Where Is It? |
Hell, or at least the closest thing Philadelphia has to it: 9th & Cambria, in the Fairhill section of North Philadelphia
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The Skinny |
Philadelphia, like any old city, has a lot of bad areas. The Project, as it so happens, has seen quite a few of them. But few areas carry the stigma of the Fairhill section. It’s often better known as the Badlands, and was dubbed as such by both ABC’s Nightline and the Philadelphia Inquirer. It earned that moniker because of its abundance of drugs, crime and general hopelessness.
Naturally, the Project couldn’t resist a visit.
Fairhill is on our radar because a most spectacular church specimen lies within its ruined industrial infrastructure: the former Roman Catholic parish of St. Bonaventure. I say former because Bonaventure was a none-too-surprising victim of the North Philadelphia Swath of Destruction. It closed in 1993 during the Year of Hell, and is currently in the 15th year of its own tormented Long Goodbye.
Many people have praised Bonaventure as one of the best examples of Philadelphia church architecture, and it’s not tough to see why. It’s a striking gothic structure, highlighted by a prominent steeple, oxidized-copper trim and siding, and funky flower-shaped clerestory windows. It’s not huge, but its design is, even after all this time, still stunningly masterful. And it’s worth noting that the spire, while not nearly as tall as others we’ve seen, has the unique distinction of nonetheless being visible from both I-95 and the Roosevelt Expressway.
One Project reader compared it to something that’s straight out of Europe. I think that’s a bit of a stretch, although there’s no denying this was once a great, great church. It’s a shame that a younger generation of church enthusiasts, myself included, never got the chance to see it in its prime.
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What Happened? |
The real question would be, what hasn’t happened? Fairhill’s story is, on the surface, not much different than other depressed parts of Philadelphia. Industrial neighborhood thrives. After WWII, industry moves away. Factories close. Property values plummet. Families move away. What’s left starts to rot. Play it again, Sam.
Fairhill’s experience, though, has taken on a life of its own. There’s probably no other Philly area that can best it for sheer misery. It’s been routinely ranked among the worst drug areas in the city; three of its corners, especially 3rd & Indiana, are among the city’s top 10. Around the corner from the church, Stella St. was entirely bulldozed in the 90s because of its prevalent drug houses. (As this Philadelphia Weekly article reminds us, it still hasn’t been rebuilt.) With the drugs comes the violence. And don’t forget about the usual assortment of poverty, abandonment, institutional decay, etc.
It’s really no surprise, then, that St. Bonaventure was a Swath victim. If it was in a more prominent location, it might have had Magnet Parish properties that saved it from destruction, but its shady back alley location doomed it. The bigger surprise is how it even made it to the Year of Hell. The parish still had a passionate following, but the neighborhood just got so bad that no one ever wanted to go to mass there. I can’t say I blame them. The things this church has seen would probably make you %#^$&* your pants.
(The fact that the parish was consolidated into St. Veronica speaks volumes. When Hunting Park is considered a step up, you know you’re in trouble.)
Since then, the entire complex has essentially stood vacant. (Again, not a surprise.) The Archdiocese “eased” the closing by opening an outreach center on the site, but there’s no sign that it’s still in operation. The church itself has taken all the beatings time can dish out—smashed windows, crumbling edges, scarred siding—and then some. In one particularly unsettling story, homeless people moved in right after the closure and started setting fires, using the pews as kindling.
Forget about it, Jake. It’s Fairhill
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Travel Tidbits |
Hahahaha.
Ok, sorry, let me get back on track here.
If you’re reading this, you obviously have some interest in churches and some interest in visiting St. Bonaventure. If you do, good for you. But please remember that this, as the worst of the worst, is not a trip to be taken lightly. Even I had serious reservations about coming here.
If you decide to come, do so in the early morning. Nobody is up then, so that’ll make things easier. I went on Sunday and didn’t really have any problems. Once noon hits, though, forget about it.
I know the broken windows might tempt urban explorers, especially since some of the interior paintwork is still visible. Do so at your own peril, given a) the condition of the building, b) the condition of the neighborhood, and c) the former homeless occupants. And for the love of God, do not go exploring and do not dally. Map out your route ahead of time, stick to the church and be prepared to work quickly and efficiently.
It’s not a hard place to find. Just make sure you know what you’re doing when you get there.
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Interesting Note |
St. Bonaventure is a sterling example of the old trend of building beautiful churches and cramming them (and the associated parochial buildings) onto small, snaggly, unsightly street corners. We’ve seen this before, but Bonaventure takes it to extremes because it’s not actually located on a street corner, but instead crammed in the middle of the block, with buildings on both sides.
Space is what it is, but it’s still an odd choice. It makes the Project thankful that once the 1900s rolled around, architects and planners started giving these buildings a little more breathing room.
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The Final Word |
Worthwhile, if you’ve got the guts
© 2008 Philadelphia Church Project
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