Lemp Mansion & Brewery

Lemp Mansion & Brewery (St. Louis, Missouri)

Brewing Up Tragedy!

Lots of people go to St. Louis to visit the Anheuser-Busch Brewery. I’ve been there myself and it’s not completely uninteresting… but for the morbidly-minded there’s a much more fascinating brewery just a few blocks away: the old, abandoned Lemp Brewery, once the biggest brewhouse in St. Louis, closed down by Prohibition. The first time I went to St. Louis (3/25/01), I wasn’t sure exactly where the Lemp Brewery was. I drove around the neighborhood aimlessly, hoping I’d bump into it, and imagine my delight when I turned a corner to behold the words ‘LEMP‘ blazing brightly across the century in the distance. I instantly fell in love with this building. It’s like a gothic castle and it covers 11 city blocks. I was delighted to see that the original Lemp Brewery emblem could still be seen on the side of the building. Why do I have such an incredibly fascination with the Lemp family and the Lemp brewery? Let me briefly tell you the story of the Lemps… one of the most tragic tales in St. Louis (or, indeed, the world).

John Adam Lemp arrived in St. Louis from Germany in 1838 and started a brewery, using the natural cave system under St. Louis as refrigeration to perfectly age his beer. His brewery was a huge success and he died a millionaire. His son William J. Lemp took over the family business and he was the one who built it into an industrial giant. Under his tutelage, the Lemp Brewery that still stands today was built. By 1870, Lemp was by far the largest brewery in St. Louis. However, here’s where the tragedies start…

The first major fissure in the Lemp dynasty occurred when Frederick Lemp, William’s favorite son and the heir-apparent to the brewery presidency, died under mysterious circumstances in 1901. (They think he worked himself to death…) William was despondent and withdrew from the world, until he finally shot himself in the head in a bedroom at the family mansion. William Lemp Jr. succeeded as heir to the family throne and the brewery’s fortunes began to decline until Prohibition closed the plant permanently in 1919. William Jr.’s sister, Elsa, who was considered the wealthiest heiress in St. Louis, committed suicide in 1920. On June 28, 1922, the magnificent Lemp brewery, which had once been valued at 7 million dollars, was sold to International Shoe Co. for $588,500. Although most of the company’s assets were liquidated, the Lemps continued to have a morbid attachment to the family mansion. After presiding over the sale of the brewery, William J. Lemp, Jr., shot himself in the mansion’s office. His son, William Lemp III, was forty-two when he died of a heart attack in 1943. William Jr.’s brother, Charles, continued to reside at the house after his brother’s suicide. An extremely bitter man, Charles led a reclusive existence until he too died of a self-inflicted gunshot wound. The body was discovered by his brother, Edwin. In 1970, Edwin Lemp died of natural causes at the age of ninety… and thus ended the Lemp family line.

Of course, with so much morbidity occurring at the mansion, I had to track it down too. It is, after all, considered “one of the most haunted houses in America” – and who can resist a billing like that? After one false start where I ended up back on the freeway and had to drive a few miles out of my way, I headed down the correct street and stumbled upon the beautiful Lemp Mansion. Unfortunately, I’d wasted so much time wandering the streets of St. Louis, that I arrived 20 minutes after the last tour began. The Lemp Mansion has now been turned into a dinner theater and I walked in to see that some dinner guests had already arrived and were dining in the same room where William Lemp, Jr. had shot himself all those years before. I wonder if they knew that? I wanted to take a picture of that room, but it felt slightly inappropriate with a bunch of people sitting in their fineries awaiting their meal, so I asked if I could wander about upstairs. They said sure, but I had forgotten that most of the mansion has been turned into an Inn, so the bedrooms are locked guest rooms. So, the best I could do is get a couple of pictures of the upstairs hallway. It was kindy creepy up there except for that glaringly out of place high chair! If I stayed there, I’d want to find out which room William committed suicide in and I’d want to stay there! Because, you know, I have a morbid attachment to the mansion too…

So, I decided I’d have to come back another time to get the full mansion tour… so on April 22, 2001 (a Sunday) I returned within visiting hours, eager to get my full tour. Now, here’s where the story turns grim. I noticed that there were a large number of cars outside the mansion, which made me a little nervous because, after all, there couldn’t possibly be that many people coming for a tour… and they didn’t serve lunch that early in the day previously. As I entered the Mansion my worst fears were realized:

“I would like to take a tour of the mansion.”

“We don’t have tours on the weekends any longer. We’ve started serving lunch on Saturdays and Sundays now.”

“But I’ve come all the way from California to take this tour. I have to work during the week so this is the only time I can take it.”

“Sorry.” <shrug> “You can walk around and take some pictures if you like…”

Oh gee, thanks a lot. I was incensed at my rotten luck!! There, in the parlor where William Lemp Jr. had shot himself, were about 20 patrons stuffing their faces. I thought about taking a picture with them there… but I was too timid to intrude… so I just walked upstairs again, cursing at the morons who had foiled my plans yet again!!! Regaining some measure of composure, although my eyes were slightly watery from bitter disappointment, I managed to snap a few shots of the “Most Haunted House In St. Louis”.

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I soon stomped out of the mansion grumpy as can be (it was one of those days, what can I say) and took a farewell exterior shot of the morbid abode and the yard (notice the word ‘Lemp’ on the brewery in the distance). I stood in the yard, still fuming, wondering what I should do now that my plans had been ruined… when I thought about the Lemp Brewery complex that I was so incredibly enamored with. Why not walk around the exterior of the Brewery and get a few extra shots while I’m here? As I began walking around the exterior – photographing the old “International Shoe Company” building (they utilized the Brewery after Lemp had gone out of business) and a remnant of the old Lemp Brewery logo – I found, much to my delight, that a gate had been left open and there was no evidence of anyone around to sully my explorations. I headed towards the interior of the Lemp Brewery Complex. I now present to you an obsessive, loving, and by and large quite dull photo-exploration of the old Lemp Brewery Complex.

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Altogether, a fantastic bit of tragic Americana!

Fabulous Facts!

  • Did you know that there’s a tunnel underneath the road leading from the mansion to the Brewery? That’s how the Lemps used to go to work. And there’s also an auditorium, swimming pool, and ballroom in one of the natural underground caves below the house. They used to cool their beer in the caves too.
  • Up until last year (2000) they used to open up the cavern on Halloween and have a haunted house down there. My heart was giddy when I first heard that… until I found out that the cavern is filling with water, so for liability purposes they sealed the door up after last year’s festivities. Damn my rotten luck! Someone told me that you can still get into the caverns from the brewery entrance and there is a bunch of International Shoe Company junk down there, but of course to do that you’d have to either get permission or break in. Hassles, hassles!
  • Someone bought the brewery for $200,000 a few years ago and there are talks of renovating it as a restaurant/entertainment complex. That’s always a mixed blessing – because while it’s great to preserve the place, renovation always means destroying some of the beauty of the building. Still, the preservation of the Lemp Brewery would be a grand thing, indeed!

A FASCINATING URBAN EXPLORATION STORY FROM JAY S.

I was wandering around the facility, just taking in some of the history and pondering what powers let this place go to ruin when I noticed a funny thing, an entrance to the main facility. Now, I have been an explorer of places like this for a long time, and love going into old buildings and imagining what they were like all that many years ago. So I took a peek inside. I found that this entrance led to the main facility. So later that night I rounded up a few of my best drinking buddies, grabbed some flashlights and we went exploring. The inside of this place is awesome. There are huge storage rooms that are the size of multiple football fields and at least 4 stories high, empty. Well, some of them are full, one of which by a production company (we had fun dressing like Ben Hur and attacking each other with fake swords and machine guns for about 2 hours). A series of staircases leads you to the underground passageways, which lead you to the caverns. This place has cavern upon cavern, all man made and all in brick arches, for at least 200 feet underground, one on top of the other. After reaching the lowest point of the facility you get to a huge steel door that must have been installed in the original construction because it is OLD AND HEAVY. It took some work to get this thing open but once we did, we had found the “infamous underground cave/swimming pool”. This cave is about 1/2 a mile long and, inside was the remains of the Lemp family swimming pool. I’m sorry to say that this thing is now no more than a muddy pool of water, it doesnt even remotely resemble a swimming pool. The caves are muddy and worn by man, but ironically, you can see small fossilized animal bones in the walls of the cave. I’ve since learned that this is because the cave itself used to have water rushing in from the Mississippi River and the bones were bones of dead river creatures, and creatures that died near the river, that washed through the caves and deposited in the muddy walls, millennium ago. After a little looking around we found an entrance in the cave to the mansion. Yes, this cave ran all the way from the lowest point of the brewery to the mansion. Now I have to say that I had a peek into the mansion but didn’t enter. I was drinking, but not quite drunk enough to turn a little innocent exploring into breaking and entering. So after about 4 hours of exploring we decided to head back. On the way back to the surface we were sidetracked by a separate set of stairs which led to another wing of the brewery. This portion of the place was obviously a packaging plant because there were huge tracks of rolling slides that went all over this gigantic room. It was awesome. we decided that the only fun thing to do was to grab an old box and roll around the place for about an hour. After about six straight hours of exploring we left.

I have been back at least seven times since then and have found a new part of the building ever since. I have stopped going a year and a half ago or so because the cops were starting to get wind. Plus my buds told their buds and their buds told their buds and eventually it became a nuisance so they closed it off. (Why must people ruin everything for me, I ask you???? – DeSpair)

Just a side note, on one trip into the caverns we noticed an old ice maker. This machine was obviously decommissioned many many years prior. We all stepped in closely to examine it further and when we did, IT KICKED ON!!!! No shit, I swear on my children’s lives. This scared a buddy of mine so bad that he ran to the car and waited for the rest of us for 4 hours. Thought you might like to hear that one.

PHOTOS FROM ALAN

I received an e-mail from an artist named Alan who rents studio space in the Lemp Brewery and was kind enough to send me some pictures of the interior of his studio space, as well as some images of the tunnels that lead to the mansion. Oh, I am soooo jealous!!!

“Hello from St. Louis! I just happend to come upon your website pertaining to the Historic Lemp Brewery. Thought you might be interested to know I am an artist who has been renting studio space in the brewery since 1989. Presently my studio is in what is building #8 which is located directly above an entrance to the cave system. It is very creepy down there, yet the architecture and brick work is simply amazing. Many of the walls are ceramic white glazed bricks which are built into the natural cave structure. Yes it is flooded down there. Although you can explore.”

Here are some images Alan generously provided:

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For more information on the Lemp Brewery, also see:

Ghosts Of The Prairie

 

Jesse James Home

Jesse James Home (St. Joseph, Missouri)
See the Bullet Hole!
April 21, 2001

Directions: Located 5 minutes from I-29. Take U.S. 36 west to the 10th Street Exit, then 6 blocks north and 2 blocks east.

Welcome to part II of my St. Joseph travelogue – in which I show you the Jesse James House and various neglected ruins laying forgotten by all but me, apparently. As you may or may not recall, at the end of the last episode I had just driven away from the Glore Psychiatric Museum Cemetery and was busy dabbing my eyes in memory of the forgotten numbers that were held prisoner in the Asylum in Olden Days. After that particularly engrossing stroll down memory lane, I decided it was time to see another morbid sight: the house where Jesse James died. Of course, this one doesn’t quite have the poignancy, but you know, how often to you get to visit a site whose proudly displayed slogan is “See the Bullet Hole!” Obviously, this was the place for me!

So, my friend Lacey and I started driving aimlessly across St. Joseph and we were immediately impressed by the number of old, abandoned buildings that littered the landscape. It was nearly a ghost town, and it made us both quite sad, but also excited to explore some of the ruins. Okay, we didn’t actually set foot inside them… we just walked around them and I took some pictures.

The first old building that caught our eye was the former Stuebner Cleaning Co. I just have a thing for forgotten brick buildings – they’re like aging reminders of where we’ve been… and unfortunate evidence of where we are now. This one had a nice central workyard too and I was quite smitten with this old door. There just seemed to be a lot of beauty in these old ruins.

Ah, but I’ve bored you long enough with culturally and historically insignificant old small-town factories. It’s time to move on to our goal – the Jesse James home – it’s that small, almost unnoticeable little structure at the right that is dwarfed by the huge Patee House next to it. With the Patee House out of the frame, it looks slightly more impressive and the tree in bloom added a nice touch. (It was an especially lovely time of year in Missouri.)

