The Packard Motor Company on East Grand Boulevard in Detroit, Michigan was constructed in 1903 and closed in 1958. With just the exception of a brief reuse in several locations, the entire complex – 3.5 million square feet over 35 acres, produced 1.5 million vehicles. Designed by Albert Kahn, the industrial complex used reinforced concrete for its construction, a first for Detroit.
Abandoned Posts
For a town that has been on the economic decline for over two decades, Jeannette, Pennsylvania held its own. Not so much for the Monsour Medical Center.
For a town that has been on the economic decline for over two decades, Jeannette, Pennsylvania held its own as it was located near the Pennsylvania Turnpike and Toll Road 66. The town suffered a loss of jobs that rank in the thousands due to numerous glass factory closures that trickled down and affected nearly every small business and resident. But one constant throughout all of this was Monsour Medical Center.
It would be a fair assumption to say that Monsour never fully prospered, partially because of mismanagement, a high debt load and a poor quality of care. It would also be a fair assumption to say that the economy had some bearing on Monsour’s closure in 2006, especially as there was another hospital just two miles away – which closed in 2010. The facility flirted with bankruptcies four times in its brief tenure.
Monsour Medical Center was located in Jeannette, Pennsylvania and opened in 1952 as a roadside clinic nicknamed “Senator Brown’s Mansion” along U.S. Route 30, the Lincoln Highway. Just a few years later, the hospital expanded into a 100 bed facility, prospering and completing one of two planned patient towers in 1971.
Troubles first began for Monsour in 1980, when it filed for the first of four bankruptcies. The first bankruptcy lasted eight years and was only resolved when a $19 million bond was issued to resolve outstanding debt. In 1991, the hospital filed for bankruptcy again, only to file for another in 2001. Various plans were discussed to improve the financial stability of Monsour, such as renaming it to the Doctors Hospital of Westmoreland County, completing physical improvements, purchasing new equipment, recruiting new doctors and adding a medical arts building. None of that occured, and the hospital languished until 2004, when its two year operating license was revoked by the Pennsylvania Department of Health for failure to comply with regulations. As a result, Monsour was issued the first of four six-month provisional licenses.
Compounding the issue further, Monsour’s highly-profitable pain clinic closed shortly after due to suspicious circumstances, only to reopen with new management. The hospital then attempted to form a new cardiology and geriatric medicine program, although the issue was muddled with its fourth bankruptcy filing in October 2004.
In a last ditch effort to save the hospital, Monsour planned to sell part or all of the hospital to physicians in exchange for 50% ownership. The plan, such as others that included converting Monsour into a speciality surgical hospital, never made it off of the planning board. In January 2006, Monsour was cited with seven regulatory violations and at that time, had just seven patients. Because of this, the hospital was limited to 66 beds and was prohibited from performing surgeries or administering anesthesia. Instead of fighting the charges, Monsour closed its doors almost immediately.
The highly visible hospital has suffered greatly since its closure. While the hospital seemed fairly intact from the exterior on a recent inspection, two fires in 2011 have left the brown brick facade charred. Inside Monsour and the conditions vary dramatically. The eastern wing is plagued with black mold while the upper levels have suffered smoke damage, with burnt remains of furniture, ceiling tiles and other materials littering the floors. More unsettling are the needles that scatter the floor, some used, others still within their packages. The morgue, while intact, contains visible stains and unidentifiable materials.
The lobby, with its pink decor, has at least remained in decent condition. Furniture still reside in the waiting area, along with an assortment of magazines and browned plants. Other equipment, such as mechanical beds, copiers and televisions, can be found throughout the complex.
Any hope at salvaging the hospital for a potential future use diminish with each passing year, and it does not seem there is a reuse in the works. The property, which was in foreclosure, is in ownership dispute which explains as to how the hospital has remained unboarded and wide open essentially since its closure.
One of the more infamous UFO encounters in Kentucky is the Kelly-Hopkinsville Encounter, otherwise known as the Hopkinsville Goblins Case. Occurring in the fall of 1955 near Hopkinsville and Kelly, Kentucky, the event centered around a rural farmhouse belonging to the Sutton family.
