The Ghosts of the White Eagle Saloon

From the beginning, the White Eagle operated on three levels, each serving a different purpose - and a different clientele.

The ground floor saloon was the legitimate face of the business. Here, working men could buy a beer, a shot of whiskey, or a plate of Polish sausage. The bar served as an informal employment office, social club, and community center. Deals were struck, news was shared, and friendships were forged over drinks that cost pennies.

The second floor operated as a hotel and boarding house - at least officially. In reality, the rooms upstairs served a dual purpose. Some were rented to workers who needed cheap accommodation near the docks. But other rooms were occupied by women who worked in the building's less-discussed second business: prostitution.

Prostitution was technically illegal in early 20th-century Portland, but authorities largely turned a blind eye to establishments that served the city's working-class neighborhoods. The women who worked upstairs at the White Eagle were servicing the same dockworkers and mill hands who drank downstairs. It was an open secret that everyone knew but no one officially acknowledged.

The basement was the darkest secret of all. While officially used for storage and the bar's supplies, rumors have persisted for over a century about what else happened in that underground space.

Portland's Shanghai tunnels have become legendary, and the White Eagle's basement was allegedly connected to this underground network. The tunnels served multiple purposes in Portland's rough early years, but their most notorious use was for shanghaiing - kidnapping men to serve as forced labor on ships headed for Asia.

The White Eagle's location made it perfect for this illicit trade. Dockworkers and sailors already frequented the bar, and these were exactly the men ship captains needed for their crews. A worker who drank too much at the White Eagle might wake up on a ship in the Pacific, already days from shore, with no choice but to work for passage.

Some accounts suggest the basement was also used for more sinister purposes. Bodies of men who died from beatings, bad liquor, or "accidents" upstairs needed to be disposed of quietly. The tunnel system provided a convenient method for removing evidence without attracting attention from the street above.

Staff and investigators have reported finding what appear to be holding cells in the basement - small spaces that could be locked, where kidnapped men might be held until a ship captain was ready to collect his new crew. Whether these served that exact purpose or had some other use remains a matter of debate, but the spaces themselves are real and deeply unsettling.

The prostitutes who worked upstairs at the White Eagle lived dangerous lives. They serviced men who were often drunk, sometimes violent, and occasionally homicidal. The women had little legal protection - authorities weren't interested in investigating crimes against sex workers, and the women themselves couldn't go to police without risking arrest.

Fights were common at the White Eagle. A bar that served cheap liquor to rough men inevitably saw violence. Most fights ended with bruises and broken furniture, but not all participants walked away. The bouncer's job was to keep the peace, but sometimes peace could only be restored with force - lethal force.

The women upstairs were at particular risk. They worked alone with drunk, aggressive men, often in rooms with no escape route. If a client became violent, the woman's only hope was to scream loud enough to bring help - and hope that help arrived in time.

At least one murder is documented at the White Eagle - a young prostitute who was found dead in one of the upstairs rooms, her throat cut. The identity of her killer was never established. The woman was buried in a pauper's grave, just another casualty of Portland's dark underbelly. But according to staff and visitors, she never truly left the building where she died.

When Prohibition arrived in 1920, the White Eagle - like thousands of establishments across America - faced a choice: close down or operate illegally. The owners chose the latter, converting the bar into a "soft drink parlor" that just happened to serve hard liquor to those who knew to ask.

The speakeasy years added another layer of danger to the White Eagle. The business already operated in Portland's gray market - the prostitution upstairs had always been illegal. But now the bar itself was breaking federal law, which brought new risks: federal agents, raids, and violent competition from other bootleggers.

The basement, already suspected of harboring dark secrets, allegedly became a key part of the illegal operation. Liquor could be stored underground, away from prying eyes. The tunnel connections allowed alcohol to be moved in and out without being seen from the street. If a raid occurred, evidence could vanish into the tunnels before authorities could secure it.

