

Photo courtesy Lemp Mansion Facebook page 2018





It is the 30th of November, 2016. The Lemp Mansion strikes my interest as a local oddity. I notify my significant other and plans are made to arrange a date at the allegedly haunted house, now serving as an inn with a dinner theater and updated plumbing.



Allegedly updated.







The date now takes a backseat to my interest in whether or not the mansion has thoroughly modern toilets. The rumination digs deeper. If they have updated existing bathrooms, surely there would be a scant few - homes built in its time were lucky to have just one. However, being a historical landmark, surely they would not renovate existing rooms simply to repurpose them for such an unseemly, though necessary purpose.



My efforts focus fully on finding a numeric value to their facilities and whether all are open to the public.









It is 1876, and William Lemp has purchased a mansion for his family and modest office space away from the brewery. The thirty-three room home is renovated and decorated into a shining example of Victorian finery. It is unknown how many of those are bathrooms.







It is December 2nd, 2016 and I have made headway into my investigation. While the official website of the mansion does not list a floor plan, nor a room count, I have found that three of the four rooms available for overnight accommodation have private bathrooms. The Frederick and Louis Suite boasts two.



I find it reasonable to assume a private bathroom or two would have existed prior to renovations, but the room descriptions that include Jacuzzis ruin my suspension of disbelief. Even if I were to find the promise of a hot soak appealing, I would be in the tub wondering if there is a statute of limitations to haunting a Jacuzzi.









It is the 1st of January, 1904, and William Lemp is no longer interested in the workings of his brewery. The suicide of his close friend, Frederick Pabst today weighs unbearably heavy on his mind when stacked with the death of his favorite son, Frederick Lemp, just three years earlier. He is still making it to the office each workday, but terribly unsettled and visibly nervous.





It is the 4th of December, 2016, and I no longer care about the date planning situation. Instead, I am more concerned about what it costs to simply enter the building that contains these alleged haunted bathrooms. Twenty-five dollars just to have a guided ghost tour of the house seems steep, and there is no alternative for a cheaper walk-through. I send an inquiry about discounted bathroom-only tours, but am redirected to the advertised options.

It is the 13th of February, 1904, and William Lemp shoots himself in the head with a .38 caliber Smith & Wesson.





It is 11:29 a.m. on December 6th, 2016, and I have found an alternative. There is a dinner theater on weekends at the mansion. It sounds like the perfect medium between maintaining our date and satisfying my desire to step foot in the mansion.





The year is 1908, and Lillian Handlan Lemp possesses the lavish reputation of the Lavender Lady, the trophy wife of a rich man. But the violent and adulterous nature of her husband, William “Billy” Lemp Jr., has worn her down. They have filed for divorce. Lillian cites desertion, cruel treatment and other miscellaneous indignities. She wears black the final day of the divorce proceedings, eleven months after they begin.





It is December 6th, 2016, and at 11:36 a.m. our date remains in a state of arrested development. I refuse to pay $54 dollars for a chicken dinner and amateur theater just because someone’s dud husband offed themselves in the same dining room. The pressure and stress of trying to make this work begin to drain me.





It is December 29, 1922, as Billy Lemp enters his office on the main level of the mansion and shoots himself in in the heart with a .38 caliber revolver.