Charities and Corrections: Life at the State Institutions Exhibit

Historically significant things belong in the public eye. "If you have a [signed] painting of George Washington hanging over your mantle at home, what good is that?" says Ken Carlson, reference archivist at the Rhode Island State Archives in Providence.

Such is the spirit behind Mr. Carlson's latest curated exhibit, “Charities and Corrections: Life at the State Institutions”; a fascinating foray into the history of Rhode Island's public hospitals and institutions: the State Infirmary, the Oaklawn School for Girls, the Sockanosset School for Boys, the State Prison, and the Asylum for the Insane, among others.

On the corner of Westminster Street, behind the brightly decorated facade of the Victorian-era State Archives building - originally an art gallery over a century ago - a menagerie of rarely-glimpsed artifacts lie in state just beyond a plate glass window looking out upon the modern bustle of the busy city sidewalk.

In one among several large display cases, colorful maps of the Sockanosset and Oaklawn schools frame a detailed, hand-drawn sketch of the girls' school cemetery; an inmate's admission card and portrait lie atop, aside and slightly askew. In another, a hand-sewn Raggedy Ann doll rests rank-in-file alongside a collection of stitchings, woodwork, and crafts; the handiwork of patients from the tuberculosis sanitorium at Wallum Lake.

“[We were] ‘picture poor’,” said Mr. Carlson, motioning toward a wall of photographs as he told a familiar story of how only years prior they were saved, literally from the scrap heap, by a former state worker who rescued the antique glass plate negatives from a dumpster during the renovation of a state building, before donating them to the Archives.

In fact many of the items on display were collected by donation, including a trove of documents belonging to the State Prison. Deemed a fire hazard by officials in the wake of a blaze caused by an inmate uprising in the 1990s, the correctional institution's leather-bound, 1800s ledger, and the century-old handwritten letters of a murderer describing his escape plan, are among many of the things now on public display because of the circumspection of those who saw value in their conservation.

Thoughtfully arranged and carefully preserved, the “Charities and Corrections” exhibit is a collection as spellbinding for the scholar as it is for the casual observer; a veritable treasure chest of never-seen-before relics from a history too often left to the shadows of our society’s past. Thanks to people like Mr. Carlson and the donors who made this work possible, it will not be a history soon forgotten.

“Charities and Corrections: Life at the State Institutions” will be on display through March 31, weekdays 8:30 to 4:30, at the Rhode Island State Archives; 337 Westminster Street, Providence. The exhibit is free and open to the public.

Though a visit to the State Archives would be well worth your while, a small selection of photographs from the exhibit may also be viewed online at sos.ri.gov.

A Chat with Dr. Ladd

A quaint tale told from Dr. Ladd's perspective - hardly more than a curiosity, but a fitting one for this week's weather, and a good place to take up again our egregiously delinquent blogging routine.

This comes from the Ladd School's newsletter, "The Exeter News," January, 1956 issue:

A Chat With The Superintendent

"Looking for news from the administration for this month's issue of the paper, your reporter found Dr. Ladd in a reminiscent mood. 'Well, I had thought of giving you something about snow,' he said, and began telling of the storms which used to beset the School in the early days of its existence.

Once a very dependable patient by the name of Guy, who was sent on an errand in such a storm, stopped at the office (when then was in Dr. Ladd's home) to pick up the mail. Dr. Ladd says that he had an intuition that something might go wrong, so he started after him to see that he didn't lose his way. Evidently it was so bad that it was impossible to look ahead to see where one was going for more than a few seconds at a time. It happened, therefore, that Guy had left the road and circled around to crisscross it several times. The Doctor caught up to him just as he was crossing it again - heading in the wrong direction.

He said, "Hi Guy -- having any trouble?"

Guy answered in his very slow, deliberate monotone, "Yes ... I don't where I am ... can't find the road."

Dr. Ladd put him on the right track and started back himself. By glancing up every so often he could see the lights at his house and head himself in the right direction. As he came to a small hill, however, he found that his view of the lights was shut out, but he kept going in what he thought was the right direction. After a while, he stopped to get his bearings and saw the lights way off to his left. He couldn't understand how he had gotten turned around this much but struck out for the lights once more.

When he finally reached the spot where the light was coming from, he discovered that from the bottom of the hill he had started after the wrong set of lights, and had ended up over by the Colony instead of at his home at the other end of the reservation. He remarked that it had been foolish of him to set his course by the lights in the first place, and that he finally made it home safely by taking note of the direction that the wind was coming from, and since he know that this was storm from the North, taking his bearings accordingly."

