(warm intriguing music) - [Gabra] This is the Roberson Mansion, built over 115 years ago, a near perfect example of late 19th century Italian Renaissance revival architecture, so highly regarded as a cultural landmark, it's been added to the National Register of Historic Places.

(somber music) So it may surprise you to discover that this grand, nationally recognized mansion is also believed to be the occasional residence of a covert squad of wandering spirits.

In other words, it's got ghosts.

So, if you're going to tell a story about a haunted mansion you need to set the right scene.

Perhaps something like this.

(wind howling) (leaves rustling) (eerie music) (insects chirping) In the gathering dark of a windy November night, in a year not long past, Michael Grasso, Roberson Museum's young and enigmatic Director, was upstairs in the mansion's southeast bedroom with the only other living humans in the building that night.

It was Grasso's first year guiding the production of Roberson's popular display of Christmas trees.

The planning and execution, which took weeks and involved the entire museum staff, dozens of volunteers, and, late that windy Friday night, Michael's parents and closest friends.

(wind howling) Shortly before midnight, as the group packed away the unused ribbons and ornaments, the loud, unmistakable sound of an obviously annoyed elderly gentleman, forcefully clearing his throat for attention, (elderly gentleman clears throat) was heard by everyone in the room.

(suspenseful music) But it did not come from within the room.

It arose from the base of the museum's grand staircase, just steps outside the bedroom's doorway.

(suspenseful music) The room fell silent as all eyes turned towards the museum's equally startled director.

But Grasso knew precisely where the sound came from, and was instantly aware that the group had overstayed their welcome on that warm November night.

(suspenseful music) Michael knew that sooner or later he was likely to encounter Alonzo's Ghost.

- [Announcer] Production support for this program was provided by Linda Biemer, Bill & Tracy Maines, Judy Siggins & Bill Isbell, Kent & Heather Struck, and by viewers like you.

Thank you!

(bright introspective music) - [Gabra] This mansion, at 30 Front Street on the western banks of the Chenango River, is notable not only for its size and grandeur, but also for what it has become and represents.

More than 70 years have passed since this once private home was transformed into the sprawling museum it is today.

A treasured sanctuary of knowledge and enlightenment, Roberson Museum and Science Center has evolved into one of the region's most respected institutions of education and discovery.

Equally impressive, but far lesser known, is Roberson's role as an armory for history, a vault to thousands of artifacts providing historians and researchers a treasury of clues to the riddles of the past.

(somber music) But one elusive mystery remains.

Who haunts the Roberson Mansion?

For decades, the stories have persisted, far too many to ignore.

Spectral figures in the shadows.

Distant sounds of unknown origins.

Voices that echo in the dark.

(voices indistinctly echoing) The first rumors of unusual events began in the late 1960s.

Since then, dozens of workers and guests have reported a surprising number of similarly unexplainable events.

Consider the night 30 years ago when a museum curator working late stepped into the mansion's antique servants' elevator.

(elevator door clacks) After closing the elevator door, she slowly stepped to the back of the carriage until she was jolted by the sensation that she had backed into the body of another human.

Alarmed, but trapped in the slow-moving elevator, she reported feeling her hair stand on end as she waited helplessly for the elevator to open.

The young curator's experience is far from isolated.

Dolores Elliot was the Director of Roberson Museum's Otsiningo project during the 1980's.

She had an office on the mansion's second floor.

One evening, shortly before midnight, Elliot heard footsteps at the top of the staircase.

"Hello, who else is working late?"

No one answered.

As the steps grew closer, Elliot called again.

Still no answer.

The footsteps stopped just outside her office door.

Gathering her courage, she thrust open the door.

The dimly lit hallway was empty.

Elliot grabbed her purse and fled the mansion, never working late or alone in the mansion again.

The general belief amongst Roberson's staff is the ghostly presence is likely the man who built, lived, and ultimately died in the mansion, Alonzo Roberson, Jr.

But why would Alonzo Roberson choose to spend his clearly departed years spooking guests and workers in the home he once cherished?

Is there something unknown from his days on earth?

A dark, mysterious secret from his past that keeps his tortured soul from moving on?

Or, is it possible the presence in the Roberson Mansion is far different than our gothic notions could ever imagine?

(transition whooshes) (gentle intriguing music) The first thing you discover when retracing the life of Alonzo Roberson is how little you find.

For someone who would write a carefully crafted vision for a museum of education, few clues to his own personal journey remain.

No autobiographical notes, family photo albums, personal journals, or diaries have ever been found.

There are few public statements, or interviews with the press on record.

Odd for a man of his era, and of such immense wealth, to resist the temptation to bathe in the glory of his own success.

The Roberson legacy, he decided, would wait until after his death.

Fittingly, the most revealing bits of information to Alonzo's story are found in the archives of his own museum, collected and preserved by multiple generations of Roberson curators and archivists.

As is usually the case, unraveling the essence of an enigmatic life requires the collective rhythm of a symphony of voices.

