Swissair Flight 111, Nova Scotia

Memorial for the Swissair Flight 111 near Peggy's Cove, Nova Scotia

Often when traveling, the adventurer will come across a locale they were not expecting, which makes journeying here and there so much more enlightening.

But that journeying can also conjure up feelings of sadness when tragedy is suddenly remembered as though it were yesterday.

For those of us old enough, it is like knowing where you were when President John F. Kennedy was assassinated, or where you were when the first hint that 9/11 was more than just one airplane crashing into the North Trade Tower at the World Trade Center.

There are just those moments in life, no matter how many days pass, a specific memory is seared into the subconscious for all time. 

And that is what Laureen, my lovely wife, and I found while driving southwest toward Peggy’s Cove, less than an hour's drive from Halifax in Nova Scotia.

It was one of those perfect mornings where the sun was shining, birds were singing, the ocean water could not be bluer and a Sasquatch was playing an acoustic guitar while a moose was singing wonderful melodies of life in the forest.

Driving along the coastline passing tiny towns with names such as Glen Haven, Seabright, Glen Margaret, and others seemed to be flipping through wall calendar pages in real time.

Fishing villages dotted the blue Atlantic waters with lobster traps lining the shores. Colorful homes, small and large either hugging the rocky beaches or laid back amongst long stretches of green grass with pristine forests as their backgrounds.

I used the phrase, “This is such beautiful scenery,” so often that it even began sounding redundant.

We stopped and snapped a few photos at French Village, a quaint way station for boats moving in and out of the large bay on their way to or from fishing. A large boatyard piqued our interest and time was spent walking along the docks and gazing at the massive boats laid up onto wooden inland docks awaiting their turn for repairs.

The entire drive was idyllic.

Closing in on Peggy’s Cove, which we had chosen as the destination for this day’s outing to view the iconic lighthouse and have a light lunch, we drove by a sign stating that a memorial for Swissair Flight 111 was at the next turnout.

And that is when those certain memories which may hide in the wrinkles of the brain, leap out.

“I didn’t know,” Laureen said.

My reply was to brake slowly and enter the parking lot reserved for visitors who want to stop and walk a short trail to wonderful artwork that recalled a horrific accident that claimed 229 fellow humans only a short five miles out in the cold Atlantic Ocean.

Laureen Beyer looking out towards where Swissair Flight 111 crashed into the ocean

On a warm evening on the 2nd of September of 1998, Swissair Flight 111 was scheduled for a routine flight from JFK International Airport in New York City to its destination of Cointrin Airport in Geneva, Switzerland. The plane taxied the runway and took to the skies at approximately 8:17 PM.

The 215 passengers may have believed they were heading off for a fantastic and well-deserved vacation or perhaps to nail a business deal that had been in the works for months. The crew settled down to their specific duties knowing that tomorrow would bring another flight and another destination.

For these folks of Swissair Flight 111, tomorrow would never dawn.

A little over two hours later, the flight disappeared from the radar screens at a height of 9,700 feet above the Atlantic.

Five minutes later, the Bedford Institute of Oceanography in Halifax registered a seismic event about five nautical miles southwest of Peggy’s Cove.

The aircraft had nose-dived at 345 miles per hour into the ocean.

Half a dozen vehicles were already parked as we came to a stop.

The breeze blowing off the waters of the Atlantic was cool, we donned light jackets and wandered to the trail toward the memorial.

It is a lovely path, with signposts advising visitors to stay on the trail and not wander onto the national preserve area.

The stunning coastline looking toward Peggy's Cove, Nova Scotia

The rocky coastline is home to a variety of indigenous plants - the Crowberry, the Three-Toothed Cinquefoil, and Laureen’s favorite, the Pitcher-plant (a carnivorous species that traps insects within their flowers and then digests them). 

The green moss clung to the huge rocks that lined the coast like toupes upon bald men trying not to look like bald men.

It is also a place where the only sound is the breeze blowing through the air and the waves crashing along the nearby beaches.

A perfect location for a memorial for those lost out at sea.

Swissair Flight 111 was the deadliest accident for Swissair involving the McDonnell Douglas MD-11 and the second-deadliest accident to occur over Canadian airspace after the Arrow Air Flight 1285R. That air tragedy occurred on December 12, 1985, in Newfoundland which took the lives of all 256 aboard - only a half mile from the runway. 

