Central State Hospital, Milledgeville, GA

View of a hallway and into a bathroom in the Walker Building, Central State Hospital.

Central State Hospital, formerly known as the Georgia Lunatic Asylum, the State Asylum for the Insane, and the Georgia State Sanitarium, is the oldest and largest psychiatric facility in the state. Located on a sprawling 1,750 acre campus in Milledgeville, GA, which was at the time the state capitol, the Asylum admitted its first patient in 1842. Patient population exploded rapidly, and by the 1870s overcrowding was an issue; new buildings and additions to existing buildings were rapidly constructed to deal with the ballooning need for beds. This trend continued through the 1960s, when Central briefly contended with New York's Pilgrim for the title of largest psychiatric facility in the world.

In 1884, the Walker Building was constructed for the reception of white male convalescent patients. Unlike the state-run public health facilities in the North, segregation was common in Southern asylums; at Milledgeville, the practice continued until at least the 1940s. The extent of segregation from state to state varied wildly, as did the degree of difference in quality of treatment. At some asylums and sanitoriums, white patients received treatment in airy dayrooms of sturdy buildings, whilst black patients were crowded into poorly insulated tents. Central State Hospital was somewhat more forward in its thinking; the first building for "coloured" patients was erected in 1866, albeit far from central Powell administration building. This evolved into a distinct campus of buildings for black patients. Somewhat more stark and institutional than the more ornate buildings for white patients, the remaining structures constructed for African Americans have now been repurposed as a prison.

The more ornate Walker Building, on the other hand, was abandoned around 1974, and over thirty years of disuse have not been kind to it. The heat and humidity of central Georgia have taken their toll; much of the third floor lacks a ceiling, and the walls are a tapestry of peeling paint, algae, mold, and disintegrating plaster. Foliage has grown over large portions of the building, and invaded the interior spaces. Insects and small mammals have made their homes here, as has a large coyote. Yet through all this, some aspects of grandeur remain in this venerable building, used for almost a century.


The roof gone, vines have begun to overtake this third-floor bathroom.


Third floor hallway, the roof long rotted away.


A typical patient room, with a viewing window to allow orderlies to look in on patients.


A curtain still hangs in a dark patient bedroom.


The lack of a roof creates interesting interplays of light at various times of day.


Although in somewhat better condition than the top floor, water damage and humidity have wrecked havoc on the floors below as well.


Among the few artifacts left in the building, this cabinet still contains the last patients' toothbrushes, each labeled with a surname.


Plaster has collapsed into a sink in a tiny corner bathroom.


In the violent ward hallway at the Southern end of the building, the doors were outfitted with spinning platforms that could be used to provide food to patients without opening the door.


A closeup of one such platform. A deadbolt separate from the one locking the door would keep the platform from rotating when not in use.


As the sun sets, the reflection of light off the red brick building colors the walls facing the courtyards.


A typical scene as the sun hangs low over the Walker building.


A large corner room near sundown.


Foliage is overtaking the building; here, an intact window provides a climbing point for vines which are beginning to slip into the building through the cracks.

Fort Totten Army Hospital

Sadly, very little information is widely available on this hospital building within the Fort Totten landmark district near Bayside, Queens. Built in 1864, the year in which the primary purpose of the Fort shifted from defense of the mouth of the East River to casualty support and hospital care, the facility served the Army in various capacities until 1974, when it was emptied and abandoned. Sometime before 1920 a cafeteria annex was added to the rear of the structure; at some point prior to abandonment, the hospital appears to have been repurposed for office and administrative use, and the basement for storage.

Unfortunately, the building has fallen prey to some fairly signicant demolition-by-neglect. There is considerable water damage which has led much of the building to collapse; the parts that have not collapsed are in imminent danger, as evidenced by the mushy floors and the separation of some rooms’ floors from the load-bearing walls.

Here’s a look at the interior of the hospital. Readers with more knowledge of its history or with stories about its active use are heartily encouraged to comment below.


An operating room, the floor half-gone.


Retrofitted fluorescent lights hang akimbo from a damaged tin ceiling.


A dormitory, one of the few rooms in the building which gives a hint of the original purpose as a hospital. This room would have been lined with beds & side tables, and the outlets spaced along the walls would have provided power.


A large room on the second floor contained what was by far the most bizarre artifact found within the hospital – a child’s riding grasshopper.




Although the floor in this bathroom is completely gone, the plumbing is enough to hold these heavy porcelain sinks in place over the abyss.


