Haunted Franklin Castle

The History Press

Contents

ONCE UPON A TIME

Many of us have read this story before, either while browsing the newspapers around Halloween or looking through books on local hauntings. Perhaps we've found ourselves driving through the Ohio City neighborhood on Cleveland's west side and have caught ourselves admiring the many Victorian-era structures. Suddenly, we see a large and ominous sandstone home at the intersection of West 44th Street and Franklin Boulevard. It strikes us as very odd and out of place. We suddenly realize that this is the house we've read so much about. This is the legendary Franklin Castle.

Every time the story of the Franklin Castle has been told, it seems something new has been added to the legend. Still, the base tale is the same. When hearing the story, one conjures images of Shirley Jackson's The Haunting of Hill House. All the great gothic elements are in place for the perfect ghost story: a monstrous patriarch, incest, suicide, insanity, infanticide and murder. Later stories tell of Nazi spying and mass executions. For those unfamiliar with the legend of the Franklin Castle, it goes like this:

Back in 1860, a rich German immigrant named Hannes Tiedemann and his wife, Louise, built a large home on Franklin Boulevard in Cleveland. The Tiedemanns spared no expense building their home. Mr. Tiedemann, a bank executive, presided over his business with an iron fist. It was rumored that he governed his family in much the same way. In 1881, his daughter Emma died from diabetes, though it was whispered she was actually murdered by her abusive father. Stories also say that Emma was possibly insane or promiscuous — sometimes one in the same back in those days. Two months later, Hannes Tiedemann's aged mother, Wiebeka, died at the Franklin Castle, likely of a broken heart.

In 1883, tragedy struck the family again with the deaths of three more children. All died within a week of one another and were buried at the family plot at Riverside Cemetery. It was whispered that Hannes had a hand in their demise. To deal with the grief, Louise busied herself by remodeling their home — adding secret passages, a turret and a ballroom on the fourth floor — and even had her children's faces carved in stone and placed as guardians to watch over the front entrance. The house now resembled a castle.

During that time, Hannes Tiedemann took a mistress. Rachel, a servant girl in the house, became the object of Mr. Tiedemann's affections. She remained so until another beau entered the picture. She and her new gentleman suitor were soon engaged, and on the day of her wedding, Rachel made the mistake of refusing Tiedemann's advances. This she paid for with her life. Legend says that Hannes Tiedemann strangled her in a secret passage that surrounds the ballroom but made it look like a suicidal hanging.

Another story relates that Hannes Tiedemann caught his niece, a girl named Karen, in bed with his grandson. In a fit of rage, he drew a gun and shot the girl dead. This, too, he made to look like a suicide.

In 1895, Louise Tiedemann drank herself to death. Within the year, Hannes Tiedemann returned to Germany, became reacquainted with a waitress named Henriette and returned with her as his new bride. He abruptly sold the Franklin Castle and moved with Henriette to an identical home he'd built in Lakewood. The new marriage was a disaster, and Henriette divorced the overbearing man, leaving him to spend his remaining years alone. She'd inherit nothing from his estate.

In 1906, Hannes Tiedemann's last surviving child, a son named August, died, leaving him without any heirs. Two years later, while walking in the park one Sunday morning in January, Hannes Tiedemann suddenly dropped dead. His death was from a stroke, but many suspected it was the hand of God himself that stuck down Hannes Tiedemann for the wicked deeds he'd committed in his long, horrible life.

The next owner of the Franklin Castle was a brewer from Buffalo named Muehlhauser. He rented the house to his widowed sister and her children, who lived there until 1921, when they sold it to the German Socialist Party.

During this next period, many wild stories emerged. Tales were told of Nazi spying during World War II and a giant radio antenna being placed atop the turret. Other stories told of illegal liquor production, rumrunning during Prohibition and a mass execution, with dozens gunned down in a secret room. Word also began to spread about hidden tunnels being discovered in the house. It was believed these tunnels were remnants of the Underground Railroad and were being used for smuggling liquor. The socialists owned the house until 1967, when it was sold to the Romano family.

Mrs. Romano and her husband purchased the house with the intention of turning it into a restaurant — though these hopes were soon dashed. On the day they moved in, two of the Romano children came down from the third floor and asked their mother if they could have a cookie for their friend, the little girl in white, who was crying upstairs. When Mrs. Romano investigated, she found nobody there.

Within a few weeks, the Romanos began noticing many more unusual events in the house. Objects moved around on their own, voices echoed from empty rooms and footsteps were heard running back and forth across the ballroom floor. Just two weeks after moving in, Mrs. Romano's two grown sons from a previous marriage awoke one night when the blankets were ripped from their beds. They moved out the following day.

Eventually, the disturbances were so great that Mrs. Romano forbade her children from playing on the third and fourth floors. On occasion, Mrs. Romano saw a woman in a black gown standing in the turret on the third floor, whom she believed was Louise Tiedemann. Others in later years gave her the identity of Wiebeka Tiedemann, Rachel or Karen. As for the little girl in white, many speculate it's the ghost of Emma Tiedemann. Word spread of what was occurring at the Franklin Castle, and soon the house drew reporters and curiosity seekers.

