First and foremost, Dorothea Dix considered herself a teacher. Born in Maine, she moved to Boston, and while still in her teens, she opened a school for young children. Settling in Worcester, she became a devout Unitarian and wrote books for young readers. These days, she'd be known as an early childhood educator, and she might have been remembered as a pioneer in that field had not she one day agreed to take over a class for a friend at the local jail.
She had no idea what to expect when she went to teach the Sunday school class in the East Cambridge prison; the experience transformed her and, eventually, the nation.
Not everyone held in the prison, she realized, was there because they'd committed a crime. Incarcerated in chains, right alongside hardened criminals, were people who were there for reasons beyond their control. They were mentally ill. Instead of receiving care, they were being punished for their afflictions.
After having seen one prison, Dix felt compelled to understand the extent of this problem. She began visiting prisons all over the Massachusetts, looking where few dared and reporting what she saw.
In a Danvers prison, she witnessed a woman in "the horrid process of tearing off her skin by inches; her face, neck, and person, were thus disfigured hideousness." In Springfield, she reported seeing "[i]n the jail, one lunatic woman, furiously mad, a state pauper, improperly situated, both in regard to the prisoners, the keepers, and herself. It is a case of extreme self-forgetfulness and oblivion to all the decencies of life; to describe which, would be to repeat only the grossest scenes." In the Northampton jail, she found "a young man violently mad, who had not, as I was informed at the prison, come under medical care–from any hospital."
Dix compiled her findings into a document she called a "memorial" exposing "[t]he present state of Insane Persons confined within this Commonwealth, in cages, closets, cellars, stalls, pens! Chained, naked, beaten with rods, and lashed into obedience!"
She took her message to the state house and placed the blame squarely on the politicians' shoulders. "It is defective legislation," she declared, "which perpetuates and multiplies these abuses."
Unsurprisingly, the legislators initially took exception, and her arguments were dismissed, not in small part because they came from a woman.
What is surprising is that she was not deterred, and in time she achieved a near-miracle: she managed, for a few decades at least, to thin the cloud of stigma attached to mental illness. As an educator, she helped politicians and the public distinguish between the guilty and the unwell, and, most importantly, she got them to spend money, gobs of it, to build hospitals to care for these newly recognized patients.
What is downright astonishing is that much of this happened before 1850, when the idea of an illness confined to the brain was still a radical notion.
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As a direct result of Dix's work, the cornerstone for the Northampton State Hospital was laid on July 4, 1856 (the same year Freud was born) to great public fanfare. It was the third such hospital built in Massachusetts, and it was a source of great pride to the city. The public officials spared no expense, and at the ceremony, they boasted their building would serve the public and heal the unwell for 400 years. Dr. Edward Jarvis, considered the first American psychiatric epidemiologist, praised the new hospital's "healthfulness of location, beauty of prospect, and convenience of access."
It was 80 years after the Declaration of Independence, and cities, a growing population, transportation and industry were devouring the countryside at an ever-increasing rate. The focus of many planners was on finding ways to mitigate the damage caused by urban growth. Access to nature and sublime pastoral landscapes were seen by many as the key antidotes to what was ailing the city-dwelling Victorian mind. This was a guiding inspiration for Frederick Law Olmsted's Central Park in New York City, and it was a factor in the selection of the hilltop just outside Northampton for the hospital.
The architecture adhered to the principles of asylum design promoted by a Pennsylvanian Quaker doctor, Thomas Kirkbride, and the floor plan and positioning of the building were intended to have a direct effect on the patient's wellbeing. The administrative offices were in the center, with two extensive wings jutting out in opposite directions (one for each gender). The most severely ill patients were treated at the furthest ends of the wings, and the least acute lived near the administration center.
Dorothea Dix later took her campaign to other states, but she continued to be involved in the management of the Northampton State Hospital for years afterwards. At her recommendation, Pliny Earle became the third and most famous superintendent in 1864. He helped purchase the pastures around the hospital and began a work-therapy program, which was widely adopted elsewhere, that included having the patients help with farming duties.
