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Thread: New Orleans Upstairs Lounge Fire! Warning: Dead Pics!

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    New Orleans Upstairs Lounge Fire! Warning: Dead Pics!

    [SIZE=3]Upstairs Fire/New Orleans[/SIZE]
    The Upstairs Lounge at Iberville and Chartres Sts. was the site of the deadliest fire in New Orleans' history. Thirty-two victims died, numerous individuals ...
    www.gayworld.net/memorial/ - Cached - Simila
    Upstairs Lounge Fire Network News Coverage
    1 min 39 sec - Sep 4, 2007
    www.youtube.com
    Upstairs Lounge Fire Exhibit
    2 min 10 sec - Dec 18, 2008
    www.youtube.com
    r

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    [SIZE=3]Out & About - New Orleans' Upstairs Lounge still burns[/SIZE]
    Nov 1, 2007 ... We might not be able to draw any direct lines to the Upstairs Lounge fire and ourselves today, but it would be silly to suggest that it had ...

    wow so someone did this...

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    Quote Originally Posted by Lisamarie View Post
    [SIZE=3]Out & About - New Orleans' Upstairs Lounge still burns[/SIZE]
    Nov 1, 2007 ... We might not be able to draw any direct lines to the Upstairs Lounge fire and ourselves today, but it would be silly to suggest that it had ...

    wow so someone did this...
    Thanks for bringing this story to light. (no pun intended!) What a tragedy....not made any easier to digest by knowing that "one of our/their own" was responsible.

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    I'm gay and I've never heard of this terribly tragic story. I feel so awfully sad for those poor individuals. And to think it was one of us who did it, I just shake my head and wonder. It's bad enough there are many who don't accept us. It makes it worse when it's another gay person killing another gay person.

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    This is a horrid tragedy. Learning that the body of one man (Reverend Larson) remained in public view until the investigation was over was disturbing. It's as if he didn't count as a human being, according to attitudes from some of the people investigating the fire.
    All victims were loved and are still loved and missed by someone.
    "What if the Hokey Pokey is what it's really all about?" Jimmy Buffett

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    I am coresponding with an author who is wrting about this ...I was shocked because as a deathhag..I thought I knew all the tragedy in my city and little did I know a building I pass everyday was the scene of a massacar..worse yet is he attitude of the police and media covering this at the time.....unbelievable .

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    I have never heard of this either. Tragic. Thanks for the post Lisamarie.

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    yeah Im very obsessed with this one !

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    Wow this is exactly why I love this site.
    I pride myself on being pretty knowledgeable on GLBT history good and bad but this was total news to me.
    Thank you for sharing this story. it is horrific and mad even worse by how quickly it was dissmissed in the two news reports, Roger Mudd and John Chancellor. Today that would have been a 5 minute segment.
    Regards,
    Mary

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    What an awful story.
    To be honest my worst fear is that
    I die in a fire.
    Carolyn(1958-2009) always in my heart.

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    yeah the bulding has a very creepy feel to it still....

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    Quote Originally Posted by Lisamarie View Post
    yeah the bulding has a very creepy feel to it still....
    Lisamarie, what is on the floor where the fire happened? I wondered if it would be a business, residence or another nightclub.
    "What if the Hokey Pokey is what it's really all about?" Jimmy Buffett

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    Quote Originally Posted by theotherlondon View Post
    What an awful story.
    To be honest my worst fear is that
    I die in a fire.
    Mine too, and I have had some horrible nightmares about it.

    It's just awful what happened to these pour souls. REP All.
    "Do no harm, But take no crap."-- pksracy



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    Im not sure I drove past today ..its now a place called evelyns place on he first floor and the second looks like it could be an office buding or an apartment Im not sure its weird though cause you drive by the window the guy was leaning out of and its like wow if he could have got out the window maybe he would have made it ...its only two stories up.....so much cranage..Im going to investigate it all further...its a po boy shop on the first floor so Im gonna ask there has to be some haunting going on there .

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    Quote Originally Posted by Lisamarie View Post
    Im not sure I drove past today ..its now a place called evelyns place on he first floor and the second looks like it could be an office buding or an apartment Im not sure its weird though cause you drive by the window the guy was leaning out of and its like wow if he could have got out the window maybe he would have made it ...its only two stories up.....so much cranage..Im going to investigate it all further...its a po boy shop on the first floor so Im gonna ask there has to be some haunting going on there .
    Thanks, Lisamarie. You already anticipated my next question. I agree, there is probably some paranormal activity going on there. That poor man, I think that picture is embedded in my mind.
    "What if the Hokey Pokey is what it's really all about?" Jimmy Buffett

