New Orleans Pharmacy Museum

Home to America's first licensed pharmacy, established in 1823. The building preserves a fascinating collection of antique apothecary equipment, voodoo potions, and early surgical instruments. Its second owner left a far darker legacy.

The New Orleans Pharmacy Museum occupies a three-story brick building at 514 Chartres Street that once served as the private practice of America's first licensed pharmacist. Within its glass and mahogany cabinets, antique handblown apothecary jars contain crude drugs, medicinal herbs, and voodoo powders—relics of an era when the line between medicine and magic was blurred, and the line between healing and harm was sometimes crossed altogether.

Louis J. Dufilho Jr. became the nation's first licensed pharmacist in 1816, after Louisiana passed laws regulating who could practice pharmacy and medicine. He transformed his French Quarter home into a bustling shop brimming with exotic ingredients and custom cures. In those days, pharmacists functioned more like doctors, diagnosing conditions and compounding treatments from plants, herbs, minerals, and even animal parts and insects. Leeches, opium, and voodoo remedies were all part of the accepted pharmacopeia.

Dufilho Jr. and his family lived in the building until 1855, when he sold it to Dr. Joseph Dupas and his wife. Under Dupas, the pharmacy's reputation took a darker turn. Gossip spread that he engaged in unethical experiments, mixing tonics that didn't work while adding addictive components like cocaine and heroin to his prescriptions. Whispers suggested he practiced voodoo rites within the building itself. Most disturbing were rumors that he "imposed shocking experiments on pregnant slaves." Dupas lived in the house until his death from syphilis in 1867.

The hauntings at the Pharmacy Museum reflect this dual legacy of healing and harm. The most common apparition is Dr. Dupas himself: a short, stocky, late middle-aged man with a mustache who roams the premises. His ghost has been blamed for knocking books off shelves and pushing people on the stairs—perhaps the same aggression he showed toward his victims in life.

But gentler spirits haunt the museum as well. Several tourists have witnessed a young boy and girl playing happily together in the gardens behind the pharmacy. Their descriptions match two of the four Dufilho children who died from childhood illnesses during the 1820s and 1830s. These innocent spirits seem unaware that nearly two centuries have passed since they lived and died in this building.

The most disturbing phenomena affect pregnant women who visit the museum. On the second floor, where Dupas allegedly performed his experiments on enslaved pregnant women, visitors have reported sudden nausea and abdominal cramps—physical symptoms that seem connected to the suffering that occurred in these rooms.

The museum displays mortar and pestles, glass medicine bottles, surgical instruments, and a jar marked "leeches." It does not advertise its haunted reputation, preferring to focus on educating visitors about pharmaceutical history. But those who tour the building often sense that the history here goes beyond what is displayed in the cases—that the spirits of healers and tormentors alike still occupy these rooms.