The basement is full of military documents. This one-pager explains how to zero a .50 caliber machine gun.


”Battlefield Damage Assessment and Repair for Combat Vehicles”


Surprisingly, the attic was among the most intact sections of the hospital.


A typical attic room showing water damage.


The other side of the door to this room bore the name of a military officer in fading paint.


On the interior side of the door, one of the few artifacts remaining in this building – a fading photo of an Army marching band.

Taken in conjunction with the Pasilalinic-Sympathetic Compass.

Happy Birthday - Prints Now Available!

Today marks the one-year anniversary of the first post on this blog, and what a year it has been! I'd like to thank you, my readers. It is truly gratifying to have received tens of thousands of hits over the last year. At this point in time, the Lounge averages hundreds of hits a day, and many of these are repeat visitors.

I endeavor to capture the structures presented in this blog as best I can in order to create a permanent record of their existence, and their grandeur. Many will not be around in a decade's time. They sure don't make 'em like they used to; that buildings like these are left to rot really makes a statement about our collective myopia. The motto of this blog, a quote from my ideological father, really rings true here: "Great architecture has only two natural enemies: water, and stupid men."

To mark the occasion, I have decided to offer a small selection of prints available for purchase. A number of people have contacted me asking whether I sell prints. The short answer is "yes", the long answer is that I typically only sell unlimited editions of prints at sizes of 8X12 and smaller, and that I will only sell prints of works I consider among my best. So I have decided to offer eleven prints for sale through the Lounge, some familiar to my readers, some yet to be blogged, and some from my archives dating back years before this online project began. Both limited and unlimited editions for each print will be available. See below for the photos.

In the year to come, I hope to have the time to update more regularly. I certainly have much to share; in the next few months, look for posts on several asylums, North Brother Island, and a whole slew of other historically significant buildings.

Thank you again, my readers. I wouldn't do it without you.

Cheers,
Richard


Prints

All prints are available unsigned and unmatted in an unlimited edition for $95. Limited editions are listed below the print; only one limited edition will ever be available for any of these images. I will update this post with the numbers remaining in each edition; some of these have been on offer in other venues in the past, which is reflected in the fact that some of the editions have partially sold.

All prints are on archival-quality Kodak Endura papers and can reasonably be expected to last well over a century if properly cared for. Limited edition prints are matted, signed, and numbered, and come with a certificate of authenticity as required under New York State law. All prices include shipping within the continental United States.


Chair in patient bedroom, shot by moonlight, Taunton State Hospital, 2006.
Edition of 25, 18 remaining; 16X24 - $625



View through window in door of seclusion room, Middletown State Hospital, 2007.
Edition of 15, 13 remaining; 16X24 - $550



Attic of administrative wing of Babcock Hall, South Carolina State Hospital, 2008.
Edition of 15, 15 remaining; 16X24 - $550



Top of the grand stairwell at daybreak, Brooklyn Navy Yard Hospital, 2008.
Featured at the Brooklyn Museum, summer 2008.
Edition of 20, 17 remaining; 12X18 - $350



Connector hallway between ward pavilions, Buffalo State Hospital, 2008.
Edition of 15, 13 remaining; 12X18 - $350



Patient dormitory at sundown, Buffalo State Hospital, 2008.
Edition of 15, 12 remaining; 12X18 - $350



Statue of Liberty as seen from abandoned quarantine ward, South side of Ellis Island, 2008.
Edition of 10, 7 remaining; 12X18 - $375



Easy chairs and patient art, Creedmoor State Hospital, 2008.
Edition of 15, 14 remaining; 12X18 - $350



Connector hallway between wards, Trenton State Hospital, 2005.
Edition of 50, 45 remaining; 10X15 - $225



Ice stalagmites formed by a steam pipe burst beneath the now-demolished clinic building, Greystone Park State Hospital, 2007.
Edition of 25, 24 remaining; 12X18 - $350



Violent ward hallway now used to store chairs, St. Lawrence State Hospital, 2007.
Edition of 15, 14 remaining; 12X18 - $350


If you are interested in purchasing a print, please drop me an email and I will reserve the next number in the edition (if it's a limited print). I can take payment via Paypal, teller's check, or money order.

Limited edition prints are never again to be offered for sale at sizes above 8X12, and this is stated clearly on the certificate of authenticity.

The Brooklyn Navy Yard Hospital Complex

One of two grand staircases inside Naval Hospital building at daybreak.