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When Northampton's hospital opened in 1858, the other hospitals in Massachusetts were already facing overcrowding. Worcester had beds for 327 patients, but was housing 364. Taunton had 250 beds but 256 patients. While Northampton kept the numbers manageable for decades (until 1892 they had an average of 469 patients), by 1928 there were 1559 patients.
More buildings were constructed, and the home on the hill became a miniature city that employed hundreds. The emphasis on care became less about reconnecting patients with nature and increasingly about acquainting them with new procedures and medications, few of which worked. As budgets were slashed and the population grew, the situation in Northampton's state hospital mirrored what was happening around the world. Instead of cures, administrators were looking for space to put more patients. The conditions under which some patients were cared for deteriorated to a state that was all too similar to what had sparked Dix's outrage to begin with.
For much of the last century, children up and down the Pioneer Valley were warned that if their bad behavior continued, they'd end up in the Northampton Asylum.
While some left the hospital worse off than they came, others found haven and help. Many did not see the hospital itself as the problem, but rather the lack of resources made available by the state. Starting in the late 1970s, advances in medicine and therapy offered legislators a way of addressing the growing crisis. Many of the hospitals were closed, and, ready or not, patients were "deinstitutionalized"—released into a world of drug regimens, outpatient care and assisted living arrangements.
Many who can make use of this treatment have felt liberated by the new age of mental health care. It only requires a walk in downtown Northampton, or a glance at the new name of Hospital Hill, though, to realize that as progressive as the Valley is, mental illness is still a challenge we're a long way from eradicating or even meeting face on.
Unlike Northampton's leaders of 1856, rather than seeking to dispel the stigma, today's officials seem to make decisions influenced by it.
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At last week's meeting of the Community Advisory Committee (CAC), which oversees the new development on Hospital Hill, the chairperson, Mayor Clare Higgins, broke long-standing precedent and invited questions from the public. On May 22, the CAC voted unanimously to allow a local military contractor to relocate to and dominate the southern part of the campus.
A resident who abuts the site asked the mayor if the name of the development could be changed back to what it had been.Instead of Village Hill, she wanted a return to the name used for over a hundred years: Hospital Hill. The resident feared that the reason for the name change might have been because of the stigma attached to it.
The mayor explained that the name was up to the developers, and they had a right to name the development whatever they wanted. Beth Murphy of MassDevelopment, the developer who had chosen the name, said she'd take the request under advisement. The other members of her firm who were at the meeting said nothing.
In a meeting the CAC held last November, a more candid reason for the name change was given when no reporters were present. The meeting minutes quote former member Christopher Kennedy asking: "Why was the project suddenly renamed with no ceremony or public event, removing the word hospital? The Northampton State Hospital had massive implications for life in this community that should not be forgotten or dismissed."
Beth Murphy replied, "Village Hill Northampton emphasizes the two important aspects of the project, the village aspect and its location on a hill in Northampton. There is absolutely no intention of sanitizing what came before. Instead, MassDevelopment's aim is to integrate the history of the site into the fabric of how it is being developed. We absolutely are memorializing that history, which we cherish, at the site."
But Teri Anderson, Economic Development Coordinator for Northampton, added: "It is the function of marketing to deal with the identity of a place. We have had potential clients that turned away because of the bad energy of the mental hospital association. This name change reflects the sensible concept of integrating clients into the community, away from the institution."
Until this time, the city planners and the developers had maintained a united front that structural issues had made the destruction of the historical buildings necessary—a claim that never made much sense.
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In 1998, after a search for a developer for the site, the CAC chose Community Builders.
The original buildings on the site were on the National Register of Historic Places, and to be eligible for the contract, developers who applied needed to have a background in historic preservation. The Daily Hampshire Gazette compared the two applicants' plans, and under "What They Want To Build," Community Builders stated: "A portion of the Old Main building would be renovated into business and residential space, a community center, or a museum. The feasibility of renovating the building is not yet clear."
"Feasibility" was a word that cropped up whenever the city planners and developers, those tasked with preserving Old Main, discussed the building's future. Rather than working to make preservation feasible, they spent a lot of time arguing that it wasn't.