(warm intriguing music) Alonzo Roberson, Jr. was born when the United States was at war, with itself, in November of 1861.

His father, Alonzo Sr, a carpenter by trade, had moved to Binghamton a decade before, ultimately finding work for the Marsh and Gilbert Feed and Lumber Mill on Chenango Street, near the grounds where St. Paul's Church would later stand.

By the time Alonzo Jr was born, his father had bought the mill and scrapped the feed and grain operations to focus exclusively on logging and milling lumber.

A pretty smart move.

(saw buzzing) Few industries grew faster than the lumber trade during the Civil War.

The railroad that was expanding through the valley helped Alonzo Sr. build a thriving mill that supplied the Union Army with wood, windows, and doors that helped build everything from troop barracks to Confederate prisons.

By the time of Lee's surrender in April of 1865, Roberson's lumber yards stretched over four acres on Binghamton's North Side.

Despite an affluent upbringing, Alonzo Jr. was sent to public school by his progressive father.

The elder Roberson wanted his son to understand the line between privilege and poverty often came down to chance.

(birds singing) (bright music) Young Alonzo also grew up immersed in a world of wood, trees, and everything the landscape offered.

He adopted early on a love for the outdoors and the sports of nature: hunting, fishing, swimming.

Throughout his life, Alonzo would never lose a curiosity and passion for the natural environment that surrounded him.

(thunder rumbles) (rain pattering) But loss did find him.

In June of 1866, when Alonzo was five years old, his mother, the center of the young boy's world, died.

Just two months later, still grieving, his baby sister, Lydia Roselle, named after his mother, also died, leaving a shaken Alonzo and his busy father alone to grapple with the fragments of a shattered home, now haunted with a profound emptiness.

(wind howling) (warm music) Four years later, in 1870, Alonzo's father married Sarah Elizabeth Dunk, the 30-year-old daughter of a local machinist who manufactured milling equipment and steam engines.

Another smart move on Alonzo Sr's part.

Millwork technology advanced rapidly after the Civil War.

Merging manufacturing forces with his new wife's family business sparked an explosion in efficiency and production, helping push Roberson's lumber business to new heights.

The marriage worked out well for everyone except Alonzo Jr, who would later admit he found his father's new wife harshly rigid, domineering, and altogether quite unpleasant.

(hooves clacking) (birds singing) At 16, Alonzo quit school, taking work as a salesman for his dad's lumber company, and finding every opportunity he could to go out on the road to get away from his evil stepmother.

(warm music) (insects buzzing) Alonzo would admit years later that, out there alone on the road, sleeping in rented rooms above the local saloon, was where he gradually developed the life-long habit of seeking solace at the bottom of a glass.

(warm music continues) In 1882, when he turned 21, Alonzo was made a partner in the company.

A. Roberson and Son Lumber was already one of the largest lumber dealers in New York State, but, with a greater voice in the business, Alonzo believed he could help build an enterprise like few others.

(transition whooshes) (machinery clacking) An abbreviated education hadn't prevented Alonzo from learning everything he could about the building supply trade.

His years on the road, and then as the firm's bookkeeper, provided him with an innate sense of the industry's pulse.

His interactions with suppliers and clients built a handy toolbox of finely honed negotiation skills that created an ability to strike deals that were beneficial for everyone.

But it was his intuition for anticipating the changes in structure and design tastes within the building market, coupled with a strategic exploitation of transportation methods, that would eventually propel Roberson Lumber to market dominance.

In May of 1893, the World Columbian Exposition officially opened in Chicago.

The event, attended by over 27 million people that summer and fall, would leave an indelible mark on American architecture for the next 30 years.

The exposition's iconic "White City" showcased a luminous display of Revivalist-styled buildings and innovative design concepts that captivated the nation and inspired a new wave of architectural expression across the country.

A naturally curious Alonzo Roberson Jr. undoubtedly attended the Chicago Exposition, recognizing the incredible opportunity the display of architecture could offer his lumber company.

(spirited music) By the mid 1890's, with his ailing father largely retired from the day-to-day operations at the mill, Alonzo was free to mold the company to fit a more modern strategic approach.

He recruited a workforce of experienced carpenters and craftsmen to create a catalog of elegant crown moldings and other types of trim boards and finishing materials that modern builders and architects had begun to include in their designs.

At the same time, having outgrown the Chenango Street plant, Alonzo scooped up 14 acres of land west of Binghamton in the town of Union, near the site where the fleet of Endicott Johnson shoe factories would soon rise.

He strategically positioned his lumber yards near the rail lines to take advantage of established trade routes and leverage the infrastructure and connections of the train system.

The close proximity to train lines increased his plant's efficiency and enabled Roberson Lumber to ship goods across the country and into international markets.

When his father died in 1899, making him sole owner of the company, Alonzo's lumber mill was shipping windows, doors, molding, and dozens of other products to nearly every corner of the globe.

Roberson and Sons Lumber was the largest lumber and building supply wholesaler east of the Mississippi River.

