Ghosts along the Texas Coast (14 page)

It was not until many years later that a real city, which also took the name of the bay, grew up along the waterfront. The area was inhabited by numerous Indian tribes, and while the Spanish, and later the Mexicans, knew of the bay, no settlement was established there until 1839. The adventurous impresario and colonizer Colonel Henry Lawrence Kinney founded a trading post there, doing business with some of the settlers in the area.

The little post remained rather obscure until 1845, when its real growth began. Today, it is one of America's major seaports and an important recreational area as well. It is the home of the Texas State Aquarium and the U.S.S.
Lexington
Museum. Its shores are protected from the ravages of stormy seas by a beautiful seawall, which was designed by Gutzon Borglum, the famous sculptor who fashioned the presidential faces on Mount Rushmore.

Right within walking distance of the famous aircraft carrier the U.S.S.
Lexington
, often referred to as the “Great Blue Ghost” which is now permanently docked in Corpus Christi Bay, there's a restaurant called Blackbeard's. The popular spot on the North Beach (referred to as “C.C. Beach”) has an interesting ghost legend, which the owner-manager, Steve Bonillas, revealed to us on a recent visit to Corpus.

The menu, which features a variety of tasty Mexican food, burgers, salads, and seafood, is printed with a cover story, the “Legend of Blackbeard's”:

In the summer of 1955 this building was not green. Nor was it a restaurant. It was a bar. The North Beach area of Corpus Christi was a fun, active, and sometimes wild place to hang out. On a warm night people would crowd to the old bar, laughing and talking. The bar itself is still in its original position, but now it is a counter to the kitchen. Legend has it that there was an argument one evening over a red-headed woman. Shots were fired, and the redhead and a fast talking New Orleans roughneck headed north on the old causeway. Neither they nor their gold Hudson were ever seen again. But they left behind a man on the floor . . . and possibly a ghost! Over the years many strange occurrences have been reported by customers as well as employees. Chairs move. Doors slam. Lights blink on and off. Voices in conversation have been heard long after the last customer departed. One old-timer used to order two beers every time he came in. He said the second one on the bar was for the ghost!

In 1962 the flamboyant entrepreneur and amateur magician Colonel Larry Platt bought the little bar and added a
dining room. He called it the Spanish Kitchen, and from the start, it was the “in” place to go on the North Beach. Popular for good food, fun, and a gathering place for friends and visitors, the Spanish Kitchen tradition continues today as Blackbeard's on the Beach. Next to the clean beaches of Corpus Christi Bay, the
Lexington
, and the Texas State Aquarium, Blackbeard's is proud to be part of the new North Beach . . . fun, lively, and the place to be!

And while some do, and some don't, believe in ghosts, we at Blackbeard's still leave a beer on the old bar in memory of that summer of '55.

Now, this story on the menu was so fascinating to me, that it just naturally called for some extra sleuthing. I talked on the telephone at length with Paula Bonillas, Steve's wife, who was kind enough to put me in touch with Colonel Platt, who now resides in Pleasanton, south of San Antonio. Incidentally, the “Colonel” is an honorary title, bestowed on the gentleman as an “Honorary Colonel of Texas” by then-Governor Alan Shivers.

A conversation with Colonel Platt seemed to refute much of the legend printed on the Blackbeard's menu. He revealed that the bar and restaurant he opened in 1962 was an entirely different building from the earlier structure. He said when he bought the lot, the building that was there was so run down, he had it completely demolished and built his place of concrete block where the other building had once stood. He did not mention that he had any feelings that the building might have been haunted during the time he ran the business there, nor did he put much credence on the “red-headed woman” story. He did say that he had one theory why the place might be haunted now, however.

The Platts owned a motel . . . they were called tourist courts back then, that was adjacent to the Spanish Kitchen. It was called Stewart's Courts, the Colonel told me. There were about sixteen separate little cabins, with a parking space by each one, and the place was usually well occupied. Platt recalled one man, a fellow in his mid-forties, who had a job over at Ingleside at the Reynolds Plant and actually resided at the motel. He would come into the Spanish Kitchen night after night, sit down at the bar, and proceed to down a few beers. He was a strange character, according to Colonel Platt. He always carried a hunting rifle with him, and he loved to play the jukebox. Platt said he would play the
same song over and over until he would have to ask the man to lay off for a while so the other customers could have a turn at playing their selections. The tune he played over and over again was “As Time Goes By.” The man had revealed he was very depressed over the fact he was newly separated from his wife. Platt said he guessed the man was even more despondent than anyone had suspected, because one night after downing a couple of beers and playing “his song” on the jukebox, he walked out of the restaurant, entered his little cabin, put his rifle in his mouth, and pulled the trigger. Colonel Platt said if there's any kind of “spirit” around, it certainly could be that of the man who so tragically ended his life. Maybe he is just returning to listen to the jukebox and down a few beers at the bar.

Whoever the “spirit” may be, Steve Bonillas firmly believes that Blackbeard's is haunted. He told me lots of times they feel cold spots in the place. Chairs have been known to move around when the place is closed for the night, and the door, which is very heavy, has blown open when no wind was blowing, and it sometimes has even blown open when a high wind was blowing against it! Felipe Villanueva, one of the cooks at Blackbeard's, once saw the salt and pepper shakers jump up and fly across a table! Bonilla, Villanueva, and Dennis Marshal, another cook, all have witnessed the door opening when no one was around, and all three men strongly believe something they don't understand is causing strange things to happen periodically at Blackbeard's.

