Antiquity Echoes

Gingerbread Castle and Wheatsworth Mill

2012-02-13T23:47:00.005-05:00

Everyone remembers their childhood, but for most people it is remembered in an objective way. We recall the critical events, the familiar faces and places, certainly,
but for all but a few of us, we completely lose touch with way it feels to be a child - to inhabit a world unbounded by physical limits, mortality or fear.
Children inhabit the same physical world as the rest of us, but they see it in magical and disproportional terms that few adults can understand. F.H. Bennett was such an adult.

In the late 1920's, while attending a stage show of "Hansel & Gretel", he had an idea. He envisioned a place that would bring families together using the whimsical spirit
of fairy tales. He approached Joseph Urban, a world-renowned set and prop designer, to help bring his dream to life, and a few years later, Gingerbread Castle was completed.

When it opened in the 1930's, Gingerbread Castle was a children's park designed around stories collected by the Brothers Grimm. Children dressed as Hansel and Gretel
would take families on tours through the grounds. Along the way, visitors were greeted by statues of various fantastic characters, often depicted in scenes from the stories
of which they were part. The castle itself was the highlight of the tour. Guests were brought in through the 'dungeon' and up a spiraling staircase to the main hall. The walls
appeared to be made of peppermint sticks and other treats mortared together with icing. High above jack climbed a beanstalk and a giant peered in at the room and its occupants.

Gazing out from any of the castles many arched windows one simply cannot overlook the looming facade of a long-abandoned and rather unnatural looking industrial building.
A structure which (in one form or another) predates the castle on the grounds by well over a century. Given its mass, it stands claustrophobically close to the castle walls.
The tall bleak form towering in almost comical contrast to whimsical castle which it dwarfs. Throughout its lifespan this strange looking building was put to numerous uses,
and though none may be so interesting as the castle next-door they are still worthy of mention nonetheless.

What is now an Escheresque collection of towers and stairways was birthed into this world in 1768 as an ironworks on the bank of a rural river in Northern NJ.
By 1774 the ironworks had become abandoned due to competing forges in the immediate area. Years later, in 1808 the disused building was re-purposed as a grist mill,
taking full advantage of the Wallkill River which runs through the property. Things didn't really pick though until Fred Henry Bennett came into the picture in the early
20th century, purchasing the mill and surrounding property after the success of his company (F.H. Bennett Biscuit Company) and their creation of the Milk Bone dog treats.
Soon thereafter the mill expanded and began the refining grain for use in the company's Wheatsworth biscuits, a whole-grain cracker snack-food billed as being more healthy
than the standard white flour crackers of the day. The crackers proved quite successful, so much so that the monicker “Wheatsworth Mill” was soon given to the facility.

Time progressed and as stated above; Bennett created the Gingerbread Castle and associated park within the center of the property on which the mill stood.
In 1931 the F.H. Bennett Biscuit Company was purchased by the National Biscuit Company, which was later abbreviated to its present name - Nabisco.
The Gingerbread castle was not part of the sale however, and remained an operational theme park open to the public. Nabisco continued to use the plant
as a grain refining facility until it was sold off to the Plastoids Corporation in 1943. The Plastoids Corporation further modified the already strange building to suite the companies
production of wire and high-frequency transmission cables. The closing of the company in 1989 marked the end of use for the old building. "Plastoids" still remains printed across
the uppermost portion of the tallest tower, in letters so desaturated from weather and sun that they are almost illegible.

Long ago this plant produced goods ranging from iron, to biscuits, to industrial cables. Now the only things it creates are the giant shadows which block out the sun hours before it would
naturally set beyond the horizon. Dead in the heart of this early night can be found the Gingerbread castle. Its bright and colorful paint faded and its multitude of frolicking fairytale characters
all but vanished. A high chain-link fence, crowned in barbed wire, acts as a last defense against thieves and vandals who found the castle walls to be anything but impregnable.

This dilapidated monument to whimsy, surrounded by a sharply realistic metal wall, is not unlike the fantasies of our childhood that it indulged.
Like the castle, proving too delicate to survive in the real world, our dreams and imagination are locked safely behind steel fences and then
simply left in some dark corner to rot, their purpose forgotten.

- Historical Images -

Hotel of Light and Shadow

2012-01-12T22:04:00.001-05:00

Large unmaintained pines all but block the front of this disused hotel from view. Without prior knowledge of its existence one would likely drive
right past it on the main road which lies just half a block away, having not the slightest clue that they completely overlooked a four-story tall building.
This is not an altogether bad thing however, as the natural camouflage seems to have kept most would-be vandals and thieves away from the property.
Considering this place has been shuttered since 2004, its remains in relatively good shape. Most of the damage within has occurred due to the whims
of nature, not through the hands and minds of human trespassers.

During its day this hotel catered to those staying in the area for extended periods of time. When you rented a room here you would receive a set of keys;
one would unlock your bedroom, the other would unlock the door across the hall from you which contained a kitchen and dining area.
From the looks of things, these kitchen-rooms were an after-thought remodeled from surplus bedrooms which the resort no longer had a use for.
The upper-most floor seems to have remained exclusively bedrooms to the end however, and after the remodeling on the floors below it became storage
for the numerous bed-frames and mattresses removed to create the kitchens.

As previously stated – this hotel is still in decent shape, primarily due to a lack of vandalism. This is not to say that the building is sound, in several places
it is very much not. One wing in particular suffers quite badly from water damage, and as we trekked down its corridors ice would unexpectedly
crackle and snap under the weight of our feet - hidden away below vintage carpeting and wooden floorboards. The leak in this section of the building is
actually quite bad, to the point that the ground floor has a sheet of ice upon it several inches thick.

As is the case with most dead things; this place is cold. Old windows and the occasional missing pane of glass allow the biting winds of winter to easily
enter and swirl down the old hallways. As the air ran through the aging building, crooked windows rattled in their frames creating the feeling that
the hotel itself was shivering against the cold. The day progressed, and what little sunlight there was to start with was finally blotted from the sky by a
blanket of grey and white. It was the kind of sky that almost audibly threatened of snow to come, and though a true storm never manifested itself,
flurries did begin to fall before we departed for the day. They drifted down from the sky as flurries often do - randomly tumbling in unpredictable
directions, slowly desaturating the landscape as they cover everything in a dusting of white. Occasionally a flake or two would manage to enter in through
an open window, to land upon a bed or nearby nightstand. Remaining there if only for a moment before dissolving to tiny specks of water.

The Fractured Haven

2011-12-08T21:26:00.001-05:00

Little good came from this place during its 66 years of existence, so perhaps the current state of neglect and severe decay in these buildings is a suiting end to their story.
Opening in 1925 on a wooded plot of land, this campus was created as a children's asylum. At the time of its opening the facility was seen as state of the art.
However, not long thereafter it slowly fell into a shameful state. Accounts of patient abuse were plentiful, and the overall state of the center was caught in a downward spiral.
In 1991 the doors of this place were finally forced shut for good, as ordered by federal court. Multiple class-action and civil lawsuits were filed against the center after its shuttering...

Today - some decades later, the campus still sits. The facades are now crumbling, the halls bowed and twisted, and the glass of many windows cover the floors and surrounding property.
A carpet of medical records and various other paperwork decorates the floor of the administrations building, orphaned during the facility's closing. Developed x-ray film lies strewn about as well,
and when held up to window-light allows for an eerie look into the past through gritty scratches and brittle plastic.

The corridors here are often painted with colorful and happy scenes, but knowing their history casts them is a grim light. The abuse that these paintings may have bore witness to
makes them almost seem as if they are keeping secrets, and that their outwardly happy looks belie their true nature. They stare out from their walls as you pass, and sink back into the gloom
as the glow of your flashlight travels further down the hall, and eventually around the next turn. Once again all is silent and dark. As it was before you arrived, and as it will remain after you leave.

The New Jersey State Lunatic Asylum

2011-11-15T22:17:00.000-05:00

Dorothea Dix founded the New Jersey Lunatic Asylum on May 15, 1848. It's completion marked the opening of the first mental hospital in the entire state.
Though conceived and built with the noble intentions to aid those who could not help themselves, this lunatic asylum (later renamed the Trenton Psychiatric Hospital) is awash in disturbing history.
It was a dark time. Not only for the hospital, but for the medical community as a whole, and it all began when a Dr. Henry Cotton became the medical director in 1907.

Cotton was a firm believer that the key factor to the onset and persistence of mental illness could be found in the form of infections within one's body.
To preserve and restore the troubled minds of the patients under his care, he and his staff took to removing the patient's teeth, as the teeth were thought to house infections.
If that remedy failed to have a positive effect, more body parts were systematically removed from the patient. Other organs seen as a threat of infection, and therefore removed included
the tonsils and sinus, which were next on the list if pulling of teeth did no good. From there the patient could loose a number of internal organs, including but not limited to;
the colon, cervix, ovaries, gall badder, stomach, spleen, and testicles. Based solely upon his own research and experimentation, Cotton publicly reported a wonderful success rate for his patients.
The concept of infections was still new science at the time, and due to his alleged link between that and mental illness, Cotton garnered much praise in the medical community
both in the United States and Europe.

In a sad irony, the surgeries cotton preformed were done in an era before the use of antibiotics, resulting in a high mortality rate... due to postoperative infections.
Many of the patients at Trenton Psychiatric were mentally handicapped, some quite severely so. Still, even they were noticing that many of the people who went under Cotton's knife
ended up dead some time thereafter. This resulted in patients who became very fearful of surgery, and would literally be dragged into the operating room in a state of panic.

Eventually Cotton's methods began to draw the attention of other members of the psychiatric field, who felt that surgical procedures did little to help with one's mental state.
Dr. Meyer, head of the psychiatric clinic and training institution at John Hopkin's University was contacted to do an independent overview of the work occurring at Trenton Psyche.
Meyer commissioned a member of his staff, Dr. Phyllis Greenacre, to critique Cotton's work at the hospital. She began in the fall of 1924, after Dr. Meyer had returned from a visit
to the hospital which left him with concerns about Cotton's methods and the system by which his work was reviewed.

Dr. Greenacre's initial feelings upon entering the hospital were unsettling. She was taken aback by how disturbing it was that most of the patients lacked teeth, therefore making speech
and the simple act of eating meals very difficult to watch. When delving into the paperwork regarding Cotton's surgical treatments and results, she found the official records to be impossible
to draw results from. Not only were they poorly documented, they also held many contradictions. By 1925 interest in the hospital reached the NJ State Senate, which launched their own
investigation into the hospital and the practices of it's staff.

During this turbulent time Dr. Cotton became quite ill. Some speculate that he suffered from a mental breakdown, but this is not known for sure.
Regardless, he diagnosed himself as ailing from several infected teeth. After having them removed Cotton announced himself as cured, and returned to work at the hospital.
Soon after Cotton opened a private practice in Trenton NJ, which did very well and made him quite wealthy. Dr. Meyer, who initiated the critique of Dr. Cotton's methods at Trenton Psychiatric
instructed Dr. Greenacre to cease her work. Despite her wanting to complete her report, Greenacre was reassigned and her report was left forever unfinished.
The lack of critique meant that Dr. Cotton was free to continue his unchecked. Cotton died of a sudden heart-attack in 1933. The New York Times, as well as numerous other professional publications
in the United States and abroad heralded his death as the passing of one of society's great men and forward thinkers.
Dr. Cotton's wake left hundreds dead and thousands mutilated.

*Primarily this set of images was taken in and around the "New Building" constructed in the early 1900's. Trenton Psyche is still partially in use,
mostly operating out of the center of the old Kirkbride building. Due to this, parts of the building we were in remained on the power grid... for some reason.
It was more than a little eerie to round certain corners and come upon a decaying corridor lit with a few flickering florescent lights...

The Disgrace of Letchworth Village

2011-10-31T19:00:00.001-04:00

In 1909, New York opened a new facility for the aid and housing of, as the literature states, the "feeble minded and epileptics" of that state.
The place was named for William Pryor Letchworth, a key player in its creation and a noted humanitarian of the time.
To avoid creating an institutional environment, the grounds were arranged much like a college campus.

The buildings were relatively small, typically not exceeding two stories in height, and were inspired by the aesthetics of Greek architecture.
Walls of carefully hand-cut stone punctuated by arched windows and column-girded doorways could be found at every turn. Short walks across grassy lawns separated the buildings,
and the greater campus, known as Letchworth village, housed its own power plant, farmland, waste disposal and water supply. It was the first of its kind, a facility
that was all-inclusive and could operate completely isolated from the outside world.

During my research we found that even a passing mention of its name is bound to bring out ghost stories. Abandoned places, especially asylums,
are a frequent object of attentions of paranormal investigators, and Letchworth seems to be a particular favorite. Though we are not ones to delve into ghost-hunting ourselves,
we are not opposed to it as a rule. That being said, I do take issue with the manner in which more and more so-called “paranormal investigations” are performed, wherein the investigators
treat an abandoned location as a giant nighttime playground to run through with a digital audio recorder and occasionally a case of beer. Sadly, I find that television shows on the subject
have only helped to promote this attitude. What this attitude lacks, primarily, is respect - Respect for people who lived and died here, but more importantly, the people
who endured lives of unimaginable isolation and pain, tormented by the demons of their own minds that the medicine of the time was helpless to cure.

- Historical Imagery -

If you would like to learn more about this place and many others,
check out my book published by the good people over at Weird NJ...

Norwich State Hospital for the Insane

2011-10-20T02:11:00.000-04:00

Rotting metal bars frame a window overlooking the decayed grounds of a long abandoned mental hospital. This campus is now little more than a gathering of sad and rotten buildings,
but if one were to have peered out this same window some seventy years earlier they would have seen a massive city operating unto itself. The patients who once lived here have all since moved on,
the buildings are now sealed shut, and the old roadways crack and crumble through the workings of nature and time. Nothing remains here save for darkness and silence - Two things which have come
to call every corner and corridor of this place home. This unsettling property overlooking the Thames River is all that remains of Norwich State Hospital for the Insane.

Every so often one may find themselves in a place where it seems that even the environment itself has been outwardly effected by the history which it bore long ago.
It is likely the workings of an over-stimulated mind, but even the trees here did not seem right. As if they whispered amongst themselves at the edge of hearing, in the shadows just beyond the forest line.
There is an intense history to be found here. That fact, coupled with the somber visuals which is the hospital's state today, thickly veils the campus with a mournful air.
I feel that in a way this feeling of self-condemnation is a payment of respect to the dead who suffered and died here before my time. I kept this sensation in mind while on the grounds,
for to forget it would not only be to forget our reason for being there in the first place, but would also negate the very thing that gives our work any true value.

The history of Norwich State Hospital is not that unlike many other mental health facilities from its era. It opened its doors in the autumn of 1904, with a total patient count of under 100.
Again, not unlike numerous institutions of its day; the patient population at the hospital grew exponentially in the earlier years of operation. By 1930 Norwich had sprawled itself out from a single
hospital, to a campus of over 20 buildings. As the years went on, the populous of the campus eventually began to decrease. During this time the facility began constructing new buildings on a plot
of property next to where the old hospital center stood. Every time a new building was erected and opened, a building from the old campus would be closed down. By the 1970's only a handful
of original buildings were in active use. When Norwich finally shuttered in 1996 only two of the original campus buildings were still in use, the remainders of the old campus already falling into disrepair.

