Patients and Staff of Waverly Hills Sanatorium

Waverly Hills Sanatorium, located in the Waverly Hills neighborhood of Louisville, Kentucky, was established in 1910 amid a severe tuberculosis (TB) outbreak in Jefferson County. The facility was built on land originally purchased by Major Thomas H. Hays in 1883, named after a nearby schoolhouse called Waverley Hill (later spelled Waverly Hills). It opened as a modest two-story wooden structure designed to house 40 to 50 patients, focusing on fresh-air therapy, which was the prevailing treatment for TB at the time—a bacterial lung disease that was highly contagious and often fatal, exacerbated by Louisville's humid, wetland environment. As TB cases surged, the sanatorium expanded rapidly: a children's pavilion was added in 1914, increasing capacity to about 130 beds, and a massive five-story brick building, designed by architects James J. Gaffney and Dennis Xavier Murphy, opened in 1926 to accommodate over 400 patients. This new structure included open-air pavilions, solariums, and isolation rooms to promote rest, sunlight, and ventilation.

The sanatorium operated as a TB treatment center until 1961, when effective antibiotics like streptomycin drastically reduced cases, leading to its closure. Patients were then transferred to Hazelwood Sanatorium. From 1962 to 1980, the site reopened as Woodhaven Geriatric Center, serving elderly and mentally handicapped residents, but it shut down due to neglect and understaffing. Today, owned by Tina and Charlie Mattingly since 2001, it serves as a historical site and paranormal attraction, but its legacy is tied to the thousands of lives affected by TB during its peak years.

Patients: Demographics, Treatments, and Experiences

Patients at Waverly Hills were predominantly residents of Louisville and surrounding areas, drawn from all socioeconomic classes but disproportionately affecting working-class families due to crowded urban living conditions and poor sanitation. TB struck without regard for age, gender, or race, but the disease was particularly devastating in the early 20th century, with mortality rates exceeding 50% in untreated cases. The sanatorium admitted both early-stage and advanced patients starting in 1912, with a focus on isolation to prevent spread. By the 1920s, waiting lists were common, reflecting the epidemic's scale—Kentucky alone reported over 2,000 TB deaths annually in the 1910s.
Demographics included adults, children, and even infants born to infected mothers. The 1914 children's pavilion was crucial, as many kids contracted TB from parents or through contaminated milk. Patients hailed from diverse backgrounds: factory workers, miners, homemakers, and immigrants. For instance, records show patients from Ohio and other states transferred in for specialized care. Women and children often formed a significant portion, with some estimates suggesting up to 40% of admissions were pediatric cases during peak years.
Treatments were rudimentary and often grueling, centered on the "fresh air cure" pioneered by European sanatoria. Patients spent hours or days in open-air sleeping porches, even in Kentucky's harsh winters, bundled in heavy blankets to combat hypothermia. Other methods included heliotherapy (sun exposure), pneumothorax (collapsing a lung with air injections to rest it), and surgical interventions like thoracoplasty (rib removal to collapse the lung). Nutrition was emphasized, with high-calorie diets of milk, eggs, and meat, but experimental procedures sometimes bordered on unethical—rumors persist of unverified "unusual experiments," though documented evidence is scarce. Daily life involved strict routines: rest periods, light exercise in gardens, and segregated dining to minimize contagion. Entertainment included school for children (taught by on-site educators) and occasional visits from family, but quarantine rules limited contact. The isolation was psychologically taxing; many patients described loneliness, fear, and the constant specter of death.
Notable patient stories humanize this era. One detailed profile is that of Hazel Howell (née Breslin), born July 28, 1891, in Ohio. Admitted around 1916, she endured three years of treatment before dying on July 18, 1919, at age 27. Married to Frederick Morton Howell (divorced before her severe illness), she left behind a son, Robert Breslin Howell, who was raised by his paternal grandparents, Dr. and Mrs. Joseph Morton Howell, in Egypt—where Dr. Howell served as the first U.S. Ambassador under President Warren G. Harding. Remarkably, the Howells were among the first Americans invited to King Tut's tomb by Howard Carter in 1922. Hazel's burial in St. Paris, Ohio, under her maiden name underscores the personal tragedies intertwined with the sanatorium's history. Other patient indices, compiled from vital statistics, death certificates, and oral histories, list hundreds of names like those in alphabetical profiles (e.g., A-D sections on memorial sites), but privacy laws limit full access. These profiles often include submission sources like family-submitted photos and anecdotes of resilience or hardship.
Mortality was staggeringly high, shaping the sanatorium's somber reputation. Official records from the Kentucky Department for Libraries and Archives track deaths from 1911 to 1960, but the exact total remains debated. Legends claim 63,000 deaths—a figure inflated by folklore and tied to the "body chute" tunnel used to transport deceased patients discreetly on rail cars to avoid demoralizing the living—but historians estimate a more realistic 6,000 to 8,000, based on admission rates (up to 400 patients at a time over 50 years) and TB's 20-30% fatality rate in sanatoria. The death index, transcribed from microfilm rolls, lists patients alphabetically by death date, with causes primarily pulmonary TB complications like hemorrhage or pneumonia. Notable cases include early deaths in 1911 (e.g., the first recorded fatalities shortly after opening) and peaks during the 1920s influenza-TB overlap. No single "famous" patient dominates records, but the cumulative toll—often two bodies per day at height—fostered a culture of quiet grief, with staff burning belongings to prevent spread.
During the Woodhaven era (1962-1980), patients shifted to the elderly and developmentally disabled, numbering in the hundreds. Reports of mistreatment emerged, including overcrowding and inadequate care, contributing to its 1980 closure by state authorities. Patient experiences here were marked by neglect, with stories of abuse and poor conditions persisting in oral histories.

