The Orphanage

By Andrea Scarpino

A sandstone building on a hill overlooking the lake, windows boarded up, grass grown high in the yard. Clearly abandoned, graffiti on the walls, one un-boarded window broken out. There’s a story there, I told myself for months, driving past. And there is—an orphanage, opened in 1915, totally abandoned since the mid 1980s, bought and sold by different people with different ideas about how to transform the building after the orphanage closed.

And there are many stories told about the orphanage, that it was a saving grace for parents with too many children and too few resources. That the nuns who ran it were abusive. One often-repeated story tells of an orphan who died after playing outside in the snow. The nuns were said to have left her body displayed for weeks to warn the other children not to play outside. Then there are stories of a group of Cuban children sent to Marquette as their parents fled the Cuban Revolution, of hauntings, strange sights and sounds at night.

Probably, the truth of the orphanage is complex—some children treated well, some abused, some who loved living there, some who hated it. But what interests me most is the building itself, sandstone arches, regal front steps. This building crafted so carefully, a theater with painted ceilings, wooden floors, grand entryways—and then abandoned, uncared for, left empty. It seems emblematic, although I’m not sure of what—American life, maybe, our modern situation, our many gradual declines into disorder.

Because isn’t this what we do? Create beautiful things, structures, ideas—and then let them go to waste, refuse to follow-through. We are so good at the initial creative energy of an idea, the initial excitement of making something happen. But the slow, steady work of keeping it going, moving our work forward. . . that we aren’t as good at. Maybe when I stare at the abandoned orphanage, I’m mourning the fate of so many interesting buildings, ideas, stories, lives—forgotten, fallen into disrepair, given up on. Maybe I’m hoping to hear the stories of those who once lived there, hoping the building still holds some piece of their lives.

Today, a beautiful day. Cold but sunny, snow reflecting sunlight. I’m sitting in the library looking out over snow-capped roofs, sandstone, wood, brick. Ice is beginning to form on the lake. One lone barge trudges along with iron ore on its back. But as I look over the town, I can’t help but focus on the orphanage, barely visible in the distance behind a row of ragged trees. Lovely, really, in its disrepair. Because there’s something so beautiful about failing, about crumbling, becoming overgrown. Tragic, yes, but beautiful too. Complex. The messiness of our lives, our good ideas ending, becoming something new.

Poet and essayist Andrea Scarpino lives in Marquette, Michigan. You can visit her at: http://www.andreascarpino.com

Author: stevekuusisto

Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University View all posts by stevekuusisto