Cemetery Tripping in Massachusetts and Rhode Island

Situated in the Old Administration Building of the historic Tewksbury Hospital - a 19th century almshouse and sanitarium - the Public Health Museum is a non-profit educational and cultural center featuring a variety of exhibits and programs ranging in topics from disease epidemics to the American eugenics movement.

Earlier this October, the Museum conducted the season's last historical walking tour of the Tewksbury Hospital Campus - an event which, though we endeavored to attend on multiple occasions, slipped by us this year.

But that didn't stop us from visiting the Tewksbury Hospital cemetery on our own accord this week. Consisting of over 10,000 graves of the hospitals' destitute deceased dating as far back as the 1850s, this burial ground is divided into two separate woodland plots a fair distance from one another. With the sun setting fast on the day of our visit, we opted only to see the East Street plot nearest the hospital grounds, called "The Pines."

The Pines Cemetery is as decrepit as it is sprawling, and is perhaps larger than any other potter's field we've seen in Massachusetts. A little off the beaten path, there among a tangled grove of mature trees and just barely visible above the detritus of the forest floor, rusting iron stakes jut out of the earth as far as the eye can see. With each step deeper into the woods, the low-lying, numbered markers seem to endlessly appear underfoot; some sunken so deep they stand barely inches above the ground, others standing nearly knee-high, misplaced from their original foundation and replanted in the ground. Walk deeper still, and you might find a hand-carved wooden crucifix, or a mysterious headstone bearing the only names to appear in the entirety of the graveyard. The somberness and antiquity of the atmosphere is practically palpable.

Visiting cemeteries like The Pines at Tewksbury Hospital never fails to be a fascinating and eye-opening experience; one which can be had even closer to home at Rhode Island's own state cemeteries for the almshouse, the insane asylum, and the Ladd School. But these are not the only "paupers cemeteries" in the state. The Warwick Poor Farm's graveyard remains a fairly prominent feature of the Town Park, and recent research by the Ladd School Historical Society even suggests that some of the Ladd School's earliest residents in Exeter were buried by the state in other cemeteries as far away as the town of Cranston - our next stop this Halloween weekend.

Halloween means different things to different people; and to some people, it's believed to be the day during which the veil between the living and the dead is thinnest. This year the holiday falls on a Saturday, providing the perfect opportunity for all adventurous spirits to explore historic cemeteries in their community, for an educational and cultural experience like no other. And if you're one of those adventurous spirits, maybe we'll see you out there.

The Fall of an Icon, The End of an Era

Another historic occasion came to pass nearly unnoticed last week when the John E. Fogarty Hospital in Exeter, Rhode Island, finally met its destiny with the wrecking ball, so bringing an end to an era that is as storied as the building was iconic.

Built in 1962, the hospital was named for the U.S. Congressman from Rhode Island, John Fogarty, whose 27-year tenure has been lauded most for its unprecedented contributions toward the the increased awareness and improvement of services for "mentally retarded" citizens. The first and only facility of its kind, the hospital stood for more than a half century on the grounds of the Dr. Joseph H. Ladd Center; the state's historic and now defunct institution for people with developmental and intellectual disabilities.

Designed by the architects of Donald J. Prout and Associates, the building - made of reinforced concrete slabs and paneled in bright orange and ivory porcelain - was unlike any other, and conspicuously out of place, in the region. Built at a cost of $1.2 million, funded mostly by a bond issue approved by R.I. voters, at a height of five stories - totaling 74 feet - it was said to be the tallest building in Washington County. Described as "the hospital of tomorrow," its circular design was claimed to result in "saving 37 per cent in footsteps for the nurses, doctors, and other attendants," while every room faced a "splendid view of the surrounding countryside."

The Fogarty Hospital may be well remembered today by former Ladd Center staff members and residents as the state's premiere medical facility dedicated specifically to treating people with developmental disabilities. Since being abandoned more than two decades ago, younger generations of locals will likely remember it better as a destination for ghost hunters, photographers and "urban explorers."

But perhaps it is best recognized as the epicenter of a social revolution that continues on to this day.

While under inspection by authorities in September, 1977, a confidential report revealing unsanitary and life-threatening conditions at the hospital's dental clinic was leaked to the press by social activists. In its wake, the clinic was immediately shut down, and the details were published - almost as quickly - on the front page of the Providence Evening Bulletin in a exposé by staff writer Peter Perl.

A series of investigative reports by Perl, and fellow journalists Bruce DeSilva and Thomas Walsh, ensued over the next several months, blowing the doors open on what increasingly appeared to be a long history of medical malpractice and human rights violations perpetrated at the Ladd Center. By the year's end, Dr. Ladd's successor, Superintendent John Smith, was fired from his post by R.I. Governor J. Joseph Garrahy, and a class action lawsuit was filed against the state on behalf of all the institution's residents. The suit was resolved in the early 1980s with two subsequent Federal court orders for the institution to diminish its role as a custodial care facility and reduce its population by significant numbers. In 1986, R.I. Governor Edward DiPrete announced a plan to close the Ladd Center; and in 1993, after years of gradual downsizing, the last of its residents were finally moved to alternative facilities and group homes in the community, where many still reside.