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    Quote Originally Posted by Alanwench View Post
    Thanks, Lisamarie. You already anticipated my next question. I agree, there is probably some paranormal activity going on there. That poor man, I think that picture is embedded in my mind.
    The guy hanging out the window was a minister I think. What a horrible was to die. I'm with you two. I would bet the farm it is haunted.
    Regards,
    Mary

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    Quote Originally Posted by STsFirstmate View Post
    The guy hanging out the window was a minister I think. What a horrible was to die. I'm with you two. I would bet the farm it is haunted.
    Regards,
    Mary
    He was a Reverend with a Methodist church in N.O. This man wasn't even allowed the dignity of having his body removed from the fire scene until all the investigation was over.
    "What if the Hokey Pokey is what it's really all about?" Jimmy Buffett

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    yeah and its so weird cause you drive past ans its just like wow he was reaching for hep that was just witin reach poor man....I dont understand why they left his bost out on diplay like that for so long. its so qiuet there now....and to think such horror happend there ...amazing .

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    Quote Originally Posted by Lisamarie View Post
    yeah and its so weird cause you drive past ans its just like wow he was reaching for hep that was just witin reach poor man....I dont understand why they left his bost out on diplay like that for so long. its so qiuet there now....and to think such horror happend there ...amazing .
    I try not to think about what the victims' last minutes were like, it's simply too horrifying to contemplate. People made remarks like, "Bury them (ashes) in fruit jars," because the victims were gay. Was the reverend's body left out like that just because of his sexual preference? That's sickening if it's true!
    "What if the Hokey Pokey is what it's really all about?" Jimmy Buffett

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    Quote Originally Posted by Alanwench View Post
    I try not to think about what the victims' last minutes were like, it's simply too horrifying to contemplate. People made remarks like, "Bury them (ashes) in fruit jars," because the victims were gay. Was the reverend's body left out like that just because of his sexual preference? That's sickening if it's true!
    In NYC and in Nassau county you can't move a body until the coroner signs off
    May be true there too. In a burned building with arson I am sure there was an investigation. In NY though they would have erected a screen or something. They certainly did that when big crane collapse in the ciry killed several. They put up a temporary fence in like an hour around the area to keep gawkers from seeing them remove the body parts.
    I doubt it was because he was gay.
    Regards,
    Mary

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    "Bury them (ashes) in fruit jars,"

    I dunno, I'm a gay man and I actually laughed out loud at this.

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    ....at leas they have a memorial there they have noting for Rault center fire ! Nothing at all where five women jumped to ther death and one man died in the elevator.

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    Thanks, Mary. I was so upset about the Reverend not being moved, thinking that the police were deliberately waiting to remove his body because they were blinded by prejudice.

    Quote Originally Posted by STsFirstmate View Post
    In NYC and in Nassau county you can't move a body until the coroner signs off
    May be true there too. In a burned building with arson I am sure there was an investigation. In NY though they would have erected a screen or something. They certainly did that when big crane collapse in the ciry killed several. They put up a temporary fence in like an hour around the area to keep gawkers from seeing them remove the body parts.
    I doubt it was because he was gay.
    Regards,
    Mary
    "What if the Hokey Pokey is what it's really all about?" Jimmy Buffett

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    Off topic, but I love the pic of Judy that you have for your avatar.

    Quote Originally Posted by monroe62 View Post
    "Bury them (ashes) in fruit jars,"

    I dunno, I'm a gay man and I actually laughed out loud at this.
    "What if the Hokey Pokey is what it's really all about?" Jimmy Buffett

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    I kno that is funny !!! Lol!

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    First part of Jimani Lounge article

