Abandoned Divine Lorraine Hotel Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Situated just at the corners of Broad street and Fairmount avenue in Philadelphia rests a beautiful and majestic building. Though its been quickly falling into dilapidation. Once the home to Philadelphia's wealthiest is now a haven for the homeless, drug addicts, and aspiring graffiti artists. The luxurious living commodities are now bare skeletons of what they once were. Now many windows are plastered with plywood, and graffiti splashes colors of brightness onto the facade.

The Lorraine Apartments completed construction in 1894, and acted as luxurious apartments for many of Philadelphia's industrial magnates. At ten stories it was one of the first high-rise apartments in Philadelphia.  It's ornate style, which was designed by architect Willis Hale, was deemed outdated when it opened. Though it did offer all the amenities a wealthy person could enjoy. These included electricity, a staff to help residents, as well as a central kitchen for food delivery. Though it only allowed those of the white race. In 1900 the structure was changed to the Lorraine Hotel. But the segregation would continue until 1948.

At this time the property was purchased by Father Divine the leader of the Universal Peace Mission Movement. After purchase Father Divine made a few changes. First he renamed the hotel. It was now called the Divine Lorraine Hotel. He also included several strict rules upon its patrons. These rules included no smoking, no profanity, no drinking, and no intermingling of sexes. Women were required to wear modest skirts or dresses. And rested on separate floors as the men. But all these rules were in his eyes good. He believed all were equal in the eyes of God. This made the hotel the first racially integrated hotel in Philadelphia, possibly the country. He broke down the doors of class that had restricted others from entering. The top floor auditorium was converted to a place of worship. The kitchen was now used to feed low cost meals to the less fortunate.

After Father Divine's death in 1965, his significantly younger wife began to run the congregation, as well as the Divine Lorraine. The church was also falling under lots of controversy. Father Divine was not generally held in the highest esteem among the general public. Many were upset by his race, and the fact he referred to himself as God. Several publicized sex scandals, and reports of improper sexual conduct, clouded the church's image as well.

 The congregation slowly began disintegrating when he married a 21 year old, shortly after the passing of his first wife. Whom many within the church held in high esteem. Though he would later claim she was the reincarnate of his first wife, something the church didn't believe in previously. She would become known as Sweet Angel. Marriages also began to be celebrated, when earlier were held without much regard.

Shortly after Father Divine's death many came forth to proclaim his title. Jesus Emmanuel a former longtime member, and self proclaimed prophet came forth claiming he was the last of 5 naturally born children of Father Divine and his first wife, known as Mother Divine. He therefore claimed the peace mission as inheritance. He also held many other claims, including that the real Father Divine was housed in a mental institute, and the latest was an imposter. His bold claims made no impact on the close knit community.

Immediately after Father Divine's death, a church member offered protection at his compound in California, something the new Mother Divine quickly dismissed. He later came forth in 1971 claiming he was the Father Divine returned. After all he had let the peace mission members know he would take over control if Father Divine had ever passed. The two met in the 1950's and found the same concern in various social, and cultural issues. Mother Divine ordered him out of the church and was told never to return. Unfazed he quickly and quietly began to grow his congregation known as the People's Temple. Infamously this man was Jim Jones and later led 909 people to mass suicide at a compound in South America, all but two from cyanide poisoning. An event that became deemed as the "Jonestown Massacre",  and led to the popular phrase "don't drink the kool-aid."


The Lorraine Hotel is a sight to see. You can imagine the rich strolling in their carriages out front. While marble floors lined your way through ornate architecture. It was placed on the National Register of Historic Places for its architectural history as well as it's role in civil rights. Many believe the locals truly respected the past of the hotel and that's why it was left alone for several years after abandonment. But after being purchased by a developer in 2006 the squatters quickly moved in. Now the hotel is merely a shell of it's former self. But as long as it's standing, it's history will be remembered.

See photos from inside.

Paulinskill Viaduct Hainesburg, New Jersey

Traveling around the byways of New Jersey I began to doubt the directions I found, after all how hard could it be to spot what was once considered a wonder of the world. As I traversed the narrow roadway it began to emerge right before me. Focusing my eyes in between the massive trees the mammoth structure began to develop more. I drove my car to the side of the road and exited the vehicle. There I stood before one of the largest structures of it's kind in the world.

