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One of dozens of NYC area hospitals to have ended up on our abandoned hit list. This is what summer nights in NYC are all about. History Goldwater hospital was built in and over the decades came to specialize in care for wheelchair-bound individuals. It was specifically designed to allow for significant green space and solariums where patients could be exposed to natural light and air.
It was named after Dr. Within the next two weeks , the last of the buildings will be leveled, to make way for a new graduate technology campus for Cornell University. Roosevelt island is a strange place in terms of security, and exploring here over the last 20 years has always been an adventure.
Some spots, like Southpoint and the Renwick ruin were fairly tightly secured, while others the old octagon what was left of it and nurses quarters were a breeze.
Tonight is no different. Our goal for the night depends on who you ask. Half the crowd wants to get to the massive morgue rumored to still be in the northernmost building.
Between us laid an obstacle course of security and building demolition. Roughly halfway through was the C building, which was still very much intact and hosting a security trailer in full view of long central hallway where the windows were already removed.
Many of the same features as Triboro Hospital in Jamaica, which seems to also be headed for the wrecking ball. Save my name, email, and website in this browser for the next time I comment. This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.
One Shots. May 1, Manhattan Roosevelt Island. Roosevelt Island, a two-mile sliver of land in the East River nestled between the Upper East Side and Astoria, is home to a population of 12, on acres of land. Coler Hospital, opened on the north end of the island in The immense facility was designed to be a new model of medical care for those with chronic illness. Goldwater closed its doors on December 31, , transferring its patients to other facilities around the city.
Photographer and architect Charles Giraudet has been furiously documenting Goldwater Hospital in its last days, compiling an extraordinary 15, images so far during the brief window between its de-commissioning and its imminent demolition. Together they planned the development of Roosevelt Island as a haven for medical care and research with the creation of several major pieces of infrastructure, the flagship of which would be Welfare Hospital, dedicated to chronic diseases.
Goldwater hired a young architect to head the design team. He wrote several books and articles about hospital design. All major programming decisions — from the number of beds to the general layout of the buildings, the angled wings of the wards and the relative heights — were related to an unwavering patient-centric design approach.
Going further, the bed itself, with its lighting and relationship to the other beds in the ward, were designed from the ground up to serve two purposes, seen as one: the well-being of the patient and the ability for the doctor to care for him or her. Roosevelt Island provided Rosenfield with a perfect site.
The old penitentiary at the south of the 59th Street Bridge would be demolished so the hospital could take its place. In this low-density setting, patients would benefit from the sun and air necessary to their recovery, while remaining close to their families, an aspect of care that Rosenfield deemed essential. All support and technical services were placed in the basement of the various buildings, and a tunnel — running the length of the island — would bring hot water and steam to the facility from a centralized plant that still functions today.
Encompassing the width of the island edge to edge, the hospital resembles the superstructure of a ship, the bedrock of Roosevelt Island its hull. I discovered Goldwater by accident a couple of decades ago, as a young architect from France interested in the nooks and crannies of New York. I was immediately drawn to its angled wings and running balconies reminiscent of the ocean liner architecture of early modernists.
Goldwater seemed to echo these buildings. They spoke of an age where architecture could ambitiously address social needs for the public good. Before penicillin, sunlight was part of the cure as much as any medication, so an almost obsessive attention was paid by Rosenfield to the path of light through his buildings. The chevron shape yielded more hours of exposure and views of the river. Wards were designed to encourage the use of the outdoor space with every bedroom opening onto a wide balcony or terrace.
Even the roofs of the main gallery were meant to be used as circulation and terraces by the patients during the sunny months. In fact, almost every single space in the facility receives natural daylight. Corridors set deep in the building are lined by glass partitions or doors with transoms. The dumbwaiter lobby in the laboratory building gets its light from a window set high above the sink of a bathroom that has its own six-foot-high window to the outside.
There are countless examples and variations. I entered the building during a very special and short phase of its life, between the day when patients and staff had been relocated and rooms had been emptied out of all things not attached to the walls or ceilings and the day the demolition crews would start to tear it down.
For the first two weeks, I walked alone in the deserted hallways and basements with my cameras, pushing open doors to rooms that would invariably surprise me. This was due in part to the evolving time parameters of the project and in part to the impossibility of finding any space insignificant in a building so carefully tailored to its use.
Every time period has its light. It is the blank page onto which architect and designers write their projects. Yet, because we view it as part of nature, we have developed little vocabulary to discuss it. Its intensity, temperature, its use in architecture are measured or discussed, but we should consider it a part of culture that is reflected in all its aspects.
When it comes to architecture, light is the very substance of space, a cultural trait par excellence. Movie directors use this to move us through time and space, as it speaks to us through our bodies before our consciousness can awaken to the trick.
The western taste for light, brightness, clarity, brilliance, total transparency, and sheen is compared with the soothing, soul-feeding qualities of the deep shade, the murkiness of texture, the patina of time. I found each family member in different institutions in the census, but they managed to get back together by the census. She did live to see some grandchildren. I worked there as a Recreation Therapist in the early 60s.
I most remember the young polio patients in the iron lungs who were so brave. You did important work for the people who spent so much of their lives there. It was an imaginative design that reminds of us the ambitions New York once had for its public health system. Thanks for sharing this article,! I enjoyed reading it. I am the granddaughter of a nurse who retired from Goldwater in the nineteen seventies after 38 yrs of service, She told me many things about the hospital and about Mrs.
Alberta Hunter. A vivir. Can someone tell me if there is anywhere to find out patient names that were there from on? I am looking for information on an infant that was institutionalized due to developmental delays , and was wondering if this is where she might have been placed. I worked at both these hospitals on Roosevelt Island and suggest you contact Bird S.
Perhaps the Admissions Dept. In the early 70s I can remember being a volunteer on the respiratory ward were a iron lung was still in use. Did you know a child named Kevin Shelton who had polio as an infant and was paralyzed and on a ventilator? Not sure why, yet. She seemed to have a hard time when she immigrated to America: she was widowed when her first two children were young, then seems to have had twins out-of-wedlock well after her husband died, one of them was deaf.
I was a nursing student at Cornell University-NY Hospital School of Nursing in the early s and assigned to Goldwater for a two-month stint as part of the curriculum on chronic diseases. I began there in the spring. In the mornings, we were picked up at our 70th and York nursing residence and driven by bus to the facility. In the afternoons, on clement days, a group of us would sometimes walk home, using the elevator that rose from Welfare Island now Roosevelt Island to the center of the 59th street bridge now Queensboro Bridge.
I have never forgotten the bravery of the two patients with whom I worked or the examples of courage demonstrated by so many of the other patients. I particularly recall a young woman who painted with her teeth from an iron lung and used her drawings to make stationary and a good-natured, bilateral amputee who, while lying on his stomach, used canes to propel himself on his stretcher down the hallways. My time at Goldwater left an indelible and meaningful mark. A trip to Goldwater Hospital was sometimes depressing due to the extent of the disabilities of many of the patients.
They used early personal computers to allow some nonverbal patients to communicate, which was pretty cutting-edge stuff thirty years ago.
I was always impressed by the dedication of the staff at Goldwater Hospital. It was an intriguing and interesting facility.
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