Kings Park Psychiatric Center: a Journey Through History: Volume Iii

By Jason Medina

This book is the definitive history of the Kings Park Psychiatric Center, which at one time was the largest state hospital in New York. Located on Long Island, it occupied nearly 873 acres of land and was in operation from 1885 to 1996. At its prime, it housed up to ten thousand patients. Today, much of its former land belongs to the Nissequogue River State Park, but its many abandoned hospital buildings have become a magnet for urban explorers, ghost hunters, and scavengers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 20, 2018
• ISBN: 9781543483604

Jason Medina

Jason was born in April of 1971and raised in the Bronx, New York. He lived with his parents on the second floor of a three family house surrounded by family both upstairs and downstairs from him. Ever since he was a small child Jason always had an interest in telling stories. He wrote his very first comic book-style story at the age of five in his parents bedroom, while he watched television. It was the first of an ongoing science fiction story based on short hairy fictional creatures from another world. They were caught up in an intergalactic war against humans from Earth and another race of beings. Jason went on to do over ten comic stories based on these characters, drawing the pictures to go along with the story. He even won first prize in a book-making contest, while in the third grade.

Book preview

Copyright © 2018 by Jason Medina.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2018901624

ISBN:      Hardcover   978-1-5434-8362-8

      Softcover      978-1-5434-8361-1

      eBook      978-1-5434-8360-4

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Cover photography by Jo-Ann Santos-Medina, and interior cover photo by Jason Medina.

Rev. date: 02/15/2018

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Contents

Section Viii True Stories Of The Kppc

Chapter 22 Tales Of The State Hospital

Employees And Their Families Talk

Patient Stories

Stories From The Outside Looking In

Chapter 23 Ghostly Tales Of The Haunted Asylum

The Urban Legends

Ghostly Experiences

Paranormal Investigations

Is The Kppc Haunted?

Section Ix Final Words

Chapter 24 The End . . . For Now

What’s Next?

Further Research

Section X Poems About The Kppc

1.   Kppc

2.   Kings Park

3.   Building 93

4.   A Patient At Kings Park

5.   Ghosts Of Kings Park

6.   Wisteria House

7.   Isolation

8.   Kings County Farm

9.   I Am Under Kings Park

10.   Therapy

11.   Group 2

12.   Abandoned

13.   Trapped In The Dark

14.   Snow

15.   Memoirs Of A Patient From Building 93

Section Xi Reference Index

1. Bibliography

2. Filmography

3. Websites

About The Author

BOOKS BY JASON MEDINA AVAILABLE THROUGH XLIBRIS

No Hope for the Hopeless at Kings Park (2013)

The Diary of Audrey Malone Frayer (2014)

A Ghost in New Orleans (2015)

The Manhattanville Incident (2018)

OTHER BOOKS BY JASON MEDINA

Ghosts and Legends of Yonkers (2015)

A Night at the Shanley Hotel (COMING SOON!)

What sane person could live in this world and not be crazy?

—Ursula K. Le Guin (author and poet),

The Lathe of Heaven, 1971

SECTION VIII

TRUE STORIES OF THE KPPC

CHAPTER 22

TALES OF THE STATE HOSPITAL

Employees and Their Families Talk

Living is easy with eyes closed.

—John Lennon (singer and songwriter)

T HE FOLLOWING TALES are actual accounts of people who either worked at the Kings Park Psychiatric Center or were related to someone who did. Many of these stories were told to me or sent to me through blogs or e-mails. Some people have chosen to remain anonymous.

Some of these tales have also come directly from the Kings Park Heritage Museum or were taken from newspaper articles. In these cases, I rewrote the story in my own words, except one or two from the Kings Park Heritage Museum’s Light and Lively: Kings Park History booklets. I obtained permission to use that material from the museum’s director, Leo Ostebo.

Throughout the many stories in this chapter, I have decided to use exact quotes from the person telling the story because I thought certain portions sounded better when said using their own words. There are also stories where I chose to tell the story in my words. This was usually done to make the story easier to understand or in cases when the story had to be chronologically organized, as I sometimes received the information in segments through a series of e-mails that were not necessarily in historical order.

These stories are all true to the best of my knowledge. I cannot personally verify most of them, but I did what I could to verify as many as possible. I was actually able to obtain copies of many original newspaper articles to help with this process, which was very helpful.

