Ghosts of Mirror Lake and Pomerene Hall at OSU Main Campus

OSU’s main campus in Columbus is known for many things.  It’s the home of world class sports teams.  It’s the home of a public institution compared to ivy league universities for its excellence in higher education.

Few know that it’s also said to be home to a host of spirits who’ve lingered long after their earthly demise.

Come hear the tale of the most spotted ghost on campus, The Pink Lady of Mirror Lake.  She’s been seen gliding over the landmark’s surface for many decades.  She’s known to haunt nearby Pomerene Hall.  Rumor has it, her husband, a professor, took his own life at this place, more than a century ago.

Historical records bear that out.  But that ain’t even the half of it.

Come hear what this lore has to teach us about our own faulty assumptions.

If you enjoy this episode, please rate, review and subscribe to Ohio Folklore on your chosen podcast platform.  You can also find Ohio Folklore at:

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And as always, keep wondering…

Transcript

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Hello and welcome to Ohio folklore. I'm your host Melissa Davies. Today, we're exploring a little known legend from one of Ohio's most famed and storied institutions. It's been home to the buckeyes since 1870. And more than 150 years of its existence, its student enrollment has swelled to more than 50,000. A virtual city unto itself, this campus is the third largest in the US. This public ivy institution has produced Nobel laureates, Rhodes scholars, and Olympic medalist and yet, it has produced so much more. The Ohio State University has drawn passion and devotion from students and non students alike. Its beloved marching band, known for its elegant script Ohio performances is admired the world over its celebrated football team is the highest valued of any collegiate football team in the country, standing at 1.5 billion. With all this renown, you might think that most of what there is to be known about OSU is main campus and Columbus is pretty well known, or at least easily discovered. You'd be surprised. I know I was when I began researching today's topic. I've been eager to uncover a folktale attached to this much loved campus. With its prominent role and growing our state's leaders. I knew a compelling story had to be lingering in the shadows somewhere. Luckily, I discovered just what I'd been looking for. I can't wait to share it. I'm talking about the ghostly legends of Mirror Lake and Palmer marine Hall. Mirror Lake began as a simple natural spring, located on farmland that once belonged to a Mr. William Neal the university's founding trustees in charge of purchasing the land on which the campus would eventually stand chose this spot after drinking of its clear pure waters, and by 1895. This spring, which was once surrounded by grazing cattle and rows of corn, would be enlarged to allow for a natural water feature to form. Its waters were originally derived from the Olin, tangi River, and thus, university Lake, later dubbed Mirror Lake was born. Although well Now feeds the lake with groundwater. It's been an iconic landmark of the campus from the start. But don't let its Placid, calming waters fool you. This location for all its natural beauty and charm has been attached to controversy for many years, for a myriad of reasons. The most recent tragedy occurred in 2015 when a 22 year old student from Bellbrook died after participating in the Mirror Lake jump. It had become a yearly tradition for students 1000s of them to jump into the lake on a weeknight leading up to the fabled Ohio State Michigan game. Although university officials discouraged students from participating in the unruly Horde, many students indeed 1000s of them plunged into the icy waters year after year. You can easily find videos of mirror like jumps from the past, showcasing raucous college kids sea of shirtless young men and women clad in bikinis, screaming epithets about that team from up north. Although it was a fourth degree misdemeanor to leap into the lakes waters, university police had largely focused their efforts at keeping students safe during the event, as huge numbers of them kept coming year after year. In 2009, a study of ammonia levels in the lake over the course of the jump itself revealed that concentrations kept rising rapidly to alarming levels. Meaning basically, that students were urinating after jumping in bringing additional concerns as to sanitation and issues related to disease infection. But it wasn't until the tragic death of Austin Singletary six years later that the university would take decisive action to end this persistent and ultimately deadly tradition. Students had suffered various injuries through the years, including a woman who was left paralyzed in 1985 After diving into shallow waters had fun First, then in 2013, a man who was found unresponsive after jumping in would die of his injuries nearly a month later. It wasn't until the 2015 death, also resulting from head and neck trauma that the tradition ended. A major renovation project of the landmark began in 2016, resulting in the addition of a quick drain function. laws around recreating and the lake are now strictly enforced under criminal penalties. It's important to note that the ghostly legends attached to Mirror Lake and the stately pomarine Hall which abuts it, are not at all connected to this most recent death. It's also important to remember that family members of this young man, no doubt love and miss and still, we must be careful not to trivialize their loss as we explore the lore which has been attached to the spot for many, many decades. Remarkably, the riotous yearly jumps into the lake weren't its first source of controversy. pomarine Hall whose