It's taken a while to find time to blog coherently about the Terror Behind the Walls (henceforth referred to as TBtW) Halloween event at Eastern State Penitentiary. October into November is always such a busy time, so hopefully I can conjure up enough memory of that night to give a clear impression of it...
The crowd is so huge that it's best to park at the satellite lot and take the Ghost Bus. It's a short trip, during which one of the event ghouls lays out the ground rules (#1- The ghouls are not allowed to touch you, and you are not allowed to touch them!) and, if time permits, tells one of the many spooky tales about the Pen. Leo and I bought tickets for one of the earlier entries, around 8:00-8:30pm, and got there just in time to hand over our waivers and stroll in.
Click on any photo to see the entire series...
The first step inside those massive walls can give you shivers. The place has a palpable presence merely from the combination of the architecture and its state of decay. Knowing little of its history detracts nothing from the atmosphere, but does make you want to learn more of its secrets. Add to that the spookiness of Halloween and the uncertainty of what to expect from TBtW, and you've got yourself one nifty little case of excited jitters. My buddy Leo was certain that she'd be totally freaked over the whole thing. Partially because of that, and partially because I was just so fascinated by the place, I was determined to not be spooked by the actors, oops, I mean ghouls. From the moment we entered Intake, my attention was split between trying to see as much as I could of the prison itself through the dark and the fog machines, and whipping out snappy comebacks to the threats of the ghouls who repeatedly got in our faces. Leo and I ended up at the tail-end of our group, behind a girl who screamed at everything. The ghouls had a ball with her and mostly left us alone as a result. I still felt, though, that it was happening too quickly, that I wasn't able to see or, more importantly, feel enough of the building. It's a very disorienting experience, but that's really part of the fun.
My interior photos unfortunately don't capture any of the freaky chaos of the actual TBtW event. Those same elements that contributed to the atmosphere were too much for a little point'n'shoot camera, so I snapped a few shots of the prison museum and some closed-off cell blocks that we passed. The shots do give some impression of the creepiness of the place, but nowhere near as much as standing in the dark in front of a 5' tall metal door, peering through into a shadowy pile of fallen plaster and upended, broken furniture, wondering what you might see and hoping that you'll see nothing.
Beyond the fun and the admittedly morbid fascination, the most overriding feeling I came away with was an intense desire to go back for one of the daytime tours, in particular the audio tour narrated by Steve Buscemi. The small, three room museum that we passed through on our way out hinted at an absolutely fascinating history.
Eastern State was the first prison in the world to house inmates in solitary confinement. No communal dining area or recreation area, just each to his own little white-washed cell with its tiny metal door, and each with a King James Bible. The Pen was a place of silence, intending to inspire the criminals it housed to a state of penitence, hence the term "penitentiary". Visiting in 1831, Alexis de Tocqueville proclaimed, "Can there be a combination more powerful than that of a prison which hands over the prisoner to all the trials of solitude... through religion to hope?". A mere ten years later, Charles Dickens expressed a very different view: "I believe that very few men are capable of estimating the immense amount of torture and agony which this dreadful punishment, prolonged for years, inflicts upon the sufferers." It's the conflict between those opposing opinions that creates the poignancy that emanates from those decrepit walls.
I've mentioned before that Halloween's a holiday I look forward to immensely, so the time has come to get into the proper frame of mind. To that end, I'm:
* Sitting down tonight with a big glass of apple cider and a bowl of popcorn to watch The Cell
* Spending Halloween evening in Shepherdstown for dinner, shadowing trick'or'treaters, then wandering through at least one of the four historic cemeteries in town.
* Heading up to Philly on Saturday to experience Terror Behind the Walls at Eastern State Penitentiary with my buddy, Leo. According to the Travel Channel, this is one of the premier Halloween events in the county and I am quite psyched.
Persephone's eaten of the pomegranate, and so the transition begins. A handful of cooler days strung together, with one or two scorching hot ones in between to let us know that summer's still hanging on by its fingernails. This time of year runs me through a gamut of moods ranging from agitation to excitement, melancholy to anticipation. As the summer winds down, I find myself torn, having to choose between vigorous bike rides or languorous hikes through the woods. I want to be out there taking advantage of what warmth is left to ride for hours under the glorious blue sky. And I dread the coming of winter and the depression it often brings. But the sudden crispness in the morning air causes images to appear behind my eyes of the beautiful, solitary places I go when it's too chilly to ride, and the pull is hard to resist.
Impending autumn also turns my literary fancies in a very specific direction. I begin reaching for collections of Edgar Allen Poe, M.R. James, and Algernon Blackwood, weird gothic stuff that makes me eager for Halloween. Not surprisingly (depending on how well you know me), Halloween's my favorite holiday. In year's past, I've attended the annual Poe celebration at Baltimore's Westminster Hall, at which Poe, his young cousin/wife, and his aunt/mother-in-law are buried. I've also hung out along the edge of a crumbling 1700's-era cemetery in Shepherdstown and watched young (and not-so-young) tricker-treaters gambol by. This year's plan may be to experience Terror Behind the Walls at Philadelphia's historic Eastern State Penitentiary, though the details of that have yet to be worked out. Regardless of what I end up doing, October 31st is a day I look forward to like Jack Skellington dreaming of Christmas.
And just as the trees change color and transform, I'm inspired to make changes in my life, sometimes great, sometimes small. At this point in time, it doesn't seem that I'll be making the leap to restaurateur-ship or moving on to a new job. And re-locating to a new home's not in the picture any time soon yet, either. But there are other, subtler changes that can invigorate and inspire me. Even something as simple as a change of haircolor, from honey-brown to a deep and mysterious soft black.
Superficial, but fun. But what's behind these urges, this yearning for newness and transformation? It's not like the feverish awakening of spring, there's a tang of frustration and urgency in the feeling of autumn. So while that feeling excites and motivates, there's also an edge to it. Is it the relationship between autumn and death symbolized in the myth of Persephone, Demeter and Hades? Is it an atavistic fear of facing the onward rushing cycles of nature and time? Or is it merely the realization of summer's daylight hours waning into winter's early darkness?
A nice bit of synchronicity this evening. A thread at the Incubus forum led me to a John Mayer tune that nicely sums up the darker side of that indefinable autumn feeling...
Something's Missing
I'm not alone. I wish I was. Cause then I'd know I was down because I couldn't find a friend around To love me like they do right now. They do right now.
I'm dizzy from the shopping malls. I searched for joy, but I bought it all. It doesn't help the hunger pains, and a thirst I'd have to drown first to ever satiate.
Something's missing And I don't know how to fix it Something's missing And I don't know what it is At all
When autumn comes, it doesn't ask. It just walks in where it left you last. And you never know when it starts, until there's fog inside the glass around your summer heart.
Something's missing And I don't know how to fix it Something's missing And I don't know what it is At all
I can't be sure that this state of mind is not of my own design. I wish there was an over the counter test for loneliness. For loneliness like this.
Something's missing And I don't know how to fix it Something's missing And I don't know what it is No I don't know what it is Something's different And i don't know what it is No I don't know what it is
Friends -check- Money -check- Well slept -check- Opposite sex -check- Guitar -check- Microphone -check- Messages waiting for me, when i come home -check-
How come everything I think I need, always comes with batteries? What do you think it means...
All images and text herein (excepting song lyrics, quoted material, and otherwise attributed images) are licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License. Feel free to use my words or photos, but please link back to the post from which you pulled them. Like anyone else, I find it gratifying to be acknowledged for my work. Thank you.
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