    [SIZE=5]The Jimani Lounge[/SIZE]
    The Jimani Lounge, at 141 Chartres Street in New Orleans was the site of a horrific mass murder, and is now one of the most haunted locations I have investigated in the French Quarter. Sunday evening, June 24, 1973 Reverend William Lawson had finished his sermon at the Upstairs Lounge (above the Jimani) and was socializing with his mostly gay congregation. Services were held here in the bar each Sunday because the church lacked the funds for a building of its own. Down at the street level someone opened the door to the narrow passage leading to the lounge, lit a Molotov cocktail and threw it onto the stairs, then shut the door and pad-locked it.
    The passage was quickly engulfed in flames, but it was contained because the bottom door was locked and the door to the room at the top of the stairs was shut. Then someone opened the door at the top of the stairs. The oxygen starved fire tore through the room, igniting everything in its path. 29 people would die in the next 16 minutes.
    20 people escaped through the back and along some roof tops, but most of the patrons were trapped. Many died instantly in the initial flash fire, but some tried escaping through the windows. They were barred. Reverend Lawson was one of the victims trapped half in and out of the blazing building, lodged between the bars of a window. Horrified onlookers watched as he died.
    October 2001 Kalila Smith and I are having drinks at Pirates Alley Cafe in the French Quarter. She tells me that the owner of the Jimani Lounge has called and asked that she investigate the building. She wants me to go along, so we call Ronnie and make an appointment to check things out October 27.
    That night after 11 Kalila, Jeff and I head to the Jimani. Ronnie has the keys to the upstairs passage, but makes one thing very clear. He will not go up the stairs. Ronnie is a big guy, and he looks like he can hold his own with just about anything, but he is obviously afraid of the stairwell.
    The minute he opens the passage you can feel it, that feeling that something is very very wrong here. The three of us go in, Ronnie waits on the sidewalk. I start snapping photos with my digital and I get phenomena almost immediately. Kalila starts to channel, and she is very uncomfortable. She can hear the screams of the victims and she can feel the fire. I have to admit, I felt warm myself. Several times I smelled an acrid, smoky scent that gave me chills.
    When I edit my photos I am excited by the results, so we call Ronnie and go back the next night. This time its me, Kalila, Jeff, Johnny, Debe and Rudy. Jeff shoots video in infra-red, so does Debe and I take more photos with my digital. Once again we get a lot of phenomena. Jeff and Debe getting lots of orbs on the video cameras.
    In December a friend of mine, Melanie Foshe comes to visit from Los Angeles. She is a cast member from the USS Hornet episode of FEAR, and also a very gifted medium. Two other friends also fly in, James and Cynthia. Of course the first thing I arrange is a trip to the Jimani.
    It hits Melanie on the sidewalk in front of the building. She starts crying, she can hear the screams. We wait outside for awhile to let her calm, then proceed to the passage. I am shooting video in infra-red and Jeff is using the digital camera.
    I get phenomena immediately and so does Jeff. Melanie starts to channel and the spirits are trying to flee so her legs are moving rapidly. She has to sit on the stairs to keep from falling. James has his own methods of communicating with the dead, so he heads to the top of the stairs and hangs out. Cynthia is there to back us all up, so she hangs on the landing where she can see everyone. I am in the middle, so I can tape the hotspots (so to speak) and Melanie.
    Melanie is channeling like a big dog, and the ghosts are trying to speak through her, she keeps repeating Keri, keri care care Karon Carol, she cant understand what the ghost is trying to say. She heads to the top of the stairs, and this continues. I am now on the landing.
    My right hand is holding the video camera up and my left is down. I can feel heat on my left hand, it starts to intensify and its almost unbearable. My throat constricts and its hard for me to breathe. All this time I am getting orbs streaking all over the place on video.
    Finally Melanie can take no more so we leave.
    This is an ongoing investigation. I will go back, and I will update this accordingly.
    ~Kriss