Towering 115 feet above the Paulinskill river, the Hainesburg trestle was originally built by the Delaware,Lackawanna, and Western railroad. The viaduct consists of 7 magnificently designed, intricate arches. Each arch is accessible for inspecting the integrity of the viaduct. Completed in 1910, the Paulinskill viaduct, as it's often referred to was once the largest trestle in the world. That recognition was short lived. The following year after the viaduct opened, a larger more massive one was built in neighboring Pennsylvania. But I wasn't here just to take in architectural beauty and American history.

The rail company used the viaduct until they were eventually outsourced in 1979. In 1985 the tracks were tore up and the viaduct became a popular destination. I approached the massive structure and checked for the normal "No Trespassing" signs, to my surprise, I spotted none. I began my slow ascension to the top of the steep hill, approximately half way up the hill I spotted a climbing rope. I gave the rope a hefty tug to make sure it would support me. I supported myself to the top of the hill and onto the colossal structure. I strode across the behemoth railroading bridge, taking in all the surrounding natural beauty of the area, proceeding with more caution every step I took. Many areas of the extension have no supporting rails and there's nothing between you and a hundred feet dive into the shallow waters below. Adding more danger, the structural stability has also become decayed in numerous areas.

There are also numerous narrow manholes atop the overpass. These manholes lead you into the arches of the Paulinskill viaduct. It's the enthrallment of exploring these internal chambers that brings so many urban explorers to this particular place. Getting inside these arches can be quite difficult and very dangerous. Inside the arches are small ladders which guide you from arch to the next, climbing higher in elevation the further along you traverse. There is nothing inside these arches to prevent you from falling into serious injury, or possibly death. Since the demise of the railroad the locals have been braving trips into these abandoned and dangerous chambers.

The once magnificent arches are now mainly covered in graffiti. Most of it your normal obscene art that most teens so proudly display, but also disturbing satanic images are prevalently displayed. Many who live nearby, believe that inside these chambers, rituals are held to summon evil spirits. Throughout the years several murder victims have been found within the vicinity of the viaduct, and several suicides have also taken place at the abandoned structure. It's also believed that during construction a worker died and was buried within the trestle. Maybe that's why I felt someone was spying on me during my entire visit!

Guest Blog: ForgottenPA-Concrete City, Pennsylvania

All the way back in 2007, when ForgottenPA was just a little personal
blog about my group's visit to Centralia, we caught wind of a ghost
town with actual empty houses still in it. Not only were there
buildings, but they were made of concrete! We couldn't get there fast
enough.

That ghost town, of course, was Concrete City, in Nanticoke.
Construction began in 1911 and was  completed in 1913 by the coal
division of the Delaware, Lackawanna and Western Railroad Company to
provide homes for colliery workers. The two-story double homes were
literally made of poured concrete, efficiently using the same floor
plan for both the first and second floors – the second floors all had
staircases that ran into the ceilings, without providing any access to
the roof.

Rented out for $8 a month, the houses served as homes for some of the
company's top staff, but problems cropped up. Paint blistered and
peeled. Water condensed on the inside walls, in spite of using
moisture-repellent construction materials and plaster. One former
resident even said that, in winter, her father's shirts would freeze,
and her mother had to iron them before he could even put them on.

Above all, the houses lacked indoor plumbing, and when it became
standard for residential housing, the company was not interested in
making the improvements. Concrete city was abandoned in 1924, only
eleven years after its construction. Attempts to demolish the town
were also unsuccessful – it was said that a hundred sticks of dynamite
did little to bring down one of the houses.

The trip to Concrete City was a turning point for us – obviously we
weren't poking around the houses in Centralia, but here, we had the
freedom to enter the buildings, to see what time and Mother Nature can
do to man-made structures, to really explore. After being so excited
to get to Concrete City, we felt a real dread, standing at the gaping
black entryway of the first house: What was in there? Would we make it
out alive? When we came out, would we ever be the same?

Of course there was interesting and unique things to see in all the
buildings; clearly, we survived; but we never were the same after our
visit to Concrete City. More than ever, we wanted to explore, to
learn, to see what other wonderful secrets Pennsylvania had been
keeping tucked out of the way. And even though the necessities of work
and life may keep us busy, like the houses at that old ghost town, our
love of exploration will survive anything.
Written by Steve Skipp c/o ForgottenPA

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Guest Blog: Ghost Hunting Theories-Abandoned and Paniced

I’d passed this two-story building a dozens of times when I was growing up. My family would pile into the station wagon and drive to the mountains of West Virginia to visit my mother’s family. It was a ritual we did several times every year. The building sat across from our motel and I would skip across the road to buy candy.

