The Haunted Beacon Grand Hotel

The Sir Francis Drake Hotel opened on October 21, 1928, the culmination of a $5 million investment by the Consolidated Hotels Corporation. The opening was a major social event, drawing San Francisco's elite to marvel at the building's luxurious appointments. The lobby featured Italian Renaissance-inspired architecture, with soaring ceilings, marble floors, and enough gold leaf to satisfy the most demanding tycoon.

The hotel quickly became a destination for the wealthy and famous. Its location at the heart of Union Square placed it among San Francisco's finest shops and theaters, and its rooftop restaurant offered sweeping views of the city and bay. For one brief year, the Sir Francis Drake embodied the optimism and excess of the Jazz Age.

Then came Black Tuesday, October 29, 1929. The stock market crash wiped out fortunes overnight, and many of the hotel's regular guests found themselves suddenly impoverished. The psychological impact was devastating - men who had built empires saw their life's work evaporate in a matter of hours. Some responded with resilience and determination to rebuild. Others could not face the disgrace of financial ruin.

The Sir Francis Drake, like luxury hotels across America, became a site of tragedy. Wealthy businessmen checked into upper-floor rooms, ordered expensive meals from room service, and then ended their lives. Some jumped from windows. Others chose more private methods. The hotel staff learned to recognize the warning signs - the guest who seemed unusually calm after suffering devastating losses, the room service order that felt like a last meal.

These Depression-era suicides marked the hotel with spiritual energy that has never faded. The ghosts of those desperate men still wander the upper floors, trapped in their final moments of despair. They appear at windows, looking out at the city that betrayed them. They pace their rooms, unable to find peace even in death.

The Sir Francis Drake survived the Depression and entered a new golden age during and after World War II. San Francisco was a major embarkation point for troops heading to the Pacific Theater, and the hotel hosted countless soldiers enjoying their last nights of civilization before shipping out to war. Officers' balls, farewell parties, and romantic assignations filled the hotel's ballrooms and guest rooms.

Many of those young men never returned. They died on Pacific islands with names like Guadalcanal, Iwo Jima, and Okinawa. Their ghosts, some believe, returned to the last place they felt truly alive - the elegant rooms of the Sir Francis Drake where they had danced, laughed, and loved before sailing off to war.

After the war, the hotel attracted a new kind of guest: Hollywood celebrities. Movie stars filming in San Francisco made the Sir Francis Drake their home away from home. The hotel's guest registers from the 1940s through the 1970s read like a who's who of American entertainment - actors, musicians, directors, and producers all passed through its doors.

But celebrity did not guarantee happiness. The hotel witnessed the private struggles of public figures, the addictions and heartbreaks hidden behind glamorous facades. At least one famous actress is said to have attempted suicide in her room, only to be saved by alert hotel staff. Others drowned their sorrows in alcohol and prescription drugs. The hotel absorbed all of this pain, adding it to the spiritual burden already accumulated from the Depression years.

One of the Sir Francis Drake's most distinctive features was its uniformed doormen, dressed as English Beefeaters in red coats and tall black hats. This tradition began shortly after the hotel opened and continued for decades, becoming one of the most recognizable symbols of San Francisco hospitality.

The most famous of these Beefeater doormen was Tom Sweeney, who worked the hotel entrance from 1975 until his retirement in 2014 - nearly four decades of greeting guests and hailing cabs. Sweeney became a beloved figure, known throughout the city and photographed by countless tourists. His image became synonymous with the hotel itself.

But Sweeney was not the only Beefeater to leave his mark on the hotel. Earlier doormen served during less documented times, and at least one is said to have died while still employed at the hotel. His ghost, dressed in the distinctive red uniform, has been reported standing at his post near the Powell Street entrance, greeting guests who pass through him without realizing they have encountered the supernatural.

The Beefeater ghost is one of the friendlier spirits at the hotel. He seems happy in his work, eternally welcoming visitors to the establishment he served so faithfully in life. Guests who have seen him report a sense of warmth and hospitality, as if the ghost is still performing his duties from beyond the grave.

In 2019, the Sir Francis Drake Hotel closed for a major renovation, and when it reopened in 2022, it had a new name: the Beacon Grand. The rebranding was part of an effort to update the property and distance it from Sir Francis Drake's historical involvement in the slave trade - a decision that reflected changing social values.

The renovation updated the hotel's systems, refreshed its decor, and added modern amenities. But it could not erase the building's history or dispel its ghosts. Staff members who returned to work after the renovation reported that the paranormal activity had not diminished - if anything, the disruption of construction seemed to have stirred up spiritual energy that had been dormant.

Guests at the newly renamed Beacon Grand continue to report the same phenomena that plagued visitors to the Sir Francis Drake: unexplained footsteps in empty hallways, doors that open and close on their own, elevator buttons that are pressed by invisible fingers, and apparitions in guest rooms and public spaces. The hotel may have a new name, but its ghosts remember what it was called before.

The Beacon Grand is home to numerous spirits, ranging from full-bodied apparitions to subtle presences felt but not seen. The hotel's nearly century of history has left it saturated with paranormal activity, making it one of San Francisco's most reliably haunted locations.

The most frequently reported ghost at the Beacon Grand is a woman dressed in a white evening gown, her hair styled in the fashion of the 1930s or 1940s. She is seen walking through the hallways on multiple floors, particularly on the upper levels where the most expensive suites are located. Her expression is described as sad but serene, and she never acknowledges the living guests who see her.