I have placed the stories in alphabetical order, as it would be impossible to place them all in chronological order. There are too many long stories that overlap in time, while others took place during unknown periods. In some ways, this is probably the most fascinating part of this book because it goes beyond technical facts and historic information. These are genuine memories and experiences. Some are very personal, so I am extremely grateful these people agreed to share their tales.

Quite often, stories about the employees and their families tend to be one-sided when it comes to how life was at the hospital. Well, there are a few stories here that tell a different side. You might be surprised by some of the things you read. There were certainly some questionable things that went on at the state hospital, which were kept secret by those involved. Some of these secrets were dark enough to cause people to turn a blind eye to what was happening in front of them, mainly because they did not wish to be involved in a possible criminal investigation. It is only years later that some of these secrets can finally come out at a time when it is really too late to make a difference.

There are a few lighthearted tales to break up the drama. Such is the case with the first story.

A Bunch of Hogwash

The following account was taken from the first issue of Light & Lively: Kings Park History and comes courtesy of the Kings Park Heritage Museum. Originally printed and published in volume 1, issue 1, it has been slightly reworded.

The story takes place at Kings Park during the 1940s. Two men who worked for the state hospital’s Maintenance Department were driving out from the hospital grounds one night. They had somehow managed to procure a recently slaughtered hog. The hog’s bloody body was spread out on the backseat of the car.

It is highly likely the hog was acquired from the hospital’s piggery. However, it seemed that someone failed to do a thorough job of killing the hog because it was still alive!

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Old Dock Road Hog, created by Jason Medina on April 25, 2016

Imagine the looks on their faces when the hog rose up from the backseat covered in its own blood and caused a ruckus in a moving vehicle. It must have been priceless. The struggle that ensued right after was surely a sight to behold. One man tried desperately to maintain control of the swerving car as it rocked wildly, while the other literally fought the hog into submission with his bare hands. It had to be a living nightmare to experience but at the same time quite an amusing sight.

By the time it was all over, the poor hog had finally met his end, this time for certain. As for the inside of the car, it was totally trashed.

When news of the incident became known, both men became laughing stocks at the hospital and legends of the town. That free hog turned out to be quite expensive in the long run.

A Load of Bull

On May 6, 1920, a large Holstein bull escaped from the barn at the hospital’s dairy farm. It broke free from its chain and smashed into the barn door, forcing the lock open and breaking it.

The farmworkers were caught off guard when they saw the bull running loose. They tried frantically to recapture the large animal, but it was no simple task.

The farm supervisor was injured in the process, although it was nothing too serious. He sustained a number of contusions and two fractured ribs, followed by some much-needed time off from work.

A Tight Fit

During the earliest years of the Kings County Farm, there were several visits by the County Farm Committee to inspect the progress being made. This is a story about one such visit that took place on the morning of March 30, 1888. It came from an issue of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle.

Supervisors O’Brien, Nolan, and Mills took the Long Island Railroad out to St. Johnland from Kings County at eight o’clock in the morning. A clerk by the name of Waldron accompanied them. It was he who was kind enough to pass along this tale. The four gentlemen boarded the train at the Flatbush depot and arrived at the county farm two hours later.

The train ride was uneventful. The men passed the time by chatting. Supervisor O’Brien told a story about a widow he knew of, while supervisor Nolan gossiped about a woman from the asylum that was nicknamed Big Mary. The others wanted nothing to do with the story. One can only imagine the nature of his tale, but, alas, it is not that tale I am going to tell.

Supervisor Nolan brought along his infamous rubber boots, which had become well known around the Ninth Ward of Brooklyn. He often liked to brag about how he paid five dollars for the boots, which at the time was impressive. The reason for his bringing the boots on this trip was because the men wanted to conduct an inspection of the sewers, which had finally been completed after two years of work.

A driver on a carriage led by a team of horses from the farm met them at the St. Johnland Station and took them to the Bécar Mansion at the other end of the property. The large house was a preexisting house of the previous farm owner, which was being used as a temporary administration building. There were not many other structures built yet.

Medical superintendent Daniel A. Harrison stood at the doorway of the mansion and greeted his guests upon their arrival. Supervisor O’Brien explained to Dr. Harrison the reason for their impromptu visit and expressed their intentions to see what they came to see. The supervisor was determined to show a valiant effort in light of recent public criticisms about the county farm. He told the doctor, "We will go through those sewers, (even) if we lose our lives in the attempt."