On one occasion, the house was visited by a radio personality named John Webster. While ascending the stairs, a recorder was ripped from his shoulders and smashed into dozens of pieces on the landing below. Another visit brought a writer for the Cleveland Plain Dealer named Barbara Dreimiller. While visiting the house, Dreimiller was ascending the same stairwell that Mr. Webster had. As she reached the top of the third floor landing, a green vaporous mist drifted ahead of her. Without hesitation, she entered this mist, was overcome and fainted on the spot. She awoke later on a sofa on the first floor.

Eventually, the house drove Mrs. Romano mad. One day, she received a warning from a medium that one of her children would die if she didn't move. That was the final straw. After just five years of living there, the Romanos sold the home and moved elsewhere, never to return. Incidentally, moving her family changed nothing. One of her children died anyway.

The next owner was Sam Muscatello. His plans were to turn the house into a church, but after a few weeks, these plans were abandoned as the disturbances continued. While Muscatello was doing renovations on the third floor, a gruesome discovery was made. A human skeleton was found sealed up in a space between the walls. No identification of the corpse could be made, though it's suspected this was another victim of Hannes Tiedemann's ruthlessness.

The home was eventually sold to Richard Hongisto, the new Cleveland police chief. It was perfect for the large parties that he and his wife loved to host. Unfortunately, he'd only own this house for a few weeks. The Hongistos abruptly sold the house, driven away by the disturbances.

Next came George Mirceta, who, like the Hongistos, only owned the house for a brief period. He sold the Franklin Castle to man named Michael DeVinko.

DeVinko was popularly known as Mickey Deans, Judy Garland's last husband. He'd purchased the house to accommodate the grand parties that he, like the Hongistos, loved to host. DeVinko made many changes to the house, adding and dividing up rooms. He owned the house until 1999, when he sold it to Michelle Heimburger, an executive and co-founder of Yahoo!

That fall, the Franklin Castle nearly met its destruction, as an arsonist broke into the house and set it ablaze. After the fire, Heimburger saved the house by having the roof replaced, though she'd ultimately sell the home to a real estate developer named Charles Milsaps.

Milsaps planned to convert the home into the Franklin Castle Club, an exclusive club that planned to offer an extensive wine bar, overnight stays and elegant dinners to its members. Very few renovations were made during Milsaps's time and the house was ultimately sold to a European artist, who planned to convert the structure into apartments.

The disturbances continue to this day.

All of this makes for a fantastic ghost story, and who doesn't love a good ghost story?

There's just one problem.

Hardly a word of this is true.

FROM SÜDERAU TO CLEVELAND

So what is the true story of the Franklin Castle, and who was Hannes Tiedemann, really? Was he the villain who appears in every telling of this story? Was he a monster capable of murder? Perhaps there's more to this story than any of us have heard. As with any legend, it's best to start at the beginning.

This beginning takes place in the small village of Süderau, Steinburg district of Germany, some 4,025 miles from Cleveland. Back then, this part of Germany was the state of Holstein in the Kingdom of Prussia. Our tale starts on April 12, 1832, with the birth of a boy named Johannes Tiedemann. His father, Hans, owned a blacksmith's shop located at Hof 887 Süderau, which had been purchased by his father, Claus, in 1799. Johannes's mother was the daughter of wealthy landowners Leutje and Anna Schueder Mohr, and her first name was actually Wiebke, not Wiebeka.

Johannes was one of eight children born into this family. He had four elder siblings: Claus, born March 4, 1823; Anna, born April 24, 1825; Ludwig, born March 16, 1827; and Catharina, born March 24, 1829.

The family was blessed with three more children following the birth of Johannes: Johanna, born October 15, 1834; Rebecca Eliese, born March 30, 1837; and Lowiese, born on August 3, 1842. Sadly, both Anna and Johanna died in childhood.

The yuletide season of 1846 fell upon the family with somber tones, as the family patriarch's health was deteriorating. Hans Tiedemann was ill for some time, and the blacksmith shop was now operated by his eldest son. The final hammer fell on Christmas Eve of that year. Hans Tiedemann was dead at forty-nine. The day after Christmas, he was interred in the local churchyard at St. Dionysius Areopagita Lutheran Church. Wiebke was now a widow and the children fatherless. The future looked uncertain.

Now also came a troubled time for the Kingdom of Prussia, as war was brewing with Denmark over control of the duchies of Schleswig and Holstein. The Tiedemanns needed to make a decision. With Hans dead and war on the horizon, it seemed a good time to pick up roots and seek better opportunities elsewhere. The boys were already skilled tradesmen — perhaps America could offer more. Claus carried the blacksmith shop along pretty well, while Ludwig was employed as a merchant and Johannes as a joiner, an archaic term for a carpenter.

