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.

Buffalo State Hospital - the H. H. Richardson Complex

In stark contrast to the majority of locations featured on this blog, the H. H. Richardson Complex, a grand Kirkbride building in Buffalo, NY, is not in danger of being demolished or left to rot. A National Historic Landmark, the building is currently being stabilized and has recently been secured against intruders. Better still, budget is already in place in order to restore the gorgeous Romanesque building to her former glory. The Richardson Center Corporation is overseeing the restoration.

Buffalo State Hospital's original main building complex features a central Administrative building crowned by two 185-foot-tall towers, copper roofed with dormer windows. The masonry is of red medina sandstone, and is one of the earliest examples of H. H. Richardson's trademark style, Richarsonian Romanesque. The central Administrative building is flanked on either side by two sandstone ward pavilions, connected by curved connector hallways. These hallways served a dual purpose - their curvature made it impossible to place beds in the connector hallways, which was a common practice at overcrowded hospitals of the era. At the same time, it allowed a greater level of supervision, as doctors and nurses could easily traverse the entire length of the complex, while orderlies and patients could be confined to a single ward. This notion conformed to the hospital hierarchy of the day, and was touted by John P. Gray, superintendent of Utica State Hospital and an adviser to Richardson, as one of the innovative features of the Buffalo asylum's design.


Hallway of the innermost brick ward, second floor. [Print]

The original plan for the hospital was to build the remaining ward pavilions - a total of five on each side - in the same sandstone. However, the outer three wards on either side (the pavilions to the west were for female patients, and those to the right for male) were constructed of brick when the budget fell short. The wards were constructed en echelon; the Administration building had four stories, and on either side, the next two wards had three stories, the following two had two stories, and the final ward (reserved for violent patients) had a single story. In the 1960s, the Male brick wards were demolished in order to build an ugly, utilitarian modern building for the psych center.


A dormitory at the end of the second story of the inner brick ward. [Print]


A cast iron stairway in the brick wards. The stairs in the sandstone wards have a higher degree of ornamentation. [Print]


The first floor hallway of the center brick ward. This floor contains dozens of discarded wheelchairs. [Print]


The top floor of the connector hallway between the two sandstone pavilions. [Print]


A door on the second floor of the brick wards. Note that there is a mesh window for the orderlies to look in upon the patients. Like most of the hardware in the hospital, the doorknob is missing. [Print]


View of the violent ward of the Female Wing from the attic of the center brick ward. The violent wards were a single story tall, and their footprint was very different from that of the rest of the hospital. [Print]

One feature of the Buffalo State Hospital Kirkbride which differentiates it greatly from many other Kirkbride buildings is the single-loaded main corridors. More expensive from a construction perspective, the southern-facing windows in these corridors provided a maximal amount of light, which was in keeping with Dr. Kirkbride's Moral Treatment plan. Each main corridor is bisected with a smaller corridor to the north, each of which was double-loaded. Bathroom and shower facilities, as well as coatrooms and storage, were placed in these extensions. The footprint of the Topeka State Hospital (now mostly demolished) appears to have been based upon this design.


Another brick ward hallway. [Print]


Ornate fireplace in the Administration building.

The majority of the complex is in remarkably good shape, especially considering its long abandonment. The most significant damage is to the hallway connecting the inner and center brick wards. In order to get from one to the next, one must carefully pass over a "bridge" of swaying, uncollapsed floor.


At some point between 2004 and 2008, someone placed a radiator grill over the collapse bridge. [Print]


Two geriatric chairs in a corner of a dayroom in the sandstone wards. [Print]


A coatroom in the brick wards. [Print]


Some medical equipment remains in the pitch-black depths of the single-story violent ward. The EEG machine in the background was manufactured by Medcraft, the same company which designed the B-24 Glissando ECT machine, the standard in electroshock therapy from the 50s through the 70s. [Print]


Shower stalls with privacy walls in the sandstone wards. In many similar hospitals, the showers would be communal, with no such walls in place. Here there are walls, but no doors - ensuring that the orderlies could keep a watch on patients even as they could not view each other. [Print]


Hallway in the sandstone wards. Note the brightness here as a result of the 12-foot-tall windows in the single-loaded corridor. [Print]


An original sandstone fireplace featuring a medieval "Green Beast" motif. Sadly, at some point this particular example was painted over in the ward colors of the time. [Print]


Detail from an unpainted "Green Beast" fireplace. [Print]

At some point, while the sprinkler system was still functional, a fire broke out in one of the patient rooms on the outer sandstone ward. The result is that the smoke clung to the upper reaches of the walls until the sprinklers kicked in, causing the soot to run down. The result is actually rather stunning, although certainly nearly disastrous. Fortunately, the structural damage is minimal - the room in which the fire originated is fairly charred, but outside of that, no serious damage was done.


Soot runs down the walls, the paint now peeling. [Print]


A patient's bed in the fire-damaged ward. [Print]


The sprinklers did not kick in here, and the heavy soot near the 16-foot-high ceiling is evidence of the amount of smoke generated in the fire. [Print]


Sunset through the windows in a dormitory inside the fire-damaged ward. [Print]


Sunset inside a solarium which was later converted to a dormitory. Note the 16-foot ceilings and the ornamental pillars. [Print]


The twin towers after dark.

In addition to the prints available in selected captioned photographs above, further images from Buffalo State Hospital may be obtained in this gallery, or by purchasing my photobook on the subject, "Buffalo State Hospital: A History of the Institution in Light and Shadow".