>Titanic exhibit in Atlanta

Posted by Jessica Jewett 1 Comment »

>Today, in honor of the 98th anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic, I’m lifting a blog from my old website about my visit to the Georgia Aquarium in 2009. There was a special exhibition that summer of artifacts from the Titanic wreck site. Here is what I experienced.

Saturday was one of those amazing days that teaches you what’s really important as far as being around people who really understand you and accept you unconditionally. Michael and I spent the day with our friend from high school, Lindsey, and her husband, Paul, who I hadn’t met before but turned out to be exceptionally awesome.

Our plan was to go to Gladys Knight Chicken and Waffles to eat lunch and then go to the Georgia Aquarium for the afternoon, but when we got to downtown Atlanta, we realized the parking garage was too far of a walk from the chicken and waffles place. Lindsey is seven months pregnant, so I kind of eye her like a ticking time bomb. We ended up cutting through the park by the CNN building to go to Ted Turner’s restaurant. I think it’s called Montana or something. They serve bison instead of beef there and apparently bison is supposed to be healthier for you. I ate bison pot roast, which was shockingly good. It only tasted a tiny bit different than beef.

After lunch, we cut back through the park and walked to the Georgia Aquarium, slower since we were full from eating so much. I was pretty surprised at how crowded the aquarium was because I had read in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution that attendance had dropped by 37% since it opened in 2005. You would never know it by the lines on Saturday to get tickets. Most of the tickets for the Titanic exhibit were sold out so we had to wait an hour and a half just to get into it. We were going to do the Titanic exhibit first and the regular aquarium afterward but we didn’t count on the Titanic exhibit being so popular. I do love this aquarium with or without special exhibits. It’s the biggest one in the world with animals like four whale sharks (which average at about 30 feet each) and three beluga whales (about 15 feet each). I have a special attachment to Nico (pronounced like Jon Knight’s Nikko), which is the male beluga whale, because he plays with us at the window the most. I had very high aspirations of being a marine biologist throughout my childhood and the first book I ever wrote was a guide to whales and dolphins. I’ve been to this aquarium enough now that I could probably give a tour on my own.

The Titanic exhibit itself was stunning, by every meaning of the word. The only fault I found with it was how crowded it was. They had us crammed in there like sardines so I didn’t get to have a close look at every display. I understand how popular it is and how they have to try to get to everyone but cramming so many people into it might be a little dangerous for the artifacts if somebody bumps into a display too hard or whatever.

Before we went into the exhibit, aquarium workers handed out faux tickets for the ship. We were each given a different passenger with a little biographical information and at the end of the tour, we were to find out if our passenger was a survivor or victim. I was given a second class passenger by the name of Mrs. Irene Corbett and this is what I found about her on the internet:

Mrs Walter H. Corbett (Irene Colvin) was born in 1881/1882, the daughter of Bishop and Mrs Levi A. Colvin of Provo, Utah. Irene was married to Walter Corbett and had three children. She had travelled to London in the winter of 1911-1912 to study nursing while her children stayed with her parents.

Irene’s parents received a letter from her on April 15th in which she said she would take passage on the Titanic. She said several Mormon elders were taking passage on the ship, however it was later uncertain as to whether these elders had actually travelled on the ship. Irene Corbett boarded the Titanic in Southampton.

After the sinking, Bishop Colvin telegraphed New York to find out what had happened to his daughter. He received in answer two telegrams on the afternoon of April 19th. The first stated: “New York, April 19, Levi Colvin, Provo, Utah. Neither the name of Mrs Irene Corbett nor anything like it appears on the Titanic’s second cabin list of passengers as having sailed from Southampton. WHITE STAR LINE.” Minutes later the second telegram arrived: “New York, April 19, Levi Colvin, Provo, Utah. Now find name of Mrs Irene C. Corbett is on the list of passengers having sailed from Southampton, but regret is not a survivor on Carpathia. WHITE STAR LINE.”

Irene Corbett was one of 14 second class women who perished in the sinking.

The exhibit took you through the conception of Titanic, into building it, through the journey to New York, the sinking and the rediscovery of the wreckage by Robert Ballard in the 1980s. There were replica cabins set up with some real artifacts in them to show you what first class and third class were like. I read that the cost of a first class suite would be the equivalent of something like $40,000+ today and a third class cabin that you shared with four other people would be the equivalent of something like $400 today. It was especially interesting to enter the corridor built to replicate the third class corridor because you could feel how cramped it was and how starkly bare it was compared to first class. The replicated third class had ambient noise like what you would have heard and felt being so close to the ship engines and it was loud enough that children on the tour were getting scared and asking what the noise was. It was an absolute eye opener to be amongst the finery in first class and then, boom, thrown into the bareness of third class. Interestingly enough, the accommodations we had on the NKOTB cruise with Carnival were much closer to third class on the Titanic than first class and that was a little shocking to me, considering we are supposed to live in this advanced modern society.

