Location: Roosevelt Island, New York City, NY
The Smallpox Hospital, often referred to as the Renwick Smallpox Hospital or the Renwick Ruin, is a historic Gothic Revival structure located at the southern tip of Roosevelt Island in Manhattan, New York City. Designed by renowned architect James Renwick Jr. and opened in 1856, it was the first major hospital in the United States dedicated to treating smallpox, a highly contagious and deadly disease that plagued humanity for millennia. Now a designated New York City Landmark and listed on the National Register of Historic Places, the hospital stands as a picturesque ruin, the only landmarked ruin in the city. Its haunting, ivy-covered facade, illuminated at night, evokes a romantic yet eerie mood, drawing comparisons to Gothic ruins like Tintern Abbey in England.
Smallpox, known as the “speckled monster,” was a devastating disease
with a mortality rate of up to 30% in unvaccinated populations. Before
Edward Jenner’s vaccine in 1796, it killed millions annually, including
monarchs like Louis XV of France and Queen Mary II of England, and left
survivors with severe scarring. Even after the vaccine’s introduction,
smallpox outbreaks persisted in New York City, particularly among
immigrants arriving at Ellis Island. By the mid-19th century, the city
faced recurring epidemics, with nearly 100 years of post-vaccine
outbreaks due to inconsistent vaccination efforts and urban crowding.
Prior to the Smallpox Hospital’s construction, smallpox patients on
Blackwell’s Island (Roosevelt Island’s name until 1921) were housed in
inadequate wooden shacks along the East River, described by Resident
Physician William Kelly as “a pile of poor wooden out houses”. The need
for a dedicated quarantine facility led to the hospital’s planning in
1850, with construction beginning on April 1, 1854, and completion in
1856. The hospital’s isolated location on the southern tip of
Blackwell’s Island, surrounded by water, was strategic, ensuring
quarantine by limiting access to ferries and keeping patients far from
Manhattan’s dense population.
The hospital was unique for its
time, admitting both charity patients, housed in wards on the lower
floors, and paying patients, who occupied private rooms on the upper
floors. This inclusivity reflected the severity of smallpox, which
necessitated isolating all infected individuals, regardless of
socioeconomic status. From 1856 to 1875, the hospital treated
approximately 7,000 patients annually, with a capacity of 100 beds.
Patients either recovered or died rapidly, resulting in high turnover.
In 1875, the hospital closed as a smallpox treatment facility due to
increasing population density on Blackwell’s Island and the
establishment of a new smallpox hospital on North Brother Island, which
offered greater isolation. The building was repurposed as the Home for
the Nurses and the Maternity and Charity Hospital Training School,
associated with the nearby Charity Hospital (later City Hospital). It
served as a nursing school until the early 1950s, when it was abandoned,
marking the beginning of its decline into ruin.
Designed by James Renwick Jr., the Smallpox Hospital is a striking
example of Gothic Revival architecture, a style Renwick favored early in
his career and also employed in landmarks like St. Patrick’s Cathedral
and Grace Church. The original structure, completed in 1856, measured
104 feet by 45 feet and was three stories tall, constructed with granite
gneiss (similar to schist) quarried from the island itself by prisoners
from the nearby Blackwell’s Island Penitentiary. This use of local
materials and labor kept construction costs low at $38,000.
Architectural features included pointed-arch window openings, crenelated
parapets, and a central tower-like structure with recessed arches and
intricate Gothic detailing, creating a fortress-like appearance that
symbolized both containment and protection. The entrance featured a
heavy stone porch, and the third-floor windows had distinctive
triangular arches, adding to the building’s dramatic silhouette. The AIA
Guide to New York City describes the ruins as embodying “an eerie
romantic mood” and a “palpable documentation of a period in the past,”
evoking a sense of decayed grandeur.
In 1903–1905, two wings were
added to accommodate the growing nursing school: the south wing by York
& Sawyer and the north wing by Renwick, Aspinwall & Owen. These
additions matched Renwick’s original Gothic Revival style, maintaining
the building’s aesthetic uniformity. The wings, also built with
island-quarried stone, extended the hospital’s capacity but later
contributed to its structural instability when abandoned.
