{"id":5472,"date":"2022-04-13T15:01:00","date_gmt":"2022-04-13T19:01:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/wfsu.org\/local-routes-2\/?post=the-repeating-history-behind-the-famu-hospital-clo"},"modified":"2022-04-14T16:56:15","modified_gmt":"2022-04-14T20:56:15","slug":"the-repeating-history-behind-the-famu-hospital-clo","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/wfsu.org\/local-routes\/2022-04-13\/the-repeating-history-behind-the-famu-hospital-clo\/","title":{"rendered":"The Repeating History Behind the FAMU Hospital Closure"},"content":{"rendered":"

With the passing of the civil rights act in 1964, integration has been repeatedly used as a reason to close historically black Institutions. This story explores how the creation and closing of one African American hospital on the Florida A & M Campus impacted a local community.<\/p>\n\n\n

Originally Posted November 21, 2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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FAMU’s Bragg Stadium at 2019 Homecoming Game.<\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

Historically Black Colleges and Universities are vibrant centers of education. That was on full display this year during Florida A&M University\u2019s annual homecoming celebration. It drew tens of thousands of people decked out in the school colors of orange and green. Traffic snaked around the Rattlers\u2019 Bragg <\/p>\n\n\n\n

stadium\u2014a giant block party on all sides.  The campus thrummed with activity from class reunions to family gatherings.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

At their peak in the 1930s, there were 121 HBCUs across the\ncountry, but in the years since integration, these centers of community,\nhave been slowly disappearing. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

That loss is something Florida Agricultural and Mechanical\nUniversity knows well. It\u2019s seen that loss before, and has been fighting for\nits survival for more than 50 years.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

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FAMU Alumni, students, and fans outiide Bragg Stadium, Homecoming 2019.<\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

Hiding In Plain Sight <\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n

FAMU is notorious for its hilly campus. One particularly long\nstretch of steps extends at a sharp incline up from South Adams Street. At the\ntop of the hill sits a hulking brick building several stories tall. The\nbuilding is called Foote-Hilyer, and it houses the university\u2019s admissions\noffice, financial aid, and student account centers. Nearly 50 years ago, it was\na hospital. But in asking around campus, it\u2019s clear few current students know\nthat. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

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NOW: FAMU’s Foote-Hilyar Administration building today.
<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
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THEN: FAMU Hospital. (Credit: State Archives of Florida, Florida Memory)<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cYou\u2019ve talked to FAMU\nstudents, and they don\u2019t have a clue as to the role this hospital played. As\nfar as I\u2019m concerned, that unacceptable. That\u2019s administrative malpractice,\u201d\nsays Ed Holifield. The Tallahassee physician has deep roots in the city. His\nmother, Millicent Holifield, was a nurse at the hospital. And he would later go\non to help found a community health center on the south side of the city for\nlow-income residents.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Dr. Ed Holifield<\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n
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Milicent Holifield, Nurse at FAMU Hospital and local activist.<\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey need to know about this hospital, the role it played in\nkeeping black people alive.\u201d  <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

When it was built in the 1920\u2019s FAMU\u2019s hospital was the only one that treated African Americans in North Florida. And it maintained that distinction through the 1950\u2019s. For the city\u2019s black population, The FAMU Hospital was more than just a healthcare provider, it was the center of a community.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Healthcare as a Civil Right<\/strong> <\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Nashid Madyun, Director of the\nSoutheastern Meek-Eaton Black Archives at FAMU says The roots of this social\ncenter go back to the end of the Civil War when schools like FAMU were\nestablished to educate a newly emergent free black population. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Nashid Madyun, Director of the Southeastern Meek-Eaton Black Archives at Florida A & M University.<\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cYou have the confluence of\na variety of worlds in segregation and reconstruction\u2026the Freedmen\u2026 \u2026previous\nslaves that are now understanding the banking system and land ownership,\u201d he\nsays.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

FAMU\u2019s Hospital began in 1911 as a center for tuberculosis patients.\nIt came as African Americans were trying to figure out a path forward. And that\ndebate was highlighted through the clashes of two titans of black history:\nW.E.B DuBois, and Booker T. Washington. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Original FAMU Hospital and annex at FAMC. Photo taken Feb. 16, 1948 (Credit: Forrest Granger, State Archives of Florida)<\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cThe arguments between WEB DuBois and Booker\nT. Washington [were] about what takes your path to independence\u2026 Is it higher\neducation or vocational skills?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The hospital was the physical\nembodiment of the intersection of the debate,combining the vocation of nursing with higher education.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

FAMU became the first school\u2014black or white\u2014to offer an accredited\nundergraduate nursing program in the state.  These nurses, as well as the school\u2019s\nteachers, lawyers, and other graduates would go on to form the foundation of the\ncity\u2019s black middle class. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Dr. A.D. Brickler worked at FAMU Hospital early in his career. <\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe primary physicians were all\nblack physicians and there were just a few of us. The subspecialists were the\nwhite physicians who were on-call from us,\u201d recalls Dr. A.D. Brickler, a\nretired obstetrician. He practiced for more than 60 years in Tallahassee. Today,\nhis name graces the maternity wing of Tallahassee Memorial Hospital. One of\nBrickler\u2019s first job in medicine was at the FAMU Hospital. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

He\nrecalls working in rural areas of the region, and attending an emergency birth\nin Gadsden County where a woman eventually gave birth to a stillborn baby. It\nnearly killed her. Hospital physicians, Brickler says, treated \u201canything that\nwalked in the door. Gunshot wounds, car, automobile accidents, pregnancies\u2026.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A Role Model For Excellence<\/strong> <\/h2>\n\n\n\n

It\u2019s a sweltering day in the depths of a Southern Summer. The rose\nbushes around the Foot-Hilyer building roundabout look parched. The heat\nradiating off the black parking lost asphalt is visible. Despite that, Rhonda\nRansom is standing in the lot, her back to the hospital, speaking into a\ncamera. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Rhonda Little Ransom grew up across the street from the FAMU hospital.<\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

Ransom was born in Pensacola but\nmoved to Tallahassee as a child. She turns and points to a white and yellow\ntwo-story building directly across from the hospital. She says the top used to\nbe an apartment, where she and her family lived. She recalls playing in and in\nfront of the building, getting sick and ending up as a patient. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cI thought surely I\u2019d be a nurse,\u201d she\nrecalls. There was no way I wouldn\u2019t be a nurse because they was just simply\nbeautiful to me, in the white uniforms, and stockings and caps. And I thought\nthey were just gorgeous.\u201d   <\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cThe nurses I remember as a child was so\npleasant to us, and so kind to us. This hospital for us, particularly the ones\nthat lived in this neighborhood, was a social center,\u201d she says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Nurse Grace Kyler working with polio victims . Photo taken Sept.13,1953 (Credit: Tallahassee Democrat Collection, State Archives of Florida <\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n