As I wandered towards the front door, I passed by a few Curious Things. First was this intriguing monument which had absolutely no explanation. I’m thinking it might have something to do with the adjacent Patee House, because it certainly doesn’t have anything to do with Jesse James… Oh, sweet mystery of life!

I also passed by a lovely little group of old gravestones… though where they came from or what they represent was not explained. I can’t imagine there’s really anyone buried underneath them, although I didn’t have my shovel so I couldn’t test that theory. Maybe it’s supposed to be the graves of Jesse’s victims? Maybe there was an old church graveyard there at one time? Maybe it’s just for show? Or maybe they moved some old James family corpses there. Oh, sweet mysteries of life! [Pamm later wrote me with the following explanation: “Hello, I was just looking at your great pictures from your trip to St Joseph, Missouri, especially the ones from the Jesse James Museum. The cemetery headstones in the yard, you did not know to whom they belonged. They are my family. The Russells’s were early settlers in St Joe, and when their old family cemetery was discovered, these headstones were moved here to preserve them. So Sorry, no dead bodies, or juicy stories of victims to go with them, just rocks : ). I had been looking all over the internet for a picture of these, so Thanks a million, I finally got to see them.” Thanks for the explanation – mystery solved!]

The third Curious Thing was this Victorian Outhouse. Lovely thing, isn’t it? But kind of strange, nonetheless. But we like Kind Of Strange things, don’t we?

I finally made it up to the entrance of the home. I immediately gravitated over to a case filled with James memorabilia, highlighted by a handsome post-mortem photograph. After perusing the case I wandered into the living room of the tiny house. The history of the house is pretty interesting, actually (at least to terminally dull people like me). It used to be a few blocks away, atop a nearby hill. After James’ death, it sat neglected and was set to be torn down. A man who knew the historic significance of the house was driving by it one day when they were beginning the process of demolition. He stopped and offered to buy the house – and had it moved to preserve it. Eventually it was moved into its current location. Thank goodness for that man, or I’d have nothing to take pictures of!

You all know how Jesse James died, right? What – you don’t??? Where have you been???? Anyway, here’s how Jesse died: he was hanging out with some guys one day, probably planning his next criminal act, when he noticed a needlepoint hanging on the wall was crooked. Being the anal retentive murderer that he was, he slid a chair under the needlepoint and climbed up on the chair to straighten it. As he was doing that, Bob Ford – not a buddy of his after all – calmly strode up behind him and shot him in the back of the head. Jesse collapsed, and his wife ran in from the other room to see Ford and his cronies running away from her fallen hubby. Of course, because James was a wanted man, no criminal charges were ever pressed against Ford and he became quite the celebrity (“The Man Who Shot Jesse James!”) before dying in some tragic circumstance I can’t quite remember…

Well, anyway, here I was standing in the room where it all happened – and oh, the air was electric! Well, okay, maybe not electric… but there was a faint sniff of ozone in the air, anyway. I turned around and what did I see but the famous bullet hole and a wall hanging imitating the one that Jesse had been straightening all those years ago. Why you could almost step back in time – the wallpaper was vintage – and if it wasn’t for the fact that souvenier hunters had been scavenging pieces of the hole for years – causing it to grow in size – the wall would be the same as when Jesse had last laid eyes and hands on it all those years ago. (People are just so damned greedy!!!) I must sadly inform you that the chair was a replica… only a fragment of the original one remained. I tend to think the wall hanging isn’t vintage either…

I wandered off into the adjacent room to find another treasure trove of morbid delight: information on the exhumation of Jesse! You see, some old man once claimed that he was the “real” Jesse James and that the body buried in Jesse’s grave must belong to another man. It’s one of those “haunting” and “enduring” controversies that allow a really great excuse to go and dig up bones! So, on July 17, 1995 a-diggin’ they did go! They found that Jesse’s grave and remains had been compacted to about a four inch width, so not much of the coffin remained. But what did remain ended up in this display cabinet so that I could gawk over it. Look at all this great stuff!! A bullet from Jesse’s right lung which stemmed from an old Civil War injury! The tie tack he was wearing when he was buried! The original ‘At Rest’ plaque, fragments of wood, handles and the shattered glass frontispiece from the coffin! It was almost as good as being there!

They also had on display a plaster casting of Jesse’s skull, with an orange bar showing the trajectory of the bullet. ‘Course it would have been better if it was the REAL skull, but y’know, life just can’t be that interesting… And here’s what they had to say about Jesse’s teeth. Gosh, I hope my teeth never end up in a museum… I can just imagine what they’d say: “Significant number of cavities indicate an overabuse of sugar, worn tooth surfaces betray a lifestyle that caused her to grit her teeth a lot… from this we can surmise that she worked for EDS…” I tell ya, some things are just better left buried!

Oh, and they did some DNA tests and proved that, wow, wouldn’t you know it?, that really WAS Jesse James buried in that grave! That old guy was just a wannabe!
Over in a case across the way was some more memorabilia – including a vintage photo of the house at its original location and a fragment of the original chair. Exciting stuff, eh?

So, that’s about all there was to see at the Jesse James museum. So, what else can a nostalgic old skulker do in a town like St. Joseph? Why, look at abandoned buildings, of course! Did you have any doubt??? Here are the steps leading up to one of my favorite old forgotten houses in St. Joseph. It was a beautiful brick house, overgrown and in decline. I found something especially poignant about this tulip in bloom – a remnant of a long-neglected garden. I could imagine at one time a woman kneeling over the earth as she placed this very bulb in the ground and looking about at her beautifully tended grounds and home. I wonder if her ghost haunts the sad remnants today, and cries a mournful tear at the surroundings? As Lacey and I circled the house, we were a bit shocked to see some old plastic flowers in one of the windows. (And does anyone else see a face in this window? I swear I can make out two big eyes filling up the width of the window staring at me… Creepy! And Elizabeth sees something else: “Ohmigawd!!! Didn’t you notice the girl in the window?!? Her face is in the upper left hand corner of the lower pane of glass. She is wearing a, what is it called, a pinaforte – a white bibbed apron that reaches down to the knee with ruffled shoulders. They used to be worn over a dress up ’till the early 1900’s. Am I crazy or what? Didn’t you see that? Her hand is reaching to part the curtains. I can see half of her face, she is looking out the window right at you!” Enough freaking out the Comtesse, people!) The flowers actually made us wonder if maybe we were not alone, in a far more mundane meaning of the term… but come on… would anyone seriously traverse these steps on a daily basis? No, I think it’s another relic from a time long past…

St. Joseph is full of such beautiful, neglected relics. Check out this place, with its putrid, green paint peeling to reveal the lovely brickwork underneath. Not every place was a downtrodden ruin though – quite a few of the loveliest buildings still retained some hope for a restored tomorrow. Check out this unique house. Or this lovely gothic retreat. Or my personal favorite – this amazing corner house. It really was a lovely town – as this central courtyard, this view towards the river, and this view of the mighty Missouri itself can attest. And since you know by now how much I love to snoop around and photograph urban ruins, you know that I can’t really complain about those either. All in all, St. Joseph was a perfectly lovely (and somewhat morbid) little town… and I hope you enjoyed it too!

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Julie writes with some additional information about the Jesse James home: “Just saw your Web page on Jesse James house. Did you know that it was given to the Patee Museum in the mid-1980s? And that it was originally purchased by my grandfather and sat on the Belt Highway for years near the spot where the Hi-Vee grocery store now sits?”

For more information on the Jesse James Home, also see:
City Of St. Joseph Website

 

Glore Psychiatric Museum

Glore Psychiatric Museum (St. Joseph, Missouri)

A Glore-ious Place!

Glore Psychiatric Museum
April 21, 2001

Those who know my morbid nature (and don’t you all?) probably already know this, but I’ve been shivering in anticipation for a visit to the Glore Psychiatric Museum since I first heard about it several weeks ago. The reasons are multi-fold:

1) I have an intense love for the old, picturesque “Kirkbride Plan” asylums built in the 19th century – hence my frequent visits to the often quite tragic Historic Asylums Of America website which chronicles the renovation, preservation, and (frequently, sadly) demolition of these fine old structures.

2) I find the treatment of the insane in the Victorian era (and prior… and beyond…) to be immensely abhorrent, and I can’t help but wonder if I were born in that era, would I have been one of the tortured, imprisoned multitudes?

3) It’s just fascinating to visit morbid old places!

So, on an overcast April morning I set out to drive all the way across the state of Missouri to see remnants of the State Lunatic Asylum #2 in St. Joseph. I stopped briefly in Columbia (half way across the state) to pick up my friend Lacey. While there I took a picture of a powerhouse out of sheer perverse fascination. We may not have enough power to go around in California, but at least we don’t pollute the environment by burning coal to harness our electricity! (We use much safer nuclear power instead…) 😉 I kept thinking of the Navajo speaker I saw in Columbia a few weeks ago that said that coal was Mother Earth’s liver and the white man was ripping the liver out of the Earth. There was a lot of liver lying on the ground.

Once I overcame my ridiculous geographic curiosities, I picked up Lacey and we were on our way. It was a long drive filled with splendid conversation. Eventually, we drove past Kansas City and north to St. Joseph. After one wrong turn (maps can be sooooo tricky!), we found our way to the Glore Museum… and gosh, it was incredibly underwhelming! Where was the beautiful old 1874 Kirkbride building?? Well, as I was soon to find out, that beautiful old building was now a prison – hidden behind ugly barbed wire topped fences – and the museum was now housed in a more recent section of the old asylum. After my initial disappointment melted away – it took several hours and hundreds of tranquilizers, of course – I decided to buck up and do the right (morbid) thing, and enjoy the museum for what it was – a tribute to the imaginative and creative drifters who were imprisoned in the asylum, and the insane sadists who lorded over them.

When we first entered the museum, we were greeted by a very friendly staff member who gave us a brief history of the asylum. The State Lunatic Asylum #2 was built in 1874 and was active until 1997. During that time, it held as many as 3,000 patients at a time behind its “brick walls of divide” (hopelessly obscure Red House Painters reference). We were given instructions to take the elevator to the 3rd floor to begin our tour, and so we did.

The first thing we saw – and certainly the most memorable – was a display of the stomach contents of a particularly disturbed inmate. You see, in 1929, a patient with a proclivity for swallowing odd objects became acutely ill and was rushed to surgery. During the emergency procedure, 1,446 objects – including 453 nails, 409 pins, 63 buttons, 42 screws, 5 thimbles, and 3 salt shaker tops – were removed from her intestinal tract. Tragically, but unsurprisingly, she died during surgery.

That was quite a way to start off the tour, and as I walked away pondering what it must have felt like to walk around with 453 nails ripping at your intestines, I soon found myself staring at another wicked relic: blood-letting blades, cup, and stick. Blood letting was one of the best ways to cure practically any ailment in the olden days. Yep, if you just bleed people long enough they will be too weak to complain! They are cured!! And of course, no one was more annoying than the mentally ill. See that truncheon-y looking stick? That was used to tap on those rather vicious looking blades to force them through the skin and cause the patient to bleed. The glass bleeding cups were placed against the skin and either heat or cold was applied to them, causing a vacuum to form inside the glass. The patient’s blood would be sucked to the skin’s surface – then the blood was collected in the cup. Tidy, n’est pas?

Next came the first of the mannequins (depicting hydrotherapy – one of the few “treatments” here that doesn’t look completely horrid… unless one considers that they probably forgot about people and left them in the water for hours on end). One of the most delightfully kitschy aspects of the museum are these brilliant old mannequins decked out in the most torturous devices and poses. My goodness – little did they know when they were posing in J.C. Penney in 1976 that they’d end up in such a sorry state one day!! Here’s a particularly fetching mannie in a fever cabinet: “This fever cabinet was used in the treatment of syphilis. The cabinet was lined with rows of high wattage light bulbs that produced heat, elevating the patient’s body temperature. This was intended to kill the spirochete and arrest or halt the syphilitic condition.” I’m not sure if it cured syphilis, but I’m sure it inspired Gene Roddenbury when he devised the character of Captain Pike.

And what sort of self-respecting Psychiatric Museum would be worth its salt without singing a chorus from a Ramones song? Gimme Gimme Shock Treatment! I was also appalled and amazed by the Rectal Dilators on display. OUCH!! In front of the dilators is a bullet that was removed from a patient during surgery – that was put there 52 years prior when he was shot after “courting another man’s wife”. That’ll learn you!

