Eiffel Tower

A quick trip back to Leesburg, Virginia, brought back a lot of memories. For old times sake, my husband, daughter, and I retraced the ghost tour of downtown Leesburg to see how many of the stories I remembered from guiding tours a number of years ago. In those days, my husband or one of my sons would often accompany me to act as a sweeper, the person that makes certain everyone crosses the road safely, and to act as a bodyguard. I have always said I fear the living much more than the dead!

Our recent return not only reminded us of the great stories that thrive in historical Leesburg, but also of our own experiences on the tours. Interaction with other tour guides, area businesses, paranormal enthusiasts, and tourists has provided some of the best fodder to my insatiable story gathering. Allow me to preface this story with an adamant My husband is a skeptic. Let me reiterate and emphasize - my husband is the most skeptical person I know, to the point that I do not bother to share stories with him because he will analyze and criticize the life out of a good ghost story (pun intended!) However, as he served as sweeper on one of my tours, he experienced something that even he could not fully explain away.

On a pleasant spring Sunday evening, I accepted a last-minute request from some Penn State students to give an impromptu tour. They were departing early Monday and had only just heard of the tour. My husband was willing to accompany me, so we headed downtown to meet the group at a local restaurant. The small group consisted of three guys and a couple of local girls they had met in the bar. All had imbibed and were in high spirits. As a rule, I discourage alcohol consumption before a tour, but the group was very polite and promised to be respectful.
The tour progressed smoothly and they stayed true to their word, but, as often happens to people who choose to drink before a two-hour tour, nature came calling. Late on a Sunday evening, it is very difficult to find an open toilet. By our third stop, one of the patrons couldn't wait any longer. As I said, they were a polite group and stepping into the bushes was not an option.

Across the road from the old stone house, the Eiffel Tower restaurant appeared to be serving in a courtyard behind the building, so we sent our potty-dancing tourist across the road to use their bathroom. The lights and noise were actually a private party being held at the upscale Thomas Birkby House, but we did not learn that until our humbled, and noticeably sobered, college student returned to tell us he had just asked a large gathering of well-dressed, upper class party-goers if he could crash their party to use the toilet. In his words "They were really nice people!" While he did his business, I continued on with the tour and my husband stayed in front of the stone house to help our wayward guest catch-up with the group.

My husband is a very patient person, but he became a bit concerned when the young man was not returning. Unaware that the student was unable to get into the restaurant and had to cross half a city block to go into the Birkby House, my husband peered intently into the darkened windows of the Eiffel Tower from the security of his side of Loudoun Street. The building was obviously empty, except for a man standing in the shadows of the window looking just as intently at my husband. Their eyes locked and the man in the Eiffel Tower restaurant, realizing he had been spotted, nodded politely at my husband. Just then the student returned from his bathroom break. "What you looking at," he asked?

"The guy in the window of the restaurant." The student scanned the windows of the building but could see no one.

"What guy?"

"The guy wearing the fancy clothes and top hat. In the bottom left window. He's got on a white shirt and a black jacket. Looks like a tux."

"I don't see anybody, man."

"He's gone." It was only later that my husband shared with me that the man didn't back away from the window or turn and walk away. He was just gone. There one minute and gone another. By week's end, he was rationalizing that a party guest had slipped into the restaurant or an employee was doing some late night clean-up. It wasn't until our recent visit to Leesburg that he brought the incident up again and admitted that the whole thing puzzled him.

Prior to that night, I knew very little of the Eiffel Tower's reputation. I had heard rumors that it harbored a ghost, but the stories had not caught my interest enough to merit investigating or adding to my tour. It was only after my husband's experience that I learned that the haunting of the Eiffel Tower involved a well-dressed gentleman who sat silently at a table in the corner of the upstairs dining room. His description is eerily familiar: white shirt, black tails and a dignified top hat sitting casually on the table top.