Abandoned Places

Hello LJ and happy 2020!
I'm going to TRY to be more active this year with posting. Anyway, here's a new one.

This awareness of generations, of our own very fleeting moment in history, is far easier to perceive when a place has fallen silent. Left without use, we can often use these abandoned structures as points of reflection, seeing a place clearly without the distraction of daily life which once consumed its halls. To see the forest as well as the trees. The Cenacle of Mount Kisco, New York, is a place that will forever exist as a reminder to how time can shape a place, and perhaps more significantly, just how temporary it all is.

This grand convent began its life as a far smaller building, though small is relative in this case – The roots of this winged structure spread outward from the central mansion, which once stood alone on this wooded ridge, its name was Rose Hill.

The original manor was constructed atop a rolling parcel of land in 1904, eventually becoming home to famous showman of the day Billy Rose, who bestowed upon it the name 'Rose Hill'. In 1956 a massive fire ravaged the estate, gutting a majority of the structure and decimating the personal effects of Billy Rose. When interviewed by a local paper after the ordeal Billy plainly stated “I lost a lot of things that can’t be replaced with money.” Of those things he was referring to was a collection of seven original paintings created for him by his close friend Salvador Dali. Some time thereafter the property was sold off to 'The Convent of Our Lady of the Retreat in the Cenacle', who rehabilitated and expanded the initial mansion for use as a convent with a final size of some 70,000 square feel. Much of the additional space was utilized for classroom and dormitory-style living quarters. The most notable portion of the 50s expansion was the creation of a beautiful chapel which came to be a hallmark of the property. However, as we previously mentioned – Everything is temporary.

The convent eventually sold off the property as well, and it changed hands several times throughout the decades. Always though, officially or not, the property retained the moniker of 'The Cenacle'. During a period of vacancy in the late 1970s, David Krebs, manager for the band Aerosmith organized the rental of the entire building, with the hopes of utilizing it as a sanctuary away from the influence of drugs, so that they may compose with clear minds and bodies. This proved futile, however, as Steven Tyler comments upon in his autobiography Does the Noise In My Head Bother You?, "Drugs can be imported, David...we have our resources. Dealers deliver! Hiding us away in a three-hundred room former convent was a prescription for total lunacy." At the end of their endeavors the band created the album Draw the Line, which was received poorly for numerous reasons, with most criticism seeming to stem from the group's rampant drug abuse at the time.

The last organization to call The Cenacle home was 'Our Lady of Mount Kisco', who operated the grounds as a retreat center. After they vacated the building in 2011 the grounds sat more-or-less without use. There were some grand redevelopment plans which would pop up from time to time, stirring up a bit of fanfare before disappearing into the void from which they came. All the while The Cenacle sat, its century of stories, memories, and lessons moldering away in the woods.

Buildings grow wise with age, and they are not selfish with the knowledge. An old building will freely impart what it has learned to whoever may care enough to pay listen. It's a mutual exchange though, where one may glean knowledge, and the building may garner respect. And with this respect may come safety. Safety from neglect, from being forgotten. Unfortunately, any stories or lessons which The Cenacle had to share were lost with it in the spring of 2019, when it was quickly and unceremoniously leveled to make way for a proposed housing development that will one day sprawl across the hilltop.

Lost places, like this shuttered resort, stand as unique objects of fascination for many reasons. Oftentimes it's because these locations have come to exist in a state contrary to their constructed roles. In this case, we may find initial captivation in the absolute silence where thousands once gathered with their families. Beyond that though, there is something arguably more profound which ties all these places together. A common thread which entwines every abandoned structure and property – Time. Human history, all history really, crests and recedes like the waterline along the shore. Popular culture rises and falls, profitability rises and falls, communities rise and fall, nations rise and fall. The waters of time endlessly rise and fall. And after the tide has retreated these places remain in the wake, like cast-off shells upon a beach.

Some time after our arrival a large storm began to stir at the outskirts of the valley. It came on slowly at first, as the sunny day gradually greyed over. Eventually though, the storm gathered force and with it a purple-hued darkness which stood as a wall along the edge of the valley. There it remained though, held at bay by strong updrafts which perpetually carry through the basin. Frustrated it loudly thundered at the edge of the ridges around us, forever tumbling upon itself without gaining ground. At times it looked not unlike a great obsidian wave breaking upon a bluff. Occasionally its cries shook the walls of the old resort, but even though the outlying mountains were ringed with near black, above us was never more than a haze of light grey. The air became cool, as the warmth was sucked away by the storm-front, but we remained dry at the center of the turmoil around us. As it tends to be with storms of this force though, the events were short lived. In little time the thundering from the mountains fell silent, and the grey of the sky dissolved back to blue. What just moments ago was all-encompassing, now may as well have never existed at all. Much like the decaying resort we had taken shelter within.

The original buildings on these grounds opened to the public in 1903, with much of what is currently standing dating from the 1950s and '60s, including the distinctive tower building which rises high above all else. By the time the resort was shuttered it had served the region for over a century. Considering the long lifespan of the old resort makes the grounds today all the more sombre. Generations of families vacationed here. Parents bringing their children, just as their own parents had brought them. There is no doubt that the silence which now embraces this property is saturated with memories of those who knew it in far happier times than these.

The original buildings on these grounds opened to the public in 1903, with much of what is currently standing dating from the 1950s and '60s, including the distinctive tower building which rises high above all else. By the time the resort was shuttered it had served the region for over a century. Considering the long lifespan of the old resort makes the grounds today all the more sombre. Generations of families vacationed here. Parents bringing their children, just as their own parents had brought them. There is no doubt that the silence which now embraces this property is saturated with memories of those who knew it in far happier times than these.

Some places cry out their stories, their histories, to those who visit. You may have felt this for yourself when visiting a site of some significance. Places steeped with history tend to exude it in a way that isn't easily explained. It's as if simply laying your hand upon the cold walls of an old building helps you to better understand it. Perhaps it's simply human instinct to reach out and touch something you wish to learn more about. A tactile sense somehow linked to our minds, left over from eons past. A sensibility which we have collectively evolved beyond, but endures nonetheless. That voice was absent here.

Throughout all these halls, quarters, and common spaces, no grand proclamations of the past were to be found. All that remained were the low moans of a tired building, pitch shadows, and a deep-seated rot. Numerous items remained from the heydays of the resort, but coming upon those remnants felt less like glimpsing cherished mementos, and more like one was rummaging through the possessions of a deceased person. As we toured the grounds it seemed as if this is a place was not only utterly given up on, but that it had also given up.

In the end though, it's reasonable to think that this place never had a voice to begin with, not a singular one anyway. This resort lived as a hub for others to create their own stories and memories within its walls, and by that accord the last of its life went from this property the moment the final guest checked out nearly a decade ago.