Courtesy of ct.gov

The Damned Story: Near the center of Connecticut in the unassuming town of Hebron sits Gay City State Park, offering streams, a scenic pond and over 1,500 acres of  woodland teeming with hiking trails, recreational opportunities and . . . ghosts, according to some.

Gay City was a once-thriving 18th-century village that was primarily inhabited by the Gay family; the park is particularly named after John Gay, one of the settlement’s founding fathers. Remnants from the former town, including the remains of abandoned mills, stone foundations and other structures, can still be found here. It’s these ruins that have helped to foster the creepy vibe that some people attribute to the park.

The town was originally settled in 1796, when Elijah Andrus led a group of persecuted Methodists out of Hartford to a quieter space along the Blackledge River where they hoped they would be left alone by the regional Congregationalists to live and worship as they pleased. Under the guidance of Rev. Henry Sumner (no relation to this guy), the faithful—including many members of the Gay family—attended services twice a week, which included imbibing generous amounts of “spirits” in the hope of finding higher spirits. Apparently, such dedicated alcohol consumption caused a host of social issues, but the settlement continued to thrive.

In 1811, a textile mill was built, and soon other mills, shops, homes and even a distillery followed. The town was soon known as Factory Hollow, and had its ups and downs over the next few decades—the main mill burned down twice, the second time in 1885, and the town never really recovered.

According to one story from the Bolton Historical Society, it was claimed that the water in the settlement “ran uphill” from the pond to the mill, which spooked a few residents.

Factory Hollow also suffered other problems, including two alleged murders, both of which pre-date the Civil War. According to David Philips’ Legendary Connecticut, the first one involved a jewelry peddler, who may have been robbed and murdered by the village charcoal-burner, although the actual perpetrator was never brought to justice; the unfortunate merchant’s skeleton was discovered in a charcoal pit near the edge of town, damning evidence for some. The second untimely death involved a blacksmith’s apprentice—the story goes that the young lad showed up late to ye olde shoppe one day and ye olde blacksmithee took extreme exception, stabbing the tardy assistant to death, and then beheading him. (What would’ve happened if the apprentice had played sick for an entire day?!) As with the other murder, no records exist of the crime, no was anyone apparently ever arrested for it.

Grisly stories aside, like what happens to many towns when the main employer burns to the ground and is no longer viable, the residents of Factory Hollow started leaving. By the end of the 19th century, the town was essentially abandoned, and then was slowly swallowed up by the surrounding countryside. Finally, the land was sold by Emma Foster (one of the last descendants of those who lived there) to the state in 1943, with the stipulation that the area be renamed Gay City. A year later, Gay City officially became a state park.

Despite the decades of neglect, a few of the original structures still stand and can be explored, including house foundations, stone cellars and the walls of an old paper mill. Gay City is now more like Ghost City, which is just fine for those who love to explore such locations.

For years, visitors supposedly saw the spirits of the murdered victims wandering around the forests that have now grown up through the village. Up until recently, the story was also told that someone long ago had drowned in the pond at the park, although there hadn’t been any documentation of the event. Tragically, in May 2010, a New Britain teenage did drown in the pond while swimming, so that event can now be considered true.

What is not confirmed are the dozens of stories, rumors and reports alluding to the supernatural activities in Gay City. Like many purportedly haunted locales, the abandoned town is  home to all sorts of otherworldly phenomena. As mentioned, there have been alleged sightings of specters and spirits—one is allegedly the blacksmith’s apprentice, running through the woods with his head in his hands! In addition to other disembodied voices (including one that murmurs “The hollow”) and mysterious footsteps, spirit mists and other odd manifestations have been supposedly observed. Paranormal teams who have investigated her claim to have recorded EVPs and taken orb photos as well as having had other unusual experiences; Connecticut Ghost Seekers have investigated the park on three separate occasions.

Gay City may have been abandoned, but it doesn’t mean that its story is over.

Our Damned Experience: We have yet to mill about Gay City . . . not that there’s anything wrong with it.

If You Go: Like most state parks, Gay City State Park is open year-round, daily from 8 a.m. to sunset, although the official parking lot is only available from April through Columbus Day. (Winter parking is available.) In addition to hiking and exploring the abandoned ruins, visitors can also bike, fish and swim, among other recreational activities. The area around the pond makes for a nice little picnic area, so feel free to pack a lunch when you visit!