At the turn to the 20th-century it was estimated that 95% of every home and building throughout the region was constructed with lumber from the Roberson Mills.

(soft introspective music) In 1904, a rare profile of Alonzo and his lumber empire appeared in the Binghamton Press.

"Mr. Roberson," the article professes, "has succeeded within a few years past of placing the products of his mill in the European markets and beyond, an enterprise that has been a large benefit to this city, and has added to Mr. Roberson's reputation and prestige as a businessman.

He is a typical Binghamton citizen of the very best class."

The faded photo that accompanies the article, once restored with added color, breathes vibrant life into the dashing, self-assured, 43-year-old Alonzo Roberson at the summit of success.

Yet, amidst the delicate sprinkling of gray hair and gentle gaze seemingly rests a silent testament to a private sorrow.

17 years earlier, in 1886, Alonzo married a beautiful, young Binghamton School teacher named Margaret Hayes.

How they met and fell in love is a story known only to them.

Perhaps it was a friendship that evolved slowly over time, blossoming into something deeper, stronger, more enduring.

It was a love that would last the rest of their lives.

But tucked within their shared journey, an inescapable void existed, the noticeable absence of children.

(bright music) Like many aspects of Alonzo and Margaret's life, various personal details remain unknown.

By all accounts, they were exceptionally private people who lived in an era when personal sorrow remained shielded from becoming public fodder.

However, from the few notes and memories preserved at the museum, a common theme emerges.

The Robersons' unwavering support for the wellbeing of children.

Alonzo's generosity to his workers and their families is well documented.

Every year he gave all his employees a Thanksgiving turkey and Christmas bonuses.

His secretary, Pauline Reynolds, recalled, "He was a kind and thoughtful man.

He'd stroll through the shop floor, knowing everyone by name, and never failed to ask about their children."

In the museum's archives, Roberson Lumber executive Charles Deyo recalls a board meeting he and Alonzo attended for the Susquehanna Children's Home.

The board was presented with a list of urgently needed items.

The next day, the home received a check from Alonzo, an amount equivalent to over $100,000 today, accompanied by a note requesting no acknowledgment of the donation be made public.

(transition whooshes) It's reasonable to assume that Alonzo and Margaret wanted children, but for whatever reasons never had them.

By 1904, Alonzo's entire family, his mother, two baby sisters, and his father, were all gone.

He was estranged from his difficult stepmother.

His wife Margaret's only sibling, an older sister named Julia, had also died young.

The lumber mill had no living successor.

There'd be no Roberson legacy to continue.

(introspective music) 1904 also happened to be the year the county's new public library opened on Exchange Street, a gift from steel tycoon turned philanthropist Andrew Carnegie.

It was one of over 3,000 libraries Carnegie would fund worldwide.

"Surplus wealth is a sacred trust," Carnegie preached, advocating its use for community good.

Carnegie's "Gospel of Wealth" philosophy inspired him to donate an amount equal to over 12 billion dollars today for libraries, colleges, music halls, and research laboratories.

Other famously wealthy families, the Rockefellers, Eastmans, Vanderbilts, all embraced Carnegie's philosophy to a great extent.

Alonzo Roberson wasn't in the same league of wealth as Andrew Carnegie, few were, but he was inspired by Carnegie's sermon, and began to consider how he could best enrich his community and ensure a Roberson legacy would endure beyond his lifetime.

(bells clanging) (spirited music) It's fair to say Binghamton wasn't exactly a great center for the arts in 1904.

The Evening Press on September 17th that year highlighted the choice between a live stage show at the Stone Opera House or a performance of Drako's sheep and dog act at the Afton fair.

(sheep bleats) (dog barks) It wasn't until after the Carnegie Library opened that a local art gallery was even considered.

It would take another 25 years before any gallery would actually open.

"I wouldn't consider myself a great patron of the arts," Alonzo once remarked.

"If I was, I sure would have had a hard time in Binghamton."

(warm music) Alonzo and Margaret had long discussions of ways to have a positive, lasting impact on the community.

"We knew we wanted it to be some form of education center," Alonzo would later profess.

They also agreed from the start that whatever it would ultimately become needed to be housed in a special building of character and distinction.

After their marriage, Alonzo and Margaret built a cozy, but modest, home on Main Street.

But by the turn of the century, the big homes, where the city's movers and shakers lived, like Willis Sharp Kilmer and Sherwood Davitch, were along Riverside Drive and Front Street.

It would be naive to think Alonzo was only motivated by altruistic reasons for building his mansion.

He undoubtedly was also eager to establish his place amongst Binghamton's industrialist elite.

Rumors of underlying rivalries between Roberson, Willis Kilmer and Sherwood Davidge have circulated for decades.

Whether the men were actually engaged in a "my mansion is bigger" measuring contest is unknown.

Nevertheless, Alonzo had a long-term goal for his home and wanted a special person to design it.

Luckily, he knew exactly where to find him: on the golf course.