    "What if the Hokey Pokey is what it's really all about?" Jimmy Buffett

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    Dead Men Do Tell Tales







    The UpStairs Lounge

    Dead men do tell tales
    by Aaron Ragan-Fore




    The psychic is already on his second glass of cheap red wine, and he‚??s been in the bar only ten minutes.
    Phillip is in his late thirties, slight of stature, intense in disposition and nearly bald. He sits stoically, cloaked in the gloom of murky bar air at the head of the table, regarding his fellow ghost-hunter Kalila, her dark, straight hair bobbing as she dances along to the routine of four muscular young men, a Village People tribute group.
    The costumed performers, on break from a show at a competing club down the street, are in the throes of an impromptu performance of the disco hit ‚??Y.M.C.A.‚?Ě here in Jimani Lounge, an Italian bar at Chartres and Iberville, in New Orleans‚?? French Quarter. Kalila seems especially enchanted by the cop character, a friendly African-American man in an incredibly tight tee shirt.
    Phillip is hitting the red hard. He‚??d much rather be ogling the beefcake, but he‚??s already picking up strong psychic impressions from the floor above, and the wine, he explains, ‚??smoothes out the edges.‚?Ě He‚??s more forthcoming when pressed: wine drowns out the telepathic barrage of voices and impressions constantly battering at his consciousness. His daily intake is in the neighborhood of fifteen glasses. Phillip makes a point of never beginning a supernatural investigation without first bellying up.
    Instead of watching the high kicks, Phillip has busied himself unscrewing the top of a plastic salt shaker. He neatly dumps the contents into a small plastic baggie he has produced from somewhere on his person. Phillip twists the baggie tightly closed and pockets it, as if squirreling away an ounce of cocaine.
    ‚??Do you believe in coincidence?‚?Ě Phillip drawls at me, in an accent that reveals his backwoods Oklahoma origins. ‚??I don‚??t,‚?Ě he states flatly. We‚??re here tonight to investigate the site of the gay bar that occupied the space one floor above us in the 1970s, and Village People look-alikes ‚??randomly‚?Ě showing up feels like fate. Or prescience.
    Just a quarter-hour ago, Phillip left his night job at Marie Laveau‚??s House of Voodoo, a French Quarter occult supply shop catering mostly to tourists. Phillip is one of the store‚??s in-house psychic readers, advising vacationing secretaries and sloshed frat boys how to get laid or get loved.
    The Jimani, pronounced like ‚??Gemini‚?Ě but misspelled to incorporate the given name of its founder, Jimmy Massacci, Sr., occupies the first floor of a building whose second story once housed the UpStairs Lounge, the gay club. The UpStairs had been a gathering place for the Quarter‚??s nascent gay scene, even hosting homosexual-inclusive church services, until a Sunday evening in June of 1973, when someone lit an incendiary device, lobbed it into the stairwell leading up to the club and locked the street-side door from the outside.
    Twenty-nine people, mostly homosexual men, died in the flames that night, while another three victims succumbed in the following days. The destruction of the UpStairs was the most deadly fire in the city‚??s history, and an event that quickly evolved into a rallying point for gay rights in the Crescent City. The arsonist-murderer was never caught.
    The space once occupied by the bar is now a storage room and office space for the Jimani below. Kalila has never been in those rooms on the building‚??s second floor, but she did investigate the stairwell here once before, years ago. At that time she cut the investigation short, overcome by powerful negative sensations. Current Jimani owner Jimmy, Jr. has agreed that tonight Kalila can conduct a new investigation.
    ‚??Do I have time for one more wine?‚?Ě Phillip quizzes Kalila.
    Our nominal leader seems to be getting antsy ‚?? she has a forty-minute drive back to her home in the suburb of Laplace ‚?? but acquiesces: ‚??You‚??re the oracle,‚?Ě she says to Phillip. He downs his third glass of wine quickly, like a prescription.
    A burly, sour, middle-aged man, an employee of Jimmy‚??s, escorts us out the front door and around the block, where he grudgingly unlocks an unmarked door on Iberville, a pointed contrast to the jaunty awning that once marked the club‚??s entrance.
    It‚??s too dark to see it tonight, but as we wait for the door to be unlocked, our little hunting party is standing on a sidewalk plaque inscribed in memoriam with 32 names. ‚??I don‚??t believe in coincidences,‚?Ě Phillip offers up again, the second invocation of what will turn out to be a mantra for the evening‚??s activities. ‚??Things happen for a reason.‚?Ě Phillip seems more on edge, more irritable, with each step closer to our destination, and even mutters an ‚??Oh, shit‚?Ě as the surly employee finally coaxes the door open.