The beautiful buildings of the “old campus” are what drew us to this property in the first place, and it on them exclusively which we focused our work.
Though the new campus surely has its own stories to tell, the buildings there have not a shadow of the character found on the grounds of the old hospital center. One need only look at their
weathered and decaying facades to understand that this is a place deep and unsettling history. Sorrow flakes from the husks of these buildings like the paint from its walls, and is carried adrift
to all corners of the destitute property on the passing winds.

The Union Hotel

2011-10-14T12:32:00.003-04:00

The Union Hotel has a very long and colorful history. Present day places it as a location of much interest, for two very different reasons.
The first is based in history; as the inn served as a media headquarters of sorts during the Lindbergh trial of the 1930's, which occurred in the courthouse directly across the street.
The second driving point of interest is found in the numerous accounts of paranormal activity that seems to plague the inn. Primarily this involves the apparition of a small girl
and is typically seen/experienced around the main stairwell area. Whether these stories stem from the real-life murdered Lindbergh baby is unknown. However, the spirit which is said
to dwell here is that of a young girl, whereas the deceased Lindbergh baby was a boy and never aged past his toddler years.

Whatever attracts one's attention though, rest assured that this inn itself is not giving up the ghost just yet - renovations have now begun to restore the building back to its condition circa 1930.
Once work is completed patrons will not only be able to enjoy the bar and restaurant on the lower floor, but will also be able to rent out a room for the evening if they so desire.
Weird NJ magazine, along with Christina and myself were lucky enough to be invited to tour the historic inn, in order to document its state before renovations began. What you see here
is more-or-less how the inn was left when it closed its rooms to the public over a half-century ago. The restaurant and bar on the ground floor continued to operate until around 2006,
while the rooms and corridors above fell into disrepair.

The Union Hotel's full story can be found in issue #37 of Weird NJ magazine, which I have linked at the end of this entry...

I have included a crime-scene photograph of Lindbergh's murdered son amongst the Historical Images found below. It may be disturbing for some, so please use discretion.

- Historical Images -

The following video was filmed and directed by us for Weird NJ.

Clicking the image below will bring you to an online order form for Weird NJ issue #37

The Divine Lorraine

2011-10-07T02:19:00.004-04:00

The Lorraine apartments building came into existence on the corner of Broad and Fairmount in the 1894. Catering to the more-wealthy citizens of the city,
the Lorraine boasted an in-house staff as well as electricity in all apartments. A centralized kitchen also meant that there was no need for a personal one,
since daily meals could be delivered to you as needed. Not only was this hotel notable for its luxurious amenities, but also as one of the first highrises in all of the city of Philadelphia.
The architect behind this beautiful landmark was a Mr.Willis Gaylord Hale, who himself was a resident of the city.

Willis Gaylord Hale designed numerous buildings around the city of Philadelphia throughout his years, but as time progressed his heavily Victorian-influenced design work became
replaced by the sleeker (and exponentially simpler) “modern” skyscrapers which were being erected after the turn of the 20th century. Sadly most of what Willis Gaylord Hale accomplished
during his lifetime no longer stand today. Many of his buildings were razed after the Great Depression to make way for modern structures throughout the city. This makes the Lorraine building
all the more important – it now stands as a symbol of the beauty which was old Philadelphia, and as a reminder of what was lost through the city's short-sighted plans to modernize itself.
How one could look upon a building crafted with such passion and not see great value in it as a unique part of the city and its history is something I simply cannot grasp.
Still, there is far more to the story of the Lorraine apartments building than just its outward beauty.

This building truly came into the limelight in 1948 when Father Divine purchased it to use as a housing facility for the Universal Peace Mission Movement,
renaming it with the badge it carries to this day; the Divine Lorraine Hotel. The Universal Peace Movement was open to people of all sexes, religions, and unlike most anything of the era – all races.
Thus making the Divine Lorraine one of the first racially integrated hotels of its kind in the United States. Shortly after the purchase of the hotel, Father Divine altered the top-floor auditorium
for use as a public place of worship. He also opened the hotel's kitchen to the needy, charging only 25 cents for a meal. Opinions on Father Divine and his work vary immensely,
ranging from that of literally being God incarnate, to the possibility that he was in fact a fraud and one of the first public cult leaders in the nation. Though his life was nothing short
of a bizarre roller coaster, this does not change the fact that a number of Father Divine's actions did better our society profoundly.

So the Divine Lorraine hotel exists today not only as a beautiful and rare relic of the past, but as a place which very publicly aided in the civil rights movement... unfortunately it also stands abandoned.
A rushed and ill-planed effort to renovate and reopen the hotel began in 2006 but was never completed, leaving the hotel badly gutted and exposed to the elements.
It would be an inexcusable shame to see a place of such history lost to the neglect of a city which owes it so much, but as it currently stands hope dwindles with every passing year.

-Historical Images -

The Marl Works - Painted In Light

2011-10-03T23:26:00.001-04:00

This set in an extension of my experimental lighting concept from Overlook Lodge.
So far I have replaced the three flashlights which I had initially used with a single three-in-one colored LED flashlight.
The one light I now use can be switched between 3 blue LEDs, 9 green LEDs, and 15 Red LEDs. As expected the 3 blue lights are not strong enough to cast adequate light,
however the green and red do a wonderful job of illuminating the scene during a prolonged exposure. Though I am still in a learning phase, I am happy to be making progress.
The LED lights do a far better job than my original cheap flashlights - not only are they a brighter light, the cast a richer hue across the surfaces I am photographing.
I found this flashlight on Amazon for about $10 with shipping, so it's not like I'm dramatically increasing my budget. In fact it may still be cheaper than the three initial flashlights I used.

The location I decided to paint this evening was the old Marl Works. I must say even though it's a very picturesque place during the daylight hours, once the sun dips below the horizon
the Marl Works can get a bit eerie. Luckily I had company along with me that evening, which helped cut any tension caused by strange noises of the night forest, and allowed be to better
concentrate on what I was doing. The complete lack of a moon was not a welcome thing, as the sky was hardly visible due to very little ambient light. When next I attempt to do more light-painting,
I will be scheduling it around when the moon is at its most bright. That way I will be able to have better definition between the landscape and the sky above.
Still, I hardly consider this set a failure.

- A shot of my friend who accompanied me into the forest that evening -

The King is Dead

2011-09-27T23:53:00.007-04:00

The late 1930's found a monolith slowly stretching skyward from the center of a psychiatric center's campus. Construction was ongoing for some time, as floor upon floor of red brick
and barred windows were stacked atop one another. What stood after work completed in 1939 was a towering facility of 13 stories, for use as an infirmary for the hospital center's elderly
and those with chronic physical illnesses. Like most mental health centers of this era, it operated as a separate entity from the town and county in which it existed.
A city unto itself - separated from the greater world physically, and even more-so by the shameful mentality of the times.

Population peaked here in 1954. With the number of patients exceeding 9,000 the facility was not just overcrowded, but severely under-funded.
As is always the case; it was the patients who suffered for the poor decisions of everyone else. These same people who depended upon others for their very lives, now found themselves
without so much as a bed to sleep on. Eventually the creeping wave of national de-institutionalization washed across this facility, as it did most other large psychiatric centers in the 1970's.
From that point on the hospital slowly began to downsize its populous. Patients deemed suitable were released, some of the more elderly were relocated to nursing homes,
and still others made their way over to the nearby Pilgrim State Hospital. This tower with its countless rooms and halls now sits vacant, as it has since it was shuttered in 1996.

Its size made it famous when it was first constructed, and even today it impresses as it towers above the rest of the landscape. Its massive form, combined with the dead silence from within its walls
creates an aura unique to this place alone. Approaching it on foot the mind is simply amazed that something so very big can also be so very empty. It seems terribly unnatural to behold,
and therefore uncomfortable to dwell upon.

The first thing that greeted us upon entering this void of a ward was a fantastic mural unlike anything I have ever seen in any building, let alone an abandoned hospital.
It depicted in wonderful (and skewed) detail the hospital patients as they spent their time in the recreation room. The same room which is now covered in this beautiful mural.
Some speculate that the artist behind this work was a once well-known cartoonist by the name of Percy Crosby. A man most famous for his cartoon strip “Skippy” which ran in Life magazine from
the 1920's until 1945. Unlike most rumors however, this story has some footing in facts. A few years after the Skippy strip ended Percy Crosby lost a lengthy battle with depression and attempted
to take his own life. Failing in the deed he was committed to this very hospital, the place where he was to spend the remainder of his life. He died on his birthday; December 8th 1964.
During his years as a patient he continued to produce artwork, often depicting his fellow residents. Even in his quick sketches the subjects seem to all share the same lifeless gaze.
In the end it is not of great importance who painted these walls, but simply that they were painted. It grants a very intimate look into the daily lives of the patients who once stood
in the very spot we currently are some thirty years later. The past and present co-exist in this room thanks to the intense efforts of a nameless artist.

As we climb skyward through this enormous building the emptiness becomes more and more apparent. Every noise travels exponentially further than expected, and reverberates back off dusty floors
and flaking walls with an eerie murmur. Each passing floor and landing is identical to the previous in nearly every way, making the stairwell seem like an endless spiral into nothing. It is not until you get to the roof
that you realize just how high you have traveled. It was from here that one could have viewed the entirety of the campus when it was operational, as it sprawled across hundreds of acres.
Now there is little left save for a few buildings amongst many trees and fields... and we as a society are all the better for it.

- Historical Images -

-Illustration by Percy Crosby, of fellow patients -

Outlook Lodge - Painted in Light

2011-09-09T13:21:00.000-04:00

Turns out a lot can be done with just three cheap flashlights, some colored cellophane, and adequate patience. Oh, and a decent coating of bug spray...
Honestly, this small set of images was just the trial-run for a concept which I had been playing around with in my mind for a while now.
Most people who are familiar with low-light photography are also familiar with a technique often referred to as “painting with light”.
In essence what that entails is setting the camera's shutter to remain open for a prolonged period of time, during that time-frame the desired subject is illuminated with
a constantly moving beam of light (typically a flashlight). Since the beam is in constant motion it never stays in one place long enough to generate a hot spot of light in the image.
If all goes well (which sometimes takes several attempts), you come away with an image of something that is adequately and evenly exposed, with no obvious light source visible.
Below is a simple example of what I described above, done at the old Rutherford Stuyvesant Estate

My experiment was to take the whole concept of light “painting” and try to make it more literal by adding colors to the equation.
Much as one paints upon a canvas, in theory when one crosses multiple colored light paths, or “paints” over the same area in multiple colors, the resulting hue will be
a mixture of the colors involved. My local craft store only carries red, blue, and yellow cellophane... so I had to make due with what was available.
I was very much hoping for red, blue, and green, as they are the three primary transmitted-light colors from which all colors can be made.
Before you say it – I did try to make green out of overlapping a piece of blue and yellow cellophane, however the tiny flashlight bulb was too weak to shine through that much material.
No matter though, as the focus of this outing was purely an experimental one. For any future “light painting”, I plan to have green light at my disposal.

A short (and washed out due to a recent hurricane) hike to a hilltop found myself and my friend face-to-face with the Outlook Lodge and its creepy owl carving.
Eerie as I find this place during the day, it is far worse in the dark of the night. I was quite happy that my friend was able to come out with me, given the late hour and short notice.
Aside from offering moral support against that awful owl, having a companion along to assist with the “painting” made things much easier.
I'm pretty happy with how these images turned out, especially considering I was going into this shoot totally blind as far as a plan or even expectations.
I fully plan to do more of this style thing in the coming months, but until then I hope some enjoyment can be found in my first attempt...

Let Laughter Flee - Pilgrim State Hospital

2011-09-06T13:44:00.001-04:00

Painted upon the cold tile walls of a stagnate morgue, located in the dark recesses which form the under-structure of an abandoned asylum,
can be found a Latin proverb just barely legible through the damage and filth of ages.
“Let conversation cease. Let laughter flee. This is the place where death delights to help the living.“
Across the property a lavender curtain billows as wind enters in over jagged edges of shattered glass which once comprised a large bay window.
Overlooking a landing no one uses. Above a lobby no one is in. Abutted by hallways echoing the sounds of nothing.

This is Pilgrim State Hospital in Long Island, NY. What was at one time the largest psychiatric hospital on the globe, with a peak patient population of almost 14,000, is now little more than
a broken collection of buildings. Dotting the grounds of what is still a partially-operational facility, can be found the many shells of long-unused structures.
Undone by modern medicine and overrun by nature, these massive brick corpses serve as eerie reminders to medicine's darker times. Like so many of the patients who traversed their now empty corridors,
these buildings were given numbers to serve as their names. Of all the numbers on these grounds, none holds a history so dark, and so tragic, as the looming edifice named “23”.
It was here, on the uppermost floor, in an operating room overlooking the whole of the campus, that prefrontal lobotomies were preformed.
Altering the lives of over 1,500 patients from the 1940's through the 1950's.

The operating room has since been stripped by scrappers, and weathered by years of disuse. Its barren and blackened walls enclose an operating room floor which has come to be flooded
with rainwater entering in through a decaying roof. Fogged windows cast a mirror image across the wet surface of the floor, the reflection periodically disturbed by small ripples as water drips
off ceiling beams. It's as if this place has finally taken its true form, many years after it has been of any use. While operational it was an abomination to medical science and human nature,
and through the unrelenting forces of time it has finally come to reflect so physically...

The construction of Pilgrim began in 1929, due primarily to severe overcrowding in city asylums. It's design was one of a “farm colony”, an institution based around the ideals of living and working
in the open space of what was then rural Long Island. As the title implies; patients were to farm crops and work the land as part of their treatment. Opening October 1, 1931 on some 1,000 acres,
Pilgrim housed it's own power plant, post office, police station, fire department, cemetery, water source, and a neighborhood of housing for the doctors and administrative personnel.
Most all of which were connected under the sprawl via an intricate system of tunnels and passageways.

As the population grew at Pilgrim, the campus itself began to spread out. In the end the massive property was reaching into four separate townships of Suffolk county; Babylon, Huntington, Islip,
and Smithtown. WWII saw several buildings taken for use by the War Department and utilized to aid traumatized soldiers. After the war the population surged at Pilgrim State Hospital,
at its highest point the campus saw use by almost 18,000 people; 13,875 of them patients, and approximately 4,000 employees. This massive populous heralded the end of the farm-colony concept,
as it withered away in lieu of the practices of “modern medicine”, such as electroshock treatments and the previously mentioned prefrontal lobotomies.