(golf club clacks) (bright music) Alonzo was a true sports enthusiast, and golf had become a real passion.

- [Golfer] Fore!

- [Gabra] As a member of the elite Binghamton Club, he had sponsored the creation- - Fore!

- Of the coveted Roberson Cup, awarded to the country club's best golfer each season.

One of the men who challenged for the cup each year also happened to be one of the region's most gifted architects, Charles Edward Vosbury.

Born and raised in nearby Windsor, Charles Vosbury spent his college years studying architecture in New York City and Boston before ending up at the Beaux-Arts de Paris, the lead training ground for architects of the era.

That's where Vosbury's idol, Charles Follen McKim, had trained.

Charles McKim and his partners, William Mead and Stanford White, were redefining architectural design in the late 19th century with their American spin on classical inspired architecture.

The dynamic trio first made a name for themselves in 1885 with their design of the Madison Avenue residence of railroad magnate Henry Villard, quickly followed by their innovative approach for the second iteration of Madison Square Garden in 1890.

They were rewarded with the commission to create the official New York State building at Chicago's World Columbian Exhibition.

Over the next decade, they created a series of iconic architectural masterpieces that included New York's Penn Station, the Brooklyn Museum, the Boston Public Library, and the original campus of Columbia University.

Along with Frank Lloyd Wright, the three remain celebrated as the most influential figures in American architecture over the last 150 years.

By the time he returned home to Binghamton, the trio's influence on a rising Charles Vosbury was unmistakable.

He'd quickly built a reputation for skillfully catering to the demanding tastes of Binghamton's wealthiest residents, crafting contemporary plans that reflected the same old world designs that McKim, Mead and White were dazzling their clients with.

Vosbury had already created homes for both Jonas and Willis Sharp Kilmer, and had just finished completing work on the new Binghamton Gas Company headquarters on Henry Street when Alonzo Roberson tracked him down on the Binghamton Country Club's golf course.

(soft contemplative music) How that first conversation between the lumberman and architect unfolded is anyone's guess.

No historical record exists.

When history leaves a void, when facts are lost or obscured, one finds themselves wistfully drifting through the foggy veil of the past, piecing together fragments of clues, imagining how thoughts or notions give birth to a stream of ideas, slowly, steadily evolving into the early etchings, a vision gradually, skillfully forming the exact lines of a finalized plan, the precise blueprint for an architect's masterwork, that would, over time, become a cultural landmark.

(intriguing music) In 1988, 84 years after Vosbury presented his finished blueprints to Alonzo, Cynthia Carrington, an Assistant Curator at Roberson Museum at the time, and an Art History major at SUNY Binghamton, authored the definitive analysis of Vosbury's design for the Robersons mansion.

"Although an exact prototype is not known for the Roberson house," Carrington would write, "its Italian Renaissance influence cannot be denied."

(intriguing music) Italian Renaissance architecture first emerged in the early 15th century, marking a revival of ancient Greek and Roman architectural principles that focused on spatial harmony, symmetry, and cube-like proportions.

It was characterized by innovative uses of the classical orders, a set of rules and conventions that guide the design and aesthetics of buildings, particularly the form of vertical columns and horizontal entablatures.

Italian Renaissance architecture would spread across Europe, influencing urban design in France, Spain, England, and elsewhere through the 16th century, before falling out of favor for the more dramatically opulent Baroque approach in the mid-17th century.

That was until 19th-century architects like McKim, Mead, and White rediscovered its neo-classic potential, and passed it onto Alonzo Roberson's golfing buddy, Charles Edward Vosbury.

(intriguing music) Fast-forward again to 1988, when Cynthia Carrington's engaging college thesis walks through Vosbury's approach for Roberson's mansion, which, at first glance, appears to fully embody the Italian Renaissance motif.

Carrington would detail Vosbury's utilization of Doric columns on the front portico, which is flanked on each side with elegant Palladian windows.

The second story is highlighted by a tranquil loggia, which is framed by Ionic columned arches.

But Carrington keenly notes how Vosbury cleverly broke from the Renaissance form to add his own Americanized spin to the mansion's makeup, explaining how he contrasted soft red Italian brick with white stone quoining and trim to frame the entire facade, and departed from the precise ancient cube-like form by adding the protruding portico and bay windows on three sides.

Vosbury had crafted a breathtaking design for the mansion's facade, one that embodied the essence of a truly iconic structure.

But as striking as the mansion would look from the street, his concept for the home's interior was a turn of the century technical marvel.

(warm intriguing music) Vosbury conceived a floor plan that would allow the Robersons to have complete privacy from any business-related visitors or other activities.

Even the mansion's housekeeping staff could complete their work virtually unseen.

The first-floor entrance would lead into a large main hall flanked by both a reception parlor and a large library that could double as a living room.

The dining room was nestled behind the main hall along with a special breakfast area that would become the couple's most cherished oasis.

There were 3 bedrooms on the second floor, each with a private bath.