As they say, "Famous last words."

Supervisor Nolan actually tried to dissuade his eager colleague from this hasty decision, as he really did not wish to go down into the sewers and dirty his rubber boots. Perhaps the real reason might have been because he weighed about 250 pounds and knew it would be a difficult task, particularly for him.

Nevertheless, he was unsuccessful in his attempt at reason, so he reluctantly agreed to join the other supervisors on this foolhardy adventure.

Before entering the sewer, supervisor O’Brien borrowed a pair of rubber boots from Dr. Harrison. Apparently, he did not bring his own. Supervisor Nolan was already wearing his rubber boots, so he was as ready as he was going to be. It is unknown if supervisor Mills wore any particular type of boots.

Supervisor O’Brien descended into the manhole first, since he was the most determined to do so. Supervisor Nolan went in next, followed by supervisor Mills. They asked the doctor if he wished to join them, but he declined, not feeling the need to prove anything. He must have found the whole situation quite amusing. The clerk also chose to wait outside.

Supervisor O’Brien began crawling through the twenty-four-inch-wide pipe that went under the Valley Shore Road. (I am not exactly sure where that was supposed to be located, considering it does not match any existing roads, but the article is likely referring to Mariner Road). Fortunately, the sewer was rather clean, as it had not been used yet. Supervisor Nolan attempted to follow his colleague through the pipe, but he suddenly became stuck. Try as he might, he could not move forward or backward. This left supervisor O’Brien trapped inside with nowhere to go.

Dr. Harrison and supervisor Mills tried desperately to rescue supervisor Nolan from his awful predicament while also attempting to rescue supervisor O’Brien in the process, but they could not budge him. It is unknown if the clerk tried to assist. He may have been too busy laughing.

Whatever the case, they knew they were going to need more help. Others from the village of St. Johnland soon arrived to assist, creating a rather embarrassing situation. Of course, there was a real danger. If they took too long, supervisor O’Brien could possibly suffocate. In the end, a group of men pulled supervisor Nolan by his large rubber boots, and both men were set free.

It was later decided to inspect the rest of the sewers from the outside—a wise decision indeed. They remained at the farm for another two days before returning to the Kings County Lunatic Asylum.

I wonder if the clerk was able to keep his job after this article was published.

Anonymous Safety Officer from the OMH

During one of my night visits to the psychiatric center, I encountered one of the safety officers from the Office of Mental Health. He drove past me on the boulevard as I sat in my car taking photos of Building 93.

After he turned his car around and positioned it behind mine with his turret lights on, he stepped out and approached my vehicle on foot. I expected no less once I noticed him. When he asked for my license and registration, I identified myself as a police officer and told him about the book I was writing. It was at this time when I proceeded to ask him questions so I could get a different perspective on the abandoned hospital.

He was kind enough to tell me what I wanted to know. He explained that his duties are to patrol the grounds of the KPPC and Pilgrim Psychiatric Center while watching over the buildings that are still in use and keeping the abandoned structures secure by preventing trespassers from entering. It is surely not an easy task to accomplish alone.

As a peace officer, he has the right to carry a firearm during the course of his duties, but he was only armed with a collapsible asp, a metallic extendable baton used by law enforcement for protection. I personally did not use one of those when I was on duty because I was trained to carry a PR-24 side handle baton when I first came on the job in 1991. The asp was basically a smaller, less dangerous replacement for the PR-24, which was much harder.

When asked what kind of experiences he’s had during his patrols, the safety officer mentioned being stabbed in the hand. It happened when he came upon a group of trespassers behind Macy Hall (Building 90). Luckily, he was not badly injured, but it only emphasized how dangerous it could be for him to patrol on his own without being properly armed.

He also told me about a dead body that was once found on the hospital grounds and about a recent rape along the hike-and-bike trail, which I later read about. The things he told me only confirmed how dangerous it could be to walk along the grounds alone, especially at night, when the park is closed.

Incidentally, I was allowed to continue taking photos from my car.

Assistant Steward Disappears with Money

Upon the start of superintendent William A. Macy’s administration at the Long Island State Hospital at Kings Park, as it was called at the time, it was discovered that the trusted bookkeeper, forty-five-year-old Charles F. Russell of Syracuse, took off with $3,505.11 accrued from ticket sales and certain funds of the treasurer, who was officially the superintendent. Russell also handled the Employees’ Club money as treasurer of the club. Those funds were found to be short by more than $200. Because of the recent change in administration, it was customary for expert accountants to go over the books. This was how the discrepancy was discovered.

