If Momma Could See Me Now

Momma Jones always said, 'One day I'll find you in the looney bin.' As was a fashionable turn-of-phrase in the America of my 1890s youth, and this assignment proved she was right. The old State Hospital where I wound up had been a stately affair, a Georgian-Revival inspired Cottage style campus and all the interconnected blocks were a safe couple of miles from town. A veritable island on the prairie, this place fell victim to the Reagan era harkening to the 1890s sensitivities and saving a buck, don't you know, by 'empowering' the mentally ill to live outside in the real world. Which basically meant to cut the budget, and let it go at that.

While portions of the original buildings became commercial establishments today, many have been torn down and replaced with residential development. Tunnels that once interconnected the campus, now gated and cordoned, we followed a hold into this storage area before being blocked by a fire proof door with fresh locks.

We found one unbroken toilet bowl, sans wall mount as it may have been.

The one remaining patient cottage has been ransacked by vandals and finds itself pressured by development on all sides. This building's fate is sealed, and it's just as well. The Jones is not one to go for the paranormal, but found this place made me uncomfortable. Several times I was driven outside to orient myself, regain my contact with the real world. Viewing the car parked quietly across the street brought me back to myself more than twice I admit. 

This is the site of a noted photography project where excerpts of a patient's file and therapists notes were copied from news reports onto the walls of the structure, and the body of a model. Pictures from that era, a decade ago, show antique porcelain fixtures within the 'hydrotherapy' room where patients were dunked in ice cold water for therapy. I guess it beats a lobotomy.



I knew the story, but the art that drew my attention to the hospital in the first place had been destroyed along with every fixture in the room.

People are savages

The statement of the patient was quoted from her file, she explained she felt "fine except for the stigma of insanity.'




  The day room is brighter than ever;

 Vandals ripped most fixtures off the walls where they've been ground into fine porcelain dust memories, some still meander along the way,

That which hasn't been vandalized, suffers exposure to the elements.

I sought refuge on this porch when overcome with an unattributable claustrophobic feeling. I'm not sure if the discomfort was residual, negative energy from the treatment of patients during the hospital's active years, or disgust at it's treatment by tourists since the federal funds sustaining it were diverted to some more pressing national concern than the mentally ill. Wasn't many years later we got to see the new-fangled 'Stealth' technology unveiled,....jus' sayin.









A true tagger's paradise, light colored bricks above the waistline in all the rooms. While development has brought the city limits, and protections of law enforcement out to the location; it's too late to hope for restoration or preservation of this site.

The point is lost on me, perhaps it's just the psychadelic treat...

We found a bit of blue sky from a dreary locale, nonetheless.