Lima Tuberculosis Hospital – The White Plague

Between 1900-1910, a disease began to heavily sweep the land, causing the bodies of carriers to waste away, coughing up blood, leaving the infected person very weak, almost always becoming deadly in most cases. This disease is known as tuberculosis, which grew rapidly, becoming a very scary and very contagious disease during the early to mid 1900s. The town of Lima, Ohio in Allen County had seen the sickness spreading faster and faster, finally coming to a decision to build a hospital off the grid. Isolation was key in providing treatment for these patients, and new facilities were built away from other hospitals to help stop further spread.

The Lima Tuberculosis Hospital opened its doors on April 5, 1911 and was one of the first of its kind in the state of Ohio. The facility began admitting patients ranging anywhere from the age of 7 to 70 at an average stay of 3-5 years for treatment. In January 1960, the facility had been renamed to the Ottowa Valley Hospital. While its life as hospital had ended almost fully in 1970, the building was still used for the following 3 years to house a final group of few patients, concluded by a final closure in 1973, when the very last patient was released.

The building now remains a favorite location for many ghost hunters, who claim to have heard noises or seen figures while traversing the grounds. The city had estimated in 1909, that they believed over 3,000 would die of this deadly disease, so I suppose it wouldn’t be too far off to question some kind of paranormal happenings inside.

Buildings like this always seem to carry such a dark history when forgotten, giving off strange, silent whispers of a past life full of death. As we emerged from the slight overgrowth, which had been mostly grayed out by cold winter winds, we stood at the curve of a cracked and crumbled driveway, previously the main drive into hospital grounds, where we were greeted by the large, decaying brick structure standing before us. Dirt piles have been built up against each entrance, seemingly to keep people away from entering. As we traveled up and down through each hallway, you could see time literally peeling away at the building’s walls. Each floor sits open to the outside, due to scrappers and vandals removing every last window. The bright side is that Summer months must provide a nice breeze blowing through, and if you feel like swimming, there is always a make-shift diving board residing at the edge of a second story floor, where an entire center room has fallen into the basement, allowing for a swim through a wonderful pool of rusty nails, rotten wood and crumbled brick.

The 40+ years of open air have allowed for this deadly disease to escape, no longer lingering inside the ward. Though all is gone and it seems that time has been lost under debris, tossed away with any stories of former life, if the walls inside this structure could talk, I’m sure this building could give us a few books full. The stories, which have been lost in time over years of decay and destruction, will remain forgotten mysteries to us, and I will always continue to wander throughout the rattling thoughts inside my head, attempting to peak into the past.

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Life In Cleveland’s West Side

Just a few nights ago, it was decided between a friend and I that we would take a small adventure to walk around downtown. I mean, the fact that downtown is only a short ride from our homes, why not go have a fun walk through the city?

Cleveland has gained such a negative reputation over the years for loss of jobs and industry, but lurking behind the grey skies hides a less talked about section of life, shining vibrantly in both the day and night.

Upon our arrival, the rain had just begun, of course, but that was not going to stop us from continuing our small journey. While wandering, shooting some photographs of lights reflecting on the wet ground, we stumbled into a bar down a beautifully lit alleyway. As an added bonus, this bar housed not only a great atmosphere and amazing people, but a bowling alley! Let’s not stray so quickly from the great employees though, one in particular being the one who tended to us at the bar…but a bowling alley as well!

You can always meet some interesting characters in the city, and they are not always horribly dangerous. (Not saying you should not take caution at times)

“I served some time in prison, and by the time I was out and returned home, I came home to find that my parents were dead. I try to sell these roses, trying to make a little bit of extra money, which is how I ended up losing my toes, during a cold winter out here.”

This guy was pretty chill and had some interesting stories to share. Nobody wanted to buy his roses though…hey I mean they were good roses.

Onward to our next destination, down a smaller alleyway, we had noticed a door leading into a place called Zocalo. What attracted us into here was the amazing spiral architecture leading from top to bottom. Soon we will be making a few more trips out, wandering around and I will be capturing more of Cleveland’s less talked about beautiful side.

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Faymore Castle

Surrounded by a barricade of poison ivy, sat nearly creek side deep within the forest, sits the remains of Dr. Faymore’s castle. Like a forgotten medieval mystery, the castle towers loom from the overgrowth of forest that has come to surround the structure today. Dr. Faymore had ordered the building of this structure to begin in the 1970s, which was coming along quite smoothly, until Faymore was arrested on drug charges in 1982.


