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Editor's Note: The following story, written by current culture editor Emily Iorg, was originally published in The University News in Oct. 2002. In the spirit of Halloween, The University News would like to share this ghostly tale with its readers one more time.
A possible love affair, a bitter ghost - all the elements of a good story are present in Epperson House lore. A long-discussed area haunted house, Epperson has been the subject of several news articles over the years. All have attempted to get at what is most shadowy about the house - the truth.
Epperson House, located south of 52nd St. between Oak and Cherry, was completed in 1923 at the cost of $450,000, a sizable chunk of money even by today's standards. With four stories and 48 rooms, not to mention the six baths, elevators, swimming pool and billiard room, the house truly lives up to its title of "mansion." Described on the UMKC Web site as being "honeycombed with secret passageways," the house was embellished with tunnels, trapdoors and turrets.
Referred to in its developmental phase as "Epperson's Folly" by his wife, Elizabeth (though it was later named "Hawthorn Hall" for the elms and oaks growing around it), the house belonged to Uriah Spray Epperson (1862-1927), a banker, industrialist and philanthropist who made his money from investments in the insurance and meat-packing industries. An interesting side note: Epperson owned the first motorcar in Kansas City. The Eppersons brought another person with them when they moved into the house-Harriet Evelyn Barse. She was 46 and had moved in after her mother had died. Interestingly, the woman was referred to by the childless Eppersons as their adopted daughter, despite the fact that she was 10 years Elizabeth's senior and an adoption was never formally legalized.
A patron of the arts, Elizabeth appreciated the role Harriet played as organizer of the family's musical entertainment. Harriet's major contribution in this area was the design of a massive pipe organ customized for the loft in the 48-foot living room, which also contained a platform that served as a stage for plays.
Before the organ was finished Harriet died, on Dec. 20, 1922. The mysterious death was attributed to surgical shock following a gallbladder operation, though there was no obituary in the newspaper, nor was an autopsy performed. Rumors abounded that Harriet had been involved with the hired help and died after a home abortion.
Uriah died five years later, in 1927, and Elizabeth in 1939. But a presence still remained in the house, purportedly that of Harriet's ghost.
The house was given to the University in 1942. Its first use was as a men's dormitory, until June 1956; it subsequently housed the School of Education and then the Student Center. Epperson is currently home to the Department of Architecture, Urban Planning and Design. The department uses the bottom three floors in the house; the fourth is used for storage and contains an IT (computer) lab, but is off-limits to students. The on-the-record reason for this is safety, as the floor is not equipped with proper fire exits.
Ghostly activity was experienced full force beginning in the 1970s, when the Music Department used the space. Students claimed to see Harriet in an evening gown, sometimes singing, or crying while cradling a bundle resembling a baby in her arms. Others heard an organ being played in the vicinity of the basement pool. In 1978, weekend guards began to hear footsteps in the empty building.
These events culminated with the experience of a security patrolman cited in The Kansas City Star in May 1979. While parked near the house, the man felt a vehicle crash into him from behind, followed by the sound of shattering glass.
"I looked in the rearview mirror, of course, to see who the hell it was, and I didn't see anything, so I got my flashlight and got out of the car immediately," the patrolman said in the newspaper article. "I walked to the back [but] there was no damage, no busted glass, no dents in the bumper." His car, however, had moved eight inches, as verified by a pair of skid marks.
Another oft-cited experience is that of two security officers (one of them the aforementioned patrolman) who were doing the customary walk-through of the building one morning at 2 a.m. As the two walked through, they flipped lights on and off to see their way. One obstinate light remained lit; as the first officer said something to the other about it, the 23-year-old patrolman saw an arm clothed in a blue suit sleeve reach out and claw at the switch. It then disappeared and the room was plunged into darkness. Once outside he explained what he had seen to the other officer, most likely receiving the benefit of the doubt after what the other patrolman had witnessed with his car.
Security Chief Harvey Cottle knew he had a problem. It was one thing to hear ghost stories from crackpots, quite another to hear them from the trustworthy men in his department. The stories had already bothered some night custodians. Fearing the accounts might cause students and employees to leave, Cottle called in Maurice Schwalm, a well-known paranormal investigator in the Kansas City area.
Insurance executive by day, ghost hunter by night, Schwalm held séances at Epperson House on the nights of May 5 and 13, 1979. In his 1999 book "Mo-Kan Ghosts," Schwalm describes what he found those two nights. The 15-member group, which included a reporter, a structural engineer, a commercial artist and a government worker, several of whom were outfitted with crosses, gathered in a wood-paneled hall on the first floor. They sensed the presence of a woman who had died from the wounds described on Harriet's death certificate, wounds which were often indicative of a botched abortion. Schwalm and his group also felt another presence: "[Harriet] was being screened by a hostile male entity who tried to make us dizzy and nauseous," Schwalm said. This account leads some to believe that Epperson remained behind to keep Harriet quiet about the details of her death. Other mediums believe Uriah is not getting a fair deal, that he was altogether innocent of any wrongdoing.
At any rate, Schwalm believed that the house would be quieter afterward since the ghosts had a chance to communicate with the living. Yet as recently as last summer, a maintenance worker thought he heard something that could have been attributed to a ghost. Perhaps Epperson's Folly still has a few tricks up its sleeve.
Fatimeh El-Sherif aided in research for this article.
eiorg@unews.com