Even during the most affluent years for the use of lobotomies, the practice was seen as controversial at best. In some documented cases, typically with patients who were severely violent or erratic,
the operation had a “calming effect”, making the post-operation patient “quieter”. However in countless other situations it removed the very essence of the individual who received treatment,
in effect dehumanizing them. Of course when we look back with generations of medical advancement between us and them, we see this practice as primitive in form and barbaric in concept.
To be in the shoes of a doctor in that time though, would reveal a completely different story. You would see thousands of people incapable of keeping from harming themselves and others.
You would look to medicine for the answers, only to be greeted with a complete lack of understanding as to the cause and cure for their condition. You hear that a simple operation, hailing from Europe,
has the ability to calm those who are unreachable by any other means. The answer would seem clear to you, almost as a miracle from the hands of modern science.

Time goes on. As the practice becomes mainstream in the United States, and is instated in hospitals nationwide, it becomes more and more typical to use as a crutch than as a cure.
Situations obviously vary dramatically from case to case, but somewhere along the line doctors must have seen all the wrong contained in this method of treatment.
Perhaps the doctors were doing the best they could given the tools at hand, but at the same time surely they knew, if only at a base level, that what they were doing was fundamentally wrong.

Pilgrim State Hospital still stands today, though it has a much different anatomy than it once had. It operates out of about a third of the campus, The farm-colony was sold off years ago,
renovated, and as of 1974 became the Suffolk County Community College's Western Campus. A large portion of the land was also secured by a developer, who has razed several of the buildings,
but has yet to begin construction on the property. Many abandoned buildings endure as well, including the administration building, massive power plant, and the infamous building 23.

The lobotomy operating room, as it stands today...

This entire neighborhood which one housed doctors and staff, was razed shortly after my visit...

The nameless dead...

Blighted Schoolhouse

2011-09-02T15:10:00.001-04:00

A picturesque neighborhood of townhouses sits under the brown and rust-orange hues of Philadelphia's skyline.
Nicely manicured lawns of vibrant green grow in a complete contradiction to anything that is found even as little as a single block outside the community.
The city's efforts to beautify the area through redevelopment is a good idea, but as it sits now things seem a bit surreal as the old and run-down clash against the clean and new.
No matter how well maintained your back lawn may be, it's hard to ignore that the city around you is still a far cry from the suburban neighborhood it pretends to be.
This fact becomes even more evident as the sun sets and the towering corpses of the city stretch their shadows over the evenly mowed property of their new neighbors.

One such reminder of the greater city is this long disused elementary school. Its walls of broken windows stand high above the rows of vinyl-sided two story townhouses.
Being a location which has seen plenty of traffic, the inside of this place has been torn apart. What hasn't been broken into fine pieces has been painted over with numerous tags.
Little remains herein to remind us that this was once a school, save the long hallways of open doors, and the rather unique caged rooftop gymnasium.
This school is also a frequented location for photographers such as myself. I have seen so many images of this place posted online that I almost felt as if adding my own work to
the existing flood was a pointless endeavor. However, shortly after entering the school I felt slightly ashamed for thinking such thoughts, as that kind of mindset is counter-productive to my purpose.
So, I filmed what there was to film.

As I just stated; some of you may recognize this school from images elsewhere online. Though the place may be well documented already, I think part of the “Urban Exploration” concept
as a whole is the variety in which people observe the same thing. Unfortunately I see that some people have forgotten this, or perhaps never understood it in the first place.
To them once a place becomes too well-known it looses any value, and those documenting it after them are seen as lesser people for it.
This kind of mindset is one of the reasons why Christina and myself have distanced ourselves from any UE websites or forums, and find comfort in working outside of those systems.

Several hundred people may have photographed these same halls before me, and a several hundred more may well do so after I have gone.
What is of value here is not how unique or unheard of this location itself is, but the wide variety in which this place can be perceived. People don't always realize it,
but photography can be a very personal thing, and often the only way to truly understand something (or in this case someplace) is to witness it through different people's eyes.

Temple Court

2011-08-26T15:50:00.004-04:00

New York City is a place where people tend to wander the streets looking skyward. It's an almost involuntary reflex, especially for those who do not frequent Manhattan on a regular basis.
This is understandable though, as the skyline here is unlike anything else and almost forces one's eyes toward the clouds. This feeling of awe is eventually dulled through time,
and the spectacle of New York architecture becomes but a distant memory to those who dwell or do business within it's boundaries. However, behind the closed and chained doors of
the Temple Court building can be found a sight that would turn even the most seasoned urbanite's face toward the sun.

In the center of this otherwise plain lobby lies perhaps the most beautiful atrium in all of New York. The amazing design work found herein allows one standing in the ground-floor lobby
a clear view of the sky through over nine floors of building. Just now being renovated, this atrium has been sealed away from view since the 1940 when it was deemed in violation of city firecode.
After it was hidden away behind walls of wood and concrete, many forgot about it altogether. Tenants moving into the office building after the entombment of the atrium would never even
be aware of its existence. In place of a nine-story open lobby workers here only saw only walls.

The Temple Court building itself has a long-standing history as a part of the New York skyline. Not only was it one of the original tall “fireproof” office buildings in New York City,
it is now the earliest surviving one. Harkening back to the days of old New York, and an era before the development of looming skyscrapers. Temple Court has remained essentially the same
since it's construction well over a century ago. Aside from minor upgrades, it looks more-or-less as it did upon opening. The peaked towers are part of the original design, and hint at an
architectural trend of pyramidal forms that later became popular in the skyscrapers that now watch over the building.

I, along with a small group of like-minded photographers, was granted access to the property to document things before any heavy renovations begin to take place. Unlike most of my work,
this building is not truly an “abandoned” place... simply a forgotten one. Being the third building in all of the city to have an elevator installed, I was quite excited to see it was still operating
on the day I was there filming. Running up and down nine flights of stairs, no matter how ornate and beautiful, was not an aspect of my trip which I was overly ecstatic about.
The plans call for this old office building to become the “Beekman Palace”, a grand hotel of some 180 rooms. I am sure that upon its reopening to the public few will be able to avoid
casting their gaze skyward, even if they haven't done so in many years.

Alien Fresh Jerky

2011-08-18T16:29:00.000-04:00

At the Eastern end of the Extraterrestrial Highway (Nevada State Route 375) sits the scrapped and quite possibly burnt remains of a building. Its shape, being that of a large yellow
rectangle, is not particularly interesting to behold. What draws the attention however, is the tattered and faded sign which still hangs by the roadside proclaiming “Alien Fresh Jerky”.
Knowing nothing of what I was looking at it was decided better to stop and film the place while there, rather than regret a missed opportunity upon my return to New Jersey.
Turns out... there's not much of a story to tell.

A common misconception is that the jerky shop was run out of the old yellow structure behind the sign. In reality “Alien Fresh Jerky” was simply a small road-side stand.
The yellow building was abandoned before the jerky shop was ever set up, and they simply utilized the sign posts from the disused building to hang their banner.
A banner that they left behind in 2002 when the business moved to its new home in Baker California. Since then tourists driving past area 51 through the Nevada desert via the Extraterrestrial Highway
have been greeted with this enigmatic sign and abandoned building at their journey’s end (or beginning depending on which direction you're coming from).

The yellow building, from what little information I have found, seems to be the ruins of a long abandoned casino. Any physical clues to what it really was have long since been destroyed or gone missing.
Still, it seems people find the place interesting enough that it has become a kind of unofficial tourist spot. I came across numerous images of people posing in front of the banner
and snapshots of the building from out car windows during my time on Google. That being said, it's popularity-through-oddness was reason enough for me to create this entry.

A Darkened Theater

2011-08-15T14:15:00.005-04:00

We first enter this theater from backstage. Minding our footing as we walked past the decaying curtains and fallen light fixtures, we make our way out to the seating area.
This grand room, once full of light and sound now sits in absolute darkness. With only our flashlights to guide us this place seems much more akin to an underground cavern
than anything made by the hands of man. Even the floors have long since disappeared, covered now in the greyish-white residue of weathered plaster. We shine our lights out toward the rows of seats,
which illuminates some 20 feet of or so before our beams are dissolved into the inky gloom. This room was built to sit over 3,500 people, now it just
houses seemingly infinite rows of rotting red velvet chairs which stretch out forever into the blackness.

The room is so large, and so full of darkness, that we are completely unable to cast light upon the opposite wall or even the ceiling directly above our own heads.
Thankfully our “guide” for the day had an answer to the issue at hand. He told us to stay where we were, then immediately took off through a doorway. We did as asked,
and spent some minutes pondering amongst ourselves where he had gone off to, and what was through the doors. Not long after that we heard a commotion in the darkness,
and saw him emerge from the black. In hand he hoisted a large utility lamp and stand, the kind you often see at construction sites. Apparently a few lamps had been left behind
after a failed renovation project several years ago. Even more astounding was the fact that a far-off room was still on the power grid, again an artifact from the renovation
which never happened. After walking about and collecting some several-hundred feet of extension cord from various places in the theater, we were finally able to properly light the room.

Words cannot properly convey what it was like to click those lamps on and see the theater illuminated in its entirety. The blackness had hung thick around us since we entered,
and had given the place an almost claustrophobic feeling. With the click of a single button the room became washed in light, and the true scale of things hit you so hard it
was almost physical. We knew the place was huge, but to actually be standing in the midst of it was something altogether different. This room has sat in almost perpetual
darkness since its closing in the late 1970's. The intense humidity and heat of the summer, as well as the extreme cold of the winter months, has caused a lot of damage over those
nearly forty years. Still, the magnificence of this place is easily seen, primarily because of the extreme care and creativity put into its design back when it was first constructed
almost 100 years ago. The overwhelming detail work, for me, is what makes this place so unique. You continue to notice new things about the artwork the longer you
are around it. For instance, I was completely unaware of the numerous carved faces peering down at me as I sat by the lobby staircase. I was in the middle of taking a multi-minute exposure,
and as I sat awaiting my camera to release its shutter I found myself glancing upward toward the massive vaulted ceiling. It was then that I saw the forms,
many of them, staring bleakly back at me. In their faces the passage of time was somehow more bitter, as if they were trying to communicate what they have seen over the past
century, and how they pine for an age long since vanished under flaking paint and crumbling facades.

Outlook Lodge

2011-08-07T21:17:00.001-04:00

The approach to this old lodge always strikes me a bit uneasy. It's not simply the strange design, or the fact that it sits silent and abandoned in the forest.
What bothers me about this place, as I make my slow trek up the wooded trails, is the unblinking gaze of the owl which is crafted into the building's side.
Like some creature from a fever-dream it sits perpetually staring outward, colorless except for its orange eyes and beak. Making it all the more bizarre,
the owl sits perched upon the smooth branch of a life-sized dead tree which is also constructed into building's chimney. This was not likely intended to be
a frightening piece of artwork, but given the current state of the building and the fact that it now sits in the forest far removed from all other structures,
the lodge and it's stonework owl guardian have come to seem downright eerie.

This unusual building came into existence back in the 1930's, a product from the mind of James Turner, for his brother William.
James Turner owned a large farm down the mountain from the plot where this lodge was constructed, because of the grand view from this bluff the building was named Outlook Lodge.
What makes this structure so unique (aside from the evil owl) is the material from which it was built. The walls, floors, and ceilings of this place
were constructed from the remains of some 25 antique barns and houses. This strange composition of reused materials gives the lodge an odd aesthetic,
and makes it a kind of Frankenstein's Monster amongst abandoned buildings. It also designates it as an interesting, and very individual piece of
architectural history for the rural region of Northern New Jersey.

From the time of its construction, and into the 1950's, the lodge was used on a weekly basis by members of Boy Scouts troops, members of 4-H and Future Farmers of America,
as well as Sunday School and various church groups. In 1956 a kitchen and bathrooms were added, and the lodge came to be used as
a dormitory building for forestry students of Cook College (now the Rutgers School of Environmental and Biological Sciences) in the summer season.
The forestry program deactivated in 1975, ending the need for dormitories in the lodge. After that the farm, and the lodge when needed, were used by the
local 4-H for youth programs. In 1996, due to lack of enrollment and the ever-mounting maintenance costs, the grounds closed for good.

Years of disuse have found the lodge slipping into a frail state. The heavy slate roof is becoming an increasingly hard burden for the aging lodge to bear,
and leaks are slowing allowing the elements to gain entry to the vulnerable wooden frame. Without some form of help, in the way of funding or simply
volunteered materials and effort, this lodge may be quickly approaching collapse. There is hope however, as the farmland and lodge are now in the hands
of the NJ State Park Service and the State Agricultural Development Committee. They, along with the Heritage and Agriculture Association are currently
forming plans to stabilize the old lodge, as well as restore the deteriorating farm. While this is all wonderful news and I truly hope it succeeds,
as it is with anything of this nature; I will believe it when I see it...

The Heritage & Agriculture Association Inc.
P.O. Box 7191,
Sussex, NJ 07461
info@lusscroftfarm.com

High Point State Park
1480 Route 23
Sussex, NJ 07461
(973) 875-4800

The Lost Academy

2011-08-02T16:14:00.005-04:00

On a Maryland hilltop, amongst thick forest and sprawling underwood sits the long disused campus of a once-illustrious private academy.
Every passing year finds it sinking further beneath the tide of nature and time, like some beautiful ship slowly disappearing into the murky waters of the sea.
Even with the severe decay, overgrowth, and scrapping of it's most valuable parts, this campus retains a kind of broken elegance not often seen.
The primary focus of our time here was the main hall, which even after all it has been through still proudly stands at the far end of the Italian Gardens.
A garden now full of nothing more than weeds and thistles.

Constructed between the years of 1898 and 1902, this campus sat upon some 300+ acres and contained many building finely cut and formed from the local granite supply.
The school grounds were designed in a Beaux-Arts style, with heavy influences of Georgian architecture. A perfect example of this is the main hall itself. The grand lobby
and beautiful stairways are prime examples of Beaux-Arts, while its outward stretching wings of classrooms very much echo the more subdued (but still beautifully trimmed) Georgian tones.
Needless to say; the youths privileged enough to walk these halls were almost exclusively the offspring of affluent families from the region.

Though considered an upstanding institution, by 1942 dwindling enrollment forced the school to relocate back to it's pre-1902 campus and facilities. This was good news for the US military though,
as they were eying the grounds for use as a training facility. In 1942 the campus was acquired for use as such, and several hundred (far less elegant) buildings were
erected on the campus and surrounding grounds. The military base operated until 1976, graduating more than 500,000 recruits before it closed.
After vacating the property the military leveled and removed most all of its buildings, leaving the campus more-or-less as it was before they had arrived. For a time after the demilitarization the grounds had
come to be utilized as a job training center. The center eventually closed in 1990, marking the end of service for the old school and grounds.

Gazing upward at the vaulted ceilings, it is hard to fathom this collection of rotting wood and blackened plaster was once a distinguished school for privileged youths.
The natural world cares not of classes and hierarchy, for all are equal when turning to dirt.

