Palace and Majestic Theaters

These former theaters in downtown Bridgeport now sit empty and deteriorating. Reports suggest the location served as the base of operations for infamous bootlegger Dutch Schultz, who allegedly killed people in the building.

When Italian immigrant Sylvester Z. Poli commissioned architect Thomas W. Lamb to design his grandest theater in 1921, neither man could have imagined the darkness that would seep into these walls. The Poli Palace Theatre opened on September 4, 1922, as Connecticut's largest theater—a 3,642-seat Beaux Arts cathedral of entertainment featuring vaulted ceilings, gilded hand-carved moldings, and a magnificent Hall theater organ. Eddie Cantor served as Master of Ceremonies for the star-studded opening, and two months later, the adjacent Majestic Theatre debuted with Cantor's revue "Make It Snappy." Mae West graced the stage in 1927. Between the two theaters stood the 109-room Savoy Hotel, its rooms offered for just $1.50 a night, with ten-foot ceilings, pedestal sinks, and claw-foot tubs.

But from the very beginning, something was wrong with the ground beneath.

During construction, workers unearthed Native American artifacts—arrowheads, pottery shards, and what some believed were human remains. The Golden Hill Paugussett tribe had maintained a settlement nearby for centuries, and the discovery led to whispered speculation that Poli had built his palace atop an ancient burial ground. Whether disturbed graves or something older, the land seemed to remember its original inhabitants.

Then came the gangsters.

On April 30, 1935, a black sedan pulled up to the Stratfield Hotel across Main Street. Out stepped Arthur Flegenheimer—better known as Dutch Schultz, Public Enemy Number One. The Prohibition-era bootlegger had fled New York after a deadlocked jury in his tax evasion trial, and Bridgeport's Mayor Jasper McLevy welcomed him, saying the crime boss "wouldn't be bothered as long as he behaves himself." For months, Schultz rode horseback in Fairfield, watched movies at the Palace, and invited women to his fourth-floor suite.

But Schultz rarely behaved.

Two men were murdered in the second-floor lobby of the Savoy Hotel during his stay. No one was ever charged. When Schultz departed Bridgeport on September 24, 1935, the violence seemed to linger in the walls. One month later, hitman Charlie "Bug" Workman walked into the Palace Chophouse in Newark and shot Schultz dead while he washed his hands in the bathroom.

The theaters declined as Bridgeport's factories closed. The Majestic went dark in 1971; the Palace followed in 1975 after a brief, ignominious run as an adult cinema. Both were placed on the National Register of Historic Places in 1979, but no restoration came. The Savoy emptied. The complex sat abandoned, slowly decaying into a 13-acre monument to lost grandeur.

That's when the real hauntings began.

Bridgeport Police Sergeant James Myers first entered the complex responding to break-ins. A chance meeting with legendary paranormal investigator Lorraine Warren changed everything. Ed Warren, Lorraine's late husband, had worked at the Poli as a teenager and often saw movies there with her. When Myers began photographing the ruins, things started appearing on his camera—orbs of light, so many that Warren began showing his slideshow during her lectures across the country.

Myers founded 826 Paranormal, named for his badge number, and partnered with fellow officer Martin Vincze to form the East Coast Paranormal Police. The team has investigated the complex repeatedly. Myers calls it "my baby." He has watched dark shadows descend staircases and pass through walls. He has heard the muffled hum of phantom crowds, as if performances continue for audiences long dead.

During one EVP session in the Savoy, Vincze asked, "Is anyone here? Can you say hi?" On playback, a young girl's voice answered clearly: "Hello!"

Shadow figures roam the theaters' ruined aisles. Unexplained noises echo through the Savoy's empty corridors. Orb photographs number in the dozens. In 2015, Bridgeport was voted one of America's most haunted cities, with the Poli-Palace and Majestic complex cited as a primary reason.

Some say the spirits are murder victims from Schultz's reign. Others believe they are Native Americans whose graves were disturbed. A few think Poli himself watches over his crumbling empire, or that the performers who once filled these halls with laughter refuse their final curtain call.

The building remains boarded and off-limits, though that hasn't stopped vandals, vagrants, and amateur ghost hunters. Multiple restoration deals have collapsed—a $400 million plan announced in 2017 quietly died during the COVID-19 pandemic. The architectural gems continue their slow decay, that sense of sadness and loss permeating throughout.

Ed and Lorraine Warren believed some places hold memory. The Poli Palace, Majestic Theater, and Savoy Hotel seem to hold too much—the echoes of vaudeville crowds, the shadows of Prohibition violence, and perhaps the oldest presences of all, disturbed from eternal rest when the foundation was first poured more than a century ago.