Ep. 52: History of Danvers State Hospital, Part 2 (1912-2008)

This week's episode outlines the history of Danvers State Hospital from 1912 until it closure in 1992. Find out what happens to the site after the hospital closed down and how it is being used today.

Most of my information is drawn from the Images of America book on Danvers State Hospital by Katherine Anderson and Robert Duffy. All other sources will be listed at the end of the episode transcript.

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Transcript

Hello, hello, hello, and welcome back to Behind the Walls of the World’s Psychiatric Hospitals! I’m your host, Dr. Sarah Gallup, and I just want to say a very warm welcome to all the new listeners from Danvers, Massachusetts! There were a bunch of you this week who found the show and joined the Facebook group, so thank you – I’m so glad to have you here! I sure hope I’m doing justice to the stories from your town.

Trigger warning for this episode includes a brief mention of lobotomies and how they were performed.

Sources for this episode include the Images of America book on Danvers State Hospital by Katherine Anderson and Robert Duffy. All other sources will be included at the end of the episode transcript.

For now, come on in and get comfortable, as we go behind the walls of Danvers State Hospital…

We left off last week in 1912, with the addition of the eugenics fieldworker. Remember that their task was to basically butt in to the lives of patients’ family members to find out where their mental illness came from. They used this information to determine who might be a good candidate for forced sterilization. And spoiler alert: many people at the hospital were good candidates.

Just to back up a little bit, in 1909, the name of the asylum was changed to Danvers State Hospital. The climate of mental health at the time was changing. “Asylum,” which meant a place of refuge or safety, had lost that original meaning. The field of psychiatry wanted to show that it was moving toward treating mental illness similar to physical illness – hence the introduction of the term “hospital.” The intent was also to (hopefully) decrease the stigma surrounding the old asylums and see them as places where people could go to get well.

We see this reflected in 1916 when the State Board of Insanity was replaced by the Commission on Mental Diseases. Even at the turn of the century, administrators and others in positions of power recognized the inherent need to revise terminology to reflect changes in understanding of mental illness. They first recognized that “lunacy” and “lunatic” were inappropriate terms, as they indicated that the person was controlled by phases of the moon, or luna, hence luna-tic. As mentioned, “asylum” lost its original meaning. As an aside, it’s interesting to me that “insanity” continues to be used today as a legal term. It seems like it should have fallen out of favor by now. But no one asked me.

In 1916, Dr. J.B. MacDonald became superintendent of Danvers State Hospital. During his tenure, the population of the hospital continued to grow. During Superintendent MacDonald’s tenure, hydrotherapy was considered so successful that two new hydrotherapy units were added – one behind a women’s ward and one behind a men’s ward (Anderson and Duffy 47).

For many years, the state hospital had been a place where people were sent who had tuberculosis. In 1906, Danvers had added a separate TB unit, which was the first in Massachusetts. The unit was built like a small cabin and housed up to 16 patients. Ventilation throughout the unit was good, and there were large windows to let in light from the outside. Patients who had tuberculosis were housed on this unit for years until around 1921, when the BCG vaccine was developed, and TB could be more effectively treated (Anderson and Duffy 95). 

As more and more patients were admitted to Danvers, including veterans from World War I, the need for extra housing only increased. In 1926, 500 additional beds were added, followed by yet another 648 beds in 1927 (Brooks). That’s an increase of 1148 beds in a building that was originally designed to house just over 250 patients. Unfortunately, as with other hospitals around this time, the increase in patients did not correspond with an increase in staffing. As the staff-to-patient ratio got larger and larger, adequate care became more scarce.

The hospital added other incentives for staff, including on-campus housing for nurses. In 1927, a residence for male nurses was constructed; only three years later in 1930, a residence for women nurses was built (Anderson and Duffy 59). In 1931, Farm Hall was built to house male farm workers. The hospital farm was not only a source of work therapy for patients, it was also the primary producer of food for the hospital (54). So when a drought devastated the farm in the early 1930s, everything suffered. Much of the crop was lost, cows produced less milk, and hay production decreased as a result (54). Although the farm was able to recover from the drought (54), it no doubt had to be a difficult period of time – not to mention the fact that the early 1930s were right at the start of the Great Depression.

In 1927, Superintendent MacDonald passed away after a year-and-a-half long illness. He was believed to be improving when his condition suddenly made a turn for the worst, and he died on September 5, 1927. He had been superintendent of the hospital for 11 years (“Dr. J.B. MacDonald”). In his place came Dr. Clarence Bonner, who would serve as superintendent from 1927-1954 (Brooks).

