The Ghosts of the St. Anthony Hotel

Leading up to the twentieth-century, San Antonio had undergone a major (okay, not quite "major" but close enough) transformation. It operated as a cattle town as much as it did as a strategic military defense for the Southwest and the Mexican border. When the Sunset Route opened its train depot in San Antonio in 1877, well, that might as well have been the match lighting the tinder.

San Antonio's economy boomed.

By the early 1900s, the historic city of San Antonio had the largest population in the state—and its myriad of cultures and diversity earned itself the nickname, as one of America's "four unique cities." (These also included Boston, San Francisco and Boston).

For those with the gumption to start a business, San Antonio was it. And there was one particular man by the name F.M. Swearingen who had the requisite wherewithal to make his dreams a reality.

Prior to opening The St. Anthony Hotel, Swearingen had been the manager of the famed Hot Springs Resort Hotel of San Antonio. But he had large dreams—larger than managing a hotel for someone else—and he turned his attention to his own extravagant plan. Swearingen instinctively understood that he needed investors if he wanted his showcase hotel to be everything he'd hoped for.

Thus, in came the money: cattle barons B.L. Nayler and H.H. Jones. (Both men were incredibly well off, and Jones would even become Mayor of San Antonio shortly after, though he died in 1913 while still serving the city).

Nayler and Jones provided the cash, and it wasn't before long that Swearingen, at the helm, purchased land from Samuel B. Maverick. He ordered the demolishment of Maverick's house and then turned Maverick's orchard into what is now known as Travis Park.

When the final touch was added to The St. Anthony Hotel, there was not a single doubt that Swearingen, Nayler and Jones had outdone themselves. For $500,000 (in the currency of the day), illuminated closets were added, as well as bedroom lights that turned off when the door clicked shut; add to these luxurious features was the fact that each bedroom had its own private bathroom.

The St. Anthony Hotel was opulence personified.

For F.M. Swearingen, it was a dream accomplished.

During the first year of business after the 1909 grand opening, The St. Anthony Hotel took off at a running start. One tower was erected; then, a second one was constructed shortly after.

Nightly rates were high, averaging at $1.50 per evening, and made it so that The St. Anthony's clientele were generally of the upper crust variety. (No burnt bottom pieces, if you catch my drift).

But in 1935, the American economy plummeted. Tanked, actually, and it became imperative that The St. Anthony Hotel do something to climb itself out of the spiraling hole that was America's financial instability.

The man to tackle the problem was Ralph W. Morrison. His financial advisors had warned him against making such a badly-advised financial decision, but Morrison barely gave their worries another thought. He was going to do it.

He was going to purchase the now-failing St. Anthony Hotel.

If The St. Anthony Hotel was named in honor of the patron saint of the poor and of women who cannot conceive—or the city of San Antonio itself—than Ralph M. Morrison might as well have been the hotel's Knight in Shining Armor.

He added two stories to the top of the hotel, bringing the number of floors to ten; he connected the two towers; he sealed off the old elevators from the public and converted the shafts into a central air-conditioning unit. If that was not enough, the hotel was also outfitted with the first auto lobby, so that guests could park downstairs and then take the elevator directly to the lobby—or "Peacock Alley" as it was called at The St. Anthony.

Morrison was also almost single-handedly responsible for gracing the hotel's interior with French Empire antique furniture, authentic oil pantings, beautiful tapestries and countless sculptures.

"Beautiful" could not accurately describe the architecture and design of San Antonio's most luxurious hotel.

And, in truth, it was so beautiful that it was fit for royalty. Both of the bloodline and self-made variety.

It truthfully wouldn't make sense for a club geared toward the high elite of society to be founded, or operated, anywhere else but The St. Anthony Hotel.

In 1959, the club was founded. In theory it was a dinner club, but in reality it was biggest nightclub in the Southwest, and the third most popular in the country. Invited members included celebrities and well-known figures from all over the world.

And, to top off the bubbly champagne, the club's nightly live music was broadcasted live on the radio all over the United States.

If you were important, you belonged to The St. Anthony Club. If you weren't important, you simply wished you might meet Lady Luck and be invited just one time.

In a twist of unfortunate events, The St. Anthony Club as a presence—or group—no longer exists, although you can certainly make a stop in the infamous part of the hotel when staying at The St. Anthony in San Antonio, Texas.

In 2013-2015, the legendary St. Anthony Hotel underwent a major renovation, the most recent one after the 1980s.

The priceless antiques that Ralph E. Morrison had once brought to the hotel were restored, and even original Venetian-tile mosaics were revealed beneath the layers of flooring and polished to a glimmering sheen.

As The St. Anthony Hotel prides itself, even on its website, "The St. Anthony delivers a renaissance of glamour. Steeped in the living history of San Antonio, the hotel is a continuance of a fine tradition, where the grandeur and grace of the past exist in harmony with the conveniences of the present, all delivered with the renowned charm of Texas hospitality."

