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Due to the graphic nature of this haunted place, listener discretion is advised this episode includes descriptions of bullying, racism and death. We advise extreme caution for children under 13.


Leslie ran through the San Francisco streets, tears flooding her face in the Fillmore District. The bars were packed in. Concert goers spilled onto the sidewalks. But as Leslie turned onto Bush Street, the cacophony plunged into quiet. Then laughter. The bullies had followed her, Leslie had been thrilled when she was invited to Hannah's house, one of the most popular girls in the seventh grade class, but Hannah's parents hadn't been home, that instead of watching movies and eating junk food like Leslie had been promised, Hannah and her friends had attacked.


They yanked on her hair, laughed at Leslie's cheap clothes and glasses. They called her a loser, so she ran. But they followed. Leslie glance behind her.


A low mist covered the ground illuminated by street lights. She could see the shapes of five girls walking toward her through the fog. Hannah's tall frame led the onslaught. Hannah was the worst of them. Up ahead, six eucalyptus trees created a little nook off the sidewalk, Leslie left behind a tree and shut her eyes tight. She hurt the bullies, giggles, turned to screams, she peered around the tree, dozens of nuts from the eucalyptus trees were pelting down on the bullies and it was like a hailstorm.


Leslie saw one smack, had a heart on the face, and blood spurted out of her nose.


And I screamed and took off down the street, her minions at her heels. Leslie stared after them in disbelief. But they were out of sight, she felt her hand war like someone had grabbed it, but there was no one there. She backed away in panic, a woman's hoarse voice whispered in her ear.


She told Leslie that she should use others expectations against them and learn to fight back. Welcome to Haunted Places, a Spotify original from podcast. I'm Greg Polson. Every Thursday, I take you to the scariest, eeriest, most haunted real places on Earth. You can find all episodes of Haunted Places and all other Spotify originals from podcasts for free on Spotify and every Tuesday, make sure to check out urban legends. These special episodes of Haunted Places are available exclusively on Spotify this week.


Join me on a supernatural journey to San Francisco's Mary Ellen Pleasant Park and discover why to this day it's haunted. Coming up, we uncover the park's legendary namesake.


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If you're standing on the corner of Octavia and Bush Streets in San Francisco's Fillmore District, odds are you'll be holed a sprawling Romanesque style building emerging out of the fog. But if you look closer, you might notice the six eucalyptus trees that line its side. And if you look even closer, the mist might start to reveal a lone patch of sidewalk between them. And if you see that, you'll have found Mary Pleasant Park, the smallest public park in San Francisco.


The park's namesake, Mary Ellen Pleasant, was a 19th century entrepreneur, an abolitionist who once lived alongside the little park. Her former home and Italian style mansion with 30 rooms was torn down in 1928. But the eucalyptus trees Marielena planted before her death in 1984 are still standing. The city of San Francisco determined the spot was a structure of merit in 1974 and named it Mary Ellen Pleasant Park. Her park might be tiny, but we can't say the same for Mary Ellen Pleasant's legacy.


Many of the facts surrounding her life are shrouded in mystery. But what we do know is that Mary Ellen Pleasance was born as a slave around 1814, and after the California gold rush of 1848, she traveled to San Francisco seeking opportunities there. Her lighter complexion reportedly allowed her to pass as a white woman after the death of her first husband left her a small fortune. Mary Ellen used the money to create her own businesses, including laundries, dairies and restaurants.


The result? She became one of the first black American millionaires. But it wasn't until years later that she'd ever publicly admitted. In 1865, Mary Ellen Pleasant finally decided she'd no longer hide her identity. On the census report that year, she recorded that she was black. She didn't immediately fall from the wealthy circle. She moved in. However, the events of one evening gave some an excuse to push her out.