The park entrance is located on Route 85 in Hebron.

Of course, Connecticut has a history of lakes with interesting items belong them. One of our favorites is Gardner Lake in Salem where an entire house sits on the bottom, the result of an ill-timed transport across a pond that wasn’t quite frozen all the way through.

Image courtesy of NASA

Although thousands enjoy the beauty of that state’s largest lake, Candlewood Lake, very few realize that it’s one of the largest man-made lakes in the state. Even fewer realize that when it was created, a lot of interesting things were left in place, and today still sit on the bottom of the lake.

In the mid 1920s, Connecticut Light & Power Co. decided that it wanted to build a hydro-electric, and settled on the over 5,000 acres of narrow valleys in Brookfield, New Milford, Sherman, Danbury and New Fairfield. Plans were approved in 1926, and for the next two years, the massive engineering feat was undertaken by 1,400 laborers. According to historian and scuba diver Ray Crawford in this story at the Housatonic Times online, thousands of acres of woodland was cleared, the Rocky River was dammed and water was pumped over from the nearby Housatonic River to help flood the area. By 1928, the lake had been created.

Apparently, in the zeal to get the project done, people who lived in the projected flood area were often forced to leave large possessions behind.

From CandlewoodLake.org:

“When Candlewood Lake was created in the 1920s inhabitants were relocated elsewhere, but many of the buildings in the valley were left standing and a considerable amount of personal property, including a great deal of farm equipment, was left behind. The roads that connected modern day Brookfield and New Milford with New Fairfield were not torn up before the valley was flooded and Scuba Divers, with the aid of either of the two local dive shops in Brookfield, can investigate remnants of the pre-lake era, even following the roads underwater. Divers have noted highlights that include Model T Fords, plane wreckage from craft that have hit the lake since its creation, and covered bridges from the pre-lake era.”

A small village by the name of Jerusalem was also buried under the waters; it included a grist mill, a school and a few homes. Many homes were burned down to the foundations before the water came, although the foundations themselves were left.

In short, there’s a treasure trove of forgotten history sitting under the waters of Candlewood Lake. Keep that in mind next time you’re floating along on its surface.

Of course, a lot of use are familiar with Seaside in its current state — an abandoned and dilapidated mental hospital right on the shore of Long Island Sound — but when it was first built, it was a shining medical facility dedicated to children with tuberculosis. From the pictures (which I scanned from the magazine) and the text below, you will see that modern medicine has come a long way in the past 70 years.

This is the main Maher Infirmary, when it was first opened.

So shiny and bright!

Some excerpts from the article –

Nestled before a background of woods is a rambling, four-story structure with ells coming forward at either end, gables topping the ells and a moderate steeple extending up from the very center of the long, horizontal part of the building. The structure stands almost on the beach, facing the vast stretch of blue water. But neither the architecture nor the beautiful setting will warm you up.

Along the entire front of the building are handsomely designed galleries. On each ell, as it protrudes toward the water is a gallery, all protected by high railings. And upon these galleries are cots. And upon these cots, exposed completely to the howling winds and zero temperature are children. They are lying there or playing on the beds, or walking about the galleries—with no other clothing than loin cloths. That’s when you begin to forget how could you are.

Here 142 children, who have learned to deny the heat and the cold for a common cause—health. They are allowing the sun and the wind and the heat and the cold to mend their bones, which have been violated by tuberculosis. The structure, with its other buildings and beautifully laid out grounds, is Connecticut’s Seaside Sanatorium …

 

 … There is no “grind” at Seaside. Everything is accomplished in the spirit of play. Everyone is laughing. The rooms are painted to illustrate children’s stories. It is a place where snow men are builded by near-naked children in the winter and where houses are erected of pure white sand on the beach in summer. Dr. O’Brien is out there playing with them most of the time. It is a question of good food, air and sunshine, and “let nature take its course.”