During the 1930s, the population had soared to over 2000 patients (Brooks). Even though chronic underfunding remained a problem, the hospital underwent several much-needed improvements. A 1935 annual report noted that the wooden staircases in both the women’s and men’s wards were replaced with fireproof stairs. Wiring around the hospital was updated, and water pressure was also improved (Anderson and Duffy 52).

New treatments were also added. And I’ll admit this is the first time in my research that I’ve seen these particular forms of treatment. In 1937, the physiotherapy department at Danvers began incorporating massage and light treatments into patient care (Anderson and Duffy 53). On the surface, these sound great, but I think both types of treatment could potentially be harmful to patients. 

I use massage as a regular part of my self-care routine, and I often wonder if and how it could be incorporated into patient treatment. Patients are so touch-deprived at the hospital that it can be detrimental to their overall well-being. Imagine what your life would be like if no one were allowed to touch you – give you a hug, pat you on the back, shake your hand – and you couldn’t touch anyone else. Some people would be perfectly okay with the arrangement; others would really struggle (and they do). 

Of course, another issue with massage is the fact that it gets sexualized, rightly or wrongly. We wouldn’t want to risk patients being abused by the person giving the massage, and we wouldn’t want patients abusing the massage process, either. I’m curious how massage therapy worked at the hospital starting in 1937. I can imagine all sorts of outcomes. In theory, I love the idea of massage being incorporated into patients’ treatment, but the risk of abuse to patients and from patients seems too high.

In 1939, the annual report was released, and the truth about overcrowding at Danvers was made available to the public. Here is an excerpt from that report:

During the last year the problem of overcrowding became more apparent than in past years. Beginning in August, there was a marked increase in the admission rate of elderly psychotic persons, and for the first time, this group outnumbered the younger group…

This hospital, for the last several years, has received nearly (1,000) new admissions per annum, which is altogether too large a load considering space, personnel, and the close attention that the newly-admitted patient requires. We are constantly looking forward to the improvement and recovery of the newly-admitted patients by means of all modern methods of treatment, but overcrowding makes this very difficult indeed…

There is a need of a large number of nurses, both male and female, to give proper ward supervision to our patients…

The generating equipment located in the power house has long reached its peak of efficiency and letters have been sent to the Department of Mental Health reporting the fact that our generating equipment is aged and may fail at any time in its function…

The problem of destruction by disturbed patients has received careful attention. By means of better segregation of patients, better supervision on the part of nurses and attendants, the use of special garments and the use of bed care for denudative patients, a considerable reduction in destruction has been obtained. Occupational therapy and sedative forms of hydrotherapy have also contributed to this program… (qtd. in Brooks).

By 1939, the patient population had risen to 2,360 (Brooks). That same year, 278 patients died at the hospital (Brooks). And, I know I’ve mentioned this before, deaths do happen at every state hospital, but 278 in one year is a lot. That’s just under 12% of the patient population. Those are not good odds. I imagine, like anywhere, there were natural deaths caused by old age or illness, but certainly there were deaths by suicide, homicide, accidents. 

By 1940, the hospital reached its peak population at over 2400 patients (Anderson and Duffy 53). It became so crowded that patients at Danvers had to be transferred to Worcester State Hospital just to reduce the numbers (53). 

In 1941, something equal parts frightening and apparently morbidly fascinating happened. On February 12, 1941, a fire started in the hayloft of one of the barns and ignited a large blaze. Immediately, staff risked their lives rescuing cattle from the burning farm. Patients closest to the blaze were moved to other locations where they could not see it. In the end, no one was seriously harmed and the main building was undamaged, but six of the 100 head of cattle were lost (“Huge Barn Torch at State Hospital”).

But the strangest part about this story was that the fire was visible for 15 miles, and a rumor got out that the main hospital building was ablaze. People ended up driving from all around to watch the hospital burn down. An estimated 10,000 people attempted to reach the hospital, causing one of the largest traffic jams in the history of the Newburyport turnpike (Brooks). Now I don’t know what’s more disturbing to me: that so many people tried to get there that it caused a massive traffic jam, or that so many people actually wanted to watch the state hospital burn down? Now, I have to imagine – or hope – that some of those folks were worried family members or friends who were concerned about their loved ones. But certainly not all 10,000.

I have to imagine that having essentially too many patients left the hospital quite vulnerable. With limited space and minimal staff, it became increasingly difficult to control the number of patients who resided there. Patients were placed into “special garments,” probably straitjackets or something similar, in order to facilitate some sort of control (“History”). I’m sure there were many conversations about how staff could manage that many patients.

