The Ghost Light of the James F. Dean Theatre

The James F. Dean Theatre had its quirks—creaking steps, misaligned doors, a draft that whispered down the back stairs. It was the kind of place where shadows lingered a little too long, and the hush between scenes felt thick with memory. On show nights, the old brick walls seemed to breathe with anticipation, as if the building itself leaned in to listen.

Outside, the newly installed marquee brightly lit the front entrance. Inside, the rejuvenated community theater glowed with promise. Prop lighting radiantly illuminated the beautifully prepared set—an assemblage of weathered timber fashioned into a rustic old fishing pier, overshadowed by moss-laden trees and unforgotten recollections.

It was during Catfish Moon, a play about friendship and forgiveness, that the theater revealed one of its quirkiest secrets. I was offered an invitation to work backstage with the prop manager. We sat tucked behind the wings at a table full of props—fishing poles, tackle boxes, dried swamp grass, and a single lamp to light our corner.

As the play unfolded—three old friends on a dock, casting lines into memory—the lamp inexplicably flickered on and off. Not just once. Not just twice. It pulsed like a heartbeat, on and off, throughout the play’s run. Sometimes it glowed steadily during a monologue, then blinked out as if punctuating a line. We checked the cord. We checked the bulb. We even switched it off. Still, for no reason, it would turn on and off. While we sat at the table, I’d say, “I wonder if the light is going to turn off,” and as soon as I said it, it did.

The actors never noticed. The audience didn’t see. But backstage, we watched in silence, the hairs on our arms rising with each flicker. Between cues, we whispered theories. Faulty wiring. A short in the circuit.

On closing night, just before the final scene—when the characters reconcile under a moonlit sky—the lamp flared bright, then dimmed to a soft glow. It stayed lit until the final bow. Then, as the applause faded, it blinked once and went dark.

We left the light on the table after strike. It remained a mystery, and this story, unexplainably true.

Some say every theater has its ghost. Maybe James F. Dean's just wanted to see Catfish Moon one last time.

James F. Dean Theatre now showing Murder on the Orient Express.