A lot of people were asking me what I felt in the exhibit as far as spirits go because my Ghost Hunters guys investigated there earlier this year (or was it last year?). Nothing in particular struck me about the reconstructed cabins themselves and that tells me there were not many things in them pulled from the actual wreckage. There were a few things in them but no real energy attached to them. It was mostly the pieces of clothing that had the most energy attached to them. Before I got to the clothing, though, I do remember a display with items of a lady’s toilette (like beauty stuff) and it was the hairbrush that grabbed me. It was too crowded for me to feel out anything specific about the residual energy from the owners of these things though.

The last room was what grabbed me the most. There were a lot of things in one room that had been excavated from the wreckage and it was like coming into a space with a lot of different confused energies. There were two shirts in separate display cases in the middle of the room. One was mostly white (it might have been another color but faded to white) and the other was a blue and white striped shirt. I never got close enough to read the plaques because it was so crowded so I don’t know to whom the shirts belonged, but the closer I got, the more I felt that brick in my stomach before my panic attacks hit. Both of the men who owned those shirts, or maybe it was just one man, did not survive and he knew long before he died that he was going to die. Excuse my language but you’ll never experience a mind-fuck like that unless you are empathic or spiritually sensitive in similar ways. Feeling the lingering affects of fear that intense was actually far worse than the feelings I’ve picked up from Civil War uniforms. The difference between a soldier and a passenger on a ship is the soldier lives every minute of his life knowing he might die but dying never enters the passenger’s mind. A disaster and facing death is much more of a shock for the passenger and there is absolutely a distinct difference in energy between a soldier and anyone else.

All in all, the Titanic exhibit was well-worth the money. I just wish tourists would learn to heed the “no photography” rule at these things. There was a lady in front of me taking a million pictures with a camera that had a huge bright flash and I wanted to pummel her. Not only was her flash, flash, flash distracting for me and others around her, but the flash of a camera is actually damaging to artifacts. There is a reason why the “no photography” rule exists at historical exhibits. Artifacts – especially paper and fabric – are extremely sensitive to light, temperature and humidity. Too much exposure to any of those things will cause fading and disintegration, the same as touching any artifacts with bare hands. We all have oils in our bodies that will destroy artifacts, no matter how often or how well you wash your hands before you touch anything. So next time you’re at a historical exhibit, please remember that the “no photography” rule does exist for a reason and you should never, ever use a flash with artifacts.

I did not get any pictures, obviously, but I found some pictures from some media outlets online of what I saw. There are objects in these pictures that I talked about already. Enjoy.

 

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>The Haunted Plantation

Posted by Jessica Jewett 2 Comments »

>Out of interest for the organization that owns the plantation, I can’t name the place without knowing for sure if they would be okay with exposing the “other” residents. When local kids catch wind of any haunting, they tend to break onto whatever property is in question in order to try and see a ghost of their own. I don’t want to see that happen to this plantation. It’s already delicate and in disrepair. The souls there are some that I feel protective of as well. They need help breaking free from the control of another very angry soul there too. He’s downright evil. But we’ll get to that in a minute.

The first night I visited the plantation, we were there with some friends who try to give the place an inhabited impression to keep lookie-loos off the property. I settled by the bonfire and immediately felt the prickling on my skin that I get when souls are in the vicinity. I looked at the main plantation house and noticed the silhouette of a young lady near the building who seemed very interested in what we were doing. Her countenance was kind, lonely and thoughtful. She was desperate to come see what we were doing by the bonfire so I invited her to join us. She could not move beyond the immediate vicinity of the plantation house though. She was afraid and I couldn’t figure out why because she was too far away and too quiet for me to get a solid lock on her energy. I felt bad for her but there was nothing I could do at that moment. I gave my attention back to my friends.

