November 1996
The Legend of Gravity Hill
By ERIC STRONG
magine you and a group of teen-aged friends are sitting around on weekend, and as an alternative to boredom,
one of you suggests a late-night excursion. Around midnight or so, you all pile into your car and drive for a
half an hour or so, leaving your safe, familiar suburban town and entering an isolated, rural area that is miles
from anything. Turning off the main road, you drive down a dark, narrow one which winds its way through a
dense forest. You eventually reach the base of a high hill and the car slowly ascends. As you approach the top,
the fog lifts just enough to reveal an abandoned, stone church standing beside an ancient graveyard. You pull
around to the graveyard and turn off your engine and your headlights, leaving the gearshift in neutral. Then, as
your friends huddle in frightened anticipation, you slowly release the brake, and to your astonishment, the car
rolls uphill! As if this wasn't enough, you climb out of the car, run over to the church and knock on the door.
You immediately hear a series of animal howls from within the trees, and if you're lucky, maybe even a voice
from within the building. At this point your fear is so great, all of you run back to the car, jump in, and speed
back down the hill, going only slowly enough to prevent flying off the road. As you drive back home, you and
your friends congratulate one another on your survival and bask in your bravery, already preparing to share
your adventure with everyone at school the following week.
I have heard this story dozens of times since I entered high school. It is the story of Gravity Hill, the most
legendary place in Bucks County, Pennsylvania. As a high school student, I often heard of people's cars rolling
uphill at this place. Among certain cliques, Gravity Hill was a particularly "cool" topic of conversation, stirring
up all kinds of rumors as to what happened to whom on a trip there. Of course, I knew relatively few people
who had ever gone there personally, so most of what I heard about only came from rumors. Gravity Hill
always interested me, especially when people connected it to black magic and the supernatural. What could be
more exciting to a high school kid than that? Recent reflection on my days as a teenager led me to research the
Gravity Hill legend in order to better understand that story which had intrigued children from across the region.
he first group of my peers whom I interviewed were gathered at a party of a friend of mine over Thanksgiving
break. This group consisted of about a dozen individuals whose ages ranged from William Tennent High
School class of 1994 to the class of 1999. Unfortunately, this interview was somewhat unenlightening. Of the
people there, only four (four of the five oldest present) had ever even heard of Gravity Hill. All four knew it as
a place where cars supposedly roll uphill. Only one person knew more than that. He claimed that there was
supposedly a church and graveyard at the hill, and that they were somehow related to the strange behavior of
the cars. He had also heard of a "Race against the Devil." In this race, one supposedly challenges the devil
himself to a footrace. He climbs over the fence to the graveyard, runs to a particular tombstone, touches it, and
returns to hop back over the fence. If, once he's back over the fence, he feels the wind blow past him, he knows
he's won, as the wind is the devil blowing by him after the race is over. If no wind came, the devil was out in
front the whole time, and the race was lost. A win to the person meant a year of good fortune, while a loss
meant a year of bad fortune.
The second group I interviewed knew considerably more about Gravity Hill. This group consisted of six
friends of mine, all from the William Tennent High School class of 1994, and the interview was conducted at
one of their homes. All six knew of Gravity Hill and of a church and graveyard at its top. They knew of the
hill's supposed powers to cause cars to roll uphill, but none knew of anyone in particular for whom it had
worked. In response to possible causes of this phenomenon, they half-jokingly cited magical forces caused by
the witches and Satanists who occasionally populate the hill late at night, according to rumor. They also all
talked about the "Race against the Devil", although several referred to it as the "Race against the Night"
instead. They universally agreed that to race, one knocked on the front door of the church to signify the race's
start, and then he ran around the church building and jumped the fence to the graveyard. A loss could be
acknowledged by any one of the following three signs: a strong gust of wind prior to the race's completion,
laughter from within the building or from the graveyard, or loud animal sounds such as howling from the
surrounding woods. The result of a loss was serious --- death the following day or shortly thereafter. When I
asked if they had ever heard of anyone losing, all jointly told the following story:
Once, there had been a kid from Archbishop Wood, the local catholic high school, who had gone to Gravity
Hill late one Friday night with several of his friends. All of them "challenged the devil" to a race
simultaneously, except one of them fell while running around the building, and did not finish before one of the
three signs of losing was heard. My informants were not sure which of three signs it was. After losing, his
friends joked around about him dying, but none really took it seriously. The following night, a student from
William Tennent held a large party at her house, at which these kids from Archbishop Wood
attended. During the party, a couple of people decided to try breathing fire. The idea is simple: one inhales
butane, or propane (my informants disagreed on which it was), then lights a lighter in front of his mouth, and
exhales the gas over the flame, producing a small fireball. While people were on her front lawn doing this,
the kid who had lost the race decided to try. Unfortunately, once the lighter was lit, instead of exhaling over the
flame, he inhaled farther, which caused the flame to enter his mouth and travel down into his lungs. At first, he
appeared to be not too seriously injured. He went back inside for a few minutes before claiming to not be
feeling well. Moments later he collapsed. (One of the informants thought that he had gone back outside before
collapsing). He died before the ambulance arrived.
