Lily Mellitz ’26
Executive Features Editor
If you’re a Trinity student, chances are you’ve heard whispers about the eerie happenings rumored to haunt our campus. With Trinity’s 200-year history in one of America’s oldest states, it’s no wonder a few spirits might linger in the shadows. As the air turns crisp, the leaves blaze red and Halloween creeps closer, join the Tripod in investigating the stories that have haunted our college’s legacy for generations. Together, we will sift through the layers of history to separate fact from fiction and reveal the truths hidden within.
First, picture Trinity College’s location. Nestled near Cedar Hill Cemetery and Zion Hill Cemetery — with the latter just a short walk from campus — the college lies in close proximity to resting grounds that carry a ghostly reputation. Strolling along Allen Street, home to Trinity organizations like the Zachary Hillel House, the Counseling and Wellness Center, the Charleston House of Interfaith Cooperation and several Greek life houses, pedestrians can glimpse gravestones rising from the nearby hillside. With such spooky neighbors, it’s no wonder that Trinity has a haunted history all its own.
Next, we arrive at a site steeped in the chilling history of the Revolutionary War: Rocky Ridge, commonly referred to as “Gallows Hill.” Situated at the intersection of Summit and Vernon Street near St. Anthony Hall, this location is rumored to have once held a gallows for public executions. According to the Trinity College Bulletin from 1938, “at least four men were hung on Gallows Hill at the head of Zachary’s Lane [now Vernon Street]: Moses Dunbar for high treason in 1777, David Farnsworth and John Blair in 1778 as spies and counterfeiters, and Alexander McDowell in 1781 as a deserter from the army.”
Trinity’s Encyclopedia Trinitiana even suggests Gallows Hill was a site for the Connecticut Witch Trials in the late 1600s, almost half a century before the infamous Salem Witch Trials. However, the 1938-39 Bulletin notes that the gallows for witch trials likely stood just outside Hartford’s borders in West Hartford, “on the road from the Cow Pasture into the Country.” Because public executions were seen as “moral lessons” for both young and old at this time, drawing crowds was encouraged, and Gallows Hill may have been too remote for such large gatherings.
Digging deeper into the intriguing lore of Trinity College brings us to the rumored tunnels hidden beneath our campus. The idea of secret passageways has become a popular part of campus folklore, frequently exchanged among students and faculty through word of mouth. Some tales suggest that these tunnels may connect various buildings across the grounds, while others recount chilling spectral sightings and eerie whispers echoing from below.
Though tunnels do indeed run beneath the oldest parts of campus, they are primarily used for maintenance and utility access. Accessible from the Northam laundry room, these passages link buildings like Northam, Jarvis, and Seabury. Yet, the more sensational stories about these subterranean passages are mostly anecdotal, with limited evidence to back the legends that have circulated through the years. Nevertheless, whether these tales are grounded in truth or are simply the product of campus lore, their mystique continues to intrigue the Trinity community, inspiring curiosity about the secrets that lie hidden beneath our feet.
Next, we turn to mysterious fires that ravaged Trinity’s campus architecture in February 1922. As noted in Trinity’s yearbook, The Ivy, “Between February ninth and February twenty-third Trinity was treated to–or suffered from–a mystery which still has the State police bewildered and which long ago caused the Hartford police to throw up their hands and drop the case.”
Initially, small fires were dismissed as accidents, but the Feb. 18 fire in Alumni Hall, which gutted the building, led officials to believe the fires were deliberate. With suspicions of arson, Hartford police assigned detectives, and a student guard was organized, but the fires continued. George Mulligan, a student often present at the fire scenes, was briefly held by Hartford police on circumstantial evidence but was soon released due to lack of proof and confirmed sanity. The State police continued their investigation, carefully gathering evidence. Although multiple suspects emerged, authorities had insufficient evidence for an arrest. The unresolved case added a chilling chapter to campus history, as the arsonist remained unidentified, fueling speculation and distrust throughout the college community.
Finally, we arrive at one of the most widely known stories on campus: the haunted English Department building. With its striking dark red brick facade, turreted architecture and three story Victorian aesthetic, 115 Vernon Street undeniably possesses the atmospheric charm that befits a place where spirits might linger. Each year, stories of flickering lights, slamming doors and echoing footsteps circulate among students, faculty and staff, enhancing the building’s eerie allure. Some students whisper that all the doors inexplicably lock at the mere mention of ghostly occurrences, while others recount chilling experiences of sudden temperature drops and an unsettling sensation of being watched.
However, behind these ghostly rumors lies a tragic history. Before the current president’s house was constructed in 1978, the English building served as the original residence for Trinity College’s president. In 1923, Theodore D. Lockwood lived there with his wife, Elizabeth White Lockwood. As reported by The Hartford Courant, Elizabeth “was found dead by her husband around 2 p.m. in the garage attached to her home,” which now functions as the Allan K. Smith Center for Writing and Rhetoric. Rumors also suggest that Elizabeth may have taken her own life, adding a profound layer of sorrow to her story and its connection to our campus.
Yet, Elizabeth Lockwood is far more than a ghostly legend; she was a vibrant member of her community, actively participating in Trinity’s garden club and pursuing a horticulture course at the University of Connecticut. A devoted mother, sister, daughter and wife, she left behind four children, her husband and a sister, each of whom carried the weight of her memory.
In concluding our exploration of Trinity College’s haunted history, it’s clear that our campus’s tales offer both intrigue and insight into the real experiences of those who came before us. And so I ask, as you finish your costume and purchase your candy, take a moment to reflect on the rich history that surrounds you and honor these tales with the respect they deserve.
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