One of the marvelous features of the institution is he school system where children lose no time from their studies. They are taught in the snappiest classrooms in the State, with excellent desks, handsomely decorated school rooms, with their walls about all glass and their windows generally thrown open …

… All in all it is an ideal institution, headed by an ideal man, in an ideal location. The results of treatment have proven beyond all expectations. It is said there is only one other institution like it in the country. There couldn’t be a better one—and that is why Connecticut points with pride to her accomplishment in the cure of bone and glandular tuberculosis.

A trip to the institution will have a sobering effect upon a thoughtful person. He is very liable to throw his windows open quite a bit wider on zero nights. He may park his automobile a little farther away from his office the next day and hike the remaining difference. He may visit night clubs less often and leave earlier. He might take his son’s Boy Scout activities or his daughter’s Campfire program more seriously. A visit to the institution is said to be especially good for those 40-year-old waist lines.

Again, modern medicine has come a loooooooong way in a relatively short time. Thank goodness.

Although it’s now known as a ski resort, for centuries Mohawk Mountain, with its great relative elevation (1,600 feet) and view of surrounding areas, has been used as a place for observation towers—it became known as Mohawk Mountain after other Native American tribes would light signal fires here to warn about impending Mohawk raids.

According to the Litchfield Historical Society –

The Mohawk Tower Association was formed in 1882 by residents of Litchfield, Goshen and Cornwall, Connecticut to provide an observation tower on Mohawk Mountain from which the view to the horizon could be seen in all directions. The first meeting of the Association was held at the Town Hall in Goshen on August 26, 1882.

A wooden pole tower was erected that year by Cyrus W. March and his son Charles, of Cornwall, on the summit of Mohawk Mountain after acquiring the title to an acre of land from Hunt, Lyman Iron Company. In 1882, 542 individuals visited the Tower, and the association collected $339.30 in receipts. In 1883, 687 persons visited the tower and a log cabin was built on the site at a cost of $400. In 1885 a subscription was started to purchase a telescope for the tower. By 1892 the tower was unsafe to climb, and the cabin was looted and began to fall into ruin. The wood tower later completely collapsed.

In 1912 Seymour Cunningham began acquiring land in the area. He purchased the Schlittenhart farm from Harrison Ives, as well as the adjoining farms of William H. Baldwin and Luke Richards. Mr. Cunningham was then able to secure the majority interest in the Mohawk Tower Association. At a meeting at Mohawk Tower on September 1, 1913 it was voted to deed and assign all the property of the Association to Mr. Cunningham.

After acquiring the land Cunningham erected a new round stone tower in place of the collapsed wooden structure. The new structure was thirty feet in circumference and thirty feet high, and referred to as “Aerie.” The area was fenced for sheep and many thousand Red and White seedlings were planted.

The sheep farm eventually failed, and the land was sold to Alain White, whose family eventually donated the property to the state in 1921.

The steel-braced tower has seen better days—the second level is completely gone, opening the top to the sky above. It has a large fireplace, which some visitors still seem to use for fires from time to time. The tower has also been abused by vandals and graffiti artists, which adds to the creepy, abandoned atmosphere. If you are so inclined, there are picnic tables where you can enjoy a bite while taking in the view.

Refreshingly, we can find no ghost or haunting stories about the tower, which is surprising when it seems that every other abandoned and slightly unusual place in the state seems to have claims of some sort of supernatural activity.

Our Damned Experience: We have never been to Cunningham Tower, but in our youth, we had a crush on Joanie Cunningham, even though she ultimately loved Chachi.

If You Go: Cunningham Tower is along the blue-blazed trail Mohawk/Mattatuck Trail in Mohawk Mountain State Park and Mohawk State Forest in Cornwall and Goshen. It is not too far from the ski area—it’s pretty clearly marked on the official “Northern Section” trail map.

The gates to the forest and state park are officially open to the public between April and November, and are located on Great Hollow Road in Cornwall, just off of Route 4; there are no parking fees.

Images by Ray Bendici

The Damned Story: One of the first major entertainment venues built in the Lower Naugatuck Valley, the Sterling Opera House has hosted vaudeville legends, internationally renowned figures and historical theatrical premieres. Now, some claim that facility now is home to multiple spirits who are still seeking their moment in the spotlight.

Opened on April 2, 1889, the building was designed with Italianate Victorian influences. The main 1,200-seat auditorium featured a giant proscenium arch, an orchestra pit and unobstructed views of the stage. When in ideal condition, the acoustics were said to be so good that even a whisper on stage could be heard in the back of the room.