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Postcard of the Manhattan Beach Hotel, circa 1904

Russell left by railroad on Monday, July 12, 1904, to start his two days’ leave and checked in at the Manhattan Beach Hotel at New York City, where he apparently intended to stay for the duration. He paid his bill in full up front, which was rather odd. The last time anyone saw him was at breakfast time the next morning.

Later that night, his clothing was found in a bathroom booth of a public bathhouse named Sunshade Bathing Pavilion at Manhattan Beach. The towel had been untouched and the floor was dry, indicating Russell had not returned from his swim. According to the bathhouse’s logbook, he had been one of the first to engage in a booth that morning after renting a bathing suit. The proprietor of the bathhouse vaguely remembered him, as it was a busy morning.

Russell’s watch, jewelry, money, and some papers that included his wife’s address were later found in his hotel room, along with his valise and some clothing. A note was left behind at the hotel office wrapped in a two-dollar bill, which hinted at his alleged suicide. In the note, he requested that his clothing, which he indicated could be found in a booth at the bathhouse, and his belongings in his hotel room be sent to his wife, who resided on the hospital grounds with him at Kings Park.

Based on what little was known, it was believed he swam out beyond the lifeguards and drowned in the undertow before his body was carried away by the ocean, or was it?

Russell began working at Kings Park in 1900. For four years, he acted in his duties as assistant steward and chief bookkeeper to former superintendent Oliver M. Dewing without suspicion or incident. He regularly handled anywhere from $12,000 to $15,000 per month. He was a very conservative man who was highly respected and well liked by his peers.

As for his home life, he resided in the steward’s residence (Male Cottage H/Building 33) on the hospital grounds with his wife. They had no children. It is unknown if they were experiencing personal issues. She gave no such indications.

The hotel management notified his wife immediately. She arrived at the hotel on Wednesday accompanied by friend Dr. Dewing. She immediately took possession of his effects and stated there was no reason, as far as she knew, for him to commit suicide. She said he left home on Sunday night and headed for the city to buy some wearing apparel. He informed her he would return the next day. She thought nothing of it.

Mrs. Russell made one request to the manager of the hotel. She asked that he keep the incident out of the newspapers. He promised to do so, and the police were not notified yet.

After the loss of money was discovered at the state hospital, the incident was immediately reported to the State Commission in Lunacy. Under its direction, it was then reported to District Attorney Livingston Smith of Suffolk County.

The diligent search for Russell’s body went on for a few weeks, but it was never found. It is hard to believe that his body never washed up on shore, nor was it found anywhere nearby.

Mrs. Russell left Kings Park by the end of the month and moved back to Syracuse to live with her husband’s parents. They all believed he had drowned and wished to be in mourning together. However, once news of the missing money came to light, his wife did not know what to believe. As for his parents, rather than believe their son a thief, they chose to mourn his passing.

Meanwhile, Dr. Dewing, under the Odell Unification Law, served as the hospital’s treasurer during his previous term as superintendent and was under a $25,000 bond. He was most likely called upon to pay some of the shortage in as much as could be traced to the treasurer’s accounts. After all, Russell had been deputized to act on his behalf as his confidential personal assistant.

I wonder if Russell staged his suicide and disappeared with the money. One belief was that he had stashed away a new suit, which he put on before disappearing with the stolen money. It might not sound like a lot of money by today’s standards, but it was worth a lot more by 1904’s standards. Russell had been known to frequent that beach in the past, and whenever he did, he rarely went swimming. Furthermore, he was always known to be very exact in his habits. Some of his friends, who were interviewed in August of that same year, did not believe he drowned.

Closing the case and leaving it as a suicide sounds like the easier route for the detective in charge of the case. Personally, I would have started a manhunt and tracked him down.

Barry’s Memories of the Mental Retardation Unit

During my research for this book, former employee Barry Charletta has been one of my most helpful sources of historical information. He is well informed on many subjects regarding the KPPC, the surrounding area, and the way things were in the buildings of Group 2 during the 1970s.

Through this project, we have become friends, and he has been kind enough to provide me with many great stories from his personal memories, which I hope you will enjoy as much as I have, for Barry was quite the troublemaker.

