The Haunted Theater of Seattle: A Superstition of 1876
A group of locals at the Occidental Hotel exchange tales of theater lore, specifically the peculiar story of a spider that allegedly predicted the success of a New York stage house for ten consecutive seasons.
The story, cleaned up
A cleaned-up reading of the newspaper page: spelling and layout repaired, one story lifted off a crowded page. It follows the original closely but it is not a transcription. The original page is below; read it if a detail matters.
A strange incident occurred in one of the parlors of the Occidental Hotel yesterday. Charley Thorne, Stuart Robson, Morris Wheeler, and Phillips were taking a smoke when the conversation turned on luck and the power of luck. 'You can deny it,' said Robson, 'but other people can't deny it, no matter if they look at the facts of the theater, and you can't take faith away from it.' Robson then told the story of Oakey Hall regarding a fateful spider. It was when Mitchell had the Olympic theater. One day during rehearsals, an enormous spider was seen crawling down one of the wings. The ladies were frightened, but the men watched it with interest. It crawled across the stage and disappeared. The season that followed was the most prosperous the house had ever known. On the first day of the next season's rehearsal, that same spider appeared again, walked the same path, and once more, the season was a huge success. Year after year, the spider returned on the first day, and the company began to watch for it with superstitious reverence. Mitchell claimed he would not have traded that spider for a thousand dollars. At the end of the ninth season, the spider appeared, but on the tenth season's opening, a woman suddenly screamed, 'Oh, look, the rascal!' and set her foot on the spider, crushing out its life. From that day, the theater's luck turned, and one disastrous production followed another, eventually leading Mitchell to lose the house entirely. Some people say the spider was merely disturbed by the cleaning of the theater, but the theater folks were certain: the death of the mascot brought the end of their fortune.
“You can deny it, but other people can't deny it, no matter if they look at the facts of the theater, and you can't take faith away from it.”
This story highlights the enduring, often irrational, power of local superstitions—a phenomenon still very much alive in Seattle's historic arts districts. Just as the actors at the Olympic feared the death of their 'mascot,' modern artists and business owners in Pioneer Square often view the preservation of historic spaces as a talisman against the volatility of the city's shifting economic landscape.
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