The property itself, and its derelict buildings - including Fogarty Hospital - had remained abandoned until recently.

Last summer, four of the Ladd Center's original buildings - some of them close to a century old - were razed. Unlike on that occasion, however, the demolition of the John E. Fogarty Hospital should not come as a surprise, nor should it be met with with a great sense of loss. For every person who will lament the wrecking of these historic buildings, there is surely another who will be glad to see the Ladd Center vanish at last. And while future generations will unfortunately be without such monumental reminders of our state's history, and the origin of our system of care for people with disabilities, we may nevertheless rest assured that its legacy will thrive in spirit, through the memories, legends and literature born from its prolific, if troubling, past.

History is not made of brick and mortar, after all, and will not be so easily forgotten.

Ancients and Horribles on the Fourth of July

Since at least as early as the 1930s, Independence Day parades were traditionally held at The Ladd School.

Little evidence of the earliest of these events exists, however; or at least few examples haves been found, to date. But what rare specimens have survived history, whether by way of the written word or the odd, antiquated Polaroid, seem to suggest that such parades were held in the custom of the "Ancients and Horribles."

In fact, it should be considered hardly a coincidence that the first Ancients and Horribles parade on record in Rhode Island - according to Wikipedia - was held in 1926, in Glocester, while the earliest known photograph of such a parade at the Exeter School can be dated to 1930.

In those early days, on July 4th, costumed Ladd School residents could be observed marching down the institution's rural streets dressed in Indian attire and macabre masks reminiscent of Halloween, led by nurses, horse drawn wagons and the occasional Ford Model A.

Having become fondly anticipated throughout the years, by the 1950s the celebration had grown significantly more elaborate. The revelries spanned two days, incorporating events such as band concerts, a bonfire, field day games, and drum and bugle corps demonstrations. Town residents were as well invited to attend the parade on July 4th, while each year the ever more complex floats - by then drawn by farm tractors and other modern conveyances - were decorated to conform with an annual theme. To commemorate the Ladd School's founding, in 1958 the theme was "The Past 50 Years," for which the floats were designed to depict scenes from the institution's past, and residents were dressed in jumpsuits and aprons; traditional state institution uniforms.

Though no official record exists with which to compare it, the Ladd School's Independence Day celebration may well have reached its pinnacle in 1973. Set atop flat bed trucks on loan from the National Guard, and decorated with paper mache flowers, balloons and banners, a total of 46 floats were displayed, half of which were made by residents of the institution, who rode upon them in elaborate costumes as astronauts, clowns and other characters fashioned to represent various themes.

Community groups from all over Kent and Washington Counties joined the festivities, too, from Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts, to Shiners, local fire departments and military troops, who, together, marched and rode from one end of the campus to the other. All told, the parade covered a mile and a half in the span of an hour. And when the precession ended, a customary rifle demonstration by the Quonset Seabees kicked off a night of square dancing and, of course, fireworks.

That year, an estimated 2,500 people from across Rhode Island came out to see the parade; more than any year before. Now, more than a generation since the last Independence Day parade at the Ladd School came to a close, the abandoned, overgrown lots and what few derelict buildings remain along Main Street in Exeter bear nary a whisper of those celebrations long ago. And while there are surely those among us who will still remember the sights and sounds of the old days, the rest of us should be forgiven for feeling as though a part of history has passed us by.

Fortunately, however, we need not rely on our imagination alone to live, or re-live, what may very well have been the grandest of public spectacles in the history of this historic institution: For the first time in over 40 years, a collection of films has surfaced, of the 1971 and 1972 Fourth of July parades at the Ladd School in Exeter, Rhode Island.

On The Death of Dr. Joseph H. Ladd, 40 Years Ago Today

The following was originally published in the Providence Evening Bulletin on Monday, May 13, 1974:

Dr. Joseph H. Ladd, who pioneered efforts in Rhode Island to rehabilitate the mentally retarded, died yesterday at the age of 98.

He was the husband of Pauline (Falco) Ladd.

He was the first superintendent of the Dr. Joseph H. Ladd School in Exeter, which opened in 1907 with seven mentally retarded boys under his care.

Mother, Don't Let the Sun Set on You Here

On Mother's Day, May 11, 2014, after more than two years in production, the fifth book in my Ladd School anthology will make its debut.