As we passed folks heading back from the memorial we nodded and smiled. They did the same but all were somber, as it should be when visiting such sites.

Though we may not know a soul who perished aboard Swissair Flight 111, they were all souls like ourselves. So, in a manner of speaking - we are very much like those who plunged into the ocean a short distance off the coast. Just regular people out traveling and not expecting the unexpected.

Huge pieces of natural granite stand at an angle at the memorial site. Strong and resilient against the constant barrage of winds and storms that batter this coastline. There are stone benches for visitors to sit and take a moment of reflection - either for those lost or perhaps themselves.

Words are etched into those pieces of granite thanking all those who assisted in the rescue and recovery efforts after the crash.

Large memorial located in Bayswater, Nova Scotia

But there are other tributes left by loved ones of those killed, and one said it all - ‘No longer by my side, but always in my heart.’

I had to turn away and wipe a tear from my right eye - the breeze must have picked up some sand from the beach and flung it at me.

The memorial will last longer than the lives lost on that flight and even those who will remember the last words spoken before that fateful flight.

The airliner crashed almost equidistant from Peggy’s Cove and Bayswater, another small town across St. Margarets Bay from Peggy’s Cove where there is another memorial for those lost,

After an hour we ventured back to our vehicle and made our way to Peggy’s Cove.

We were both rather quiet with our own thoughts but driving away from the cove, I looked over at Laureen and said, “Where now?”

“Well, I think we need to visit Bayswater.”

And the following morning we did.

The drive to Bayswater from Halifax is short. A beautiful hour filled with green forests that seem to be endless. And then there is the ocean.

Some of the gorgeous coastline while driving to Bayswater, Nova Scotia

Bayswater has a long curving sandy beach where the soft Atlantic waves curl up harmlessly while swimmers dunk in and out of the cold water.

We were the only visitors to the memorial that morning. It was quiet. It was solemn. As it should be.

Walking up the short path to the large sculpted granite monuments, we were instantly moved. One had every person’s name who had perished aboard Swissair Flight 111 etched into the granite and the other had a very touching eulogy.

‘In memory of the 229 men, women, and children aboard Swissair Flight 111 who perished off these shores September 2nd, 1998. They have been joined to the sea and the sky. May they rest in peace.’

A few steps away is the mass grave holding tightly those unidentified remains of the victims, surrounded by pillars of granite and overlooking the Atlantic Ocean.

Mass gravesite for many victims from the Swissair Flight 111

Suddenly, I felt another speck of sand entering my right eye and had to wipe the tear away.

John can be contacted at: beyersbyways@gmail.com

The Whaley House in San Diego

Whaley House in San Diego, CA

The most haunted house in Southern California is supposed to be the Whaley House in San Diego. But is it really haunted? Thousands upon thousands of visitors each year, declare the following – 

“I’ve never been so scared in my life!”

“Voices were speaking to me, the moment I walked into the house.”

“A ghost was so real and fresh, it asked me out for a date.”

Okay, I have no idea if any of the above were ever stated – especially the last one, but – and I want to phrase this very carefully… 

This house has spooky and had paranormal written all over it. The month of October, I’ve focused on stories about supposedly haunted places. It’s been fun, visiting and writing about them, but again, I go back to the question from my first article: do I (or you) believe in ghosts?

I’m not a believer or disbeliever in these spirits who apparently walk between this place we call reality and some other realm.

But this trip to the Whaley House had me really question all this hoopla about ghosts. I mean really question it.

Built in 1857, this Greek revival home – no idea exactly what that means, but it is stylish -- sits in what is known as Old Town in San Diego. It’s known as Old Town, since it was first built near San Diego Bay a long time ago.

“Papa, why do they call this Old Town?” a son asked his father, a long time ago in the old part of town.

“I don’t know,” the owner of the Greek revival house replied. “But please, bring me some bread, olive oil and umm, you know, something else to do with mythology. I understand, future generations will study it and think we were really smart. I mean, we live in a Greek revival home and all. We have a responsibility to live up to, right?”