Enter Walter Freeman, the doctor who “perfected” the art of the lobotomy. In 1948, the lobotomy arrived at Danvers. Dr. Freeman performed many of the initial lobotomies at Danvers, which later earned the moniker, “the birthplace of the prefrontal lobotomy” (“Danvers Lunatic Asylum”). If you’re unfamiliar with this crude procedure, brace yourself. If you don’t want to listen to it, skip forward about a minute and a half.

The prefrontal lobotomy was a different procedure from the transorbital lobotomy. Yes, there were two different types of lobotomies. The first type was the transorbital lobotomy; this was where a surgeon sliced into the skull above the eyebrows and basically took a scalpel and began severing parts of the brain. That sounds pretty horrific, but the prefrontal lobotomy isn’t much better. For folks over 25 years old with a fully developed brain, the very front of your brain, that sits right behind your forehead, is the prefrontal cortex. This is the last part of our brain to develop, but it controls some super important features, like making good decisions, regulating our emotions, and using discernment when speaking so you don’t look like a fool. So what Dr. Freeman would do is he’d take a special tool he likened to an ice pick and stick it in the tear duct of the person’s eye – without anesthesia, of course, because what’s the fun in that? – and basically he’d fish around in the prefrontal cortex, severing this and that connection. Oops, there goes this person’s basic inhibition – sorry about that. You’re not going to have a filter anymore when you speak. It was a very imprecise science. About 15% of everyone who got a lobotomy died afterward from complications (Torkildsen). Others didn’t improve, and some had to come back for a repeat procedure. Still others got worse. Lobotomies would continue to be used at Danvers for over a decade.

In 1954, Superintendent Bonner retired from Danvers State Hospital, after 27 years (“History”). To commemorate everything he had done for the hospital in the decades he worked there, a new building was constructed in 1955 and named after him. The Bonner Building was a 100,000 square foot general medical facility (Anderson and Duffy 70).

By 1956, psychotropic medications had become the primary form of treatment at state hospitals. Thorazine was the first antipsychotic introduced. If you’re unfamiliar with this medication, the generic form goes by the name chlorpromazine. It was used primarily for agitation, anxiety, and “unruly behavior” (“1950 to the Present: Drug Therapy”). Thorazine is a sedative, so folks who were starting to act up could be “chemically restrained” instead of using physical restraints. Thorazine became a drug of choice for psychiatrists to control difficult patients. When many people think of patients in state hospitals during the late-1950s and 1960s, they often think of people slowly shuffling around, eyes glazed over, and drooling. Unfortunately, the first generation of antipsychotic drugs were highly sedative, although effective in their right. They also had plenty of side effects that bothered patients who took them, such as strong hand shakiness and odd movements of the eyes or tongue.

Thorazine is still used today, although less frequently than when it was first introduced. Most patients are prescribed it as a PRN, or as-needed medication, instead of a regularly scheduled medication. This is because it remains a very strong medication with a number of undesirable side effects. But for patients who do well on Thorazine, it can be a life-saver.

If you’re new to the show, I’m about to remind everyone of one the most critical mental health laws of the 20thcentury: the Community Mental Health Act of 1963. To briefly summarize, this law was signed by President John F. Kennedy only three weeks before his assassination. This act made provisions for more outpatient mental health facilities to be added to the community to transition patients out of full-time hospital care and into smaller facilities where they could have more independence and, ideally, a better quality of care.

In 1966, a school was established on the hospital grounds for children we would now say have intellectual and developmental disabilities (Anderson and Duffy 70). It was called Hathorne State School – named, of course, after Judge Hathorne of the Salem Witch Trials. If you’ve been listening to the show for a while, you may remember that when these schools were first opened, they were called schools for the feeble-minded. They later became known as schools for the “mentally retarded” – a term that continued to be used in the DSM until 2013 when the DSM-5 finally removed it from its language. Today someone with a low IQ is said to have Intellectual Disability. But in 1966 when this school opened, there were four state schools for the feebleminded and developmentally disabled open and operating in Massachusetts. The Hathorne State School would later become the Hogan Regional Center (70), which remains open today.

During the 1960s and 70s, patients were transitioning from the hospital to those community mental health centers, and the number of patients at the hospital was decreasing each year. I imagine it must have been strange for staff to all of a sudden be working with a reasonable number of patients.