Leonard Faymore was a licensed doctor, who had graduated the College of Osteophathic Medicine in the 1960s, taking a job within a clinic in 1968; finally purchasing the facility in the 1970s. By 1980, Faymore had hundreds of addicts flocking to his clinic, from 9 different states and 99 cities in Ohio. The man was a well-known drug lord, and people from all over knew exactly where to go to obtain their prescription medications, including the DEA. Due to the constantly high visitation to his clinic, the DEA began watching over, and even selling him 21,000 Quaaludes, 7,200 Talwins, 7,200 TBZ+’s, which had finally led to his arrest; but it wasn’t just that easy.

Upon the doctor’s final agreement in this transaction, one of the two agents quickly pulled his revolver, tried to slap the cuffs on and was met with a struggle. The doctor had wiggled his way to freedom, but in this attempt to detain Faymore, the agent let off one shot, grazing his right ear. Faymore quickly made his way to a vehicle, beginning a dangerous high-speed chase with police. It wasn’t long into this chase that he had finally reached a dead end, resulting in his capture. Faymore was arrested on 11 counts of unlawful possession and intent to distribute the substances, along with 1 count of use of a dangerous weapon against a DEA agent. The doctor was sentenced to 40 years in prison, but was released after only 13 in 1995, dying shortly after.

Since 1982 this gothic-style castle has sat empty and unfinished, surrounded by forest on all sides, it’s easy to get lost within these walls. I looked upward towards bright green vines climbing the walls of a lost dream, inching their way towards the absence of roof where bricks have begun to crack and crumble. I felt submerged in a world imagined through fairytales, only these particular fairytales had been stripped of any innocence, covered by a dark blanket of decay alongside a strange history, as overgrowth began to destroy the land and reality came into play.

Normally, I imagine dragons to be delivered in the same package as castles, but seeing such desolation I wouldn’t be surprised if their bones simply just sat beneath my feet while walking these grounds.

Peering through the main entrance, a large bricked archway, I was presented with a glowing view of forest inside a floorless structure unlike any I had seen before. Carefully balancing on narrow brick walls, which would have held floors in place to stretch from one end to the other, I angled myself into position to photograph the different views. Most people would never imagine that such a mysteriously odd castle could lay buried so close to city life. One of my favorite parts of my photojournalism is this exact adventure, experiencing and documenting strange structures such as this. Perhaps hundreds of years from now, people will talk about these stories and a legend will be born, carried for centuries to come. I have to admit, it was quite a strange place to wander around, all the while, incredibly interesting and fun.

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Beneath The Streets of Euclid


Remember those awesome arc lamps lining the streets during the late 1800s and early to mid 1900s? Thanks to Euclid native, Charles Brush, these were brought from vision to reality in 1876. A later advancement in technology led to a man by the name of George Sweigert, another Euclid resident, inventing the cordless telephone right here in the city. Sometimes when researching locations, some amazing and interesting information can be acquired, but there is much beyond that, and in this case, most of it lies beneath the streets we walk on.

The city of Euclid, Ohio – named after the Greek mathematician, Euclid of Alexandria, founded in 1796 by a man under the name of David Dille. Dille was a former lieutenant from the Revolutionary War and was the initial owner of the land. In 1808, Euclid was purchased within the 3,000,000 acres of land bought by the State of Connecticut, and only a short year after, under Moses Cleaveland and 41 other city employees, was incorporated as a township.

During the mid 1800s, when companies began setting foot in town, factories began rising up and industry began, the need for a large tunnel system arose. These tunnels were dropped into place under the streets to serve as a main sewage system, also later becoming connected to a water treatment facility. From information gathered, it seems that Moses Cleaveland may have laid out these tunnels, along with the other 41 workers.

Entering these tunnels was like being dropped into a completely different world, where all was dark and nothing but a long bricked tube surrounded us. Voices echo for hundreds of feet in front of you with each step you take, and void of any sight of what may lie ahead, you continue on in hopes of great discovery. About 1.5 miles into this system, we had found an opening where we were able to view light peaking in from the streets above. I could hear large, metal beasts rushing across the manhole overhead, clunking the grate, rubber tires creating a loud and deep “TH-TH” sound as they passed, like an urban heart beat of the life above.
Almost 100 years later in 1903, 94 to be exact, Euclid was pronounced a village and held a population nearing 10,000. Nearing the turn of a new decade in 1930, just as The Great Depression struck, Euclid was announced as an official city, then holding a population of 12,753 residents. Previously considered to be more promising than Cleveland, this was quickly shifted when the completion of the Ohio Canal helped Cleveland push for dominance in 1827. Euclid now currently holds a population just over 48,000 in the year 2014.