Mary kneeled beside her bed, whispering a prayer to the lower the spirits of voodoo. Her lips hurried to get the words out before a sleep took her. She considered herself energetic for 78, but even she got tired once the clock hit 10. Mary didn't observe all the old voodoo customs her mother had taught her. She had to be careful. Voodoo was seen by others as sinister, especially in California. They called it witchcraft. But still, Mary thank the spirits each night for her good fortune.


There was a moral framework for living. Her mother had always said the spirits had guided Mary even during her time of hiding. They showed her that the lies about who she was had been necessary, and they'd helped her understand her greatest skill. She assessed how people saw her, then use their expectations to get what she needed. The wealthy family she worked for as a girl in New England had expected her to be silent and loyal. She used the silence to listen and learn.


The people of San Francisco had seen her as a white woman, so she became one of them, letting them tell her their secrets. But now that lie had grown sour, the smugness she'd once felt that deceiving San Francisco snobs began to lose its charm after the civil war ended. It felt important to reveal who she really was. But when she did, the panic of those around her had been even more satisfying than she'd imagined. Mary stood peering out the window with the precious eucalyptus trees she planted their white bark, made them look like willowy ghosts in the darkness.


They gave her comfort, but something felt off tonight. The year had a hot thickness to it. A knocking startled her. Someone was at her bedroom door. She called for them to enter and Samuel poked his head inside. He said Catherine wanted to speak with them. Samuel was her business partner and Catherine was his wife, and they all lived together. The arrangement looked unusual to others. She'd heard the whispers that she was their servant or that she was his lover.


And Catherine was only there to keep up appearances. Her pride wanted to correct the rumors, but as Mary had learned, there was a way to use it. If people were confused about their situation, maybe it prevented them from being outraged by the truth. But a black woman had more money than them. Samuel held a candle aloft, a guided them through the cavernous hallway. Mary loved walking around the home at night. The candle only illuminated the space directly in front of her, making her feel like nothing else existed.


She followed musing on Samuel's peculiar request. A meeting at this hour was odd, and for Catherine to call it was even more strange. Catherine was always pleasant, but she generally stayed out of things. Truthfully, Mary didn't really notice her much to Mary Catherine was a nice piece of furniture, a lovely touch to a home, but nothing that she thought too much about. Mary and Samuel entered a large suite lit by a flickering candle. Catherine's polite, smiling face looked up from a writing desk in the corner.


Samuel walked over and put his hand on her shoulder. A balmy draught swept through the room and Mary's nightdress below around her. The windows were open. Once again, she was reminded that the night felt wrong, the wind was too hot and she didn't like the way Catherine was smiling at her. Katharine, thank Mary for coming and said she had a few papers for her to sign a buyout for the House and Samuel's businesses.


Mary stared at her momentarily, mute, then she burst into laughter, these were her businesses.


Samuel was just an investor. Samuel and Katherine lived here because Mary allowed it. But when Samuel avoided her gaze, Mary's laughter died in her throat. This was a coup, Katherine's expression hardened.


She suggested Mary take the buyout because there were ways for them to get what they wanted, regardless of what Mary signed. Catherine mused that the city wasn't so keen on Mary's religion. She wondered how people might react if they knew Mary was a witch.


Suddenly, Samuel grabbed Mary's arm. He pulled her struggling to the table.


Her arm felt fragile in his grip. She hated it. It had been a while since Mary had felt the agonising whiff of being powerless. Then she felt her shoulders warm, like invisible hands were rubbing them. The Luhya. They were reminding her of her skill. Samuel had expected her to willingly sign. So she decided to use those expectations. She stopped struggling, and Samuel relaxed his grip. Mary took a few steps, as if approaching the table willingly.


Then after a moment, she yanked her arm from him and quickly backed away. Glaring and furious anger to be played so completely was vile. Catherine jumped her feet as if to fight. Mary tensed in preparation. She was spry. But Catherine was younger than her, and with Samuel there, she didn't stand. A chance of this came to fists. But Mary stood at the ready as Catherine lunged forward and shoved Samuel.