While all of this is undeniably true—and if you choose to stay at The St. Anthony, there's no doubt you'll feel similarly—it seems that the hotel has left out one major aspect of its Texas hospitality.

Its ghosts.

When the hotel first opened its doors in 1909, the St. Anthony was the place to see and be seen. Texas' wealthiest booked rooms at the hotel, and high society's glitterati frequented the hotel's ballrooms, restaurants, and bars.

So it's no surprise that the St. Anthony became the perfect place to conduct extramarital affairs. Hotel staff were sworn to secrecy about the guests who came and left, no matter how scandalous the tryst.

But one woman couldn't handle the secrecy.

The legend goes that a well-to-do woman, dressed in a red evening gown, came to the St. Anthony to meet her married lover one night. She waited for him in the lobby, but he never came. Heartbroken and humiliated, she went up to her room on the third floor.

The next morning, hotel staff found her dead in her bathtub. She had slit her wrists.

Ever since, guests and staff have reported seeing a woman in a red dress walking the halls of the third floor, eternally waiting for her lover to arrive. Some say they've seen her reflection in mirrors, or caught glimpses of red fabric disappearing around corners.

The Lady in Red is the most famous ghost at the St. Anthony—but she's far from the only one.

The tenth floor of the St. Anthony Hotel has a reputation among staff as being one of the most actively haunted areas in the entire building.

Housekeepers report that freshly made beds are found rumpled and slept in—even when no guests have checked into those rooms. Bathroom faucets turn on by themselves. Lights flicker. And the elevators have a habit of stopping at the tenth floor on their own, opening to reveal an empty hallway.

Some employees refuse to work the tenth floor alone, especially during the night shift.

Guests have reported hearing phantom footsteps in the hallways, doors opening and closing on their own, and the feeling of being watched while in their rooms. Cold spots appear without explanation, and some visitors have woken up in the middle of the night to see shadowy figures standing at the foot of their beds.

When the St. Anthony Club opened in 1936, it became the most exclusive private club in San Antonio. Powerful businessmen and politicians gathered there to make deals, smoke cigars, and swim in the luxurious pool.

The club closed in 1985, but the spirits of its former members apparently never got the memo.

Staff working in the former men's locker room and pool area have reported hearing disembodied voices echoing through the tiles—conversations that sound like business deals being made, or jokes being told. The smell of cigar smoke sometimes permeates the air, despite the entire hotel being non-smoking.

Some have seen shadowy figures in old-fashioned swimwear near the pool, or glimpsed the reflection of men in suits in the locker room mirrors—only to turn around and find no one there.

The Anacacho Ballroom has hosted countless weddings, galas, and society events over the decades. But late at night, after the last guest has gone home and the lights have been turned off, something strange happens.

Security guards and cleaning staff have reported hearing phantom music—big band jazz and swing music from the 1930s and '40s—coming from the empty ballroom. When they investigate, the music stops.

Some have seen spectral couples dancing in old-fashioned formal wear, swaying to music that no one else can hear. The figures are translucent, like they're not quite solid, and they vanish the moment anyone gets too close.

Over the years, countless guests have reported paranormal experiences at the St. Anthony Hotel:

• Phantom phone calls: Guests receive calls from the front desk in the middle of the night—but when they call back, staff have no record of calling their room.

• Spectral room service: Some guests report hearing knocks on their door, as if room service has arrived—but when they open the door, no one is there.

• Moving objects: Personal belongings mysteriously move around hotel rooms. Guests have reported finding their suitcases unpacked, their clothes folded differently, or their toiletries rearranged.

• Phantom scents: The smell of perfume, cologne, or flowers appears suddenly in guest rooms—scents that have no source and disappear just as quickly as they arrived.

In February of 1965, San Antonio's largest unsolved murder mystery took place—but not at the St. Anthony Hotel.

It happened at the Sheraton Gunter Hotel, where Texas oilman Albert Knox was found brutally murdered in Room 636. His killer was never caught, and the case remains unsolved to this day.

But here's where it gets strange: Room 536 at the St. Anthony Hotel has a similar reputation.

Guests who stay in Room 536 report feeling an overwhelming sense of dread and being watched. Some wake up in the middle of the night to see a shadowy male figure standing in the corner of the room. Others report hearing angry voices and the sounds of a struggle—as if they're hearing an echo of violence from the past.

Some paranormal researchers believe that the St. Anthony's Room 536 might be connected to the Gunter Hotel murder—either through similar tragic events, or because the hotels themselves are connected by some kind of spiritual energy.

Whatever the truth, Room 536 has a reputation among staff and guests alike as one of the most haunted rooms in the hotel.