Turns out, the original owners of the house weren’t Greek at all, but of those Scotts and Irish breed. They just liked the Greek style of home.

Thomas Whaley moved to this part of the Southern California coast with his spouse, Anna Whatley, in 1853. The couple built a house and moved in to their home, along with six children, on August 22, 1857.

Times were not that wonderful for the Whaley family. They lost their son, Thomas Whaley Jr. on January 29th, 1858 from scarlet fever. He was only eighteen months old – so tragic. Soon after that, a store they owned burned to the ground. The family packed up, and moved to San Francisco. But in December of 1868, found themselves back home again in San Diego.

Everything was looking up for the Whaleys now, but that wouldn’t last forever. Their daughter, Violet, married George T. Bertolacci in 1882. Turns out, he was a con man who only married Violet for her father’s money. He left her after just two weeks, when he learned there was no dowry to be had.

Distraught, Violet filed for divorce but the shame of the sham of a marriage haunted her daily. On August 18, 1885 Violet went into the backyard and committed suicide. She was twenty-two years old.

Rear yard of Whaley House where Violet committed suicide

She left a note – 

Mad from life’s history, Swift to death’s mystery, Glad to be hurled, anywhere, Anywhere, out of this world.

The note was part of a poem by Thomas Hood, written in 1844. 

Such a sad ending for someone so very young. To add more pain for the family – Violet’s sister, Corrine Lillian’s fiancé broke off their engagement.

“The humiliation of it all, Corrine,” stated the jilter. “How can I marry someone whose sister took her own life? What would the Commodore think, down at the yacht club?”

Not sure he said it exactly like this; I’m paraphrasing since the records are hazy on this point. But what a jerk! 

So, Thomas Whaley built another house not far away – guess he was done with the terrible memories his original house had for him. But, not all the Whaley’s felt the same. In fact, many of the family resided in the house until their deaths.

The last to go was, Corrine Lillian who lived until 1953.

So, is the house haunted? Guests and staff state that they have heard voices, footsteps, openings and closings of doors at all hours of the day and night.

Ghostly images of one of the Whaleys are often reported by a docent or to a docent. Baby Thomas Jr., Violet, Anna, Francis, George, and Corrinne all died within the walls of the Whaley House. Perhaps, they never truly left.

Sounds of a baby crying can sometimes be heard in the nursery

Life Magazine, in 2005, referred to the Whaley House as – the most haunted house in America.

Obviously, Life Magazine never visited my house on Thanksgiving when our relatives come haunting – I meant visiting.

The house has appeared in so many episodes of people chasing ghosts that I can’t write them all down here. Actually, I could, but don’t want to. Okay, here’s a couple – Fact or Faked: Paranormal Files and Biography Channel’s, The Haunting of Regis Philbin. Huh? Turns out way back in 1964, Philbin stated he had a personal encounter with Mrs. Whaley – and they made a documentary out of that!

I once saw a ghost coming right at me – or perhaps, it was a tree I ran my motorcycle into. Anyway, I blacked out – it could have been a ghost. Biography Channel presents, Beyer has close encounter with ghostly tree or How a Beyer should not be allowed to drive a motorcycle.

A floating orb is plain to see above the desk in the study

One of the first ghostly sightings was of a man by the name of Yankee Jim. With a name like that, a person would think he was a mighty sea faring sailor. Nope, turns out he was a ruffian who has been convicted of grand larceny. For his crimes, he was hanged from the gallows. Would you like to guess where the gallows were located? Yep, in the yard where Mr. Whaley would soon build his house. Whaley actually was a witness to the enforcement of the sentence, but that didn’t prevent him from buying the property and building his family residence there.

“It’ll be a safe place now,” Whaley was heard saying. “Yankee Jim won’t be hanging around here anymore.”

Okay, I apologize for that one.

There are so many ghosts haunting the Whaley House, according to numerous sources, that they have to wait in line to scare visitors.

“Hold on, Casper, it’s my turn.”

Even ghost canines have been spotted running down the hallways looking for a fire hydrant. I couldn’t help myself – a little embellishment about the fire hydrant -- but dogs have been seen and then unseen within seconds.

So, about our encounter at the Whaley House? Turns out that we take a lot of photographs on our adventures – and this one was no different for Laureen and me. 