When Prohibition ended in 1933, the White Eagle returned to operating openly as a bar - though by all accounts, the upstairs rooms continued their less savory trade well into the post-war years.

By the 1970s, the White Eagle had fallen on hard times. The neighborhood had declined as industry moved elsewhere. The building itself was deteriorating, and the bar's clientele had dwindled to a handful of regulars. The glory days - such as they were - seemed long past.

But the White Eagle survived, as it always had. New owners in the 1980s began restoring the building and returned it to its roots as a working-class bar. They added live music - rock, blues, and punk bands that fit the White Eagle's gritty aesthetic. The bar became a beloved dive, attracting a new generation of Portlanders who appreciated authentic spaces with real history.

It was during this restoration period that the haunting activity became impossible to ignore. Workers renovating the upper floors reported tools going missing, cold spots, and the distinct sensation of being watched. When the upstairs was converted into a hotel offering cheap accommodation for musicians and travelers, guests began reporting encounters that couldn't be explained as old pipes or settling boards.

Today, the White Eagle operates successfully as both a bar and a small hotel. But everyone who works there - and many who visit - knows that not all the building's occupants are among the living.

Rose is most often seen on the second floor, in and around what would have been the working women's rooms. Witnesses consistently describe her as a young woman, probably in her early twenties, wearing what appears to be a dress or nightgown from the early 1900s.

She's most frequently spotted in Room 2, believed to be where she was killed. Guests who stay in that room report waking to find a woman standing at the foot of the bed or sitting in the room's chair, watching them. When witnesses react or try to speak to her, she fades away - not vanishing instantly, but gradually becoming more transparent until she's gone.

One guest described waking around 3 AM to find a woman in old-fashioned clothing standing by the window, looking out at the street below. He assumed it was another hotel guest who had somehow entered the wrong room and called out to her. The woman turned to face him, and he could clearly see her features - young, sad, and very pale. As he reached for the light switch, she simply faded from view. When he checked, the door was still locked from the inside.

Other guests have reported feeling someone sit on the edge of their bed, feeling the mattress compress under the weight, only to find no one there. Some describe the sensation of someone playing with their hair or touching their face gently, as if curious about these strangers sleeping in her room.

One of the most commonly reported phenomena associated with Rose is the sudden, overwhelming scent of perfume - heavy, floral, and distinctly old-fashioned. The fragrance appears without warning in various parts of the second floor, particularly in Room 2 and the hallway outside it.

Staff members cleaning rooms have reported entering to be hit by a wall of perfume so strong it's almost choking. The scent lingers for minutes before fading away, leaving no source and no explanation. The smell doesn't correspond to any cleaning products or air fresheners used in the hotel.

Guests have reported the same phenomenon. One couple described lying in bed when the scent of roses and something sweeter - maybe jasmine - suddenly filled the room. The smell was so intense they checked to see if someone had brought flowers into the room or sprayed perfume. They found nothing, and within five minutes, the scent had completely disappeared.

Some paranormal investigators believe scents are one way spirits try to communicate or make their presence known, particularly when visual manifestation is difficult. The perfume would have been important to Rose in life - one of the few ways a working woman in her profession could afford a small luxury and maintain some dignity. In death, perhaps it's how she announces her continued presence.

Multiple witnesses have reported hearing the sound of a woman crying on the second floor, particularly late at night. The weeping is described as heartbroken and desperate - not the sniffling of mild sadness, but the gut-wrenching sobs of someone in profound despair.

The sounds seem to come from Room 2 most frequently, though they've been reported in the hallway as well. When staff or guests investigate, the crying stops abruptly, and the source is never found. Checking Room 2 reveals an empty room with no explanation for the sounds.

One hotel employee described being downstairs in the bar late at night when she clearly heard crying from upstairs. Thinking a guest was in distress, she went up to check and offer help. As she climbed the stairs, the crying grew louder and more anguished. But the moment she reached the second-floor landing, the sound stopped completely. She checked every room - all were either empty or contained sleeping guests who clearly hadn't been crying. No source for the sound was ever identified.

