I have lollygagged my afternoon away with a cemetery and ice cream. The vandalism at Mt. Olivet is really bad, not just Ben Allen’s family. And there was a weird smell all afternoon that I just now realized is me. Oops, sorry Professor. The bigger question is why my car smells like cigarette smoke lately. Perhaps it’s taken up smoking. I don’t know.
Right, The Thing.
In Forty Years of Psychic Research: A Plain Narrative of Fact by Hamlin Garland, we read a recount of Itta K. Reno’s summation of an encounter with a beast summoned at a seance. (I looked Ms. Reno up in the census and Itta K. Reny was a real person who lived a few blocks from the Allens.) She and her seance-y friends had accidentally conjured up this beast. A lawyer heard about it and scoffed.
“With a snort of derision, the lawyer sceptic [sic] replied, ‘I’m going to prove that there’s neither cat nor dog under the table.’
“Getting down on the floor he began to feel about with his hand. Suddenly, with a yell, he scrambled to his feet, caught up his hat, and rushed from the house. On the following day he explained his panic. ‘A huge hairy beast hurled itself against me–a brute, of enormous power. It followed me all the way home.'”
Garland later hears from Judge John M. Dickinson that he also heard that story and knows the group under discussion. I found a lawyer John M. Dickinson boarding at the Maxwell House in 1880, but I can’t quickly find him in later censuses.
But I think that’s got to be the Allens and their Thing, don’t you? How many not-dog/not-cat manifestations can their have been among ritzy Nashvillians at the turn of the century?
Well, truly, who knows? Maybe they were just conjuring up spirit animals left and right.
I wonder where The Thing is now?