By 1973, the average wage at Danvers State Hospital was $157 per week. Just to put that in an historical perspective, male attendants in 1901 averaged between $20-37 per month. Today, the average salary for a licensed psych tech in California is about $58,000 per year (“Licensed Psychiatric Technicians in California”). Since these are all in different time formats, let’s put them all in yearly salaries: so in 1901, a male attendant averaged $240-444 per year; in 1973, a little over $8,000 per year; and in 2024, about $58,000 per year.

By the 70s, the old building was approaching 100 years old, and it was definitely showing its age. Entire wards of the hospital were closing down due to decay (“History”). Patients who weren’t transferred to other hospitals were moved to the Bonner Building, which had originally been intended as a medical facility but was now used for housing patients (Anderson and Duffy 70). 

The big question then became: what do we do with this beautiful, old building that is falling apart? In 1981, architecture student Marcia Cini wrote her thesis on Danvers State Hospital and appealed for it to be added to the National Historic Register, saying:

Danvers State Hospital…is demonstrably significant in both architectural and social history. It is a handsome and uncommon implementation of the Kirkbride Plan directed by an important Boston architect. When built it represented the latest contemporary advances in technology and engineering as well as architecture. Further, its contributions to the history of mental health in Massachusetts are clear. Its current value as an historical resource is increased by the high degree of survival of important original and/or early buildings and the substantial preservation of the original landscape pattern…it should be given the protection of listing on the National Register of Historic Places as promptly as possible. (qtd. in Anderson and Duffy 111)

According to Anderson and Duffy, Cini’s thesis was entitled The Hospital Palace and was instrumental in recording the history of Danvers State Hospital (99).

In 1984, Marcia Cini got her wish: the old Kirkbride was placed on the National Register of Historic Places (“History”). The problem was, it was crumbling at an unsustainable rate. The cost of the upkeep would be more than the value of keeping it open for treatment. If thousands of patients were still housed there, it would be worth investing in the old building. Now, it faced the possibility of demolition.

At one time, according to Anderson and Duffy, the seven state hospitals operating in Massachusetts housed over 25,000 patients. By the late 1980s, that number had dropped to 2500 or an average of about 350 patients per hospital (94). 

Hiring and staffing became an issue, as well, as the future of the hospital looked grim. By the late 1980s, the position of superintendent had been phased out, and the hospital was taken over by the assistant superintendent (Anderson and Duffy 112). There were plans to continue recruiting and hiring new staff until 1990 (98). In the 1989 annual report, it seemed like staff held onto the hope that Danvers would remain open. Only two years later, in 1991, the state decided to close the hospital for good (98). The old Kirkbride building had been shuttered in 1989 (“History”) and all patients were moved to the Bonner Building (“History”). 

The plan the state had approved was to move toward closure of several state-run facilities over the next three years (“History”). In addition to Danvers State Hospital, other facilities slated for closure were Northampton State Hospital, Metropolitan State Hospital, Paul A. Dever State School, John T. Berry School, Foxborough campus of Wrentham State School, Cushing Hospital, Lakeville Hospital, and Rutland Heights Hospital.

Then, on June 24th, 1992, Danvers State Hospital officially closed its doors (“History”). Fewer than 200 patients remained, and they were transferred to Tewksbury State Hospital (“History”).

But the story doesn’t end with the closure of the hospital, of course. In 1997, a local resident was walking her dog and stumbled on the remains of the old asylum cemetery. She alerted someone to the poor condition of the cemetery, which led to the creation of the Danvers State Memorial Committee (Anderson and Duffy 123). In September 2002, a photographer was invited to document a private ceremony. In memory of each patient who was buried there, flowers were planted and a bell was rung as each patient’s name was read out loud (123). Some former patients were present to pay their respects to those who had come before them.

In 2001, the film Session 9 was filmed in a small section of Danvers State Hospital, since much of the remaining building was unsafe (“Session 9”). Now I’ll admit I haven’t seen this film, even though I had many people tell me I should. I’m not much of a horror or thriller film kind of a gal, so it makes me a little nervous, but I like the concept. In the film, a crew is hired to clean out asbestos from Danvers State Hospital and lots of spooky-ooky things start happening to the crew. They start to learn about patients who had once resided at the hospital and the symptoms they lived with. Just in the short amount that I read about this film, I notice they sorta default to a common trope of having characters with dissociative identity disorder – what used to be called multiple personality disorder. This is often the most sensationalized disorder that gets portrayed in films and TV series because it’s relatively easy for someone to portray, and people are fascinated by it. But the truth is that dissociative identity disorder is quite rare. In my years of state hospital work, where we see the most significantly ill cases, I’ve only encountered one possible case – and the jury’s still out on that one.

