Empty buildings, empty hearts

United Methodist Church in Gary, Indiana. Image found here.

A decrepit structure is a dream deferred.

In recent years, I have developed a fascination with abandoned buildings. I surmise there have been several reasons for this interest. Sometimes the buildings are a glimpse into old architectural styles seldom seen anymore, eschewed for forms devoid of charm and humanity. Dilapidated structures amid urban or rural decay also conjure a sense of mystery and potential for stories for many writers. Heck, the buildings themselves are someone's or several someones' stories. Looking at the structures now, I can't help but wonder what those stories are.

This link dump of all things abandoned places has captivated me as of late. You can find guides here to almost any form of deserted, human-made structure you can think of. There is a guide to ghost towns, one for abandoned agoras and transportation centers such as airfields and train stations, a showcase of former Soviet cities with wonderfully wacky architecture, and...another one of my favorites...the guide to abandoned U.S. movie theaters. I've also been perusing yet another guide to abandoned buildings right here in my neck of the woods. In fact, the above photograph comes from that list.

Apparently, "urban spelunking" has become something of a pastime and one may Google any number of "how-to" instructions, covering both safety and legality. I can see why the fascination exists. I clearly (or perhaps not so clearly in a few cases and for various reasons) recall my college days when Drexel Hall was off limits. Sitting across the street from campus, it was one of the original structures of the 100+ year old campus and by my arrival at college, it was rotten beyond the point of safe entry for anyone. We went in anyway, playing ghost hunters long before reality TV made such activities passe. Those memories, in part, represent my recent shift in attitude towards abandoned buildings.

This weekend, I will be returning to Rensselaer for a meeting of the Saint Joseph's College Alumni Board. I have been invited on a tour of campus, marking what would be the first time I have stepped onto the property since leaving on May 12, 2017. Shortly after that date, Saint Joe was closed off with concrete barriers. The closed campus became something out of the TV series, Life without People.

Though I have not seen any of it personally, I am given to understand that grass in several areas has been allowed to grow tall. Feral cats have made a home in the student center. Walls are crumbling in one of the academic buildings and a section of ceiling above the theater has collapsed. A recent news story announced that my campus now sits on a list of "endangered landmarks" in Indiana.

I have declined the invitation to tour the place I once called home. There is nothing for me to see there anymore. Strike that. There is so much there I don't want to see. Which brings me to my point.

Where I once marveled at the entropy and decay of abandoned places, I am now overcome with sadness and a heartbroken empathy for my fellow humans. Abandoned buildings represent failure. I do not use the word "failure" in an accusatory manner. It is still possible to fail even though one gives his or her every effort. Something didn't work out with these buildings. People could no longer stay. They could no longer maintain them and thus, whether made of concrete, steel, or wood, the structures were left behind to rot from neglect.

Someone once cared about these buildings. The story of these people, even if on a minimal level, is woven in with the existence of these abandoned spaces. The architects cared enough to design them. People cared enough to keep them up, even if only for a time. The buildings are physical manifestations of someone's work and effort. Sometimes, they may represent entire careers, deep hopes, and lifelong dreams...now cast aside and fallen to ruin.

Where I once saw mystery and adventure, I now grieve for what someone lost somewhere along the way.

"You can tear a building down but you can't erase a memory."
-Living Colour





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