"I worked in Group 2, Building 40, and, mostly, 124, during the time it was the MR Unit. Most of the patients supposedly came from Willowbrook State School on Staten Island, but I cannot recall having seen that facility noted in any patient records. I mostly noted facilities in Brooklyn or Queens, but they might have only been transitional. I spent the first year on day shift, 7:30 am to 3:30 pm, and the remainder of my time, while resuming college, on evening shift, 3:30 pm to 11:30 pm. I had to have split pass days (days off) for years, so as to attend late afternoon classes. Fulltime college and fulltime job resulted in not much free time for too many years.

I started as a Ward Aide, became a MHTA (Grade 7), and finished as a MHTA (Grade 9) and Ward Charge. I started on January 2, 1976 and left state service in the summer of 1981 to work in my field of education at the Grumman Low Speed Wind Tunnel in Bethpage, L.I.

I spent one week on a geriatric ward in Building 7, while doing In-Service Training, as a MHTA. I cannot, however, remember the ward number.

In-Service was a course of about six weeks. Part of the training was to spend time on actual wards in the hospital, about one week in each of three wards. Because I was already working in the MR Unit, which was part of the training rotation, the administrators determined that I should spend that week in another psychiatric ward.

I did not witness this story, but I heard it from a number of people. One group was doing their MR Unit week of In-Service Training and was in a classroom in Building 122. The unit functionary, who coordinated training there, (I never knew his real job title) was preparing for an after lunch lecture with the trainees before sending them back to the wards for the afternoon.

He stood before the class, took off his sports jacket, and, as he hung it over a chair back, a bag of pot fell out and onto the floor . . . a big bag. The group was laughing and snickering and he was red-faced. I am sure that some of those employees wanted a transfer to the MR Unit, after seeing that.

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Looking up toward Building 124 from the boulevard, circa 1981

The usual procedure for placing new MHTAs in the hospital, after training, was to post them wherever there was a shortage. However, because I was already working in the MR Unit before I entered In-Service Training, the MR Unit wanted me back after training was completed. My class grades were the second highest in the class by a whisker.

I was working day shift on Ward 50 in Building 40 before In-Service, but bodies were really needed on evening shift, so I was posted to Ward 53 in Building 124. It worked out perfectly for me, as it allowed me to return to college during the daytime.

An interesting tidbit regarding heating the hospital buildings . . . the hospital would turn the steam heat on at a particular date in autumn and off on a particular date in spring. Around Easter time in 1976, we had a bad heat wave on the Island with daytime temperatures well into the 90s. Of course, the radiators were pumping out heat during the entire week.

The buildings were almost unbearable inside and all windows were fully open day and night. The only respite came after the sun went down and the outside temps dropped into the 70s, but the radiators were still going full-bore."

This next story involves a certain landmark of the MR Unit, which was known as the Rock.

"Back in the late 1970s, while working evening shift on Ward 53, we acquired some latex paint for murals on the walls inside Building 124. Some months later, after some mental lubrication, I took a bucket of yellow paint and a brush and disappeared outside.

I began to paint some immortal words on the rock when I heard a door open and close in Building 122. I hid behind the rock, until I noticed Kevin walking toward Building 40. I stepped out to greet him, as he approached the rock. He approved of the work and requested the paint and brush to add something.

While we signed out after our shift at 11:30 pm that night, everyone was gathered around the rock with headlights illuminating it.

Well, when I returned for work on the following afternoon, Kim H., who was the administrative clerk, ran outside to tell me what had transpired.

It just happened to be ‘Parents Day’ for the patients. Kim said that when they walked up the hill from behind Building 123 to sign in at Building 40, the rising sun perfectly illuminated the rock and the bright yellow painted words. She even ran home to get her instamatic camera and took pictures of it. ‘The Rock’ then became the focus of conversation in the MR Unit. The administrators even had the cleaners try to scrub off the lettering before the parents arrived, to no avail.

The writing on ‘The Rock’ stated:

‘BUZZARD HEAD

WELCOME TO K.P.D.C.(Kings Park Developmental Center)

HOME OF FALK THE FUCK’

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Falk was the name of the Nurse Administrator for the Unit. Kevin added ‘Buzzard Head,’ which was what one of our patients called Norman, our evening shift supervisor.