The Sterling saw many of the biggest entertainers of the early 20th century upon its stage. Legendary actor Lionel Barrymore performed here, as did escape artist supreme Harry Houdini. Boxing champion John L. Sullivan did a turn as Simon Legree in a production of Uncle Tom’s Cabin, while Amelia Earhart addressed a local women’s club. Master comedian Red Skelton  yucked it up for the locals, and no doubt more than one foot was a-tappin’ when march king John Philip Sousa brought his star-spangled band to town. Famed auteur D.W. Griffith even allegedly premiered the seminal The Birth of a Nation here, among other films.

Despite its storied history, the Sterling Opera House primarily ceased functioning as an entertainment venue in 1945, and served as city hall and a police substation until the 1960s. It then was abandoned and fell into disrepair.

In 1968, the building was the first in Connecticut to be listed on the National Register of Historical Places. It is in the midst of renovation plans and fund-raising efforts with hopes of being opened once again as an entertainment venue. Some work has already been done, including new cupolas having been added in recent years.

Paranormal investigators here have claimed to recorded multiple EVPs, including the voices of children, as well as images depicting spirit mists and orbs. Shadow figures and other apparitions have been reported here, also. One picture taken purportedly shows the spirits of a woman in Victorian-era dress and a child. In addition, witnesses have claimed to see the hand prints of a child appear in various spots.

Unlike other haunted places, there doesn’t seem to be a particular tragic story associated with the opera house. Some believe that the alleged spirits here might be associated with Charles Sterling, the man for whom the structure is named and who died before it was completed, or his widow; other think that the spirit of a young boy is trapped here, eternally treading the floorboards.

In an episode that premiered in April 2011, SyFy’s “Ghost Hunters” investigated the opera house.

Our Damned Experience: In June 2011, we were invited by Rich DiCarlo, chairman of the Derby Cultural Commission, to visit the Sterling Opera House. We met up with Rich, as well as Dan Rivera and Troy Leong of Above the Realm paranormal investigative team. Rich was kind enough to give us a full tour of the building, and provided a wealth of information regarding all the paranormal experiences that have supposedly happened at the opera house.

Although the renovations on the exterior of the building have been complete, the interior needs a lot of work, as you can see in the pictures below. Despite that, this building clearly must’ve been a wonderful performance venue in its heyday, an intimate space with absolutely terrific acoustics — even now, from the back of the upper balcony you can easily hear what’s being said on the stage. If a full restoration is able to be completed, the opera house will once again be one of the gems of the state.

In the meantime, the walls are peeling, the floors are dusty and the air is musty, especially when it’s warm. The building is structurally sound although there are spots where caution is necessary, especially around staircases, which can be steep. The windows are all new, so it’s not a drafty place, and when the place is locked up, there are no tresspassers, so it’s in generally decent shape for a place that’s been abandoned for a few decades.

We went up into the balcony and checked out the “haunted chair,” which is next to a pole in the middle level. One things the pictures don’t give you a sense of is what an intimate space the opera house is — the upper balcony area seems to go straight up!

We went backstage and into the dressing room area, where there are all sorts of remnants of the Sterling’s rich history, from the signatures of performers scrawled on walls (some over a century old) to tattered show posters. We also went down into the lower level, which at one time served as city hall and the police station — you do NOT want to be locked up in one of the jail cells down there now! We also went into the room that the Ghost Hunters speculated gave the people creeps because of the high windows.

Many of the experiences here are believed to revolve around an entity called “Andy,” whom Rich told us is the spirit of a young boy. Throughout the opera house, there are toys and balls for Andy to “play” with — in the back of the main hall, there are even a few balls set up on empty cardboard tubes for Andy to knock off. Rich shared a few other unusual episodes that he’s had in the building, from witnessing a hand print appear in the dust of a chair to seeing balls move around on their own.

During our visit, we didn’t see any balls moving of their own accord. Actually, our entire visit was pretty quiet, but still very cool.

Multiple investigators have recorded EVPs of what they believe is the voice of a young child — Dan played us one EVP that he recorded of what sounded like a young boy singing. Creepy! Above the Realm has done numerous investigations here and has gotten some interesting evidence.