Casting doubt on the feasibility of preservation when applying for the state's approval of their plan, the developers included a newly commissioned market study from Arrowstreet Architects of Somerville. The report indicated there would be a multi-million-dollar shortfall between what it would cost to preserve Old Main and what the preserved real estate could sell for.
Interestingly, though, when the state did approve the plan in 2003, they didn't accept that the Arrowstreet findings were sufficient reason to demolish the buildings. They cited a 1999 report by Crowley and Associates that had come to the opposite conclusion: the buildings could be renovated and make their money back.
The Secretary of Environmental Affairs reminded the CAC and developers that they'd signed an agreement, and that they must "demonstrate a 'good faith effort' to consult with [Massachusetts Historical Commission] regarding preservation of historic structures. In light of these considerations, and the sustainable development principles, the proponent should revisit the feasibility of stabilizing the Old Main complex."
Also in 2003, MassDevelopment joined Community Builders, and ownership of the site was handed over to them. The CAC met often later that year, once in 2004, and not at all in 2005. On September 8, 2006, the Daily Hampshire Gazette announced that the state had awarded the project $7 million dollars in funding. This would have more than covered the shortfall found in the Arrowstreet report, permitting the developers to make a profit from preserving the buildings. But $5.5 million of this money was earmarked for the demolition of Old Main and other buildings.
Saving them, apparently, was not feasible after all.
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Twice now, the city and developers have used their unfruitful marketing efforts as an excuse for things not turning out as planned, and as a result, major alterations to the plans on Hospital Hill were made.
The first time, the developers justified Old Main's demolition by saying they'd been unable to find an outside developer interested in preserving the historic buildings. But an ad MassDevelopment posted in newspapers looking for developers in 2003 didn't even mention preservation or history. It only referred to "redevelopment opportunities in existing buildings."
The second time, in their June 2, 2008 report to the Office of Environmental Affairs, the developers asked that plans be altered to allow Kollmorgen enough space to relocate to the southern campus. "MassDevelopment has for three years diligently marketed the Memorial Campus, but has to date been unable to identify buyers or developers for any of the existing buildings and lots," the report claimed.
Last week, in an interview with Terry Anderson and Mayor Higgins, I asked about the marketing of the southern campus, and whether they had targeted specific businesses. The mayor initially assured me that the search had been a targeted, national effort, but Anderson said the ads had mainly been targeted to the Northeast. As targeted businesses she listed biotech firms, other tech firms, small industry, and a list of other categories they'd welcome.
A biotech firm wouldn't feel particularly welcome, though, looking at the giant advertising signs posted on the site. Nothing is said on them about developers looking for a mix of tenants, or that no one business is expected to buy the whole lot. The signs don't mention green values, smart growth, sustainability or Northampton's reputation as a world-class, progressive small arts town. No tax incentives for preservation are mentioned. The one-word marketing plea meant to entice development is simply "Available."
When I asked the mayor and her economic development director why the lack of response didn't indicate flawed marketing, rather than a need to completely change course, I was assured again that the marketing had not been the problem.
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Feasibility has always been a red herring. The only way to prove a project is feasible is to accomplish it. In the meantime, all the naysayer has to do is lob out "practical" reasons not to do something, and he's infallible until proven otherwise.
In the case of MassDevelopment and city planners, feasibility doubts worked as a self-fulfilling prophecy. No architect or engineer had ever said saving Old Main was structurally impossible, and many have asserted that they'd seen and salvaged far worse buildings. The building didn't conflict with any current development plans. So why tear it down?
Until Teri Anderson expressed the developer's uneasiness with mental illness, none of these decisions or explanations made sense. There were other clues from that meeting that indicated the conflicted attitudes of the developers.
Earlier, before she addressed the reasons for the name change, Murphy honored the CAC's achievements of 2007. She celebrated Old Main's demise in three ways. Under Economic Development she listed "Demolition of dangerous abandoned structures." Under "Infrastructure" she listed "Completion of the demolition of the Old Main complex to allow for new infrastructure." Tops on the list for positive "Green Development" was that they'd begun "Brownfield redevelopment."