The Robersons' private suite included a dressing room, a den for Alonzo, and a sitting room for Margaret.

The third floor hosted a grand ballroom, a billiard room, and a dedicated smoking area.

The third floor could be reached by a hydraulic elevator, making it feasible for guests to bypass the Robersons' private quarters completely.

The entire home would be connected by an innovative intercom system that would be particularly useful for the housekeeping staff to be housed in separate, generous service quarters.

One of the most innovative, and in hindsight potentially explosive, features added to the home's plan were lighting fixtures that would be piped for gas and wired for electricity.

The lights were a turn of the century innovation to help bridge the transition to electricity when power plants were unreliable.

In 1904 the lights were cutting edge technology, and dangerous.

Even a tiny gas leak near a hot electric lamp could result in disaster.

Nevertheless, the fixtures' designs were breathtaking, and part of a decor plan created by one of the premiere interior design firms in the country.

(elegant music) By the time Alonzo and Margaret Roberson hired them, Pottier and Stymus already had an impressive clientele, including wealthy industrialists, railroad barons, and presidents.

The Robersons assigned the firm to draw up the plans for the entire home's interior, including manufacturing exquisite handmade furniture, importing dozens of hand woven oriental rugs, and finding ornate fixtures and accents for the rest of the house.

Alonzo had the plans, but no location.

He rejected a seemingly perfect open lot across from Willis Sharp Kilmer's house on Riverside Drive, favoring instead a location opposite Sherwood Davidge's new mansion on Front Street, where two houses already stood.

Determinedly, Roberson purchased both homes, had them demolished, and, as local gossip suggests, thoroughly annoyed the Davidges when construction began in the spring of 1904.

(tools clanking and whirring) As the mansion's construction progressed, it consistently captured the interest of onlookers.

A May, 1906 Binghamton Press article featured a photo of the house, noting it was to be the city's largest home with an impressive 29 rooms.

Notably, the piece mentioned the soon-to-be-infamous, and obviously ghost-friendly, elevator.

(warm introspective music) Once the exterior was finished, a select group of carpenters from Alonzo's mill teamed with artists commissioned by Pottier and Stymus to craft the wall coverings and moldings.

Over the coming months, this gifted assembly of craftsmen, poets wielding chisels, saws, and brushes, orchestrated a symphony of creation.

Channeling age-old artistry, they meticulously fashioned intricate moldings from Santa Domingan mahogany, Circassian walnut, tiger maple, and other exotic woods.

Each stroke, every carve, bore the weight of tradition and artistic passion, reminiscent of master craftsmen of bygone eras.

The walls and ceilings bore witness to their genius as well, painted, stippled, and glazed, then decorated with intricate Dutch metal brass leaf and hand painted border designs.

Pillars, archways, and panels of color emerged, intertwining in a frenetic dance, framing visions of the ancient orders and timeless beauty.

A grand staircase would rise, adorned with hundreds of meticulously hand-turned spindles, each a mirror reflection of the other, in precise proportions, as it ascended majestically, gliding upward into the opulent embrace of elegant neo-classical stained glass windows, which would bathe the surroundings in mesmerizing hues and dappled colors.

(gentle music) Crafted at the center of the grand windows is the luminous face of a woman, her vigilant gaze appearing to monitor the very essence of the estate.

Her presence, both commanding and tender, emits an aura of maternal warmth and affection, inviting contemplation.

Was this Alonzo's poignant tribute to a mother he lost so long ago?

By the time the final brushstroke had dried, the house was not just a structure, it was a living, breathing testament to elegance, grace, and the unparalleled magic of the human touch.

(somber music continues) (warm introspective music) In early 1907, after nearly four years of design, construction, and extensive landscaping and gardening work, the Robersons finally moved into their new home.

The entire project's final cost was an estimated $107,000, equivalent to a cool 3.5 million today.

As anticipated, it was the largest and most expensive private residence in Binghamton at the time.

The couple had barely settled in when rumors began to circulate that the home would be willed to the city as a public hospital after Alonzo's passing.

By late August, this chatter reached the newsroom of the Binghamton Press.

When a reporter tracked Alonzo down at his summer cottage in the Thousand Islands, he responded, "Whoever started that rumor knows nothing about it.

It's untrue."

Alonzo was obviously dodging the question.

Someone he trusted had let the cat out of the lumber mill.

He may not have finalized his plans for the home yet, but it was going to be his story to tell when he was ready, and he wouldn't be ready for another 27 years.

(transition whooshes) Throughout those years, Alonzo was true to form.

He safeguarded his and Margaret's privacy while emerging as a calm and reasoned community leader.

He declined numerous pleas to run for mayor, but remained active on various banking and non-profit boards.

Though he often worked late at the mill, on cooler evenings, he could be seen, suit and tie intact, leisurely chatting with his neighbors on their front steps.

Over those years the legend and allure of Alonzo and Margaret's home also deepened, building into a beloved source of civic pride and admiration, helping to crystallize Roberson Mansion as a time-honored symbol of community unity and celebration.