If You Go: The Sterling Opera House is located in downtown Derby at 116 Elizabeth Street. It currently is not open to the public.

Save Our Sterling is an organization dedicated to preserving the history of the opera house’s legacy and is spearheading the building’s restoration.

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Emory Johnson Homestead

The Damned Story: In East Haddam, a few miles north of the fabled Goodspeed Opera House and near to the border of Moodus, is a 52-acre parcel of land that once was the village of Johnsonville. Once a thriving mill community, then a Victorian Era tourist attraction, it’s now an abandoned ghost town, stuck in limbo waiting for someone to either come and restore it or to put it out of its misery and knock it down.

Of course, Johnsonville didn’t start with intentions of becoming a deserted village. Originally founded in the early 19th century, Johnsonville was home to a number of twine mills, who used the Moodus River as a power source.

In the early 1960s, Raymond Schmitt, the somewhat eccentric owner of AGC Corporation, an aerospace equipment manufacturer, bought the property with unclear intentions. He seemed to want to make it a tourist attraction, but despite making an effort to, never really officially did so.

After Schmitt took possession of the property, he purchased other vintage buildings and had them moved to Johnsonville, including a Victorian stable and chapel, which hosted weddings. Schmitt didn’t formally run tours on the property, but he did open the property for visitors on a regular basis. He also allowed special events including charity benefits and weddings.

According to a November 2000 article in Business New Haven, he also had “an exceptional collection of antique horse-drawn carriages, which he displayed in the livery stable.”

More details of the property, according to the Business New Haven story:

One of the jewels is the Emory Johnson homestead. Built in 1846 by the son-in-law of one of the original owners of the mill, the four-bedroom house has three fireplaces, pillared porches, a formal garden and original Victorian-era details. In later years it served as a museum depicting décor and furnishings of the 1800s.

A small one-and-a-half story single-family dwelling was built in 1900. A two-story Colonial-style house was built in 1846. The remaining residence is a two-story dwelling built in 1800.

The office, overlooking the 15-acre Johnson Millpond, was built in 1899. The former location of the Neptune mill office, the building was once a post office. The Gilead Chapel, which seats approximately 75 worshippers, was built in 1876 and moved to the village from Waterford in the late 1960s.

No one knows the exact age of the one-room Hyde School, which was the original schoolhouse for the community of East Haddam. The Red House Restaurant was built in 1900 and has been renovated into a restaurant/banquet facility for 150-200 people. A clock and toy store, originally used as a meeting house, was built in the 1800s; Frank General Store was built in 1845 in Peru, Mass.

The Gilbert Livery Stable was reportedly built in Winsted in 1920. Its three levels contain oak stalls with unusual woodwork, including beadboard and raised panels. All of this is in a beautiful setting with views of the river, a millpond, island, waterfall and some man-made features such as a covered bridge, wooden dam, paddlewheel riverboat.

In 1994, Schmitt got into a disagreement with the town of East Haddam and shut down the attraction, putting the property up for sale. Schmitt died in 1998, and his estate started selling off many of the antiques and other pieces of the property, including some of the buildings. At one point the property was listed for $3 million, not a bad price for 60-plus acres of scenic Connecticut countryside. With the market down as it is, it may be even more inexpensive at this point.

Some suggest that the ghost of Schmitt roams the grounds of Johnsonville, content to spend eternity in a place for which he had so much affection. We haven’t heard of any other specific ghost stories here, but like any long-abandoned settlement, there’s an undeniable creepiness inherent to the place.

Our Damned Experience: We took a trip to East Haddam in April 2011, which included a ride down Johnsonville Road and through the abandoned village.

As you can see, we stopped and took photos of the buildings that were still there, including the chapel and Johnson House. The village is in okay condition — some of the places could use a little paint and care, but it’s not like the walls are collapsing and the ceilings are caved in.

Like any good “abandoned” area, it was very quiet — although the funny thing is that just on all sides of Johnsonville is normal suburbia, with plenty of modest homes containing average American families. Kids ride bikes down the street, men tend to their lawns, minivans are parked in driveways … Johnsonville is like a weird dead spot in an otherwise regular Connecticut neighborhood.

