A look back at the Catholic ghost of Wizard Clip

Farmland in Middleway, West Virginia. Photo by Diane Helentjaris.

MIDDLEWAY, West Virginia — Almost magically, the road noise stops once the car turns into the Priest Field Pastoral Center just outside Middleway, West Virginia. Pine and poplar trees tower overhead, their feet tidied up with pathways and plantings. The spruced-up landscape and tidy brown buildings create an aura of nurturing peacefulness. Mellow music rings out from a windchime in one of the pines.

More than 200 years ago, things weren’t so serene. Farmer Adam Livingston owned this Shenandoah Valley acreage. Life for him had gone to the devil – literally, in the opinion of many. 

The ghost story varies from one account to another, mostly in how it begins. A few date Livingston’s troubles back to his earlier years farming in Pennsylvania. Others tell it this way:

In 1794, a traveler stopped and asked for shelter at Adam Livingston’s farm. This wasn’t unusual as, at the time, inns were few and far between. The Livingston family welcomed the stranger, but he sickened. The visitor, a Roman Catholic, felt the hand of death upon him. He begged Livingston to fetch a priest. Livingston, a Lutheran, rudely refused. The man died without a priest’s attention and was buried on the farm in unconsecrated ground. After that, things were never the same for the Livingstons or Middleway.

Livingston’s home became beset day and night by all manner of strange goings-on, as the story goes. The sound of galloping, invisible horses racing around the house awakened the family at night. Money disappeared. The heads and legs of his chickens and geese dropped off suddenly. Burning chunks of logs flew about.

And then there was the clipping. The sound of snipping scissors accompanied by the sudden appearance of small quarter-moon holes in bed linen, clothes and even shoes. All manner of fabric and leather became inexplicably defaced with the crescent cut-outs. Clip, clip, clip.

Soon, the village became known as “Wizard Clip” and its residents as “Clippers.” Folks came from all around to see the strange happenings. One lady announced at a tea party in nearby Martinsburg that she was going to go to the Livingston’s house to satisfy her curiosity. Arriving there, she took off her new black silk cap, carefully wrapped it in a silk handkerchief, and tucked it in her pocket. She hoped to spare it any damage. When she left, she reached in her pocket only to find her new cap and hankie cut into ribbons.

Adam Livingston sought help. The Lutheran pastor did not believe he could be of assistance. Stones from an invisible hand showered a Methodist minister brought in to Middleway. Three other would-be helpers watched stunned as a large rock shot out of the chimney and spun on the floor for over 15 minutes. Livingston sought help from a “conjurer” or German faith healer in nearby South Mountain. The clipping, noises, and troubles continued.

Susan B. Kersey, Director, Priest Field Pastoral Center, at the entrance to All Hallows Hall. Photo by Diane Helentjaris.

One night, Livingston dreamed of a robed man and heard, “This is the man who can relieve you.” Based on this, he persuaded frontier priest Father Dennis Cahill to come to Wizard’s Clip. Once at Livingston’s home, Father Cahill blessed it. Before he left, a missing bag of money re-appeared. The troubles disappeared temporarily, but the infestation was nothing if not persistent. Disturbances came back. A second intervention by Father Cahill, possibly also including Father Dimitri A. Gallitzin, restored the Livingston home to normalcy.

Father Demetrius A. Gallitzin, the son of a Russian prince and Prussian countess, had finetuned his intellect in the royal courts and salons of Europe. In 1795, he became the first ordained priest to have completed all his instruction in the United States. At the time of Adam Livingston’s troubles, Father Gallitzin worked out of the Conewago Chapel in Pennsylvania. His duties carried him to Pennsylvania, Maryland and Virginia. In the fall of 1797, the young Russian was assigned the task of investigating and reporting on the happenings in Middleway. The diligent priest spent three months doing so, speaking with those involved and living with them. Father Gallitzin later wrote that he had initially found the claims hard to believe but “was soon converted to a full belief of them.” Other educated leaders shared the story, adding to its grip on the town.

Freed of the mysterious troubles, Adam Livingston converted to Catholicism and donated over 30 acres of his land to support a priest. Some writers – and there are many writers of this story – believe the deed for the 30 acres was clouded. They hint at dark doings to the original owner. Others claim Livingston’s wife objected to the donation and was an unenthusiastic convert to Catholicism.

The plot became known as the Priest’s Field.  Father Cahill may have lived there briefly, but over time the land lay fallow. The artist James R. Taylor sketched the ruins of the “Livingston place or Wizard Clip” in 1879. He remarked the land to be used by Catholics as a burial site “consecrated by a miracle.”

Today, it’s easy to imagine Middleway in the 1790’s because… well, it hasn’t changed much. Originally a bustling crossroads, later roads and railroads bypassed it. Left alone, the village retains many early homes and outbuildings. In 1978, Middleway earned recognition by the National Registry of Historic Places with 60-some historic buildings contained within the original village footprint. Triangular signs featuring a pair of scissors with a crescent moon mark the village’s walking tour.

Adam Livingston, Father Cahill, and Father Gallitzin are documented historic figures. Livingston moved back to Pennsylvania, near to Father Gallitzin’s community of Loretto. The two stayed in contact.

Father Gallitzin went on to become a prominent frontier missionary priest, the “Apostle of the Alleghenies.” In 2005, he attained the first step to sainthood by being designated a “Servant of God.” In 2013, an Italian-based priest was designated as “Postulator for Gallitzin case.” Other actions by the Vatican must be taken before he can be canonized as a Roman Catholic saint.

Priest Field Pastoral Center began to evolve into its present form in the 1970’s. Today, the neat and tidy retreat center offers chapels, meeting rooms, a large dining hall, guest rooms and a few apartments. Those seeking respite from a harried world walk pathways, sit in garden spots, and gaze at Opequon Creek. They come, singly and in groups, to pray and spend time in contemplation.

Thanks to the generosity of a man who lived over two centuries ago, men and women find solace today. Whether Adam Livingston acted out of penance for his own intolerance is unknowable, but today the Center welcomes people of all beliefs. Groups from quilters to Alcoholics Anonymous to yoga practitioners come here. Each summer, the non-profit SOME (So Others Might Eat) brings 120 low-income seniors from the hot, harried heart of Washington, D.C. They welcome the opportunity to experience peace and quiet and hear the wind chimes on land once, maybe beset by the metallic clip of scissors. 

Priest Field Director Susan Kersey believes the place where she works “is very special holy ground.” She says, “There are lots of nooks and crannies here. Let the Lord show you how important you are… the Lord loves each of you and there’s a place for you. It’s all about healing and going forth.”