Now, however, the building has been abandoned for decades. I have come back to visit my siblings who ended up settling in the hills and the cousins and aunts and uncles and miscellaneous other distant family.

This time, however, I study the building with a frown in the setting sunlight.

Branches and limbs have grown through the concrete out front and a tree is growing inside the front window. I peer through the broken glass to study the shelving units drooping and the Coke machine that had faded in the slant of sunlight that comes through the windows nearby.

I back up and look at the painted brick walls and faded sign, vines growing up it and engulfing the side of the building as if nature is reclaiming the structure.

A car passes by slowly and someone glares at me. I’m used to that. The folks in these hills know an outsider when they see one. I slip around the building to the side, out of sight, and lean through a broken out window to inspect piles of clothing, clothing racks, chairs, a TV turned upside down. The smell is rank and stale, a mixture of mold, pine oils from a nearby tree and musty wet dust.

I cough.

Then, I look around me. I can’t help it. An abandoned building, lots of weird archaeological finds…I love places that have been left as-is and possessions left to age and weather, rot and be claimed by the earth…

I step through the window and tug my jean leg loose from the nail sticking out and stumble right into a mirror propped up against a coat rack. I slip off the slick glass and fall onto a stack of books with an “oomph!” The wind is knocked right out of me.

I laugh.

When I turn my head, I realize that the side door was wide open right beside the window, had I walked a few feet more. No need to bruise my ribs. I dust myself off and tip toe over the piles of miscellaneous items from a hair dryer to a pile of clothing and then stop short in amazement. Someone has left tea cups on saucers and a hot plate near the wall.

I look around and then inspect the rotted box of biscuits nearby and look into the dirty dry cups. Whoever was squatting there was gone for some time.

I can’t help myself; I see the open door into the hall and have to climb through the clothing rack to check it out. I stumble through and find the hall completely empty. I am rather surprised by that find.

I walk the length of it, stopping in the doorways to look into rooms that are equally crammed with random things from tables to dishes, wrappers to bottles and cans. The moldy smell makes me sneeze several times and I study the origins of dripping water. It’s coming from the second story and not a really good sign of what’s upstairs.

The stairwell at the end draws my eyes, but I’m not certain about how stable the building is. I know it’s at least 30 years old, but I’m certain it’s more likely 50. Still, I figure I can test a step or two and see what it offers.

Just as I step onto the first stair, I look over into a huge room filled with junk, but not like the other rooms. This one is lined up as if someone was trying to sort through it or make sense of it.

I’m curious by nature, I have to explore.

So, I walk into the huge warehouse-like room and study the padded ground. Small beds are lined up, made of leftover clothing and some kind of sofa cushions. There are four of them in the room, all along the walls. I squint across the darkening room to see a shape and I gasp and duck back into the hallway, peering cautiously to see if the human figure moves.

It stays much too still to be a person.

I step back into the room and walk between piles of like items; backpacks in one row, fishing poles in another. It appears to me like some kind of crazy Dr. Seuss experiment. Then, my foot falls into a crack in the floor and I yank my sneakered foot from it in pain. My eyes settle on the mannequin figure. Someone has dressed it in a bikini and drawn an exaggerated smile on its face from a tube of lipstick in its hand. I run my fingers over the lipstick. It is hardened and dried on. The broken windows nearby are covered with the vines and the light of the day is almost all gone.

If I stay any longer, I will be there in the dark without light.

When I turn to walk away, something catches my eye. There is a cooler up against the wall. I open it up, afraid of rats or bugs pouring out of it, only to find icy sludge in the bottom of it and a six-pack of beers with one beer missing. I put my hand into the freezing water and a chill runs up my spine. I see a line of melted candles atop of a loose floorboard and a pack of matches.

It’s not the cold doing it.

Someone is staying there and considers this a home of sorts. I have just encroached on what looks like four adult’s home for the night.

When I spin around to leave, the stairs call to me. I wonder what’s up there, but I also wonder why water is dripping down below from above. That could mean a hole in the ceiling, weak floors…

But, I’ve come this far and if the people aren’t back at nighttime, then they are likely at the bar across the street on the riverfront.

