Road trip to dead and dying colleges (idea)

Higher education has seen a wave of university closures in recent years. While the data has been helpful in understanding the magnitude of this crisis, there are real people and places behind the numbers. I decided to take a classic American road trip to dead and dying colleges this past summer, documenting what the field was losing through ethnographic research.

The road trip was more than 3,000 miles long and took me to 12 campuses, to the Rust Belt region—to Cleveland, Pittsburgh, Buffalo, Syracuse, and Cincinnati—to cities on the Plains like St. Louis, Oklahoma City and Tulsa and finally I moved back. home on the West Coast, with stops in Santa Fe and Albuquerque along the way.

Fear of Dead Campuses

During my trip, no one was waiting for me at the school reception centers. I saw my share of sad signs welcoming new ones. They were no longer accepting students, but rather construction workers were removing buildings.

In physically walking these spaces, I felt the magnitude of their history. Campuses used to be spread out and centralized, even more so now everywhere it was closed.

There is a sense of liminal spaces, empty yet familiar settings that evoke unease. Walking around these empty campuses and buildings, I kept thinking that they were once filled with hundreds if not thousands of people. It was like exploring a lost civilization—forgotten images and artifacts built in crumbling buildings.

Those collapsing buildings were part of breaking into these institutions. If neglected, maintenance costs can add up quickly. I saw firsthand the cracks in the sidewalk at Notre Dame College in Ohio and the cracked concrete at Bacone College in Oklahoma.

Back to Nature

On some campuses, nature took back what belonged to the students. Instead of little ones sleeping on the campus quad, I saw insects chirping and birds whistling in the tall grass.

At Urbana University in Ohio, I stumbled upon a herd of deer grazing. Alone and at sunset, it was an amazing sight.

At Santa Fe University of Art and Design, some kind of bush dog reared its head as I paddled across the desert campus. It clicked loudly, a warning to its entire body that someone was back, before it went back into its hole.

The plants, too, grew without losing the young ones who were late in the classroom making the desired paths in the lawn. While none of the campuses I visited were overgrown, they tended to be darker than the manicured lawns I’m used to at progressive universities. This trip reminded me that field workers can be the unsung heroes of our campuses.

Lost Space, Lost Memory, Lost Icons

It was sad to see popular community centers, central to local ownership, closed. The colleges I visited were third places where local people enjoyed recreation or gathering. I won’t do it again.

Cazenovia College once occupied a prominent location in downtown Cazenovia, NY, before closing in 2023. Locals told me that they used to enjoy the greenery of the campus, walk their dogs or let the children play on the grass. But now the New York State Police have taken over the facility for use as a police academy. Due to the tightening of security in the area, local people are restricted in their movement.

The campus spaces I visited had many cultural meanings and memories. I saw countless “Class of …” or “In Memory of…” signs and even tombstones.

Bacon College in Muskogee, Okla.—which has stopped enrolling students—was “the oldest American Indian institution of higher education.” The campus is home to a small cemetery and a memorial to tribal members lost in the wars.

At Urbana University, there was a memorial to three Chinese students who were killed in a car accident in 2007. “Gone But Not Forgotten,” reads the stone carving. I was touched by the story of these international students, far away from home on a trip, at the beginning of their lives, they were cut short.

I even stumbled upon what was a Wells College funeral, as a group of alumni gathered for the last ritual of ringing the dinner bell before the campus closed for good. Many were placing flowers and messages where the beloved statue of Minerva had been for more than 150 years, having been decapitated a few days earlier during a mass exodus.

The metaphor was almost in the noses of those present.

Rebirth

The tours were often sad, but that was part of the story. Some institutions were doing very well in their transitions.

In Shawnee, Okla., after the closing of the University of St. Gregory in 2017, the campus was controversially sold to the owners of Hobby Lobby and donated to nearby Oklahoma Baptist University.

I was expecting a depressing abandoned college like the others I had seen on the trip. I found the opposite.

When I arrived, the center was full of volunteers working to clear brush and debris from the recent storm. There was even a museum started by a world-traveling Benedictine monk over 100 years ago that still worked with an amazing collection that families enjoyed.

You see, the monks who still run St. Gregory’s Abbey entered into an agreement with the Baptist institution for a land exchange, restoring their former college buildings.

The monks and volunteers were excited about the return and the new direction that was possible. Yes, it was no longer a university, but it was still an important indicator of society. They hoped that the dormitories could be converted into quality or affordable housing.

I felt the same excitement at Medaille University in Buffalo, NY, which was being converted into a charter school. The administrator even invited me back in the fall to witness their successful launch.

What’s Next?

At the end of my trip, I visited the former University of Marymount California, which sits on the edge of the Palos Verdes Peninsula overlooking the Pacific. On a clear day, Catalina Island is visible in the blue sky. This is one of the most desirable areas in the US, but its affluent location means it is expensive to maintain and student accommodation is a long drive across the country.

The University of California, Los Angeles, has now taken over the campus, emphasizing sustainability research.

Many people I spoke to hoped that their closing institution would be taken over by other educational institutions, either another university or K-12 school. However, the old legacy of spaces can fade.

In Cincinnati, Edgecliff College long ago merged with Xavier University (in 1980), but its old campus became the site of high-end condos.

Many colleges will close in the coming years. Others will find a flexible resume that will further their academic legacy or service careers. Many, unfortunately, will not. These places, campuses, communities and their cultures, all deserve to be remembered beyond the numbers on a spreadsheet.