facade reflects off the surface of Mirror Lake is a stately and imposing structure, constructed a brick and limestone in 1922. It was the first location of the women's college on campus, it to underwent major renovations starting in 2016. Now complete, this building houses the art history department, and the translational data analytics Institute. For a building known for promoting advances in technology, only a few students, faculty and staff are aware of legendary tales that took root in the ground beneath its foundations. The following descriptions of local legends attached to this location are derived from multiple articles of the lantern, OSU student run newspaper, the oral tails as passed from person to person when something like this a professor from the early 20th century had committed suicide at the various site or Pomeranian Hall now stands. It was rumored that he was despondent over a failed business venture, in which he had convinced many colleagues to invest. His wife had persuaded him to seek help from the University President and Board of Trustees. sure they'd be willing to loan him the funds he needed. Yet he was turned away empty handed, and then had supposedly taken himself to what was then an empty pasture next to the newly formed mirror like and shot himself in the head. his lifeless body would be found the next morning, his grief stricken wife would vowed to never leave the spot where her beloved had fallen. When plans were soon set to build Palmer in Hall to house OSU a growing number of female students, the professor's widow became irate. She cursed the university, pledging she'd never allow her husband to be forgotten. Despite her determined efforts, she'd soon die of natural causes. The deceased couple is said to have haunted the hall for decades, disembodied footsteps have been heard by many unsuspecting students and faculty within DOORS once locked open themselves. One police officer patrolling the building late at night, reported being grabbed by an unseen force. Well, that had still been under renovation. The officer had gotten too close to the precarious edge of a hole in the floor. That's when something grabbed the officers ankle, stopping him in his tracks. When he turned his flashlight to the floor, nothing was there, yet the sensation of the grip remained. Sometimes the spirit of the professor's widow is seen on Mirror Lake itself. As OSU is most widely spotted ghost, she's been given the moniker the lady and pink. Students strolling by the lakes still, waters on icy winter days are known to spot a misty shape of a woman gliding, almost skating along the water surface. Others have spotted her transparent figure pairing from an upper window of palm marine Hall. She's always wearing the same pink ball gown. Some have spotted her inside the building as well. walking the hallways standing in the grand lounge, and specifically in room 213, where she pairs from the window overlooking the like legends like this, which sprout from the telling and retelling of the story, from one person to another, a bound in most any place with a deep abiding history. And with each new iteration comes new details, fresh motives, and a transformed perspective on just what these unexplained experiences mean. All of this evolution in the story must mean that it's basically fiction, right? The collective storytelling aspect of folktales results in a tale that's simply a good story, and nothing more. At least that's what many of us assume. Part of what I love about making these episodes is the discovery of the truth behind the fantastic claims. More often than not, I find the historical record offers insights as compelling as the ghostly sightings themselves. So without further ado, let me introduce you to the actual Professor fedrick Converse Clark and his wife, Adelaide Knight Clark. In the fall of 1903, Professor Clark had been living in a home on campus at 1634 Niall Avenue with his wife, their seven year old son, and four year old daughter, a young and upcoming star in the department's of sociology and economics. This 38 year old graduate of the University of Michigan, had taken the job at OSU. In doing so, he left an assistant professors position at Stanford of all places. Even back then, I was used reputation as a public ivy institution was well known, returning to the Midwest in hopes of rising through the ranks. This dapper and sophisticated former Wolverine hoped not only to shape the curriculum, but also to establish himself as a leader and Trailblazer among the faculty at large. he prided himself on being abreast of the latest in technology, and both social and economic forces of the day. He could demonstrate his knowledge, not only in the classroom, but in the real world. His insider view of economic headwinds provided him an advantage when it came to investment decisions. newspapers of the day were known to promote many quick get rich opportunities. They're a bit like the Bitcoin craze of our day. It seemed the world back then was a wash and undiscovered gold. Perhaps a fever remained from the heady days of the California gold rush of 1849. Tails of everyday Americans striking it rich loomed large in the imaginations of so many. No doubt Professor Clark knew well the advantages of getting in on the ground floor of such an investment. He likely stumbled across an article, such as the one that I found in the Atlanta Constitution in August 1903. It told of a Georgian Prospector, who founded a gold mine so rich, he would now retire a millionaire. He had just come home from his mind called the haunted lady in the Blue Ridge Mountains. He claimed the spirit of a mysterious woman named Lucy had led him to the exact spot and told him he'd find gold there. On a riding home to Atlanta, he carried a heavy sack of nuggets slung over