Stupid Question ™
March 29, 2004
By John Ruch
© 2004
Q: In 100 words or less, what’s the difference between Spring-Heeled Jack and the Jersey Devil?
—anonymous, from the Internet
A: A hundred words or less?! Everybody’s an editor!
These two 1800s bogeymen, both of whom existed mostly in the fevered brains of sensationalist newspaper writers, certainly have a lot in common. Winged, horned, semi-dangerous, thoroughly silly…the list goes on.
The basic difference is that Spring-Heeled Jack was a figment of the English imagination, while the Jersey Devil was dreamt up in New Jersey and Pennsylvania.
Also, Spring-Heeled Jack is the more likely to have some basis in reality. He may also have inspired the Jersey Devil mania.
Typically for such urban (or rural, as the case may be) legends, the histories of these fantastical fiends are hazy and vary from source to source.
Spring-Heeled Jack may date to early-1800s legendry about a high-jumping, quasi-supernatural man. In any case, the London papers got ahold of the idea in 1838, quickly regaling readers with tales of three young women who were assaulted by a person who somehow blew fire into their faces and assaulted them.
In one case, he was reported to be wearing some type of helmet and a white oilskin jumpsuit. As the stories grew more outlandish, he supposed was also seen dressed as a white bull, clad in a suit of armor, and so on.
In any case, he supposedly appeared suddenly and then sprang away to escape. The idea that he jumped superhumanly high to do so—going over walls or even rooftops—appears to be a later invention not found in the original reports from the women.
In the 1840s, a high-jumping, fiendish man was reported in other parts of England. He was usually described as diabolical in appearance, with horns and wings, whether “natural” or part of a costume. One of these sightings was a proven hoax.
Another fad of sightings arose in the 1870s, and Spring-Heeled Jack then sprung his last (aside from some more self-conscious modern “reports”) in Liverpool in 1904.
That Jack was mostly B.S. is patently obvious. He was instantly the subject of lurid adventure magazines and cheap theatrical plays, so it didn’t take long for “sightings” to spread.
However, there does seem to be some credibility to the early stories of women being attacked, exaggerated as they may have been. A truly weird sex maniac is certainly a possibility.
Most modern accounts of Spring-Heeled Jack actually assume it was all a “prank,” albeit one both especially deranged and technologically enhanced in a Jules Verne way. One bizarre story, for which I could not immediately find any primary source, is that an anonymous nobleman actually informed the authorities that he had accepted a bet that he could scare people to death, and Spring-Heeled Jack was the result.
Also regularly repeated now, for absolutely no good reason that I have found, is that Jack was Henry de la Poer Beresford, the 3rd Marquis of Waterford, an Irish peer who died in 1859 when he fell off his horse.
Supposedly, he was an inveterate and cruel prankster. ’Twas tempting to investigate this slur upon his memory further, but that wasn’t really your question—and I’m already well over my hundred words.
As for the Jersey Devil, it is so varied it has two basic forms. One is a sort of diabolicized human with horns and a tail. The other is a kind of flying dragon with parts of various other animals. It is known primarily for screaming, and secondarily for flying.
You can take your pick of origin stories. The classic version is that it was spawned as a deformed or otherwise unwanted child of a Mother Leeds in New Jersey’s Pine Barrens in the 1700s. Crawling into the woods, it was somehow vested with diabolical power. (If you consider looking scary and yelling at night to be diabolical.)
The legend does indeed appear to have arisen in the Pine Barrens—southern New Jersey’s vast sandy pine forest—sometime in the 1800s. The story has served various purposes; early versions made it a sort of omen of doom.
However, it was actually Philadelphia newspapers that made the Jersey Devil a mania. These early-1900s stories led to “sightings” throughout New Jersey and eastern Pennsylvania. One wave of “sightings” included vast trails of cloven hoofprints in the snow, which led nowhere. One can only presume they were fun for someone to create. (Another hoaxer was busted using severed bear feet on a stick.)
It may be significant that these stories popped up around the same time as the last Spring-Heeled Jack stories were hitting the English papers.
The last big hurrah for the Devil was in the 1950s, again affecting a much larger area than the Pine Barrens, and this time resulting in more Bigfoot-like descriptions of the beast.
The New Jersey Pinelands Commission perpetuates the Jersey Devil myth as a reality in its literature to this day, spinning him as a sort of nature spirit who only attacks people who don’t want to save the Pine Barrens. Look out when all these children grow up, realize the Devil is a silly lie, and therefore fully back the completely deforestation of the Barrens.
Showing posts with label cryptozoology. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cryptozoology. Show all posts
March 29, 2008
March 28, 2008
Mothman
Stupid Question ™
Jan. 24, 2002
By John Ruch
© 2002
Q: What’s the legend of Mothman? What did he have to do with a fatal bridge collapse?
—Candle Man
A: If ads for the film “The Mothman Prophecies” are to be believed, Mothman’s main trait is guessing what product placement is in Richard Gere’s hand.
The “real” Mothman was a monster supposedly sighted in West Virginia and southern Ohio over a few months in 1966 and 1967. Gray or brown in color, it stood upright on stubby legs and flew on 10-foot wings that didn’t flap. It had no head or face, just two large, red eyes glaring from its shoulders. It squeaked loudly.