Something about this next mannie just spoke to me! Isn’t that straitjacket just fetching beyond belief? Or how about this psychotic sophisticate with her dainty little restraints? But don’t be too misled by such seemingly innocent looking restraints. Here’s evidence of some of the less comfy looking restraints, from the original basement of the asylum. For those unruly patients where even restraints wouldn’t do the trick, there were the seclusion rooms.

Then there was the truly Silly part of the museum: a study of the treatment of the insane over the years. Gasp as a dreamy misunderstood mannequin is burned at the stake! Shiver as an innocent brunette mannequin is doused with freezing water (ie. cellophane) by an evil eyeless mannequin! Shudder at the uncomfortable fate of this tortured soul! And the equally uncomfortable fate of this faceless soul! And how’s this for silly? No, I’m not talking about my reflection in the glass – I mean the little dolls re-enacting water torture. Something kinda perverse about that, I guess…

And here’s a lovely reproduction of a Lunatic Box. “The Lunatic Box, sometimes called the English Booth, the Coffin or the Clock Case, was used during the 18th and 19th centuries. The victim was placed in device and had to remain in a standing position until he or she became calm. A wooden piece could be dropped over the opening of the face leaving the patient in complete darkness. The patient stood in his own excrement for extended periods of time.” What a gruesome world…

As enchanting as those exhibits may have been, I didn’t find them particularly interesting. I was more interested in the history of this hospital itself, so something as seemingly mundane as a table from the asylum’s cafeteria was much more interesting to me. I was also interested in the lives of the patients who had lived here – and I found this schizophrenic’s needlepoint particularly enchanting. I would love to have it in my house! And then there was the TV Guy: “In the fall of 1971, a male patient was observed inserting a piece of folded paper through a slot into the back of the ward television set. The set was turned off and the hospital’s electrician was notified. When the back was removed from the set a collection of papers, numbering 525, was discovered. Some were written as letters while others appear to be a daily diary system. Some of the patient’s delusions, mentioned in the writings, included the belief that the hospital was stealing his money. He also believed that his knowledge was hidden away in a couple of box cars and that he could not leave the hospital until this was exposed. ” You can read his eccentric and irrational writings – they’re plastered all over the wall. Compelling stuff, of course.

And then there was the particularly touching story of the patient who believed that if he saved up 100,000 cigarette packs he would be able to redeem them for a new wheelchair for the hospital. Of course, no such redemption existed, but the hospital administration felt sufficiently moved by his efforts to buy a wheelchair and dedicate it to the hospital in his name in 1969. Doesn’t that just make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside?

Here, of course, was my favorite room of the museum. It’s an actual morgue, not a staged one. On the table in front of the “corpse” was an example of a nameless headstone that was used in the asylum’s cemetery about a half-mile away. Of course, Lacey and I asked for directions to the cemetery and decided we had to find it after we finished with the museum…

We finished up the last few exhibits in the museum – including the staircase from the original administration building, which was recently torn down. (Sob…) They liked to decorate the old asylums with lovely and ornate staircases and lobbies – so as to fool the families into thinking, “Oh, this is such a nice place for Aunt Betty” – as they drag her away to put the shackles on her.

After purchasing a t-shirt, some postcards, and a squishy brain stress ball, we wandered back to the parking lot and I decided I had to venture up to the prison fence to try to get a picture of the old asylum, despite the warnings of the museum employee who said that they tried to confiscate her camera the last time she tried to take pictures at the fence. But no one seemed to notice my blatant disregard of the warning signs, fortunately. Well, except for this little cutie I passed on the way back to the car. Of course, we know why he was hanging about the asylum – ’cause he loves Nuts! Hahahahahaha… I slay myself… (so you don’t have to).

After leaving the museum, we drove off to try to find the cemetery, which the tour guide stated was just around the block, across the street from a Food 4 Less. We followed the instructions to a little parking lot beside a monument next to a large field with the old asylum visible behind the trees in the background.

The tombstones themselves were sadly nondescript – just an anonymous number left to memorialize a living, breathing human being. To make matters worse, many of the stones were in state of disrepair, although a restoration project is in the works, thankfully. There were a couple of ‘named’ stones – obviously paid by private dollars – that stood out in the mix. Before leaving, I took one last look across the fields to the old Asylum and reflected on the lives that passed on those premises.

As I drove away from the State Lunatic Asylum #2, I took one last picture from the car. A beautiful place – pity about the prison!


Courtesy of Tee

I received some additional images and information in July, 2005 from Tee, who provides the following information. Thanks Tee!

The first one is of the back side of the Administration building taken in 1991, well before it was turned into a prison. You will note the barbed wire cage on the top of the roof. They had to add that, I am not sure of the year, due to suicides from the roof.

The next set of 5 pictures are of the original building. It is a series of long hallways. Although remodeled many times over the years you can see a lot of the original architecture remains. This building housed the museum later on before it was moved to where it is now and before the building was made into a prison. I took this set of 5 in the foyer – from the North, South East and West views and one looking up at the sky light. They had to close it in due to the same problem with suicides. While my grandmother worked there many many years starting in the later 1930’s there were a lot of suicides and at least 5 from beyond that sky light and one thru the glass that had been replaced.

The West picture view, shows the double doors and a row of chairs . This is what became used for offices for personnel during the mental hospital time frame.

North view – shows the massive stair case.

East view shows the elevators which lead up to the other floors and an original piece of furniture which is a bench and coat rack. The pictures show the original floor tile made of ceramic and the original ceiling and some of the bead board. That is the original staircase redone after a fire I believe.

Skylight view – shows that it has been closed off from above. The original crown molding is still there and cathedral woodwork over doors.

The next series will be pictures from inside the Glore museum which was entered by climbing the steps in the picture and going to the northwestern side of the building. These were also taken in 1991.
pic 1 – crafts preserved that were made by patients, some utensils are also in this china cabinet
pic 2 – These were the rooms, you could still see them all along the hallways although being used for other purposes then (I myself had training and watched video’s in one…but fell asleep and had a horrible dream..I could not relax in there and kept feeling as if someone was watching me and I kept hearing whispering. very odd) anyway… that is a mannequin to symbolize a patient… (not even close I’m sure) and the same beds they used (prob the same mattress) and bedside stand. Note the architectural detail on the window, they are all like that. [Awesome windows! – Despair]
pic 3 – The infirmary there is a dentist chair, very antique tools and medical instruments etc.
pic 4 – The type of bars used on most of the rooms, this is a room divided by such bars
pic 5 – A medical treatment (torture box) The idea was to isolate the patient to somehow force them to come to their senses so to speak. If they were faking etc they would surely drop the facade after a day or so in here. The patient had to stand, not enough room to sit and they slept, urinated, ate (if lucky) in this box.
pic 6 – Another medical device (torture chair). The bucket represents the potty part of the chair… leather restraints replaced a sort of metal device that used to hold the wrists and leather restraint across the chest. Blood letting was used with this chair, as well as leeches, shock treatment and my grandmother told us even lobotomies.
pic 7 – Dungeon picture – the word Dungeon was added for the tourists… but it is a dungeon made of wood. Very hot in summer.
pic 8 – This was used as a crate to hold veg and potatoes, onions etc when my grandmother worked there…but in earlier years it was another kind of holding cage for patients. They lay in it (and their own excrement) until they were removed, if they lived thru it.
pic 9 – This is a large wheel with a door (the door is in the back and cannot be viewed for safety purposes at the museum) the idea was they put a patient in there and turned it …and turned it ..and…you get the idea. They would get dizzy, vomit etc…
pic 10 – This is a vat of ice cold water. There is a trap door device at the top like a gallows and the patient would stand and with no warning, be dropped into the icy cold water. The idea was to shock them out of their illness and back to reality. This was the main theme in treatment during this time. Most died from drowning due to the shock of the water and sometimes they were drugged or simply could not stand up out of the water. Some hit their heads on the way down and escaped the drowning.I cannot find my photo of the spinning board. In which many patients were placed. Unfortunately they didn’t think about gravity… spun them pretty fast and their brains came out their eye sockets.Many of these devices were used well into the later 1940’s…and believe it or not, although lobotomies were stopped being done across the US, this asylum continued to do them into the 1960’s I am told. They also continued to do shock treatments well into the later 1970’s and early 1980s (just FYI).

For more information on the Glore Psychiatric Museum, also see:
Roadside America
Savvy Traveler

Hinckley Fire Museum

Hinckley Fire Museum (Hinckley, Minnesota)
A Comtesse Travelogue!

Great Fire!

Hinckley Fire Museum
July 21, 2002

On September 1, 1894 a fire raged through the town of Hinckley, Minnesota. A combination of intense drought, high winds, and dry kindling left behind by sloppy loggers resulted in an enormous firestorm that literally engulfed the town. The cyclone shot flames miles into the air and temperatures reached 1000 degrees (F). Survival was haphazard: over 100 people safely rode out the storm in a soggy gravel pit in the middle of town, while 127 people died seeking refuge in a swamp. In four hours the fire burned out 400 square miles and killed more than 400 people.Local landmark Tobie’s Restaurant has an excellent description of the mesmerizing power of the fire on its website:

“The fierce flaming heat became so intense in certain localities, it created what seemed to be a vacuum. The vacuum would then quickly fill with violent and explosive gases; yet at times appear entirely at rest in spite of the brisk south wind. With a river so near, there would have been time to seek safety in flight and even to have removed goods if no greater danger menaced the townspeople than an ordinary forest fire. But when the fire burst over the town it came in fierce explosions and in streaks, with suffocating choking gases that paralyzed the victims even before the burning.

“In one instance a man was stricken down, but not burned enough to destroy his clothes, yet in one of his pockets was found a small leather purse in which were four silver dollars welded together in one solid piece. In another case two horses were badly burned, but the wagonload of hay they were pulling was unharmed. It was no ordinary fire. It came too quickly for analysis. It baffled science. It could not be accounted for. It was a phenomenon that defies all description. It did not crawl or creep but burst and exploded. It roared, seethed and boiled. On the ground it swept forward in walls and cylinders of flame; in the air it soared in massive balls of fire and gas. Its heat was intense and searing and it devoured kingly pines in minutes, yet spared fragile saplings close by.”

Although other communities, such as Mission Creek and Brook Park, were also destroyed by the fire, Hinckley suffered the greatest number of fatalities and feature the most interesting tales of heroism and rescue, especially regarding the trains that ferried townspeople to safety amid the flames. One of the trains in particular – that of Jim Root – was involved in a dramatic race against the flames with over a hundred townspeople aboard. Although the train and the tracks were ablaze, Root managed to maneuver the train to a shallow lake, where the majority of those aboard were able to find refuge from the firestorm.

Given the trainbound drama, it seems entirely suitable that the Hinckley Fire Museum is housed in the train depot which was rebuilt in 1894 after the fire destroyed the original.

So, on a stormy summer day, I set out to visit Hinckley, which lies about 80 miles north of Minneapolis. And this is what I learned about that tragic September day all those years ago…

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Alongside the parking area of the museum is this beautiful mural. A nearby sign explains it as follows:

A STORY OF HEROISM AND FRIENDSHIP

The mural, painted by artist and Mille Lacs Band member Steven Premo depicts the story of an unselfish and brave Ojibwe woman who saved the Non-Indian Patrick family from the Great Hinckley Fire.

Mah-kah-day-gwon (Blackfeather) heard the cries of Mary Ellen Patrick and her two children, Frank and Roy, who had sought refuge from the Fire on a boat on Grindstone Lake. When the boat was blown across the lake, frightening the Patrick family, Mah-kah-day-gwon and her two small children, Be Shew (Jessie) and Saung way way gah bow eke (Maggie) paddled out in their canoe to meet them and bring them back to the shoreline for safety.

The Ojibwe woman offered them food and shelter in her unburned cabin for the night and even made a pair of moccassins for Roy who had lost his shoes while escaping the Fire.

Mah-kah-day-gwon spent her life helping people after relocating with her husband Alexander McDonnell to the White Earth Indian Reservation in 1905 where she acted as doctor and mid-wife in the area, delivering over 300 babies. She was affectionately known as Granma McDonnell to children and adults as well.

The Patrick family returned to Hinckley after the Fire helping the town rebuild. They remain a prominent family in the town to this day. Frank, who was two years old at the time of the Fire was a wonderful storyteller and relayed his rescue story to many museum visitors and school children before his death in the 1980’s.