We didn’t see or experience anything unusual, although it would’ve been great to hang around and take more pictures. Next time!

If You Go: The remains of Johnsonville can be found on Johnsonville Road in East Haddam, just off of Route 149 near the Moodus end of town. No trespassing signs are posted throughout the property, although there’s nothing to stop you from driving along Johnsonville Road.

Image by Ray Bendici

The Damned Story: Originally built as a facility to treat children with tuberculosis, Seaside Sanatorium has had a long history serving as a medical facility. Overlooking Long Island Sound, it has also been a home for the elderly, a medical hospital and a facility to treat the mentally handicapped.

Opened in the early 1930s, the building itself was designed by the renowned architect Cass Gilbert, who also designed the U.S. Supreme Court in Washington as well as the famed Woolworth Building in New York City and the landmark Union Station in New Haven. Its first young inhabitants were sent there as a remedy for their affliction as it was thought the fresh air and sunshine would be beneficial. In 1958, the building took on a new purpose for three years, treating elderly folk, then became a home for the mentally challenged. Unfortunately, in the early 1970s it came to light that some patients were being violently abused by some of the staff; in the mid 1990s, patients were turning up dead a at a higher rate than normal.

With many unanswered allegations and after decades of service, Seaside Sanatorium was closed in 1996; it has passed through the hands of a few developers, getting hung up in various protracted legal battle. Currently, the property — a prime parcel of beachfront — remains abandoned, although there are slow-moving plans to knock down the buildings and replace them with condos.

The New England Paranormal Video Research Group investigated this place in 2007, thinking that with Seaside’s long, dark and sometimes tragic history — and spooky, abandoned vibe — it might be a good target for paranormal investigation. They were able to capture a few EVPs [Electronic Voice Phenomena] and a few spirit orb photographs. The group’s resident sensitive also experienced some strong sensations.

Our Damned Experience: Cameras in hand (as always) we visited Seaside Sanatorium on an overcast day in late April 2011. We parked outside the main entrance with all the other people who were enjoying the grounds — it must’ve been “Bring Your Dog to Seaside Day” — and walked onto the property.

Image by Kate Geruntho Frank

The buildings are all boarded up, but it’s easy to see that when they were open and functioning, that the whole place must’ve been very appealing. Unlike many other state institutions, time and effort was clearly put into the aesthetic qualities of building design — it’s reminiscent of a classic New England private school.

We wandered around the buildings — as you can see in the photo gallery, the exteriors have been allowed to rot and the interiors are pretty much trashed at this point; it appears that some equipment was even left behind. We didn’t notice or see anything unusual or weird, although Kate says she felt some odd vibes. Like any abandoned place, there’s a certain level of inherent creepiness, to be sure. (Especially the abandoned playground equipment!)

Unlike many other visitors, we didn’t encounter any security guards on the grounds, but then again, we never tried to get into any of the buildings — even with all our tetanus shots up-to-date, we were content with sticking our camera lenses through the broken windows and snapping away. The place looks like it’s ready to come down fairly easily.

Still, even without going inside — which we do NOT recommend or condone — it’s still well worth a visit.

If You Go: Seaside Sanatorium is located just off of Shore Road in Waterford (down the street from Harkness Memorial State Park), on a scenic stretch of Connecticut coastline. The grounds are open to the public, but the buildings are absolutely off limits.

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View Woodsea Pl in a larger map

Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

The Damned Story: When you mention a river flowing through Hartford, most would immediately think of the Connecticut River, which borders the eastern half of the city. Very few know that there’s another river in the city — or more accurately, under the city.

Time to take a trip down the Park River, a.k.a. Hog River or Little River.

For hundreds, if not thousands, of years, a small river ran in from the Northwest end of the landscape that is now Hartford, winding down through the heart of the city and to southeast, eventually joining up with the Connecticut River. Originally known as the “Little River” by early settlers (with the Connecticut being the “Big River”), development quickly sprung up along its muddy banks. Initially used as a source for mills and other factories, it soon became a dumping trough for industrial — and human — waste. It was referred to as the “Mill River” for a short time, and then the “Hog River,” because of the obvious: Pigs were kept in farms along some stretches of it.