The story of the Brooklyn Navy Yard hospital complex, historically known as the Hospital Annex and recently known as NAVSTA Brooklyn, begins in 1824 with the sale of the Schenck Farm to the secretary of the Navy. Adjacent to the Navy Yard (known then as the Brooklyn Naval Shipyard), the plot of land was envisioned as a hospital and support facility for the Yard. When first purchased, it was separated from the Yard proper by mudflats created by the Wallabout Bay; as the bay was filled in to extend the Yard, the boundary all but vanished.

Construction of the hospital facilities began in earnest in 1830; the main hospital building was completed in 1838. By 1850, the Annex was a self-contained parcel of land, walled-in, with a gatehouse, a laboratory, and a cemetery. In 1864, the Surgeon's Residence was constructed. During the Civil War, the hospital would supply over one third of the medicines used by Union troops, and the basement of the main hospital building would be used to confine and treat wounded Confederate prisoners. During this period, more space was needed, and needed quickly, and a wooden annex was added to the main hospital building. This allowed hundreds of additional beds in the facility; over 500 patients could be treated at once.


A map of the Hospital Annex during the Civil War. Note the annex attached to the rear of the originally C-shaped main building.

The Hospital Annex would serve the Navy through several more wars, providing care facilities, research, and medicine production. During the Second World War, the hospital was overburdened (treating over 4,700 patients in six months during the height of combat), and so after the war, in 1948, the Hospital Annex was decommissioned, with its functions transferred to the much larger Naval Hospital at St. Albans, Queens. Over the next forty years, substantial demolition would occur at the complex, leaving just over 30 buildings still standing.

In 1966, the Navy Yard was decommissioned. However, the Annex would remain in the hands of the Navy as NAVSTA Brooklyn, a support and administration facility. Many of the remaining buildings were transformed into quarters and offices for enlisted men and officers alike. The main hospital building would remain in abandonment. In 1989, the Navy disposed of NAVSTA Brooklyn. On their way out, they stabilized and abated the main hospital building and the Surgeon's Residence, both New York City landmarks. Since 1993, the property has belonged to the Brooklyn Navy Yard; recently, however, Steiner Studios has purchased the complex in order to expand their studio space. There are high hopes that, at the very least, some of the buildings (including the two landmarks) will receive new life.

Here is a look into a few of the buildings on this historic campus.

Building R95



Constructed 1830-1838
Original designation: Naval Hospital
Final designation: Naval Hospital

The main hospital building is truly a sight to behold. The superstructure, over 170 years old, is in remarkably good condition. Because of stabilization and abatement, the entire interior is whitewashed, leaving the place eerily monochromatic except when the prevailing daylight happens to paint color onto the walls.


The rising sun shines through a hole made in one of the boards to create negative pressure during abatement, creating a wash of orange on the walls.


Early morning light adds a yellow cast to some of the rooms. It is very dark inside the hospital, since most of the windows are boarded.


The hallway leading to the Northern grand stairwell.

The building was stabilized in 1989; while the stabilization has been largely successful, and there is little sign of imminent collapse, there has been some shifting. Hopefully, Steiner will quickly invest in re-stabilizing the building and patching the holes in the roof; water damage is becoming evident in a couple of areas.


The stabilized Northern stairwell.


A view up the stairwell showing stabilization beams.

The rooms have all been emptied of artifacts and abated; whitewash covers everything within, encapsulating the lead paint.


The light peeking in through a crack in a board creates a blue cast in this room. Photographing this hospital can be difficult - this was a 6.5 minute long exposure.


Most of the original lighting fixtures in the hospital were replaced by fluorescent fixtures as they came into vogue.


Hallway near the Southern stairwell; the original milk glass fixtures remain in place.


A typical patient room, illuminated by early morning light.


Nearly everything in the hospital - down to the radiators and light switches - was whitewashed. This is one of the few rooms where color is still visible beneath the white.


Even the doorknobs were whitewashed.


A typical dark room; the window being completely boarded over, the only light comes from the room across the hall.


Most rooms had fireplaces; many were removed and bricked over, presumably when it became illegal to use fireplaces in the Boroughs.


The central portion of the hospital, used for reception and internal functions. The hallways contain 18 foot high columns.


A breaker box in the basement allows the construction lights throughout the building to be turned on.


The rear of R95.

Building R1



Constructed 1864
Original designation: Surgeon's Residence
Final designation: Commandant's Residence

The beautiful French Second Empire styled Surgeon's Residence, with an elegant concave mansard roof, has been admirably preserved by the Brooklyn Navy Yard Development Corporation. Showing little sign of deterioration whatsoever, its interior details are remarkably intact.