~The Italian Gardens and grotto as seen in 1907~

~Main Hall~

~The chapel, as photographed in 1938~

~Classrooms and school en masse~

~Dormitory building~

~Additional historical imagery~

The Ruins of White Lake

2011-07-25T13:36:00.000-04:00

The wooded shoreline of White Lake in Warren County, NJ is home to some curious things. Being public land you can expect the normal sights one associates
with a preserved lake and the parkland that surrounds it. Beautiful woods, hiking trails, and plentiful wildlife is not why I find myself here though.
This day I am in search of ruins. Somewhere not far off the shore lie the large remnants of a long-gone structure. It's remains have come to be so covered by the canopy of the forest
that they are invisible from the lake during the summer months, making my work to find them a bit more difficult than I had anticipated.

As it turns out, if one simply takes a few correct turns down the trails that snake through the wood, the ruins can be easily found.
However I discovered this after almost three hours of following the wrong turns down the wrong trails. That is part of the experience though,
and really what fun would any of this be if you knew all the specifics beforehand (and weren’t exhausted, cover in sweat, and being eaten alive by various flying insects in the hot summer sun)...

At any rate, I had finally arrived at my destination; the ruins of the old Marl Works. First I shall explain what marl is, for I had no idea myself until reading up on it.
Marl is a kind of lime-rich mud which can only form in fresh-water. It is was/is used in a variety of things from fertilizers to a component of cement.
Interesting as all this is, the building which once stood here was not initially constructed to take advantage of the marl deposits found under White Lake.
The original purpose of these ruins was actually as an ice-house. Built in 1888, the ice house would harvest 2-foot square blocks from the frozen surface of the lake
during winter months, and keep them insulated with sawdust and straw. The ice would then be sold during the warmer months, mostly locally, but also transported by train.
The ice-house was not terribly successful however, and only operated on-and-off until around 1914, when the ice-harvesting was ceased altogether.

The main use of these ruins, as I previously eluded to, was as a marl refinery. The Marksboro Fertilizer Works was established here in 1891 and went to work dredging the marl-rich lake.
The sediment from the lake bottom was conveyed to the second floor of the plant, where it was refined and dried. According to an information placard which stands amongst the weeds
next to one of the ruin's remaining walls, this plant harvested between six to eight tons of marl in an average day. Marksboror Fertilizer went under only a couple years after it began,
due to legal issues at the parent company. After the facility was vacated, several other companies tried (and failed) to make a viable marl refinery on the shore of White Lake.
By 1929 the building had come to be without use. It has sat ever since.

Fairytale Forest

2011-07-20T02:35:00.001-04:00

Paul Woehle Sr., then a 40 year old German Immigrant to the US, began building Fairytale Forest with his own hands in 1955.
With help from his two sons, he was able to complete the project in two years, and it opened to the public in 1957. He used the forest,
more than capable of being mysterious and fantastical on its own, as a canvas. A winding path led guests through the woods, and along the way
they were able to glimpse key moments from the Brothers Grimm fairy tales.

More than 20 cottages sat nestled in the trees, their interiors depicting frozen scenes from the most famous children's stories.
Though visitors could not actually enter the buildings, they could peek through the windows to see what was unfolding within. A small plaque on each cottage
gave a brief summary of what could be expected within, be it the Gingerbread Man escaping his oven, or the three bears debating what to do with a sleeping Goldilocks.
In winter, the forest was decorated to bursting with lights, transforming it into a winter wonderland the likes of which can nowadays rarely be found outside of story books.
Those visiting the forest in winter could expect to be greeted by Frosty the Snowman and a cup of hot chocolate. Santa Claus awaited eager youngsters in his Christmas House,
and gently interrogated each for his or her Christmas wishes.

Today, the Fairytale Forest appears to be the location of genocide on fairytale creatures. The doors of paint-peeled cottages are kicked in,
their former residents torn apart or missing entirely. Viewing windows are smashed, and everywhere broken Christmas lights litter the forest floor.
While I abhor those who vandalize any building, this hits on a much more personal level. Though my last visit here was probably at the age of five or six,
memories came rushing back as I wandered the silent forest.

I caught myself remembering the Christmas Village with the elves packing toys for children as holiday music hummed from speakers hidden high in the trees.
I remembered having to stand on tip-toe to see through the window on Snow White's house. I remembered wondering if the gingerbread house was really made of gingerbread.
The memories superimposed themselves over the carnage I was actually witnessing, and it was all I could do finish my work as quickly as possible
and just leave the place behind. As we returned to the Jeep, the skies grew dark with rain.

An Evening at Pennhurst Asylum

2011-06-29T01:00:00.001-04:00

I wish to open by stating that this entry is a bit of a departure for me. I have done night photography of locations in the past, and the
act of doing so is nothing new to me. What I have never done before though, is spend overnight in an asylum during a paranormal
investigation. My personal viewpoint, as many well know, is one of historical documentation. I always film with both feet firmly
planted in facts and the events of the past, so coming along with a group conducting a ghost hunt is obviously well outside of any
dealings which I would consider normal. My hope was that the unique mood set by the work going on that evening would carry over
into my photography. I enjoy seeing things in a new light, even if said light is not one I am used to.
As with all art-forms; an open mind is often your greatest tool.

“A scholar who cherishes the love of comfort is not fit to be deemed a scholar” - Lao-Tzu

Being a self-titled septic, it's not as if I am prone to freely jumping into this kind of thing without any prior knowledge of the people
or group I will be joining for the duration of the evening. I have met many (many many) unenlightened people who claim to be “ghost hunters”.
Perhaps, in their minds they are... To me and the rest of the world though, it takes more than a few snapshots of “orbs”
to be considered legit in the business. (I hope so anyway, though being out-of-touch as I am, I honestly don't know).
My point is; I knew who I was going with, and I knew they were well composed people.

These individuals were Nick and Jesse of the Shore Paranormal Research Society. I met the two of them some time back while filming the
Pennhurst section of my book “Forsaken”. From the time I spent with them that day, I could tell that they were both level-headed people.
Nick knew I wished to someday go back and film the location at night, so he was kind enough to invite me to tag along during one of
their sessions at the old asylum. Now, as I previously stated, I personally hold little belief in the paranormal (in the fashion which the media has marketed it anyway).
This is not to say that I do not find this type of thing interesting. In fact, I quite enjoy the idea of some untangle reality, tucked away
behind invisible folds of time. Weather we are ever meant to know such things in our lifetime, or if we even could if we so desired, I am not sure.
I am decently read on a fair amount of matters which fall outside of what is considered normal. Topics ranging from spontaneous combustion,
to possessions, to cryptozoology. My desire is to be knowable in the subject matter, and though I am lacking compared to someone who
specializes in these fields, I feel I am at least educated to a certain degree. Knowledge does not equal belief mind you, it simply means understanding.
Regardless of what I do and don't believe, I went into that evening with an open mind.

We arrived at sunset, leaving just enough time for me to grab a few quick exterior shots of the buildings before everyone checked in.
Walking alone down the raised walkway which connects all the buildings of the campus, I could not help but feel the gravity of this
place and the history which calls it home. So many suffered here. Here, where now the setting sun washes all these long-silenced buildings
in an orange light. To this day I remain unnerved by such a large campus being so utterly devoid of sound. For some reason seeing it in
the setting sun made it all the more silent.

After all were checked in, we set off to the conduct the investigation (or in my case, watch others do so). Walking into these buildings at
night is like walking into a pitch black void. Immediately ten or so LED lights clicked on, their bluish beams waving around spotlighting
random patches of peeling paint. After a minute or two people became situated and the flashlights movements grew less erratic. It was
then that your eyes could adjust and begin to make out the interior rooms illuminated by the ambient light of the flashlights and whatever
bit of lamplight filtered in from outside through the grimy asylum windows. Peeling paint and haphazard debris, when viewed in such
dim and colorless conditions, can easily lead the mind and imagination to drift. The slightest movement of a flashlight beam can make it
genuinely appear as there is motion in the peripheral of your vision. Cross that with the fact that the human brain, which from birth is built
around seeing and recognizing faces, and you can easily generate your own apparitions which may seem very real and frightening.

That being said, I'm very happy to say that this was not what transpired during my time at Pennhurst. Nick was actually very cautious and
critical in how he went about collecting data. A refreshing change from what I often see displayed on the television.
(I'm definitely not at all talking about the disgrace to common sense they call Ghost Adventures, which ironically filmed an episode here)
Nick is the manager for the Pennsylvania division of Shore Paranormal, and it seems a position well earned. He kept everyone collected
for the duration of our time there that evening, this included several people new to the group who were finding the simple act of not talking quite difficult.
He also made sure I wasn't taken away and inappropriately touched by the spirits which wander the halls at night.

In tow was an array of equipment re-purposed to detect and communicate with the dead. I really can't say what most of it did, but a good
portion of it looked on the expensive side. To watch people work in a field which many people say dwells outside the realm of science,
documented in such a technological manor was a bit strange to see. Like using math to formulate the meaning of life, it comes across as a
strange mix when you first witness it.

The rest of the evening went quite smoothly. At times I wandered from the group a bit to conduct my photography. Shutting my light
and embracing the clinging darkness, I spent that evening trying to open myself to filming things differently than I normally do.
This may sound easy, but in reality it means that I must actually perceive my surroundings in a new way, which is not something human nature is well known for.
Change never comes without a fight though, and if this exercise helped me expand my mind just the smallest amount it was well worth it.

Click the image below to visit the Shore Paranormal Research Society's website.

Once reviewed, if any of the data collected that evening contains items of “interest” I will be sure to post/link them here.

To see daylight photography and video of Pennhurst, click here...

Life Within the Dead Sanatorium

2011-06-13T14:56:00.000-04:00

This ivy-wrapped sanatorium began its life over 100 years ago as tuberculosis treatment facility. It operated as such into the 1950's, at which point the
discovery of streptomycin made the treatment of the disease much easier, and subsequently negated the need for full-fledged TB facilities. Like many
other TB centers throughout the country, this sanatorium then saw itself re-purposed as a psychiatric hospital in the years following. Though the building
which we filmed has long since been left to rot, the campus itself remains quite active. This however, may only be a temporary state, as this hospital
center has found itself in the cross-hairs of rather controversial plan to save the state of New Jersey roughly $7.5 million.
This agenda calls for the closing of the facility in its entirety, and for the displacement of its patient populous to several of the hospitals in the surrounding area.
The plan has been met with considerable criticism due to two primary factors. One; a large percentage of the patient population at this hospital center is elderly.
To move them away from a place which that have grown accustomed to, and with staff whom they have bonded with, seems a poor decision to many.
Two; this hospital and campus is well-maintained and in considerably better condition than other facilities named on the list of hospitals for possible
closure (one of which was very recently noted by the federal government for having “unsafe conditions and insufficient treatment”).
It is not surprising that people are questioning why the state did not choose to close a center which is in a less desirable shape.
That being said, politics is not what brings us to this location today. Though, if this complex is to eventually fall by the wayside, perhaps then the filming
of this dilapidated ward may be as if peering into a dark and overgrown future that may come to pass.

Our journey begins in a craggy and washed out ditch that twists and turns downhill and into the forest. A forest that is home to far more thorn bushes than
trees. Many of these bushes have barbs like needles, so long and thin that they pierce your flesh without you so much as knowing you were touched.
That is, until you feel the familiar sensation of a warm and moist trickle running down your leg. Then shortly after that, the burning of sweat as it enters
the tiny gashes, telling you that there are far more wounds upon your limbs than you had initially thought.

Several minutes into our crimson-hued hike we came across the freshly disembodied leg of a deer, curiously left in the center of the trail.
Stranger still, and all the more sad, was that this was obviously the last remains of a newly born deer, for the leg measured no more than a foot or so in length.
We trekked on, leaving the limb and accompanying flies behind us through the briars. Some more minutes into our hike we came to the bottom of
a relatively steep incline, which we then navigated up whilst ducking under, and climbing over, the numerous downed trees that obscured our path.
Once we reached the top, we came upon a bizarre yet familiar sight; another disembodied leg of a baby deer. We assumed it must be from the same
deer who's leg we passed earlier, but it was admittedly a bit strange to see this leg so far displaced from the first one. Whatever killed this deer seemed
to have torn it utterly apart as it came through the woods. Again we moved on.

Not long after that we arrive at the building. A place so entangled in vines and overrun with plant-life that one, if not paying attention, may walk right past
thinking it a massive bush or over-grown patch of forest. Gazing upon it as a whole, it's really quite amazing how overwhelming nature can be when
presented with something artificial, which in this case happens to be a four-story hospital ward. These countless plants have, through time, attached
themselves very securely to the exterior of the walls. Seeing all the exposed roots clinging upon the smooth man-made surface of the old hospital conjured
thoughts of tightly wrapped tentacles steaming from some giant fictional creature. All of which constricting upon the hull of a deep-sea vessel, as it is dragged downward into the murky deep.
At our feet lies the tiny head of a baby deer, its blackened eye sockets stare back at us, unblinking.

Within the foliage-hidden walls of this ward, things are no less green. Moss and sprouting plants have come to live here, nested in the fertile soil which
is now the flooring throughout a majority the building. A large amount and variety of insect life is found here as well, crawling across desk tops, and flying
into window panes. Though we thought we had left the forest behind us when we entered here, these rooms and hallways boldly announce otherwise.
More and more it becomes apparent that things, no matter how grand they may seem, are never more than temporary.

House of Filth

2011-06-09T19:49:00.004-04:00

The sun is hot, the air is thick with humidity, and the ticks are crawling up our pant legs as we tread through yet another overgrown field
on our never-ending quest to track down and document the work of the “profane poet”. This third canvas is in the form of a small, and
long disused farmhouse. What color it once was, or if it were ever even painted in the first place, has been lost to the annals of history.
What sits now, crookedly greeting us as we trek across the property, is a collection of weathered and buckled wood.
It's decrepit form held together by rusted nails and likely the many droppings of various woodland animals.

The only entrance to this humble abode is a partially-detached sheet of plywood which once sealed shut the side door.
Pulling it back you are immediately struck by two things as you squeeze past into the darkness of the interior.
One: It is very dark in there, surprisingly so considering how bright the sun is outside.
And two: For being such a small house, it packs a very large and horrid stink. The closest to which I can relate the stench is to suggest
that one imagine the smell of a petting zoo... then imagine rubbing your face in the soiled bedding on the floor of said zoo.
That will place you at a rough approximation of what this house smells like.

After a few seconds our vision began to adjust to the interior lighting, and we are able to focus our eyes upon the familiar scrawl of the
poet who we have come here to document. The handwriting has become a trademark at this point, and this home is certainly an original
work of theirs, and not that of a copy-cat “artist” or similarly disturbed person. As we step foot from (what was probably) the kitchen into
the living-room of the house, we are stopped in our tracks by a sound both strange and frightening. A kind of intense hissing came
emanating from somewhere within the pitch black of the room. We had unintentionally cornered some type of animal, and its only exit lie behind us.