(soft contemplative music) A single extant photo of Alonzo in a casual setting remains.

(transition whooshes) It's 1924.

63-year-old Roberson is surrounded by 10 of his business contemporaries.

The backdrop is Willis Sharp Kilmer's study, a room filled with images of Kilmer's celebrated thoroughbred champions.

Willis, characteristically, sits at the core of the frame, gazing vaingloriously at the camera.

Alonzo sits to his left.

He seems at ease, the twinkling eyes, the casual posture, a subtle grin.

He looks instead away from the camera, possibly amused with the moment.

It's a heartwarming image, one that offers a glimpse into the soul of a man at peace, cherishing the joys of the present while walking slowly to the precipice of eternity.

On May 16th, 1934, at 72 years old, Alonzo Roberson, Jr. passed away in his bed at 30 Front Street.

The Binghamton Press honored his life and legacy with an extensive front-page tribute.

He was laid to rest in a grand mausoleum at Floral Park Cemetery.

(film reel clacking) (soft contemplative music continues) Two weeks after Alonzo's death, his will was disclosed to the newspapers.

True to his nature, Roberson's lifetime of kindness was mirrored in his final gifts.

He left generous sums to close friends, associates, and many of his workers, even forgiving some of their outstanding debts.

Significant endowments were also left to the Susquehanna Valley Home, the YMCA, and the local Salvation Army.

(gentle music) Near the end of the document, Alonzo wrote, "My wife and I have considered the disposition of the property-" - [Alonzo] Now owned by me and occupied by us as a home.

Upon the passing of the last of us, we have decided that said home at 30 Front Street in the city of Binghamton should be converted into an Educational Center.

(warm music) The purpose of this center shall be to promote the advancement and diffusion of knowledge and understanding with reference to education, literature, arts, science, history, and kindred subjects, to be for the use and benefit of all persons, whomever.

In providing for the creation of such an Educational Center, my objects are to increase the cultural, aesthetic, and education privileges, and to provide a forum for the development of a high conception of civic and moral responsibility.

(warm music continues) - [Gabra] It was a remarkable directive, rich with aspirational language seldom heard by American leaders anymore.

Alonzo's bequest wasn't just a gift of his home, it was a profound and lasting testament of sincere affection that the Robersons had for the community and the people who lived there.

It spoke to the Robersons' belief in the transformative power of knowledge, that learning was at the core of progress and understanding.

His emphasis on "all persons," "whomever," underscored a deep-rooted belief in inclusivity.

At a time when education and opportunity was often restricted by class or race, Alonzo's testament was a clear call for fairness and equality.

They were not just leaving behind property, they were gifting a vision, a dream, and a hope for a brighter future.

In life, Alonzo and Margaret had been denied children of their own.

In death, they would embrace an alternate reality, to stand as guardians and nurturing caretakers to the door of discovery for generations of children to come.

(warm music continues) (spirited music) Alonzo's will directed an organization to be formed immediately following his death to begin the process of creating an education center.

He listed the names of several individuals he wanted to be part of the organization's Board of Trustees, including his close friend, Charles Deyo, and the well-known local artist, Frank Taylor Bowers.

After his death, Roberson Lumber was purchased by a group of the mill's employees, who continued to run the company under the Roberson Lumber name for another 20 years before it was sold to out of town investors.

Margaret Roberson would continue to live in the Front Street home for the next 19 years, but she wasn't alone.

A majority of the housekeeping and service staff chose to remain, and years later, in interviews, several of them expressed it was a joy to work for her.

They described Margaret as a gracious, appreciative, and kind woman who loved tending to her expansive garden and caring for her cherished rose bushes.

(transition whooshes) Margaret also enjoyed being chauffeured about town, with a particular affinity for hat shopping, a considerable collection of which she added to frequently.

While she valued her privacy, Margaret reportedly never missed the gatherings at the Monday Afternoon Club in the Phelps Mansion on Court Street.

It's reasonable to assume, then, that Margaret was present at the club on November 11th, 1947 for a presentation from the Director of IBM's new Museum of Art.

The museum was the brainchild of IBM's President and CEO, Thomas J. Watson, who wanted to create a traveling art exhibit for his IBM employees.

The Monday afternoon Clubs presenter that day was an interesting fellow as well.

A graduate of Harvard University, he had studied extensively abroad in Warsaw, Paris, and at the University of Oxford, before finishing his degree in Music and Art in Antwerp, Belgium.

In the 1930's he had made a name for himself crafting portraits of some of Hollywood's biggest names, including perennial Oscar contender Betty Davis.

Hollywood was also where he met his first wife, Jeanne Madden, a beautiful and widely admired actress and opera singer.

In 1940, he accepted the position of Director of Kansas City's Art Institute, but then World War II happened and the portrait painter became an expert in camouflage, working for the Army's Director of Defense.

Soon he was promoted to Sergeant, where he developed navigational training aids for bomber pilots.

