An imposing brick shell of a building rises 13 stories above the Long Island suburbs. The edifice itself is composed of hundreds of smashed out windows, which appear to mimic a game of Tetris, frozen in time, as one glares up toward the top of the shuttered skyscraper from the base of the building below. A depressed barbed wire fence, sliced with more holes than chain links, encompass the foundation of the building, a failed attempt to keep the curious out. While standing on the roof of the 13th story on a clear day, one can see straight across the Long Island Sound, where a keen eye may be able to discern the distant skyline of Bridgeport, Connecticut. Such a dramatic building however, is best known only by number, Building 93, merely one of hundreds of structures inclusive of the former Kings Park Psychiatric Center.
Due to its size and often ease of accessibility to anyone with a whim of interest, Building 93 stands as perhaps on of the most recognizable abandoned buildings in the United States. While not much of interest remains inside the shuttered shell, the sheer scale of Building 93 defines it as an abandoned icon, easily recognizable to anyone within the wide range of communities whom may seek out such ruinous structures for some R&R. Primarily built from brick, concrete, and iron, Building 93 rises as a testament to all forms of vandalism. If it weren't for the buildings sturdy design, I have no doubt all 13 floors would have burned up within a smoldering pile of rubble, years ago. These days the graffiti along the roof lines change on a nearly daily basis, providing for an always mutating scenery of teenage angst.
Closed in the late 1990s, Building 93 has been a forsaken icon for well over well over 20 years, entertaining generations of people, from bored teenagers to explorers and every-type of antisocial behavior embracing goon in between. During many summer nights, illegal firework displays can often be found originating from the roof of 93, as mortars and a sea of sparks engulfed by sulfur wreaking smoke are launched sky high by drunken party goers. I can recall one summer running down the stairwell toward the basement to escape a plume of black smog originating from a pile of smoldering paperwork and styrofoam cups, lit ablaze moments earlier by a gang of rowdy teenagers.
Yet Building 93 still stands tall despite the epic partys, for flames are no match against the cement and iron skeleton. For now, Building 93 continues to rise above the Long Island Sound. Some may say the brick and mortar remain as an eyesore, but in reality as evidence to a failed mental health program in the United States, a country where our psychiatric hospitals lay in ruin, as those who need them most are also abandoned like the buildings themselves. I imagine one day Building 93 will implode into a giant heap of smoke and wreckage as a crowd of onlookers cheer on. But until that day arrives, all 13 lucky stories will continue to dominate the exploring culture as an infamous icon, the golden arches of exploration if you will, instantly recognizable as a lawless playground, by those willing to embrace the lawless.
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |