On a recent trip to my hometown of Phoenix, Arizona, Matt and I stayed in of the state’s most infamous haunted hotels: The Hotel San Carlos. Located at Central and Monroe, it has been a downtown Phoenix fixture since 1928. Back then, it was one of the city’s nicest hotels. It was the kind of place where the elite gathered, where whispered secrets never quite faded away.
If you’ve ever seen Psycho, you’ve seen the Hotel San Carlos. It makes a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it appearance in the opening shot of the 1960 film, standing among Phoenix’s downtown buildings. By the time Hitchcock’s masterpiece hit theaters, the hotel had already earned two reputations. One for Hollywood glamour, another for something darker.
A Hotel of Firsts — and Lasts
The Hotel San Carlos was the height of luxury when it opened in March 1928. Designed in the Renaissance Revival style, it stood out immediately. It was Phoenix’s first hotel with air cooling, steam heat, hand-operated elevators, and ice water taps in every room. These were small but significant details in Arizona’s brutal summers, making the hotel a true modern marvel at the time.
Before the Hotel San Carlos, the land held something entirely different — Phoenix’s first schoolhouse, built in 1874.Builders replaced the one-room adobe school with a brick building, which stood until officials condemned it in 1916. By 1928, they demolished the school to make way for one of Phoenix’s premier hotels.
One piece of the old school remains: a well in the hotel’s basement, now part of the air conditioning system. Originally dug for the schoolhouse, the well supplied the hotel’s drinking water for decades. By the 1970s, the hotel repurposed the well to cool the building, but its history still lingers underground.
Some say the ghostly laughter and cries of children heard in the hotel at night belong to long-forgotten students, but there’s no record of anything tragic happening to them. No drownings, no freak accidents. That hasn’t stopped the stories though. This is how hauntings are born: in the spaces between history and legend.
The Tragic Death of Leone Jensen
The most well-known tragedy tied to the Hotel San Carlos is the death of Leone Jensen, a 22-year-old woman who jumped from the roof of the hotel in the early hours of May 7th, 1928.
At first glance, her story seems like one of heartbreak and despair, but when you look closer at the details, a different picture starts to emerge — one that suggests she may have come to Phoenix seeking treatment for tuberculosis and, when faced with the reality of her condition, chose to take her own life.
Did Leone come to Phoenix for TB Treatment?
In the 1920s, Phoenix was a well-known destination for tuberculosis patients, thanks to its dry climate and abundance of sanatoriums and TB hospitals. Doctors sent many tuberculosis patients to Arizona, hoping they would recover, but those who worsened had few options and little hope.
Leone had been in Phoenix for several weeks before her death, and newspaper reports suggest she had no job or known friends in the city. If she had come for work or personal reasons, it seems odd that no one came forward to speak about her life in Phoenix.
Then there are her own words. In her suicide notes she wrote:
- She was too weak to walk.
- She had lost her appetite.
- Doctors had made her sick.
- She felt like just another lonesome and ill stranger.
These are classic symptoms of advanced tuberculosis — extreme fatigue, loss of appetite, and progressive weakness. In the 1920s, TB treatment was still in its early stages, and if she was not responding to care, she may have felt there was no escape from her condition.
Her Final Moments at the Hotel San Carlos
On the night of May 6, 1928, Leone climbed to the roof of the Hotel San Carlos. Around 3:00 AM on May 7, she jumped seven stories to her death, landing on the Monroe Street side of the building.
Leone wore a rose-colored dress, light shoes, stockings, a tan-colored coat, and a matching hat. Rescuers found her with the hat still in her hand, suggesting she held it as she fell.
The Suicide Notes: A Conflicted Mind
Leone left behind multiple notes, some of which were described by police as “incoherent.”
- One note instructed that Jack Edwards, an undertaker at 936 Venice Blvd, Los Angeles, be contacted, suggesting she had already made arrangements for her burial.
- Another note referenced her failing health, stating she was suffering from a “nervous breakdown”, was too weak to walk, had lost her appetite, and that doctors had made her sick rather than helping her.
- A third note accused a bellhop at the hotel of being responsible for ‘black and blue marks’ on her body.
The accusation against the bellhop remains one of the biggest mysteries of her case. If she was seriously ill, could the bruises have been from medical treatment or weakness-related falls? Or was there something more that wasn’t investigated?
Police questioned the bellhop but released him, and authorities quickly ruled her death a suicide without holding an inquest.
The Coroner’s Findings and Unanswered Questions
Leone’s suicide was officially recorded, but her lack of family in Phoenix meant that there were few people to ask questions on her behalf. The coroner initially hesitated to rule it a suicide, calling the circumstances “inconclusive.” However, after a brief investigation, he ruled that no inquest was needed, and her death was formally classified as suicide due to despondency.
An envelope containing five dollars was found in her purse, along with instructions for her burial. Leone had requested to be buried in her dress and tan high-heeled slippers. But one question lingers — was her death truly a result of despair, or was it a final decision made by someone who know their time was running out?
A Different Perspective: A Woman Facing a Terminal Illness
Leone’s death has often been romanticized as a story of heartbreak, but when viewed through the lens of historical context, it becomes far more tragic and human.