One of the more infamous UFO encounters in Kentucky is the Kelly-Hopkinsville Encounter, otherwise known as the Hopkinsville Goblins Case. Occurring in the fall of 1955 near Hopkinsville and Kelly, Kentucky, the event centered around a rural farmhouse belonging to the Sutton family.
Seven people in the farmhouse claimed that they were being terrorized by an unknown number of creatures in similar stature to gremlins, around three feet tall with upright, pointed ears with wasted legs and thin arm, claws and silver in color. The movements of the gremlins were best described as floating, walking with a sway as if they were wading through water. The ghastly creatures never entered the house, although they were caught peering in windows and doorways.
After waking up the children, the family called the local police station. Sheriff Russell Greenwell noted that the Sutton family were shaking in fright. Twenty officers, including Greenwell returned to the farmhouse, yet the gremlin occurrences continued. Police spotted evidence of a struggle and damage to the house, and witnessed strange lights and noises emitting from the sky and around the property. The officers attempted to shoot the silver creatures which had no effect other than damaging the house and surrounding grounds.
Later, investigations conducted by the state police, Air Force and civilian ufologists found no evidence of a hoax, although they could not explain the occurrences at the Sutton household that night. Similar occurrences have occurred along the Ohio River and in the United Kingdom, with observances of gremlins and other similar unidentified creatures.
KET’s Kentucky Life explores this infamous UFO encounter in their latest segment!
Caesar Creek School, located in Caesar Creek Township in rural Greene County, Ohio, was constructed as a high school in 1908. It began serving elementary students in 1927, and a small addition was constructed in 1957 that included two classrooms, two indoor restrooms and a gymnasium. Caesar Creek closed in 1967.
Okay folks, it is almost time for Halloween! What are some of your favorite haunted houses or abandonments?
Okay folks, it is almost time for Halloween! What are some of your favorite haunted houses or abandonments?
Click here to jump to Facebook to respond or leave a comment below!
It was a slightly chilly morning in downtown Cumberland, Maryland when I awoke to my alarm and the passing locomotives chugging along the former Western Maryland rail line through the heart of the city. I enjoyed listening to the trains throughout the night as it had a calming effect upon me, something that I recalled during my tenure at my parents house which was next to the massive Russell, Kentucky railyards. Feeling refreshed, I packed my gear and headed to my car and pointed my compass westward to Frostburg and then south to Lonaconing.
It was a slightly chilly morning in downtown Cumberland, Maryland when I awoke to my alarm and the passing locomotives chugging along the former Western Maryland rail line through the heart of the city. I enjoyed listening to the trains throughout the night as it had a calming effect upon me, something that I recalled during my tenure at my parents house which was next to the massive Russell, Kentucky railyards. Feeling refreshed, I packed my gear and headed to my car and pointed my compass westward to Frostburg and then south to Lonaconing.
I happened to be the first guest at the mill that morning when I showed up at 9:00 AM prompt. I didn’t note any other vehicles around, but it was within a matter of seconds before Herb Crawford, the owner of the mill, popped out of an aging swing door at the top of a staircase and smiled.
“You’re back,” he exclaimed, motioning me to the top of the steps.
I hurried up the two flights and walked into the mill and caught a glance to with the owner, clad in gray hair, a plaid shirt with blue jeans and a truckers hat.
“Howdy!”
My voice was upbeat as I began reminiscing about old times with Herb, except those old times were only months old.
“We had a good group the last time,” he mentioned, crinkling his eyes to catch a glance outside. A car had pulled up with out-of-state plates.
“Well, I’ve got a group of Canadians this time that are anxious to see this old mill,” I proclaimed. Herb was surprised at photographers and historians from other countries driving down just to see a relatively small three level mill in the middle of the mountains in western Maryland. His wonder was similar of when people scurried down to Maryland from as far as Massachusetts and North Carolina on the first trip inside a few months back.
“People came this far to see this?” Amused, he showed a list of individuals who visited the mill in the past year which was growing with each month.
He knew the building was special. It is one of the last remaining silk mills in the United States that has remained all but unchanged from the time it closed over a half-century ago. But Herb did not realize just how many people were willing to fish out cash to see the inside. After all, he has owned it for over three decades and has been paying taxes and completing basic maintenance just to keep the property stable, but had not thought of the idea of opening the property up for self-lead tours.
