Belasco Theatre

Broadway producer David Belasco died in 1931 but never stopped showing up to his own theatre at 111 West 44th Street. Staff and actors, including Daniel Breaker during a 2008 run, regularly see him in his trademark clerical collar watching from the balcony. A second ghost called the Blue Lady, reportedly a showgirl who fell down an elevator shaft, haunts the space alongside him.

During the run of Passing Strange in 2008, actor Daniel Breaker looked into his dressing room mirror and saw an old man with white hair sitting behind him, watching. When Breaker spun around, the chair was empty. The house manager didn't seem surprised. "You just saw David Belasco," he said.

Belasco has been dead since 1931. He still shows up to work.

The Belasco Theatre at 111 West 44th Street opened in October 1907, designed by architect George Keister for producer David Belasco himself. Belasco was one of Broadway's biggest personalities, a writer, director, and impresario who produced over 100 plays (including the original 1900 Madame Butterfly). He was nicknamed the "Bishop of Broadway" because he dressed in a black cassock and clerical collar every day, which is exactly how his ghost appears.

Belasco didn't just work at the theatre. He lived there. A ten-room duplex penthouse sits on top of the eastern wing, decorated like a Gothic church and stuffed with medieval art, rugs, banners, and what one biographer called "a vast, confusing medley of collectors' treasures." He also kept a private collection of erotica up there. The man was complicated.

After his death, staff started hearing sounds from the penthouse. Feet dancing to 1920s music. The noise of a party in full swing. When workers climbed the stairs to investigate, the apartment was empty, its dust undisturbed. A disconnected elevator that once served Belasco's apartment reportedly makes phantom trips on its own.

The sightings are consistent. He appears in his priestly garb, watching rehearsals from the balcony. Staff say he offers praise to performers, shakes their hands, and occasionally pinches young actresses. After bad shows, dressing rooms have been found overturned. One usher forgot to say goodnight to Belasco before leaving, and every door in the front lobby swung open at once. She filed a police report and requested a transfer. Never came back.

The staff know him well enough to have rituals. Bartender Vinnie Costa greets Belasco when he arrives at work. During Belasco's birthday week, the coat room door locked itself three times after Costa unlocked it. The house manager got locked out of her office twice the same night. On July 15, 2015, head ticket taker Adam Carpenter dressed up as Belasco's ghost to prank coworkers. That evening, his ticket scanners stopped working. The plug had been pulled from the wall. "Never happened in all my years of working," Carpenter said.

Interior bar manager Andrew Sanford was counting money in his office when a wave of cold air hit him and lasted about fifteen seconds. No vents, no open doors. Then it was gone.

Belasco isn't alone in the theatre. A second figure, called the Blue Lady, has been spotted in the balcony. The story goes that a showgirl died falling down an elevator shaft backstage. She appears as a woman in blue, sometimes described as an icy blue mist. Actress Laura Linney saw her sitting in the balcony during a performance. An unnamed film actress reported her locked dressing room door opening while she showered. When she checked, the door was still locked, but the bathroom was filled with a blue glow.

One of the best Belasco details: the Shubert Organization, which owns the theatre, claims his ghost was temporarily banished during the 1970s run of Oh! Calcutta!, the notorious nude revue. Apparently even a dead theatre impresario has his limits. When the show closed, he came back.

The Belasco's interior is worth seeing on its own. Tiffany lighting, ceiling panels, murals by American artist Everett Shinn, and rich woodwork throughout. The penthouse upstairs is still there, still decorated. And if you catch an opening night, check the empty seats in the balcony. Belasco liked opening nights when he was alive. Staff say he still hasn't missed one.