In the spring of 1848, Claus Tiedemann sold the blacksmith shop and the family relocated to Altona, a village near Hamburg, where Wiebke applied for herself and six children to emigrate from Prussia to the United States. Their original destination was listed as Wisconsin, likely Calumet County where many natives of Schleswig-Holstein were then settling.

That May, the Tiedemanns boarded the Danish brig Manon with 111 other passengers and sailed for America. On the voyage, Wiebke Tiedemann's eldest daughter, Catharina, met a man named Henning Bolten. Bolten, a manservant by trade, was also seeking a better life in America. As of late, he'd been burdened by a chronic cough and believed the travel would do him good. A relationship soon developed between Catharina and Henning.

The Manon docked in New York on May 27, 1848, and its passengers disembarked. There, the Tiedemanns were to continue to Wisconsin and began their journey west. They arrived in Cleveland, Ohio, in early June. Here they stopped. Perhaps this was as far as Henning Bolten was going and he invited them to stay with him. Perhaps this was as far as he could go and they decided to stay for him. This much is known. On June 18, 1848, just three weeks after arriving in the United States, Catharina Tiedemann married Henning Bolten in Cleveland.

As it turned out, Bolten's chronic cough was due to consumption, known today as pulmonary tuberculosis. Before he set foot on the Manon, his days were numbered. Time ran out for Henning Bolten on July 8, 1848, as consumption took his life. He and Catharina had been married just twenty days. He was originally interred at Erie Street Cemetery in Cleveland, but his remains were moved in 1909 to an unmarked grave at Highland Park Cemetery.

A few miles south of the city sat a parcel of land in Brooklyn Township, comprising 83.33 acres. On June 20, 1848, Wiebke Tiedemann purchased this parcel for $1,400. Much of this farm is now the city of Linndale, Ohio — specifically, the intersection of Bellaire Road and Memphis Avenue. Curiously enough, this transaction wasn't recorded until July 8, the same day that Henning Bolten died. Most likely, the money came from Catharina, Henning Bolten's sole heir. Immediately after making this purchase, Wiebke Tiedemann sold twentynine acres to her eldest son, Claus.

Seven acres of this land were plowed, and twenty-two were meadow. There were also two structures on the property, those being a barn and a small house. It was in that small house that the Tiedemanns began to make their way in America, the land of opportunity.

SITE-GEIST

The word Zeitgeist, of German origin, means "the spirit of the time." Site-geist is a word we invented to mean the spirit of the location.

When dealing with a place like the Franklin Castle, where paranormal activity is said to occur, it's appropriate to inquire about the history of the location and what happened there. Many believe that past events, trapped at a place in time, may cause a "residual haunting" or create an emotional presence. An example that comes to mind is the battlefield at Gettysburg.

Some have wondered if the Tiedemann house was built on an Indian burial ground. That is unknown but seems unlikely, as no remains have ever been located during any excavation on the site. The closest known Native American burial ground rests near the intersection of Lorain Avenue and Gehring Street, across from the West Side Market.

The known history of the Franklin Castle property begins when it was surveyed as part of the Connecticut Western Reserve. A large tract of land, originally part of Brooklyn Township, then known as Ohio City, was purchased in 1850 by Jacob Perkins, a son of surveyor Simon Perkins. His property was designated as the Jacob Perkins Subdivision. This contained Lot 94, an oddly-shaped triangular parcel on which Hannes Tiedemann would one day build.

Perhaps it was because of its strange shape, but it took Jacob Perkins ten years to find a buyer for Lot 94, a Canadian named Alfred Wolverton.

Alfred Wolverton's father, Enos, was born in New York State in 1810, and seven years later, Enos moved with his family to Huron County, Ohio, where his father, Robert, ran a stage line from Sandusky to Cleveland. The family migrated to Michigan in 1825 and immigrated to Ontario, Canada, in 1826, where Enos married Harriet Newell Towl in 1834. They had two girls, Roseltha and Melissa, and five boys: Alfred, Daniel, Alonzo, Jasper and Newton. They settled in Blenheim Township, Oxford County, where the village of Wolverton was later named for them.

In 1855, Enos built a magnificent three-story brick house named Wolverton Hall, which had fourteen rooms and was adorned with a cupola. He also purchased one thousand acres of timber land in Walsingham Township, Norfolk County, and built a large steam sawmill. His wife, Harriet, died unexpectedly in 1856, and shortly thereafter, the general economy collapsed. Enos rented out Wolverton Hall and took his family to Walsingham to run his lumber business. Tragedy struck again in 1858, when his son Daniel was killed in a lumbering accident.

During that time, Enos Wolverton was selling lumber across the lake in Cleveland to a company called Thatcher, Burt and Company. Traveling there on a trip with his father, Alfred thought it a wonderful place to receive an education. Unlike the village of Wolverton, there were no schools in the lumber woods of Walsingham, so in 1858, Alfred and Jasper Wolverton were sent to Cleveland for their education.