“All is silent and the empty lobby has the stark, sterile look of a hospital ward. But if you shut your eyes just a bit, you might begin to see the ghosts,” Chuck Wheat wrote in what he called an obituary of a hotel in the Sept. 12, 1962, Tulsa World.
“In one door walks a cowboy-booted shade of a wildcat oilman. In the main doors come a laughing bunch of badge-toting conventioneers. There goes a lady in an expensive fur, shimmering transparently.