As any sane group of seasoned explorers would do, we then proceeded to stumble over ourselves as we ran out of the house in a panic
muttering obscenities as we went. Once in the open air and sun, we assessed the situation to the best of our ability. It was somehow
decided, likely as a result of of dehydration mixed with the intense heat of the day, that the best solution would be to “shoo” the mystery
animal out using a tripod. Heading back into the smelly darkness we felt sure in our course of action. That is, until we heard the animal
begin to shriek once again. Funny the effect an unknown, screaming animal has on ones confidence. We stood our ground though.
We had come here to film this house, and we planned to do just that. Angry mysterious beast screaming from the dearness or not.
Once again forming a plan, we decided to just go in and face whatever horrors dwell in the living-room. Tripods and flashlights clenched
tightly in our hands, we crossed the threshold into the creatures realm.

The hissing grew in intensity, yet we could not decipher from where it was coming. The various debit that scattered the floor was a
legitimate concern to us now, as the animal (or possibly hell-spawn) could be hiding under or behind any of it, waiting to pounce.
The flashlight beam moved across the walls and floor, the clutter of the room casting shadows that grew and changed as it went.
It wasn't until the light was held steady that we were able to notice a shadow moving independently of all the others, just outside the
area of the flashlight's beam, in the far corner of the room. Noting the movement, the flashlight was repositioned, focusing upon the
corner and whatever horrors dwell there. Even after being illuminated by the light, we could not make out what the creature was, though
we did learn that it didn't take favorably to having lights shined upon it. Whatever it was, it was not leaving its corner anytime soon.
So, once again doing what any seasoned explorers would, we decided to approach the distressed and cornered animal, not having any
idea what it was. As we closed in features began to take definition out of the shadows. It was standing upon two legs, hunched over,
and was covered in a ratty coat of brown fur or short hair.

It's hard to properly explain what it feels like to be looking directly at something right in front of you, and still not understanding what it
is that you are seeing. It's a kind of humbling experience, and reminds you that no matter how much you see or do there will always be
situations in life that will come as a surprise. In this instance it came as a pissed off and screaming surprise in the corner of a dark and smelly house.

At any rate, as we grew closer even more features presented themselves, and before long we realized that this creature was not that of
fables of legends, but simply a very frightened and alone fledgling turkey vulture. Upon realizing what it is that frightened us so, it
was understood that the animal in front of us was frightened far worse than us by this ordeal. Giving the animal plenty of space, it eventually calmed down
and thankfully gave up with its unearthly hissing. The remainder of our time there it kept a very vigilant eye upon us all, glaring from its corner until we finished filming, packed up, and were gone.

This video is more-or-less a behind the scenes look at our time in the house, as we nervously investigate the strange noises coming from the living-room.
It was featured on day two Weird NJ's Summer Tour, which can be followed on their Facebook page here:
Official Weird NJ Facebook Page

The following video is what we came away with at day's end.
(Baby vulture filmed using infrared camcorder)

Big thanks to David Pfeffer for the information on the whereabouts of this place.

The Cryptic Keep

2011-05-29T00:34:00.004-04:00

Perched atop a steep embankment overlooking a river, and concealed by dense forest sits a moss-covered castle.
A whimsical gatehouse bids you welcome to its courtyard, now more closely resembling a wild growing field than any majestic terrace.
As you stands amongst the tall grass, admiring the arched windows and peaked roofs of the neo-Gothic architecture, black birds fly overhead, swooping in to their nests thorough second-floor windows.
To say this place may have materialized from the pages of a fairytale storybook would be no exaggeration, and may be just as realistic a thought as the actual events behind its creation...

I have attempted to research this castle online, through multiple sources, to no real gain.
It seems that the place's origins, and history prior to the late 1940's, is enigmatic at best. With multiple websites displaying conflicting information, we thought it best to contact the local historic society
and library, the later of which is the only one to have graced us with a reply. Unfortunately, after my follow-up email I could not attain any further response from them either.
An air of mystery clings about this place almost as tightly as the ivy upon its stone walls.
What follows is a historical account assembled to the best of my ability, and verified wherever possible through multiple sources.

To begin; it seems unanimously agreed upon, though the exact date varies, that the castle was constructed prior to the year 1920.
From what little information I was able to get from the local historian, the architect of the castle may have been Bradford Lee Gilbert,
a notable architect of the time. Having passed away in 1911, this places the castle (at least in design stages) within the range of dates agreed upon by the various sources.
This grand castle was to be built upon some 1,000 acres of forestland, far from any neighboring structures. Some sources claim that the design plans called for roofing slate imported overseas from England,
and marble floor tiles from Italy. Wherever the bits and pieces came from, I can state with utter certainty that they culminated in the creation of an astounding home, sadly the owner was never to see it for himself.
Before the completion of the castle he passed away, leaving behind his wife and daughter, along with the unfinished castle.
Now, here is where the story truly begins to derail...

It is seemingly agreed upon that the following year found the wife slowly sinking into a kind of dementia, and that she was subsequently sent off to a sanatorium. How her time between the death of her husband
and her commitment to the sanatorium was spent is not clear though. Some of the more bizarre accounts tell of her being held as a kind of captive within the castle itself.
Sealed away in a portion of the home, behind doors which had no interior knobs. These same stories tell of doors and door-frames etched deep with grooves from her helpless scratching
in some vain attempt at escape. Being as this is a true-life castle on a hilltop, somehow the story of a maiden held against her will seems less far-fetched here than anywhere else.

Whatever the case, after her eventual commitment it appears that the daughter set off on their own, married, and moved away with their husband.
This likely transpired around the year 1930 or so, and has left the castle without a tenant ever since. Supposedly a groundskeeper once resided in a sectioned-off portion of the castle,
and watched over it for some time thereafter, but he has long since left as well. In 1947 the castle was purchased by an order of Freemasons, to what ends I am not sure,
though judging by its current state it seems that they don't intend to fix or maintain it.

That's it. As far as I can tell there is no history to be found after the Freemasons acquired the castle and property in the 1940's.
It find it hard to believe that such a surreal and beautiful place has no definitive documented history. Surely the fact that a castle was being built in the town would have caused someone
to take notice enough to document it, and surely it did, but the whereabouts of that information is has yet to be revealed to me.
(Know that if more information does come to light, I will be sure to update this entry accordingly)
*Special thanks to Sandra Rodenbüsch, for her assistance with research pertaining to the family's daughter, and for newspaper clippings verifying said information.

The strangely sparse and twisted back-story casts this castle in an unexpected light. I did not foresee, whilst there filming, that my research would be so turbulent and inconclusive.
In a way it makes the castle into something else entirely. Only it knows what truly transpired within its walls, throughout the nearly one-hundred years it has been residing upon its hilltop,
and it seems to enjoy keeping secrets.

The Arcane Abbey

2011-05-14T23:20:00.002-04:00

In this line of work (“line of work” meaning the documenting of abandoned places), you are constantly running on a blade's edge. Though our efforts
are ones of preservation and education, ideals which few can argue as unethical, the means which we must use to attain our end can often place
us (as a whole) in an awkward situation... especially from a legal standpoint. We will get to that in a bit, first a little historical groundwork is in order:

Father Michael Heinlein of the German Arch-abbey of St. Ottilien founded this abbey in the rural hills of New Jersey on March 15, 1924.
The monastery's original agriculture was developed to include a Christmas tree farm a few years after it's inception. The sale of Christmas trees
became quite a popular event during the holidays, and the new monastery located across the street still participates in this endeavor today.

The monastery grew rapidly during its early years, and on May 2, 1936, it was large enough to be promoted to the grade of 'conventual priory'.
A decade later, on June 9, 1947, it was again promoted, this time to the grade of 'abbey'. The abbey continued to operate well into the 1970s,
but as time went by its high-arched windows found themselves looking across the way to modern squared windows of the new monastery building
and retreat house. The newer structures began to take on more and more of the abbey's functions, and by the end of its life the ornate facade decorated
what was in fact little more than a storage shed. It still sits today, slowly weathering away through time and the elements.

Such an old and beautiful abbey as this hardly deserves the fate it's been handed, and if this is indeed it's final chapter,
then it is little less than obligation to ensure that it is properly documented. With that mindset we entered its ivy-covered stone walls...

However, no sooner than we entered said stone walls, did the faint scent of cigarette smoke waft through the still air. Either we had narrowly missed
someone who had just left, or we were not alone under the old slate roof. After some investigation, we tracked the odor to the end of a hall on the second
floor. A quick peek through a key-hole revealed that the smoker was no fellow adventurer, but rather a vagrant who had claimed the abbey as their new digs.
The window light cast the figure within as an ill-defined silhouette. The only definite feature about this individual was that they were very large.
It was unanimously decided to give the mysterious resident a wide berth.

What followed was roughly an hour or so of wandering and filming within the four floors of hallways and rooms contained within the abbey.
It was a relativity relaxed venture for the most part, until the calm was utterly shattered by one simple word. Now, there are few singular words in the English language
which contain such power as to ruin one's entire day. Some examples that come to mind are “dead”, “fired”, “cancer” and depending on the circumstances “pregnant”.
This was none of those. The single-syllable day-killer here, for us, was “cops!”.
No sooner than that word was uttered did we hear a commotion two floors below us, at the front doors. Using the noise downstairs to cover our own,
we made a quick retreat to the attic and the storage room found therein. Once there, we snaked our way through the dark, behind some shelves, and against the rear wall.

Time passes much differently in situations such as these. Minutes drag on, and one can lose any decent bearing on time. We sat for what felt like ages,
in the pitch black, listening through the floorboards as a crew of police officers took the smoking vagabond into custody. After that, things grew silent.
Unfortunately for us, being a storage room in an attic, we had no windows from which to survey our situation. Any movements we made echoed through the
wooden floors and walls, seemingly gaining in volume as they did. After some length of nervous silence, we decided upon taking our chances and move to the closest window,
which overlooked the front of the property. Our plan did not come to pass though, for as soon as we prepared ourselves to go forth, voices reentered the ground floor.
Some minutes later the voices seemed louder, which we assumed meant that they were moving upward through the floors,
likely doing a final sweep of the place. We felt fairly comfortable at this point, as we thought nobody would have much interest in an old, dark storage room.

A few minutes later a flashlight beam appeared in the hallway, it approached the storage room and looked in. Blinded by the beam we couldn't make out
the person holding it very well, but it didn't matter, as they quickly moved on having not noticed us tucked tightly away into our makeshift hidey-hole,
watching from just behind the shelving. At this point we felt more at ease, as they would probably finish up and leave the grounds shortly.
Sadly this was not the case, as additional footsteps began to ascend the staircase into the attic. The beam again approached our makeshift hideout,
and once again lit the room as it was aimed in through the open door. This time though, the person behind the lamp did not turn and leave.
Instead the beam fell upon an old 35mm projector, stored upon the upper shelving of the storage room. The investigating officer then grabbed one of his companions,
to show him all the “cool stuff” which was stored away in the room he just checked out. Sadly it didn't take long for them to also find us in amongst all the “cool stuff”.

At this point I feel the need to note that the officer who happened across must have had nerves made from some kind of steel. If I, myself, came across
three people hiding in the dark recesses of the attic of an abandoned abbey, I would have at least did a double-take, if not experienced a near-fatal heart attack.
This man simply said “Alright, I see you”, in a most calm and official-sounding voice. From there we got up, dusted ourselves off,
and were told to head downstairs and out the front door. On our way down through the abbey, we passed some dozen or so officers.
I asked one who was standing on the staircase how many of them there were, to which he replied, “A lot.”.

Outside the front doors we came face-to-face with the homeless person who frightened us earlier. Turns out “it” was a “she”. It also turns out that they
were indeed very large, but due primarily to her eight coats... which she was wearing all at once. She had her hands full between speaking with the police,
and making calls on her cellphone. How did she have a cell phone? Where was the bill sent? Will she have to forward it now that she's moving out?
These were all questions that were running through my mind, but they were quickly interrupted by an officer asking some questions of me.
After a brief explanation of the reasoning for our presence at the abbey, we were sent over to a rather bored looking officer standing by one of six police cruisers that were parked out in front.

When we got the the officer, he informed us that we were free to leave, however we may be receiving a summons in the mail.
Turns out the mayor had shown up as well, and was the one who called for all the police to escort the heavily-coated woman from the premisses.
I looked over and saw a well dressed woman pointing at the abbey, talking about turning it into “affordable housing” and making some cliché comments
along the lines of it being “great for the community”. I also couldn’t help but notice she was preaching incorrect information during here quick history
lesson about the abbey, which she was delivering to some quasi-important looking business men, who I am sure weren't really listening anyway.

The officer we were directed to then handed us back our identification, and as we made our way past him he pulled us aside saying;
“It's not like were weren’t busy, I have no idea why she needs us all here... I want to just let you guys go, but she may make a stir.”
there was more than a subtle twinge of exasperation in his voice.

Two days later a court summons appears in my mailbox. Apparently I was being charged with “Defiant Trespassing”. At court I was informed that it was
a criminal offense and carries with it not only a record, but a potentially large fine as well. “Not guilty” was my plea. A month passes as I wait for my
hearing with the prosecuting attorney. During that span of time many things go through my thoughts, mostly how grossly undeserved it is to be called
criminals when all we (again, as a whole) wish to do is preserve what it is that makes our communities so unique.
It's sad that people don't see this kind of thing as a public service. Risking personal injury for the sake of photos,
if that's not selfless dedication to a cause, then I'm not clear on what is...

My day to speak with the prosecuting attorney eventually comes, and to my utter surprise he actually “gets” what our motivation is.
He then proceeds to sign off on a slip to have all changes and fines against us dropped, and for the case to be dismissed.
This is, obviously, not before he gives the standard legal speech about watching for trespassing signs and whatnot...
though, I was mostly not paying attention due to my shock of not owing any fees.

So, to me this set speaks in two parts. The first, and most obvious; that the abbey is a beautiful place and it is a shame to see it becoming worn and weathered.
If it is not soon turned into housing or reused in some other fashion,it may become too damaged to warrant saving.
The second point is; that people, even those who you may not expect it from, do understand good intentions when they see them.

~ Scans of very damaged negatives ~

Nathaniel White, Six Murders, and a Farmhouse

2011-05-12T02:36:00.000-04:00

The following is an excerpt from issue #36 of Weird NJ magazine:
"Within 24 hours White is brought into custody, within 48 hours he had confessed to six murders, including that of Juliana Frank,
who he had murdered after being convicted of an earlier crime, but before he started his prison sentence. The same sentence which he was later paroled from on “good behavior” April 23rd, 1992.
He also told police where to find the bodies of the two woman who had gone missing from the bar.
They were in an abandoned farmhouse, in Goshen NY."