Given that there is no plan to redevelop the $5.5-million-dollar grassy field created when Old Main was demolished and carted off to a landfill, MassDevelopment's claim that they cherish Hospital Hill's history and aren't trying to sanitize it is hard to believe.
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The point of last week's CAC meeting was to turn the committee's attention to remaining development issues on the northern campus, now that Kollmorgen appears to have settled the southern campus' fate. More than half the housing units the Office of Environmental Affairs had approved have been built or are under construction, and the developers wanted the committee's input on where to build the remaining 85.
Remarkably, there remains considerable green space on the hill, and fitting these other buildings can apparently be accomplished without eating it all up. Short of submitting a whole new plan to the state for review, the development could conceivably be nearing an end.
Many of the original master plan goals have been accomplished, or are close to realization. The open space around the development has been preserved, more than half the new homes will be affordable, assisted housing will be built, and the need to keep Kollmogen local has trumped the south campus' new-business commercial ambitions.
In last week's meeting the CAC, the developers and the city recognized only one last stipulation to the original agreement that remained to be fulfilled: a memorial of the hospital and its history needed to be installed.
Members of the memorial committee reiterated the plan they'd announced a year ago, when they'd last met: an historic marker somewhere on the site, an online archive of historic materials, and the hospital's original fountain, preserved somewhere on the site. While this plan was agreed to by CAC members, it's been emphasized that it had no funding and the developers had final say. CAC member Bruce Fogel had recommended the fountain be at the gates of the development, but his colleague Joseph Blumenthal wanted a place where contemplation was possible. He suggested the fountain's original location, but a MassDevelopment representative pointed out that that would be in someone's back yard.
Dorothea Dix's moving memorials of the mentally ill unfairly imprisoned in Massachusetts' jails helped create the Northampton State Hospital in an attempt to save those people. Ironically, the building was demolished because those tasked to save and memorialize it gave more weight to the fear of mental illness than the need to confront it.
Hiding the site's identity and memorializing it, I would argue, are incompatible goals. How could a cast iron fountain possibly convey even a glimmer of the Hill's history in a housing development called "Village Hill" whose design is wholly generic? (CAC member and city councilor David Narkewicz praised some of the proposed home plans as being just like what he'd seen in New Orleans and in other "green cities.")
In addition to the missing memorial, the CAC and developers have also not yet accomplished the objective that is key to making the development work. They have not built anything that serves the general public's interest or attracts it to the site. The site's tax revenue potential has diminished as the plans have been changed, and while the fields surrounding it have been saved from development, the $200 million raised for development has all been spent on improvements to make the builders money and accommodate the new tenants.
Certainly current residents may one day enjoy traveling on a road, sidewalk, or bike path in the new development, but what will attract businesses and families and visitors to the new housing development with an industrial plant across the street? In terms of serving the public, what can compete with the accomplishments of Northampton's leaders in 1856?
For a memorial to begin to reflect the significance of the site, the name "Hospital Hill" needs to be returned, and a significant portion of the remaining real estate needs to be cultivated for public use. Hospital Hill's magnificent views and amazing prospect have been public for more than a century, and they need to be again. Should the footprint of Old Main be preserved as a park, officials can one day argue that the $5.5 million spent to demolish it wasn't simply acquired to ensure that the local builders, realtors and developers had a "clean" site from which to profit privately.
We cannot honor the work and suffering of the generations that came before, or preserve our past, if we are afraid to discuss what happened on Hospital Hill. We need to find new leaders who can attract businesses and industries with officials who are not ashamed of Northampton's past, or afraid of the "bad energy" surrounding mental illness.
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A copy of the official "Notice of Project Change," a report submitted to the state by the developers outlining the alterations to the Hospital Hill plan, is available from the report's author, Corinne Snowdon of Epsilon Associates: csnowdon@epsilonassociates.com, or (978) 897-7100.
The public comment period ends on July 1, 2008. Comments should be addressed to Secretary Ian A. Bowles, Executive Office of Environmental Affairs, 100 Cambridge Street, Suite 900, Boston, MA 02114-2524, Attn: MEPA Unit, EOEA 12629.
