The Ridges: Echoes of history
45701: glimpses of home
By Jenaye Antonuccio
February 18, 2008
History is not quiet. It speaks in rotting fascia and deteriorating cupolas, in broken windowpanes and ripped screens, in worn divots of the front steps. It speaks in concrete ruins taken over by wild weeds and thorns, in rusting orchard water tanks, in crumbling 18.5 million made-on-site bricks. It speaks in now-tall ornamental trees, in sidewalks that come to a crumbling end, in inoperative lampposts that have not given light for half a century. History’s voice is multi-faceted at The Ridges. It is a story of how the shape of a town, land and its citizens was changed.
In the high end of the mid-1800s, land was getting crowded. Men were busy producing in farms, businesses, homes and families. War loomed. Stress increased, as did mental instability. “Lunatics” were often abused and locked away in barns or basements. A pressing need arose for proper alternative treatment for mentally challenged individuals.
“The simple claims of a common humanity, then, should induce every State to make a liberal provision for all its insane…” — Thomas Kirkbride, “On the Construction, Organization and General Arrangements of Hospitals for the Insane”
One man had a vision, a solution to a problem: house the mentally ill in buildings he specifically designed for a cure. Thomas Kirkbride’s treatise proposed that the state take responsibility, owing citizens proper custody, housing and treatment. The highly influential Kirkbride Plan of architecture had unwavering principles: providing plentiful natural light and fresh air; cultivated landscaping for calming and stimulating, and farmland for self-sufficiency, minimizing costs; and providing patients with purpose, responsibility, and exercise.
“It is now well established that this class of hospitals should always be located in the country, not within less than two miles of a town of considerable size, and they should be easily accessible at all seasons.” – Thomas Kirkbride, “On the Construction…”
Asylums in the Kirkbride style began to appear across the nation. Post-Civil War Athens was suffering from lack of financial prospects. Enrollment at Ohio University had declined. The community was abuzz with talk that a state hospital would be built in the region. Forces were rallied. Three Ohio trustees were appointed to select and purchase a site, and E.H. Moore of Athens was to take the place of a recently deceased member. Thirty towns competed for gaining the facility, but Athens prevailed in the end. In August 1867, the location was set. Funds were raised to purchase the former farm of Arthur Coates, whose own father had been one of the first settlers of Athens County and a ferry operator. The land was then donated to the state, with high expectation for the outcome.
New hope for Athens was awakened. 1867 marked the beginning of a relationship between the commodious Victorian-era batwing structure and the blossoming town. The cornerstone for the Athens Lunatic Asylum was laid at the old hillside farm overlooking the Hocking. Ceremoniously deposited inside were a Bible, constitutions of the state of Ohio and the United States, Cincinnati newspapers, a copy of the Athens Messenger, coins, a program from the day’s events, a membership list of the Paramuthia Lodge number 25, and a list of the Masonic officers. Construction began soon after the ceremony, utilizing architect Levi T. Scofield’s Kirkbride-influenced plans. Local craftsmen and contractors reaped benefits from the six-year work, as well as merchants in their ability to outfit the interior.
The grand opening for Athens’ soon-to-be largest employer was in winter 1874. One of 35 hospitals built according to Kirkbride’s elaborate plans, it was also the fifth mental hospital in Ohio. Employees lived on site with room and board. Day labor and trade solidified and strengthened the relationship between town and facility. Work was available for blacksmiths, brick-makers, preachers, tinners, cooks, baker, and seamstresses. According to the “Athens County Atlas” of 1905, Charles Augustus Snow was contracted to supply the asylum with 150 gallons of milk a day. Butter, eggs, poultry and other produce were also purchased.
“There is no reason why an individual who has the misfortune to become insane, should, on that account, be deprived of any comfort or even luxury…” — Thomas Kirkbride, “On the Construction…”
The site was stunning. Historical photographs depict scenes of a luxuriant interior. Tile floors lead to the lavish staircases with wood-carved, curving banisters. Pressed-tin ceilings overhung rooms with abundant plant life. Rocking chairs beside tables with linen and lace cloths waited in the halls of the men and women’s wards. Every room provided a view of the beautiful grounds with ready access to fresh air. Prepared dining hall tables were laden with cloths, cutlery and baskets of fresh bread, baked on site. Cooks held prepped turkeys for the Thanksgiving meal. Underground rails took food from the kitchens to the dumbwaiters beneath the dining halls. An alligator swam the waters of the front fountain. A chapel was nestled between the third and fourth floors of the main building.
“As much as 50 acres immediately around the buildings should be appropriated as pleasure-grounds, and should be so arranged and enclosed as to give the patients the full benefit of them…” — Thomas Kirkbride, “On the Construction…”
Landscape was key in Kirkbride’s plans: the more beautiful, the more likely effecting a cure. The county’s Genealogy and History records that the asylum site was “faultless.” It was ready to be changed. Frederick Law Olmstead, who designed such great sites as Central Park and the Niagara Reservation at Niagara Falls, influenced the designs of Herman Haerlin of Cincinnati. Haerlin hired George Link to oversee the transformation of the property. Link spent the next 30 years of his life following the plans according to Kirkbride’s original vision. Patients labored as part of a curative process on the grounds with grading, gardening, planting, and creating roads and paths.