his shoulder. On closer inspection, the specimens turned out to be pure gold. The going rate was a whopping $22 per ounce flush with cash, he'd had the luxury of choosing which eager bankers would fund the project. Workmen flocked to him lining up for a job in a mind that was sure to pay dividends. This was just one of many stories of gold mines popping up all over the country. The oral tale of this legend usually claims that the professor's failed venture was an investment in a gold mine and Alaska. The industry is right gold mining. The location however, is off by about 4000 miles. Many articles detail Professor Clark's lost savings in a gold mining operation in Georgia of all places. That that isn't the most interesting detail of the whole saga, not even by a longshot. Professor Clark's photograph and then it no one edition of OSU yearbook shows a prim and meticulously groomed young man wearing a hint of a smile You can see the picture for yourself in Ohio folklore.com. The glint in his eye stands out among the other photos of very staid and stoic looking colleagues. Instead of looking away, emotionless at some distant point, as the rest of the faculty do, Professor Clark looks to the camera, but the kind of eager expression this photo was taken two years before his death by his own hands. And they're just above his image is that a professor Frank re associate professor of mine engineering. Had he been the one to tell Professor Clark of a speculating opportunity and the new exploratory minds being dug in the northern Georgia mountains. It seems plausible, given the circumstances. Most articles covering his suicide make certain to mention that Professor Clark had not only sunk most of his own savings into the venture, that that he convinced a number of his colleagues to do the same. Just imagine how the dreadful news would have sank deep and heavy for him. The realization that he was now penniless must have been a humiliation to awful to bear. Professor Clark, an esteemed member of OSU faculty, and self claimed expert in economics of all things, had fallen prey to the promise of a quick fortune. Even worse, he persuaded his friends to do the same. Just how could he show his face again on campus? How could his students put faith in his own wisdom and judgment without his credibility, and without any way of even paying his monthly expenses, Professor Clark grew more and more despondent. Through desperate tears, he confessed to his wife Adelaide of the awful reality. With great effort and determination, she gotten him to take ownership of his decision, embrace humility, and ask for help. Although it took much convincing, he agreed to seek out President William Oxley Thompson and ask the university's help in securing a low interest loan for himself and the many colleagues who'd lost their fortunes alongside him. While no records exist as to the actual conversation, the assumption is that no such loan was secured. On the next morning of September 19 1903, Professor Clark was spotted walking in a field west of the North dormitory. this very spot would later become the foundation of palm marine Hall. his lifeless body found by a farmhand was laying facedown at the foot of the tree. His face was covered and gunpowder and bruises from the fall forward. A 32 caliber revolver rested in his class right hand. Blood had drained from a gaping wound in his head. further inspection by a medical examiner would indeed conclude that two bullets had been fired into his right temple. Remarkably, the incident was ruled a suicide despite this fact. news of his death spread quickly in newspapers across the country. Yet no articles questioned how Professor Clark after shooting himself once in the head, could have possibly managed to fire a second shot. It's a scenario that's hard to imagine. Good Professor Clark had taken his own life. Or is it possible that one of the faculty members he convinced to join and get rich quick scheme had murdered him in a rage? Whatever the case, no investigation ensued. And remarkably, the press didn't even entertain the question either. Back then sensational stories of drama and intrigue littered newspapers across the country. What might account for this glaring omission, who among OSU is prominent leaders of that time, might have carried sway with the editors of major newspapers will never know. Although Professor Clark has been dead almost 120 years, his story remains very much alive. It's been told and retold. Often with a few change details, yet the primary plotline remains intact. Unlike some tall tales, this one is actually rooted in historical truth. It's not difficult to find many articles that detailed the professor's unfortunate demise and Some editorial boards weren't above poking fun at the tragic situation. For example, the Union County Journal of Marysville quipped that the university professor of economics should have been more economical. No newspaper match this mug shot in Freud of the Chronicle telegram of Illyria. Its headline proclaimed Professor FC Clark of OSU suicides because a gold mine did not pan out. Professors Professor Clark's dramatic death on campus after his plea to the administration for help, was a story that permeated social circles on campus for many years. Some newspapers later reported on the epidemic of suicides among OSU faculty of that era. In fact, Professor Clark was one of three faculty to have committed suicide in less than a year. The other two a professor EA Eggers, and CW Maslow, were both of the German department. The first had shot himself in the head when pain from his rheumatism became too much to bear. The other had made previous attempts at overdosing in the past. His latest attempt succeeded shortly after he learned that he'd been passed over for promotion. In reading these