The
hospital’s design was not merely utilitarian; it was intended to inspire
awe and convey permanence, reflecting 19th-century ideals of
institutional architecture. However, its fortress-like appearance also
underscored its role in isolating patients, with no visitors allowed,
creating a sense of separation that patients may have felt keenly as
they gazed across the East River toward Manhattan.
After its abandonment in the early 1950s, the Smallpox Hospital fell
into disrepair. Vandals stripped metal detailing, and the roof
collapsed, leaving only the outer walls and foundation intact. By the
1970s, the building was a hollow shell, with vegetation, including vines
and red ivy, creeping over the facade, further destabilizing the
structure. A partial collapse of the north wing on December 26, 2007,
highlighted the urgency of preservation efforts.
The building’s
transformation into a ruin was both a loss and a new form of cultural
significance. In 1972, it was added to the National Register of Historic
Places, and in 1976, the New York City Landmarks Preservation Commission
designated it a city landmark, calling it “the only landmarked ruin in
New York City.” The commission speculated that it could become “the
American equivalent of the great Gothic ruins of England,” such as
Tintern Abbey, cherished for its picturesque decay. In the 1970s,
architect Giorgio Cavaglieri reinforced the walls to prevent total
collapse, and since 1995, the ruins have been illuminated nightly with
green floodlights, enhancing their eerie yet regal appearance and
raising awareness for preservation.
Today, the Smallpox Hospital stands as a roofless, windowless ruin,
surrounded by a reinforced fence to prevent public access due to safety
concerns. The interior is inaccessible, with no floors, ceilings, or
intact stairwells, and debris from collapses litters the site. The
exterior walls, covered in greenery, retain their Gothic Revival
features, though the north wing’s partial collapse and ongoing
deterioration pose challenges.
A $4.5 million stabilization
project, initiated in the 2000s, aimed to preserve the ruins and make
them publicly accessible. Walter B. Melvin Architects, retained in 2015,
conducted a multi-phase effort involving archival research, laser
scanning, condition surveys, and structural stabilization drawings. The
project includes plans to insert steel columns and reinforce walls, with
an estimated $1.2 million raised by the nonprofit Friends of the Ruin as
of 2022. The stabilization is tied to the development of Franklin D.
Roosevelt Four Freedoms Park, opened in 2012, which adjoins the hospital
site and envisions the ruins as part of a public park setting.
Friends of the Ruin, founded in 2018, advocates for transforming the
site into a permanent memorial for frontline medical workers,
particularly those who fought COVID-19. The proposal leverages the
hospital’s history as a quarantine facility and nursing school to honor
healthcare professionals and commemorate pandemic resilience. The
envisioned memorial would include a landscaped public park, enhancing
the site’s waterfront tranquility and accessibility from all New York
boroughs. The project has gained traction post-COVID-19, as the pandemic
underscored the hospital’s relevance as a symbol of public health
struggles.
The Smallpox Hospital is more than a relic; it is a testament to New
York City’s public health history and the human cost of infectious
diseases. Its role as the nation’s first dedicated smallpox hospital
highlights early efforts to manage epidemics through quarantine, a
practice that resonates with modern responses to pandemics like
COVID-19. The hospital’s dual function as a nursing school from 1875 to
the 1950s underscores its contribution to medical education, training
generations of nurses who served on the frontlines.
The ruins
also reflect the darker aspects of 19th-century urban policy. Roosevelt
Island, formerly Blackwell’s Island, was a place of exile for the city’s
“undesirable” populations—prisoners, the poor, the sick, and the
mentally ill. The hospital’s construction by penitentiary inmates and
its isolation from Manhattan symbolize the era’s approach to warehousing
the marginalized. As one X post speculates, the hospital’s imposing
structure may hint at an “ancient repurposed building,” though this
lacks evidence and likely reflects romanticized views of its Gothic
aesthetic.
