Page 110 - Demo

108The National Home late-fall chill accompanied us as we entered the bucolic grounds of the Veterans AdministrationNorthern Indiana Health Care System, Marion Campus. At the gate house, we got directions to Building 52, where Mick Magill worked. A social worker, Mick was to be our guide to, and through, the aging, unused structures sitting idle among the tall shade trees and well-tended lawns. Mick first escorted us to an interconnected series of rambling, brick 1890%u2019s buildings that had been the first hospital complex then, later, administrative offices. They%u2019d been empty since the 1970s and, because of the prohibitive cost of demolition, were disintegrating slowly behind chain-link fencing. After unlocking the gate, the three of us stepped in, as Mick informed us that President William Howard Taft (America%u2019s heftiest Chief Executive) had been photographed in an especially large chair in front of the curving front porch. He added that this had been one of the earliest Veterans Hospitals (1865), and it was originally called The National Asylum for Disabled Volunteer Soldiers, or simply The National Home%u2014a genial epithet still used today. Sensing our interest, Mick phoned fellow employee, Heather Tarr, who came by with a gift%u2014a book she%u2019d compiled about the facility%u2019s long history of service, in both photographs and text. It was obvious Mick was enjoying the day%u2019s explorations as much as we were. %u201cWhat do you want to see next?%u201d he eagerly asked. We told him to choose. His recommendation was Building 122, the former Mess Hall/Kitchen, built in 1938. Onward we went.After climbing an impressive set of steps to a pair of double front doors, we crossed the threshold into a rather basic-looking cafeteria/dining room. However, in the rear, we came upon a magical scene%u2014a huge kitchen festooned with vast quantities of peeling paint. %u201cThat happens when a building%u2019s not heated anymore,%u201d Mick sadly remarked. Next, we headed to a row of townhouse-like 1889 Ward Buildings. Unlocking the door to one, we entered, and could see the interior had been remodeled a few decades earlier. As we roamed about, we found odd still lifes, such as a stacked trio of wall clocks in a corner (each stopped at a different time), and a tangled m%u00e9lange of sheets, restraints, and curtains. More forgotten flotsam%u2014bandages, a tray, tongue depressors, papers and forms, a hand-lettered %u201cclean out the refrigerator%u201d sign%u2014was scattered on desks, countertops, and the floor. All were silent vestiges from years of care and service.Mick then took us to several other unused relics, including an 1896, two-story, white-frame Director%u2019s Quarters; the compact, 1897 limestone Gate House; and the collapsing Greenhouse. Built for physical and psychological therapy, the Greenhouse was overrun with wild jungle-like plants pressing their browned leaves up against dingy panes of glass. Unthwartable trees pierced the mangled roof. Ironically, many of the Home%u2019s vacant buildings%u2014erected as places of healing and hope%u2014have no hope of being restored or saved themselves.Original Hospital Building, The National Home, 1890%u2014Marion, Grant Co. (976.05)A