Walk onto the grounds of the old Kings Park Psychiatric Center today and the first thing you’ll notice isn't the ghosts people claim to see. It’s the silence. A heavy, thick sort of quiet that only exists in places where thousands of people once lived, worked, and eventually, were forgotten. For anyone living on Long Island, "Kings Park" isn't just a dot on a map. It’s a massive, decaying monument to a century of mental health experiments that went sideways. It’s also a place people get completely wrong.
You’ve probably seen the YouTube videos. Urban explorers creeping through Building 93 with flashlights, looking for jump scares. But the real story of this place is way more complicated than a "haunted" asylum trope. It was a city. Literally. At its peak, this facility was a self-sustaining universe with its own power plant, fire department, and farm. It wasn't built to be a prison, even if it ended up feeling like one for the people inside those brick walls.
The Birth of the "Farm Colony" Idea
Back in 1885, the world was a mess for anyone struggling with mental illness. If you were in New York City, you were likely shoved into a crowded, filthy ward on Blackwell's Island. The solution? Get them out of the city. The Kings Park Psychiatric Center started as a "farm colony." The logic was simple: fresh air and hard work would cure the mind. Basically, if you could get someone away from the grit of Manhattan and have them plant some corn or tend to cows, they’d get better.
It worked, for a while.
The initial group of patients came from Brooklyn, which is why the site was originally called the Kings County Farm Asylum. But as the population of New York exploded, so did the intake at Kings Park. What started as a few wooden cottages turned into a sprawling campus of over 100 buildings. By the mid-20th century, the patient population hit nearly 10,000. Think about that number. That’s more people than live in many actual towns.
The architecture tells the story of how the philosophy changed. You start with the smaller, more "human" cottages. Then, you see the massive, imposing concrete structures like Building 93. Built in the late 1930s as a Works Progress Administration project, Building 93 is the one everyone recognizes. It’s 13 stories of Neo-Gothic intimidation. It marks the moment the facility stopped being a "colony" and became a warehouse.
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What Really Happened Inside Building 93?
Honestly, the reality of treatment at Kings Park Psychiatric Center is darker than any ghost story. You don't need to invent spirits when you have the historical record of 1940s and 50s medicine. This was the era of the "heroic" treatments. We’re talking about pre-frontal lobotomies, insulin shock therapy, and early, unregulated electroconvulsive therapy (ECT).
It’s easy to judge these doctors now, but at the time, they were desperate. They had thousands of patients and no real medication. When you have a ward of 50 people screaming or experiencing violent psychosis, and you have no Thorazine—which didn't arrive until 1954—you look for anything that works. Unfortunately, "what worked" often meant permanently dulling the patient's brain or causing massive physical trauma.
Journalist Albert Deutsch famously described state hospitals of this era as "shame of the states." He wasn't exaggerating. Kings Park suffered from the same chronic underfunding as the rest. One nurse for fifty patients. Deteriorating food quality. Overcrowding that meant beds were crammed into hallways. It wasn't malice that destroyed the quality of life there; it was math. There were too many people and not enough money.
The Shift to Thorazine and the Beginning of the End
In 1954, everything changed. The introduction of Chlorpromazine (Thorazine) was like a lightning bolt. Suddenly, patients who hadn't spoken in years were lucid. The "chemical lobotomy," as some called it, meant you didn't need 100-acre farms or 13-story warehouses anymore. You just needed a prescription.
This led to "deinstitutionalization." It sounds like a good thing. Give people their freedom! Put them in community centers! But the money never followed the patients. The state started closing buildings at Kings Park in the 70s and 80s, and by 1996, the last patient was transferred out. Most of them ended up in adult homes or on the streets. If you ever wondered why the homeless crisis in New York spiked in the late 20th century, you can trace a direct line back to the closure of places like this.
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Exploring the Ruins Today: What’s Left?
If you go there now, you're technically in the Nissequogue River State Park. It’s a weird vibe. You’ll see families pushing strollers and people jogging right next to boarded-up buildings with "DANGER: ASBESTOS" signs. Most of the smaller structures are gone, demolished because they were too far gone to save. But the big ones remain.
- Building 93: The crown jewel of the site. It’s still standing, though it’s sealed tight. The state has spent millions just on fencing and security to keep people out.
- The Power Plant: With its massive smokestack, it’s a landmark for boaters on the Sound. It’s also one of the most dangerous buildings on the property due to structural decay.
- The Potter’s Field: This is the part that hits you the hardest. There’s a cemetery on the grounds where thousands of patients are buried. For a long time, they weren't even given names—just numbers on small stone markers.
A group called the Friends of the Nissequogue River State Park has been working to turn the area into something useful, but the cost of remediation is staggering. We’re talking hundreds of millions of dollars to safely remove the lead paint and asbestos from these massive structures. It’s easier for the state to just let them rot.
The Misconceptions and the "Haunted" Label
Let’s be real for a second. Calling Kings Park Psychiatric Center "haunted" is kinda disrespectful to the people who lived there. It’s a lazy way to look at a human tragedy. When we turn these places into horror sets, we erase the fact that this was a place of work for thousands of Long Islanders and a home (willing or not) for thousands more.
The real "ghosts" are the systemic failures. It’s the fact that we still haven't figured out how to care for the chronically mentally ill without either locking them away or abandoning them to the streets.
There's also a myth that the tunnels under the park are a secret highway system. While there is a massive network of tunnels, they weren't for secret experiments. They were utility tunnels. They carried steam pipes and food carts. It’s much less "Stranger Things" and much more "19th-century plumbing."
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Actionable Steps for Visiting or Researching
If you're planning on headed out to the site or want to dive deeper into the history, don't just wing it. People get arrested there every single week for trespassing, and the New York State Park Police do not play around.
- Stay on the Paved Paths: You can walk through the state park legally. You can take photos of the building exteriors. Do not, under any circumstances, try to go inside. The floors in Building 29 and Building 93 are literally collapsing. If the cops don't get you, the black mold or a three-story drop will.
- Visit the Kings Park Heritage Museum: Located in the local high school, this is the only place where you can see actual artifacts—medical tools, furniture, and photos—from the hospital’s heyday. It’s run by people who actually worked there or had family there. They know the real stories.
- Check out the "Kings Park: Until the Court Confirms You're Dead" Documentary: If you want a non-sensationalized look at the facility, Lucy Winer’s film is the gold standard. She was a former patient there and her perspective is invaluable.
- Support Local Preservation: The Nissequogue River State Park Foundation has a master plan for the site. If you want to see these buildings repurposed instead of demolished, that’s where you should put your energy.
Kings Park isn't just a collection of ruins. It’s a mirror. It shows us how we used to treat the most vulnerable members of society, and it forces us to ask if we’re doing any better now. The buildings are crumbling, and eventually, they’ll all be gone. But the history of what happened on those 800 acres shouldn't be.
Next time you’re driving down 25A and see those towers peeking through the trees, remember that it wasn't a movie set. It was a city of people who were just looking for a way back to themselves.
For those interested in the technical side of the demolition and the future of the land, the New York State Office of Parks, Recreation and Historic Preservation (OPRHP) releases periodic updates on the structural integrity of the remaining buildings. Their reports confirm that while some demolition is inevitable, several structures are being considered for "adaptive reuse," which could eventually see these historic shells turned into community spaces or museums.
Understanding the Kings Park Psychiatric Center requires looking past the graffiti and the broken glass. It requires looking at the records, the people, and the very ground itself. It’s a heavy history, but it’s one that Long Island—and the mental health community at large—needs to keep talking about.
Don't just look at the ruins. Look at the reason they're there in the first place. That’s where the real story lives.