One night, he and a couple of his buddies started messing around with some equipment and ended up inventing the first truly effective radar-guided bombardment system.

It helped increase bombing accuracy dramatically, and was credited with saving hundreds of airmen's lives.

It was just weeks after arriving home from the war that this multi-talented artist was hand-picked by Thomas Watson to oversee IBM's traveling Art Museum.

That he mentioned any of this to the group gathered at the Monday Afternoon Club that November in 1947 is unlikely.

It's also doubtful a reserved Margaret Roberson stopped to introduce herself to the club's presenter that day.

It's one of those intriguing, quirky moments in time when history unknowingly brushes past itself.

Yet, in a short time, Margaret would be gone, and that day's presenter, Keith Martin, would rise to become the driving force behind Alonzo and Margaret's grand ambitions for Roberson Mansion.

(warm introspective music) The Binghamton Press announced Margaret Roberson's passing on August 20th, 1953.

She was 86 years old.

She had lived in the mansion for nearly 50 years.

Like her husband, she was generous to the end, forgiving the balances of mortgages and loans to many of her staff.

Since Alonzo's death in 1934, the Roberson Memorial Board had been meeting periodically in the home around the mansion's massive dining room table, planning for a future museum.

By the early 1950s, because of his work locally with IBM's art exhibits, many of the board members had gotten to know Keith Martin, and began to consult him for ideas on how to build their museum from virtually nothing.

The museum board recognized the need for a full-time director, and Keith Martin was their unanimous choice.

He agreed to start in early November, but years later, he'd confess to wishing he'd begun a month earlier.

(gentle music) Should Alonzo Roberson's spirit truly linger in the Roberson Mansion, the events of early October, 1953, might very well be the reason.

Confronted with limited storage, and the challenge of accommodating both exhibits and office space, the Roberson Memorial Board made the difficult decision to auction off much of Alonzo and Margaret's furniture and personal items.

In early October the announcements went out.

"The complete household furnishings of the late Alonzo Roberson will be sold at auction."

Local auctioneer George Carver was chosen to officiate the sale of dozens of beautiful oriental rugs, sterling silver dinnerware and other fine china, tables and chairs, complete bedrooms sets, paintings, a grandfather clock, jewelry, the billiard table, lighting fixtures, the list went on and on.

Only a few items, including the dining room table and chairs, deemed critical to the museum, were held back.

(traffic clamoring) (people chattering) On Wednesday morning, October 7th, the doors to the Roberson Mansion were opened to the public for the first time since it was built nearly 50 years before.

Hundreds upon hundreds flooded the streets surrounding the home.

Front Street had to be closed to traffic.

Jeanne Doseff, a young reporter for the Binghamton Press, attended the auction.

Doseff was a gifted society editor whose light, genuine style charmed readers with its effortless elegance and warmth.

It was her first time inside the mansion as well, and the discordant tone of the moment was not lost on her.

"As a future cultural center," Doseff wrote, "the 30-room estate may find dignity again, but for a few days, it was converted into an awe-inspiring bazaar!"

Doseff described how buyers "poured through the big gates, jammed into the parqueted foyer and great hall, wedged shoulder to shoulder against the satin brocade wall of the downstairs drawing rooms, and huddled together between the mahogany railings and Corinthian columns of the grand staircase."

- [Auctioneer] I've got $500 (indistinct).

- [Gabra] "At 10 AM the bidding started," she wrote, "and with each impersonal cry of the auctioneer, the spirit of one of the last of Binghamton's luxurious homes trickled slowly away into the hands of eager buyers."

- [Auctioneer] I'm told I'm gonna have 15.

(somber music) - [Gabra] While the bidding was going on in the main hall, Doseff found her way through the crowd and up the grand staircase.

"It was there," she noted, "the house seemed already to have fallen into brooding over the slow bereavement in process downstairs."

With wistful tenderness, Doseff guided readers through the heart of the mansion, a house that for many was a big part of their childhood memories.

Returning downstairs, no longer distracted by the auction's fervor, Doseff truly took in the craftsmanship of the desks, chests, and tables set for auction.

She noted the painstaking attention to detail in the matched grain patterns of the Cypress and Mahogany rooms.

"These touches of elegance are built into the mansion," she remarked, "and even in the coming years as a matter-of-fact civic center, the innate grace of the home must persist."

The young reporter's portrayal was a watershed moment, awakening many to the realization that the spirit of the mansion, and of Alonzo Roberson, was sacred.

The old home, in all its grandeur, wasn't just a building, but a legacy.

Not just a privilege, but a responsibility that shouldn't be compromised, tangible evidence of the values and aspirations that had gone into its creation, and a heartfelt tribute to Alonzo and Margaret's unwavering faith in the community.

It was an awakening for Keith Martin as well.

Reflecting back years later, he candidly acknowledged that the auction was not the Roberson Memorial Board's finest hour.

He promised himself and the mansion to do better.

