Grand Opera House

Wisconsin's oldest operating theater (opened 1883) is haunted by at least five spirits, including Percy Keene, a stagehand who worked there 70+ years and now watches rehearsals from the balcony smelling of pipe smoke. Lorraine Warren investigated in 1984 and 1987, confirming a woman in a rose-colored dress, a headless actor, and a ghost dog that once had to be "removed" from the stage during a performance.

In 1976, Bob Jacobs saw a smiling, bespectacled, grey-haired man sitting in the balcony of the Grand Opera House after a private screening. He described the figure in enough detail that staff identified him immediately: Percy Keene, the theater's longtime stagehand. Keene had worked at the Grand for over 70 years. The problem was that Keene was dead.

The Grand opened in August 1883 with a performance of "The Bohemian Girl" and quickly became one of Wisconsin's premier stages. Mark Twain performed here. So did John Philip Sousa, Harry Houdini, and President William Howard Taft. By the 1970s, the theater had declined into a pornographic movie house, which is the worst kind of fall from grace a building can suffer. A 1980 city referendum saved it, and the restored Grand reopened in 1986 as a 550-seat venue.

Keene has been the most visible ghost since the restoration. Bill Seaton, who ran the theater in the 1970s, said Keene frequently tapped him on the shoulder in the balcony. During filming of "Exit Dying" in 1976, a photograph captured what appeared to be a faintly visible old man in the theater. Keene's calling card is pipe smoke: a thick, pungent tobacco smell that fills the auditorium with nobody smoking anywhere in the building. Kay Wickert reported the house lights flickering and cutting out during a 1998 performance of "Jesus Christ Superstar," which she attributed to "our famous spooky electrical man, Percy Keene."

The woman in the rose-colored dress is harder to pin down. Lorraine Warren, the psychic investigator (yes, that Lorraine Warren, of Amityville and Conjuring fame), visited in 1984 during the restoration. She described seeing "a woman in a rose-colored dress carrying something like a cane," made of "iridescent material that first appeared pink, then blue." Warren called her a kind ghost. A young boy on a tour saw a "ghost lady" in Victorian dress standing in an aisle. Multiple visitors have spotted her independently over the years.

Warren also confirmed a headless male figure in Shakespearean costume in the balcony during both her 1984 and 1987 visits. The Grand has an unusual collection of spirits: a headless actor, a kind Victorian woman, a dead stagehand who won't stop working, a stagehand who suffocated in a coal bin in the basement, and a ghost dog.

The dog deserves its own paragraph. Warren saw "a dog with a large ruff" in 1984, though she said the presence was gone by her 1987 return. But performers and crew kept hearing it: barking in the basement late at night, the faint clicking of paws on a hard floor. During one performance, actors were asked to remove a dog from the stage. There was no dog.

Seaton summed it up: "It's haunted as a bedbug. Everyone who has worked here has heard them: doors slamming, dogs barking, footsteps. You get used to it." During his tenure, steel bars and heavy chain were ripped from an interior door overnight with all exterior doors locked. Sandbags from the backstage hoist system dropped onto the stage on their own.

In 1992, 18 students from Winneconne High School's psychology class spent the night investigating. One student saw a middle-aged man in blue pants and a red shirt in the balcony. Others felt watched but saw nothing. Several heard a dog barking inside the empty building. Joseph Ferlo, the theater's director for over 21 years, has never personally experienced anything supernatural despite spending tens of thousands of hours inside. But he's clear about what visitors tell him: "Absolutely never do I hear the story of a malevolent ghost. They're mischievous, they're pranksters, and they keep an eye on the place."

Wisconsin's oldest operating theater runs "Spirits of the Grand" ghost tours every October. They sell out. Ferlo's right that the ghosts here aren't scary. They're protective. Percy Keene watched a rope snap safely under a suspended stage assistant only after the man's feet touched ground. The Victorian woman smiles. The dog patrols. Even the headless actor just stands in the balcony, watching rehearsals he can no longer perform in.