In the end, it is a heart warming story of heroism and friendship that has survived over one hundred years.

Hmmmm… why is it that I don’t find the story nearly so heartwarming… considering that the Native American woman gave so much to so many people… yet she was still stuck living on a reservation?

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Inside the museum they have a large collection of photographs taken both before and after the fire. These images show the lumber community of Hinckley prior to the fire. (It was a very dark day and there was no flash photography allowed in the museum, so these pictures are blurry. High quality versions of the images are available on various websites – see links below – or in the excellent book “From the Ashes: The Story of the Hinckley Fire of 1894“.)

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Here’s a good view of the interior of the museum. The far wall is dominated by a very cool mural of the fire.

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These photographs showcase James Root and his rescue train which caught on fire trying to flee the inferno and barely made it to Skunk Lake where over 100 refugees took cover from the searing flames in the muck.

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My favorite displays in the museum were, of course, the mementos of the fire themselves. Unsurprisingly, with such an intense inferno, there were few objects that survived, but the ones that did were very interesting. The description of the satchel states, Severt Haglin was the St. Paul & Duluth section foreman at Groningen in 1894. On duty the day of the Fire, the gathering darkness forced him to light the switch lamps. Hurrying home, he collected the family papers and a few clothes into this satchel. The family then fled to a cut in the high bank where they saved themselves.”

The melted piece of metal beside the satchel has the following description: “Several train cars burned up on the tracks where they stood. This hinge was among the few remains of one of those cars.”

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This is another interesting relic from the fire: “Although James Root’s train was destroyed this tinderbox was salvaged and is the last known part of the train in existence today. Engine #69 was put to use and remained for many years on the Iron Range until the 1960’s when it was destroyed.” Jeez – all those years of service and that’s the thanks it gets??? Typical…

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Some change purses that survived the fire.

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Isn’t this mural (by Cliff Letty) depecting various scenes from the fire absolutely wonderful? I wouldn’t mind having this on a wall in The Castle DeSpair.

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These are probably the most famous mementos on display, though they aren’t that mesmerizing for us morbid types:

SAVED IN A POTATO PATCH

Mission Creek, a small saw mill town was one of the first villages south of Hinckley to be razed by the Fire. All its residents survived that day by taking shelter in an open potato field.

One of them was young Jenny Johnson, who was placed in the adjacent rocker by her parents. Well protected by wet blankets, she gripped her china doll seen here and sat out the Firestorm in the open vegetable plot.

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Now, for us morbid types, this next one is a much more interesting memento since it was plucked off a casualty of the fire, not a survivor:

SNUFF BOX

This snuff box belonged to fire victim Henry Hanson and was all that was left of his that was identifiable. Henry was one of the volunteer firemen who died in the fire. He left behind his wife Emma and six young children.

Emma returned to Hinckley where a relief home was built for her and her children. She took in boarders to make a living, something she had no experience in prior to losing her husband. Emma’s story is typical of many who lost their spouses and exemplifies the courage and fortitude of those who came back to this blackened land to start all over again.

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More morbid debris from the fire!

The purse on the left of the top picture (and in the middle picture) has the following description: “Mrs. John McNamara and family escaped on Root’s train to Skunk Lake. Getting off the flaming train, she and her two oldest songs ran down the tracks in fright and perished. Beneath her charred body this purse was later found. In it was $3,500 which she had saved to send her sons to college.”

The doll in the middle of the top picture (and in the bottom picture) has the following description: “This little china doll belonged to eight year old Mary Tew. Clinging to her doll throughout the tragic ordeal, Mary escaped, only to die a year later from the effects of the Fire as many people did.”

The pitcher on the right has the following description: “This cream pitcher survived the Fire by being buried along with other family treasures. Those who lived northeast of Partridge had time to save more belongings by doing so.”

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Here are a couple of macabre mementos associated with telegraph operator Tommy Dunn, who died when he stayed at his post too long attempting to make contact with the railroad to determine when a rescue train would be arriving:

After the fire, the St. Paul & Duluth Railroad wanted to recognize telegraph operator Tommy Dunn for his heroism during the fire even though he was one of the fire victims. They took his silver railroad watch, had it gold plated and inscribed it:

“Thomas Dunn, Operator, St. Paul & Duluth Railroad, met his death while on duty at Hinckley, Minn, during the Great Fire, September 1, 1894.”

When the body of Tommy Dunn was found, the family kept the ring he was wearing when he perished, even though the stone that was once in the ring had completely burned.

Notice the ring on the doily beside the clock. What a silly thing to say though, huh? “They kept the ring despite the fact that the stone was burned” – as if they kept the ring for the value of the ring, and not for the fact that it was on his hand as he burned to death. Ah well, I suppose you have to think of SOMETHING to put on these placards, eh?

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They also have a very well-done recreation of the telegraph office with a likeness of Dunn faithfully remaining at his post despite the approaching flames. The last message he sent was the prophetic, “I have stayed too long”. Indeed.

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There is a film that you can watch in the old freight room, as well as a recreation of Dr. E.L. Stephan’s office. “Doc” Stephan was a prominent citizen and doctor in the town of Hinckley who played an important role in the rebuilding of the town.

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On the second floor of the museum is a 1890’s era recreation of the apartment where the depot agent and his family lived.

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After purchasing a book (From the Ashes) from the gift shop, I walked outside and took this shot of the Hinckley water tower. You can see it was quite a dismal day. Of course, I was most pleased.

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After the museum, I drove to the nearby gravel pit, where so many Hinckley residents successfully took refuge from the inferno. Although the pit has been filled in over the years, the remnants have been made into a lovely little park filled with statues depicting a couple of the residents. A placard in the area says the following:

THE HISTORIC PIT

During the Great Hinckley Fire on September 1, 1894, this site, then known as the Gravel Pit, proved to be a God-send to those people who were not able to escape the Fire by train. It was on this railroad track that two trains, one passenger and one freight, coupled together to take over 400 people from the burning town and deliver them safely to Duluth. This pit, considered an eyesore to the people of Hinckley in 1894 was dug by the Eastern Minnesota Railroad to be used in making the roadbed for the train track. But, it was where about 100 people, along with many domestic and wild animals, found shelter from the Fire. The pit at that time was a three acre excavation, about thirty feet deep, with a spring that kept water in the depression. Because 1894 was a very dry year, there was only about three feet of water in the depression. Everyone who took shelter from the Fire here, however, was saved, except for one man who was overcome from heat and smoke. He fainted and was stepped on by a cow and died. The frightened people stayed in the water for about three hours and when they crawled out to see what was left of the town they were horrified to see the total devastation. Where once stood a busy and prosperous town was now just a pile of smoking ashes. The only buildings remaining were the Round House and the Water Tank on the south end of town where the railroad tracks intersect. Here the fire victims found shelter where they stayed until they could be rescued by train. Over the years, the pit has been filled in. At one time it was common to see boaters in the pit and also a foot bridge was built to connect one side of the pit to the other.

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My final stop was the cemetery, where a large monument was erected in memory of the victims of the fire, over 200 of whom are buried in a collective grave. It was difficult to get in and out of the cemetery since there is an Indian Casino just down the street, and it obviously is the big draw for the non-morbid public. (You might notice the line of cars in the background of the pictures. I wasn’t very pleased that my moment of solitude with the Hinckley dead was sullied by the presence of so many gamblers.)

The monument, which was dedicated in 1900, is near the street and easily identified. Upon the monument are several inscriptions, the most poignant of which are the following two:

SEPTEMBER 1st, A.D. 1894
On the first day of September, A.D. 1894, between the hours of three and five o’clock in the afternoon a forest fire swept over Central Pine County devastating four hundred square miles of country, consuming the villages of Hinckley, Sandstone, Mission Creek and Brook Park, and destroying more than four hundred and eighteen human lives.

IN MEMORIAM
In the four trenches north of this monument lie the remains of two hundred and forty eight men, women and children, residents of Hinckley, who perished in the fire which this monument was erected to commemorate.

And with this last somber moment, my trip to Hinckley had come to an end. In a much more agreeable manner than it came to an end for 418 unfortunate souls on September 1, 1894.

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Julie writes:

In response to your request of morbid places to visit in Minnesota, I would like to suggest, Hinckley Minn. My Great-Grandfather worked for the railroad at the time of the Great Hinckley Fire. My brother recently came across some old journals of our grandfathers’, and he wrote of his father Wilbur’s experience, when the railroad company sent him to Hinckley Minnesota to restart the railway system. Apparently on 12-7-1894 [9-1-1894 actually – Comtesse], a fire started in a non-combustible area. Eye witnesses insisted the fire came from the sky. My great-grandfather, Wilbur, was one of the first to arrive to help out. What he saw was, and I will quote from a letter he wrote to his wife, “I will not attempt to tell you of the horrible scenes.” But he later told my grandfather (his son) the rest of the story. Witnesses said, a fire started in the sky, like a huge ball of flames. The townspeople were so terrified, they crowded onto the only transportation out of town at that time, the train. Hundreds scrambled to get in, and on top of the train. They hung from windows, anywhere that they could hold on, to get out as fast as possible. Then, the ball of fire in the air swooped down on the train before it could leave, burning their bodies to a crisp. Hundreds perished. They never got out of town. The town as well burnt to the ground. A Norwegian house in the poor section of town was the only building left standing. An article in Argosy Magazine, back in the 1970’s, tells of the Depot Agents story and says a UFO may have been involved. Some try to say it was just a bad forest fire, but my Great-grandfather spoke to the frightened survivors in person, and they all said the fire came from the sky. Some said great balls of fire were burning in the air, and there was no forest nearby. And they were puzzled as to why the fire ball of all places, descended on the train. Hundreds of burnt and unrecognizable corpses were the first thing to greet my Great-Grandfather on his arrival to Hinckley. There are supposed to be 100’s of the victims graves, and maybe you can locate it and take a look. All I can tell you is what we have found written in my grandfathers journal. Thought I would suggest it to you. Just the thought of hundreds of peoples burnt bodies melted onto that train, seems pretty morbid to me. Have a safe trip, and keep the stories coming.

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An anonymous individual writes:

I live in Hinckley, on the edge of the gravel pit where those people and livestock crouched to wait out the firestorm. I have to say that I was curious when directed to your site; I wasn’t sure what approach you would take to the fire and the aftermath. Someone who apparently is also a fan of the morbid has stolen one of the statues on the edge of the pit commemorating the events of that day. I’m afraid I can’t offer you much in the way of morbidity, but I can offer you this. If you are a believer in ghosts, come back to Hinckley. In the pit there are strange lights at night, and sometimes there are more dead people on the street than live ones. While I am a transplant to this town, I have come to appreciate it’s history, and I am proud to tell of it to anyone who will listen.

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Recently Debbers sent me the following update:

Hello, I found out that my great-great-grandparents were one of the Russian families living in Hinckley. My great-great-grandma took her two boys to that gravel pit. But, my family states the two year old died there. He drowned. My great-grandpa was four; he lived, but his legs were badly burned.

 

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Additionally, Chris Reinhold sent me the following:

Hi, I saw your page devoted to the Great Hinckley Fire.

I’m the step grandson of Frank Patrick, a renowned survivor of the fire. My family has very strong ties to that town  My grandfather Frank Reinhold was a lawyer and ran the Lamson and Reinhold law firm there. My grandmother Arloine Patrick was an elementary school teacher there, after my grandfather passed away she re-married to Frank Patrick the Hinckley Fire survivor and they spent the rest of their lives together. My father, Frank Reinhold (Jr.) grew up in Hinckley and was a sports star at Hinckley High School before joining the service.

“Pat” was the only grandfather I ever knew.

I found the annonymous contribution in the replies interesting because my grandparent’s house was on the [lot] near where “The Pit” is.

Hinckley is a quiet and peaceful town with great people, I wouldn’t mind moving back there one day.

My step-brothers were adopted by Harold and Margaret Underhill who lived on on Grindstone Lake in Sandstone. Grindstone Lake is where my grandfather and his family were rescued by a Native American woman. The blanket he was rescued in is on display at the Hinckley Fire museum. I guess an artist made a mural of the rescue that hangs on the Hinckley Town Hall. He gave lectures about the fire at the museum and in front of the Hinckley Fire Monument in the cemetery for years. Pat was a great guy, a real character. = )

Anyone have any additional tidbits or photos to add?
If so, by all means, write me!

