Henryton II

I must complete the Henryton story before it goes from my head. We spent the day as usual exploring the buildings on the grounds. The large main building, white stucco with tropical turquoise trim, still had parking spots marked for visitors and we parked there. All the buildings had been heavily graffitied, remaining windows were rare, and there were often inches of dirt and debris on the floors. Most of the piping had long ago been stripped and that also left evidence of random vandalism.

The day was cold, very cold. But our new outfits kept us toasty. Late in the day a small group of six kids came walking across the great space behind the main building where the auditorium and kitchen had been until arson had destroyed it last year. It’s never clear when you run into other explorers whether you’re meeting friendlies or not, we’re never too comfortable until the conversation takes place. After all, we’re running around abandoned buildings, alone and with significant photographic equipment. Often we leave a photo bag stashed in a room somewhere for later retrieval – the stuff gets heavy. The six of them came tromping up the hill and just the number of them made us leary. But it turned out that one kid was like us – a curious explorer with a camera – and the others were his friends. A young photographer who knew what he was interested in; his self assurance drew his friends to him.

But these poor kids had not dressed for the weather, the one girl was wearing tights and a tiny mini-skirt, another of the boys was wearing skin tight jeans with holes in the knees. They were all dress inappropriately for the ten degrees they’d been marching around in. But I guess the folly of youth permitted them to see the day through. They complained. But they stayed the course. They’d already been to two other abandoned places and had turned up here just as the sun was sinking. We took a few photos of them, exchanged website info, and then we each went on our way.

We peeled off our coveralls, packed our stuff back in the car and took off up the long driveway. As we reached the road we couldn’t believe our eyes. The short iron gate across the driveway, open when we arrived, had been padlocked closed. There was no way out. Slightly panicked we drove back down the driveway to the complex and tried every windy road – but the all just led to small parking lots by the buildings. We drove down to the power plant by the railroad tracks. It seemed we could drive along the tracks on the large gravel bed, but there was no telling how long we’d have to drive to find a way out. As far as we could see in either direction, no exit.

We were locked inside the Henryton Psychiatric Hospital. That’s what my partner kept saying on the phone as she began calling people to come help us get out. “Bring big bolt cutters.” “Call a strong guy to come with you.” We knew we could get out. It was simple to just step around the gate. But the car. The poor car would have to stay at Henryton until we figured out who to call, and that would almost certainly be a couple of days. Not a pleasant prospect.

We sat just beyond the locked gate in the warm car (thanks to Zeus for enough gas) watching the traffic go by on the main road. We felt wistfully close to freedom. If only we could just lift the car over the gate. There was no driving around the side – the cold and rain had made a wet mess, and we weren’t even sure the space between the gate and steep hillside was wide enough. As we waited, and my partner made phone calls, a pick up truck stopped on the main road. It backed up, just out of our view and the driver sat for a while. At first we thought he was going to rescue us, but he spent so much time doing other things we assumed he had just stopped for his own reasons. I could see his orange hunter’s hat as he walked around his truck and got back in. Then he sat some more. Finally he started the truck back up and drove the twenty feet to the driveway we sat in. He started to drive by, but then turned in slowly and drove fifteen feet down the driveway to the other side of the gate and stopped. His headlights shone directly into our eyes. I got out of our car, as my partner was still on the phone trying to find us a way out.

“Are you stuck in here?” “Yeah, we were taking pictures all day and it was locked when we tried to leave.” “Can you help us get out?” Just as he was saying yes and I was jumping with mental excitement, my partner showed up at my side. And our rescuer knew her. She had spoken to a class about the photography she was doing. He had been a student in the class. She was famous. We were rescued. He dialed his cell phone and said “Hey old man, what’s the combination for Henryton?” And he undid the heavy, very modern, combo lock that was holding the gates closed. I’d never been so grateful to see a hunter in my life. Obviously he was a local guy who knew just who to call to get anything done. Phew! And Thanks!

It was an adventure we didn’t particularly like having. But underscored how careful we’d have to be on our upcoming trip to New York State. Up there, no one would know us and there’d be no one near by to come rescue us. No taking any chances that could wind us trapped somewhere. Right, no take no risks – that’s definitely not us.