The Spirit of Tom Hambright
The first time I met Tom Hambright, it changed my life forever. It was 1996. I had quit my corporate job, packed everything I owned into my car, and moved to Key West with a plan to start a ghost tour. But things weren’t going smoothly. I was sleeping on my friend Greg’s kitchen floor and struggling to find any ghost stories that could turn my idea into a reality.
I started where anyone would—the library. I went to the Florida history room, combed through books, and dug into the card catalog. There was nothing. No books on ghost stories. No haunted legends. Just silence.
So I changed tactics. I started visiting bars, tipping bartenders generously, and asking, “Is this place haunted?” Every time, the answer was the same: “No.”
After two weeks, I was stuck. I couldn’t find a single ghost in Key West. Frustrated and out of options, I packed my car, ready to leave the island. It felt like my plan had failed.
Then something magical happened.
I got lost.
My car, packed to the roof with my belongings, stalled at an intersection while I tried to figure out where to go. I was angry, confused, and questioning everything. That’s when a man’s voice came from my passenger seat.
“Go back to the library.”
I turned to them, frustrated, and yelled, “I don’t know where the fucking library is!” And just like that, they were gone. All I remember is their sleeve. They were wearing a tweed suit jacket.
I looked back at the road, and there was a sign that said Library Parking Only. An open spot was waiting for me, which was too perfectly timed to be coincidental. It felt like a push in the right direction, so I parked and went inside for a third time.
But this time, someone was there.
That someone was Tom Hambright, Monroe County’s historian.
Tom noticed me and asked, “Can I help you?”
I told him I was looking for a book about the ghosts of Key West. Tom smiled and said, “Oh, there are none.” My heart sank.
I thanked him for his time and headed for the door, feeling like a pretty big loser. But just as I was about to exit, Tom spoke:
“Wait. We don’t have books, but we have ghosts.”
That sentence changed my life.
Tom disappeared into a walk-in vault, a secure room that wasn’t open to the public. It was fireproof, stormproof, and full of Key West’s most important historical documents. After a minute, he emerged with a file about an inch thick. It was packed with newspaper clippings, articles, and notes about hauntings in Key West from the past 30 to 40 years.
I sat down right there and started plotting the stories on a map. Armed with the information from Tom’s file, I began knocking on doors, asking questions, and piecing together the stories that would become Key West’s first ghost tour.
Looking back, I can confidently say I wouldn’t be in Key West if it weren’t for Tom Hambright.
Tom wasn’t just a historian. He was a guide—a person who knew how to connect others to the history that mattered most. He saw potential in people, and if he liked you, he’d give you the tools to uncover something bigger than yourself.
While researching Tom’s family tree, I discovered that the Hambrights have been changing lives for centuries. Tom was born in Morrisville, North Carolina. A 1998 article in the Charlotte Observer indicates the first Hambrights emigrated to Philadelphia from Germany, with one of his ancestors, Frederick Hambright, playing a pivotal role in the Revolutionary War, leading 60 men at the Battle of Kings Mountain—a battle often called the "turning point" of the war. The military first brought Tom to Key West, and the rest I guess you could say, is history.
January 5th is Tom Hambright Day, but not a single day in Key West goes by where I’m not reminded of his kindness, his incredible knowledge, and his role in shaping not just my career but the legacy of Key West itself. Tom passed away, but his impact is still felt.
Tom’s life was dedicated to preserving the stories of this island, but more importantly, he helped people like me write their own. For that, I’ll always be grateful.
Read the Library tribute to Tom here.
