The Ghost of General James Peter

Dialogues with the deceased.

By Lucy Mason

Illustration by Jiaying Geng

On September 16, 1776, following a disastrous defeat at Kips Bay, the Continental Army retreated in shame to the hills of Harlem Heights, today called Morningside Heights. As the Redcoats closed in, these American revolutionaries launched their first notable assault. Although the skirmish was a far cry from a divisive victory, it was recorded with ample patriotic vigor as an important turning point for war morale. 

During the clash, the Continental Army sustained 30 casualties. These fallen soldiers, left with unfulfilled revolutionary vision, became ghosts, doomed to haunt the land where they perished. So when Columbia broke ground for a new engineering hall in 1897, on the very spot where these ghouls had taken up residence, the University had no idea what hauntings lay in store. 

With the aid of a local medium, The Blue and White Magazine was able to get in contact with one such ghost. 

This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity. 

…

The Blue & White: Let’s start with the basics. Tell me a little bit about yourself.

The Ghost of General James Peter: Well, I was born in 1755 in the great town of Mendon, Massachusetts. There I had a lovely childhood, that is, if you consider tending the land and helping your father ferry horses ‘lovely.’ I joined the militia at sixteen on principle, though it did come with the bonus of a brilliant blue coat, which I have grown very fond of over the years. By June ’75, I was officially part of the newly formed Continental Army. I like to think that I was a strong fighter, someone dependable, not prone to complaint. Alas, I was not given much time to prove myself. On that fateful September day, I took to the very front of our lines. Unfortunately, a Redcoat bastard snuck behind me and sent a musket straight to my ribs [lifts coat to show musket shards that remain]. Died mid-charge, which I suppose is a dramatic way to go. 

B&W: How have you found the afterlife? In particular, how has haunting this land shaped you as a ghost?

JP: You know, I thought that death might offer me some peace—eternal rest and all that. Instead, I have largely been left with an engineering hall, now apparently a mathematics hall, filled with students who never seem to leave and are always having crises about things that, frankly, don’t matter. Occasionally, I enjoy knocking over a cup of Ferris coffee just to watch someone spiral. It’s good for them. Builds character. You may call it haunting. I call it pedagogy. 

B&W: It’s interesting you mentioned pedagogy. Do you have a philosophy about how you haunt? Has that changed over the years?

JP: Oh, I absolutely have a philosophy. You have to if you want to make any real impact. Ghosts cannot simply do whatever they want. It takes time—years, decades even—to muster up enough power to interact with the living world. When I was a juvenile phantom, I’d spend every ounce of energy as soon as I had it. That got me the occasional slamming door or maybe an eerie groan from a dark hallway. Entertaining? Sure. But it does not hold a candle to the satisfaction of executing something truly grand. Now, I opt for a more measured approach. Striking a balance between indulging in the small pleasures of chaos and orchestrating something with real weight. It is all about scale and precision. 

B&W: What is a haunting that is “truly grand”?

JP: Oh! I’ll tell you about my afterlife’s greatest achievement! In the early ’60s, I decided that I ought to do something that would get me in the history books. I planned to bide my time until the moment was right, stockpile energy, and bet it all on something that mattered. So, when ’68 rolled around and the students were mobilizing, I just knew: This was it. On the evening of Thursday, April 25, I possessed the body of a rather gangly philosophy student who had been one of the strike organizers occupying Low Library. I marched, with his body, to rouse the most radical among the protesters to come to my beloved Math Hall, and as they put it, “liberate” it. It took some time, but by the early hours of that Friday morning, students came bounding through those double doors. Admittedly, it didn’t end particularly well for them, and I hold slight regrets about that. But for me? The rush was unforgettable. I haven’t been able to muster up the strength to pull anything off of that magnitude ever since. 

B&W: That’s quite something! But don’t you think possessing an undergrad without their consent is sort of unethical? Even for a ghost?

JP: You mortals would never understand the codes of the dead. The veil grows thin—I must take my leave. I have had quite enough chatter for this century. 

B&W: I-I am sorry if I offended you.

JP: [Scoffs]If I were you, I would avoid Mathematics Hall.