For more information on the Hinckley Fire, also see:
From the Ashes: The Story of the Hinckley Fire of 1894
Minnesota Historical Society

Edgar Allen Poe’s Grave

Edgar Allan Poe’s Gravesite
Westminster Hall, Baltimore, MD
June 13, 2001

On an oppressively hot and humid June day, I rode the light rail to downtown Baltimore to spend a half hour wandering about the hallowed morbid soil of the Westminster Burying Grounds – the churchyard and cemetery where Edgar Allan Poe’s grave is located. Perhaps you’ve heard the story of that special unknown black-clad someone who lays three red roses and a bottle of cognac at Poe’s grave every year on the anniversary of his birth. Well, this is where it happens. This is actually the third resting place for Edgar’s remains – the first two being on the other side of the burial grounds (which we’ll get to later.  Edgar’s remains were disinterred and moved to this memorial gravesite in 1875.)Anyway, I wandered about the monument to see the epitaphs for other members of the Poe family all along its sides: Edgar’s beloved aunt (and mother-in-law), Edgar’s wife (and cousin), and Edgar himself. Edgar’s epitaph was significantly more eroded than the other two, which makes me think that a lot of people have placed their marble-damaging hands against his name. I refrained from such abuse of The Original Master Of The Macabre’s grave – aren’t you proud?After spending some reverent time at Edgar’s grave, I turned to explore the rest of the graveyard. There were quite a few interesting old gravestones – including this one which, though partially concealed, reveals a poignant elegy: “Sacred to the memory of Fanny H. Peachey, Consort of Thomas G. Peachey, who was born November the 24, 1799 and departed this transitory life February the 11, 1822, in the 23rd year of her age. The amiable qualities of this interesting female were such as endeared her to all who knew her: she was a dutiful child and a truly affectionate wife. In early life she bore the cross of Jesus and by that life has left ample reason to believe that she has ascended to the… bliss.” Yep, Fanny was Peachey! <groan…>Many of the graves here were of a rather peculiar design (by west coast standards, that is). They looked rather depressingly like crematoriums more than crypts. And these ones against the wall weren’t very pretty either. But, by and large, hospital construction next door aside, I thought it was a most attractive and serene little cemetery. Here are some additional photographs from the site (with descriptions when applicable).

Unfortunately, I arrived at the Burying Grounds on a Wednesday afternoon, and tours of the graveyard and catacombs are only given on Fridays, so I wasn’t able to view the catacombs. If anyone has actually seen them, please let me know what they’re like and send any pictures you might have so I can flesh out – so to speak – this page. Rumor has it that they put on an excellent Halloween tour as well. I’d love to go to that some year!

For more information on the Westminster Burying Grounds, also see:
The Edgar Allan Poe Society Of Baltimore

 

Saint Louis Cemetery Number One

Saint Louis Cemetery Number One (New Orleans, Louisiana)

3421 Esplanade Ave
New Orleans, Louisiana
March 7, 2002

Of course, I always do my research before I travel anywhere, so I knew that it was ill-advised to travel alone in either of the French Quarter-area cemeteries (St. Louis #1 or #2). In fact, I knew that you were advised to stick with a tour group in St. Louis #1, and I don’t even know if tours occur at all in St. Louis #2. You see, both cemeteries are adjacent to some nasty projects (in fact, St. Louis #2 is right in the MIDDLE of the projects) and because most New Orleans graves are held in above-ground tombs (which I’ll get into more detail about later), the cemeteries are filled with lots of blind alleys, just perfect for mugging unsuspecting tourists. So, I was a bit wary about exploring the cemetery alone. However, when we arrived the first day, there were a large number of tourists there, and it didn’t seem particularly dangerous. So, we took our chances and wandered in.

Founded in 1789, St. Louis Cemetery #1 on Rampart Street is the oldest existing cemetery in the city. Near the front gate is the most famous of all the graves in the cemetery: the final resting spot of Marie Laveau, the Voodoo Queen (1794-1881). What exactly does a voodoo queen do, you might ask? Well, the usual stuff: leading rituals, telling fortunes, giving advice on love, and preparing custom gris-gris for anyone needing to effect a cure, charm, or hex. (Personally, I think she was the original Hypemaster, more than anything else.)

But who am I to doubt dear Marie? Here people are still putting offerings and drawing little X’s all over her grave over 100 years after her death. She obviously still has some major drawing power! If she’s buried there, that is… rumor has it that this is the grave of a different Marie Laveau. Now, what sort of town loses their Voodoo Queen??? Well, I suppose it would be an intoxicated, absinthe-hazed town like New Orleans…

(Incidentally, if you’re into the whole Voodoo aspect of New Orleans, you’ll want to be sure to visit the Voodoo Museum. I didn’t have time to get there this time around, unfortunately.)

After spending a few quality moments with some Marie Laveau or other, we decided to commence wandering aimlessly through the cemetery. I noticed there was some quite lovely old ironwork on some of the graves. There were also some nice iron crosses on top of the crypts. One thing I can say about New Orleans, in general, is that the ironwork is superb!

I suppose now is as good a time as any to discuss the unique aspects of New Orleans cemeteries and funeral customs. Of course, the most unique thing about the New Orleans “Cities of the Silent” is that the graves are interred in crypts above-ground. This isn’t done for aesthetic reasons, but practical ones. You see, the water table in New Orleans is extremely high, so when the original settlers tried burying their dead the convential way, they kept coming back from the grave. The caskets would literally float and pop-up out of the ground, which would make for a MOST interesting cemetery stroll for those of us with a morbid nature, but is somewhat less enticing to the general public.

So, the policy of keeping the dead above ground came into vogue out of necessity. The societies (ie. groups of individuals with a common profession, ethnicity, or creed) and the rich have their own fancy shmancy tombs (such as this society tomb entitled “Italia”) , but most families have simple, economical vaults that are stacked one on top of the other. The most fascinating part of the whole thing is that the bodies that are placed in the crypts are “naturally” cremated. You see, the temperature inside the crypt on hot summer days reaches incredible heights – enough to turn most of a human into ash (barring the odd femur here and there). In fact, there is a fascinating ritual that surrounds the placement of the body in the tombs, and it goes a little like this:

Generally, a family will own a few compartments within a tomb. Whenever someone in the family dies, there are placed into one of the empty compartments and it is bricked up for one year and one day. This is the traditional Judeo-Christian mourning period. After exactly one year and one day, the compartment is opened, and the cremains are dumped into a communal pit at the bottom of the tomb. And there the remains further decay, in that old “ashes to ashes, dust to dust” sort of way.

(Of course, I couldn’t help but think… what if you despised your father? Or your Aunt Edna? Or Cousin Charlie? And here you were, dumped into a pit with them for all eternity! Molecule touching molecule. Oh, the horror!!!)

But I digress…

Another interesting thing about this custom is what happens if you run out of room in the family tomb. Let’s say there’s a car crash and your brother and sister are both killed on January 7th, so they are bricked-up in two of the four compartments in your family tomb. Then, on March 24th, Grandma finally kicks the bucket. She goes into the third compartment. On April 27th, Grandpa is overcome by grief and puts his head in an oven. Now, he goes into the fourth compartment. Then, on July 16th, you come down with a fatal case of impetigo (who knows, it could happen). There’s no room for you – all the compartments are filled. Where do you go?

Well, the answer is that you rent a unit until January 9th of the next year when brother and sister are dumped into the family cistern. And where are the rental units? Why, they are built into the walls of the cemetery. Talk about an economical use of space!

So, I guess when you live in New Orleans, you don’t get that “burial or cremation” choice that causes arguments at Thanksgiving tables the worldover. I suppose that, in itself, is one of the best things about this custom. Having said that, there are still a few old-fashioned ground graves, for those who just can’t bring themselves to be cremated (like Egyptians), but they are rare. (This one doubles as a convenient location for goth kids to have sex.)

We continued wandering about, admiring the ornate tombs, which actually are few and far between. Really, as far as cemeteries are concerned, St. Louis isn’t that pretty. It has its moments, such as this nifty gravestone with its “angel hovering over newly-deceased actor” carving (eroded as it may be), and the tragic inscriptions that surrounded it:

ELIZA W. LEWIS
WIFE OF
William C. C. Claiborne
governor general of Louisiana
who died at New Orleans
the 27th day of Sept. 1804
at the age of 20

And, even more tragically:

Also
CORNELIA TENNESSEE CLAIBORNE
the only child of 
Eliza W. Claiborne
who died on the same day
aged three years

And, finally:

“Here also rests the body of
MICAJAH GREEN LEWIS
brother of Eliza W. Claiborne
and private Secretary to Governor Claiborne
who fell in a duel
Febry 14th 1805
in the 25th year of his age.”

However, apart from those, and the city-like novelty of the above-ground tombs, there wasn’t a lot that held my interest in the cemetery. Many of the inscriptions are in French, which also can be frustrating when your français is a oui bit rusty like mienne. But for that special old-world Voodoo Queen/Vampire Lestat ambiance, it cannot be beat.

 

VISITOR CONTRIBUTIONS

Steve’s Flickr Page

“I ran across your St. Louis No. 1 cemetery photos and travelogue. I enjoyed them both. Thought you might appreciate that I’ll be buried there myself at the appropriate time. Here are some photos I took on All Saints Day in 2005. It was the first time the cemetery was opened after Katrina. While we were exiled in the days after the storm, we could see from the aerial photos on the internet that the cemetery had flooded, and read somewhere that it only got a foot or so of water.

“There was no damage we could see, however. Not even a water line on the family tomb. I don’t know whether they cleaned it up or whether the water just didn’t get that high. Someone used the space between two tombs next to ours as a shelter, putting a blanket over some sticks running from the roofs of the tombs, almost like a kid’s fort. The normal amount of junk was scattered around what may or may not be Marie Laveaux’s tomb, and someone left a stuffed Tasmanian Devil doll right across from it. Photos at the link below.

“I think your tour guide might have been carried away somewhat. It does get Africa hot in New Orleans but not hot enough to actually cremate remains. The decomposition process is accelerated if the body is not embalmed, though. A great uncle who died of yellow fever in Panama in 1917 was shipped home in a sealed steel coffin and placed in the upper vault. When my grandfather died in 1971, my grandmother had to petition the archdiocese and fill out forms with the Board of Health to have the steel coffin opened and the remains removed to make way for him. My grandmother died in 1985 and is the last one to be buried in our tomb.”

http://www.flickr.com/photos/steve_o3/sets/1270320/

Anyone have any additional stories, tidbits or photos to add?
If so, by all means, write me!

 

New Orleans Pharmacy Museum

New Orleans Pharmacy Museum (New Orleans, Louisiana)

514 Chartres Street
New Orleans, Louisiana
March 7, 2002

One of the lesser known, but still rather interesting, sites to see in New Orleans is the Pharmacy Museum. The museum is housed in a vintage 1850’s apothecary that has beautiful mahogany cabinets and an interesting collection of 19th century medicine. Although there really isn’t a whole lot to see for your $5.00, if you’re interested in 19th century medicine, it’s a must.

One of the highlights of the pharmacy is this wonderful 1855 soda fountain. From the museum’s website: “Soda fountains originated in pharmacies in the 1830’s. Pharmacists would mix phosphates and flavorings with bitter tasting medicines to make them more palatable. Eventually customers wanted the drinks without the medicine, hence the development of soft drinks. Crushed ice and salt were used to cool the mineral, soda and seltzer waters which were dispensed through brass faucets to create a nectar soda or the fruit phosphates favored by New Orleanians of that time.”

The mahogany cabinets, filled with vintage medications, are amazing too. They don’t make things like this anymore!

But the real fun is in the details – reading the outlandish, completely medically unproven pronouncements on the boxes and bottles, and looking at some of the grim collection of early pharmaceutical supplies. I was especially fond of the lead nipple shields: “Nipple shields were produced in lead, pewter and silver as early as 1820. The lead shields were advertised as soothing to the mother’s breast through the creation of lead lactate.” Say what???

Notice the baby bottle with the lead nipple too. “Prior to the invention of rubber or plastic, lead was used in the manufacture of baby nipples. The sweet taste of lead would encourage the child to feed, however, the long-term affects of lead poisoning were not understood. Prolonged exposure to lead may cause loss of appetite, headache, anaemia, vomiting, incoordination, paralysis, elevated blood pressure, cranial nerve paralysis, convulsions, and coma.”