A little while later, my conversation was interrupted by a violent feminine scream. I spun around toward the woods and asked if anybody else heard that but it was quite evident that nobody else had heard it. When you’re just hanging around your friends, you don’t immediately jump to the ghost conclusion. I thought for sure someone was being attacked out there because of how clear the scream sounded. Since nobody else heard it, I calmed myself down and considered the situation from a medium standpoint. The information I received was that a slave woman had been killed back there and I asked if there were slave cabins back there. My friend exchanged looks with my other friend and said that she thought the same things as what I was telling her. I purposefully went to this plantation with no historical background so that I could stretch myself as a medium. I also had impression of a lanky man with coveralls or funny looking suspenders. Again, everybody looked at each other and said that he was a well-known figure to them as well.

A few nights later, my friends introduced me to another medium friend of theirs. We kept silent on our previous experiences at the plantation until we got there and went through it room by room. On the property itself, I had dueling impressions of Revolutionary War soldiers and Civil War soldiers on the land. As I told the story of what I was seeing, the car got silent. I wasn’t sure of my accuracy until I asked if anything I said made sense to them and the things they had seen there matched up with my impressions almost dead on correct. I felt myself getting back into the swing of being a medium, something I had set aside in order to do past life and tarot readings for people. These things all utilize different intuitive skills but being a medium was where I began as a child. I felt like I was getting back to my roots. The sun began to set as we made our way into the abandoned plantation house.

The first room I encountered was so dark and heavy that my fellow medium had long since abandoned his previous attempts at entering the room. I wanted to know what had him so uneasy about it so I had my friend push my wheelchair up to the doorway and as soon as I hit the threshhold, I made her stop. I could not go inside either. I saw a scene from approximately the early 1840s with a bed against the far right wall. A young woman was in labor with a doctor positioned to receive the baby. I realized there was blood everywhere – on the bed, splattered on the far wall, etc. – and then I realized the doctor was a murderer. He cut her and let her bleed to death. As the horror sank in for me, the doctor looked at me and said, “You get out of here now!” My friend’s dog ran right into the room toward the doctor’s image and I snapped, “Hampton! Come here!” I left immediately. Despite being a medium and used to all sorts of entities, I take threats seriously and I don’t mess with any entities that threaten me.

We moved toward the front parlor area of the house and at that point, I encountered the young lady who wanted to join us at the bonfire before but could not. I soon realized that she was the lady in labor in the vision I saw at the back of the house (it was not literally in front of me but a visual impression). She was clearly controlled by the doctor entity. I had heard of other entities being controlled in a house by a dominant, dark, angry entity but I had never personally encountered it. The young lady stuck to me as we moved through the house and I felt physical touches on my bare arms like she was petting and being affectionate. The other medium reasoned that I reminded her of a friend that she had in life. I was able to converse with her, receive a name, confirm things for one of the caretakers, and so on of things that I could not possibly know. Through the house, I got from her that she had an illegitimate child and was sent to relatives at that plantation to give birth. The doctor killed her for some unknown reason and she doesn’t know what happened to her baby. I expect that is a big reason why she never left and when the doctor died, his anger toward that incident tied him to that plantation and he is the dominant force there, although the other entities try to contain him to that back room.

We moved into the kitchen area behind the parlor and found “the caretaker” that everybody knows. He’s playful and enjoys touching women, something I was not as prepared for before I arrived as I thought I was. He tickled my knee, touched my thigh and put his hand on my chest in the time that I spent in the house. He’s a protective figure who makes his rounds around the property a lot during the night. I quite enjoy souls with a fun sense of humor despite their desolate situations.

We went upstairs and L (I don’t want to write out her whole name) was eager to show me the room that she had claimed as her own in life and death. I followed her to the room and the bad energy of the bottom floor no longer existed. She gave me visual impressions of her pretty things that she had been so proud of, how her room was arranged and so on. Everything I said matched up with what the other medium had said before and we seemed to connect based on seeing and experiencing the same things. She missed her silks, so we promised to bring her a silk pillow for the room (there is nothing in it right now). Despite her fading energy by that point, the offer made her so happy and I felt like I had done something to relieve her situation a little bit.

In another part of the upper floor, we found a child that was from another period than L. I will refer to her as V. She was about five, blonde and had a big bow like you see in Edwardian photographs. I felt like she died of a disease like scarlet fever and I was told that there were indeed epidemics in the area. V hardly ever ventures downstairs because of Dr. Evil. We had dogs with us and they apparently saw the other residents as well because my friend asked her dog, “Where’s V? Go get V!” and the dog ran to the room where the child dwells. A while later, we were talking in another room, and the dog sat in the doorway very still and relaxed, the same way he looks when he’s getting a good scratch. V and L both enjoy it when we bring the dogs to see them. Animals have the uncanny ability to not only see entities but to treat them no differently than the living, which is something that I think bonds entities and animals. As with the living, animals know when entities are evil and they will growl and bark at seemingly nothing, which is what dogs do near Dr. Evil’s territory.