Moving on. In 2002, a development company called Archstone Communities expressed interest in purchasing the old building and converting it into private residences. As Anderson and Duffy point out:

After numerous discussions about the historical significance of the Danvers State Hospital campus, Archstone Communities presented a development plan that directly contradicted its early promises to retain the majority of the Kirkbride and instead called for the demolition of four wards. At the last minute, Archstone Communities withdrew its redevelopment plans and the project ground to a halt. (100)

And that’s probably for the best. The hospital wanted to be preserved as much as possible, just restructured.

The following year, in 2003, another development company, AvalonBay, proposed that they would demolish some of the wards that could not be salvaged but retain the center structure and wards closest to it. Their plans for demolition bothered locals who hoped to see the building preserved. “In October 2005, the Danvers Preservation Fund filed an injunction to prevent AvalonBay from moving forward with demolition. Unfortunately, the temporary restraining order was denied and demolition began. The only thing that was retained was the shell of the Kirkbride, [which had been] stripped of all but the brick façade” (Anderson and Duffy 113). Looking at the pictures, and I’ll add some to the Facebook group and Instagram page, it looks like the skeleton of the old building.

It seemed clear that many locals were not supportive of AvalonBay’s development plans. So when, on April 7, 2007, around 1:50 AM, a four-alarm fire tore through the new construction and apartments, something seemed suspicious. By the time the sun rose, four apartment buildings containing 147 apartments were reduced to rubble. All that remained were the towers of concrete that encased the stairwells and elevator shafts. Fortunately, since construction was so new, there were only 20 residents, and all were able to be safely evacuated from the blaze (Anderson and Duffy 114). Despite a thorough investigation, intentional arson could not be determined (115).

AvalonBay got back to work immediately rebuilding. One year and $80 million dollars later, AvalonBay Communities opened to new tenants in June 2008 (Anderson and Duffy 126). Seven years later, the property was purchased by a different firm and reopened as Halstead Danvers. The property had 433 luxury apartments, with a state-of-the-art media room, onsite concierge service, and – my favorite – an onsite dog park. The shell of the old Kirkbride building remains, but there isn’t any other connection to the asylum – no memorial, no historical marker, like it’s all just been erased (126). I should add that this was true as of the time of the publication of the Images of America book in 2018. If you’re familiar with this complex and know of memorials that have been added, please let me know.

And that’s where I’m going to end the history of Danvers State Hospital. I have some more stories to tell about the hospital and the people who lived there, as well as a special upcoming episode. Definitely make sure that you come back for those.

Special shout-out this week to Chief Oddball, for their rating and review left on Apple Podcasts. What a great name, Chief Oddball! I appreciate your support! Remember that you too can rate and review on Apple Podcasts and help other people find the show. That’s a great way to support me and help others learn more about these fascinating old hospitals.

Be sure to join the Facebook group or Instagram page to get updates and pictures that accompany each episode. I always find it helpful to see images of the places I’m learning about, so if you’d like to do that, go check out one or both of those pages.

But, as always, remember the words of Maya Angelou: “Do the best you can until you know better. Then, when you know better, do better.” Until next time…

“1950s to Present: Drug Therapy.” Quest for a Cure. Missouri State Archives, 2003. https://www.sos.mo.gov/archives/exhibits/quest/treatment/1950-now

Anderson, Katherine, and Robert Duffy. Danvers State Hospital. Charleston, SC: Arcadia Publishing, 2018.

Brooks, Rebecca Beatrice. “History of Danvers State Hospital.” History of Massachusetts Blog, 19 Sept. 1912. https://historyofmassachusetts.org/history-of-danvers-state-hospital/

“Danvers Lunatic Asylum.” Midnight Train Podcast, 8 Mar. 2021. https://www.themidnighttrainpodcast.com/post/danvers-lunatic-asylum

“Dr. J.B. MacDonald.” Boston Globe, 6 Sept. 1927, p. 24.

“History.” Danvers State Hospital. https://www.danversstatehospital.org/history

“Huge Barn Torch at State Hospital.” The Recorder, 13 Feb. 1941, p. 8.

“Licensed Psychiatric Technician in California.” Salary.com. https://www.salary.com/research/salary/posting/licensed-psychiatric-technician-salary/ca

“Session 9.” Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Session_9

Torkildsen, Oivind. “Lessons to be learnt from the history of lobotomy.” Tidsskriftet, 12 Dec. 2022.