The full story on the Nathaniel White murders and this deceivingly picturesque farmhouse
can be found in our piece printed in Weird NJ magazine, issue #36:

The Last Silk Mill

2011-04-28T01:23:00.009-04:00

Unfortunately, it's not often we come across a property that has a real chance of being saved...
More often than not my photography, and Christina's video, serve as a final farewell to a place who's job is finished and time has passed.
With this silk mill however, our motivation is not to pay homage to a place which will soon be nothing but a memory,
our aim here is to spread the word about a place that needs the help of as many people as possible, as soon as possible.
At the end of this write-up you will find contact information, please help out if you can.
I know that the “urban explorers” community is loose-weaved at best, but perhaps we can rally together for causes such as this.
This message also goes out to historians, preservationists, and anyone who understands the value found in these old places.
We have a real chance with this one, hopefully it doesn't slip through our fingers...

The concept for the Lonaconing silk mill was birthed in the early 1900's when a local banker by the name of Mr. Duncan Sloan overheard that the Klotz Throwing Company
was looking for a suitable site for their new plant. Mr. Sloan approached the Klotz Company, and offered his hometown of Lonaconing as a prime location for them to set up shop.
He cited the area's low cost of fuel and surplus labor force as key items for consideration. The coal industry that drove the region had a very high layoff rate,
and the mill would supplement wages and provide a more steady employment opportunity. Lonaconing was also easily accessible via railway,
an important thing to consider when setting up industry in the early 1900's.

Within several short weeks, a town meeting was held at the Evans Opera House in Lonaconing.
The Klotz Throwing Company proposed erecting their new silk mill within the town, and the townspeople agreed to the plans.
Ground broke for the new mill, August 13, 1905, and by the 1920's the mill employed over 300 people.
By the 1940's and 50's though, old machines in a relatively small mill proved no match for much larger and modern facilities, and in 1957 the mill was forced to close.
Burt Rowan, who worked at the silk mill during the 1940's had this to say about the factory's role in the small town of Lonaconing:
“It kept the bread and butter on a lot of people’s tables because of the coal mine strikes and other problems... it really helped the economy.”

The mill sat unused, but secure until the 1970's, when it was privately purchased by a local resident, who envisioned saving the old place for future generations.
Today he is on his mid-seventies and still holds out hope for the slowing decaying mill.
I read several first-hand accounts of the mill, comparing it to a time capsule... but as I stood watching water flowing in though blackened ceiling boards, it reminded me more of a tomb.
The mill is dying, and without a new roof, there will be no hope of preserving it much longer. The elderly owner still comes to the mill on an almost daily basis,
emptying buckets of rain water out the third floor window. More often than not he does this alone.
Being the last intact silk mill in the United States, it was placed on the Endangered Maryland list in 2007, but sadly no real assistance has followed.
Some plastic tarping has been added as a temporary and partial solution, but without a new roof by this winter, all may finally be lost to history.

Here is where you can play a substantial part in all this:
Below I have provided contact information for Preservation Maryland, the people on who's behalf we documented this mill.
They sincerely wish to save this place, preserve it, and open it to the public. To do so they need to show that there is a genuine interest in the mill.
They also need to generate enough funding to re-roof the facility with metal roofing. Once the roof is secure, then work can get underway inside.
Additionally, they are considering allowing groups of photographers in on weekends for a small fee, all of which will go toward the much-needed roof.
I've also included a link to a page containing the contact info of most officials for Lonaconing township.
So please, if you can help in any way, contact the people below.

Email address for Kathleen Erkert, a member of George's Creek Promotion Council.
Tell her you read our piece, and ask how you can help.
kerkert@verizon.net

She, along with the organization Preservation Maryland, hope to rescue the mill for future generations.
Preservation Maryland can be reached here:
Preservation Maryland

Contact information of officials for the township of Lonaconing:
Tell them you have an interest in the silk mill, and ask what can be done so save it.
Lonaconing Officials

~The Roof~

~Historical Images~

Eastern State Penitentiary

2011-04-24T19:15:00.003-04:00

Eastern State Penitentiary is a nearly 200 year old prison which operated out of Philadelphia beginning in 1829.
It had come to be more-or-less unused following its closure in 1971, and until the mid-1980's it sat decaying amid the city that had come to flourish around it.
What makes this place so intriguing to us though, is what happened after the city purchased the jail from the state in 1980...

Instead of the all-too-common chain of events which typically end in the razing of old buildings in lieu of modern ones,
the Eastern State Penitentiary Task Force (formed by a group of archaeologists, historians, and preservationists when the facility was purchased by the city),
mayor Wilson Goode, and the city of Philadelphia saw the importance in preserving this place for future generations to see, walk through, and learn from.
They were able to perceive the beauty of what they had in front of them, and grasp the potential that lie just beneath the plant life and and decade-plus of neglect.
Instead of taking what would have surely been the much easier (and more common) road of commercial redevelopment,
they decide to create a facility which will benefit the public on an educational level, and stand as a leading example of what can become of a place
if enough people care about the history which it holds. Today Eastern State Penitentiary is open to the public on a daily basis. For a nominal fee of admittance
one can wander the grounds at their leisure. To walk these tall echoing corridors, to look out through these slotted windows, and to touch these cold stones which shaped the not only the jail itself,
but the penitentiary system as a whole, is the only way to properly appreciate the history found here.

As stated earlier; Eastern State Penitentiary was opened for use 1829. It is considered to be the world's first “true penitentiary”,
in that each inmate was housed in a solitary confinement with minimal human contact. It was the belief that in being housed in such a way,
the inmate would be able to open up to God, and properly pay penance for their crimes.
To further this thought in the prisoner's minds, each cell was equipped with a single slotted window, representing the ever-present eye of God.
Each day the incarcerated were allowed out of their cells for one hour, during that time they were required to wear hoods which prevented interactions with other prisoners.

By the year 1913 Eastern State had abolished the solitary confinement concept, as it was believed to have had adverse effects upon the inmates. Instead of assisting in their rehabilitation as intended,
it seemed to have induced an array of mental illnesses. This was in no way helped by the actions of the guards and counseling staff who punished inmates in a variety of methods,
most of which degrading to the prisoner, and clearly sadistic in nature. An example of such disciplinary acts include “The Hole”, which was a lightness pit dug out of the earth under block 14.
A prisoner could spend as long as two weeks in this chamber with a minimal amount of food, no sunlight, and zero human contact. Yet another punishment, which was used during the winter months,
was to take the prisoner outside during below-freezing temperatures and hose them down with cold water. From 1913 until its closure in 1971, Eastern State functioned as a congregate prison,
wherein each prisoner was housed under humane conditions and was incorporated into a labor program.

On June 23rd, 1966 Eastern State Penitentiary was designated as a National Historic Landmark.
Planned usage for the property before rescue and reuse as a publicly accessible “preserved ruin”, included luxury apartments and a shopping mall.

If you know our work, you know we are people driven by history and preservation.
To see a place such as Eastern State Penitentiary shared with the public is a wonderful thing.
We are always saddened to see beautiful old structures leveled to make way for unnecessary housing, faceless shopping complexes, or any other “commercially viable” usage of the land.
It seems that people forget that it's not just a building which they are knocking over, but all the history associated with it as well. It is these old places which formed
the towns and cities in which they reside, to remove them simply because its the most convenient thing to do in the short-term is a mistake we will surely regret, be it now or years down the road.
Eastern State Penitentiary brings attention to the fact that; not only is is a beautiful thing to save something of such significance,
but as a reminder that the public as a whole does in fact hold a great interest in history.

~Historical Images~

>

Twisting Vines Ensnare the Asylum

2011-04-02T21:56:00.002-04:00

The morning silence of May 18th, 1927 is splintered as a steam shovel engine rumbles to life.
It's slow-moving maw digs deep into the earth, dislodging a portion of the grassy field in which it sits.
These are the first moments toward the creation of New York's latest psychiatric hospital...
and what was to go on to be one of the largest mental health complexes in the world.

Operating this steam shovel was governor Alfred Emanuel Smith, Jr., who offered this quote shortly thereafter:
"We need a new state hospital (like this one) at least every three years to keep up with the growth
in the number of the committed insane... The state hospitals are today overcrowded about 30 percent,
and the census is growing so rapidly that we can't catch up."

Countless more pieces of construction equipment flowed through the property following that day,
and together they slowly shaped the 600 acres of once-rural field into a sprawling mental health complex.
Like many state-run facilities of this era, it housed its own power plant, and farm-raised much of its own food.
Later on it opened industrial shops crafting mattresses and furniture, primarily operated by the patients who resided there.
Insulin-shock therapy (aka insulin coma therapy) was introduced to the facility in 1937.
This somewhat unheard of, but one-time popular process, consists of injecting the patient with large amounts of insulin,
putting them into a coma on a daily basis. The process typically spanned several weeks in total.
Following insulin-shock therapy, electroshock therapy and lobotomies were also instituted at the facility.
It was hailed as one of the nations best-planned mental health centers.

Though the acclaimed facility's prosperous beginnings may have heralded a bright future,
within it's first ten years of operations the hospital had fallen victim to a blight which effected many other
mental health institutions across the nation at that time; severe overcrowding.
To further worsen matters, the drafts of World War II found much of the hospital staff away at war.
This forced the center to seek out new crew members as quickly as possible. Due to this, many of the personnel
were under-trained and unqualified for the tasks handed to them. Further compounding things,
the hospital lacked the means to properly house and care for the all the patients currently living there.
This found beds being placed in hallways and day rooms, creating a breeding ground for the spread of illness and infection.
1959 marked the peak year for admittance to the hospital, pushing the total patient population to over 7,000.
There was just one psychologist for every 300 patients...

Today the property lies in a strange state...
It has survived all the hardships, and remains a massive and functioning facility focusing primarily on
out-patient treatment, and operating almost exclusively out of new modern buildings.
The original campus is left forgotten, and has come to be overgrown with trees and thick brushwood.
In some cases, between the trees and ivy, entire wings of buildings are lost behind the foliage of summer.
As a molting insect discards its shell as it grows, this facility has shed off its former campus in lieu
of impressive towers which gleam with all the promises and majesty of modern medicine.

Perhaps it is wished that nature reclaim the old campus once again, and with it the dark history contained within.
Whatever the reason for the neglect, this place serves as a symbol to America's great transition in mental health care.
Much like the forest slowly hides away these buildings, time's passing can cause us to forget even the most tragic of events.
To disregard what happened here, and across the country during this time, is to deny meaning to those who lived through it.

After documenting the hospital proper, we made our way over to the more-recently abandoned children's center.
A place which, judging by it's layout and architecture, appears to have been re-purposed from some other use.
This, of course, is just an assumption...

It was whilst in the children's center that we cam across a thing quite strange...
A walled-up archway, which at first glance seems to be nothing unusual, until you notice the missing portion
of sheet-rock, and the pitch black which lies just beyond the exposed wall supports.
(You can see what we speak of in the background of the image above)
Once we passed the threshold, it felt as if we had stepped into a different realm all together.
A long corridor stretched out in front of us, leading into what appeared to be infinite blackness.
The level of decay that lay beyond that new wall is severe, especially compared to the state which the rest of the place is in.
One does wonder to the motives behind sealing away an entire wing of a building, and leaving it to rot.
Regardless, here is what we found...

~Historical Images~

Bethlehem Baptist Church

2011-03-18T21:34:00.001-04:00

The Bethlehem Baptist Church (or it's charred and weathered corpse rather) sits at the end of Baptist Church Road in Union, New Jersey.
A historical marker at the front of the property tells that it's congregation was originally formed in 1837,
and that the church was erected later that same year on the Brunswick-Easton Turnpike, which is now modern-day Route 78.
The last line of the sign simply states “Abandoned in 1906”.

Little additional information is to be found on this church, but I did learn a bit of history from a local man while in town.
He told me that the church sat for many years in a state of disuse, and in the 1950's people managed to climb up and steal the copper drainpipes that ran across its roof.
Not only did they steal the piping, they also stole away any chance this old structure had of surviving the elements.
Numerous holes were left behind where the scavengers tore away the piping, allowed water easy entry to the wooden roof and interior walls.
Eventually the water damage led to the collapse of the roof, and caving-in of the church's interior walls as it fell in upon them.
Additional insult befell the broken church sometime later, when its remains were set aflame by an arson...

While there filming I was surprised to find that, despite the massive amount of damage by man and time,
there were still hints left scattered about the inside of these stone walls. Things alluding to how the church once looked in its prime.
Markings where stairs once led up from the main entrance, to the second-floor balcony and possible organ pipes.
Beneath the overgrowth and tangling roots of trees, divisions in the stone floor seemed to mark out rooms off to the left and right of the main entrance.
Perhaps these were walls at one time, to confessionals or possibly the priest's chamber.
Most notably, a large boxed area at the rear-center of the church was the obvious remains of the pulpit...

Though the church itself is abandoned, the graveyard is thankfully maintained by the Van Sycle-Manner Family.

Station Zero

2011-03-10T21:11:00.003-05:00

An entry from a Morristown newspaper, August 29th, 1867:
"The branch road from Denville to Boonton, four and three quarter miles long, and as crooked as a ram's horn, is now in running order."

"Today, the station is a forgotten relic,replaced by a modern facility not far down the tracks.
The silence of the place is broken only by the occasional passing of a train on the still-active tracks.
Defunct train cars litter the yard; Why they have come here to die is not obvious.
Perhaps they were simply stored in a convenient place, or someone thought their placement would serve to keep the place from becoming an eyesore.
Whatever the reason, the station now has a surreal, and unpleasant quality to it"...

If you would like to learn more about this place and many others,
check out my book published by the good people over at Weird NJ...

*Update - 4/24/11

As I am writing this (well maybe not exactly right at this moment, as it's Easter Sunday)
the town of Boonton is actively removing the old rail-cars from the unused station.
I recently revisited the place and quickly snapped the following photo whilst looking around...

Moonlight on the Rutherford Stuyvesant Estate

2011-02-21T13:44:00.000-05:00

The writings scrawled upon the walls of these unfortunate homes seem even more pronounced when viewed by the light of a full moon.
These houses and the snow-covered landscape that surrounds them were aglow beneath the night sky,
as the last lingering clouds broke apart and dissolved as a result of unrelenting high winds.
Winds which had started to noticeably gain in force during the short hike through the woods to my destination.
Though I was thankful for the open sky, these cold gusts cut through my coat and burned my face as they flowed across the open spaces.
The trees were agitated as well, and the forest moaned loudly as limbs and bark ground again each other,
their long shadows waving back and forth on the white floor of the forest, as if all the world were in some kind of dreamlike dance.

If you would like to see this beautiful property during the daylight,
follow this link to our full entry about the Rutherford Stuyvesant Estate:
Houses of the Winter Forest

Houses of the Winter Forest

2011-02-17T17:38:00.001-05:00

The abandoned property of the Rutherford Stuyvesant estate...
Modern times leave but a few left-over scraps from what was, not too long ago, a beautiful and influential homestead.
The elegant past of this property has long been cast into shadows. Overrun by gripping ivy, twisting thorns, and the forest itself.
Nowadays one could drive right past the old estate, never even knowing that they did so. The only clue given is a
gnarled dirt road bearing the name of the family who's estate once stood in what is now thick forest.