The Woman in White is believed to be the spirit of a society woman who jumped to her death from an upper floor window during the Depression. According to hotel legend, she had come to San Francisco to escape a scandal back East, only to find that her money had been lost in the stock market crash. Facing both financial ruin and social disgrace, she ended her life at the hotel where she had hoped to start over.

The Woman in White has been seen by hundreds of guests over the decades. She typically appears late at night, gliding through hallways with an otherworldly grace. Some guests have reported seeing her enter their rooms through locked doors, only to fade away before their eyes. Others have encountered her in the elevator, standing silently beside them until the doors open and she is simply no longer there.

Hotel staff have grown accustomed to reports of the Woman in White, though few will admit to having seen her themselves. She is considered a benign presence - she has never harmed or even frightened a guest, merely puzzled them with her unexplained appearances.

On the hotel's upper floors, guests have reported encountering the ghost of a man in a 1930s-era business suit. He appears disheveled and distressed, pacing near windows with an expression of utter despair. Witnesses report that he seems unaware of their presence, trapped in his own private hell of grief and shame.

This ghost is believed to be one of the businessmen who took their lives at the hotel during the Depression. His energy is heavy and oppressive - guests who encounter him report feelings of hopelessness and despair that seem to come from outside themselves. Some have felt an inexplicable urge to approach the windows, as if drawn by the ghost's final impulse.

The Desperate Businessman has been seen most often on floors 12 through 15, though he has been reported throughout the upper portion of the hotel. He typically appears in the late evening or early morning hours, pacing, wringing his hands, and occasionally looking out the window at the city below. Staff have learned to take reports of this ghost seriously, as his presence sometimes coincides with guests experiencing inexplicable depression or anxiety during their stay.

One of the most commonly experienced phenomena at the Beacon Grand involves the elevators. Guests and staff report that elevators frequently stop at floors where no one has pressed the button, the doors opening to reveal empty hallways. Sometimes the floor indicator shows the elevator stopping at floors that don't exist on the panel.

More disturbing are the reports of figures seen in the elevators. Guests have reported boarding an elevator only to find another passenger already inside - a man or woman in dated clothing who does not acknowledge their presence and is simply no longer in the elevator when the doors open at the next floor. These phantom passengers never speak or make eye contact, and they seem to be traveling to destinations that no longer exist.

Elevator operators in the days before automatic elevators reported even more dramatic encounters. One operator from the 1950s claimed that his elevator would sometimes stop at a floor and the doors would open to reveal a scene from decades past - the lobby as it had looked in the 1930s, complete with guests in period clothing. When he blinked, the vision would be gone and the modern floor would be before him.

Some researchers believe that the elevators serve as a kind of spiritual conduit, carrying the ghosts between floors just as they carried the living. Others speculate that the electrical systems of the elevators provide energy that allows ghosts to manifest more easily.

The hotel's rooftop, which has housed various restaurants and bars over the years, is another hotspot for paranormal activity. Staff closing up late at night have reported seeing figures at the windows, looking out at the city lights. Others have heard laughter, conversation, and jazz music coming from the rooftop space when it was closed and empty.

The rooftop ghosts seem to be remnants of the hotel's glamorous past, spirits of revelers who enjoyed the view and the ambiance during happier times. They appear dressed for a night on the town - men in tuxedos, women in evening gowns - and they seem to be having a wonderful time, oblivious to the fact that they died decades ago.

One particularly poignant report comes from a bartender who was closing up the rooftop bar alone late one night. He heard music begin to play from the old sound system, though it had been turned off. When he looked into the main room, he saw couples dancing in the moonlight, their figures translucent but clearly visible. He stood watching for several minutes until the vision faded and he found himself alone in the darkness.

The rooftop ghosts are among the happier spirits at the hotel, remnants of celebrations and romantic evenings that the participants were apparently reluctant to leave behind. They serve as a reminder that not all ghosts are the products of tragedy - some are simply echoes of joy so intense that it left a permanent mark on the building.

Floor seven of the Beacon Grand is home to what staff describe as a 'playful' spirit - an entity that seems to enjoy causing minor mischief without any malicious intent. Guests on this floor report items being moved while they are out of the room, lights turning on and off, and the television or radio activating on its own.

The playful spirit seems particularly fond of hiding small objects. Guests report placing their keys, wallets, or phones on a nightstand only to find them moved to the bathroom counter or tucked into a dresser drawer. The items are never damaged or stolen - merely relocated, as if by a prankster.

Some staff believe this ghost is the spirit of a child, perhaps one who stayed at the hotel during the Depression or World War II era. The playfulness of the activity suggests a young spirit, and the lack of any frightening phenomena supports this theory. Whatever its origin, the Floor Seven ghost has become something of a hotel mascot, with staff and regular guests speaking of it with affection rather than fear.

Throughout the Beacon Grand, guests and staff report classic haunting phenomena: sudden drops in temperature in specific locations, unexplained footsteps in empty hallways, doors that slam shut without any draft, and the feeling of being watched in ostensibly empty rooms.

The cold spots are particularly notable on the upper floors and in the basement service areas. These pockets of frigid air appear and disappear without explanation, and they often precede the appearance of one of the hotel's ghosts. Staff have learned to take sudden temperature drops seriously, as they frequently signal that something paranormal is about to occur.

The sounds are equally disturbing. Housekeeping staff have reported hearing voices in rooms they know to be empty, only to find no one inside when they enter. Guests report hearing their names called in the hallways, spoken by voices that seem to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. In the early morning hours, before the hotel fully awakens, the sounds of a jazz band can sometimes be heard drifting through the hallways - music from a party that ended decades ago.