Roberta Payton

Nurse in the Waverly Hills Sanatorium... and its patient

Patient Experience and Conditions

Patients at Waverly Hills faced long-term isolation, as the disease required quarantine to prevent spread. Many arrived with advanced cases, and families were often separated—parents, children, and loved ones could be confined for years with limited contact. The facility emphasized fresh air, sunlight, and rest as key treatments before modern drugs:

Open-air pavilions and large windows/patios allowed patients to spend time outdoors.
Experimental procedures included pneumothorax (collapsing a lung with air or balloons), thoracoplasty (rib removal to collapse the lung), and lobectomies (lung lobe removal)—many of which were risky and had low survival rates.
The hospital was self-sufficient, with gardens, its own post office, and even a segregated setup: the main building served white patients after the 1926 expansion, while others received care in older wooden structures.

The original 1910 building started small (about 40–50 beds), but expansions (including a major one in 1926) increased capacity to around 400–500 beds. Tens of thousands of patients were treated over the decades.

Death Toll and Myths

The number of deaths is often exaggerated in ghost lore (e.g., claims of 50,000–63,000+), but historical estimates from records place it much lower—likely around 6,000 to 9,000 patients died there (some sources cite closer to 8,000). Many bodies were discreetly removed via the famous "body chute" (a tunnel) to avoid demoralizing other patients. Not all deaths were from TB; some involved suicides (e.g., nurses), accidents, or other causes.

Specific Patients and Stories

Individual patient records are limited publicly, but some documented or shared examples include:

Lois Higgs (entered in the 1950s): She improved enough for a weekend leave, became pregnant, but her baby was taken away. Her health declined, and she died in 1956 from TB complications.
Alonzo "Gunny" Schelling (1943–1954): Survived a lung removal and was released.
Christine Boss (died 1952): A 22-year-old from Louisville who passed away there.
Partial death indexes exist online (e.g., via Kentucky historical sites), listing names from 1911–1960 for those who died on-site, though full patient lists (including survivors discharged) are incomplete.

Personal items, photos, and family-submitted stories occasionally surface (e.g., via the official Waverly Hills Facebook or tours), highlighting both survivors and those lost.
Today, the building is preserved as a historic site (on the National Register of Historic Places) and hosts daytime historical tours and paranormal investigations—no longer a medical facility. It's famous for ghost stories tied to its tragic past, including apparitions of children, shadow figures, and activity in places like Room 502 or the body chute.

Staff: Roles, Notable Individuals, and Daily Operations

Staff at Waverly Hills numbered in the hundreds during peak operations, comprising doctors, nurses, orderlies, cooks, maintenance workers, and administrators. Medical leadership fell to physicians like Dr. Dunning S. Wilson, an early medical director overseeing treatments and expansions. Nurses, often young women trained on-site, were the backbone, managing patient care in shifts amid high infection risks—many contracted TB themselves. Orderlies handled physical tasks like transporting patients via the infamous 500-foot "body chute" tunnel (also used for supplies and steam). Support roles included laundresses (sterilizing linens in boiling vats), cooks preparing nutrient-rich meals, firemen maintaining boilers, and teachers for child patients. By the 1930s, the staff-to-patient ratio strained under capacity, leading to exhaustion and turnover.

Notable staff include the Thornberry family (e.g., John Godfrey Thornberry Sr., fireman; Albert, orderly), whose descendants later verified ghost stories. Tragically, two nurses reportedly died by suicide in Room 502: Mary Hillenburg (or Mary Head) hanged herself in 1928, possibly due to pregnancy or workplace stress, and another jumped from a balcony in 1932. These unverified tales, corroborated by former staff like John Thornberry (died 2006), add to the site's haunted lore. During Woodhaven, staff faced criticism for understaffing, with roles blurring into custodial care.
Overall, patients and staff at Waverly Hills embodied an era of medical desperation and human endurance, their stories preserved through indices, censuses, and memorials like the Waverly Hills Memorial & Historical Research Group. These resources honor the overlooked, blending tragedy with glimpses of compassion amid isolation and loss.