“While the hospital itself should be retired, and its privacy fully secured, the views from it if possible, should exhibit life in its active forms, and on this account stirring objects at a little distance are desirable…” — Thomas Kirkbride, “On the Construction…”
Ornamental trees and shrubs were planted and rare birds were imported, all to encourage visitors. Various shows of community entertainment occurred at the man-made lakes. Walkways were built from the town to the lakes and asylum land, “Lover’s Lane” being one of the favorites. Ice-skating was a favorite in winter, and in the warm months, strolling the paths, Sunday afternoon rides and picnics, boating, and feeding the ducks. Intermingled monitored patients “took air” in exercising strolls.
Grounds expanded according to plans, and new buildings were erected, eventually eliminating the need for outside farmers’ support. Soon, the facility boasted a large agricultural operation. The institution became nearly self-sufficient. Added to the grounds were a greenhouse, a dairy, orchards, gardens, vineyards, piggery, huts for chickens, and outbuildings and barns for other farm animals. Patients were encouraged to labor. Most items no longer needed purchasing from outside, and sometimes selling off surplus became necessary. The dairy’s twin barns were home for the area’s championship herd of Holsteins. Lotta Fayne Klondyke reportedly produced the best milk and butterfat. Ice was carved from the lakes for refrigeration. Water was gathered from springs, and when patient numbers increased, wells were dug.
“A very large proportion of all the insane are treated more effectively and far more economically among strangers, and in well-managed institutions specially provided for their treatment, than at their homes, and surrounded by their families, and by familiar scenes and associations…” — Thomas Kirkbride, “On the Construction…”
Kirkbride asylums enjoyed popularity and fame for quite some time. But eventually, it became clear that this system carried no evidence of long-term cure and induced no decline in mental illness. Patient populations, at their height, climbed to 2,000. Patient-to-staff ratio was at some points 50 to 1. Previous methods became obsolete in an understaffed, overpopulated hospital. Inhumane counter-measures unintended by Kirkbride appeared more practical. New methods were tried, including psychoanalysis, and later, tranquilizers. The lobotomy, a practice made famous by Dr. Walter Freeman, was performed in the mid 1950s, some 200 of them at the Athens site.
Deinstitutionalization, a controversial process that began in the latter half of the 20th century, sought to reduce overpopulation of facilities. The principle of thought was that patients would benefit from the least-restrictive setting. Many public hospitals were forced to close, transferring patients to community-based mental-health services, or simply left to fend for themselves without care or medications on the city streets.
“All are to remember that insanity is often more clearly shown by what an individual does, than by what he says…” — Thomas Kirkbride, “On the Construction…”
Constant destructive flooding of the Hocking River called for a 1969 rechanneling and rerouting. By saving the town and campus, the once-enjoyed lakes, grounds and paths of the old asylum were destroyed. Ohio Rt. 682 was constructed to run parallel to the river, cutting across the already-scarred grounds. Patient rights began receiving attention, and in the early 1970s, federal courts ruled that patients who perform tasks in state institutions must be paid the minimum wage.
By 1981, the Athens Mental Health Center’s patient population was fewer than 300, with a marked decline each year thereafter. Link’s landscaping was let go, gardens left fallow, deteriorating outbuildings razed. Cost-cutting measures in 1981 forced the heat to be turned off in the greenhouse. All exotic plants froze and therapy programs were cancelled. The doors closed in 1993, with patients transferred to a newly constructed facility across the river.
What do we, as residents of this town, behold now as we look upon the building that rises up tall and mighty from the hillside, altering our view of the horizon? We tread upon the earth that was once tilled and fertile, producing abundance. We glance at the enormous ginkgo, marveling at its girth. We play upon the old carriage steps in front, grip the rails as we enter the old administration building to view local art.
The names of the building have changed: Athens Lunatic Asylum, 1868; Athens Asylum for the Insane, 1911; Athens State Hospital, 1944; Southeastern Ohio Mental Health Center, 1968; Athens Mental Health Center, 1969; Southeastern Ohio Mental Health and Retardation Center, 1975; Athens Mental Health and Development Center, 1980; Athens Mental Health Center, 1981. In 1993 after passing into Ohio University’s ownership, the facility and surrounding grounds were henceforth known as the Ridges.
Fifteen years later, the voice of history is the same. One must be quiet to hear it. It is not the ghosts or mystery that should haunt us; rather it’s the fact that one vision could alter the lives of many. Our 45701 stories would be different without it. It becomes etched on the minds of all who live here or visit.
Information for this article was gathered from sources at the Athens County Historical Society; the Mahn Center for Archives and Special Collections in Alden Library; and “Getting to Know Athens County” by Beatty and Stone; www.KirkbrideBuildings.com; and Katherine Ziff’s 2004 Ph. D. dissertation, “Asylum and Community: Connections between the Athens Lunatic Asylum and the Village of Athens 1867 – 1893.”
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