He staggered back from surprise just as much as from the force of the push. His arms flailed his legs back into the edge of the open window, and then he lost his balance and fell. Samuel screamed, then disappeared from St.. Mary stared at the billowing curtains and shock, she listened for a groan or a cry that might suggest Samuel was still alive, but she heard nothing. He'd been killed by his own wife. Catherine smiled sadly and said she was sorry to see him go, but it was necessary.


Mary was shocked. She asked Catherine why Catherine told Mary she'd seen how Mary had used her first husband's inheritance to be independent. Catherine wanted that, too. It would have been easier of Mary had signed the papers and agreed to the payout. But this may also worked. Now, Catherine had a dead husband. She could play the role of a poor grieving widow and Mary as the crazed servant who had killed him. Mary's heart hammered in her chest.


She thought she was so good at reading people not knowing how they saw her, she couldn't believe she missed the demon that lurked in the always pleasant Catherine. Mary's eyes flickered to the door. She needed to get out of there. But then Catherine laughed coldly and eyes snapped back to the younger woman. Catherine said it didn't matter if Mary ran. No one would believe her. Mary decided she'd take her chances and dashed for the door. Mary ran out into the yard.


Her body ached. She looked back at the old Victorian house, wondering if that was the last time she'd set foot in her precious home. But she had to go. She would fight for her property. Later, Mist danced around her feet. It was warm and she waded through it, passing her eucalyptus trees. But just then, the fog cleared, revealing Samuel's broken body. His blood sparkled in the moonlight, still wet at keeping Mary slowly turned, Catherine stood in the window.


She called out that Mary couldn't hide. Everyone would know what she was a murderer and a voodoo queen. Mary stared back with a sneer.


Catherine would tell everyone she was a witch and that was OK because, like always, Mary would find a way to use it.


When Mary Ellen Pleasant's business partner, a man named Thomas Bell, died in 1892, the city was awash with rumors. Some accounts say that Thomas died from a fall down the stairs. Others claim, however, that he fell from an upper window while the coroner ruled his death an accident.


The gossip about what really happened was plentiful and merciless. After his death, Thomas's wife, Teresa Bell, collaborated with the San Francisco Chronicle on a smear campaign against Mary Helen. An article entitled The Queen of the Voodoo's implied that Mary Ellen was not only practicing so-called black magic, but that she was also responsible for Thomas's death.


Afterward, wealthy San Franciscans distanced themselves from Mary Ellen, claiming she duped them with magic. She was given the name the wickedest woman in San Francisco. There's no record of Mary Ellen's or Teresa's role in Thomas Bell's accident. But Teresa acted to ensure that Thomas's fortune stayed with her and her alone. She sued for ownership of the mansion and the businesses. Mary Ellen and Thomas started together, and Mary Ellen was forced to leave the estate in 1899 because Thomas and Mary Ellen used his name on paperwork likely to protect their fortune against sexism or racism.


Mary Ellen was unable to prove her ownership. At the end of her life, Mary Ellen was nearly penniless, but Mary Ellen was not one to disappear. Gently into the San Francisco fog. The city had not seen the last of her.


Coming up, Mary Ellen serves her own brand of justice, voodoo style, you discover their practices, seek their advice, and let yourself become more vulnerable than ever before. They have the ability to heal. What doctors can't or so they say. Listeners be sure to check out the special four part series on Miracle Healers airing right now on cults.


Meet figures from around the world who claimed powers and pushed remedies but harbored more sinister intentions. You don't want to miss it. And if you're looking for more episodes on the most radical and deadly people in history, tune into cults every Tuesday as we explore the background and psychology behind the world's most manipulative and mysterious groups. From Jim Jones and the People's Temple to Charles Manson and the Manson family to Katherine area Nexium, you'll cover the unscrupulous methods used to turn bright eyed recruits into diehard believers.