The grand mansion (pictured above) surrendered itself to flames many years ago, leaving only an overgrown field
where it once proudly stood. Orphaned, the remainder of the buildings on the property sat, and slowly sank into ruin.
To me though, it was always more about how these houses adapted to unmaintained life in the woods, than the history behind their being there.
As with most places that become abandoned; once left alone, these places can become something else entirely.
Gone are the pristine lawns and manicured pathways; replaced with tall grass, weeds, and thorns.
The bright washes of the houses exteriors, faded, stained, and ensnared by the growth of the forest.
The bustling of life within the walls has long since passed, all that endure here are the hushed sounds of slow decay.

Now, we have been here before, filming this property in the warmth of the summer months.
During that time, when the forests are full of green and life, these houses seem almost content in their fate.
Slowly returning to the woods, and doing so in a peaceful and harmonious way.
However, the timing in which you document something can completely change your perspective of it...

Snow and ice cake the grounds, and all in blanketed in white. Seeing the houses like this paints an entirely different picture.
No longer are they surrounded in green, hidden by the foliage, and visited by whatever animal may be passing by.
The winter marks these old houses as outcasts, foreign bodies in what would otherwise be fields, streams, and trees.
Hard-angled shapes among the bending organic forms which stretch out in all directions.
Of all the words with which to describe these houses, the one that comes to mind over and over again is "alone".

For further reading on the matter, you can get the full story
behind the Rutherford Stuyvesant estate in Weird NJ magazine, issue #34:

The Boyce Thompson Institute

2011-01-02T01:45:00.003-05:00

William Boyce Thompson was born to a small mining town in Montana, May 13,1869.
At 18 he attended the Phillips Exeter Academy, and upon completion studied at the Columbia University School of Mines.
When he finished his education he returned home to Virginia, and was immediately employed by his father in the family’s copper and silver mines, located in Montana and Arizona.
He became quite successful with his endeavors , and 1895 he wed Gertrude Hickman and moved to New York
where he joined the Curb Exchange (now refereed to as the New York Stock Exchange).

Once settled, Exeter classmates and club members took to introducing Mr. Thompson to various New Yorkers of influence.
This worked out very well, for he was one of the few residents of New York with a detailed knowledge of the mining business.
He became quite successful as a mining promoter, developing mining properties in the West and Southwest of the United States, as well as in Canada.
Later on he even managed to acquire a diamond mine in Africa. This all boded very well for Mr. Thompson, as he amassed a considerable, and well-earned fortune.

Beginning in 1906, and going through 1910, Thompson purchased properties in Northern Yonkers, New York.
He then hired the noted architectural firm “Carrere and Hastings“ to design a beautiful estate, which he called “Alders with Alder Manor “.
Upon the completion of his grand estate in 1912, Thompson was only 42 years old.
He had all he needed, and considering his worth, he likely also had everything he ever wanted.
To accomplish such things so early in his lifetime is impressive in it's own right, but what makes William Boyce Thompson a man worth remembering
is what he did well after most would have considered settling down and relaxing into their golden years.

In 1917, Herbert Hoover was Chief of the Belgian Relief Fund.
A privately run organization which focused on war-relief. After the end of the World War the organization found themselves
needing to raise approximately $150 million dollars. Coincidentally Hoover was a member of the Rocky Mountain Club of New York, a club to which Mr. Thompson was also involved.
An arrangement was made, and Thompson took on the role of treasurer, helming a newly-formed finance committee created to help raise funds.
He pledged $100,000 of his own money at that time. The Rocky Mountain Club also cared for soldiers in France, and for those traveling there.
Under Thompson's watch, the club raised roughly $5 million for it's war-aid causes.

Soon after he began raising funds with the club, Thompson also donated $250,000 to the Red Cross.
In 1917 he then led the Red Cross into Russia to asses the need for medical supplies and other care.
It was there that he witnessed what true suffering was. People deprived of the basic human necessities, living in the streets, and slowly starving to death as a revolution tore cities apart around them.
(The Russian Revolution of 1917, which saw the fall of the Tsarist Monarchy, and the formation of the Soviet Union).

Upon returning to the United States, Thompson set to work with what was to be his defining purpose.
His aim was made clear by a statement he made regarding his plans:
“There will be two hundred million people in this country pretty soon. It’s going to be a question of bread, of primary food supply.
That question is beyond politicians and sociologists. I think I will work out some institution to deal with plant physiology,
to help protect the basic needs of the 200 million. Not a uplift foundation, but a scientific institution dealing with definite things, like germination, parasites, plant diseases, and plant potentialities.”

He set to purchasing the properties across from his estate, and constructed the Boyce Thompson Institute for Plant Research.
The institute was dedicated in 1924, and sat on some 300 acres of farming land and fields.
His goal for the facility was a simple one: to make food easily attainable for everyone.
In short, he felt that if food were affordable and plentiful, that it could potentially lead to world peace.
“Agriculture, food supply, and social justice are linked “
His ideal became a passion, one which drove the institute on it's path to the betterment of society.

June 27, 1930, not long after the creation of the institute, William Boyce Thompson died of pneumonia in his estate across from the facility.
His funeral drew much attention, as nearly all people of influence in American society paid their final respects to a man who's worth was measured not by his fortune, but by his actions.
In 1978, after 54 years of operation in Yonkers, the Boyce Thompson Institute joined with Cornell University and relocated to its campus in Ithaca.
It still operates today.

Various Images from pre-1940's issues of Popular Science magazine...

Fancy Cat House

2010-12-22T18:40:00.001-05:00

What makes a house a home? I suppose this question is not an original one, nor is it one that is easily answered.
It is, however, a relevant question to ponder before viewing these images and accompanying video.

This old farmhouse has been abandoned for some years now. Nature and man have had their time with it in no gentle way,
and it would be realistic to believe that it's days as a home are behind it now.
Perhaps this is why the items found inside seem so poignant, as if catching the last glimpse of what this place was at one time, and what a difference several simple years can make...

As is commonplace with abandoned houses, looting has taken place here.
Nearly anything of real cash value has long-since been taken, leaving behind nothing but debris and personal belongings.
Funny that these things left behind, though of no real value outside of these walls, are of the most important things in the house.
Family pictures, letters, Christmas cards, the things that tell the story of the last life to call this place “home”.

What may at first appear to be garbage strewn in all directions is, in actuality, the house's memories torn asunder.
If you take the time to understand what you see before you, a story comes together with little effort on your part,
as if the house itself is reciting, very loudly, that it was once quite dear to someone not long ago.
This “someone”, was an elderly woman and one who was very fond of her family, and of cats.
It seems likely that her husband passed away some time ago, and she found companionship in her feline friends.
Many items throughout the former residence are cat-themed in one way or another. Be it the handmade tissue-box covers,
embroidered bath towels, or seat cushions. Most of the Christmas cards scattered around are feline-themed as well, so her fondness of cats was clearly not a private one.
Just looking at the house from outside presents it as the home of a cat-lover. Numerous cat-coops sit empty upon its sagging front porch,
their straw bedding dances around the house's front, riding the winter winds.

The events that bring the house to its current state are unknown to me, though it looks as if the elderly woman may well have passed away.
Why her family never came to claim her possessions, I really cannot say. It surprises me though, being as it seems she had a very close relationship them.
Regardless, here sits a house tired and worn from years of neglect, filled with memories sentenced to decay along with it.
Is this a sad thing? Maybe. It is also uplifting to know that the last life here was a warm one, well lived, and with what appears to be much love.

State Homeopathic Hospital

2010-12-16T13:13:00.003-05:00

"Today, it is condemned, and simply stands, rotting, amongst the younger and more monotonous structures it helped to spawn,
a throw-back to a forgotten age of medicine that has been entirely replaced by sterile facades of glass and steel."

Click the image below to view a high-resolution panoramic image of a lower corridor:

If you would like to learn more about this place and many others,
check out my book published by the good people over at Weird NJ...

The Broken Tower

2010-12-06T14:00:00.004-05:00

Opening it's doors in 1927,
this hotel enjoyed many decades servicing patrons of the bath houses it's hometown was famous for.
These once-popular baths have long since closed though, and this tower is now home only
to it's slowly twisting corridors and the pitch black shadows which conceal them.

When Christina and I first caught glimpse of this place, through the barren branches of late autumn,
I could not help but feel that the winter months were the ideal time in which to pay our visit.
It's ash-colored face matched perfectly with the sleeping forests and pale skies which the season brings.
Almost as if all the cold winds of winter emanated from within it's very walls.

Upon entering its gnarled lobby, the old hotel slowly begins to strip away your sense of balance.
The integrity of this old place, like most structures left to fend for themselves against nature, has started to fail.
As such, the entire building is slowly beginning to lean, falling in upon it's weakest parts.
What makes this place unique amongst other dying places though, is the fashion in which it is choosing to collapse.

It seems that nearly each major section of this facility is going down in a different direction.
Over time floorboards have warped in a wave-like fashion down the lengths of its many hallways.
Windows has shifted in their walls to such a degree that their very framing is falling off around them,
having become weaker than the glass itself due to substantial water damage.
The roofing buckles and bows from the stress of holding all these decaying parts together, tearing in places,
and allowing even more water easy access to it's already saturated framework.
At one point while filming I clearly heard a loud gurgling sound coming from directly over my head.
Just out of sight behind the ornate and rusting tin facade of the ceilings, this building was openly weeping.

The Pines Hotel

2010-11-23T02:59:00.000-05:00

"As one might expect, the great numbers of people visiting abandoned places means that,
inevitably, some will fail to appreciate the value of what they witness and see only the potential for trouble.
To such minds, the temptation to loot, smash, tag or burn far exceeds any comprehension
of the importance these buildings once had, and how much they still have to offer to a willing listener.
An oft quoted motto of explorers is "Take only photos, leave only footsteps".
It may seem trite, but when this rule is followed, every subsequent visitor can experience the same amazement as the first.
The way daylight finds its way through the tiniest seams or ivy and moss slowly climb any obstacle can be hauntingly beautiful.
We can only share this beauty with those who come after us if it is allowed to persist"...

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If you would like to learn more about this place and many others,
check out my book published by the good people over at Weird NJ...

Staten Island Hospital

2010-11-22T23:05:00.000-05:00

"Though the exterior of the hospital has the appearance of a war-proof fortress, its internals have been reduced to a delicate state.
Stripped of the material that once covered its walls and ceilings, the wooden skeleton of the building has crumbled quickly in the damp air.
A marble staircase, probably too large to be easily removed, granted us access to the upper floors.
We ascended through the guts of this stalwart bastion, under siege not from an outside enemy, but from the slow, certain work of time"

If you would like to learn more about this place and many others,
check out my book published by the good people over at Weird NJ...

A Catskills Tradition

2010-11-22T23:02:00.004-05:00

"So it is that this place, once among the crown jewels of the region, is empty.
A few short decades ago, its popularity justified building an airstrip on the grounds so travelers could fly directly to the resort.
That same airstrip is now little more than a meadow, its shattered tarmac home to thick vegetation."

If you would like to learn more about this place and many others,
check out my book published by the good people over at Weird NJ...

Pennhurst - The Shame of Pennsylvania

2010-11-22T22:57:00.003-05:00

"To best introduce Pennhurst State School and Hospital, I offer a single quotation from the 1968 documentary Suffer the Little Children, an exposé on the Pennhurst by Bill Baldini.
When one patient was asked by the interviewer what he would like most in the world, if he could have anything he wanted, the sad and withdrawn reply was simply, "To get out of Pennhurst."

If you would like to learn more about this place and many others,
check out my book published by the good people over at Weird NJ...

The Paulinskill Viaduct

2010-11-22T22:53:00.001-05:00

"The works found here often transcend any simple definition of graffiti,a difference which is as much a product of intent
as it is of artistic talent. To be covered in these colorful forms of expression is what gives the viaduct its soul,
be it an ambitious mural spanning an entire wall, or a few sincere words scrawled in some out-of-the way corner.

These works are ever-changing, painted over and over againby different artists, feeling different things, at different times in their lives.
The transient nature of each piece is what makes it that much more endearing.
Due to this, the viaduct is less an abandoned railway bridge than it is a 125 foot tall canvas of concrete and steel."

If you would like to learn more about this place and many others,
check out my book published by the good people over at Weird NJ...

The Psychopathic Building

2010-11-22T22:52:00.004-05:00

"Perhaps the most interesting thing to be found here, as a visitor of many forgotten places, is the near-complete lack of human presence since the building's closing.
The absence of footprints, broken windows, graffiti or indeed any form of vandalism mark this as a place that has seen few visitors other than the regular passage of time itself."

If you would like to learn more about this place and many others,
check out my book published by the good people over at Weird NJ...

The Sandy Hook

2010-11-22T22:47:00.001-05:00

"Walking along the beach, where huge munitions bunkers slowly sink into the sea like so much discarded trash, I cannot help but imagine things as they once were.
The thought arouses sensations of both curiosity and respect. Nuclear weapons can be considered among the worst products of human ambition and creativity,
but these places were constructed out of a necessity – perceived as the last, best hope of salvation in a time of great uncertainty.
The circumstances that lead to their construction are something that we, as a species, cannot afford to forget."

If you would like to learn more about this place and many others,
check out my book published by the good people over at Weird NJ...

Vacancy Everlasting

2010-11-22T22:42:00.002-05:00

"Alone, any of the nauseating wallpapers, abominable carpets or ridiculous armchairs could be derided as simple trash,
but when compiled into a single space they become something else altogether.
What conceptually should be simply ugly rooms somehow coalesce into something better described as chambers in some multi-hued nightmare."

If you would like to learn more about this place and many others,
check out my book published by the good people over at Weird NJ...

Newark Street Jail

2010-11-22T22:40:00.002-05:00

"One often takes for granted that cities are sterile places, as if their souls are made of asphalt and brick, and thick concrete blood will spill forth to clot any wound.
In truth though, the urban landscape is just a thin skin over something much more primal, and without constant maintenance, nature is quick to reclaim what has been taken."

If you would like to learn more about this place and many others,
check out my book published by the good people over at Weird NJ...

Overbrook aka Essex County Hospital Center

2010-11-22T22:36:00.004-05:00

"Entering this place, it feels less a hospital than a winding labyrinth of red brick and dirty mortar.
The sheer scale of the grounds is difficult to communicate in text or photo.
The imagination suggests the sense of having left the familiar world behind for something altogether separate,
where every angle of the corridor reveals another bend, or stairwell, or row of doorways, and every room has a story to tell."

If you would like to learn more about this place (it's on the cover!) and many others,
check out my book published by the good people over at Weird NJ...

McNeal Mansion

2010-11-22T22:35:00.000-05:00

"Combined with more recent fire damage to much of the main hall and grand staircase, there is little hope for rehabilitating McNeal Mansion today.
The most likely fate of this majestic estate is to simply fold in upon itself, eventually becoming just a pile of debris."

If you would like to learn more about this place and many others,
check out my book published by the good people over at Weird NJ...

South Middle School

2010-11-22T22:29:00.003-05:00

"Deep shadows transform the once bright and busy hallways into something akin to underground tunnels.
That most of the rooms and halls were stripped bare in 2004, in anticipation of an aborted renovation to private housing,
only adds to the feeling of spelunking in a damp and lifeless cave."