Knowing I won’t try it a second time, I go up the stairs cautiously. They are stable and strong. It’s a good sign. I can barely see as I turn the corner up to the second set of stairs and then I see light. Not bright light, but lingering daylight. There is a hole in the ceiling. My eyes rivet to the room and realize that someone has over the years removed walls from the upstairs. A bathtub sits on the floor in the middle of an empty space. I walk over to it and look at the hole in the ceiling at the darkening sky. It appears that rain fills up the tub.

I lean over and watch as a leaf floats across the murky water. There is a bar of soap on the rim of the tub, worn down to a thin sliver.

Someone has been using this rain tub. There are towels across the space draped over the lower half of a half torn-out wall. I wonder at the person who can live in these conditions, especially in a mountain wintertime when it comes around.

Maybe this is just the summer home?

Afraid to test the floorboards, I go back downstairs. When I hit the bottom step, I hear voices. I stop and listen, holding my breath. I can hear them walking alongside the building and their voices coming through the broken windows. The hall is dark now and I creep down to the end of it, debating whether I can go back out the way I came in, which is where the people are, or if I should try to make my getaway through the front of the shop that opens onto the riverfront street.

When I hear shuffling in the “living room,” I realize the people are home for the night and I’m in their territory. I back up into the front room of the store. Outside the moonlight is starting to glow on the rushing river across the street. I hear the sounds from the bar and cars slowing down to pull up for a Saturday night of revelry.

A car pulls into the parking lot of the empty building and the headlights move across me in the large open room. I duck behind the bar counter and my mind races.

Could it be the cops? Some people joining the others?

The space I’m hiding in doesn’t provide much get-away. If someone entered through the broken windows of the store, they would walk right past me and if they looked down—there I’d be.

I will myself to become invisible.

Then, I hear the thumping bass of a radio in the car out front. It sounds like teens laughing and talking but the car is idling, the lights making the room so bright that if I try to leave, I will definitely be seen, not to mention this is my only way out at this point unless I want to disturb the squatters.

Minutes tick by, the radio booming, the voices rising up. Someone at the end of the hall doesn’t like it. He yells loudly and I realize at any time he could hike down the hallway to the front of the store and right past me. I tuck myself in against the wall, praying that with the lack of light I will become invisible. My fingers touch the counter and I realize I can scoot it slightly, able to drag it enough to remain hidden.

The occupant rushes the hallway, screaming like a maniac in a hillbilly dialect that I am not at all acquainted with; and I have heard them all. For a delirious minute, I want to giggle at how stupid this whole idea was and how I manage to get myself into these situations and how his voice sounds like some freaky rural Scottish dialect and not English.

He pounds the frame of the broken display window at the storefront and the horn on the car sounds a bunch of times. Laughter rises up and the car pulls out of the gravel driveway and takes off, leaving me completely in the dark with this angry redneck who is also territorial.

I force my mind away from “The Hills Have Eyes” and “Wrong Turn,” but I shiver anyways. One thing I know about panic is that once you let in a forbidden thought, it becomes a focus and obsession. Now, I can’t stop thinking of whether I’m going to end up in pieces packed into the cooler with the melting ice at the end of the night.

He hasn’t left the front room and I’m trying desperately to not sneeze, not cough, not make a sound of breathing. My knees are shaking wildly because I’m down on the balls of my feet and crouched, but if I try to resettle, he will hear me in the stillness, even with the country-western music playing in the bar across the street, the room is eerily still.

He paces the room and grumbles to himself and then I hear him pick up something and throw it, crashing the last bit of glass in the window.

When he races past me to the back of the building, I wait a time. I know that if I go soon, he will rush out thinking it was the teens again. I also know that without their radio blaring, he will hear me shuffle the bar aside to get out of my crouching spot.

It’s come to my realization that if I just shove it back and run, I only have 20 feet to go before I’m outside. I doubt the hillbilly with the weird dialect is going to chase me down into the bar across the way.

My desire to flee is stronger than my commonsense and I shove at the bar only to find there is something obstructing it and I have pushed it past that obstruction, causing it to fall forward. My arms flail to grab it back, but it collapses like a mighty earthquake with a dust cloud.

Now, I’m sprinting to the windows and the tiny light I see outside the door of the bar across the way. The redneck is in the hall and pounding the walls with something metallic.

As I vault out the window and into the gravel driveway, I realize my car is down the street at the Dairy Queen where I left it when I went for my stupid walk.

Breathlessly I pump my legs, not looking back, sprinting into the street and past the taxidermy shop with the creepy stuffed bear on its porch, past the smelly bait and tackle shop and then I realize two things:

There are no streetlights or cars and there is someone in the gravel chasing me still!

