Ann Arbor's Gandy Dancer: Where History Lingers and the Spirits Play

There's a certain charm, isn't there, to a place steeped in history? Especially one that once buzzed with the frantic energy of a bygone era. Ann Arbor's Gandy Dancer restaurant, housed within the magnificent former Michigan Central Railroad depot, built way back in 1886, is precisely that kind of spot. It’s known, rightly so, for its exquisite seafood and steak. But if you listen closely, beyond the clinking of glasses and hushed conversations, you might just hear something else: the faint echo of a ghost story, or perhaps, simply the creaking bones of an old, old building.

Jim Westerman, the general manager, has walked these very floors for decades. He’s seen it all, or at least, heard most of it. And honestly, he considers himself a skeptic, a man of logic. Yet, even Jim can't entirely dismiss the peculiar happenings that have become part of the restaurant’s enduring lore. What does he mean? Well, sometimes, dishes clatter without an apparent cause. Whispers seem to drift from empty corners. And, for good measure, an office on the second floor, a spot not exactly bustling with activity, often seems to have a presence, a distinct chill even.

The stories, you see, are plentiful and remarkably consistent. Patrons, staff—they've all contributed to the tapestry. There’s the ethereal 'woman in white,' a recurring figure some swear they've glimpsed. Then there are the playful, almost mischievous sounds of children, their laughter or footsteps seemingly emanating from the upper levels, particularly near the women's restroom. You might dismiss it, naturally, as the imagination running wild, or the usual quirks of an aging structure.

But then, how do you explain the reports of silverware flying off shelves, or the inexplicable banging noises when no one is around? These aren’t just one-off incidents; they’re anecdotes woven into the daily fabric of the Gandy Dancer. It creates a fascinating dichotomy: the rational mind trying to dissect and explain, versus the innate human fascination with the inexplicable, the notion that some spirits, perhaps, just never checked out.

So, the next time you find yourself dining at the Gandy Dancer, enjoying a perfectly seared scallop or a juicy prime rib, take a moment. Look around. Feel the weight of the history in the grand architecture. And if you hear a whisper that isn't quite the wind, or feel a chill that isn't the air conditioning, well, you could say you’re experiencing the true essence of this remarkable Ann Arbor landmark—a place where the past isn't just remembered, it might just be living.