    "What if the Hokey Pokey is what it's really all about?" Jimmy Buffett

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    We peer into the gloom. I can tell that the narrow, steeply winding staircase ahead of me was once red. Some of the bright paint still clings to the steps in odd places. At first I assume it’s simply age that has stripped the paint from the wood. With a chill, I realize that the stairs are, in fact, charred and blackened from the fire, scrubbed to an obsidian shine by the footsteps of workmen and bar employees in the ensuing three and a half decades. The day after the holocaust, the New Orleans Times-Picayune noted that “a mass of bodies” was found here, in this cramped, tomb-like corridor we must now enter single-file.
    The last time Kalila investigated this location, she reminds us, the door at the top of the stairs, the door into the former site of the UpStairs Lounge itself, was locked. That was okay with Kalila, though, as she had no desire at that time to enter. The psychic imprint on the place made her so ill, she relates, that she was forced to leave after only a few moments of investigating the stairwell. On that occasion, in the midst of her psychic episode, Kalila had seen a vision of a man, arms outstretched in Christ-like supplication, his figure ablaze.
    “Well,” Phillip announces with mock cheeriness as he tries the door, “it’s open now!” Phillip stands at the head of our small, single-file posse, at the top of the stairs, and opens the door a crack. Jimmy gave Kalila permission to access the stairwell, not the storage room and office beyond, but we interpret the unlocked door as an invitation – or is that a sign? – and the two psychics steel themselves to enter, like divers sucking down a series hearty, regular breaths just before plunging into unknown waters.
    Before he enters, Phillip turns awkwardly in the cramped space, extends his left hand, palm down and bids each of us in turn hold a hand parallel to his. I can tell he thinks I’ll feel something. I am not a believer in such things, but what the heck, I’m game. I bring my right hand close to his, very close. Phillip holds his palm stiffly, flexing it flat with a will, as if he’s fighting the impulse to smack my hand.
    When our palms are only a couple centimeters apart, when my fingers can detect the heat of Phillip’s skin, something happens. I feel the blood of my hand rush upward to the palm, drawn to Phillip’s hand as if it’s somehow magnetized. The sensation lasts only a split-second, but in that instant I feel as if each and every red blood cell in my fingers is an insect, seeking Phillip’s light and heat.
    We wordlessly agree to keep the lights switched off as we enter the room. I can dimly make out two refrigerators against one wall. Metal shelving holds cans and cans of foodstuffs, bottles and bottles of cleaning chemicals. The only illumination comes from the small flashlight I’m poking into darkened corners, from the streetlights below and, at irregular intervals, headlight beams from the Quarter slicing across the walls at odd angles. I can hear party noise from outside, from below, from down the block… another Tuesday night in New Orleans.
    Phillip is already getting something. He strides around the dusky room, commencing with a psychically powered monologue. “There…was a lot of love in this room,” he begins, wistfully. I start to walk towards a darkened room off to the side of this storage area before Phillip’s icy voice stops me short: “I wouldn’t do that!” I suddenly realize that the energy in the room changes, the further from the center I wander. It’s as if there is some sort of electricity in the air, moving in a ring around our little party of investigators, its epicenter spiraling between us, the storeroom’s corporeal visitors. It’s the palm of Phillip’s hand, magnified.
    “They had a purpose,” Phillip states. “Were they trying to organize something? Were they trying to organize a … civil rights kinda march, or… something?” In his near trance state, Phillip toggles so rapidly between addressing questions and statements to us, and to the supernatural presences he’s sensing, that it quickly grows difficult to keep track.
    Kalila says she is starting to feel ill like last time, but Phillip is focused on something else. “This is what matters,” he states, indicating the far wall with the two refrigerators. “This wall is what matters. ’Cause you know what? He stood here. He stood here. He preached from here.”
    A particularly loud burst of revelry rises up from the Jimani below, as if in agreement. I know, from my own research, that church services were held here in this room. The New Orleans branch of the Universal Fellowship Metropolitan Community Church, a gay-friendly ministry, did meet here at the UpStairs, on occasion. The night of the fire was a party night, not a church event, but the UFMCC lost ten members, a devastating blow to a congregation that numbered only 35.















    "What if the Hokey Pokey is what it's really all about?" Jimmy Buffett

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    Phillip seems given over to a sorrow we’re all beginning to feel. “They didn’t know,” he whispers, urgently. I’m not sure what he means, but I feel my throat tighten, my eyes water. “They didn’t know until…” Phillip trails off, caught in a coughing jag. As if to answer Kalila’s unspoken question, Phillip murmurs, “It’s not a reaction to the…”
    He doesn’t finish, but his meaning is clear. The smoke. The thirty-five year-old fire. “My sinuses are bothering me,” Phillip explains. Little wonder, really, considering the man’s prodigious cigarette intake. When I met Phillip yesterday for the first time, business was slow at the occult supply shop, so he sucked down four or five smokes in the first twenty minutes of our conversation, washed down with a midday bottle of Abita Beer.
    Beyond the room, out in the Quarter, police sirens scream, as if to conjure the events of the long-ago arson. Phillip claims not to know the particulars of the fire, but the scene as he describes it, as if it’s unfolding as a movie only he can see, turns out to be (my research shows) startlingly accurate. Phillip describes how the smoke and flame rolled into the room: “It all came at once.” How the horrified clubbers ran to the windows. “They broke ’em, they thought they’d let the smoke out,” Phillip says. “Thought someone would see the smoke, put out the fire.”
    But smoke and heat were nearly all that could escape through those windows. They had bars on them, for security. “No one could get out,” Kalila intones mournfully. “They melted to the bars.”
    Horribly enough, this is true. Witnesses to the gruesome scene reported that William Larson, the church congregation’s pastor, pressed himself against the security bars in his final moments, screaming “Oh God, no!” before a falling air conditioning unit ended his life. (Larson’s lifeless form was the first thing the current Jimani owner, Jimmy Massacci, Jr., then thirteen years old, saw when he arrived on the scene. “It looked like a white mannequin,” Jimmy recalls.)
    Phillip has started again. “They ran…” He strides, long-legged, to an even darker corner, with a sink. The faucet is dripping. Phillip regards the corner sadly. “They huddled in there, y’know? And they died over there.” This too is true: the Times-Picayune reports of bodies “piled knee-high” against the windows, near to where we currently stand. I listen to Phillip’s high-pitched voice. “They were so sure someone would come. They were so sure someone would put it out.”
    “Well, this door wasn’t here,” says Kalila, indicating the room I’d almost entered. “They were trapped.”
    “That’s why you stay out of there,” Phillip directs at me, offhanded. A high-pitched waver has entered the medium’s voice, further emphasizing his accent. It’s almost like he’s crying, but not quite. Phillip’s lilt is matter-of-fact, wistful, as if he’s contemplating a lost love.
    His voice changes again, now conspiratorial, almost harried: “Get ready,” as if he’s preparing to grace us with his grand entrance.
    Or, as if someone is.
    Phillip stares intently at a fixed point in the empty ether. For the moment, we the living are once again forgotten. “You’re Jimmy,” Phillip states, quietly, definitively. He pauses, listens intently, waiting for another ghost to identify himself. “Ernest.” Phillip may be on the level. Perhaps the spirit of James Curtis Warren or of James Walls Hambrick, men who perished in the blaze, introduced himself to Phillip as “Jimmy.” There is no known “Ernest” among the dead, but three unidentified white males were interred in the city’s Potter’s Field.
    Phillip rattles off another couple of names, then seems suddenly irritable: “One at a time,” he snaps. Evidently the spirits are coming too quick for the medium to keep up. His voice is urgent, an almost inaudible whisper. “Stop. Just stop.”
    The roll call complete, Phillip surfaces enough to engage us once again. “I’d like to tell ya that smoke killed ’em before the fire did, but it didn’t. It hurt. It hurt a lot.” Phillip slips open the drawstring of his shaman’s medicine bag, rummages around, and produces the small baggie of salt from the Jimani downstairs. He strides through the darkness to the north corner of the drafty room and dashes a pinch of salt in the cardinal direction, a blessing. “Be made welcome,” Phillip says solemnly, as he sprinkles the mineral. He makes a circuit of the room, stopping at each corner and repeating his table-top condiment blessing. “Be made welcome… Be made welcome… Be made welcome.”
    "What if the Hokey Pokey is what it's really all about?" Jimmy Buffett