I fumble through my pocket as I gasp for air and pull out my keys and rush to click them into the door lock and get inside. The rental car is unfamiliar. I laugh hysterically out of fright at my ridiculous redneck chase scene and turn on the car, flicking on the lights and seeing him about 50 feet away with the iron bar in his hand. It looks like a towel rack. He's swaying and swinging it over his head as he hollers.

I feel safe now and secure, but still I wonder if he’ll come at the car with the weapon, so I turn and go the other direction back to the hotel.

NOTE: I still go into abandoned places, but now I make sure there aren’t squatters first. I start out by making plenty of warning sounds for them to come greet me outside instead of in. I look for signs of habitation that are current. I listen carefully for anyone approaching. And, I always bring someone as a guard and lookout.

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Abandoned Route 61 in Centralia

The Route 61 highway traverses travelers approximately 81 miles north and southbound through the commonwealth of Pennsylvania. Though there's a small stretch of this road that hasn't been used for travel in over 15 years. Though it's still a hot spot... literally! In 1994 the department of transportation rerouted a mile long stretch of this road after being severely damaged by the underground mine fire in nearby Centralia.

Today the road is a popular destination for urban explorers and apparently aspiring graffiti artists,though I wouldn't call much of it art. The road has an extremely haunting appeal to it, I personally kept feeling as though someone was following behind me. Walking down this lost highway gives you a very eerie feeling, not sure if it's from the noxious fumes emanating from below the asphalt, or the buckling of the highway but I kept getting the feeling of vertigo. Seeing the man-made destruction that's taking place here is a sight to behold, both from the obscene graffiti, to the mammoth coal industry that helped to build a town and also destroy it!




Zine featuring Centralia & other nearby Outta the Way places.

Video of Route 61

St. Nicholas Coal Breaker

The St. Nicholas Coal Breaker, outside of Mahanoy City, is an imposing abandoned industrial mammoth to behold. One time it was the largest coal breaker in the world. Now it lies empty as if the world around it just ended. The place is still in decent shape, despite 45 years of being forgotten. Reports from those who have been on the inside say it looks as though everyone just left one day and never returned. Aside from a lot of broken windows, the place has seemed to not be succumbed with the normal graffiti that happens with places like this.

The breaker started operation in 1932 and was owned by the Reading Anthracite Company. The breaker is so large that half of the village of nearby Suffolk was relocated to make room.

A coal breaker does just what its name says: breaks coal into various sizes to be used in furnaces. During its heyday, the breaker would produce 12,500 tons of coal a day. The setup was so efficient it took only 12 minutes for the raw coal to pass through the entire production process. The breaker was in operation for 31 years before closing in 1963. The breaker consists of 3,800 tons of steel, 10,000 cubic yards of concrete, 1 ½ miles of conveyors, 20 miles of piping and 118 miles of wire and cable. Quite an impressive feat of engineering, if you ask me.

Outta the Way recommends getting a glimpse of this massive factory before it’s sure to meet its demise, the wrecking ball.

More on the St. Nicholas Breaker and nearby Outta the Way spots

Old York County Prison, Pennsylvania

Near the York Revolution baseball stadium, lies an imposing fortress of abandonment, and solitude. The original prison on this sight was built in 1853, with it's imposing castle facade, it was sure to intimidate. The trapdoor near the warden's office used for hangings didn't hurt, either.

Designed by B.F. Willis, there was originally a complex of several other buildings right next to the prison, including the York poorhouse, and a hospital, which have since made way for an elementary school.

Today the prison still stands, although the castle facade was torn down when construction was done to the prison. In 1908, during re-construction there was almost an uproar at the prison, as inmates got very anxious over a fire that had started over some faulty construction equipment. During the 1950's, the prison again received some more bad press when overcrowded prisoners were forced to stay in padded cells. There are also stories of segregation and misuse of African-American inmates during this time as well. But one of the most disturbing tales of this time tells of inmates being forced to eat road kill and venison the deputies would gather up along the roads. The prison eventually closed in 1979 when a newly expansive super-maximum facility was built in Springettsbury Township.

One of the most interesting things about this place is that it's for sale. Having been on the market since 2007, several investors have had a few great ideas, such as a nightclub, hotel, Halloween attraction, and even a restaurant. At 30,000 square feet seems like they all could work. Guess they couldn't come up with the 3.9 million asking price.