If Leone was in Phoenix for tuberculosis treatment, it’s possible she had already received a terminal prognosis. TB patients at the time often died alone in sanatoriums, and suicide was not uncommon for those who saw no way out. Her references to illness, weakness, and failed medical treatment suggest she knew she was running out of time.
While ghost stories and urban legends have kept Leone’s name alive for nearly a century, the reality is much sadder than any haunted tale. She wasn’t a heartbroken bride — she was a sick, isolated woman who may have lost all hope.
The Haunting of the Hotel San Carlos
If the stories are true, Leone never left the hotel.
Guests and staff have reported seeing a woman in a long dress on the rooftop, only for her to vanish when they look again. Others claim to have spotted a wispy figure in the hallways, lingering in doorways before disappearing into nothing.
And then there are the knocks at the door in the middle of the night. When guests open up, no one is there.
During our visit, we met with one of the hotel’s staff members, who told us about an event she’d personally witnessed. One night, while sitting at the front desk, she heard a loud banging noise coming from a short hallway near the stairwell. Then came a crash, followed by the unmistakeable sound of shattering glass.
She rushed over only to find broken glass on the floor beneath a framed picture.
But the picture? Still hanging on the wall, undisturbed, with half of its glass missing. She checked the security footage. No one had been in that hallway for hours.
Other Tragic Incidents at the Hotel
Leone Jensen wasn’t the only person who met tragedy at the Hotel San Carlos. Over the years, the hotel has seen multiple tragedies, further fueling its reputation as a place where sorrow lingers.
On November 10, 1948, 22-year-old Colleen Hixson attempted to take her own life by jumping from a fifth-floor window of the hotel. In a stroke of luck, a protruding fourth-floor window stopped her fall, preventing what could have been another tragedy.
As soon as hotel staff and guests saw what was happening, they rushed to help. Calvin Ashton, a bellboy, had been showing a couple their room when he opened a window and saw Colleen standing on the ledge. He and the guests pleaded with her not to jump, desperately trying to talk her back inside.
When she stepped off the edge, it was another guest, Gus Taranto, staying in a fourth-floor room below, who helped keep her from falling further. He threw a rope down and held onto her until firemen arrived to complete the rescue.
Both hotel staff and guests stayed by her side, trying to calm and comfort her until medical personnel arrived. Mabel E. Kendall, a nurse living at the hotel, assisted her while a fellow guest called Colleen’s family.
Colleen was taken to St Monica’s Hospital, suffering from a fractured right arm, bruises, and possible internal injuries.
The Hotel San Carlos has seen nearly a century of guests pass through its halls. How many of them never truly left?
A Note on Respect and Mental Health
I write about darker subjects, historical tragedies, hauntings, and folklore — but I always strive to do so with care and respect for the real people behind these stories.
If you or someone you know is struggling, please know that help is available. You can reach out to the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline or visit 988lifeline.org for support. You are not alone.
Ghosts — or Just the Weight of History?
At Matt and I wandered through the hotel, I couldn’t help but think of all the stories this place holds. The past feels especially heavy at the Hotel San Carlos, like something unseen is watching, waiting, remembering.
We took our time exploring, eventually making our way to the rooftop pool. Marilyn Monroe supposedly loved this place, often requesting a third-floor room so she could have easy access to the pool. I wonder if she ever felt something lingering here, the way so many guests have.
That night, exhausted from our drive, we went back to our room and crashed — until something woke me up at midnight.
I got up to use the bathroom, and as I stood at the sink, I heard it: A strange, dragging sound from the room above ours. It went on for thirty solid seconds – the unmistakeable sound of something heavy being pulled across a wooden floor.
The Hotel San Carlos doesn’t have wooden floors. And yet, the sound had the weight of something old, something from another time — like the echo of furniture scraping across a room that no longer exists. Or perhaps, the sound of an old steamer trunk being pulled across the floor — an echo of travelers long gone.
Just as I turned to wake Matt up, the sound stopped completely. The silence that followed was worse. A dense, pressing quiet as if the entire hotel was waiting, holding its breath along with me. And in that moment, I felt it — that unseen weight I’d noticed all day, the history of this place settling around me.
The hotel felt watchful in a way I couldn’t explain. Like it wasn’t just the living who still wandered these halls, but the memories themselves, pressing in at the edges, waiting to be noticed.
The Ghosts of the Hotel San Carlos
Maybe the spirits of the Hotel San Carlos don’t want to scare people away. Maybe they just want people to know they’re still here.
There’s something about this place that holds onto the past, whether it’s the lingering whispers of Hollywood legends, the quiet echoes of schoolchildren, or the shadowy presence of a woman whose heartbreak became legend.
If you ever find yourself in Phoenix, go to the Hotel San Carlos. Walk its hallways, visit the rooftop pool, and listen carefully when the hotel gets quiet.
6 comments
We recently stayed at The Hotel Monaco in Salt Lake City. We were staying on the 5th floor in a part of the hotel which was the original structure of the bank. My sister was getting married, and most of my family was running from room to room - visiting with family and friends, but my son was sleepy and laid down in the room alone. When I later came back to sleep - he was wide awake and watching TV. I worried that the chaos of family had kept him awake - when he stated that the bed had been shoved away from the wall - and that the curtains wouldn't stop moving - even without the vents in the room running.Needless to say - we didn't get much sleep in the room.
That looks like an amazing hotel, I'll have to look into reports of it being haunted! Thanks for sharing! :)