Not surprisingly, between the pigs, factory waste and human poop, the Hog River became horribly polluted and eventually smelled as bad as it sounded.

Still, the river was a key, if noxious, aspect of the city. In an attempt to clean it up a bit, a park was created around it in the hopes that less factories and homes might render it a bit less odious. Spearheaded by respected Hartford minister Horace Bushnell, the effort didn’t quite have the desired effect, although the city did get a new park (named for Bushnell) and a new name for the byway — the Park River.

A new name and a pretty park were all well and good, but the city also needed a new plan to deal with the nasty river, which was becoming even more a problem during flooding season — imagine a proud capitol city swamped with trash, garbage and excrement on an annual basis. The floods of 1936 and 1938 were particularly damaging, and lead to the formulation of a more permanent solution to the problem of the stinking waterway: Bury it.

The Army Corps of Engineers were brought in, and over the course of the 1940s, the Bushnell Park section of the river was re-routed into a 30-foot-high by 45-foot-wide concrete tunnel under Hartford. During the next four decades, the rest of the river was buried, a public works project that when complete, cost over $100 milli0n and resulted in nine miles of river being placed out of sight, and for the most part, out of mind.

Currently, there are parts of the Park River in Hartford that are above ground — where it runs through the University of Hartford campus, meanders through town to the UConn Law School campus and to Farmington Avenue (not too far from the Mark Twain House). It is at this point that it begins its subterranean journey beneath the city, essentially a straight shot under the Capitol and Bushnell Park before dumping out into the Connecticut River, close to where the Whitehead Highway connects with I-91.

The underground portion is accessible when water levels are low. From somewhat recent accounts, however, the river is still a bit of a nasty, stinky place, with sewage and other runoff.

For a more detailed history of the Little/Hog/Mill/Park River, you can visit the Bushnell Park site or Connecticut Explored, formerly known as The Hog River Journal.

Our Damned Experience: Although we’ve been left up more than one river without a paddle, we have not yet made our way down the Park River and under Hartford.

If You Go: The upper, exposed portion of the Park River is open to the public, but the part under the city is currently off limits. At one point, canoe tours were available — we contacted the group that used to run them, and they informed us that they had to stop because of legal liability issues.

You can visit where the river goes underground, which is right off of Farmington Avenue, or where it meets up the Connecticut River near I-91 in Hartford, which is shown in the picture above.

Courtesy of the National Register of Historic Places

The Damned Story: Although there are thousands of state residents who have attended the University of Connecticut, very few are familiar with the story of the Depot Campus, and how it was formerly the Mansfield Training School. Or how the buildings belonging to the former mental hospital are believed by some to be haunted.

In a demonstration of how political correctness is a 21st-century invention, the Mansfield Training School originally started in 1860 as the “Connecticut School for Imbeciles,” and was located in Lakeville. As hard as it is to believe, that name eventually offended someone, and in 1915 it was re-christened the “Connecticut Training School for Feebleminded.” (Yeah, that’s much better.) In 1917, it was merged with Connecticut Colony for Epileptics in Mansfield, where the new 350-acre campus was opened under the official banner of the Mansfield Training School and Hospital.

With its isolated location and bucolic setting, the Mansfield Training School was an ideal place to treat those afflicted with mental disorders. For the next 60 years it was home to residents who suffered from all sorts of mental afflictions. At the height of its use, it housed over 1,800 residents and featured over 50 buildings, most of which were devoted to patient treatment. It also had a small farm that provided occupational therapy for some of the epileptic patients in addition to food for the facility.

Sadly, like other hospitals that dealt with mental illness, there were allegations of poor conditions and abuse, although many, many more people were helped rather than hurt during their stays. Overall, the facility appeared to have a dedicated, caring staff and a good reputation.

After numerous lawsuits and concerns about the conditions, however, the Mansfield Training School was closed in 1993; patients were sent to more modern facilities and institutions throughout the state. A few of the most dilapidated buildings were demolished while others became part of the University of Connecticut as its Depot Campus. Another part of the original campus was annexed by the Bergin Correctional Center, a level-2 minimum security facility for male offenders.

In 1987, the Mansfield Training School was added to the National Register of Historic Places.

