Illustration by Lars Leetaru
Can you supply a coherent and credible summary of the supposedly “haunted” bust of Charles Breuer, the wealthy Cincinnatian buried in Spring Grove Cemetery? I keep finding conflicting versions. It would be nice to get this story straight for Halloween, even though it probably isn’t true. —HAUNTING LIKENESS
DEAR LIKENESS:
“Probably” not true? Extracting anything coherent and credible from a haunted legend is a fool’s errand. By definition, it is neither coherent nor credible. And in this case, its principal subject was legally declared non-coherent and non-credible.
It took five men to drag Charles C. Breuer to an insane asylum after he had (this list is incomplete) attacked his wife, misplaced $1,000 in cash, been repeatedly found wandering aimlessly, mailed a suicide note to the City Coroner, tried to blow up his own office building, etc. Still, after his death, his family afforded him a stately tombstone at Spring Grove bearing a detailed bust. Its glass eyes supposedly follow you when you walk past. Please. This is as tired a “haunted” concept as one can imagine.
A sidebar story tells of a time when one of Charlie’s eyes popped out and somehow returned itself. Fine. Whatever gets you through Halloween night. The worst horror remains how thoroughly cheap and stale your children’s candy turns out to be when you steal it.
Downtown, at the corner of Seventh and Sycamore, there’s a large apartment building that changes color. How is that even done? I don’t see slats rotating or anything. I guess it’s supposed to be amusing, but I find it unsettling. Sometimes I commute a different way just to avoid it. —COLOR ME CONFUSED
DEAR CONFUSED:
The Doctor must assume you are not old enough to have witnessed the prime years of the disco ball. You therefore failed to develop a tolerance for randomly refracted colors—and perhaps the Village People. It’s also a good guess that you have not yet attended a concert before sundown at the Andrew J Brady Music Center. Otherwise you would have noticed, and been disturbed by, a similar effect.
Both the Brady Center and the Encore Apartments at 716 Sycamore St. display exteriors that have a patented “iridescent PVDF coating” known as Kolorshift. Without going into too much detail (simply defining PVDF would explode our spell-checker), a Kolorshift coating “changes hues with varying angles of light, dynamically shifting from one color to another as light reaches it.” A brisk walk by or even a passing cloud alters the colors your eyes see. Driving, of course, accelerates the effect.
Knowledge is power, so we hope this information has helped you understand and become more comfortable with your preferred commute route. As for the Village People, you’re on your own.
I was with friends at one of my favorite restaurants, El Coyote in Mt. Washington. When I mentioned a hot date I’d once enjoyed there back in 1975, they said no, it was Crestview Gardens at the time. I went and asked the manager, and he said they’re right. No, they’re not! Settle this for me. —CRESTFALLEN
DEAR CREST:
This column repeatedly endures requests to settle a blurred-memory argument, which the Doctor usually declines. But he is delighted to make an exception here, since all of you are wrong.
Your 1975 hot date was not at El Coyote, which did not exist until 1982 and has never spent a single day in Mt. Washington: It lies solidly in Anderson Township. However, your friends have also erred in claiming that you were at Crestview Gardens. That venerable eatery dates back to the 1940s and indeed was the last name on the door just prior to El Coyote. But through most of the 1960s and ’70s it suffered an identity crisis: Skylark, Bon Fire, Country House, Lenhardt’s Chateau Combi, La Chateau D’if, and Silly’s Disco (whose want ads said waitresses “must be attractive”). The Doctor hopes one of those names looks familiar.
On your side, those earlier restaurants often claimed they were in Mt. Washington. Try finding your ex and getting her version of that hot date, but be ready to hear that you were at Ponderosa.
Dr. Know is Jay Gilbert, radio personality and advertising prankster. Submit your questions about the city’s peculiarities here.
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