York County Register of Probate Carol Lovejoy points to the door behind the judge’s bench in the large courtroom on the second floor of York County Court House in Alfred, where, some employees say, a presence has made itself known. Courtesy photo/ Tammy Wells
It has been said various times over several years that when employees work at the York County Court House in Alfred at night or even during a weekend day when no one else is around, odd things happen. There can be strange, unnerving happenstances that send a shiver up the spine.
It is more than doors slamming, willy nilly, though that happens, too.
Sometimes, there are footsteps. Sometimes, there is a presence. Sometimes, a shadow.
Unnerving, unsettling and unexplained, by all accounts.
The stately York County Court House was built in 1806, according to historical accounts. It was remodeled in 1852 and fireproof wings added in 1854. In February 1933, the center structure of the building was destroyed by fire. It was rebuilt in 1934 and enlarged in 1963.
Like other old buildings, there are creaks and drafts — but in this case, folks say there is more.
Register of Probate Carol Lovejoy, who has worked for York County Maine Government for 43 years, remembers hearing tales of a presence — the ghost, perhaps, of a long-deceased judge said to have taken his own life in the building in years gone by.
“We were told that if you come into the courthouse at night and sit in the big courtroom upstairs, the door behind the (judge’s) bench will open,” Lovejoy said. The light that is always on in the room behind the bench would pour into the courtroom as the door opened, and as it closed again, “you could hear papers rattling on the bench,” she related.
One night some years ago, a group of friends who were attending a regular square dance event in the basement of the building decided to see for themselves what, if anything, might happen.
“We sat in the back row; it was pitch dark,” said Lovejoy. She said the group never saw the door open or a light shining, like in the tale she was told, “but all of a sudden a shadow passed around the room, right to left,” she said. And even though she was dressed in three layers that night, “I felt a bad chill.”
York County Government Manager Greg Zinser told of his experience a few years ago: “I responded to a ‘trouble’ alarm at the courthouse at around 1 a.m.,” said Zinser. “I parked in the back and went in through the employee entrance. The building itself was pitch black except for the very muted spillover from the exterior lights as well as the very small red lights that were blinking on the alarm panel.” Zinser said he turned the lights on inside and proceeded to walk down the long marble-floored hallway on the first floor.
“As I walked, I stopped to check on one of the rooms and that is when I heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps coming from behind,” said Zinser. “The footsteps had the familiar echo that one experiences when walking through the halls of the courthouse. The footsteps themselves didn’t last for a long time, just long enough for me to hear them and let the hair rise on the back of my neck. I did finish the building walkthrough, though I did move faster.”
Debra Ham, a 35-year employee of the Registry of Deeds, was working overtime, along with others, one Saturday several years ago and was alone in one of the offices.
“I thought I saw Lois Muse walk through,” she said speaking of the register of deeds at the time. “I recognized her with her sweater and her hair. I called out her name, but she didn’t answer so I jumped up to catch her — and she wasn’t around; she wasn’t even here.”
Court security officer Dennis Chagnon is stationed in the lobby of the main entrance. He said occasionally, the metal detector will sound off of its own accord when no one is around, or doors will open on their own.
Employees refer to the “presence” somewhat affectionately, and at times with exasperation, as George.
“We always say it’s George,” said Chagnon.
Richard Gaudette of the maintenance department used to work nights in the courthouse. “I saw George’s shadow everywhere,” he said over the course of his 31 years in the county’s employ.
He recalled a former co-worker saying he saw a figure in a black robe pass by when the two were working in the building one night and thought it was Gaudette playing a trick on him — but Gaudette was working in another part of the building on a different floor. The co-worker then refused to work alone in the building and six months later, quit, saying, Gaudette recalled, “he’d had enough of that.”
Lovejoy, the register of probate, recalls another incident that happened one day after she carried a stack of case files from her office to the probate courtroom nearby, and left them on the corner of the judge’s desk.
“I left the room. I heard a loud bang and went back in. The files were neat in the pile, on the floor,” she said, not scattered as they would be if they had merely slid from the desk. “I said ‘George, leave my files alone,’ and they were fine after that. He likes to play tricks.”
These days, there are fewer folks working in the building now that the state courts have been consolidated and have moved to a new facility in Biddeford. Still, the county-owned courthouse remains open, and is the home of some county departments and affiliates — and, folks say, George.
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