Not only do interesting places surround us above ground, but at the same time so much sits beneath our own feet, while most of us go on for years without even knowing that any of it exists. These 150+ year old tunnels stretch for miles underneath streets, opening into various rooms, most of these corridors dark, reverberating eerie echoes of the footsteps of explorers. Tunnels are strange places, beautiful, haunting, eerie and terrifying all at the same time. You become entrapped by the mystery pulling you in, throwing you into a place where not only are you cut from human communication overhead, but the cell phone service is zero percent, you’re on your own and the adventure begins.


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11 Post-apocalyptic Photos of Forgotten Country Homes



The earth will start to consume the wooden foundation of homes left on its surface, swallowing floors in large pieces, bite by bite. Shattered windows create abstract patterns of light, and strange shapes through open holes in combination with dust floating through the air, sailing the silence of a sunset, hovering through beams to create a physical image of the path created by light from sunrays. Fogged fragments remain in place where they have not yet been knocked free from their frames; now a picturesque frame in itself. Moss, ivy, and even trees begin to grow in the lonely space that used to be a families kitchen, where mother would make breakfast every morning, dressed to start her day in the 1920s’. Now, nearly 100 years has gone by and her kettle, still sits in the same position as when they left; untouched by human, only altered by nature in a beautiful, and aesthetic way.

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Nature will always take its course over our man-made arrangement of architecture. It will regain its space, and incorporate our forgotten structures into part of its natural artistic being, leaving a framework of our creations, creating an abstract representation of what once was. Our trash becomes the Earth’s set of tools to take over and create. What nature produces then becomes the muse of those intrigued by exploration.

I’m constantly searching for those scenes that can create a moment of nostalgia, which can be largely peaceful, and during summer days I think I find the most falling into this category.

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A prismatic view refined by the aesthetic merging of nature’s rapacious, unforgiving beauty with our architectural craft. An alluring image of how the Earth will always take back what once belonged to it. Images like this pull both the viewer, as well as the explorer in.


The Place Nightmares Are Made Of

Sometimes life seems similar to a paint bucket minus the lid, being so sensitive to any movement around it, and though I may not have completely learned how to take full control of my own, sometimes having a couple of bumps and spills, I know that I am still doing something right, I mean, I must be. See, every time I look at where I left off, all I can say is “right on,” because I write off the bad right off the bat. I keep the good memories for bad moments, and sometimes even these bad moments can create good memories of their own. See, life is a hectic and jumbled mess of shit and shining silver. Becoming sad in moments is great though, it shows you’re still very much alive and capable of human emotion and compassion, not only that, but more often than not, there is something to be learned from it. Kind of like when you leave your car under the wrong tree in summer, while birds nest above for hours.

The sad sight of these post-apocalyptic scenes is, at times not far off from such similar a thought. I find beauty in these sad and desolate locations, while a lot of people may find them rather unsightly, I look past the cracking faces to see beauty within them. We must find a certain charm within this great sadness to truly be able to find full allure and happiness through the entire world surrounding us. The forgotten are a unique collection, each one being different than the last, thus how we are as people. Everything might look devastatingly broken before your eyes, but picture the good times, wonderful memories and history. Remember that not everything around you is broken like this, and if you learn to find beauty in this destruction, it will be so much easier to find beauty and happiness outside of it.

People previously contained within these particular walls had not been given the same gift that you and I have; the gift of free will to roam our Earth. As we enter a small town nearly 2 hours from Atlanta, we find ourselves amidst silent destruction, sat centered atop a hill within a desolate Southern town. The sweltering heat made it a sweaty chore climbing the hill headed up to the sanitarium, but at least this time we had some decently fresh water accompanying us in our backpacks. The fact that such a large structure had been left behind to collapse under the Georgia heat was alone an odd sight, but yet stranger, how incredibly quiet the town surrounding it sat. The only sounds filling the air were the slow dragging of our feet along the dusty ground of cracking sidewalks and the constant buzz of cicadas echoing from an overgrown path leading directly to the woods, where a road had previously sat.

Doors fitted with rotating and locking food trays lined multiple hallways. These same doors had previously been containment for the most insane of patients, while still providing a grated hole near their top so that doctors could observe all actions and behaviors. This is the place nightmares are made of.

