So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
“’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door –
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; –
This it is, and nothing more.”

(Edgar Allan Poe, The Raven)

Edgar Allan Poe had no way of knowing that when he wrote those words almost 170 years ago, he could very well have been prophesying events that would take place after his death… at his own grave, nonetheless. In case you did not know, Poe’s birthday occurs every Jan. 19. Ever since his still-unexplained death in 1849, fans and thrill-seekers alike have made a yearly pilgrimage out of paying their respects to Poe. Considered to be the father of the modern detective novel with stories such as The Murders in the Rue Morgue and The Purloined Letter, Poe has long been a hub for people with a fascination for death, deceit and the macabre. Even his untimely demise is an event so shrouded in mystery that the best scholar would have done well to narrow the possibilities down to two or three.

How could anyone resist paying their respects?

This sentiment holds especially true for one person, one particular visitor who stands out above the rest. He – assuming it’s a man — has been visiting the famed grave site since 1947. Each year he visits and leaves a half-empty bottle of cognac and three dozen roses arranged in a very specific way.

Who is this man? What does it all mean? Well, nobody knows. Dressed in black, with a wide-brimmed black hat and white scarf, this mysterious visitor has kept a silent vigil over the grave for the past 60 years and never once has a single clue to his identity been leaked. Theories run amok: he is a descendant, he is a friend of the family, he is a long-time, deeply devoted fan…

Anyone wishing to inquire about the identity of this specter who comes and goes most fittingly with an ethereal quality, will have to hold their questions. He has stopped coming.

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.

(Edgar Allan Poe, The Raven)

According to an article in USA Today, the Poe Toaster was first referenced in print in 1950 by The Evening Sun of Baltimore. The story went on to say that, starting back in 1993, the Toaster began leaving notes with sayings such as “the torch will be passed.”

Five years later another note was left, indicating the Toaster had died and left the tradition to his sons. If this is to be believed, the sons certainly did not hold the esteemed author in the same regard as their father. The year 2010 marks the first year of the visitor’s absence from the grave site, along with the absence of three dozen roses and a half-empty bottle of cognac.

The article quoted several hypotheses as to why the Toaster has not shown, but it is all speculation and conjecture.

USA Today also wrote that Sam Porpora, a former historian at Westminster Presbyterian Church, where Poe is buried, claimed in 2007 that he was the original Poe Toaster and that he came up with the idea in the 1970s as a publicity stunt. Porpora’s claims were disputed by citing the 1950 article that referred to the annual tribute.

Now that a second year has gone by without a sign of the authentic toaster, we have to wonder if the tradition, the watch kept over the tomb for so painstakingly long, has finally come to an end.

Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! – quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!
Quoth the raven, “Nevermore.”

(Edgar Allan Poe, The Raven)

By: Dawn Koogle

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