The crying is interpreted as a residual haunt - Rose's grief and fear from her final moments, or perhaps from her difficult life, replaying like a recording. Some witnesses report that the crying sounds like it's coming from inside the walls, as if the building itself has absorbed and stored this suffering.

White Eagle staff members, who spend far more time in the building than any guest, have numerous accounts of encountering Rose. These range from glimpses of a figure in period dress to full apparitions that interact with the living.

One bartender described going upstairs after closing to check on something, walking past Room 2, and seeing through the open door a young woman in a white nightgown brushing her hair in front of the mirror. He assumed a guest had checked in late and continued with his work. Minutes later, he remembered that Room 2 was vacant that night. When he went back to check, the room was empty, the door locked, and there were no signs anyone had been inside.

A housekeeper reported multiple encounters with Rose. She describes feeling watched whenever she cleans Room 2, and has seen the reflection of a woman standing behind her in the mirror - a woman who isn't there when she turns around. Objects in the room are frequently moved between visits: a book left closed will be found open to a specific page, items on the dresser will be rearranged, and the chair is often found pulled away from the wall as if someone has been sitting in it.

Most staff members have made peace with Rose's presence. They speak of her with a mixture of respect and sympathy, seeing her not as a frightening ghost but as a tragic figure who suffered in life and hasn't found peace in death. Some staff members say goodnight to her when closing, acknowledging her presence as one would a lingering resident.

Rose seems particularly interested in female guests, perhaps recognizing kindred spirits or simply feeling less threatened by women than by the men who populate so much of her existence.

One young woman staying in Room 2 described waking to find all her clothes - which she had left scattered around the room - neatly folded and arranged on the chair. She lived alone and was certain she hadn't done it herself before falling asleep. Nothing was missing, nothing was damaged; the clothes had simply been carefully tidied by someone who clearly wasn't her.

Another guest reported having a conversation with Rose - or at least, trying to. She was alone in Room 2, getting ready for bed, when she felt compelled to speak aloud: "If there's anyone here, you don't need to be afraid. I'm not going to hurt you." Immediately, she felt an overwhelming wave of sadness and gratitude, as if someone deeply lonely had been acknowledged after being ignored for too long. That night, she slept peacefully and felt genuinely welcomed in the room.

Some guests report that Rose seems to act as a guardian, particularly protecting female guests from harm. One woman described feeling uneasy about a man who had followed her back to the hotel from the bar downstairs. As she locked her door, she felt a distinct presence in the room with her - not threatening, but protective. Throughout the night, she heard footsteps pacing back and forth in the hallway outside her door, as if someone was standing guard. In the morning, staff confirmed no one had been in the hallway, and the man who had concerned her had left the building shortly after she went upstairs.

Sam is most often reported on the ground floor, near the bar and front entrance - the areas a bouncer would have patrolled in life. Witnesses describe him as a large man, broad-shouldered and intimidating, wearing what appears to be working-class clothing from the early-to-mid 20th century: suspenders, work pants, and a cap.

Unlike Rose, who appears sad and sometimes frightened, Sam's presence is described as vigilant and protective. He doesn't seem to realize he's dead; instead, he appears to be continuing the job he did in life: keeping watch over the bar, ensuring order is maintained, and protecting the establishment from troublemakers.

One bartender described seeing a large man standing near the front door after closing, arms crossed, watching the street outside. Assuming it was a regular who had lingered after last call, the bartender called out that they were closed. The figure turned to look at him, and the bartender realized he could see through the man to the door behind him. By the time the bartender blinked in shock, the figure had vanished.