Visions of flying humanoids are fairly common throughout history; indeed, publicity over a Sept. 1, 1966 “sighting” in Mississippi may have inspired Mothman. But properly speaking, “Mothman” refers specifically to this 1960s West Virginia creature.
Mothman hysteria began on Nov. 15, 1966, when two couples saw the monster near the North Power Plant of the abandoned West Virginia Ordnance Works in the small town of Point Pleasant. They claimed it flew after their car at speeds over 100 mph.
They called the police, the police held a press conference, regional media went crazy over the story, and, naturally, a flood of Mothman sightings ensued (including several suddenly-remembered ones dating back to 1961). The media, possibly including the Athens (Ohio) Messenger, named it Mothman. The name was reportedly taken from a Batman comic book villain—probably Killer Moth, who reappeared in a January 1967 issue.
The sightings were generally similar and unremarkable, and petered out completely within a year. A university professor suggested a large bird might be behind the sightings—thus kicking off a mini-spate of giant bird sightings.
Mothman was exaggerated into legend by John Keel, a paranormal researcher who spent months investigating the sightings. Keel believed Mothman was just one of many supernatural events in the area, all of which were actually the work of demonic forces attacking us from another dimension.
He rapidly amassed a wealth of local tales about UFOs, poltergeists, pet kidnappings, a giant dog, Men in Black and an “Abominable Swamp Slob”—all somehow linked, he said, with Mothman. He also claimed that Mothman witnesses got the gift of making predictions, which were distinguished by not actually coming true.
On Dec. 15, 1967, the Silver Bridge linking Point Pleasant with Ohio collapsed, killing 46 people. Its structural failure is not a mystery, but took a while to investigate. In the interim, two folklore explanations popped up: a sonic boom, and an old Indian curse. Mothman was already forgotten.
But not by Keel, who linked the collapse with the Mothman demons in his 1975 book “The Mothman Prophecies,” on which the movie is based. More recently he has written that it’s “completely erroneous” to blame the disaster on Mothman, while simultaneously suggesting there’s an “intangible relationship.”
Much more than the original reports, his book has shaped and transmitted the Mothman legend, which is increasingly becoming a tourist industry in Point Pleasant.
Jan. 24, 2002
By John Ruch
© 2002
Q: What’s the legend of Mothman? What did he have to do with a fatal bridge collapse?
—Candle Man
A: If ads for the film “The Mothman Prophecies” are to be believed, Mothman’s main trait is guessing what product placement is in Richard Gere’s hand.
The “real” Mothman was a monster supposedly sighted in West Virginia and southern Ohio over a few months in 1966 and 1967. Gray or brown in color, it stood upright on stubby legs and flew on 10-foot wings that didn’t flap. It had no head or face, just two large, red eyes glaring from its shoulders. It squeaked loudly.
Visions of flying humanoids are fairly common throughout history; indeed, publicity over a Sept. 1, 1966 “sighting” in Mississippi may have inspired Mothman. But properly speaking, “Mothman” refers specifically to this 1960s West Virginia creature.
Mothman hysteria began on Nov. 15, 1966, when two couples saw the monster near the North Power Plant of the abandoned West Virginia Ordnance Works in the small town of Point Pleasant. They claimed it flew after their car at speeds over 100 mph.
They called the police, the police held a press conference, regional media went crazy over the story, and, naturally, a flood of Mothman sightings ensued (including several suddenly-remembered ones dating back to 1961). The media, possibly including the Athens (Ohio) Messenger, named it Mothman. The name was reportedly taken from a Batman comic book villain—probably Killer Moth, who reappeared in a January 1967 issue.
The sightings were generally similar and unremarkable, and petered out completely within a year. A university professor suggested a large bird might be behind the sightings—thus kicking off a mini-spate of giant bird sightings.
Mothman was exaggerated into legend by John Keel, a paranormal researcher who spent months investigating the sightings. Keel believed Mothman was just one of many supernatural events in the area, all of which were actually the work of demonic forces attacking us from another dimension.
He rapidly amassed a wealth of local tales about UFOs, poltergeists, pet kidnappings, a giant dog, Men in Black and an “Abominable Swamp Slob”—all somehow linked, he said, with Mothman. He also claimed that Mothman witnesses got the gift of making predictions, which were distinguished by not actually coming true.
On Dec. 15, 1967, the Silver Bridge linking Point Pleasant with Ohio collapsed, killing 46 people. Its structural failure is not a mystery, but took a while to investigate. In the interim, two folklore explanations popped up: a sonic boom, and an old Indian curse. Mothman was already forgotten.
But not by Keel, who linked the collapse with the Mothman demons in his 1975 book “The Mothman Prophecies,” on which the movie is based. More recently he has written that it’s “completely erroneous” to blame the disaster on Mothman, while simultaneously suggesting there’s an “intangible relationship.”
Much more than the original reports, his book has shaped and transmitted the Mothman legend, which is increasingly becoming a tourist industry in Point Pleasant.