Study where people say they see the chair move on its own

As I was coming down the stairwell in the house, a photograph of Laureen was a must. I asked her to pause on one of the bottom steps – she loves posing for the camera, and she easily complied.

At that moment I felt as though someone was right behind me on the stairs. I turned around and saw something move to the right so quickly, like a blink, that the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Not sure what it was – but it was there and then it wasn’t.

“Did you see that?” Laureen asked.

I nodded. “Saw it and felt it too.”

“It was right behind you. A whitish something – right behind you and then it was gone.”

I didn’t get a photograph of Laureen at that moment. I actually think I forgot I had a camera at all. We left with great rapidity when we hit the bottom of the stairs. 

Am I a believer in ghosts? Can’t say I am and can’t say I am not – the jury is still out. But that experience on the stairwell is hard to explain.

Happy Halloween.

Kingman Haunts

 According to local resident, Art, there are some strange sounds coming out of a long and relatively narrow canyon near his neighborhood.

“Yeah, I have heard what could be referred to as shrieks in the late evening hours,” he said.

My buddy Paul had traveled with me to Kingman, Arizona to check out a couple of possibly scary haunts.

Laureen said nope when I advised her that the first stop would be Slaughterhouse Canyon.

Drone shot of Slaughterhouse Canyon, Kingman Arizona

After showing her some research I had conducted on the chilly-willy versions of what had gone down in the canyon there was no way Laureen would travel with me.

I asked Paul.

“Are you buying lunch?”

“If I have to,” I responded.

“You do and I’m going.”

Laureen feels things when it comes to the ghouls and goblins from the supposed afterlife. She’ll state something to the effect – “Something bad happened here; I feel a sense of doom.”

Like a good husband, I nodded my head.

Slaughterhouse Canyon is easy to locate in Kingman. Drive onto Andy Devine Avenue and look for the sign with a big finger pointing and the written words beneath it - ‘This way to Slaughterhouse Canyon – but beware.’

It is just northwest of a large housing tract where our new local friend Art lived.

In an article from the online site ‘Only In Your State,’ the canyon received its scary name from an event which may have occurred in the mid-1800s.

A family consisting of a father, mother and three children lived in a ramshackle cabin in the canyon next to a consistently running creek. The husband was a miner but not a particularly good one and the family had a tough time financially.

One day he left and never returned. With no one supplying what the family needed, the mother grew desperate watching her children getting hungrier and hungrier by the day. Legend has it that she could not take watching her children starve the death, so she murdered them to save them from such a long and painful death. She then threw their remains in the creek and took her own life soon afterwards.

Visitors to Slaughterhouse Canyon have reported feeling the anguish that still permeates the air, according to the article. And on evenings and nights when the air is quite still, it is said that you can hear the screams of the children.

Spooky caves are everywhere in Slaughterhouse Canyon

With all due deference, Paul and I were there in the late morning hours and all we heard were birds chirping, lizards scampering, and butterflies flapping.

“We have a lot of coyotes around here and that’s the sound I hear coming from inside the canyon,” Art said.

“No blood curdling screams of anguish and pain?” I asked.

“Nope, just coyotes baying at the moon.”

Enough said, that is a haunting sound all of its own. 

We drove along a well graded dirt track along Slaughterhouse Canyon Road – yes, there is a road by that name -- but we did not see any old ramshackled house where the mother and children may have lived.

Paul checking out some crumbled ruins in Slaughterhouse Canyon

However, there was a strange sort of round rock and metal structure that looked old. We mused what it may have been since there was no plaque telling us what it had been.

“An old icehouse to keep food fresh,” Paul pondered.

“A storage box for tools,” I said.

But with plenty of modern-day graffiti sprayed on it, we knew now it was a party place for youngsters who told their parents they were going to the library to study.

There are some creepy abandoned structures along the way

That excuse worked for me as a kid.

Neither one of us felt haunted while in the depths of the canyon. That is not to say something tragic did not happen long ago and if all the stories about the mother and children are true, may they rest in peace.

What a horrible decision that must have been made by a parent. That perhaps is a haunting enough story.

“What now?”

“Ghost hunting makes me thirsty,” I replied. “Let us find an old place for an adult libation and I will wager it is haunted too.”

