Image Source: Lown Institute
Aug 26, 2024 Story by: Editor
In the heart of Mound Bayou, Mississippi—a town once referred to as “the jewel of the Delta” by President Theodore Roosevelt—hopes to restore a long-abandoned hospital have nearly faded.
The art deco sign still marks the entrance, but the doors to Taborian Hospital remain locked, and the parking lot lies empty. A nearby convenience store bustles with activity, in contrast to the once-vibrant hospital, which closed over 40 years ago.
Myrna Smith-Thompson, executive director of the civic group that owns the property, lives 100 miles away in Memphis, Tennessee, and is uncertain about the future of the deteriorating building.
“I am open to suggestions,” said Smith-Thompson, whose grandfather led the Black fraternal organization, now called the Knights and Daughters of Tabor, that founded Taborian Hospital in 1942. At a time when Jim Crow laws barred Black patients from accessing white healthcare facilities, Taborian Hospital, staffed entirely by Black doctors and nurses, was a sanctuary for Black patients.
Taborian Hospital was equipped with state-of-the-art technology and is where Smith-Thompson was born and civil rights leader Fannie Lou Hamer passed away.
“This is a very painful conversation,” said Smith-Thompson. “It’s a part of my being.”
Across rural America, similar stories have unfolded, with hospitals closing over the past four decades. In that respect, Mound Bayou’s hospital isn’t unique.
However, historians note that Taborian’s closure represents more than the loss of hospital beds; it reflects the downfall of hundreds of Black hospitals nationwide in the face of social change.
Desegregation and Black Hospitals
The Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the introduction of Medicare and Medicaid in 1965 benefited millions, with federal efforts to desegregate hospitals culminating in a 1969 court ruling out of Charleston, South Carolina. This ensured that Black patients, doctors, and nurses had access to the same healthcare facilities as white patients.
But the desegregation of hospitals also signaled the end for many Black hospitals, which had been essential not only as medical centers but also as sources of employment and community pride.
“They were social institutions, financial institutions and also medical institutions,” said Dr. Vanessa Northington Gamble, a historian and physician at The George Washington University.
In Charleston, staff at a Black hospital started publishing The Hospital Herald in 1899, a journal covering public hygiene and hospital work. When Kansas City, Missouri, opened a hospital for Black patients in 1918, it was celebrated with a parade.
By the early 1990s, Gamble estimated, only eight Black hospitals remained.
“It has ripple effects in a way that affect the fabric of the community,” said Bizu Gelaye, an epidemiologist and program director of Harvard University’s Mississippi Delta Partnership in Public Health.
Research largely shows that hospital desegregation improved the long-term health outcomes of Black patients. A 2009 study found that Black Mississippians were less likely to die from motor vehicle accidents after desegregation, as they gained access to closer hospitals, reducing travel distances by about 50 miles.
A 2006 study from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology on infant mortality also revealed that hospital desegregation in the South significantly helped close the mortality gap between Black and white infants. Improved access to healthcare for Black infants suffering from illnesses like diarrhea and pneumonia was a major factor.
However, a more recent analysis, soon to be published in *Review of Economics and Statistics*, suggests that racism still impacted Black patients even after desegregation. According to Mark Anderson, an economics professor at Montana State University and co-author of the study, hospital desegregation had “little, if any, effect on Black postneonatal mortality” in the South from 1959 to 1973, as white hospitals did not always offer the same level of care to Black patients.
The Future of Taborian Hospital
Nearly 3,000 babies were delivered at Taborian Hospital before it closed in 1983. The building sat vacant for decades until a $3 million federal grant funded its renovation into an urgent care center, which operated for only a year before closing amid a legal dispute over its ownership. The building has since fallen into further disrepair.
“We would need at least millions, probably,” Smith-Thompson said, estimating the cost of reopening. “We’re back where we were prior to the renovation.”
In 2000, the hospital was named one of Mississippi’s most endangered historic sites by the Mississippi Heritage Trust. For many, reopening the hospital in any capacity is crucial to preserving its historical significance.
Hermon Johnson Jr., director of the Mound Bayou Museum and born at Taborian Hospital in 1956, proposed that the building could be repurposed as a meeting space or museum. “It would be a huge boost to the community,” he said.
Mound Bayou’s population has declined by nearly half since 1980, according to U.S. Census data. Bolivar County is one of the poorest areas in the country, with a life expectancy nearly a decade below the national average.
While a community health center remains operational in Mound Bayou, the nearest hospital is a 15-minute drive away in Cleveland, Mississippi—a challenge for many residents who lack reliable transportation.
Mound Bayou Mayor Leighton Aldridge, who also serves on the board of the Knights and Daughters of Tabor, hopes Taborian Hospital can once again provide healthcare services, possibly as a children’s hospital or rehabilitation center.
“We need to get something back in there as soon as possible,” he said.
Smith-Thompson agrees, stressing the urgency of the situation. “The health care services that are available to folks in the Mississippi Delta are deplorable,” she said. “People are really, really sick.” Source: USA Today