The recreation staff in the unit sometimes held ‘movie night.’ They would sign out a movie projector, portable movie screen, and a reel-to-reel movie from the hospital Recreation Department. They set up the apparatus in the kitchen section of Building 123, after darkness fell.

That part of the building once contained a fully functioning kitchen during the early days of Group 2. The building was T-shaped with the kitchen forming the vertical bar and the dining rooms forming the crossbar. The kitchen was a big room.

The patients were given munchies during the show. The movies were generally B-grade films or cartoons from the 1940s–1950s. They bored us nearly to death, but the patients liked being there. I suppose probably just for the goodies.

Just across the driveway, Building 40 held a number of administrative offices. The front of the building once held a big dayroom, which was divided by walls in 1976 to form a medical treatment room on the right side of the front hallway and a handful of small offices on the left. The common shift supervisor’s office was located to the left of the entry door.

One of the patients, Robert M., gave the nickname of ‘Buzzard Head’ to our evening shift supervisor, Norman O. probably because Norman always had a buzz cut, but who really knows? Robert M. also wanted a ‘gray Three Stooges water tower.’

Except for his nightly rounds to the wards after shower time, which was around 8 pm, Norman usually stayed inside his office all night, which did not bother us one bit. We often joked that he was like Sergeant Shultz, i.e. ‘I know nothing!’

Of course, we could not stand tedium. One of the guys from Ward 50 said, ‘We gotta do something. This is killing me.’ We put our thick skulls together to scheme.

Kevin from Ward 50 said, ‘Let’s blow up Buzzard Head.’ Okay, just how can we do that? Fireworks, of course!

We each had someone sneak back to our wards and return with some ammunition. Four of us snuck out and made our way across the driveway. We could see Buzzard Head occasionally get up from his desk, shuffling files, and doing paperwork. He almost always had a radio playing, so stealth was not too critical on our part.

We used ‘The Rock’ to block any sight he might have gotten of us, as we crossed under the streetlight. We snuck beneath the window undetected. Jimmy broke off a piece of cigarette. We tied together the fuses of a bunch of packs of firecrackers and inserted them into one end of the cigarette and lit it, and then placed the bundle on the windowsill, which was to Norman’s back, as he sat at the desk.

We slipped back into the kitchen and assumed our previous positions. We kept an eye on Norman’s window. We could see him sitting at the desk. Kaboom-kabing-kabang! The whole shebang went off, illuminating the entire front of Building 40. We could see Buzzard Head leap into the air from his seated position. I think he left his shoes on the floor.

Within five minutes, Norman appeared in the kitchen, directly eyeballing the likely culprits. He said, ‘It’s kind of a noisy night outside tonight, isn’t it?’

‘Yeah,’ someone piped up, ‘what was that racket? Can’t anyone get any peace and quiet around here?’ Norman just smiled and walked back to his office."

Sometimes the clowning around did go a little too far, but no one was ever hurt. This next story Barry tells is a good example of that.

"The female patient ward, Ward 52, was for a time located on the ground floor of building 122. All of the attendants there were also females at that time and they always gathered in the coffee room to gossip, after the patients went to bed. Brad C. came up with a hot idea. We grabbed a bottle of acetone from our treatment room and sneaked over to 122.

We could see the girls in the coffee room seated at the table and yucking it up. Because it was bright on the inside and dark outside, they could not see us. It was a warm night and the windows were open. Fortunately, the breeze was blowing air from the inside out.

Brad poured acetone all over the window screen and sill and quickly threw a match at it. Whooomph! The whole window lit up in flames. The girls shrieked and it was ‘every man for himself’ getting through the door. We were very satisfied with the results.

We were well aware that acetone was very volatile and tended to flash when lit, with the fire extinguishing itself within mere seconds. Gasoline, by comparison, would burn for a long, long time."

When I expressed my opinion to Barry that this prank was a bit much, he assured me they had everything under control. It was a good thing the building did not burn down. Playing with fire is never safe.

When asked if he believed the hospital was haunted, Barry provided me with the following reply.

"We haunted the place ourselves. There is a good story there, too. I have never witnessed any supernatural event, while working there or hanging out on the grounds off-duty. It was a great place to hang out when off-duty.

Administration of the MR Unit passed from KPPC to Long Island Developmental Center (LIDC) in Melville sometime around 1978 or early 1979. It caused some logistical problems; such as getting work orders to have the KPPC maintenance crews do work in the unit. The worst part, however, was the unit losing