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It's no secret I'm obsessed with Eastern State Penitentiary. It gives amateur urban spelunkers an opportunity to explore one of the city's many decaying relics without the legal loopholes and hardhats required to peek inside places like the Divine Lorraine.
So when the site opened its doors last week for photographers to explore afterhours, I seized the opportunity.
It was an unfortunate mess.
I'm not a professional photographer by any means, however my mother is. I grew up in the darkroom, shadowing her at athletic events, posing for local flyers whenever she needed a scrappy kid in the shot. While I may not have inherited her shutter speed, I did learn quite a bit about the proper etiquette that comes with shooting anywhere.
The site was packed with photographers, some more professional than others, enjoying the quiet that comes with such a large site after it's closed to the public. But before any of those appreciating the solitude of the space and the natural artistry of the overgrown cells and rusted patina, every amateur model in the tri-state area had claimed entire cellblocks for themselves.
In one particularly decrepit cell, one never opened to the public, nearly every cell was occupied by a model in fetish lingerie. My buddy was scolded for setting his camera on a bench while the fishnet clad vixens rearranged furniture and straddled broken chairs. A single model in a white dress posed at an iron gate nearest the center of the prison for the duration of the visit while her photographer instructed others not to obstruct his shot...of the entire cell block.
I'm not saying that this site shouldn't be used for catalogs, websites, or headshots (although from an artistic perspective, it might be a little on-the-nose), but those businesses regularly shell out hundreds of dollars for the privilege to privately reserve such sites.
It was a great opportunity for both photographers to explore, and an even better opportunity for the historic site to generate some money. Eastern State does a lot of things well, but hopefully next time they'll be better at reminding everyone, particularly the professionals, the limited opportunity that comes with a meager $15 entry fee.
Eastern State's Dance Party on May 18th was amazing. The evening started with the surprise of a free Town Car ride to the ball. After arriving, the rain forced us to huddle under the main gate's tower waiting for the flashlight tour to begin.
Although the tour was cut short, the drizzly ambiance of the fortressed ruins against venetian masks and cocktail dresses set the mood for any B horror movie. Of course were it really a horror movie, my sexual orientation and gold high tops might insure I survive until the dance, but by no means make it out alive.
The dance began in the center tower, complete with open bar and appetizers. Music began on a wind up victrola, speak easy style, made its way through the 50s and 60s, and by the time it turned into a disco, we began to wander. Nearly every cellblock was open, lit in purples and reds. The closed cellblocks were fitted with Lynchian light displays creating optical illusions. I kept waiting to see the Man from Another Place.
Revelers were exploring decrepit cells, taking photographs against rusted cages. Working our way down one of the darker cellblocks, a lady in a simple black mask motioned to me, "Come with me, quickly."
I found myself in a room never open to the public, the prison priest's office, entirely covered from floor to ceilings in religious artwork painted by an inmate who found God and penitence during his detention at Eastern State.
Dancers performed under black lights, our host walked on stilts, and the ongoing entertainment lasted until midnight. Not to mention, I felt like quite a baller leaving Fairmount in a complimentary Escalade.
When I first visited Eastern State Penitentiary the summer after I graduated from high school I thought, "what a great place for a party." Almost twenty years later, it has happened...again. Back by popular demand, Eastern State is hosting Dance Party at the Pen: A Masquerade with an early bird flashlight tour.
Find yourself amid dancing and drinking in the dark and dusty corridors of this decrepit landmark amid ghoulish Venetian party masked revelers. Get your tickets early, and only online. I've got mine.
The title is in quotes because I'm not asking, rather that's the question posed by Philadelphia Magazine writer, Annie Monjar in an article of the same title. I have a question of my own. Has Philadelphia Magazine officially lost it, or are they desperately baiting angry comments in a grab for ad sales?
I'm all for experimental solutions to unusual problems, but Eastern State poses neither a problem nor a need for resolve. In fact, Eastern State's popularity among tourists and curious locals has done its part transforming a once iffy neighborhood. It's amusing that Monjar cites the neighborhood's gentrification success without giving Eastern State it's credit. Instead she carries on about friends she "dragged" to the site who ask, "they need the whole thing?"
She suggests a questionable need for a fortressed park within spitting distance of the Parkway, Fairmount, and the Schuylkill River Trail. The fact that she accuses Eastern State's size as a waste of space yet neglects to mention the adjacent surface lot, nearly the same size, says a little bit about where she might be from. Philadelphia newcomers have a nagging habit of embracing what makes Philadelphia unique before they move in, followed by a disdain for the unique when it compromises their creature comforts.
To be fair, Monjar hasn't proposed bulldozing the historic structure, not completely, but rather delegating a portion of its walled grounds as public park space by razing the less restorable wings. Monjar obviously didn't visit Eastern State in the mid-1990s when its doors were first opened to those with a hard hat and a sense of adventure. If she had, she would know that the foundation's initial mission was to maintain the site's decay as part of its history rather than rewriting it through renovations and restorations. It's a very unique concept and one that we've embraced at Eastern State for two decades.
Unlike Alcatraz, visitors to Eastern State are confronted with the same bleak experience that Charles Dickens wrote about after his visit. Its self guided tours offer visitors a history lesson, but its open ended experience allows the more adventurous the opportunity to wander, enjoy its peaceful surroundings, and enjoy the art exhibits that fill its forgotten cells.
While the article seems harmless on the surface, the fact that such an opinion has been printed in a local publication suggests an increasing lack of understanding and respect for our city's history. Philadelphia is old. Would London raze part of it's Tower for public park space? Although not nearly as old, like European cities, much of our history lies in our ruins.