(bright music) As a portrait artist where every brushstroke held significance, Keith Martin approached the evolution of the Roberson Museum with equal precision and care.

Recognizing the heavy burdens many of the local art groups carried, Martin proposed that by coming together under Roberson's roof, these groups could establish a more solid infrastructure.

This would not only provide them with space, but also facilitate shared administrative support.

Many of the groups decided to move into the mansion, creating what many believe was America's first true arts collective.

Before the museum's grand opening in the fall of 1954, Martin hired an Assistant Director, a colleague from his IBM Museum days named Laura Bishop.

A pretty smart move on Martin's part.

The two were a perfect match for each other.

Laura was a talented, high energy charmer who museum guests, local artists, and musicians fell in love with.

So did Keith Martin.

Following the end of his first marriage, Keith and Laura would wed, forging an intimate bond, and a unique partnership that soon became legendary in the region's arts community.

Over the next 25 years, Keith and Laura Martin would guide the transformation of the Roberson Mansion into the sprawling museum it would become.

But they didn't do it alone.

Museums, like mansions, only rise when a group of passionate champions of knowledge and discovery take collecting cool stuff to the next level.

Richard Barrons was one of those whose curiosity knew few bounds.

As Roberson's Curator of History during the 1970s and '80s, Barrons was responsible for helping to build the museum's vast collection of historical artifacts.

In 1979, while on a trip to New York City, Barrons was credited with discovering a long lost original painting by a local artist, Henry Wolcott Boss, a favorite of Alonzo Roberson's.

(soft eerie music) Barrons once recalled an incident involving a museum visitor who inquired about a graceful woman they'd seen ascending the mansion's stairs in a striking blue gown.

At the time, Barrons had no knowledge of such a woman or the dress in question.

However, a year later, Barrons was taken aback when a package was delivered to the museum.

Inside was the very dress the visitor had described, which, it turned out, had once belonged to Margaret Roberson and was acquired at an auction in October, 1953.

Some believe the first rumors of ghostly encounters at Roberson began around 1967, right around the time a new wing was added to accommodate the growing need for space.

However, research suggests that this timeline is slightly off.

The first documented ghost encounter from the mansion actually seems to have surfaced around May of 1969, ironically right after a visit from a legendary horror film icon, Vincent Price.

Price was in town to help promote an art exhibit and sale at the museum.

Few realize that before becoming a master of the macabre, Price, a Yale graduate, had also studied Art History at the renowned Courtauld Institute of London.

A life-long art historian and collector, Price enjoyed his tour of the Roberson Mansion, praising the facility as a beautiful and vital community and cultural asset.

Whether Price inadvertently kicked open the door to the mansion's VIP ghost lounge, or it was simply the workings of an overactive imagination, it was reported that shortly after his visit, two staff members were cleaning in the servants' quarters when one of them felt something brush the top of his head.

(twinkling music) - Huh?

- He thought it might have just been a cobweb, but after looking around, there were no cobwebs, and there was nothing in his hair.

Since then, rumors have swirled over the decades about unsettling incidents within the mansion: glass shattering with no one nearby, haunting melodies from vacant rooms, elusive shadows drifting just beyond eyesight, human-shaped impressions in mattresses, and bone-chilling drafts that sweep through the mansion on the warmest of nights.

The believers are convinced Alonzo Roberson is under the mansion's wandering sheet.

But from what we have learned about Alonzo, why all the ambiguity?

If it was really Alonzo outside Dolores Elliot's door that late night years ago, it seems fair to suggest he would have offered her a mug of hot chocolate.

Or more likely a gin and tonic.

(warm music) There is one particular ghost story that has persisted over time, told more often than any other, and it aligns with what we know of Alonzo's character.

It involves a little girl touring the empty mansion with her parents late one afternoon.

The child's continual distant gaze and giggles initially amuse her curious parents, until they pass the portrait of Alonzo mounted near the grand staircase.

The young girl pauses, her giggles fading into a soft, knowing smile, and points directly at the portrait.

"That's him, the funny man who made faces at me!"

(somber music) There is, in reality, a deeply meaningful reason for the ghosts we see.

Spirits represent history that remains.

The presence of ghosts reminds us that life flows continuously, weaving the past into the present.

Ghosts are outbursts of all our yesterdays, forcefully pushing their way into the reality of our present, and carrying with them all the joy, anger, loss, and knowledge gained from life.

The distant echoes of footsteps, the fleeting scent of a once-familiar perfume, or an unexpected draft of cold air aren't mere oddities.

They serve as sudden reminders that every life, no matter how fleeting, leaves an enduring mark on the canvas of our memories and the pages of time.

If Alonzo Roberson's ghost does indeed still walk the mansion's halls, perhaps it's not to haunt, but to remind us of a legacy given with love.

He's not restless, he's just proudly watching over the museum he dreamed about and the community he cherished.

(somber music continues) (elegant introspective music) (elegant introspective continues) - [Announcer] Funding for this program is provided in part by the New York State Education Department.