Status: Abandoned

I had known about this small abandoned jail in the middle of Newark for quite some time. Years, in fact. It was perpetually on my list of locations to explore in the future, although many other explorers had warned me that it was very dangerous to venture into for the purpose of “just poking around”, due to the homeless people and other shady characters who may be found residing there. At first, these warnings made me nervous, but being someone who has explored abandoned buildings in the harshest areas of Detroit, Michigan, I decided to ignore them and finally be able to strike this one from my extensive list.

The Essex County Jail, also known as the Newark Street Jail, was built in 1837 to replace the former jail that had burned to the ground, making it the oldest public building in the county. The new structure, which would house both city and county lawbreakers, was designed by John Haviland, designer of the State Prison in Trenton and the Tombs in New York City. Over the years, many more cells were added to the jail, which would total about 300 by the time it closed in 1970 when the new jail was completed and all operations were transferred there. Today, although on the National Register of Historic Places, the Essex County Jail stands empty and deteriorating with little to no hope of ever being preserved. A more detailed outline of the history of the Essex County Jail can be found on this great site.

Last Independence Day, my friend Rich and I took advantage of the time off from work to go exploring and decided that the Jail would be the place to go. We entered quietly through the wildly overgrown brush that now consumes the buildings and the grounds, very much expecting to run into the occupants. When we finally found ourselves inside, all was quiet…eerily quiet. I have to say, since it was only the two of us and neither of us knew what we’d be encountering in there, it was a nerve-wracking experience at the time. There was definitely evidence of people squatting there–knee high trash, empty liquor bottles, and the stench of stale urine on that humid summer day. We tiptoed from cellblock to cellblock, whispered back and forth when we needed to communicate, and took our photos without making a peep. We didn’t leave in a hurry, but we certainly didn’t spend as much time in there as we could have.

In retrospect, it wasn’t so bad. The whole experience just goes to show that sometimes, we’re much more afraid of the living than we are the dead!

- Ember, 2009