Ah, the good old days!

Anyone have any additional stories, tidbits or photos to add?
If so, by all means, write me!

 

The Garden Of Eden

The Garden Of Eden (Lucas, Kansas)
A Comtesse travelogue to see the glass-covered tomb of a true American Eccentric!

The Garden Of Eden
Lucas, KS
May 20, 2005

Samuel Dinsmoor was an eccentric Civil War veteran who built his vision of the Bible out of concrete in the tiny town of Lucas, Kansas. His labor of love was created from 1910 to 1930. Which is all good and well, but this is the morbid sightseer, after all, and the real reason why anyone of morbid disposition should wish to visit the Garden Of Eden is to see old Samuel himself: in his self-built mausoleum, behind glass. Dinsmoor is alleged to have said, “I promise everyone that comes in to see me (they can look through the glass lid of the coffin and see my face) that if I see them dropping a dollar in the hands of a flunky, and I see the dollar, I will give them a smile.” As B. Amundson states, “The coffin is not airtight, so the smile will not endure forever. See it while there’s still a grin on Dinsmoor’s crumbling face.”Therefore it should come as no surprise that when I was assigned the unenviable task of having to work in Topeka, Kansas (ie. The Dullest Spot On Earth) for several weeks in 2005, the first gleeful thought that came to mind was that I’d actually have a chance to view Samuel’s moldy old face. Of course, I’d have to wait until the weekend and I’d have to drive over two hours to get there, but hopefully I’d be able to bring back some lovely photographs of the crypt to make it worth my while.Unfortunately, as with most great things, this one did not quite come to fruition. Although I did make it to the Garden of Eden and I did get to see Samuel in all his moldering glory, I was not allowed to take photographs inside the crypt. You know, “out of respect for Mr. Dinsmoor”. Whatever! He’s the one who put himself on display for all eternity!! Annoyance, you are a cruel bedfellow indeed! So, it is with an apologetic heart that I present to you this photo gallery of The Garden Of Eden, missing its most fascinating feature. Hopefully, there is enough mental instability to be found to make up for it!It was a brutally hot Saturday when I arrived in Lucas, Kansas (aka The Middle Of Nowhere, population 436). I parked down the street from the Garden Of Eden and as I walked up towards the house, I could see the insanity all around me. It’s really hard to miss – especially since there is nothing else to see in Lucas. The first thing I passed was the crypt containing Samuel himself. Kinda looks like an unfinished pyramid, doesn’t it? The inscription on this side of the crypt is for Dinsmoor’s wife. She must have been touched.I then caught my first glimpse of the crazy cement statuary that Dinsmoor created. At first glance, it’s hard to understand exactly what he was trying to represent with his wacko figures, such as this wolf or coyote or something barking up a tree or this Native American taking aim, and something like this just screams schizophrenia. But I was sure that the tour guide would explain it all to me, and make figures like this one take on significance. However, even after taking the guided tour, I can’t say I understand it much better. Of course, that could have something to do with my very shaky memory…We met for the tour inside the cabin that Dinsmoor constructed. The walls were covered with some portraits of old Sammy and his first wife. And I think this is a family portrait with his second wife, who was 20 years old when he was 81. Lucky old coot, eh? But he had a way with the ladies, as you can tell by this picture with its caption, “Dinsmoor showed his flair for showmanship by marrying his first wife on this horse, August 24, 1870.” Now, that’s a honeymoon stallion!The furnishings inside the house were rather threadbare and creepy, such as the chair made from pieces of dead animals and the like, but there were some interesting old pieces of artwork to be seen as well. I thought the best piece of furniture in the house (if you call it that) was this fireplace near the gift shop. We also got to see the room in which Mr. Dinsmoor died in 1932. Look, there’s the bed that he croaked on! I could almost feel his creepy old face scowling at me as I took the pictures.

And look – there’s the toilet where he once sat! (Okay, maybe not, but maybe that bathtub was there when he was alive.) Here’s the room that I would have wanted when I was a kid – the attic! Something about those slanty walls just makes me all nostalgic for Grandma’s old house in Duluth. Ah, I can almost hear Grandpa yelling at me for sliding the bed across the floor now. Those were the days.

Be careful, don’t get vertigo! We’re going downstairs. Nice wood work, isn’t it? The stair railings, along with this door, were handmade by Mr. Dinsmoor himself. Talented guy, eh? And you haven’t seen the half of it yet.

I quite liked the kitchen with its old stove. They don’t make them like that anymore. Every now and again my old digital camera would act up and take bizarre photos, but I always liked to pretend that it’s because there was a ghost on the premises. So, given that concept, let’s welcome the ghost of Samuel Dinsmoor to the room! Oooh, creepy! Possibly even more creepy was the barbed wire collection. But, then again, this is Kansas, so what did I expect? I don’t remember what the story was with this gun cabinet, but it sure fit in nicely with the barbed wire, don’t you think?

Before leaving the house, we passed through this wonderfully creepy old basement storage area with a curved roof that had some wicked looking hooks sticking out of it. Of course, I don’t need to tell you where my mind went while wandering through this room. Of course, the official explanation was: “The ‘arched cave’ was used for storing home canned food and cured meats. It also served as a storm cellar against tornadoes.” Mmm-hmmm… and what else? Funny how they never tell you the full story in these tours.

With this, we left the arched cave and went back up the stairs to the first floor. We passed a 343-piece chess table made by S. P. Dinsmoor and I thought, “Okay, so now we know what he did on rainy days.” But it was time to let the sun shine on his outdoor creations!

Samuel Dinsmoor was a folk artist extraordinaire. If he’d lived in Georgia in the ’80’s, he would have been friends with Michael Stipe, for he was definitely the Reverend Howard Finster of his time. His specialty was sculpture and his medium was concrete – not exactly the finest of materials. But he did a very good job with what he had to work with. He was ever-so-innovative too! He used bottles to create these decorative arches on the porch. You’d never guess it, would you? 😉 He even signed the cabin, so no one would forget whose handiwork it was!

The first sculpture I saw up close was this very nice deer. You can see that it was originally painted brown, but a lot of the paint is worn off. This is true of all of the sculptures. The sculptures are supposed to be representations of Dinsmoor’s religious and populist political beliefs, but I don’t remember the explanations for most of them, so I might as well just let the pictures speak for themselves. Enjoy Dinsmoor’s dementia!


Cat fights snake with lightbulb in mouth!

Um… let’s see… America stands on a tree that says “Chartered Rights” on it while a couple of people saw off the limb it’s standing on with a saw that says “Ballot” on it.

Here’s a close-up of the Ballot saw…

Some chesty guy points the way. I’m a bit disturbed by how distinct Dinsmoor sculpted those nipples.

Imagine staggering home drunk one Sunday morning and looking up to see this lighting your path!

Here’s a view of the back of the house.

This strange-looking turkey/eagle bird carrying an American flag can be found at the front of the Dinsmoor tomb. Its symbolism is entirely lost on me.

Oh, look – there’s a naked woman pointing at the chesty man. Hey, wait a minute… why is the woman naked while the man has pants on? Was Dinsmoor from Hollywood? Or perhaps Samuel didn’t want to have to confront his latent homosexual tendencies by having to sculpt a concrete penis? Or maybe he was just a sexist? Will we ever know the truth?

This angel with pterodactyl wings hovers above the Dinsmoor tomb.

Here’s a close-up of the star spangled banner at the base of the entrance to the crypt.

It’s hard to say which sculpture is the strangest at the Garden Of Eden, but this one would be my pick. This is called the Crucifixion of Labor. Here’s how Samuel himself described it: “This is my coal house and ash pit, with Labor crucified above. I believe Labor has been crucified between a thousand grafters EVER SINCE LABOR BEGUN, BUT I COULD NOT PUT THEM ALL UP SO I HAVE PUT UP THE LEADERS – LAWYER, DOCTOR, PREACHER, AND BANKER. I DO NOT SAY THEY ARE ALL GRAFTERS, BUT I DO SAY THEY ARE THE LEADERS OF ALL WHO EAT CAKE BY THE SWEAT OF THE OTHER FELLOW’S FACE.” Indeed.

Here’s a close-up of the doctor (upper left) with his wicked scalpel.

Here’s the lawyer (lower left) in all his greedy glory.

Here’s poor Labor being crucified. I don’t know about you, but I really feel for the guy…

Here’s the heartless preacher (upper right). Notice that he reaches for Labor’s hand as if to offer his support, while he continues to pontificate with his other hand? Bloody typical.

And, finally, here’s the Banker (lower right). He looks rather vacant and dull, don’t you think? But then again, have you ever met a banker?

There were a couple of animal cages in the middle of the yard. I can’t recall what sort of animals were held here though.

This cart was displayed along the back edge of the yard. Doesn’t it just LOOK like it was 200 degrees this day, which it nearly was?

Here’s another view of the animal pens. Charming, eh?

There are actually a few structures in the yard that don’t look like the work of an insane person. This little shed and multi-leveled planter are two of them.

Here is the best part of the tour – the Dinsmoor tomb where you can view S.P. Dismoor in all his moldering glory.

From this angle you can see the “angel” that appears to be waiting to pounce on whoever dares to take a photograph of Mr. Dinsmoor. I wasn’t willing to take that chance…

See what I mean? This thing was VICIOUS! See that poor defenseless starling in its hand? A second after this picture was taken, GULP – down the hatch. Now, I hate starlings as much as your next native-bird-loving ornithologist, but I still thought that this was bit extreme. I wasn’t about to mess with this wrathful mass of concrete.

After this, I was led inside the mausoleum and was able to view (under flashlight) the moldy-looking face of Samuel P. Dinsmoor. He’s in pretty good shape for his age, actually. He is laid in the same hand-made concrete, glass-topped coffin that is shown in the above picture. (Which is a double exposure of himself looking at his corpse that was disappointingly taken prior to, not after, his death.) That’s one way to save on funeral expenses, eh?

I thought this shot kind of summed up the disoriented feeling of stumbling through the life’s work of a crazy man in a tiny town in the middle of Kansas on a blazingly hot day quite well, don’t you?

Here’s another shot of that crazy light near the house. This guy scared me almost more than the angel did. Almost…

I think this is supposed to be one of Dinsmoor’s profound political statements. It’s a cat sneaking up on a bird sneaking up on… something.

Here’s another angle on the cat/bird sculpture. I still can’t figure out what that thing on the end is supposed to be. And from this angle, I’m not even sure that’s supposed to be a cat. There are so many questions to be found here!

Here’s a close-up view of one of the planters in the yard. I bet Samuel had to complete some practical projects like this to keep the wife happy.

Here are some close-ups of the animal cages. You can see that Samuel created some nice little concrete tunnels for whatever sort of critters he kept here.

This pond marked the back corner of the property. Seems pretty normal, doesn’t it?

And it’s a sign of how horrendously hot it was this day that I was nearly compelled to jump into this water. Luckily, common sense prevailed.

One of the sheds contained this collection of Dinsmoor’s tools of the trade.

I quite liked this mustachioed devil figure. Kinda reminds me of the French Taunter.

Finally, after wandering around to the other side of the house, I came across the famous “Adam and Eve” statues which grace the end of a long foliage tunnel. Very nice, aren’t they?

Here’s another angle, looking straight down the tunnel.

Here are a couple of close-ups of Eve and Adam. And the Apple. And the Serpent. It looks like Adam has a beard a bit like Samuel’s, which makes me wonder if perhaps he related a bit closely with the character?

I walked out to the road to get this shot of the side of the cabin. This is the portion of the estate where my favorite sculptures can be found.

I think these are supposed to be vultures. Their mouths are open and lightbulbs shine out of them. This must be a very strange place to be at night…

This is one of my favorite sculptures – the woman with Rapunzel hair approaches a soldier in the act of shooting. Look at the detail in the soldier – this is definitely Dinsmoor’s best work.

This section of the yard also contained this girl on a swing.

Okay, what sort of insanity is this? I’m guessing there’s probably some sort of Biblical reference, but not having read the Bible, I can’t comment on that. But there’s definitely a sword-carrying, long-bearded old man with wings standing beside a huge eyeball. I have no idea what it means, but it’s forcing me to love it.

Ack! It’s another of the creepy lunging angels!!! TAKE COVER!!!

