Letchworth Village
This place earned its ghosts.
Between 1911 and 1996, Letchworth Village housed hundreds of mentally and physically disabled people, many of which were young children. Praised at first as an ideal center for the mentally disabled, rumors soon spread of atrocious neglect, abuse, rape, murder, and forced experimentation. People lived their entire lives within these walls neglected by their families and the staff simply because they were “different”. Their nightmarish lives were not in vain. The first polio vaccine was successfully tested at Letchworth Village.
Given little honor in life, their deaths were often treated just as poorly.
The Letchworth Village Graveyard still displays hundreds of graves with no names.
Only numbers to count the dead.
The first time I walked through Letchworth, I became a bit obsessed with both the story and the details. The broken glass, the peeling paint, the cracks and the crumbling.
The closer I looked, the more I found.
Plenty of people have asked me, “What it is that draws you to Letchworth?” and I have to confess, it’s not the ghost stories. It’s that it’s different. It feels like a post-apocalyptic movie set and something in me finds that pretty damn cool.
I’ve never believed in ghosts. I’m more worried about what or who is standing in the next room than anything supernatural. And yet, this place gives me stories that I can’t seem to explain.
It was on that first trip that I walked into one of the buildings, alone of course, and set up my camera. About 30 minutes into shooting I’d moved throughout the first floor and come to the conclusion that I was alone. It’s pretty easy to tell when someone else is nearby inside an abandoned building. It’s really difficult to walk silently through broken glass, about a quarter inch of dust, water, and garbage. Plus a quarter of the building is covered in assorted documents, magazines, and paperwork. So I was feeling pretty alone, doing my thing, when a door on the lower floor slams and shakes the entire building.
Needless to say, I decided I’d come back another day.
I returned a few weeks later. At the time I was working at a local camera shop and it turned out I had an unexpected day off. It was snowing on and off and was supposed to get really heavy later in the afternoon. So I did was anyone else would do. I jumped in my car and drove back to the local abandoned asylum. I mean, how long could that 45 minute drive take it’s just a little snow?
110 minutes later
My hands are numb, my feet are now soaked, my face burns from the cold air, but photos were taken and it was fun. I mean, how long could that 45 minute drive take now that there’s an additional 4 inches of snow on the ground?
3 hours later
I arrive back home, frustrated, frozen, and feeling foolish. The pictures are interesting though, so mission accomplished. But hmm, what the heck is going on in this photo?
