Higher education has seen a wave of university closures in recent years. while the data was valuable in understanding the scale of these difficulties, there are real people and places behind the numbers. I decided to take a classic American trip to dead and dying colleagues last summer, chronicling what the sector was losing through ethnographic research.

The trip spanned more than 3,000 miles and took me to 12 campuses, taking me through the Rust Belt region—to Cleveland, Pittsburgh, Buffalo, Syracuse and Cincinnati—to country towns like St. Louis, Oklahoma City and Tulsa and finally back. home to the West Coast with stops in Santa Fe and Albuquerque along the way.

The strangeness of dead campuses

During my tour, no one was waiting for me at the campus drop-in centers. I’ve seen my share of tattered signs welcoming newcomers. They no longer received students, but rather the construction crews cleaning the buildings.

Physically walking through these spaces, I felt the immensity of their history. Campuses were often sprawling and in the middle of nowhere, even more so now that somewhere it had closed.

There is a concept of liminal spacesempty but normal settings that evoke an unease. Walking through these uninhabited campuses and buildings, I kept imagining that they were once filled with hundreds, if not thousands, of people. It was like exploring a lost civilization – forgotten iconography and destroyed artifacts in crumbling buildings.

Those collapsing buildings were part of what destroyed these institutions. When neglected, repair costs can grow exponentially. I saw first hand the cracks in the pavement at College of Notre Dame in Ohio and broken concrete at Bacone College in Oklahoma.

Returning to Nature

On some campuses, nature has taken back what once belonged to students. Instead of taking a nap on campus, I saw insects buzzing and birds chirping in the tall grass.

to Urban University in Ohio, I stumbled upon a herd of deer grazing. Alone and at sunset, it was a majestic sight.

to Santa Fe University of Art and Designsome sort of prairie dog creature popped its head up as I trudged through the desert campus. It made a loud click, a warning to the rest of its group that a human had returned, before it dived back into its burrow.

The plants also thrived without buds lost late to make courses the ways of desire over the grass. While no campuses I visited were completely run down, they were often more shabby than the manicured lawns I’m used to at thriving universities. The trip reminded me that track and field teams could be the unsung heroes on our campuses.

Lost space, lost memory, lost icons

It was grim to see cherished civic institutions central to local identities closed. The colleges I visited were the third places which the locals enjoyed for recreation or gathering. Not more.

Cazenovia College once occupied a prominent, walkable location in downtown Cazenovia, NY, before closing in 2023. Locals told me they used to enjoy the campus greenery, walk the dogs or let the children play on the grass. But now, the New York State Police have taken over the campus for used as a police academy. With increased security, locals were banned from walking.

The campus spaces we visited had considerable cultural significance and memories. I saw countless signs for “Class of…” or “In Memory of…” and even headstones.

Bacone College in Muskogee, Okla.—which stopped enrolling students—was “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 for three Chinese students killed in a car accident in 2007. “Gone but Not Forgotten,” the stone carving read. I was touched by the story of these international students, far from home on an early life adventure tragically cut short.

I actually stumbled into what was essentially a funeral Wells Collegeas a group of alumni gathered for a final tradition of ringing the dinner bell before the campus closed for good. Many laid flowers and messages where a beloved statue of Minerva once stood for more than 150 years, beheaded just a few days before during an irregular motion process.

The metaphor was almost too much for the participants.

Renaissance

The visits were often sad, but that was only half the story. Some institutions were making the best transitions.

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

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

When I arrived, the campus was full of volunteers working to move brush and debris from a recent storm. It really was a museum started by a world traveling Benedictine monk more than 100 years ago, still in operation with an impressive collection for families to enjoy.

You see, the monks who still operate St. Gregory’s Abbey made a deal with the Baptist establishment for a land swapreclaiming their old college buildings.

The monks and volunteers were excited about the return and the potential new direction. Yes, it was no longer a university, but it could still be an important touchstone for the community. They hoped the dormitories could be adapted into senior or affordable housing.

I felt the same excitement at Medaille University in Buffalo, NY, which was undergoing transformation a charter school. An administrator even invited me back in the fall to see their successful luncheon.

What’s next?

At the end of the trip, I visited the first one Marymount University Californiawhich sits on the cliffs of the Palos Verdes Peninsula, overlooking the Pacific. On a clear day, Catalina Island is visible from the campus green. This is some of the most desirable land in the US, but the affluent area meant that maintenance was expensive and the student residences were a drive further inland.

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

Many of those I spoke to hoped that the closing institution would be taken over by other educational institutions, either another university or a K-12 school. Even then, the old legacy of spaces may disappear.

In Cincinnati, Edgecliff College merged long ago Xavier University (in 1980), but its old campus has become the site of high-rise luxury condominiums.

More colleges will close in the coming years. Some will find adaptive reuses that will continue their educational legacies or service missions. Many, unfortunately, will not. These places, their campuses, communities and cultures, all deserve to be remembered beyond numbers on a spreadsheet.