And this bad news is just below the angel. Looks like some of its victims, perhaps? Amazingly, the concrete body looks almost as rotten as Dinsmoor’s actual body. He was definitely a man of rare talents.

Here are a couple of happy-looking people frolicking on a tree.

This flag has weathered better than the rest of them and you can see the colorful paint that once covered all of the sculptures. Don’t ask me what’s going on around the flag though – it looks like a mishmash to me too.

I’m not sure exactly what this is but it looks like an octopus is attacking people… but it sort of looks to me like Cthulhu arising. (Though, I know it’s not.) In any event, it’s pretty bizarre.

This shot came out interesting with the backlighting. You can see the Mr.Bill-esque head at the top of the tree rather well.

I liked this Native American shooting his arrow as well.

As I passed along the front of the cabin again, I was able to get this angle which shows the dog chasing cat chasing bird sculpture, one of the planters, and the mausoleum in sequence.

Here’s another angle showing the canine figure howling up at the cat.

As I turned to leave, I took one more shot looking down the side of the house…

I also took a couple more shots of the mausoleum from the road…

as I passed by it on my way to the car.

And as I got back in the car, I stopped and took one last final shot at The Garden Of Eden – truly a baffling landmark of modern art.

I could probably end my story here, but I thought I’d share a few more strange things that I stumbled across on my drive across Kansas back to Topeka. Coming from a pretty non-religious part of the country, I get a kick out of the Olde Tyme Religion that is on display on the backroads in places like this. Therefore, I had to stop and take a couple of shots of these great signs on display in front of this tiny old wooden church in Lucas. It’s almost like they were written just for me!


“Seek ye out of the book of the Lord, and read… VERILY THERE IS A REWARD FOR THE RIGHTEOUS… Psalm 58:11”

“Ye do err, not knowing the scriptures… FOR YET A LITTLE WHILE, AND THE WICKED SHALL NOT BE… Psalm 37:10”

Lest we forget that we are in Kansas, I passed by a sign proclaiming Lucas to be the hometown of the 2002 International PedalPull Champ, Amanda Steinle. I took a picture to remind myself to Google “Pedal Pull” when I got home to see what in the hell it is. Turns out it’s pretty much what it sounds like – pulling carts with a pedal tractor. Yes, they actually have competitions for this! What a wacky world…

Update 7/25/13:  I received the following e-mail from Amanda herself!

 

Hi!

 

So my friend showed me the web site about the Garden of Eden you have and she said my name was mentioned so I had to check it out.  Nice web site and yes I was an International pedal pull champ when I was younger haha…. I thought your page was amazing and enjoyed reading it…. I thought I would add a little more interesting info and let you know that S.P. Dinsmoor was in fact my great great uncle! Small world huh?! I bet you never thought that when you took the picture of my sign! Haha.

 

Amanda Steinle

Thanks for writing, Amanda!

Although culturally Kansas may be a wasteland, it does offer some very scenic views and I stumbled across some picturesque homestead ruins that I had to explore on my way home. Here, then, are a few more shots of my Kansas cross-country tour:


A nice view of the Kansas countryside.

An interesting Native American sculpture at the top of a hill, which brings back very tragic thoughts of yesteryear.

As I was driving, I spotted some ruins nearly concealed by this tree. I drove off the main highway, up a rural road to reach it and began to hike up the grassy hill.

As I approached the ruins, I wasn’t convinced that it would be worth risking ticks to visit…

An old bed frame lay unceremoniously on the ground. Not a very attractive start to the festivities.

However, things turned much more photogenic as I approached the ruins themselves.

Whenever I’m in places like this, I can’t help but wonder when it was built…

and who used to live here…

Was it somebody’s dream home before the dream turned into a nightmare?

What tragedies did these stones witness?

Did someone die in childbirth in this room?

Does this tree shield the remains of a baby lost in a miscarriage?

Did a weathered old man walk through this door each morning to greet the backbreaking toil of a new day on the farm?

Did a pie once cool on this windowsill as a lonely wife waited for her husband to return home to her?

Was a garrulous young woman driven to insanity by the incessant loneliness of the plains?

Did these walls hear the cries of a heartbroken mother whose eldest child has just died of diptheria?

How many feet passed through the threshold on frozen nights to use the outhouse, shivering all the while?


Who cut these rocks and where did they come from? How far were they hauled, and how many oxen hauled them here?


Somehow, I could just feel the intense loneliness that must have overwhelmed people in the homesteading days.

Trees growing inside the foundation told me that it had been a very long time since anyone had inhabited this space. Maybe the fact that there was no roof might have been a little clue too.

I wondered if anyone was still alive that had ever lived in this house?

If not, when had the last of them died?

Yes, these are the things I wondered as I wandered…

Sadly, I would never know the truth…

But that’s okay, because chances are the truth would never be as good as my morbid imagination.

I began to complete the drive home and stopped to read a marker that commemorated one last bit of morbid Kansas history – the Indian Wars.

And then I was back in Topeka again, happy that I’d taken the time to get to know crazy old Samuel a little bit better.

Special thanks to Christopher Gabbert for suggesting this site!



Eleanor offers the following summary of her trip to the Garden Of Eden:
“I am thrilled to be able to report to you that I made a pilgrimage to the Garden of Eden and gazed upon Sam Dinsmoor’s face, or what is left of it. It was in 1988. A morbid fear of flying (I dearly love aircrash.com) kept me on the ground for many years, and I lost count of the number of times I crossed the country by car. I’d heard about the Garden of Eden, and Dinsmoor’s glass-topped coffin with the jug of water in it all ready for the Resurrection Day, but you have to make a fairly serious 25-mile detour off of I-70 to get there, and on several trips I had actually passed the exit that takes you there. When you’re crossing Kansas, you pretty much want to stick to business and get it behind you. This time, though, a friend and I were in his great big V-8 Oldsmobile, roaring along, heading west, when I realized we were getting close to that exit (just about exactly in the center of the state). We debated. Should we? Shouldn’t we? Yes? No? Were we too late? It was a September evening. The sun had already gone down, but there was still a fair amount of light. They’ll be closed, we told each other, it’ll be a big waste of time. We’re tired. There’s still so much of Kansas to go. But when that exit came up, my friend, who was driving, made the decision and swung off the interstate. He floored the Olds and we were in Lucas in about twenty minutes. We prowled around the completely nondescript streets in the fading light. It didn’t take us long to find it. Imagine a perfectly ordinary midwestern town of normal houses and yards, total nowheresville on the prairie flatlands, but right smack in the middle, occupying an entire lot, fortress-like, with a great arching gateway and biblical tableaux and odd statuary, all cast in cement and placed on high platforms up in tall dead trees (Adam and Eve, Lucifer, Cain and Abel, various Indian chiefs), was the Garden of Eden, looking completely deserted.
“Not completely. The caretaker was just locking up. There wasn’t another soul in sight. It was twilight by now. ‘Please,’ we said. ‘we drove all the way from New York to see this place.’ An exaggeration, but technically true. ‘Well, I’d sure hate to disappoint you folks,’ he said, and unlocked the door. ‘It’s been a slow day,’ he added. I somehow got the feeling that it had been more than slow–that we were the only visitors at all that day. He gave us the guided tour. It was incredibly cool. Just the three of us–the ‘stone log cabin’ house (also made of cement; the guy was a serious cement freak), the grounds, the tableaux, some of which were political as well as religious — ‘Labor Crucified,’ for instance, with Lawyer, Doctor, Preacher and Banker as the prominent villains. There were at least four American flags made of cement, in permanent mid-ripple. We were working our way to the best part of the tour, what we’d come all this way for, the grand finale, the Mausoleum. We’d glimpsed the outside of it earlier–an elaborate Masonic-style pyramid with many statues and another cement flag on top. It was completely dark by the time we got there. We followed the caretaker up the steps and inside, where he switched on his flashlight and shined it through the heavy plate glass of Dinsmoor’s tomb and the glass window in the lid of his coffin, all of which he’d planned and built himself. And there he was: shrivelled, dessicated, empty black eye sockets, mouth an open concave black hole, scraggly white beard clinging to his dried leather chin. ‘This don’t bother me at all,’ said the caretaker. ‘Nope,’ I said. ‘Me neither.’ And we stood and looked for a little while longer at the very, very dead face of Sam Dinsmoor in the beam of the flashlight.
“Worth the trip? Absolutely.
“We all know what’s the matter with Kansas. This was an example of what’s dandy in Kansas.”

Do you have pictures or stories to share regarding The Garden Of Eden?
Please – by all means – WRITE ME!

 

Davis Memorial

Davis Memorial, Mt. Hope Cemetery (Hiawatha, Kansas)
A Comtesse Travelogue: Visit the statuary-filled memorial that a rich farmer built to his beloved deceased wife!

Mt. Hope Cemetery
Hiawatha, Kansas
May 21, 2005

Once upon a time there was a man named John Wilburn Davis. John moved to Hiawatha, Kansas in 1879 and promptly fell in love with his boss’ daughter, Sarah. Sarah loved John too, but Sarah’s family did not approve. Still, true love won out, and John and Sarah were married.

Years of wedded bliss followed, in which John and Sarah started their own farm and prospered. All was well until Sarah passed away in 1930 at the age of 92 leaving John a lonely, grief-stricken, wealthy man.

John tried to settle on the best way to show his enduring love for Sarah. This was the Depression era, so local townspeople might have hoped that his memorial to Sarah might benefit the community. A memorial hospital, for instance, would be nice.

John, however, had other ideas of how to waste his money, and soon set out to create an extravagant memorial to Sarah. He commissioned a pair of statues, carved by a master Italian craftsman out of famed Carrara, Italy, marble, depicting himself and Sarah at the time of their 50th wedding anniversary. However, when he saw the statues beneath the huge marble canopy, he decided they looked too bare and started commissioning additional statues – depicting the happy couple at various stages in their lives – to keep the first two company.

By the time he finished the entire memorial consisted of 11 life-size statues – some in marble and some in granite – along with a marble canopy and wall. Davis exhausted his entire fortune in constructing the memorial… and some people think that may have been the point since he had no heirs and he hated Sarah’s family and certainly didn’t want any money going to them. However, this sort of backfired on him since he ended up in a poorhouse after a doctor diagnosed him with “terminal” cancer… that ended up taking 10 years to kill him. Remember, kids: don’t give away *all* your money, even if the doctor says you’re not going to need it!

Incidentally, the memorial has amazingly become the biggest attraction in Hiawatha. I say “amazingly” because you know how many other exciting things there are to see in Hiawatha, Kansas (population 3,417).

Of course, it comes as no surprise that when I found myself with a spare weekend to kill in Topeka, Kansas in May, 2005, I decided that instead of simply sleeping the weekend away (which I had done before), I would actually make the hour drive to the Davis Memorial. And this is what I found…


After an hour of grass and cow sightseeing, I finally found myself at the gates of the Mount Hope Cemetery in the metropolis of Hiawatha.

I drove inside and immediately saw the Davis Memorial, which dominates the cemetery. It’s not the prettiest memorial I’ve seen, as Mr. Davis didn’t plan his space out very well and ended up adding too many statues in too small of a plot. (It reminded me a bit of a rather frightening statuary lot I once stumbled across in Augusta, Georgia – and was chased out of for taking pictures.) The wall around the plot is rather cumbersome as well, and hasn’t prevented vandalism to some of the statues (as we’ll see).

But you don’t come to a memorial like this looking for artistic balance, do you? There’s a reason this memorial is featured on Roadside America, after all. It’s not just every day that someone will waste so much money on such lovely overkill. These two statues depict the couple as they looked late in their life together. Notice that John is missing his left hand; he lost it to infection in 1908. (Gotta love realism!)

Here’s a closer view of Sarah’s full elderly statue.

And here’s a closer view of John’s elderly statue. He looks a bit worried, doesn’t he? He must know that Sarah isn’t going to be with him much longer.

Here’s a granite statue depicting John at the time of his wife’s demise. Again, the missing hand is rendered in great detail.

Sadly, beside John sits the Vacant Chair – the chair in which Sarah would sit had she been alive. Poignant, isn’t it?

Here they are sitting side by side, waiting to die – sad John and The Vacant Chair. Tragic Granite.

Here’s another view of the final set of statues from the side.

The second pair of statues that John commissioned were these beauties that depict the couple as they would have looked about 10 years after they were married. Their positioning at opposite ends of the bench, leaning away from each other, might explain why they never had any children.