While most of this empty building lays in ruination through peeling paint, rusted doors and barred windows, a separate side, practically an alternate version of time itself remains sat at its top floors. In this alternate version of time, walls have begun to fall in, while the ceiling overhead resembles a naturally created sunroof, minus the glass, spanning entire lengths of numerous hallways and rooms, inviting the sun above to shine brightly inside. Many windows have abandoned their rusted bars, tossing most of them to a floor now covered in crusted ceiling and overgrowth, while trees push through sinks, vines find their way towards the holy ceiling and gardens reside vibrantly coating fractured porcelain bathtubs. As I observe life all around me reaching in through windows with a bright emerald glow, I realize something…this silence alone could drive one insane. Has it always been this quiet? Has the neighborhood always been so void of any other life, and were people subject to sit here, feeling completely alone? Since these dark days, this type of treatment and practice has been mainly phased out, but one can only wonder what it must have been like inside a madhouse such as this.

Now an odd jungle of destruction, the building will slowly deteriorate, years from now becoming nothing more than ruins. Sometimes I wonder though, am I truly part of this perceived reality, or am I stuck inside a room, picturing life in some altered frames of my unconscious mind? Any one of us could be so insane that we will never know it…perception is a strange thought.

“Watch out. The gap in the door… it’s a separate reality. The only me is me. Are you sure the only you is you?” – Silent Hills

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The Pullman Yards

The Pullman Yards


The sun had already gone long before our arrival in Atlanta, leaving us with the task of finding a hotel room quickly and on the cheap. With the expert budget searching (okay, he actually did an awesome job) of a friend, we were able to find a great hotel not far from downtown, and at only $45 a night! This seemed like perfection. Considering this would be split between both of us, we were ready to make our way there and settle in for the night. As we pull into the parking lot, enter stage (or balcony) right; a young prostitute emerges from her pimp’s hotel room door. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for being adventurous, and hell I even rummage through old abandoned factories in the hood, but I wasn’t about to pay a $200 hooker fee and receive a bullet to the leg while sleeping in the room next door. While debating whether or not to leave and find somewhere else, I looped back into the parking lot, and I’m pretty damn sure that hooker was headed straight for my car in hopes of a job. In conclusion, we settled on a Red Roof Inn for an extra 30 a piece.

Waking up the next morning, we were headed straight out to begin our adventure of the South and South East abandonments. Adjacent to a small neighborhood in Atlanta, Georgia, we find ourselves standing directly in the middle of a large plot amidst the great industrial decay of a once booming operation known as the Pullman Train Yards. The history of these 25 acre yards is a full and rich one, dating all the way back to its birth in the year 1904 originally as Pratt Engineering. In the beginning stages of life, this space acted as a manufacturing plant for electric motors, not long before being converted to providing as a munitions factory during World War I. In 1922, the Pullman rail company decided they wanted to convert the site to a repair station for their rail cars. Not long after, come 1969, the company went bankrupt and was forced into passing possession onto the state. Since this change of hands, the only activity the yards have seen is a short-lived tourist train during the 1990’s; otherwise the space has been widely vacant.


It’s a strange thought, knowing that a company, which once served the entire Southeast has since become nothing more than a vacant shell, inviting nature to take root on grounds that at one point would be filled with the shuffling sound of the daily grind and hustle and bustle of many workers through industrial rooms. Some former machinery remains, practically covered by a canopy of green between two nearly empty rooms. I say nearly empty because that, which surround this otherwise desolate area, are nothing more than lush walls of heavy forest reaching in through crusted iron-framed windows, protruding the empty air and casting a warm green glow across the cracking concrete floor.

For a small amount of time, a line called the New Georgia Railroad ran a supper train ride out to Stone Mountain. Though the supper train ran shortly during the mid 1990s, most rest of the area had already been left untouched and forgotten for some years. Down South, the way greenery reclaims human construction is far different than here up North, near Cleveland. I enjoy seeing the shifts in scenery, with a lot of these abandonments displaying vines among other hanging plants, usually reaching from iron beams or even straight off of or through the ceiling, dangling toward the ground.


These alternate views of scenery are caused by the weather being much warmer, and with the weather becoming much warmer, being human we dehydrate much quicker. While standing in the middle of a large factory room, small beads of sweat dripped along the side of my face, some running to my eyes, causing that all too familiar the feel of a dirty stinging. I’m quite sure that not everybody knows exactly what I am talking about, but that is the only way I can figure to describe such a feeling. Dehydration had begun to set in. I was hungry, thirsty, and my bottle of once cold tea had already warmed in the hot sun and humidity. Perhaps a better decision would be to carry water, but when you wake up from a greasy sleep, ready to explore the moment you exit your hotel room, you don’t think everything through the way you truly should. Kind of like putting the root beer in first, followed by ice cream in your root beer float. Sometimes you want something to the point that you don’t think of how to properly prepare. Not that I just did that or anything.

Packing up, we were then onto our next location, a high school left behind for many years, falling to nothing but dust in the sultry Georgia heat…