None of my informants could remember the kid's name, and there was also some disagreement on the
approximate date of his death. They could only narrow it down to somewhere between fall of 1990 and spring
of 1992, with most leaning towards late 1990 or early 1991. Of course, once local people heard how this kid
had lost the "Race against the Devil" just the previous night, both belief and fear of Gravity Hill greatly
escalated. Of my six informants, most admitted to having some fear of the hill, and none were willing to
attempt to "race the Devil." Also, three of them had been to the hill before, but only one knew where it was
well enough to find it on his own. (I was unable to confirm the death as described of an Archbishop Wood
student in the early 1990's.)1
y research also included a trip to see Gravity Hill in person2. Gravity Hill is actually officially known as
Buckingham Mountain, and is located in Buckingham Township, Pennsylvania, approximately twenty miles
north of Philadelphia. It is also the highest point in Bucks County, as claimed by my brother, who is an
amateur cartographer. I knew how to get there from previous excursions. As my brother and I drove there, we
found the route to be similar to the stories we had heard. We traveled down a long, narrow road in the middle
of nowhere that slowly wound its way to the top of a hill. At the top stood an old stone building next to a
graveyard, just as it had been described. The building was fairly small and had all of the windows, except for
the front two, boarded up. There were signs of vandalism on the door and windows. It appeared that someone
had thrown some kind of substance, perhaps eggs, at the front of the church. The graveyard was in terrible
condition. The gravestones' ages ranged from the 1850's to 1993, and most of them had been worn away or
kicked over. Of notable interest, there was an outhouse twenty feet or so from the church, which still appeared
to be in use, as it contained a fresh roll of toilet paper and a spotless rug by the door.
While we were there, another car pulled up, and a middle-aged African-American couple got out. They seemed
to be as surprised as we were to see someone else there. I walked over to them and introduced myself. After
explaining my project, I asked if they wouldn't mind being asked a couple of questions concerning the church
and graveyard. They admitted to not knowing much about the site other than the church was the Mount Gilead
African Methodist Episcopal Church founded in the mid 1800's by escaped slaves. They said that it wasn't used
regularly anymore, but a few services a year were still held there. After they told me that they were there to
visit the grave of an old friend, I decided it was best to leave them alone, and I cut my interview short.
While at Gravity Hill, I also decided to interview the church's neighbors, in the hope that they might know of
either the folktales surrounding the site, or know of the church's history. I walked up to the only nearby home,
about two hundred yards from the graveyard, and knocked on the door. I was greeted by Melissa Terenna, who
seemed very willing to help. She invited me inside, and I was introduced to her husband, Barry. We sat down
and they began to tell me everything they knew about the area, which was quite a lot. They confirmed that the
building was the Mount Gilead African Methodist Episcopal Church founded in 1852 by freed slaves, and it
was used as a stop along the Underground Railroad during the railroad's final few years. As time passed, and
the congregation slowly moved away, eventually there were too few people to keep the church going. Around
the 1960's, regular services at Mount Gilead stopped, although services are still held four times a year: Easter,
Memorial Day, Labor Day, and Thanksgiving. (My brother and I missed the Thanksgiving service by exactly
24 hours). For these four services, many of the descendants of the original congregation return to Buckingham
as a way to celebrate their heritage.