Another staff member reported feeling a large hand firmly grip her shoulder when she was carrying a heavy case of bottles, steadying her as she started to lose her balance. She turned to thank whoever had helped her, but she was completely alone in that section of the bar. The sensation of that steadying hand remained distinct - large, strong, and reassuring.

Multiple accounts suggest Sam continues his bouncer duties from beyond the grave, intervening when he perceives threats to the bar or its occupants.

During a particularly heated argument between two drunk patrons, several witnesses reported seeing a large shadow move between the fighting men. Both fighters suddenly stopped, looked around in confusion, and left the bar separately without further confrontation. Staff members present swear they saw the shadow of a very large man standing between the fighters, though no such person was physically present.

A would-be burglar who attempted to break into the White Eagle through a back window told police he abandoned the attempt because a "huge man" appeared in front of him inside the building, staring at him with such intensity that he fled in terror. Security footage from that night shows no one inside the building at the time of the attempted break-in, but it does show the would-be burglar's face going pale with fear as he looks through the window, before he runs away.

Staff members working alone late at night report feeling protected rather than frightened when they sense Sam's presence. One bartender described it as "having a really big, really tough guardian angel who takes his job very seriously." Multiple employees have reported feeling watched while closing up alone, but in a way that feels protective rather than threatening - as if someone is making sure they get home safely.

Interestingly, some psychics and sensitive individuals report that Sam and Rose are aware of each other, and that Sam seems to protect Rose as well as the building itself.

One psychic visiting the White Eagle described sensing Sam's presence near the stairs leading to the second floor, as if he was standing guard at the boundary between the bar and the rooms above - perhaps still protecting the women who worked upstairs from overly aggressive clients.

Staff members have reported that paranormal activity on the second floor seems to calm when activity downstairs increases, as if Sam's attention being focused on the bar level provides peace upstairs. Conversely, when serious disturbances occur upstairs, staff sometimes report sensing an aggressive, protective presence that seems to be investigating the problem.

Whether Sam and Rose interact directly, or simply coexist in the same space, remains unknown. But the general sense among those who work at the White Eagle is that Sam is a benevolent presence - a working man still doing his job, even in death.

Staff members universally dislike going into the basement. Even those who are skeptical about the paranormal admit the space feels wrong in ways that defy easy explanation.

Descriptions are remarkably consistent: the temperature drops noticeably when descending the stairs. The air feels heavy and thick, making it difficult to breathe normally. There's a pervasive sense of being watched by something hostile - not curious or sad like the upstairs ghosts, but actively malevolent and unwelcoming.

One manager described the sensation as "walking into the den of a predator that's allowing you to enter but could attack at any moment." Multiple staff members report feeling their heart rate increase and their fight-or-flight response activate the moment they enter the basement, even when they know logically they're safe.

Several employees refuse to go into the basement alone under any circumstances. One former bartender quit specifically because her job occasionally required basement trips, and she found the experience so distressing she couldn't continue. She described feeling hands pushing at her back when she walked down the stairs, and a voice whispering threats she couldn't quite make out.

Unlike the generally benign presences upstairs, the basement entity has allegedly physically attacked people on multiple occasions.

A maintenance worker reported being pushed from behind while on the basement stairs, nearly causing a serious fall. He was alone in the basement at the time, and video footage shows him suddenly stumbling forward as if shoved, though nothing and no one is visible behind him.

Another employee described feeling something grab her ankle while she was retrieving supplies from the basement storage area. She looked down to see absolutely nothing touching her leg, but the sensation of a tight grip was unmistakable. Pulling her leg free, she felt resistance as if something was genuinely holding her. When she returned upstairs and checked her ankle, she had bruises in a pattern that looked disturbingly like finger marks.

A deliveryman who regularly brought supplies to the White Eagle finally refused to continue servicing the location after an incident in the basement. He reported being struck hard enough in the back to leave a bruise, despite being alone in the space. His replacement also reported feeling violently unwelcome in the basement and now insists staff members retrieve deliveries from the street-level door rather than taking them through the basement entrance.