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Now back to the story. Years earlier, after the Civil War, the U.S. fell into an economic depression, emancipated slaves became scapegoats for many white Americans. And in San Francisco, it seems that this sentiment fueled the public vilification of Mariel unpleasant. Part of what appeared to anchor people about Mary Ellen was her secrecy. Even today, there's confusion around certain details of her life, where she was born or the nature of her relationship with Thomas Bell. It's possible Marilyn liked the mystique for much of her life.


Secrecy was necessary to protect her identity and activities. She was an abolitionist and seems to have been a major link in the Underground Railroad. She helped fund slave revolts across the country, but in the 80s she stepped into the limelight by taking the stand in a notorious trial. Her performance ensured that everyone knew she was not to be trifled with. David Chandler wrinkled his nose, the courtroom stank of Musk from the body's crowded in the gallery.


It was claustrophobic, but everyone was watching him, so he tried not to let his disgust show any sign of emotion might expose him as weak. Weak people were guilty and he wasn't guilty. He was a good person. Even the idiots in this courtroom knew that he'd been through days of this charade of a trial. Lawyers poked and prodded at him, a senator, when they really should be seeing his accuser, Ramona, for what she was a witch and a seductress.


David looked over at Ramona sitting next to the prosecutor. She glared at him, her dark eyes penetrating. She'd managed to hoodwink him into a tawdry romance. That was what happened.


He might have promised her a thing or two, and maybe he signed a piece of paper to keep a smile on her face and her legs open. But she claimed that paper meant they were married and now he was expected to pay for it. It was extortion. The courtroom stood as the judge strode in, David confidently rose to his feet. Finally, they could get this over with. There was just one witness remaining before the jury could declare him innocent.


Then he would go back to his old life and pretend this never happened. The last witness the judge announced was a woman named Mary Ellen Pleasant. David frowned.


The name sounded familiar, and the room's reaction gasps and whispers was making him uneasy. The woman slowly made her way up to the podium, locking eyes with David briefly. She had the wrinkled skin of somewhat north of 80 and brown eyes that looked far more lively than the face they sat in. Under one arm, she carried a crystal ball. He stared at it, baffled. He watched Mary look around the room as she approached the bench, smiling.


David had the feeling she was enjoying this. His lawyer leaned in with a smirk and said they had nothing to worry about. If that was Ramona's star witness, David suddenly realised how he knew her.


There were rumors all over the city that Mary Ellen Pleasant practiced black magic voodoo, they said, and it made sense. He knew she lived in a grand house in the center of the city, something that a woman like that could only manage if she were actually a witch. Surely no one would believe her testimony. But when she sat her intelligent gaze fixated on David, he felt the chill. He couldn't say why, but he was suddenly very, very nervous.


When asked by the prosecution, she told the room she'd seen the marriage license in question and could confirm it was real. When David's lawyer questioned her, she became cold. She said she believed David was an abusive scoundrel. He was not a good person and the courtroom knew it, she said firmly. A snicker burst from David's mouth before he could stop it.


He saw Mary stiffen and wondered for a moment if she was going to scream at him. But instead, she slowly reached a hand into her jacket to yank out a small doll. She raised it above her head and said if everyone was keen on mocking the voodoo queen, she'd wipe the smiles off their faces. She cocked her head and grinned at David. This doll, she proclaimed, could cause the death of Senator David Chandler. The court erupted into horrified murmurs and screams, David rolled his eyes, she thought she could make a fool of him with her stupid tricks, maybe get him to confess out of embarrassment.


He wouldn't. He was a good person. Everyone thought so. But when he looked around the courtroom, he noticed all the unnerved faces staring at him. The sight of them made his confidence waver long after her testimony ended.


After the day was over, David walk through the city to clear his head, he'd been sure today would be the end of this mess, but the witch mucked it up.


She rattled the jury so much they'd stop deliberations for the day.