So while L wants the silk pillow we offered, V wants a doll, which is what we’re going out to get later tonight. She was very specific about how the doll should look to the point that the other medium and I were talking over each other saying the exact same things. V teases me about looking like a doll because I’m tiny and she sees my wheelchair like a baby carriage stroller thing. She wants to play with me and named me Molly, which is why we decided we needed to bring her a doll of her own. It will be interesting to see if the doll or the pillow move around at all in the house without us doing the moving.

This is why plantations need to be rescued from decaying into history. Old buildings may look abandoned but they are most certainly not. This place is still home to V, L, the caretaker and Dr. Evil, among so many other soldiers and slaves. They can’t move on until Dr. Evil releases his choke hold on them. I don’t see that happening anytime soon. While we have the ability, we will work to make this plantation comfortable for them, preserve their stories and help them understand that we do care and they are remembered. We are close to having enough historical documentation to back up our medium impressions as well. It isn’t a game. It isn’t a flight of fancy. These people are quite real and still feel quite deeply.

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>Excerpt of Fire on the Mississippi

Posted by Jessica Jewett 1 Comment »

>Here is an excerpt from my current novel, Fire on the Mississippi (tentative title), which is the sequel to From the Darkness Risen and you can find that on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, etc. This is a raw, unedited draft. I’m trying to write the whole thing from start to finish without editing and then re-approach the whole thing after an entire first draft is completed. This is a new writing method for me but I find it liberating, actually. All of the characters in this scene were real, historical figures in Civil War era St. Louis, except Eva Grimm, who is my creation and one of the central figures. This pro-Confederate network actually existed in St. Louis and I’ll be writing about the actual things they did. Robert Louden alias Charles Dale in St. Louis history was a rat bastard and I think I will thoroughly enjoy writing him. He was the equivalent of a domestic terrorist. Here is his first scene.

—————-

Tuesday
St. Louis, Missouri

Eva considered hiring another carriage and going back home as she stood before the building at the address scrawled on the mysterious letter clutched in her hand.  Was she really back there again, back to a place of secrets and lies in her life?  Thaddeus had worked tirelessly at her side to eradicate those behaviors from her character.  Her secretive behavior nearly cost her the presence of that loving man in her life once already.

The limestone building towered three floors above her and appeared to be someone’s home.  Surely it could not be Mrs. Sappington’s home.  That woman, who regularly engaged in espionage work for the Confederacy, lived out on the Manchester road, not there in the center of the city.

Curtains fluttered in the window to the right and she suddenly felt observed.  Self-consciously, she touched her bonnet and fluffed her blue plaid skirt, but did she truly want to stay?

The front door swung open and Mrs. Sappington’s round, smiling face appeared.  She lightly descended the front stoop and met Eva in an embrace that instantly made her uneasy.  She glanced around the street to see if anyone watched them.  No one paid attention but she had never gotten along with that woman and found her greeting quite bizarre.

“Miss Reed!  I mean Mrs. Grimm!  So good to see you again.”

“Yes,” Eva replied with distinctive Southern politeness over her internal suspicion.  “It’s been many months since we last shared company.”

“Indeed, it has.  Come now, let me help you get inside out of the cold.  There’s a good fire going.”  Mrs. Sappington gripped Eva as if she knew about the amputation, which she found unnerving.  She allowed herself to be led inside nevertheless.

The very moment the door shut them away from prying eyes, all politeness dropped from Eva’s countenance and Mrs. Sappington looked more like herself, always plotting her next move.  “Why have you lured me here?” she demanded in a low, calm tone.  “My husband would be none too pleased with this.”

“Your husband?”  Mrs. Sappington’s voice tittered lightly with cynical laughter.  “Forgive me, Mrs. Grimm, but I find it highly amusing that you are an honest and true married woman, to a Yankee schoolteacher no less!  Why, if that were true, would you be here?  Curiosity killed the cat.  Come along.”  She looped her arm through Eva’s and aided her to the back of the house.  “I brought you here because of your special talents in our field matched only by your deathless love for our glorious Confederacy.”

“But I’m not involved in those things anymore.”

Eva lost her words as they entered a shadowy back parlor that seemed to exist at the end of a long, rambling maze within the house.  Gaslights smoked unchecked, giving the room a macabre feeling, with the fireplace blazing.  All manner of tables and desks withstood the weight of clutter from stacks of paper to stacks of books and scattered half-empty bottles of wine and partially eaten tins of crackers and even chocolate.