“I should have done this years ago,” he conceded. “The money goes towards paying the taxes.” Unfortunately, little else goes into the building because of that, although temporary repairs have kept the roof from caving in throughout the years. He motioned up at the corner of one room. “That will go either this winter or during the next year.”
Indeed, there was a bulge pointing downward. The roof was stabilized with some temporary wood supports mounted on buckets, but a heavy snowfall could spell the end of those shaky apparatuses.
He sighed and mentioned that he may get some state money in the upcoming year to complete some additional repairs to the building. After a flurry of activity when Herb threatened to sell the mill to a scrapper from the west coast, local politicians pledged to find some money through grants and other state preservation resources. But that was months ago. I did not sense any defeat in Herb’s voice as he talked about what was needed for the mill, but he conceded that he was in his 70s and that sooner rather than later the mill would be passed onto another person.
What if they do not care about the mill’s future?
After concluding our discussion, I set up my camera gear and began wandering around the lobby and first floor. It was not long before other photographers showed up, and within 20 minutes, the mill was crawling with bewildered facial expressions.
“I cannot believe this mill is so pristine,” I overheard, which was followed up with, “this mill is very much photogenic and worth the trip down.”
I had not explored much of the basement on the first trip due to a lack of overhead and side lighting. Discovering that much of the basement had electricity, I spent much more time on the lower level poking through manuals, walls of fuses and the storage bins.
I then headed back upstairs and focused my remaining time on macro photography. I figured that I had photographed enough of the wide and exhaustive views of the mill and focused my efforts on the minute and detailed.
Afterwards, we all said our goodbyes to Herb and thanked him for his courtesy in allowing photographers to breathe in the aura of one of the last intact silk mills in the United States. Herb handed each of us a souvenir bobbin and shook our hands as we left. We headed down the staircase for our vehicles and departed for Cumberland for lunch at the junction of the Chesapeake & Ohio Canal Trail and the Great Allegheny Passage.
A few departed from the group after lunch, and after a lengthy drive along scenic Interstate 68 through western Maryland and Toll Road 43 through West Virginia and Pennsylvania, we made it to Brownsville, Pennsylvania’s General Hospital. It was not without incident, however, as a wrong way driver by a very much stubborn and drunk elderly driver on the toll road had nearly caused a serious accident by which we had resolved by forcing her into the correct direction. Unfortunately, we were not able to take her keys nor were the police able to catch her.
By the time we made it to Brownsville, I was exhausted, partially because of the drive but also because of fatigue. I opted out of going inside the former hospital and satisfied myself with exteriors that were only marginally acceptable due to a heavy overcast sky on the last trip.
We finally made it to Pittsburgh after coming through the change bucket for toll money and traveling the torturous Pennsylvania State Route 51, and celebrated by climbing to the top of an abandoned commercial building, enjoyed a spectacular sunset view from Fifth Avenue towards the Monongahela River.
This article is part of a series covering the Lonaconing Silk Mill in Maryland, and a glass factory and hospital in Pennsylvania:
- A Travel to the Mill
- Conversations
- The Follies of Jeanette
Instead of seeking out nature’s splendors amidst the highlands of West Virginia or the horse farms of Kentucky, I embarked on a journey to document the derelict abandonments scattered across our region. There is an undeniable beauty to be found in these forgotten structures, a visual poetry in the peeling paint and rusting machinery that echoes the grandeur of stately trees and grazing livestock.
While the prevailing notion when examining abandonment fixates on decaying urban landscapes, there is an understated allure to venturing off the beaten path and immersing oneself in the pastoral void of the Midwestern countryside.
One night, accompanied by another photographer, I embarked on a journey to capture the early morning scenery at the Indiana Army Ammunition Plant, which holds the distinction of being the largest abandonment in the United States. The trek into the facility proved challenging, with tall grasses and vegetation reclaiming what once were meticulously maintained grounds bustling with activity.
The Moser Leather Company was one of New Albany, Indiana’s five leather companies during the early-20th century.
Couldn’t make the June 2011 meet for the Klotz Throwing Company? Looking to explore and photograph the last standing original silk mill intact in the US?
There is something to be said for hiking in before sunrise into the largest collection of abandonments in the United States: the Indiana Army Ammunition Plant.