The view from the main entrance to the residence.


The living room, with a view across the hall into the parlor.


The second floor hallway as seen from the landing.


Another view of this hallway.

Building RG



Constructed 1919
Original designation: Nurses Quarters
Final designation: Bachelor Officers' Quarters


This building, comprised of a central section and two perpendicular wings, was of a much more utilitarian construction than earlier buildings, and was heavily renovated when the campus became the NAVSTA Brooklyn support facility.


The main lobby, with stairs leading down to the Offficers' Bar and up to each wing.

What remains of the Officers' Bar.


Building RD



Constructed 1910
Original designation: Laboratory
Final designation: Bachelor Enlisted Quarters

Nearly pitch-black on the first two floors, the distinguishing feature of the old laboratory building are the extensive (and intact) skylights on the top floor. This would provide abundant natural light for surgeries and examinations.

The Samuel R. Smith Infirmary

The current state Samuel R. Smith Infirmary building tells a sad story which highlights the failures of the Landmarks Preservation Commission, as well as the generally sad state of historic preservation in general.

In 1861, a one-room infirmary was founded on Staten Island. It was the first private hospital on the island; the population at the time was 25,000. The infirmary was named in honor of Samuel R. Smith, a prominent local doctor who was heavily involved in charity care for the poor. Over the next few decades, the infirmary would move several times, occupying successively larger structures in order to be able to care for more patients. In 1870, it moved into the late Dr. Smith's former residence.

After years of fundraising, in the late 1880s enough money was raised to build a new structure on Castleton Avenue. Alfred E. Barlow was chosen as architect. He designed the new castle-styled building according to prevailing treatment modalities of the day, with all four corners occupied by rounded towers. This was thought to cut down on the spread of disease. In 1890, the infirmary moved from Dr. Smith's house to this new building, which was opened with some great fanfare.



In 1917, the Infirmary was renamed The Staten Island Hospital, a nod to the fact that it served all of the island. For decades, the campus would expand, adding several new pavilions, nurses' quarters, a physical plant, and other buildings. Then in 1979, the hospital abandoned the campus, moving into a brand-new, state of the art facility on Seaview Avenue. Thus began the decline of the gorgeous Barlow-designed infirmary building.

In 1983, the Landmarks Preservation Committee considered the infirmary for landmark status. Nothing ever came of the discussion, and over the next several years, alternate development plans were floated, some of which would maintain the character of the building, some of which would not. Work was even begun on turning one of the other buildings on the campus, a six-story brick structure, into a condo complex. This was shortly halted, and the entire campus started to fall into ruin. The infirmary building had been gutted, leaving very little of the interior character intact, but no motions had been made to stabilize it.

Over the next twenty-five years, the infirmary became prey to the whims of graffiti vandals, arsonists, and perhaps worst of all, the elements. Token efforts were made to stabilize parts of the building and to seal it against intruders, but these were not terribly successful. Today, the infirmary is in terrible shape. Most walls are covered with tags, and garbage is strewn about. Huge gaps in the roof allows water to invade, and floors are collapsing. The only interior details which remain intact are sections of the ornate pressed-tin ceiling, and the gorgeous cast-iron staircase.

It is sad to see the noble notion of preservation fail as badly as it has here, and the LPC is at least partly to blame. Because of their 1983 deliberations, which did not achieve anything, they are unwilling to consider the building at present. The property owners have been negligent; with no legislative prod forcing them to maintain the building, it is quickly falling into ruin. Whether it can be saved now is anybody's guess. Sadly, I'm guessing that it will either be demolished by the hand of man, or just left to demolition by neglect.

Here's a peek at what it looks like today.


The grand iron staircase, first floor. Note the remaining pieces of tin ceiling still attached.


Detail of one of the cast iron columns supporting the staircase.


Staircase as seen from the second floor landing. Note the wooden finials on the banister, still very much intact.


A half-collapsed room in one of the rounded corners. The beams on the far side of the room show signs of fire damage.


A smaller staircase leads up to the attic.


The attic. The floor is caved in throughout much of it, and the superstructure of the building is literally collapsing in upon itself.


Even despite the graffiti and water damage, the grandeur of the whalebone arching in this lofty attic is quite evident.


The first floor lobby. Even gutted and ravaged by water and vandals, the beauty of the building shows through in subtle ways.