lower floor.
The University of Miami School of Medicine was housed in the building for a time, and after the war, the hotel remained as a Veteran’s Administration Hospital until 1968.
The building sat empty for five years until the City of Coral Gables, through the Historic Monuments Act and Legacy of Parks program, took possession. It remained empty for another ten years while the City decided what to do with it. Finally, in 1983, Coral Gables began restoring the old hostelry, and after four years and fifty-five-million dollars, it opened again as a grand hotel. It remained open only three years because of the poor economy in the late 1980s and once again sat empty.
But in June 1992, the Seaways Hotels Corporation bought the building and began a ten-year, forty-million-dollar renovation with a remarkable team of architects and engineers, including the acclaimed interior designer, Lynn Wilson. Guest rooms were renovated, new computer and telephone systems were installed, and the seven-hundred-thousand-gallon swimming pool was resurfaced with polished marble. The Biltmore is once again the crown jewel of Coral Gables.
Joanne, my ghost-magnet pal, hadn’t been able to go to the Keys with Sue and me, but she joined us now on our Miami visit. Our first stop was the Biltmore.
Sue was amazed at the changes. During summers when she was in high school, she had visited a friend who had moved to Coral Gables. On one visit, the girls went to the VA hospital, where her friend’s father worked, and they were able to tour the facility, even going to the top of the tower for a view of the city. She remembered the hospital as a very austere place, very clean, but lacking any aesthetic value. The walls were painted in putrid government green. She was astounded by the renovation, the beautiful carpeting, the paintings, and furnishings. It definitely was not the same building she had been in so long ago.
Joanne, of course, was in her element. As she is prone to do, she struck up conversations with maintenance workers, maids, and even guests we met in the hallways, and we heard dozens of stories. She also discovered several entities roaming the halls just as we were, especially in the area that had housed the morgue. One of the maintenance workers whom we spoke with told us that even to this day, lights are turned on and off, and music with no identifiable source is heard. He said that once as he was standing in the lobby late in the evening, he heard a loud crash, which sounded like a large vase or urn being smashed to the floor. When he looked around, everything was in order.
A maid told us that a young woman wearing a white dress had died in the Biltmore in a fall from a fifth-floor balcony. Her six-year-old son had been playing on the balcony and had climbed onto the railing just as she had entered the room. Horrified, she rushed to grab him off the railing and fell over herself. Now a residual haunting, she is seen in various rooms and hallways by many of the guests. Joanne was thrilled later to see the woman in the hallway.
The “Woman in White,” as she is called, is well known at the Biltmore, but the most famous—or infamous—ghost is that of Fatty Walsh, Miami’s most powerful gangster during Prohibition years. Among his many illegal enterprises, Fatty ran a speakeasy and casino on the thirteenth floor of the hotel. He was known by everyone who was anyone in Miami. Gangsters, movie stars, sports figures, and politicians, even the police, knew Fatty Walsh. He had hundreds of friends, but he also had a good share of enemies. As the story goes, one night an angry patron who’d lost a fortune, or perhaps a hit man for another crime boss, shot him in the crowded casino.
With Fatty Walsh gone, the hotel closed and cleaned the casino, but Fatty’s legend—and maybe his ghost—has lived on. He chain-smoked cigars, enjoyed good liquor, and liked his women. Even to this day, people report smelling cigar smoke in the halls, and women especially experience strange sensations as they move around the hotel.
In one especially bizarre incident, a young couple was exploring the hotel and stepped into an elevator. Before they had a chance to push any buttons, the door closed, and the elevator rose, stopping at the thirteenth floor. That floor is now a private suite and accessible only with a specially coded key, but the door opened. The couple stood in the elevator for a moment, then the very attractive young woman stepped out into the suite. The door shut rapidly, and the elevator started down. The woman’s husband, beside himself, began pushing buttons but to no avail until the elevator stopped in the lobby, and the door opened again.
Frantic, the young man raced off the elevator to find a bellhop. Although he was reluctant to believe the man because he knew that suite was unoccupied at the time, the bellhop used his coded key to take them back up to the thirteenth-floor suite. When the elevator door opened, the young woman rushed into her husband’s arms. She related to the men that as she had stood in the suite, she had been enveloped by cold air and could smell a very strong scent of cigar smoke, although she couldn’t see any. She also had heard music and people talking and laughing. She’d had the overwhelming sense that someone was standing right behind her and had even called out to see if anyone were there, but no one answered.
Finally, there is the story of a certain politician in the 1990s who was staying in the thirteenth-floor suite and wanted to watch a Saturday afternoon football game. When he turned on the television, there was nothing but snow and static. His Secret Service men quickly called the hotel engineer, who could find nothing wrong with the TV set. Even when sets were switched, there was no reception. The politician eventually had to leave the hotel to view the game at a friend’s house. Perhaps Fatty Walsh was a Republican.
Joanne, Sue, and I spent the entire afternoon meandering around the place. It seemed to be a slow day, and the employees and guests we met were willing to stop and chat, regaling us with stories of the strange things that had happened in the hotel.
The Biltmore Hotel may or may not be the most haunted hotel in America, but it is certainly one of the most luxurious. If Fatty Walsh truly does haunt its halls, he has chosen a wonderful place to spend eternity.
Spotlight on Miami River Inn
Miami River Inn is a cozy little jewel nestled on the Miami Canal just south of I-395 and west of I-95. And it is a real hideaway, nothing fancy but very comfortable, close to downtown Miami, the beach, and dozens of great restaurants. In former times, it was the destination of presidents, celebrities, and dignitaries. Henry Flagler even stayed at the hotel in the early 1900s. It is not only a hostelry of note, it is also haunted. The inn was built in 1910 and has seen several makeovers. Reportedly, it was once a funeral parlor. Maybe that’s why it’s haunted. Or maybe not.
In one of the rooms (let’s call it room 12), there seems to be a residual haunting that replays itself every day at 11 P.M., very inconvenient if you’re not a night owl. First, precisely at eleven, a door opens and slams shut, very loudly. Then what sounds like feet being wiped on a doormat can be heard. Next there is silence, followed by the sound of running feet—and it sounds like it’s coming right into room 12. Then the door of the room rattles, and the knob actually shakes, followed by crashing lamps, vases, pictures. In room 12, it sounds as if someone is ransacking the room above. Then more running feet, bounding up the stairs, followed by the sound of the door of the room above room 12 opening and slamming shut again. After a moment of silence, the furniture upstairs begins to move around, scraping, bumping, thumping, smashing against the walls and the floor. The vibrations can be felt in room 12. After an hour, it finally stops. Now, if you can, you’re free to go to sleep. Nothing will happen again until 11 P.M. tomorrow. If you’re a morning person and like to go to bed early, perhaps you shouldn’t stay in this room. On the other hand, if you’re not there for the nightlife, why are you in Miami?
CHAPTER 7
The Colony Hotel & Cabaña Club
DELRAY BEACH