The Sportsman’s Bar is in the historic section of Kingman and was built in the early 1900s. It is a wonderful place to visit.

A long wood bar top, which appears to be the original, stretches for nearly a hundred yards into the interior of the establishment. Pool tables, a jukebox, dart boards, animal heads mounted on the walls, American flags, and a ceiling made of metal panels, make this place one of the coolest saloons I have visited. Not that I visit many but have read stories of those who have.

The Sportsman’s Bar makes folks feel welcome with comfortable stools lined belly-up against the bar itself and that is where Paul and I plopped down.

Tammy Gross, the General Manager, and bartender extraordinaire, asked what we would be having.

“First,” I said. “Is this place haunted?”

She shook her head. “Not that I know of or at least I haven’t noticed anything.”

But the way she said it, I knew there was more to that story, and there was.

“Well, one day I was here alone, and the jukebox just started playing by itself,” she said. “We have it programmed to play random songs unless a customer puts money in and chooses the songs.”

“Uh huh,” I said.

“It ran through every song with a Tuesday in it. Ruby Tuesday by the Stones, Tuesday’s Dead by Cat Stevens, Sweet Tuesday Morning by Badfinger, I Think It’s Tuesday by the Drunks and every other song that had a mention of a Tuesday.”

“Huh,” I said.

“Yes, it was a Tuesday.”

“Makes sense since it was a Tuesday,” I replied. “It wouldn’t if it had been Wednesday, or they may have been pretty dumb ghosts.”

Tammy then mentioned that some other staff had seen lights go off and on with no one present. Sounds of people walking on the roof when no people were there.

“You know there are tunnels beneath all the buildings on this street. Tunnels the early miners used. No one is allowed to enter now due to their condition, but rumor has it that there is even an old Speakeasy down there used during the prohibition years.”

Interior of the Sportsman Bar, Kingman AZ

A gentleman was sitting next to me by the name of Dean spoke up.

“I camp out near Sitgreaves Pass on old Route 66 out of Oatman and I’ve heard some things during the night I cannot explain.”

Turns out Dean is quite the outdoorsman and spends his time camping here and there when he has a chance. Along Sitgreaves Pass is a long view of the valley heading toward Kingman and he finds the solitude enjoyable.

That is until one night around midnight he was awakened by the sound of someone using a pick-axe nearby.

A lot of small mines had been started and abandoned near Oatman in the late 19th century but not much activity during the 21st century.

Well, someone or something was going to town trying to dig for riches on this evening.

“I got up, looked around and walked toward the sounds. The picking was so close I knew I would bump into whoever was working so late in the night on their mine. But suddenly the noise stopped. I stook there for a long time and nothing else happened. In the morning, I checked all around where I had heard the pickaxe, and nothing had been disturbed. It was very chilling to say the least.”

Perhaps an old miner had returned to try their luck one more time near Sitgreaves Pass without knowing a live body was nearby.

Next door to the Sportsman’s Bar is the Hotel Brunswick, listed as one of the most haunted hotels in the area.

The once famous and glamorous Brunswick Hotel, Kingman AZ

Ghosts and shadow people wander all over the hotel – in fact, some shadow people walk through living people. Very rude indeed.

A little girl ghost frequents the dining room.

“Tammy, what about the Brunswick next door?” I asked. “Shadow people, ghosts wandering here and there without a care in the world.”

She looked around. “You know a shadow person is an entity in a sense that looks like a person. I have seen them.”

“At the Brunswick Hotel?”

She shook her head. “I’m pretty much of a local and have been in the hotel, the restaurant, and the bar lots of times. No shadow people there.”

“Huh,” I said.

“But others have seen them and heard strange sounds when the place was supposed to be empty.”

Unfortunately, the Brunswick Hotel was closed for refurbishing. The owners want to bring it back to its original beauty and will be something to see. The once grand establishment was built in 1909 and has hosted famous folks like Andy Devine, Barry Goldwater, and Clark Gable to name just a few. It was the poshest of the posh during its heyday.

Is Kingman haunted?

Could be, but more importantly historic Kingman deserves a visit and you never know, there’s always the possibility a ghost may introduce themselves.

John can be contacted at: beyersbyways@gmail.com