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    The medium ends the circuit at the south wall, at a large metal table, the type cooks use to prepare meat. He stands behind it like a pulpit, and with the two Jimani refrigerators as a backdrop, knocks with his fist slowly, methodically, three raps upon the tabletop, then intones: “Greetings.”
    Laughter swells from below the floor. Phillip, undisturbed, breaks into another channeled speech.
    “It meant something… Their individual lives, their individual deaths. It meant something,” he hisses angrily. I wonder for a moment if Phillip is directing the invective at us, then decide he’s simply overcome with emotion. “Some of the living mourn you,” he addresses to the spirits. “Most of you went to your own respective afterlives. For the confused…” Phillip pauses, seems to regroup. “Another queer with no religion offers you a chance to move on, a chance to depart.” Phillip’s voice, formerly gravelly and shrill, melts into a cozy buttered whisper, somewhere between smoker scratch and bourbon smooth. “A chance for peace.”
    “In the name of God,” he continues, “may you know peace. Whoever did this, they’ve suffered on their own.” He’s winding down now. “But you have a chance for peace. Your suffering is over. Whether you went quick, whether you went slow… For all you who gathered at the window, step away from the window.”
    Phillip’s voice suddenly rises in triumph: “Okay,” he says, “we’ve got three resentfuls!” Apparently Phillip has ferreted out a problem: three irate spirits who refuse to cross over to the afterlife, and he’s just the man to solve it. “Oddly enough,” he says, “only three.”
    Then Phillip’s tone shifts so abruptly that at first I think he’s speaking to us, his fellow investigators: “Damn, you bitches have done a number on this!” He indicates his medicine bag, the laces of which, I’m shocked to see, have somehow knotted together in intricate tangles since Phillip opened the bag and threw the salt less than five minutes ago.
    Phillip tries to coax the lingering spirits to leave, but the resentfuls must be reluctant. “You need a life,” Phillip snarls at the ether. “Cut short at twelve, cut short at seventy, you still got somethin’ to do! It sucks! Get over it! It’s your chance to move on, make a start again. No more anger.”
    Now Phillip has managed to extricate a device known as a Boji stone from his twisted leather medicine bag. It is smooth and blue and round, like a large marble. He’s attempting some impromptu magic, to release the spirits from their ties to this room. Phillip palms the small orb, then casts it sharply against the metal tabletop, clak! as if smacking at an insect. The sound is jarring, but not as jarring as the way the little globe immediately shoots directly off the west edge of the surface when Phillip releases it, seemingly propelled by an unseen hand, descending to land, thot! on the low-pile carpet below.
    I bend for the Boji, wanting to help, but Phillip instructs me to leave it where it lies and extends one lanky arm to cast its mate, clak! against the table. The second stone circles and circles around the tabletop with the force of a pinball, still describing great arcs long after simple momentum should have stopped it. The stone’s thin metallic rumble, as it circles the cosmic drain, somehow matches Phillip’s crawly drawl. “Some of ’em are gone,” he suggests. “It feels a lot lighter in here.”
    “Hm, yeah. It does,” Kalila agrees.
    Phillip turns his attention again to the twisted bag. “They’ve done a fuckin’ number on this thing,” he laughs as he starts to detangle the laces. “It will take me hours.” To Kalila, now: “Still a few hostiles.” He says the word, hoss-tie-uls, with three syllables.
    “Oh, it’s okay to be gay!” Phillip assures someone unseen. Then back to all of us, “It feels better. It even feels cooler.”
    My head is starting to feel as twisted as the bag laces, with Phillip’s frequent shifts in addressing first the spirits, then the living, then the spirits again. I don’t know what to believe any more, but I know something has happened here.
    “Did your resentfuls go?” I venture to ask.
    “It’ll take them awhile longer,” Phillip explains. “But the door is open for ’em.”
    Phillip strides abruptly, purposefully out of the room and begins to descend the charred staircase. We follow in his wake.
    "What if the Hokey Pokey is what it's really all about?" Jimmy Buffett

