mine in late 1950, when Phil Coleman was the caretaker, he never went anywhere without a shotgun. Well by the 1950s, Phil was somewhat elderly. He spent his days painstakingly maintaining the mill buildings and shoveling snow off their roofs. Unbeknownst to Phil, the mining company decided to auction off some of the mill equipment (the marcy ball mill, generators, etc.). When they removed the machinery, they ripped down the walls of the mill structures. All of Phil’s work had been a waste of time. According to local lore, Phil died of a heart attack in the Big House (present-day visitor center—where I live) soon after.
It is said that late at night, you may still see Phil walking the grounds. Some versions have him walking a dog. The more solid and scary story involves the wife of the former ranger (Pat Murphy). One night, during the late 1990s, she and some friends were in the old office building. This is the building where the mine manager had a six-foot tall safe, where he kept the gold sponges about to be sent to Seattle. While in the building, Mrs. Murphy felt a rush of cold air. When she turned around she saw an apparition of a man who told her to “get out!”
I have not seen the ghost. But as offers have been floated to make me the winter caretaker, I am reminded of The Shining. During the winter, it is common to see 10-15 feet of snow. In such cases, this facility is completely isolated on a mountain, miles from anyone. (Though, I could ski out.) There is also a no-alcohol policy up here. No thanks, won’t be staying here through the winter. “No beer and no tv make Homer something something…”
