05/19/2026
Letchworth Village in Thiells, New York was one of those places that managed to be beautiful, horrifying, hopeful and tragic all at once; a sprawling psychiatric and developmental disability institution built deep in the hills of Rockland County in the early 1900s, surrounded by woods that today feel almost haunted by memory. The facility opened in 1911 after being championed by reformer William Pryor Letchworth, who believed people with developmental disabilities deserved cleaner, more humane treatment than the overcrowded Victorian asylums of the era. And honestly? In the beginning, compared to the snake pits that many institutions had become, Letchworth probably DID seem progressive. The campus was enormous ( over 2,000 acres), designed like a self-contained village with cottages, farms, workshops, power plants, bakeries and tunnels beneath the grounds. Patients worked the land, raised livestock and maintained the place almost like a tiny isolated town hidden away from the outside world. At its peak, more than 4,000 residents lived there, including children with developmental disabilities, epilepsy and mental illnesses.
But like so many American institutions, the idealism slowly curdled. By the mid-20th century, overcrowding, neglect and abuse became impossible to hide. Geraldo Rivera’s famous 1972 television exposé “Willowbrook: The Last Great Disgrace” usually gets remembered more, but Letchworth had many of the same nightmares occurring behind its walls; understaffing, questionable medical treatment, restraints, overcrowded dorms and residents left warehoused for decades. Former employees and explorers alike have spoken about abandoned wheelchairs sitting in hallways, children’s records left behind and the lingering feeling that the place absorbed generations of sadness. The campus itself became legendary among urban explorers because of how huge and eerie it was. Long empty corridors. Crumbling brick cottages. Rusting medical equipment. Graffiti layered over old peeling institutional paint. Some buildings looked like abandoned schools while others felt like something straight out of "Session 9." There were also endless rumors; tunnels beneath the grounds, ghosts, strange screams in the woods at night, shadow figures in windows. Some of it was campfire nonsense, some probably came from people trespassing at 2 AM and freaking themselves out, but Letchworth absolutely had an atmosphere that got under people’s skin.
The institution officially closed in 1996 as New York shifted toward community-based care and deinstitutionalization. After closure, the campus rapidly deteriorated and became a magnet for explorers, vandals, scrappers and eventually arsonists. Fires repeatedly tore through the old structures through the late 1990s and 2000s. Some were accidental, many were almost certainly deliberate. Entire buildings collapsed into blackened shells. One by one, the cottages and hospital wards were demolished over the years, partly for safety and partly because local officials were tired of people sneaking inside. Today much of the property has been reclaimed by nature or redeveloped. Parts of the land became public parkland connected to nearby Harriman State Park, and other sections were converted into housing developments and recreational areas. Yet even now, people driving through Thiells still talk about Letchworth Village in hushed tones. Because once you know what stood in those woods, thousands of forgotten lives hidden away behind red brick walls, you can’t entirely unfeel it. The forest swallowed most of the buildings, but not the memory of the place.
We visited Letchworth very recently, and one of the sections we explored to document was one of the old dormitories, which is what you see in this set. The building itself is almost completely engulfed in vegetation, as one can see, and the inside...the inside gave one a brief glimpse of what it might have been like for someone who was a resident there, once upon a time. What really hit us hardest was an old letter and family photo left behind, sent to a resident the writer of the letter called "Yogurt" (I assume a family nickname for whoever it might have been). I included this letter and the family photo that went with it; my vibe is that "Yogurt" was the girl, the one in the right top row. Why? I don't know. Just a vibe. And of course, it could have been any of the kids or young adults in the photo...or none of them at all. Again, just a vibe. I suppose we'll never know.
In any case, enjoy this set. I'd love to get your thoughts on it. Have a great Tuesday out there, all. -Mr. P.
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