For whatever reason “it” comes around, we're glad “it” stays away from the kitchen. The Mexican food we ate at Blackbeard's sure was good, and we wouldn't want anything to change that!

After serving her country for nearly fifty years (1943-1991), the great aircraft carrier U.S.S.
Lexington
(CV16) has come to a permanent safe harbor, at the port city of Corpus Christi on the Texas Gulf Coast. As a naval museum, under the custodial care of the Corpus Christi Convention and Visitors Bureau and many devoted and dedicated volunteers, she will be visited and suitably honored for many years to come.

During World War II, the
Lexington
was often referred to as the Great Blue Ghost, a name bestowed upon her by Tokyo Rose, who gained notoriety during the war for her propaganda broadcasts to Allied troops. Painted in Measure II “Sea Blue,” the ship blended well with the azure seas she sailed. Hit once by a torpedo in December of 1943 and severely damaged by a kamikaze attack in December 1944, the Japanese reported her sunk at least four times. But after repairs and restoration, she came back each time to contribute greatly to the U.S. war effort in the Pacific theater. The valiant ship received the Presidential Unit Citation: “For extraordinary heroism in action against enemy Japanese forces in the air, ashore, and afloat in the Pacific War Area from September 18, 1943, to August 15, 1945.” The “Lady Lex” earned battle stars and awards for operations in the Gilbert Islands, Asia-Pacific raids, Lyte, Luzon, and Iwo Jima, as well as the Third Fleet operations against Japan. She was everywhere, and anywhere, she was needed, with her crew of 2,500 men and 250 officers and her hangar bays capable of handling at least forty aircraft ready to strike.

The huge ship with its 910-foot flight deck (so large that 1,000 automobiles could be comfortably parked upon it!) has been “home” to literally thousands of seamen and aircraft crews over its fifty-year history. There were many casualties during her years of service, including nine men killed and thirty-five wounded after being torpedoed, and
forty-seven men killed and one hundred twenty-seven injured after the 1944 kamikaze attack. There were probably many other deaths as well, from illness, fever, and various accidents on board ship.

Today the ship is no longer sailing; she is no longer the launching pad for countless naval aircraft. She is no longer painted blue, either. When she was given a streamlined island structure and a new mast, and her deck was angled to accommodate the coming of the jet age, she was also given a new paint job. Today she is “haze gray.”

From 1962 until November of 1991 she served as a training carrier, based at Pensacola, Florida. From her first training operation in 1963 until her decommissioning in 1991, an average of 1,500 pilots were carrier qualified on her each year.

Now, men are known to love their ships. That's probably why they have always referred to them as being of the feminine gender. A ship always seems to be called a “she.” As for the “Lady Lex,” there are some men whose spirits have never left the ship they served and loved so well. They still remain in the staterooms, briefing rooms, decks, passageways, and sick bays of their ship. Therein lies a story, or several stories, in fact.

Soon after my husband and I visited the
Lexington
in February of 1993,1 spoke with a friend about having seen the great ship. This gentleman, Sam Nesmith, is a well-known military historian, and he also possesses great psychic powers. After I mentioned my visit, he told me
that he and his wife, Nancy, had recently visited the ship as well, and he said he felt the ship had a number of “resident spirits,” earthbound to the ship and either unable, or unwilling, to leave. He said he especially felt a deep sense of pain and sadness in the dark corridor near a first-aid station, and in the “fo'c'sle” area, near the anchor, he also noted a very strong “presence.” But it was in the Pilot's Ready Room Number One that he felt an overwhelming presence. It literally filled the room! Sam had brought a camera, with very high-speed film. He took a direct shot into the room. When the film came back from being developed, there, very visible, was a pilot, seen from the shoulders up. Very discernible was a collar and a head with a World War II era pilot's helmet and goggles. The face appeared to be “skull-like,” according to Nesmith, who strongly believes it was the spirit of a pilot who did not make it back after a sortie, and is still struggling to return for his debriefing.

The U.S.S.
Lexington
after modifications to superstructure and deck, 1960s

As we were planning another trip to Corpus Christi in August 1993, I decided to try and contact someone connected with the Lexington Museum to see if anyone there had experienced any unusual encounters of a supernatural nature. A telephone call to the curator's office brought me in contact with Derek Neitzel, assistant to the curator and the resident graphic artist at the ship museum. He didn't laugh when I asked him “Could there possibly be a ghost on the
Lexington
?” Instead, we made an appointment to meet on the ship on Friday, August 13.

I met Derek, a very personable young man, at 10 a.m., and we spent the next two and a half hours in conversation as he showed me some places on the ship not on the regular tourist route. He also told me about some of his personal experiences, as well as those of his coworkers. He showed me a short videotape made by a local television studio, that included an interview with Derek speaking about some of his experiences with “spirits” as he took the TV crew over various parts of the ship, where he later took me. He said one of the first experiences he had was at twelve noon on a Saturday, when he was working alone in his office. This was very soon after he had come to work on the ship. He heard, in a passageway near his office, the loudest banging and rattling imaginable! He traced it to the metal door to the ship's former radio station, WLEX. The door was actually shaking and vibrating. Derek said, “Hello,” to which there was no response, and no letting up. Then he went to find the “D.C.” (damage control) personnel. This is the name used on the ship for the firemen, paramedics, and security staff
people. When the man arrived, there was no one there, of course, and no way to explain the vibrating, banging door. Incidentally, the door, which Derek pointed out to me, is a very heavy metal sliding door which is secured by a sliding metal bar.