Aside from the desolateness of the place, there's still some prison flair left in the place. A few of the cells have hand carved drawings in them, including one with a portrait of Jimi Hendrix, surrounded by titles of many popular songs from eras past.

The prison is not open to the public and is posted with "no trespassing" signs. We would not recommend taking any visits to the inside without permission of the real estate company which owns the property. Several inside visitors have noticed use of the prison by homeless squatters and addicts, although for the right price it could be yours. Just let them know Outta the Way sent you, we could use the $25,000 finders fee!

Video of Old Prison
An inside look

Linfield Industrial Park

Located near the lush maintained greens of the Linfield Country Club, lies an industrial complex that hasn’t been maintained for nearly 25 years. Situated behind trees and large overgrowth, the Linfield Industrial Park lies abandoned and almost completely forgotten about. As you walk your way through the gridded streets, you see Mother Nature reclaiming what was once hers.

Grass and weeds shoot through the macadam, while buildings show the effects of neglect: bricks crumbling, steps broken and shard pieces of glass, representing windows.

On the inside of a few buildings it seems as though all who worked here just simply vanished. There are still cabinets full of paperwork, machinery and even a forklift overcrowded with vines and weeds. The entire complex is like an industrial wasteland. But things weren’t always like this at Linfield. At one time this complex helped employ numerous citizens in the area and gave them a better way of life.

Linfield was an industrial hub up until the 1960’s and was once the home of the famous Kinsey Distillery.

The Kinsey Distillery began shortly after Prohibition and was in operation up until 1986. It’s thought that most of the whiskey distilling took place at their main plant in Philadelphia and the Limerick Production plant was mainly used as a warehouse to store what was once the “world’s largest single concentration of aging whiskeys.” The warehouse was capable of holding more than one million barrels. In 1986 the distillery closed its doors and has been left to crumble ever since. Urban explorers and photographers have since become fascinated with the area. The nearby Limerick Power Plant gives the area a post nuclear holocaust feel that many find to be haunting, yet beautiful. Linfield is one of those places you could spend a day at, just being in awe of its decrepit-ness, while feeling its history pulsating through you.

"Abandoned Luncheonette" Pizza World

What is it that I find so intriguing about an abandoned pizza shop? There's no real historical value. It's not located in the heart of a large city, in fact it's in a rather remote location. What I find so fascinating is it's modern architectural style. The bright red diamond shaped roof set off with the overgrowth of weeds and trees makes for an interesting contrast.

In this day and age where every business that goes belly up, gets destroyed, and is quickly replaced with a franchise it's a rarity to see an abandoned gem like Pizza World still standing.

Pennhurst State School & Hospital

The Pennhurst facility in Spring City, Pennsylvania has become synonymous with an institute of fear, though the hospital's original intentions were to do help, not harm.

The institution originally opened up in 1908 and was a home and school for those with mental and physical abnormalities. Most of the patients were children, but ages ranged up past 70 years old.

From the initial opening of Pennhurst many had their doubts it would be successful. For starters the institute quickly became overcrowded, others were appalled at the methods used to control unruly patients, but most turned a blind eye to the warehousing of those with mental and physical deformities. That quietly changed in 1968 when a Philadelphia newscaster would shed much light on the atrocities that were taken place behind closed doors. Viewers witnessed disturbing images of multiple patients twitching, rocking back and forth, and pacing relentlessly, while also encountering grown adults in large cribs, limbs bound and strapped to the bars. These disturbing images embedded themselves in the viewer's mind and began to raise awareness, and lot's of questions as to how these members of our society were really being helped.

The expose helped to play a major role in the eventual closing of Pennhurst in 1987. Since than risk takers have been facing heavy fines and exposure to deadly asbestos just to get an inside look at this landmark institution, which played a key role in a civil rights movement for those with disabilities.

Abandoned on the Schuykill River

In the September zine of Outta the Way, we take you urban exploring along the banks of the Schuylkill river. First we'll visit a historic town left unkempt due to nuclear energy staring down it's back.

Than we take a look at a large industrial park, with a historic distillery located inside, that's being taken over by the same land it invaded many years before. Than it's off to pay homage to the "Abandoned Luncheonette"; and a nearby modern pizza restaurant fighting off years of decay and abandonment.

Lastly we'll show you one of the most famous and controversial places in Pennsylvania, which now lies in a near desolate ruin. Walls crumbling in as the roof collapses above, weeds poking their way back through sidewalks, and enough horrifying tales to make anyone's skin crawl.