Staff members who work at the White Eagle long enough develop strategies for dealing with the basement: never go alone, complete your business as quickly as possible, and never turn your back to the darkest corners of the space.

The basement contains several small, enclosed spaces that some believe were holding cells for men being shanghaied. These tiny rooms can be locked from the outside and have no windows or ventilation beyond the door. Standing inside one with the door closed is a claustrophobic nightmare - and that was presumably the point.

Paranormal investigators who have studied these spaces report overwhelming feelings of fear, desperation, and anger. Multiple sensitives have reported receiving impressions of men imprisoned in these cells: terrified, realizing what was about to happen to them, and utterly helpless to escape.

One psychic investigator reported receiving an impression so vivid and violent that she had to leave the basement immediately: a man awakening in one of the cells, hung over from drugged liquor, slowly realizing he'd been kidnapped and would be forced onto a ship. The psychic described feeling the man's progression from confusion to fear to rage to despair - emotions so powerful they'd apparently left an imprint on the space itself.

Some theories suggest the aggressive entity in the basement isn't a single spirit but rather a concentration of negative energy from all the fear, violence, and death that occurred in that underground space over decades. This accumulated darkness has taken on a life of its own, feeding on the discomfort of those who enter its territory.

The White Eagle's basement allegedly connects to Portland's Shanghai tunnel system, though the exact location and accessibility of this connection is disputed. What isn't disputed is that there's a bricked-up archway in the basement that staff and investigators believe was once a tunnel entrance.

Some of the most intense paranormal activity seems to center around this sealed tunnel entrance. Staff report that the sense of being watched is strongest near this wall, as if something on the other side is aware of those in the basement and watching them through the bricks.

One paranormal investigation team set up equipment near the bricked tunnel entrance and captured audio recordings that, when analyzed, appear to contain multiple male voices speaking in a language that sounds like Polish or another Slavic language. The voices sound argumentative or aggressive, and the recording captured what seems to be the sound of a physical altercation - grunts, impact sounds, and what might be someone falling.

No one was in the basement when this recording was made. The bar was closed, and the investigation team was monitoring the basement via camera from upstairs.

Some believe the tunnel connection allows spirits from Portland's dark waterfront history to move through the underground passages, occasionally emerging into the White Eagle's basement. If true, this might explain why the basement presence feels so different from Rose and Sam - it might not be bound to the White Eagle specifically, but rather roams the tunnel system, passing through any location with an active connection.

Multiple people have reported hearing music and singing when no band is playing and no radio or jukebox is on. The music is described as old-fashioned - polkas, folk songs, and the kind of music Portland's Polish immigrants would have listened to in the early 1900s.

One bartender described being alone in the bar early in the morning, setting up before opening, when he clearly heard singing coming from upstairs. It was a woman's voice, singing in a language he didn't recognize but assumed was Polish. The voice was clear enough that he went upstairs thinking somehow a guest had stayed past checkout time and was singing while getting ready. All the rooms were empty and locked.

The phantom music is most frequently reported on weekend nights after the live bands have finished and the bar has closed. Staff members cleaning up have heard music that sounds like it's coming from the bar's stage, but when they look, no one is there and all equipment is powered down. The music plays for a few minutes, then fades away as if the ghostly band has finished their set.

Staff members report that tools, bottles, glasses, and other objects regularly move on their own or disappear only to reappear in impossible locations.

Bartenders describe setting down bottle openers, turning away for a moment, and finding them gone. Searches of the immediate area reveal nothing, but the opener will turn up hours later in a completely different part of the bar - sometimes in places the bartender never went that shift.

One manager described locking the front door at closing and putting the keys in his pocket. When he reached his car in the parking lot minutes later, the keys weren't in his pocket. Thinking he'd dropped them, he searched the sidewalk and parking lot with no success. Returning to the bar frustrated, ready to retrieve his spare key from the office, he found the missing keys sitting in the center of the bar, in plain sight, as if someone had carefully placed them there for him to find.