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    The Reverend

    "What if the Hokey Pokey is what it's really all about?" Jimmy Buffett

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    Okay im shitting a brick!!!!!!! People read this ! So im cleaning out my closet and guess what i find ....a matchbox from the jimani 141 charters st ..i have never been in there before ...i dont know where it came from and im totally freaked the fuck out !!! I asked my husband the min he came home he dosent kno where it came from im holding it in my hand now and im not kidding!!!!! Its a sighn!!!!!!!! Hw the hell do i fid a matchb ox from the very place i posted a story about on this board and keep saying im going o vist!!!!! Wtf!!!!!!! Do we have sensitives on this board??? Dose this mean something??????

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    Quote Originally Posted by Lisamarie View Post
    Okay im shitting a brick!!!!!!! People read this ! So im cleaning out my closet and guess what i find ....a matchbox from the jimani 141 charters st ..i have never been in there before ...i dont know where it came from and im totally freaked the fuck out !!! I asked my husband the min he came home he dosent kno where it came from im holding it in my hand now and im not kidding!!!!! Its a sighn!!!!!!!! Hw the hell do i fid a matchb ox from the very place i posted a story about on this board and keep saying im going o vist!!!!! Wtf!!!!!!! Do we have sensitives on this board??? Dose this mean something??????
    I definately believe in signs. Something or someone wants you there.
    That gave me goosebumps.
    Regards,
    Mary

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    Im at work its 6;36am and I have chills....I found this last night ....I cannot believe this ...where the hell would this come from? Im stunned ! Because I thought the pstairs loung was above Evelys place .....not the jimani......do we have a sensitve on this board who can tell me something? Im 100% freaked out! In a good way ..but still omg!!!!

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    should I go there today? Im going there today ....Im gonna take some pics for you ...I think they are caling me too ....maybe Im nuts but you guys this is too crazy I can see f we frequent the place or even if I smoked and collected matchboxes...but omg!!!!!! This is too weird !!!

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    And its a fucking matchbox!something to light a fire!!!! Are you kidding me two matches are used out of it !

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    okay im still freaked out in a good and excited way!

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    Alanwench fabulous article. I really enjoyed it and got the sense of what it must have been like to have been there.
    There is something about old bars that hold ghosts in general in my experience. Maybe it is the sense of community even if it is superficial it seems to be alot to the barflys.
    I am thinking of Bobby Mackie's back in Northern Kentucky, my parents small bar in Saint Martins Ohio and the White Horse Tavern in NY and their is a bar I used to go to in Glouschester ma that was definately haunted and lastly my friends owned Snug Harbor ahouse turned into a bar in Ptown that was totally haunted.
    Spirits just seem to refuse to leave.
    Regards,
    Mary
    Last edited by STsFirstmate; 11-06-2009 at 08:44 AM.

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    You're welcome, Mary. The credit goes to LisaMarie for starting the thread.
    "What if the Hokey Pokey is what it's really all about?" Jimmy Buffett

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    Quote Originally Posted by Lisamarie View Post
    should I go there today? Im going there today ....Im gonna take some pics for you ...I think they are caling me too ....maybe Im nuts but you guys this is too crazy I can see f we frequent the place or even if I smoked and collected matchboxes...but omg!!!!!! This is too weird !!!
    That's too freaky, finding the matchbox with two matches missing! I'm looking forward to the pics. It sounds as if something really wants you to visit.
    "What if the Hokey Pokey is what it's really all about?" Jimmy Buffett

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    Alanwench, that was a great read! Thank you so much for posting it.