Four men and two women looked at her and the entire scene reminded her of a European painting of mysterious figures.  One man in particular openly took measure of her as he stood with a bent arm resting on the fireplace mantle and the other hand gripping his waistcoat.  His black hair combed back with oil still gave the impression of haste, as did the stubble peppering his face.  He glared at her through hardened icy blue eyes.  She instinctively dropped her own eyes to the floor, recalling the demure training of her childhood.

“You should have used the back door,” he said darkly.

“Pardon me?”

“I had not instructed her properly,” Mrs. Sappington interjected as she poured a glass of wine.  She faced Eva and thrust the glass into her hand.  “Next time use the back door.”

“What is all this?” Eva pressed.

“You are among friends, my dear,” replied Mrs. Sappington, although she rather nervously swallowed mouthfuls of her own wine.  She gestured to the hateful creature hanging from the fireplace mantle and the submissive creature seated nearby.  “This is Robert Louden and his wife, Mary.”  She moved to the back and gestured to another couple.  “This is Absalom Grimes and his fiancée, Miss Lucy Glascock.  The gentlemen just there are Albert McClure and Charles Clark, respectively.  Their wives are with us as well but upstairs with the children at present.”

Eva nodded a general greeting to the room, short but polite.

“Everyone, this is Mrs. Eva Grimm, formerly of Charleston but now a resident of our fair city by way of her husband who teaches at St. Louis University.”

“You married pro-Union?” Louden observed as he took a long swallow from his glass.

“I don’t see how that is any of your business,” snapped Eva under the veil of cool politeness.  The inquisition made her rage underneath her courteous exterior.

“Robert,” Mary, the mousy wife, attempted with a gentle touch.

“No, the question must be asked.  How must we be expected to give her our trust if she willingly and knowingly married the enemy?”

“Mrs. Grimm,” interrupted Mrs. Sappington with a commanding voice, “was shot just this past summer while aiding the escape of our own Confederate men from the military prison across the river.  Even with a gunshot and bleeding into the street, she concealed the identity of one of the escaped soldiers from those who meant him harm.  That very gunshot resulted in the amputation of her foot above the ankle.  She did all of this while married to the professor and, as I recall, he aided in the escape.”

Eva had never heard the Sappington woman speak so highly of her.  Typically, she reserved her praise for Isabelle during their brief association in the spring.  It appeared that the woman’s glowing report of her bravery under fire silenced the hostility hanging over the room, although Eva could not make sense of the odd gathering.  It was like something out of a novel.

“If I am not told why I was brought here right this instant, I will have to take my leave,” she announced.  “I feel rather unwelcome and I do not intend to stay where I feel like the enemy by association of my husband.”

Perhaps they waited for her to call their bluff.  No one responded to her threat.  After a moment, she placed her untouched wine glass on the nearest table and turned with her crutches to leave.

Louden’s voice cut through the room and the cold, calculating tone sounded as if it was the natural way he spoke.  “We are agents dedicated to the survival of the Confederacy.  A few of us have served in the army, however, the purposes and practices of this organization are done under the cloak of secrecy and without seeking public glory.  We conduct our business beneath the superficial layer of society but it is no less important to the conduct of the Confederacy in Missouri and along the Mississippi.”

“You’re spies.”  Eva eyed him and shrugged.  “Mr. Louden, I played this game once already for General Jackson.  Smile, flirt and charm one’s way into the Yankee’s good graces for facts and figures to be reported back to our army.  My participation in these games resulted in my friend being raped by a Yankee officer.  I’m tired.  I’m weary of this life and I left it behind me.”

“What you did for General Jackson was akin to a nursery rhyme compared to what we do,” scoffed Louden.  “We actually make a difference with the war effort in the West.  We ensure the passage of mail through enemy lines, for instance.  Much of our work is handed to the Confederate government through our mail.  We’ve also begun intensifying our efforts with destroying enemy steamers carrying supplies and men.  It will become the focus of our work as we have found it to be the most effective with frightening the Yankees and destroying things they need to survive.  Our women are just as involved in the work as our men.”

Silence.

Louden shrugged deeply and tilted his head in disbelief for effect.  “If you don’t feel that you have the internal fortitude for this, then you may see yourself to the door, Mrs. Grimm.  If you want to make a difference,” he paused, “and honor the glorious death of your brother for the cause, then you must join our efforts.”

“Once you join us, there is no turning back,” added Mrs. Sappington, “and no one must know.  No one.”

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