He kicked a rock as he turned the corner on to Octavia's street, suddenly stopping in front of an old mansion, Mary Ellen's mansion. The nightly mist billowed around its gates like it was revealing itself to him. He shuddered. It was unnerving to think that she lived there whenever he passed this house on his walks. He had always noticed a feeling of unease on this block. Maybe it was the fog which seemed to hang heavier there, especially around the eucalyptus trees.


David noticed something dark through the mist, just behind the trees, an animal maybe. He rubbed his eyes ready to head home today had been exhausting. David stiffened.


He was sure he heard a giggle from where the animal had disappeared.


As he stared at the spot, a large indiscernible shape peered out from behind the tree.


It quickly ducked away again. Someone was toying with him and he'd had enough. He'd been tormented all day.


He didn't need to be hassled in his own neighborhood. He called out to whoever it was to leave him be.


And then the thing slowly stepped out from the tree, moving into the moonlight. When David saw what it was, he choked on his surprise, it was the doll from the courtroom standing right in front of him, except this doll wasn't just a small limp object waving about in Mary's hand. It was human sized. It gently cocked its head to the side, just like Mary had.


David took off down the street, but suddenly the doll was in front of him, cutting him.


It wordlessly reached its drawer filled arms toward David, forcing him to turn back towards Mary's manner. But then it was there again. He dashed between the eucalyptus trees and flattened himself against the trunk, hiding, David panted, trying not to panic. When he caught his breath, he peered around the side of the tree. But the street was empty. Only the cool mist wafted across the road.


David shifted his back against the trees trunk, only to see the doll was standing beside him. Before David could move, it reached its massive, strong arms and wrapped him in a hug. He struggled, but its grip only grew tighter. A woman's voice whispered in his ear. She gently reminded him that pretending to be something else only works if others believe it, and she did not believe he was a good man. His chest felt so tight, his heart didn't have enough room to move and his ribcage and finally the doll squeezed him so hard that his heart exploded.


In the mid 1980s, a prominent senator, a man named William Sharon, was accused of violating a marriage contract with a younger woman named Sarah Althea Hill, Marilyn Pleasance was called as a witness for Sarah. The two were friends since Sarah was one of the few upper class San Franciscans who hadn't shunned Mary Ellen. According to her testimony, Mary Ellen had seen the marriage contract in question. She also reportedly gave Sarah money for legal fees. Unfortunately for Sarah, the judge ruled that the marriage contract was forged and invalid.


The details of the trial are a snooze compared to the spectacle Mary Ellen Pleasant afforded the press. Once again, she used her ability to assess how people saw her to get what she wanted, this time by utilizing the rumors that she practiced so-called dark voodoo. At the time, the San Francisco public didn't see voodoo as the legitimate Haitian religion that it is. Instead, it was viewed as an evil magic. Fear mongering swirled Mary Ellen for decades, and during the trial, people claim that she used dark magic to help Sarah Hill and trap William Sharon.


So Mary Ellen simply leaned into the rumors. She let people believe that she showed up to the courtroom with a doll that would be used to kill the senator. William Sharon did indeed pass away only a month before the trials and. Coming up, a young entrepreneur faces a terrifying faux. This episode is brought to you by Lou and Gray, you know, the lounge recollection from last, they've got a line up of all things that will make you say, I like buttery, soft leggings, signature soft sweats and comfy meets cute tops if it's warm where you are.


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Now back to the story. Mary Ellen Pleasant died in 1984 of natural causes. She did not die near her park, but nevertheless, she said to haunt it because Mary Ellen Pleasant was associated with the supernatural while she was alive. It's no wonder that the park outside her former state continues these rumors. Those who visit claimed they've experienced a slew of bizarre occurrences. Their dogs act strange, they get cold chills, and some have even been pelted by tree nuts.


Ghost tours in San Francisco are more than familiar with the park's spectral quirks as they lead visitors to the city's various haunted destinations.