Lake Erie Monster
Stupid Question ™
Nov. 22, 2001
By John Ruch
© 2001
Q: What’s the legend of the Lake Erie monster?
—K.S.
A: A creature of fantasy and publicity if not of flesh, the Lake Erie monster is typically described as being a snake-like beast 20 to 50 feet long, 12 to 18 inches in diameter, with dark skin, red eyes and humps that stick out of the water as it swims.
It’s mostly an Ohio monster, reported from the shore waters of the Sandusky area, roughly between Lorain and Port Clinton. There have been isolated “sightings” from Toledo and Windsor, Canada. Erie, Pennsylvania and Buffalo, New York have managed to completely overlook the monster.
The first sighting was supposedly in 1817, but the earliest I could find was from July 1898, when the Sandusky Daily Register described the appearance of a 25- to 30-foot amphibious snake. It noted that “vague stories” of a sea serpent had existed on the Canada side for “a number of years.” In 1912, there was still enough local folklore for the paper to run an April Fools story about it.
On July 21, 1931, two Cincinnati men claimed to have captured the monster in Sandusky Bay by beating it senseless with an oar. They gave a cop and local journalists a quick glimpse of the 20-foot-long “monster” before nailing it into a box. The New York Times said that the “catch” came after a spate of supposed monster sightings, but that there were plenty of scoffers in the crowd demanding a peek.
The Cleveland Museum of Natural History finally had a look and declared the men had “caught” an Indian python. The hoax blown, they left town.
Between then and the early 1980s I could find only two reported sightings. Then came a decade-long rash of reports, from about 1981 to 1991. Not surprisingly, these coincided exactly with attempts to turn the monster into a tourist attraction, including a naming contest that dubbed it South Bay Bessie.
The town of Huron put a 35-foot fake monster into the Huron River, styled itself the “National Live Capture and Control Center” for the monster, and got local businesses to pledge $100,000 in cash and prizes for the monster’s capture.
The state refused to issue “monster-hunting permits” to Huron, and Inverness, Scotland (home of Loch Ness) declined to become its sister city. But the publicity did result in a dozen “sightings” and helps ensure that anything floating in Lake Erie will be called a humped sea monster.
Reports are typically uninteresting and vague, some coming years after the alleged sightings. Supposed camcorder footage of the beast from 1991 shows nothing much. There have been few reports since 1993, when Bessie made the cover of the Weekly World News (though some fans still circulate the ridiculous story—which included the monster killing three people—as fact).
But despite the lameness, the monster refuses to die. In August, three Ontario swimmers were bitten in the lake by a mystery fish. The joke went around that it was the Lake Erie monster.
Nov. 22, 2001
By John Ruch
© 2001
Q: What’s the legend of the Lake Erie monster?
—K.S.
A: A creature of fantasy and publicity if not of flesh, the Lake Erie monster is typically described as being a snake-like beast 20 to 50 feet long, 12 to 18 inches in diameter, with dark skin, red eyes and humps that stick out of the water as it swims.
It’s mostly an Ohio monster, reported from the shore waters of the Sandusky area, roughly between Lorain and Port Clinton. There have been isolated “sightings” from Toledo and Windsor, Canada. Erie, Pennsylvania and Buffalo, New York have managed to completely overlook the monster.
The first sighting was supposedly in 1817, but the earliest I could find was from July 1898, when the Sandusky Daily Register described the appearance of a 25- to 30-foot amphibious snake. It noted that “vague stories” of a sea serpent had existed on the Canada side for “a number of years.” In 1912, there was still enough local folklore for the paper to run an April Fools story about it.
On July 21, 1931, two Cincinnati men claimed to have captured the monster in Sandusky Bay by beating it senseless with an oar. They gave a cop and local journalists a quick glimpse of the 20-foot-long “monster” before nailing it into a box. The New York Times said that the “catch” came after a spate of supposed monster sightings, but that there were plenty of scoffers in the crowd demanding a peek.
The Cleveland Museum of Natural History finally had a look and declared the men had “caught” an Indian python. The hoax blown, they left town.
Between then and the early 1980s I could find only two reported sightings. Then came a decade-long rash of reports, from about 1981 to 1991. Not surprisingly, these coincided exactly with attempts to turn the monster into a tourist attraction, including a naming contest that dubbed it South Bay Bessie.
The town of Huron put a 35-foot fake monster into the Huron River, styled itself the “National Live Capture and Control Center” for the monster, and got local businesses to pledge $100,000 in cash and prizes for the monster’s capture.
The state refused to issue “monster-hunting permits” to Huron, and Inverness, Scotland (home of Loch Ness) declined to become its sister city. But the publicity did result in a dozen “sightings” and helps ensure that anything floating in Lake Erie will be called a humped sea monster.
Reports are typically uninteresting and vague, some coming years after the alleged sightings. Supposed camcorder footage of the beast from 1991 shows nothing much. There have been few reports since 1993, when Bessie made the cover of the Weekly World News (though some fans still circulate the ridiculous story—which included the monster killing three people—as fact).
But despite the lameness, the monster refuses to die. In August, three Ontario swimmers were bitten in the lake by a mystery fish. The joke went around that it was the Lake Erie monster.