Detail of young John. Nice carving, isn’t it? Very dapper suit of stone!

And here’s a detailed shot of young Sarah. Does anyone else see a little nip showing? Oh, BEHAVE!!!

Here’s another pair of statues, showing the couple in middle age. John kinda reminds me of Thurston Howell III in this carving.

A closer view of fetching young(ish) Lovey, er, Sarah.

And heeeeeere’s Johnny! Close-shaven for the last time ever…

The final two statues that John commissioned depicted himself and Sarah as angels over each other’s graves. Sadly, vandals have made off with John’s head. Come on, people – Isn’t it bad enough that the guy lost a hand in life?

A closer view of Angel John.

Why settle for just one statue of Mr. Davis when you can have two? Looks like some plastic surgery was performed on the one on the left.

This shot was taken peering over the wall that awkwardly surrounds the memorial and looking straight down.

Here’s a final shot of the angel Sarah taken from the other side of the crowded memorial. Looks like she’s saying, “John, John, why did you waste all our money on these silly statues?”

After enjoying the Davis Memorial, I wandered around the rest of the cemetery, but it really isn’t terribly interesting. About the only grave I found worth photographing was this nice statue memorializing someone named Pearl. Still, shames in comparison to what ol’ John did!

And thus ended my trip to Hiawatha, Kansas – where even homely farmers can be memorialized in Carrara marble!

Additional Information from Vicki

“This isn’t quite the story I heard.

“I lived in Hiawatha, Kansas when I was a child. My father, William Lee Graham worked for Dr. Gordon Teal, a Dentist. We lived there from the time I was two years old in 1950, until we moved to Emporia, Kansas, when I was in fourth grade, in 1958. My younger sister, Helen, was not the first child born in that hospital, but one of the first. There were so few babies at the time that my mother knew it was her baby crying in the nursery, and it bothered her so much she asked them to bring my sister into her room and she would take care of her. (Probably one of the first babies to room in with her mom). Helen cried so much that she ended up with a small hernia under her bellybutton which she had to have fixed when she was an adult having her own children. Mother swore that it was the Hiawatha hospital that caused that hernia, as they let Helen lay and cry for hours at a time. Helen was the third girl, Vicki being the oldest born in Kansas City, Kansas, Beverly following 17 months later also born in Kansas City, then Helen 15 months later and Mark both of whom were born at the Hiawatha hospital. Mark was born in December 1953.

“My father who is now deceased, and my mother who is still living (Evelyn Graham) told me the story as they heard it when I was quite young. We used to visit that memorial, and though not so beautiful as you would have expected, was not meant to be beautiful, but meant to spend every single penny that Mr. Davis’ wife left at her death. The story was that he and she didn’t live such a wonderful life, as a matter of fact toward the end I think they were barely able to tolerate one another. She did not leave the money to him, but rather the money was to be used to bury both of them, and the rest was to go to the city of Hiawatha to build the hospital, and not left for him or anyone in the family. I don’t believe she left any heirs.

“Mr. Davis was furious, so began the job of spending every cent he could on that memorial, so there would be none left for the people of Hiawatha to build their hospital. If he was not to have her money, he would see to it that the city didn’t receive it either.

“The first statues carved were of beautiful marble, (when my mother and father were not looking) and we visited the graves, we children would sit in the empty chairs, and sometimes on the laps of Mr. and Mrs. Davis. As the years wore on the money almost gone, rather than not finish the memorial, Mr. Davis had the last statues carved from less expensive materials, so that there was not one single cent left for the people of Hiawatha to build their hospital. So, the town lost their hospital, and Mrs. Davis who was philanthropic minded, was not able to help build the hospital with her money. I can imagine her turning over in her grave over that one.

“The ironic ending is that the people of Hiawatha who hated Mr. Davis, who was then a pauper,were required to pay for his burial, making the anger run even deeper. When we lived there, he was not remembered kindly, and the memorial deteriorated over the years even to the point that someone knocked his head off. When the people realized they were losing tourists, they began taking care of the memorial and tried to make repairs. I remember the cemetery as being quite pretty and very well kept when I was a child living there.”

Vicki Lee Graham Buhrle
Fort Worth, Texas

 

International Museum Of Surgical Science

International Museum Of Surgical Science (Chicago, Illinois)
Comtesse Travelogue through the morbid memorabilia in Chicago’s lovely lakeshore museum.

The International Museum of Surgical Science is located along Lake Shore Drive, just across from Lake Michigan, in the Gold Coast neighborhood of lovely Chicago. The museum is housed in what was once the residence of Eleanor Robinson Countiss, the daughter of a Diamond Match Executive. Obviously, Daddy wanted “only the best” for his little girl. Of course, when the house was constructed in 1917, nobody could foresee that one day all manner of surgical implement would be stored in these hallowed halls. But that’s exactly what happened when the building fell into the surgeon’s hands of Dr. Max Thorek and the International College of Surgeons in 1950. The museum opened in 1954 and continues to this day.I visited the museum on April 7, 2004 and found it to make for a very interesting stroll. A bit low-key on the morbidity scale, but there is still enough to keep the morbid mind happy. Here’s a snippet of what I saw…

As you approach the building, the first notable sight is this cool sculpture by French artist Edouard Chaissing entitled “Hope and Help” which depicts a physician propping up a sickly patient. Too bad they don’t sell reproductions of it at the gift shop…
Another shot of the entrance to the museum. The building was modeled after Le Petit Trianon at Versailles, incidentally. I’m sure that means something to someone!
One of the best things about the museum is the wonderful collection of large-scale medical paintings, most of which are very morbid in nature. Many of them, like this one, are by Gregorio Calvi di
Bergolo and were painted in 1953. This one is called “Life, Labor, Study, Charity, Death” and symbolizes the five phases of life. This one is pretty cool, but they get much, much better, as you’ll see.
There is also a fascinating collection of medical antiquities on display, including this Peruvian stone which has a very anatomically detailed etching of a heart on it. One wonders how they acquired the hearts to study… Or at least, I do!
There are also some nice reproductions of vintage doctor/dentist offices. Here’s a well-done old dentist office. I’d really rather not get any closer, if that’s okay with you…
Here’s a reproduction of a 19th century apothecary which was created from two pharmacies originally located in upstate New York and Iowa. Ooooh, I LOVE vintage pharmacies!! Just reading the labels on the medication can be ever so much fun!!!
Another shot of the pharmacy.
Even the pharmacist is well-done in this fine museum. Look at him – doesn’t he look like he’s in the process of misprescribing laudanum for quinine right now?
There are some nice displays that you can get up close and personal with, such as this collection of pill boxes. Can you guess which one caught my attention?
Yep, you guessed it!! The “Blue Ointment” box has a particular allure, don’t you think? I wish I could have one of those at home too…

Here’s some of the fun-filled medicine boxes. Oh, be still my arcane morbid heart!! Such great fun: “Blood Medicine,” “Jerome’s New Discovery For Liver, Kidneys, Stomach and Bowels,”
“Wheeler’s Nerve Vita-Lixer”. So much quackery, so little time!

Okay, now that we’ve seen the pharmacy, it’s time to indulge in a gallery of some of the marvelous morbid artwork. The one in the foreground is a depiction of “Primitive Trephining” in
prehistoric Peru.
Here is one of the galleries of historic medical paintings.
And some more.
Most of these murals were painted in 1953 by Gregorio Calvi di Bergolo to illustrate the historical achievements in surgery and medicine. Here’s a close-up of one of my favorites as the learned doctor and his students discuss a particularly pale corpse. (It’s entitled “Anatomy Lesson”.)
Here, it appears that a group of doctors are discussing the particulars of a nasty case of consumption, or something. It seems that death is entering the room, doesn’t it? Or is that just me again? (Actually, it’s entitled “Ephraim McDowell” and dpicts Mr. McDowell domstrating the technique of ovariotomy. I like my version better.)
Damned flash disrupted the beauty of this snippet of a composition, which, if I were the artist, I would entitle, “Raw Meat”. (It’s actually called “Anesthesia”.)
And then there’s my personal favorite – the old-fashioned amputation! I would love to have a copy of this one in my household – wouldn’t you? (“Early Amputation”)
After leaving the murals, I was instantly engrossed by this vintage iron lung, which is used to illustrate the damage that polio used to wreak on the populace prior to immunization programs.
Can you imagine having to eek out an existence in one of these? What would one do to pass the time??? I don’t even want to consider it…
There’s also a room full of life-sized sculptures of the founders of modern medicine. The only one that I found particularly entrancing was this one of Vesalius (1514-1564)… for obvious reasons.
This was definitely my favorite room in the mansion – the wonderfully ornate library! Of course, it’s decked-up with an extensive collection of vintage medical textbooks. Oh, what a lovely time I would have in this reading room!
Here’s a view of the other side of the library.
Here’s another lovely mural in the hall, this one depicting a c-section. I suspect one of the first ever, although I didn’t bother to record the details of this picture or its author.
Another great thing about the museum is the collection of medical equipment. Here’s a cabinet full of trephining equipment (ie. drilling a hole in the skull to reduce pressure on the brain, or just for the heck of it).
Here’s some more lovely artwork – this one seems to be showing how ether was administered as an early anesthetic for early surgeries, and how early surgeries attracted perverts of all ages. (Anything to see under a woman’s dress, don’t you know.)
Here’s another similar masterpiece, showing the use of chloroform. Notice how when a man is having the surgery, there aren’t nearly as many men standing around watching? I rest my case…
The museum also has a nice reproduction of this Rembrandt masterpiece entitled “Anatomy
Lesson
“.
This display illustrates how chloroform inhalers were used: “A layer of gauze was placed over the inhaler and clamped in place. The anesthetists placed several drops of chloroform on to the gauze.
The mask was then placed over the patient’s face. The patient was asked to inhale deeply.” And, hopefully, they survived this inexact science!
Of course, I had to take a picture of this drawing which shows a man with a rather prodigious case of elephantiasis of the testicles.
There are some examples of early x-rays hanging about as well, such as this child’s x-ray taken by Chicago’s own x-ray pioneer Emil Grubbé in 1910.
I found the x-ray equipment displays to be particularly interesting. Here’s a case full of early x-ray tubes and plates.
Here’s one of my favorite bits of medical insanity – the x-ray shoe fitter! Yes, back in the ’40’s and ’50’s the shoe-fitting x-ray unit was a common shoe store sales promotion device. Ah, the fun
we used to have with radiation before we knew better! (More info on this device is available here.)
Here are a couple more early x-rays.
This creepy looking device is an early x-ray machine – specifically, a Wantz Interrupterless X-ray Transformer which was used by Dr. Emil Grubbé in 1907. Wouldn’t this be a nifty conversation
piece in the living room?
Another shot of the Wantz Interrupterless X-ray Transformer, taken from the side. “Oooh, I wonder what this knob does??”
There is also a delightful collection of ancient Peruvian skulls that depict the art of “trephination” – drilling holes in the skull – in graphic detail, along with some of the trephining
instruments. Amazingly enough, healing of the skull shows that people actually survived this ancient surgery.
I found this collection of gallstones, kidney stones, bladder stones, etc. to be quite fascinating as well. Who would think that they could be so pretty? Some of them look more like pearls than anything produced from a human body.
Among the eclectic collections in the museum is this copy of Napoleon’s death mask in a suitably regal case.
These wicked looking things are actually vaginal speculums and catheters from the Roman era. Pretty nifty looking instruments, but I’m sure glad I didn’t have them used on me!
Here are more ancient Roman surgical instruments. They also have some nasty looking amputation equipment, like this saw which probably dates from the 19th century. I wonder how many limbs this thing severed? This is a very nice amputation set from the 1800-1850 era. Again, imagine the stories that the saw could tell… I took a particular liking to these before and after images of girls suffering from osteological deformities, which purport to show the miraculous results of using the “bone crusher” treatment.
And here is the “bone crusher” itself: “Osteoclasts, or bone crushers, were used during the early 1900s to produce intentional fractures in the limbs of children with birth deformities. The bone
crusher applied pressure to the deformed bones, fracturing them in a controlled manner and then reset the fractured bones allowing them to heal correctly.” Oh, my limbs ache just thinking of it!!!
And where there are bone crushers, there must surely be artificial limbs! A nice assortment of them, in fact. Another view of the assorted limbs. And with one last loving look at a surgical kit, it was time to bid the museum adieu.