    Lisamarie, the matchbox is a sign and deep down inside you already know you must go. No need to ask. But if you need encouragement then, Yes GO! But don't go alone and please be careful. Take lots of pics though

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    Quote Originally Posted by Frazzzld Kat View Post
    Alanwench, that was a great read! Thank you so much for posting it.

    Lisamarie, the matchbox is a sign and deep down inside you already know you must go. No need to ask. But if you need encouragement then, Yes GO! But don't go alone and please be careful. Take lots of pics though
    Thanks, Frazzzld Kat. Last week I found some dramatic photos of the interior and some of the victims online using Google, now I can't find them again to post. CRS is really striking!
    Lisamarie, would you be able to access the second floor where the fire happened? At any rate, please take Frazzzld Kat's advice and take your hubby or someone with you and be very careful.
    "What if the Hokey Pokey is what it's really all about?" Jimmy Buffett

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    Quote Originally Posted by Alanwench View Post
    Thanks, Frazzzld Kat. Last week I found some dramatic photos of the interior and some of the victims online using Google, now I can't find them again to post. CRS is really striking!
    Lisamarie, would you be able to access the second floor where the fire happened? At any rate, please take Frazzzld Kat's advice and take your hubby or someone with you and be very careful.
    Alanwench I find it interesting you can no longer find the stuff you found. I think what you found and the matchbook Lisa Marie found are the vistims way of saying thank you for remembering us and making sure we are not forgotten.
    Sort of shout out from the other side! It was Samhain after all last week and the veil was thin!
    Regards,
    Mary

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    I was in class all day today so I did not have a chance but I did go home for a nap about mid day and had the most vivid dream there were people trying to talk with me and I was annoyed cause I was trying to sleep. Ill brng the hubby and ake some pics wth my lucky matchbook. Is lucky Im sure . Thanks everyone for the kind words! xoxoxoxox

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    Quote Originally Posted by STsFirstmate View Post
    Alanwench I find it interesting you can no longer find the stuff you found. I think what you found and the matchbook Lisa Marie found are the vistims way of saying thank you for remembering us and making sure we are not forgotten.
    Sort of shout out from the other side! It was Samhain after all last week and the veil was thin!
    Regards,
    Mary
    It could be victims reaching out, but I know for a fact that I saw a graphic pic of someone who was trying to back out of the window, between the bars and a foot wearing a shoe, plus a little bit of a pants leg was seen in the window. Behind this man was the figure of another man who was charred solid black, but features were discernible. This person's remains were either standing or propped up by bodies or debris behind him.
    I also think I'm going senile! So far, I've looked at probably 30 pages from Google and I can't find that damned link or site. Idiot that I am I didn't write it down. This was part of a set of pics that were too graphic to run in the newspaper and they may have been part of the crime scene stuff.
    "What if the Hokey Pokey is what it's really all about?" Jimmy Buffett

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    OK, this is getting weird. I remember seeing a picture of the bartender of the UpStairs Lounge dressed as one of the guys in Kiss and he wore what appeared to be the panty part of pantyhose with his costume. There was another pic of a guy called 'Napoleon' who dressed in a costume appropriate to the name. These pics were part of the series where I saw the victims.I feel like I'm losing my mind because I simply can't find these links and images!
    "What if the Hokey Pokey is what it's really all about?" Jimmy Buffett

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    Quote Originally Posted by Alanwench View Post
    OK, this is getting weird. I remember seeing a picture of the bartender of the UpStairs Lounge dressed as one of the guys in Kiss and he wore what appeared to be the panty part of pantyhose with his costume. There was another pic of a guy called 'Napoleon' who dressed in a costume appropriate to the name. These pics were part of the series where I saw the victims.I feel like I'm losing my mind because I simply can't find these links and images!
    I saw something similar in the video on the memorial. I believe Lisamarie posted a link to it at the beginning of this thread. Do you think that is were you saw it?

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    Quote Originally Posted by Frazzzld Kat View Post
    I saw something similar in the video on the memorial. I believe Lisamarie posted a link to it at the beginning of this thread. Do you think that is were you saw it?
    Thanks, Frazzzld Kat, once I read your posting and remembered the art exhibit, I found some pics.
    "What if the Hokey Pokey is what it's really all about?" Jimmy Buffett

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    Better pic of Reverend Larson

    "What if the Hokey Pokey is what it's really all about?" Jimmy Buffett

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    Aftermath

    "What if the Hokey Pokey is what it's really all about?" Jimmy Buffett

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