stories today, there's an insanely pleasure taken in the way in which they are written, I guess exploiting the vulnerability of those elite academics made for good copy in those days. In any case, these stories just didn't make a splash when they happened, but they had staying power among the public for years to come. And our story that a professor Frederick Clark, doesn't end here. For the legend tells of an embittered and forever grieving wife, who supposedly cursed RSUs heartless response to relate husbands please. Just what does the historical record say about her? Adelaide Knight Clark, also a native of Ann Arbor, Michigan, married Professor Clark in 1891, at the age of 27. She followed him to California when he taken a job at Stanford, and then again to Columbus when he accepted a faculty position at OSU. It was there well into her 30s that she would bear him two children, a son and daughter. When he died in 1903, this dutiful wife and mother would return to Ann Arbor to raise her young children. As a single mother. She would never remarry. US census records from 1910 show that by that time, she owned her own home, a single mother raising teenagers by all appearances, she'd taken the reins, perhaps because it was what life demanded of her 10 years later, and 1920. She and her children now in their 20s, yet lived in the house she owned on Lincoln Avenue. Her ghostly reputation in this legend is that of an embittered spirit, haunting the grounds where her despondent husband took his own life. Yet that couldn't be further from the truth as evidenced by her passport stamped in 1922. At the age of 59, she'd set sail aboard a civilian passenger ship, called the Old North State, bound for Europe. With stops in Great Britain, the Netherlands, France, Belgium and more. She and her son Chester wouldn't only travel as tourist, but they would study abroad. They'd only secure passage on the ship after making a return visit to OSU. The esteemed guests of faculty who yet remain there on campus. Professor Clark's old colleagues were happy to see Adelaide and Chester moving forward, embracing what the world had to offer. It seems when her husband died, her life story did not have to die with him. Despite what the legend had to say, of the tragedy. The European endeavor would last for another two years before they return in late 1923. This widowed mother raised two children on her own. She would later relish her son's acceptance of a position at Harvard. She would spend her remaining years living with her daughter and son in law and Kentucky. A death certificate bearing her name indicates quote, probable malignancy of the lungs. As her cause of death in Jefferson County, Kentucky in 1935 at the age of 71. Her body was transported for burial back to Ann Arbor, where she was laid to rest next to her husband in Forest Hill Cemetery. All these years had passed, and she wanted her final resting place next to him. Sometimes folklore has a way of revealing our biases and basest assumptions. I believe this tale is a case in point sinsational deaths, especially those which expose the vulnerabilities of those perceived as impervious capture imaginations for generations. Yet although a kernel of truth lies at the root of this tale, the epilogue is all too telling of our own faulty assumptions, while a Professor Clark did once exist, and while his very public and gruesome death occurred at the location of a now haunted University Hall, the second part of the story couldn't be further from the truth. Adalet Clark did not define her whole existence as a wife to her husband. At a time when women still had no right to vote. She rose to the occasion. Despite whispered stories about her deep seated resentments toward the university, she did what any good parent must, she gave her children what they needed, she provided a platform from which they could grow and flourish. I find it quite fitting that OSU first built pomarine Hall to house the women's college. Now that I've gotten to know Adalet Clark as best I can, I'd like to think that she would have been quite pleased to see it constructed for this purpose, to help a vulnerable group of students more fully reach their potential. At a time when losing a male head of the household, meant a future of poverty and decline. She found a way forward for her family and made it happen in the face of destitution. She did what needed to be done, and found a path forward. And perhaps those frequent spottings of a woman in pink gliding across the Mirror Lake is not a representation of this ghost angry and embittered spirit. Perhaps she means to express the kind of approval of what OSU has done with the place because one way to respond to death, especially of the most tragic kind, is to accept its weight, and move forward. While we all know we'll face our own demise someday, the real gift is a knowing we ain't dead yet. What we do with our current circumstances, is what matters at the end of the day. I'd like to think that the misty feminine shape often spotted at the storied OSU location stands not as an image of bitterness, but is a reminder of what we can do when the fates demand we must all work to grow where we're planted. It's a lesson for the ages to be sure. For any of you listeners, who may be struggling with thoughts of suicide of your own, or perhaps have loved ones who suffer the same know there's hope. reaching out for help is the first step. You could connect with the National Suicide Hotline at 1-800-273-8255. This concludes today's episode on the ghostly legends of Mirror Lake and Palmer marine Hall on OSU campus. I hope you've liked it. If so, please rate review and subscribe to Ohio folklore on your chosen podcast platform. You can find Ohio folklore at Ohio folklore.com And on Facebook. And as always, keep wondering