Those of us that know Philadelphia know what we've lost. We know what a blessing it is that this site has survived countless proposals that called for its demolition. To come to Philadelphia and propose demolishing even a portion of Eastern State for a park is on par with clearing part of the Acropolis for condos. That may sound absurd to someone like Monjar who I can only assume is new to Philadelphia, but like Athenians and Romans, we have an unwavering pride in our landmarks that can be just as loyal.
I can be staunchly pragmatic when it comes to business and development, but one thing I love about Philadelphia is, like many European cities, when it comes to our history, sometimes, sacrificing even a piece of grass to maximize perceived potential, isn't worth the financial benefits. Perhaps that's where Monjar is lost. When we walk though the gates of Eastern State, we see the history in every square foot of its grounds. When Monjar and her apparently unimpressed friends enter, they see a pile of bricks. They're looking for the tour guide and the gift shop. They want the history lesson printed in a coloring book rather than embracing the macabre experience.
I don't know Annie Monjar so I can't speak for her tenure in our city. I would like to assume that her proposal is a knee jerk reaction to something she doesn't get. She is obviously a talented writer, so I hope in time she comes to appreciate Philadelphia not just as someone who resides here, but as a Philadelphian. Perhaps, like many of us not native to Philadelphia, each continued visit to our landmarks' hallowed halls will bring her closer to understanding each brick's importance.
In the mean time, publishing such a brazenly anti-Philadelphian article in Philadelphia Magazine is disrespectful to its namesake.
As architects continued with the massive City Hall restoration project last year, they found that several pieces were missing from a pair of matching seven foot doors. While one door was adorned with the the Civic Seal of Philadelphia, the other was bare.
Thanks to Jorge Danta, a planner with the Historic Commission, the pair are reunited. Danta, having interned at Eastern State Penitentiary eight years ago, recalled seeing the seal on a dusty shelf at the Fairmount attraction.
More on this oddly serendipitous story can be found in the Inquirer:
Case of the missing crest
My first time at Eastern State Penitentiary was in 1994, not long after the decrepit prison was opened to the public for the first time since 1971. The decay was so fresh that guests were required to wear hardhats. I had never heard the term "Preserved State of Decay" until my first tour of Eastern State. It conjures up images of rusted industrial equipment frozen in time and abandoned churches that still stand as a testament to respectful communities. In all, it represents what I love about Philadelphia. While many cities would choose to restore even their most sinister landmarks, and employ marketing strategies to build their urban landscape around the appeal of the status quo, Philadelphia routinely chooses to embrace it's grit. We've never been clean, we've never been polished, and that is reflected in the choice to retain Eastern State as it is.
From its creation in 1829, it was a dark institution where every criminal was forced into solitary confinement. As the first of its kind, the famed prison attracted a visit by Charles Dickens, who wrote of it, "I hold this slow and daily tampering with the mysteries of the brain, to be immeasurably worse than any torture of the body." Outside their cells the inmates wore masks and were not allowed any contact with the world, not even with other inmates or guards. The Quaker philosophy of the prison prohibited physical abuse, so the prison became creative in its psychological punishment, often withholding necessities such as food or warmth, or employing even more bizarre tactics that would make Marie Antoinette blush.
Today Eastern State looms over the Fairmount neighborhood above Center City Philadelphia. The granite stained with almost 200 years of industry, blight, and rebirth. From outside the walls one may expect a museum that recites the history of the institution, offering tourists a five minute lock-in, and impeccably restored cell blocks. That wouldn't be very Philadelphian, and it certainly doesn't befit the history of Eastern State Penitentiary. Instead, what you will find is a handful of restored cells, several markers explaining what you are seeing, constantly changing art exhibits mostly inspired by the macabre surroundings, and lots of rotting wood, peeling paint, dust, rust, dirt, and nightmares. Even the cell that once held Al Capone, with the exception of the luxuries representing those brought to him by corrupt guards (including plush furniture and a radio), the room itself has not been touched or cleaned.
But it isn't all a dreary reminder of crime, abuse, and abandonment. One of my favorite art exhibits, and perhaps Eastern State's only permanent fixture is Linda Brenner's Ghost Cats. For 28 years, Dan McCloud cared for Eastern State's only inhabitants during it's decades of abandonment. As the shrubs and trees began to eat away at the stone and concrete, and nature began to reclaim its own, three times a week McCloud would go to the prison and feed a colony of stray cats that had begun to call this land their own. Brenner's Ghost Cats consists of 39 simple sculptures throughout the grounds all in uniquely feline poses, paying homage to McCloud and his cats.
The normal yearly tour will take visitors on an audio journey recorded by Steve Buscemi, in which you may explore the ruins at your own pace. Once complete, visitors are free to roam the grounds on their own, exploring nearly every nasty cranny of the hauntingly peaceful edifice. The winter tour is limited to small groups led by tour guides and because of the weather, all guests must remain with the tour guide. If you choose this, go when it snows and bundle up. And of course, every Halloween Eastern State Penitentiary hosts Terror Behind the Walls, consistently ranked as one of the country's best Halloween attractions. It's fun scary, not gross scary, and certainly worth your money. Although if one chooses to visit Eastern State on Halloween, I strongly suggest returning for the self guided tour. Even if you don't see any ghosts or goblins, you will be haunted.
It's no secret I'm obsessed with Eastern State Penitentiary. It gives amateur urban spelunkers an opportunity to explore one of the city's many decaying relics without the legal loopholes and hardhats required to peek inside places like the Divine Lorraine. 