Most tours stop at Maryellen Pleasant Park. Tour guides promise that if you're respectful, Mary Ellen Spirit might grant you a wish. But if you mean harm or don't take the haunting seriously, don't expect to leave Mary Ellen's beloved park unscathed. Today had been the longest day yet for Rosalind's burgeoning business, and her arms felt like they were going to fall off. She'd been pushing her sandwich cart through San Francisco since noon and now the sun was starting to set, but she hadn't made any sales today, so she'd have to keep going until someone noticed her and wanted a bite.


Roselyn had started her sandwich cart business a month ago. She'd inherited the card from her dad, who'd run a hot dog stand by Fisherman's Wharf. At first, the card had felt like a failure.


When she was a little girl, she'd sit beside him and watch people pass him like he didn't exist. Following in his footsteps meant she'd be just like her dad, just a nameless card pusher who did the same insignificant thing every day until death. But when she hadn't gotten a job after college, the cart felt like her only option.


So she took it. But she was determined that her business would be more than a hot dog stand. It was going to be the start of a huge company. It would start small, a cool vibe card that everyone talked about. And then one day soon she'd start a brick and mortar and then someday she'd be featured in foodie magazines. She had it all figured out. She'd made some changes to her dad's old cart. Hot dogs were pretty 1950.


So Rosemann had ramp things up with sandwiches. She had the classics. Sure, mayonnaise, white bread, even turkey. But she also had the hip cramp, lots of avocado aioli, pickled onions. She played pop music and had a little squeeze horn to get patrons attention. She even painted a card, a bright pink so offensive that had had to be cool or at the very least noticeable.


But everything she did seemed like a drove people away.


Instead of drawing them in, they flinched at her music, rolled their eyes at her cart, and in general they kept walking. And when she did get customers, they didn't want to hear Roselyn talk about all the plans she had for her business.


She said it over and over again. She wasn't just a sandwich girl. She was an innovative business owner. But customers usually just wanted a sandwich with boring white bread and plain mayonnaise.


Roslyn gritted her teeth and heaved the card on words she'd been around the Presidio for most of the day, but decided to head to Fillmore instead. The neighborhood was always full of people getting home from work who wouldn't want to cook because she dipped off the main street. A man stepped in front of her cart. He had dark slicked hair and an equally slick smile. His jacket was nice, but Roselyn noticed that the teeth beneath it was ripped at the caller.


He'd said he'd take a ruban. Something about him made Roselyn a little nervous, but she hadn't sold anything all day. She wasn't about to turn away Assael. She handed him a sandwich and gave him her spiel about how her cart was going places. He said he agreed, passed some money and that was that. She watched him disappear into the crowd, wondering why she had been so on edge. Maybe her luck was starting to turn. Roslyn's card clattered on a residential street, trees obscured the last of the day's light, making it feel as if she'd stepped straight into night.


But it was the quickest way to busy Fillmore Street. She rattled past a row of six eucalyptus trees, noticing that a few tall concrete cylinders guarded a patch of sidewalk between them. There was a plaque there dedicated to someone named Mary Ellen Pleasant, the mother of civil rights in California named Rosalyn, smiled as she read. Sounded like a visionary, kind of like her. But when Rosalynn gazed up at the towering trees, she suddenly felt small and insignificant.


She could barely even sell a sandwich. How did she think she was going to turn this card into a successful business?


Suddenly she stumbled and her chute kicked. Her lace was untied. She bent down to tie it, but between her legs she saw a pair of dingy boots walking up behind her. She stood quickly. It was the man who'd bought the sandwich earlier. At first she was confused. What were the odds of seeing him again so soon? But she felt a chill when he leaned pastor and grabbed her cards handle his slick smile appeared. He said that her cart was going places and he realized he wanted to go with it, so he thought he'd take it for a spin.


Roselyn swore out loud, making his smile grow even bigger. He was robbing her. She'd worked so hard on that cart.