Again, despite the mostly positive, caring work that went on here (and at other similar facilities), there seems to be a story or two of negative incidents, any one of which is enough to initiate stories of restless souls and troubled spirits.

Consequently, there have been reports of spirit mists and orbs here, as well as experiences involving unexplained voices, sounds and shapes. The building of the former Knight Hospital is one place where unexplained phenomena is still allegedly observed.

Courtesy of National Register of Historic Places

Paranormal groups, such as PROOF, have also investigated a few of the buildings, and claim to have found evidence confirming paranormal activity, for what it’s worth.

Our Damned Experience: When we visited UConn’s Ballard Institute of Puppetry in 2010, we mentioned that the museum was located in an old, seemingly abandoned area on the Depot Campus, which as it turns out, was part of the Mansfield Training School. So we were there without even realizing it!

As we mentioned when we visited, that area of the campus feels a bit like a forgotten part of the campus. Now we have a reason to go back and explore a bit!

If You Go: The grounds of the former Mansfield Training School are now part of UConn’s Depot Campus on Route 44 in Storrs, and thus are open to the public. As mentioned, the Ballard Institute of Puppetry is here, in addition to the Center for Clean Energy Engineering, Human Resources, Community School of the Arts and Chaplin Cottage.

On the other side of Route 44 is the Bergin Correctional Center, which also features some of the former training school campus, although it’s not exactly open to the public in the conventional sense.

On the UConn side, some of the old structures remain empty, and have been overgrown by weeds and ivy. Obviously, visitors are vigorously discouraged from entering these buildings.

From Jackson’s blog:

Anyway, I hustled out there to take some photos of the art before it was gone. I wasn’t surprised to find the po-po stationed at the beginning of the construction road going through the dunes. I asked an officer about the artists. He said they didn’t know how long the artists had been camping on Long Beach West but the place was deserted now. He also said a lot of people had recently been ticketed for trespassing out there. He added that while it was acceptable for me to take pictures of the cottages from below the high-tide mark (which in Connecticut is open land), if I or anybody else went above it, we would be “jackpotted.” Does anybody really believe a main function of the police isn’t revenue collection?

I thanked him, then drove to a paddleboard launch far from his prying eyes. I paddled up Lewis Gut and used one of the still-existent docks to access the cottages. There was no one about; the workers were only doing preparation work on the road, with the actual demolition days away. I surreptitiously took my photos (exteriors only, since this cat has an aversion to treeing himself) and then paddled away. Mischief managed.

You can see some images he captured of the art on his blog — cool stuff!

Courtesy of savepleasurebeach.com

Jackson is well acquainted with Long Beach West — here’s a great photo essay he’s done, while here’s a piece he recently penned for Connecticut Magazine about how Pleasure Beach (60 acres of prime Connecticut waterfront) has been allowed to waste away like a ghost town for 14 years! Just mindboggling.

If you don’t know the (“abridged”) story — starting in the late 19th century and going on for decades, Pleasure Beach was a popular Connecticut destination, with seasonal cottages and an amusement park that thousands would visit each summer. It was connected to the main land in Bridgeport by a swing bridge, which unfortunately burned in a 1996 fire. Rather than fix the bridge, the decision was made to vacate the island, and it has stayed empty ever since. The buildings and amusement park were literally left to rot, and have fallen victim to vandals and the elements.

As mentioned, it’s a barrier beach, and you can hike out there from Stratford — technically, there is no trespassing, but if you stay below the high-tide line, you can visit since that is outside of town’s jurisdiction.

Since being abandoned, Pleasure Beach/Long Beach West has been a political football, batted about by politicians, developers and special interest groups. The Stratford end of the beach is now home to all sorts of wildlife, including endangered sea birds like the piping plover, which nest there in the summer; there was talk of selling the property to the U.S. Department of Environmental Protection, but that deal fell through. The structures on the Bridgeport end, including old cottages and some remnants of the old amusement park, are slowly collapsing or being demolished, but still, there are no specific plans for the site — some want to have a natural recreation area for all to enjoy, others want to sell it for development. Recently, the town of Stratford has begun to demolish some of the cottages on the Long Beach West end.

Meanwhile, another summer has passed and this potentially wonderful resource continues to go unused — you know, aside from the artists who have tried to make something out what was formerly a great place to visit.