Republic of Athens

Creepiness sells, so let’s get to it

Ohio University owns the rights to one of the area’s most celebrated attractions for ghost-hunters and mental health history buffs alike. While Ohio University has agreed to allow the revitalization of the former asylum’s cemeteries, plans are occasionally floated to sell The Ridges to money-hungry developers.

We can and should do better. And in the bold, risk-taking spirit of of converting creepiness into resources for the public good, we will.

Recently, reports have surfaced that Donald Woods, owner of the Lizzie Borden Bed and Breakfast in Fall River, Mass., has filed a federal lawsuit to prevent a new museum and gift shop in Salem from using the Lizzie Borden name.

Woods’ claim is that the new attraction would not only violate his trademark of “Lizzie Borden Museum,” but would draw crucial business away from Fall River, an industrial town 80 miles south of Salem.

The Lizzie Borden in question would be the same Lizzie Borden made famous in 1892 as the former Sunday school teacher accused in the vicious hatchet murders of her wealthy father and stepmother. Despite considerable evidence that seemed to point to Lizzie as the murderer, she was never convicted of the crimes.

It’s a story shrouded in mystery, not the least of which is the fact that tourists flock to spend as much as $250 dollars per night to sleep within the walls of bloody, bloody history. On the B&B’s web site, the owner even boasts that guests are invited to “enjoy a hot breakfast reminiscent of the food the Bordens ate on that fateful Thursday in 1892.”

The most obvious lesson to be taken from all of this? The city of Athens should be capitalizing on some of our own area’s substantially creepy, historic sites as a means of generating revenue.

If it’s true that people are fascinated enough by historical creepiness as to drop hundreds of dollars per night to spend a romantic getaway at the site of one of the country’s most grisly killings on record, surely we could attract enough interest to turn our own abundance of spooky allure into a cash machine.

For starters, The Ridges. Built in 1874 as a state-of-the-art psychiatric hospital, then called the Athens Lunatic Asylum, it’s a structure of immense architectural, historical and well, creepy, appeal. No amount of modern, OU green-and-white signage and beautification projects can strip The Ridges of that. We’re a community blessed with more than our share of internationally renowned creepiness, and it’s high time that we cashed in on it.

Most of the distinctive, allegedly haunted structures within The Ridges have sat relatively untouched since the facility’s final closing, which stemmed from Reagan-era slashes to federal funds for social services. It seems only fitting that a revitalized Ridges museum could simultaneously educate visitors about the myths associated with mental illness and create a funding source for present-day social service organizations. And if it takes a little pandering to those whose intrigue begins with the building’s unmistakably ominous aesthetic and the historical folklore associated with it, then so be it.

For that matter, we’d do well to take an additional cue from our resourceful New England counterparts by opening a bed and breakfast within the former asylum! The best candidate for such an operation would have to be the site of the infamously haunting mark called simply “The stain.” The decomposing body of Margaret Schilling, an asylum resident who turned up missing in December of 1978, was found weeks after her disappearance by a maintenance worker in an abandoned ward on the fourth floor.

It’s said that Schilling, in an apparent attempt to hide from hospital staff, found her way to the vacant, unheated portion of the building, where she eventually succumbed either to hypothermia or starvation. Despite several attempts at removal, the preserved, seemingly indelible outline of Schilling’s body, complete with the details of her bob hairstyle and ruffled dress, remains visible on the ward’s concrete floor to this day. Welcome to The Stain Bed & Breakfast!

If it’s good enough to turn a profit for some cozy little Massachusetts bed and breakfast, it ought to be good enough to attract visitors to the money-deprived hills of southeastern Ohio. Generate cash for the public good, raise awareness about mental health issues, cater to lovers (especially newlyweds) of the supernatural and/or general creepiness, enhance tourism and, in turn, support for local businesses — all without paving a single square foot or cutting down a single tree.

The plan is an inevitable winner, if only we’ve got the collective courage to dispense of any guilt associated with capitalizing on the untimely demise of others. Thankfully, the passage of lots of decades seems to have the effect of upgrading such an idea from appalling and distasteful to intriguing and historical.

For example, you might not catch anyone spending a bunch of money to sleep overnight in that bus in which the Canadian gentleman was inexplicably beheaded this summer. But as long as a given instance of gruesomeness took place a long time ago, even the ugliest acts of violence become fair game for use as a benign educational tool.

“The stain” is surely approaching its elevated cultural status of responsible display material, if it hasn’t already arrived. It’s time to turn all of that intrigue and all those rumors into the money-maker we so desperately need. The alternatives are a bunch of empty, unused buildings, or the eventual purchase and callous “renovation” of the historic landmark, probably to be converted into some dingy mall or another apartment complex that nobody needs.

Help us now by contributing to our Stain Campaign.