And now this guy was just going to walk up and take it. A nut from the tree above fell and smacked him on the head.


He blinked for a moment, but shook it off. Two more nuts fell. He looked up in annoyance, then shoved Rosalynn to the ground.


She'd caught herself, luckily, just before her face would have smashed into Mary Ellen's plaque. But as she did, she hurt her cart, rolling away the horn honking. The sound was like a dagger to her heart.


The cart was her livelihood, her future. Slowly, she rose to her knees, feeling weak. But when she turned, an old woman was standing behind her. The woman had dark, intelligent eyes. They burned into Roselyn, so she asked what Rosen was sitting around for.


Rosen was speechless.


This woman hadn't been there seconds ago. Rosen hadn't even heard a reproach. Where had she come from?


And suddenly the woman vanished. Rosen blinked. The woman had just popped out of thin air. Just then, Roselyn heard the cart squeal stopping suddenly the man had made it to the end of the eucalyptus tree line, but then stood stiffly, his back was to Roselyn so she couldn't see what made him stop. And she certainly didn't know why he was still standing there. Her stomach flipped with nerves, but something in her told her to approach. She tapped him on the shoulder, then gasped.


Tree nuts were embedded in both of his eyes. Blood streamed on his cheeks, his hands twitched on the cart. Then he let out a bone chilling scream.


He backed away, still screaming and blindly staggered down the street. Roselyn stared after him, trembling. She raised one hand to her mouth, but felt the other hand grow warm.


The old woman stood beside her, holding her hand. She nodded after the thief and said that Roselyn shouldn't fight how people saw her. She should usit. The woman, then couped Roslyn's face in her hands and pressed her ice cold lips to her forehead. And then she vanished, leaving Roselyn alone with her cart. A voice behind her made Roselyn whip around, sure, the old woman would appear again, but instead a harried, suit clad woman in her 40s approached with her young son, asking if Roselyn was still open.


Instinctively, Roselyn reached to turn on her radio and began to talk about the card, how it was the start of something special. But then she stopped. This woman just wanted a sandwich, not a spiel, and so Roselyn would take her money and the next customers and the next customers, and soon Roselyn would turn her cart into the business of her dreams instead of just talking about it.


Marilyns Park may be small, but the path she forged was massive, she fought for her place in the world for power, for respect and ownership at a time when black women had almost nothing at all. And she didn't leave those who came after her behind. While some of the city's white elite called Marion a wicked liar, a voodoo queen and a madam, the black community affectionately called her Black City Hall. She had an uncanny ability to get whatever was asked of her.


She brought the Underground Railroad to the West, hired black workers for her businesses, and fought for San Francisco to pass policies that would give more rights to black Californians in 1866. She won a lawsuit against a streetcar company for racial discrimination. Her case became the basis for desegregating the city's streetcars today, saying that Mario unpleasant haunts her park is yet another way. She's been made a scapegoat for the inexplicably sinister. But just like her legend, the shadow she cast might serve another purpose, maybe even in death.


Marion ensures she's only a threat to those who are small minded or who seek to conquer others.


So next time you're basking in the shadow of a eucalyptus tree and a tree not falls on your head. Consider that it might be Marion. Maybe she's reminding you that she can see your true character, so you better make sure it's worth looking at. Thanks again for tuning into haunted places. We'll be back on Thursday with a new episode. And don't forget to come back on Tuesday for our Urban Legends series available only on Spotify. You can find more episodes of Haunted Places and all of the Spotify originals from podcast for free on Spotify.


I'll see you next time. Haunted Places is a Spotify original theme podcast, executive producers include Max and Ron Cutler, Sound Design by Kenny Hobbs with production assistance by Ron Shapiro, Carly Madden and Travis Clark. This episode of Haunted Places was written by Kate Murdoch with writing assistants by Alex Garland, fact checking by Claire Cronin and research by Mikki Taylor. I'm Greg Pulsing.