Since its founding in 1925, the District Training School for the Mentally Retarded has been more focused on concealing individuals with developmental or physical challenges rather than on providing effective treatments. Laurel, Maryland was chosen by Congress as the school’s location due to its rural surroundings and as a replacement for the Washington Home for Colored Idiots, a derogatorily named institution that local residents had urged politicians to close. The new training school encompassed approximately 300 acres and included 22 structures such as a canteen, recreational center, gymnasium, theater, baseball field, hospital, chapel, administrative offices, educational buildings, dormitories, and a farm.
Pinpointing the exact turning point when the District Training School shifted from a relatively secure treatment and training center to what one investigating attorney called “the deadliest known example of institutional abuse in recent American history” is challenging. Initially, operations appeared routine. However, in 1954, a significant incident occurred when a man was apprehended in Pennsylvania on charges of white slavery for allegedly transporting a student from the school to York “for purposes of prostitution.” Yet, evidence to suggest that this was more than an isolated incident remains scarce.
During the deinstitutionalization movement of the 1970s, numerous institutions and asylums across the country met their end. There was a shifting consensus that community-based treatment was not only more effective but also more compassionate. Disturbing rumors, such as the suicides of four young individuals in isolation at Forest Haven, began to circulate throughout the neighborhood.
The groundbreaking class-action case, Evans et al. v. Washington, further shook the foundations. It alleged that the residents of Forest Haven had their constitutional rights violated due to the institution’s harsh treatment. Initiated by Betty Evans following the tragic death of her 18-year-old daughter Joy, the lawsuit uncovered a harrowing narrative of abuse and neglect.
It must have seemed like a significant victory when the Justice Department intervened in the case, leading to its resolution in 1978. The plan outlined the closure of Forest Haven, relocating its residents to group homes, and ensuring they received proper nutrition. Despite assurances from the local government, Forest Haven remained operational until October 14, 1991, during which time it continued to provide inadequate care and nourishment, resulting in fatalities.
Federal District Judge John Pratt’s response to the Justice Department’s efforts to hasten the closure, despite the deaths, was marked by callous indifference. He reasoned that the individuals affected “are not in the best of health probably,” suggesting that any deaths would not have a significant impact. Shockingly, a proposal to allocate $24,698 for training workers in proper feeding techniques was rejected due to purported budgetary constraints.
The scene at the Forest Haven morgue was hauntingly grim, with decay evident everywhere. A Stokes Basket leaned against a window, adding to the eerie atmosphere.
My initial visit to Forest Haven was one of my earliest explorations of abandoned locations. Unaware of its dark history at the time, the site left a profound impression on me. Nestled amidst the woods between the Woodland Job Corps Center, the Oak Hill Youth Center, and the National Security Agency headquarters, the silence was occasionally interrupted by strange voices and disjointed sounds. It wasn’t until later that I learned about Forest Haven’s closure, driven by its appalling treatment of residents and the chilling discovery of graves on the campus unearthed by erosion.
Each time I revisited Forest Haven over the years, I uncovered more unsettling details. Empty shoes strewn about, a spring-mounted horse lost among the overgrown weeds outside the playground, and bags stacked in storage rooms once filled with the residents’ belongings upon their arrival—all remnants of the past remained. Children’s braces and crutches, along with large cribs scattered throughout the halls and basements, served as stark reminders.
Amidst the offices, paperwork covered every surface, offering glimpses into unthinkable realities. In one document, a doctor’s frustration over the impossible working conditions and the dire impact on the residents was palpable: “Her main dental issue is severe periodontal disease brought on by poor oral hygiene. She has gingivitis that is rather bad.”
In the dimly lit corridors of the deserted Oak Hill Youth Center, faceless CPR dummies serve as eerie reminders of the facility’s past.
Sadly, the pattern of neglect and mistreatment persists in group homes, where profits often prioritize over the well-being of residents. Despite being run by wealthy entrepreneurs residing in multimillion-dollar homes, excuses are made for basics like toilet paper. This lack of oversight leads to unchecked abuse and a concerning level of public indifference.
During Forest Haven’s operation, tragic deaths occurred due to the grossly inadequate care provided by a doctor whose license had been suspended. These instances underscore the urgent need for reform and accountability in institutions tasked with caring for vulnerable individuals.