Unfortunately, not everything the Terennas said were positive. They were very familiar with the mountain's
reputation as Gravity Hill. Ever since they've lived there (since 1993), groups of teens have visited the church
at a rate of at least one carload every weekend night during the warmer months, and they often knock three
times on the church door and run around a bit. When Barry notices headlights down by the church, he often
walks over to yell at the kids, at which point they yell back "We're looking for the black devil!" The teens also
vandalize the property to a great extent, spray-painting graffiti on the church and knocking over tombstones.
After Buckingham township made the hill a regular stop for patrolling police cars, which was accompanied by
numerous arrests for trespassing and vandalism, the teen visitations have decreased noticeably, but vandalism
continues to be a problem. When asked what originally caused the legend of Gravity Hill, and what continues
to perpetuate it, the Terennas claimed they had heard the legend began after a farmer in the early 1900's
claimed his tractor had rolled uphill. As far as what perpetuates it, they mentioned how the commonly held
belief that the church and surrounding hill has been used by both Satanists and practicers of black magic might
excite teenagers, however, they were unfamiliar with the death of the Archbishop Wood student. The Terennas
seemed saddened because they believed that somewhere people associated a black church with a church of
black magic.
I asked the Terennas if Gravity Hill really works or not, to which they replied that they've never tried it, but
that the place where most people attempt it (by the church) was the wrong location anyway. They claimed that
it only works at the base of the other side of the hill, at least a quarter mile from the church. My brother and I
decided to check it out. After being told the exact spot, we drove there, turned off the engine, and let the car
roll, and to our astonishment, it actually worked! Our car rolled uphill! Upon closer inspection, we realized
that, in fact, the car is actually rolling downhill as we would expect, and our original thoughts otherwise were
caused by a simple optical illusion of the road.
he last part of my research was a trip to the Bucks County Public Library to do a little historical check on
Buckingham Mountain. The book Place Names in Bucks County by George MacReynolds contains a lengthy
section on Buckingham Mountain that agrees with the Terennas' story of how the Mount Gilead Church was
used as a haven for slaves on the Underground Railroad. Although the book had no mention of the association
with the Gravity Hill legends, it also contained an interesting discussion concerning a man named Albert
Large. Apparently Large was the son of a respected Buckingham family during the early 1800's, until he
disappeared in the 1830's. He lived as a hermit in a cave on the mountain for twenty years, not far from the
present location of the Mount Gilead church. After he was discovered in 1858, "he won world-wide notoriety
as the most celebrated hermit of modern times." After his discovery, Large enjoyed fame for a short while,
before disappearing once again, this time permanently. Whether this story contributed significantly to the
legends of the supernatural surrounding Buckingham mountain, I couldn't even begin to speculate.
he legend of Gravity Hill has fascinated an entire generation of students from my high school. Although the
superstitions surrounding it vary slightly, they all had a common theme --- cars roll uphill because of some
magical force emanating from the Mount Gilead Church and cemetery. I was somewhat surprised by the
amount of fear this place apparently caused in people, particularly in the second group of people I interviewed.
One interesting observation I made was that among the current and recently graduated high school students,
knowledge of Gravity Hill seemed to be directly related to their age. This could obviously be the result of the
fact that the younger ones simply haven't gotten old enough to have heard all of the stories, however, I am more
inclined to conclude that Gravity Hill just isn't as popular anymore. This conclusion is derived partially from
previous observations I have made concerning age, knowledge, and even interest regarding the site, but it also
seems like a logical result of increased police patrolling. Local teenagers may simply no longer want to visit
the hill for fear of possible arrest. Also, it has been approximately five years since the supposed death of the
Archbishop Wood student, and most of the high school students who were familiar with his story are no longer
in the area, as they are either attending college or have moved away. Lack of an eerie story such as that may
result in a lack of belief, fear and interest of Gravity Hill. Perhaps the legend is gradually fading away.
Notes:
1. I have been since contacted by an acquiantance of the Archbishop Wood student who death was described above.
She confirmed his death at the house party, but assured me that it was in no way related to Gravity Hill.
2. Out of respect for neighbors of the Mount Gilead Church, neither the author nor the New York Times provides driving
directions to Gravity Hill.