Maintenance tools are particularly prone to disappearing. One handyman working on repairs at the White Eagle told staff he was convinced one of the ghosts was "helping" with the work - his tools would be exactly where he needed them before he reached for them, as if someone was anticipating his needs and arranging materials accordingly.

Multiple witnesses have reported seeing shadow figures at the White Eagle - dark, person-shaped shadows that move independently of any light source and don't correspond to any physical person present.

These aren't the subtle tricks of light and shadow that can be explained by headlights passing outside or customers moving in another room. Witnesses describe distinct, human-shaped shadows that walk across walls, move through doorways, and even interact with the environment in ways that seem purposeful.

One regular patron described watching a shadow figure walk through the bar toward the back hallway, moving with clear purpose as if someone was walking to the restroom. Curious about who was moving around when the bar was nearly empty, the patron followed - but the hallway was completely empty, and the restrooms were vacant.

Some researchers believe shadow figures are a different type of manifestation than full apparitions - perhaps spirits with less energy to manifest fully, or residual energy that's taken on a vaguely human form. Whatever they are, the White Eagle has multiple shadow entities that seem to go about their business independent of the living occupants.

The White Eagle's sound system, lights, and other electronics malfunction in ways that defy technical explanation. Equipment that tests perfectly and functions normally in other locations experiences constant problems at the White Eagle.

Lights turn on and off on their own, particularly on the second floor. The sound system in the bar will occasionally emit strange sounds - voices, music, or static - when nothing is plugged in and the system is powered down. Cell phones and cameras frequently malfunction in the building, with batteries draining impossibly fast or devices simply refusing to function.

One paranormal investigation team brought high-end equipment to document activity at the White Eagle. Multiple devices malfunctioned simultaneously, including equipment that had worked perfectly minutes before entering the building. The team's EMF detectors went wild in several areas, particularly near the stairs and in the basement, showing electromagnetic fluctuations that had no mundane source.

Paranormal researchers theorize that spirits may interact with electromagnetic fields when manifesting, which could explain both the equipment malfunctions and the abnormal EMF readings throughout the building.

Multiple people died at the White Eagle under violent circumstances - murder, fights, accidents, and possibly intentional killings related to the shanghaiing operation. Paranormal theory suggests that violent or unexpected death can trap spirits in the location where they died, particularly if the person died with strong emotions or unfinished business.

Rose died young, murdered in the building where she worked. Sam appears to have died suddenly, possibly not even realizing he'd passed. The men who disappeared through the basement and tunnels - if the stories are true - died terrified and helpless, far from home and family. These are textbook conditions for creating hauntings: sudden death, strong emotions, and circumstances that leave a person's spirit confused or unwilling to move on.

Even without individual deaths, the White Eagle was a site of immense human suffering for decades. Prostitutes working in dangerous conditions, workers drinking away the pain of back-breaking labor, violence and exploitation, and the regular presence of the desperate and downtrodden - all of this negative energy soaked into the building over more than a century.

Some paranormal theories suggest that places can absorb emotional energy like a battery, particularly intense emotions like fear, rage, and despair. Over decades, the White Eagle accumulated an enormous charge of negative energy that may have created or amplified the paranormal activity in the building.

If the White Eagle's basement truly connects to Portland's Shanghai tunnel system, this physical connection might also serve as a spiritual conduit. The tunnels themselves are reportedly among Portland's most haunted locations, filled with the energy of kidnapped men, murder victims, and the worst of the city's criminal history.

The tunnel connection might allow spirits to move through the underground network, using the White Eagle as a waypoint or gathering place. This would explain why the building seems to host far more spiritual activity than a single location's history would typically generate - it's not just the White Eagle's ghosts, but entities from across Portland's dark waterfront history that move through the connected spaces.