The stars, it seems, are especially aligned for this occasion; not only does it occur on the eve of the 40th anniversary of Dr. Ladd's passing, but I cannot think of a more appropriate day to launch this particular title.

The Ladd School, By Any Other Name

On March 14, 1958, Rhode Island Governor Dennis J. Roberts signed the bill officially naming the Dr. Joseph H. Ladd School in honor of its founder, and then recently retired superintendent, Dr. Joseph Ladd.

Fifty-six years later, and some two decades since the institution was abandoned, Rhode Islanders still call it The Ladd School, even though it was renamed, in 1978, the Dr. Joseph H. Ladd Center. Little is it known, however, that even before it was called The Ladd School, Rhode Island's only public residential institution for people with developmental disabilities was called The Exeter School, with reference to its location in the rural farming town of Exeter, Rhode Island.

Rarer yet is the knowledge that before it was known as The Exeter School, the institution was originally called the Rhode Island School for the Feeble-Minded.

Book Review: My Lobotomy

As an author I'm practically obligated to read books. Not only does reading books influence me as a writer, especially where the literary works of prolific authors are concerned, but it also helps me to expand my knowledge base so that I may write with more authority.

Probably the most limiting factor, however, in my voracity for reading is that I am by nature very particular about the books I read. I'm easily bored, and so critical of language that it's oftentimes difficult for me to find a book, by any author, that I enjoy to the point that I feel compelled to finish reading it, word for word. Therefore, there are relatively few books for which I am willing to give my recommendation.

My Lobotomy is one of those books.

The Cemeteries of our Abandoned Asylums

From Victorian times through the industrial age pestilence and disease were common in the crowded wards of State institutions for the indigent, insane and disabled. But the limits of medical science and inadequate support for these asylums in those dark days were especially detrimental to the institutionalized poor who, even in death, could not be cared for.

Oftentimes their remains were unclaimed by friends or relatives, unable to have supported their loved ones in life and too sick or indigent themselves to bury them in death; and so they were buried by the State instead, in pauper's cemeteries located on or near the grounds of those asylums in which the deceased lived their final days.

The Bones of Gary Hayman

Sixty-one years ago today, on September 23, 1952, Gary Hayman, a nine-year-old boy with autism, vanished from the Ladd School without a trace, never to be found ... almost.

In the afternoon while the children were lined up at the end of class on that fateful day, Gary must have bolted from the school unseen, or so reports suggest. When his teacher realized he was missing, the school's administrators took swiftly to action, rounding up small search parties of attendants and inmates, and blasting three short, sharp blows of the whistle from the smokestack at the power plant on the other side of the campus - a measure taken for all runaways from the institution.

Little did anyone know that this time, however, it would be different. When their search turned up empty-handed that night, so began a long, strange and harrowing story that remains to this day - all but forgotten - one of the most mysterious and tragic events in local history.

An Historic Occasion

Nineteen years ago this week, Rhode Island formally commemorated the closing of the Dr. Joseph H. Ladd Center at one of the State's least known parks; the Ladd School Memorial Park.

Situated at the corner of Main Street and School Land Woods Road in Exeter, the park, designed by Karen Hillman, was established in tribute to the thousands of people who lived and worked at the facility from 1907 to 1994. It stands upon the place where the original Rhode Island School for the Feeble-Minded was founded; the site of the Hoxsie farmhouse where Dr. Ladd and the first eight inmates of the institution settled more than a century ago.

Surrounded by a replica of the stone wall that once surrounded the farmhouse, an engraved plaque is affixed atop a stone podium, which reads:

The Ladd Center
1907-1993

Dr Joseph H. Ladd established the Exeter School for the Feebleminded on this site in 1907. He guided its development with dedication for 48 years. During its86 year history Ladd Center was home for 4,533 disabled men, women, and children who were cared for by skillful and compassionate employees. Ladd Center was closed in 1993 after alternative programs were established throughout Rhode Island. This alternative system of facilities was developed over a 15 year period with funds overwhelmingly approved by Rhode Island voters. Leadership in this major effort was provided by govenors J. Joseph Garrahy, Edward D. Diprete, and Bruce Sundlun; by the directors of the Rhode Island Department of Mental Health, Retardation, and Hospitals, Joseph J. Bevilacqua, Thomas D. Romeo, and A. Kathryn Power, By the department's executive director Robert L. Carl, Jr.; and by The Arc, the Ladd Parents' Association, and MHRH staff.

Superintendents: 1907 - 1956 Dr. Joseph H. Ladd, 1956 - 1978 Dr. John G. Smith, 1979 - 1993 George W. Gunther Jr.

Last person moved to a community based facility on March 25, 1994