The ruins’ landmark status and their portrayal in
media, such as Unforgotten Films’ short documentaries, emphasize their
cultural value. The 2024 film by artist Aaron Asis, in partnership with
the New York Landmark Conservancy, offers rare interior glimpses and
advocates for preservation, highlighting the site’s potential for
adaptive reuse. Visitors, including students from Williamsburg High
School for Architecture and Design, describe the ruins as a “poignant
reminder” of medical history, with their greenery-covered walls evoking
both decay and resilience.
The Smallpox Hospital is located in Southpoint Park, adjacent to
Franklin D. Roosevelt Four Freedoms Park, at the southern tip of
Roosevelt Island. It is accessible via the F train to the Roosevelt
Island station, the Roosevelt Island Tramway from Manhattan (payable
with a MetroCard), or ferries from Astoria, Long Island City, or Wall
Street. Visitors can walk south along West Road to E Road, where the
ruins are visible behind a fence. The site offers stunning views of
Manhattan’s skyline and the Queensboro Bridge, contrasting the ruins’
decay with the city’s modernity.
The ruins are not open for
interior tours due to structural instability, but the exterior can be
viewed year-round. The nightly illumination creates a striking nighttime
experience, though some describe it as “creepy” or “haunted”. A visit
typically takes 30–60 minutes, often combined with exploring Four
Freedoms Park or the island’s other historic sites, such as the
Blackwell House or the Octagon. The island’s free Red Bus provides
hop-on, hop-off service, enhancing accessibility.
Tripadvisor
reviews praise the site’s historical significance and scenic setting,
recommending it for those interested in medical history or seeking a
quieter alternative to Manhattan’s bustle. However, some note the ruins’
inaccessibility and dilapidated state as limitations, suggesting more
interpretive signage or stabilization to enhance the experience.
Preserving the Smallpox Hospital poses significant challenges. Its
advanced decay, exacerbated by the 2007 collapse and ongoing erosion,
requires costly stabilization. The $4.5 million project, while
ambitious, faces funding hurdles, with Friends of the Ruin relying on
private and public donations. Some argue the ruins should be demolished
to make way for revenue-generating development, citing their limited
practical use and maintenance costs. Others, including preservationists
and historians, counter that the ruins are a unique artifact of New
York’s medical and architectural heritage, irreplaceable as a site of
reflection and education.
The memorial proposal has sparked
debate. While many support honoring healthcare workers, some question
whether a ruin can adequately serve as a public space without
significant reconstruction, which could alter its historic character.
Additionally, the site’s isolation, while historically functional,
limits its visibility compared to more central memorials.
The
hospital’s Gothic aesthetic and abandoned state have fueled speculative
narratives, including rumors of hauntings or its use in fictional
settings like “Gothic romances”. Such romanticization risks
overshadowing the real suffering of smallpox patients and the labor of
inmates who built it, a tension preservationists must navigate.
The Smallpox Hospital’s significance lies in its layered history: a
pioneering medical facility, a training ground for nurses, and a symbol
of 19th-century attitudes toward disease and marginalization. Its Gothic
Revival design, while beautiful, served a grim purpose, isolating
patients in a fortress-like structure that reflected both care and
control. The ruins’ current state—decayed yet preserved—mirrors the
paradox of commemorating a disease eradicated in 1980 while grappling
with modern pandemics like COVID-19.
Critically, the hospital’s
narrative is incomplete without acknowledging the Wampanoag and other
Indigenous populations decimated by smallpox, often deliberately through
colonial practices like distributing infected blankets, as noted during
the French and Indian Wars. While the museum at Plimoth Patuxet
addresses this broader context, the Smallpox Hospital’s interpretation
focuses narrowly on its 19th-century role, missing an opportunity to
connect to these earlier histories.
The preservation effort,
while laudable, raises questions about authenticity. Stabilizing the
ruins with modern materials like steel columns risks diminishing their
“romantic decay,” a quality praised by the Landmarks Preservation
Commission. Conversely, allowing further deterioration could erase a
tangible link to the past. The memorial proposal, though compelling,
must balance historical integrity with contemporary relevance, ensuring
the site remains a place of education rather than mere spectacle.