If you would like to learn more about this place and many others,
check out my book published by the good people over at Weird NJ...

The Fatal Catholic Boy's School

2010-11-22T22:25:00.001-05:00

"New York state, August 9th 1964 - A child experiences his last moments of life briefly suspended in the air,
before plummeting 36 feet to his death from the rooftop of a Catholic resident school for boys.
Assumed initially to be a tragic accident, the investigation was reopened after the coroner's report noted
that the youth's body was suspiciously far from the wall of the building for someone who slipped and fell."

If you would like to learn more about this place and many others,
check out my book published by the good people over at Weird NJ...

Foxcroft Mansion aka Ramapo Castle Ruins

2010-11-22T22:22:00.001-05:00

"Perched high atop a mountain, some 350 feet above Ramapo Lake, sits a collection of remains often referred to as the Ramapo Castle Ruins,
a pale shadow of what, in life, was known as Foxcroft Mansion."

If you would like to learn more about this place and many others,
check out my book published by the good people over at Weird NJ...

The Story of Old Amber

2010-11-22T22:18:00.001-05:00

"I've developed a strong connection with this house, and whatever the cause, I eventually found myself drawn to researching its history.
Why had it been abandoned, and why was it never purchased and restored?
As I would discover, the fate of this crumbling home was part of something far larger than I had imagined."

If you would like to learn more about this place and many others,
check out my book published by the good people over at Weird NJ...

Lambertville High School

2010-11-22T22:14:00.005-05:00

"It is difficult to even see this place for what it once was, to imagine the sound of children in what now look more like caverns than hallways.
The interior is perpetually dim, bound by windowless hallways and an all-surrounding forest canopy."

One of the things sorely missing from our trip to this old school was the beautiful chalkboard mural.
I had seen images of it several times before, but none were very large, so admiring the detail in the art was almost impossible.
However what I could tell, even in those small images, was that the artist had put a lot of work into its creation.

Much to my surprise and delight, out of the blue I was sent an email from a Pat Grother.
Her email informed me that she had spent many years in the town of Lambertville, and during her time there she was able to photograph the chalkboard mural.
Thanks to her camerawork, the Lambertville chalkboard is forever preserved, and can be viewed by all who wish to see it.
(Click on the chalkboard images blow to open a high-resolution image)

*Again, the above images of the chalkboard mural are courtesy of Pat Grother*

If you would like to learn more about this place and many others,
check out my book published by the good people over at Weird NJ...

The Finishing School

2010-11-22T22:08:00.002-05:00

"Some places keep time differently from the rest of the world.
Within these halls, it is still an era of floor-length dresses, horseback riding, etiquette lessons and the long forgotten art of the curtsy.
The very fibers of the decaying wood excrete these ideals, and cast them in long shadows across the filth covered floors."

If you would like to learn more about this place and many others,
check out my book published by the good people over at Weird NJ...

The Burn Victim

2010-11-22T22:04:00.001-05:00

"It's strange to consider, but of all the places I have been, all the purportedly haunted buildings, this simple structure makes me the most uneasy.
Its burned out sockets stare straight ahead, down the long driveway, as you approach. When you finally reach the foreboding house, it looms over you,
as if asking why anyone would ever visit such a place."

If you would like to learn more about this place and many others,
check out my book published by the good people over at Weird NJ...

Air Warfare Center

2010-11-22T21:49:00.005-05:00

""The Naval Air Warfare Center, a demilitarized government facility covering over 50 acres, was used primarily for the testing of military propulsion systems.
It's everything one expects from a government campus - endless rigid buildings, plain in form and imposing in scale."

If you would like to learn more about this place and many others,
check out my book published by the good people over at Weird NJ...

The Manor of Mold - (alias)

2010-11-22T21:44:00.002-05:00

"When I visited the Manor, it was one of the most heavily rotted buildings I had seen.
Structures such as this are case studies in the dangers native to abandoned buildings.
Humid air and a decomposing roof that does nothing to keep out the rain see floors warp and collapse.
The walls, saturated with moisture, are slime covered and slippery; In some places the floors offer as little footing as ice."

If you would like to learn more about this place and many others,
check out my book published by the good people over at Weird NJ...

The Forest Inn - (alias)

2010-11-22T21:34:00.002-05:00

"Entering through one of the doors, hanging askew from its hinges, I find it easy to see this place as it once was.
Forgotten personal items and furniture, littering the rooms, hold the ghosts of the past close to this place."

If you would like to learn more about this place and many others,
check out my book published by the good people over at Weird NJ...

Hofheimer Grotto

2010-11-22T21:26:00.001-05:00

"The water that once flowed here was cut off in the 1960's, leaving only a stagnant mud pit,
overlooked by an arrangement of stones, so ornate as to be almost ironic considering the dilapidated centerpiece."

If you would like to learn more about this place and many others,
check out my book published by the good people over at Weird NJ...

Camp Bygone - (alias)

2010-11-22T21:20:00.002-05:00

"Observing this place, disintegrating before the eye,
I think about a not-too-distant future when there will be nothing left but a memory.
Perhaps the camera can preserve something of importance before the memory, in its turn, fades from the world."

If you would like to learn more about this place and many others,
check out my book published by the good people over at Weird NJ...

Houses of the Forest

2010-11-22T21:16:00.003-05:00

"Circumstances contrived that these wooden shells mean more to me than they will to most viewers.
But there is a broader message here, perhaps less an instruction and more a reminder of something we already know.
It's often the simple things in life that become the most significant;
All that is required is alertness enough to recognize them."

If you would like to learn more about this place and many others,
check out my book published by the good people over at Weird NJ...

Profanity Junction - aka - Old Greendell Station

2010-09-30T17:39:00.005-04:00

What we have here is the abandoned Greendell train station, a former stop along the now-defunct Lakawanna Cut-Off.
The Cut-Off was constructed between 1908 and 1911, and runs west from Port Morris, New Jersey to Slateford, Pennsylvania.
The railway opened on Christmas eve, 1912, and ran until early 1979, at which point it was found without a purpose due to the completion of Interstate 80.

Now, an abandoned train station may be a rather dull location as far as abandoned places go.
This one though, is a special case. (However, I use the term “special” loosely).
What seems to have occurred here, is that the still-anonymous “profane poet” had stumbled across it during his/her travels.

I visited Greendell with Mark M. of Weird NJ a few months back, to photograph the old station, and mostly just poke around and read the madness on the walls.
Being as the pics were for issue #35, I had to wait until it was on shelves before I posted any of my images, as to not ruin the surprise...
Speaking of which, pick up a copy if you wish to read the small (one page) piece Mark and I did about this station.
(I have posted a link at the end of this entry)

I find this to be a very interesting photograph. Shown here, is actually of the last train to ever traverse the tracks of the Greendell station.
Behind this locomotive (and out of the frame of the picture) they removed the track supports as it went along.

If anyone is interested in reading more about Greendell and the "profane poet",
here's a link to issue #35 of Weird NJ magazine.

Sanatorium of the Mountains - (alias)

2010-09-27T00:48:00.002-04:00

Just before the dawn of the 19th century, a deafening roar is heard from the wooded mountainside overlooking a then-infant settlement town.
Upon investigating the forest for the source of this disturbance, the people of the town came to find
that what they had heard was the birth of a new spring bursting through the surface of the earth.
For the following centuries, this new spring remained little more than a curiosity to the town far below in the valley.

That is until 1851, when young businessman came to hear of the mountainside spring,
and decided that it would be the perfect place to create a “water cure facility”.
Hydrotherapy was a popular practice during the mid-19th-century,
and the newly erected water cure facility opened it's doors for business in 1854.
Unfortunately this endeavor proved short-lived and the original owner was forced to sell off within only a couple years.
In fact several owners tried and failed with the business, until it finally fell into competent hands on October 1858.

This new owner had a vested interest in hydrotherapy and the medicinal properties of natural springs.
His interest and knowledge in the field was brought on by long term illness earlier in his life.
Having been literally at death's doorstep, he made a miraculous recovery after experimenting with hydrotherapy at a water cure facility.
This life-changing event made him a life-long advocate of hydrotherapy, and drove him to obtain a medical degree.
It seemed that if this facility was indeed going to survive, he would be the one to save it.

Restaffing with better-trained hydropathists, he also incorporated the teaching that a proper diet is key to a healthy life.
No red meat, sugar, coffee, tea, alcohol, or tobacco was allowed within these walls,
instead focus was placed upon fruits, vegetables, and unprocessed grain.
In fact this facility is credited with the invention of the first cold breakfast cereal.

By the 1870's the now-aging owner had turned the successful business over to his daughter-in-law,
who had also obtained medical degrees. However, in June 1882, a fire broke out. The flames devoured nearly the entire main building.
It was feared that the wide-spread damage would cause the water cure facility to close down for good.
This was not the case though, and in October 1883 the facility reopened as a sanatorium.
In place of wood, this new, larger structure was constructed completely of fireproof brick.
The business thrived, and in turn was passed along to the son and heir of the sanatorium.

Medicinal science moves quickly however, and by 1941 hydrotherapy had been all but debunked,
forcing the sanatorium to file for bankruptcy.
The building itself lived on in various forms for a while thereafter...
For a short time it even served as a post-World War I psychiatric hospital for veterans.
After that it came into several more hands, all of which attempted to re-establish it as a health resort, and all of which failed to do so.
At this point things were looking quite bleak for this once renowned sanatorium, and it seemed that it's days of use were all but behind it.
With spring comes rebirth however, and in the spring of 1929 the facility once again found itself in competent and resourceful hands.

These 61-year-old hands belonged to an ex professional wrestler, and early advocate of body building.
These hands were also responsible for the magazine Physical Culture, which was one of the cornerstones of the publishing empire at the time.
His popularity, along with his flair for health and nutritional education, revitalized the sanatorium to it's former glory.
No longer was the focus on hydrotherapy however, being as the practice of “water cure” was all but dead during these “modern times”.
Instead, the resort now emphasized a wide array of physical activities to keep patrons in shape.
Swimming, tennis, hiking, golf, and various other therapeutic treatments were offered.
The facility also became known as a haven for celebrities of the time to “get away from it all”.
Having been aging at the time of purchase, the new owner passed away not long after, at in 1955.
This was not before performing a parachute jump at the facility at the age of 81 though...

Shortly after that, the resort once again changed hands. However at this point history felt the need to repeat itself,
and the facility began to decline in popularity. The resort dragged on through a slow and withering death, eventually passing away in 1971.
Today only a decayed husk remains upon the wooded mountainside, it's sunken and unblinking eyes still watching the town and valley far below.

- Historical Images -

The Carmine Complex - (alais)

2010-09-16T18:36:00.005-04:00

The Carmine Complex (alias) of Maryland, first opened it's doors to the public in 1896.
It's design was aimed towards changing health care from the old methods of seclusion and restraint,
to a more independent-living situation. To better achieve this purpose, the campus consists of numerous smaller structures,
occasionally referred to as “cottages”, in place of the standard large hospital buildings that were traditionally used.
During it's time Carmine became nationally recognized as a model hospital for the care and treatment of the mentally ill.

As time passed by, the complex became more and more popular. As needed additional buildings were constructed for the campus,
to the point where Carmine were less a hospital center, and more a stand-alone township. It had come to grow it's own food,
house it's own independent security force, and run all of it's utilities by generating it's own power.
At the facility's peak it cared for over 3,500 patients on it's rural grounds.

Sadly, present day finds the campus as more-or-less a ghost town.
The few buildings that still remain in use offer specialized psychiatric care, which is provided to about 700 patients annually.
With all necessary services properly run out of but a few buildings, long gone is the need for an entire town.
This leaves the many buildings of the hospital center sealed, and without a purpose.
It's obvious that some of these places were indeed reused at one point in time, for some purpose or another.
Regardless of this fact though, most now sit silent and empty.

“Empty” is a key descriptor when referring to the facility, and one that was often repeated to myself while there.
Little remains within these red brick walls than floors, ceilings, windows, and more walls.
There are many buildings on the campus that I did not get a chance to visit, but if they are anything like the numerous ones which I did photograph,
they are merely empty shells that house empty rooms.
I found hardly a scrap is left behind to remind me that this place was once a great hospital, one who's reputation was known across the land.
Instead what I am faced with here are rooms full of nothing, with halls that lead me to more of it.

The Entombed Cathedral - (alias)

2010-09-09T18:32:00.002-04:00

As you enter through the aged wrought iron fencing of this Victorian era cemetery,
you are immediately greeted by the beautiful ivy-covered stonework face of it's now retired chapel.
Constructed in 1862, it long served the grounds as both a house of prayer, and as a site for funeral services.
The grounds themselves, which date back to the 1830's, are still active and properly maintained.
A strange contrast is found as the neatly cut grass borders the dark and shuttered walls of the church.
Almost as if the building itself were a giant mausoleum, entombing a moment forever trapped in time.
No wind blows through these pews, no voice is heard from these choir benches.
The only patrons that pay visit today are the pigeons who manage to enter through the missing portions of stained glass... and us.

As is frequently found in places which have been left abandoned, a fine gray dust has come to settle upon most surfaces of the hall.
This not only takes away what little color was once there, it also casts a sombre mood within the walls.
Even when sunlight pours in through the upper glass windows of the chapel, the hall never glows.
This church is dead inside, and it looks the part.

Though no person has laid hand upon the internals of this chamber, time slips in through the tiniest cracks...
You can never really see its forces at work, but evidence of its constant presence is everywhere.
The great doors that once welcomed you, now sit crooked and peeling upon their corroding hinges.
A large portion of decorated wood that once supported the pipes of the pipe organ had given up it's footing over the years.
It can now be found broken and covered in pigeon filth, lying where it crashed upon the marble floor next to the organ itself.
Spiders have crafted nests for themselves in places that one would never expect to see them.
As a place that was very often filled with the sorrow of family and friends for a passed loved one,
it is as if the chapel itself has come to manifest what it has witnessed for so many centuries.

The Mangled Schoolhouse - (alias)

2010-09-06T13:45:00.002-04:00

We came across this place quite by chance, while driving through town on our way to a previous engagement.
It was our agreement that, if sunlight remained after we finished there, we would return here to “poke around”.
As made obvious by the images, we were lucky enough to have adequate light with which to explore.
It was a quickly dimming light however, the kind that turns to orange and then is gone completely without much warning.
We spent less than an hour within the walls of this disfigured school, but it was plenty of time to understand the old place.

There is really not much to tell about this long-neglected schoolhouse in Buffalo NY.
Though I have attempted to dig up some history on the place, there is little to be found.
As it sits now, it is merely a torn-apart, burned, and spray-painted mess of a building.
The little evidence which may have remained to tell of it's previous role, has since been set afire or destroyed by the rainwater entering in through the many broken windows.
What was once an institution created to educate and better society, has spent it's final days being slowly destroyed at the hands of those which it had attempted to help.