I’m a loner drawn to places where people once gathered. Lately, Indiana’s old county homes and infirmaries have captured my attention. They weren’t places people chose to be; they were places people ended up- communities of necessity where the poor, the elderly, and the ill spent the final chapters of their lives together. In Wayne County, an infirmary still stands off U.S. 40 -the old National Road- quietly removed from the traffic that speeds past. It’s easy to miss but hard to forget.
Wayne County was formed from parts of Clark and Dearborn Counties in 1811. It didn’t take long for county leaders to face a hard truth: there was a growing number of people with nowhere to go and no one to care for them. If the community wasn’t going to forget them entirely, it would need to create a place specifically for their care. To remedy the situation, an early “poor farm” was established near Hagerstown in the northeastern part of the county1.
The home was relocated to a plot west of Centerville in 18402, 18443, or 18494– sources disagree. At any rate, builder Jason Ham was hired to construct a fifty-foot wide, eleven-room structure in stone and brick “to be laid in good mortar made of wood lime and sand mixed in the proper proportions5.”
Calvin Woods became the county home’s physician at a rate of $50 per year. John Crum was named supervisor for $250 each quarter6. Over time, many changes came to the property. Among them were two dormitory buildings completed east and west of the main structure7. Perhaps the largest improvement, though, was the purchase of additional land that nearly doubled the size of the farm in 1871.
In 1909, the Wayne County home was described as a “model institution8.” By then, the farm contained 300 acres and forty-seven inmates, as residents were uncharitably called in those days. “Considering the number of inhabitants of the county, this number is small in comparison with the other counties of the state,” said a newspaper writeup. What’s more was that the “church auxiliary societies and secret societies do a vast amount of work throughout the county in caring for the poor9.”
The Wayne County Home primarily cared for the sick, the frail, and the elderly. In 1910, though, the Richmond Palladium argued it should take on another role and house those labeled as “incurably insane10.” Until then, people given that designation were often confined in the county jail- locked away not as criminals, but because there was nowhere else to put them.
While officials floated the possibility of adding onto the jail or erecting another small building somewhere else, the paper echoed a previous assessment of the property by asserting that “It would seem a good policy on the party of the county to step in now and make a model institution of the county infirmary…an addition, separate and distinct from the buildings already built at the site of the county infirmary, can be erected to suit the needs of the county’s insane11.” Eventually, though, it appears that a “Home for Friendless” was established elsewhere12.
By 1915, county officials were taking a hard look at the future of the Wayne County Home campus. The buildings had no real fire protection- a frightening oversight for a place filled with elderly and sick residents. Planners recommended constructing a two-hundred-barrel water tower atop a nearby hill to safeguard the grounds. They also proposed purchasing a mechanical canning apparatus since, the year before, residents had put up 2,000 jars by hand. It had to be an exhausting task for people already burdened by age and illness13.
1917 saw the Wayne County Home’s largest population ever, when sixty-three people -fifty men and thirteen women- lived there. That year, more than any, was a snapshot of a refuge, albeit one where “no one supposes that it is a haven of pleasure or delight14,” as the newspaper described the place. For years after, the Wayne County Home remained more than just a campus on the outskirts of Centerville. Instead, it was a crowded, living community shaped by necessity rather than choice. That all changed in 1958, when the county closed the Smith-Esteb Tuberculosis Hospital.
Smith-Esteb’s seven remaining patients were transferred to the Irene Byron Health Center in Fort Wayne15, and the campus seven miles south of Richmond was repurposed as the new Wayne County Infirmary. The move brought the county home’s fifty-eight residents to the larger, more modern Smith-Esteb property, which needed less maintenance and featured more windows and dedicated recreation rooms. Soon, the new infirmary at Smith-Esteb housed sixty-one residents16.
The old Wayne County Home west of Centerville was sold at auction in 1959, more than a century after its land was purchased. Seventeen acres were left so a county highway garage could be built. More than sixty years later, the main eleven-room home and an enormous barn still stand! Unfortunately, the property’s dormitories and outbuildings have been demolished.
At Smith-Esteb, the county home’s second act was an initial success. Unfortunately, occupancy dwindled again as the need for repairs and compliance with new regulations came to light17. The home closed in 1975 and was sold the following year. Today, parts of the campus are home to Cross Road Christian Recovery Center for Women18. The 1840s home and barn sit about five-hundred feet back from US-40 while Smith Esteb stands along US-27 at Potter Shop Road.
Today, most drivers speed along those highways without realizing that two former Wayne County infirmaries still stand quietly in the trees. Both were never places of pleasure, but they were communities nonetheless- born of necessity and shaped by endurance. For me, they feel less like relics and more like proof that Wayne County chose not to look away.
From the US-40, the old Wayne County Home is easy to overlook as just another old house set back from the rush of modern traffic. But once you realize how many lives unfolded behind those walls, the place takes on a different weight. It becomes a reminder that history isn’t only found in grand monuments or famous homes. Sometimes it lingers quietly in places like this 180-year-old home that stands just out of sight waiting for someone to notice.
Sources Cited
1 Richmond’s Yesteryears (1936, February 29). The Richmond Palladium. p. 8.
2 Parcel 89-09-24-000-310.001-004 (2026). Office of the Assessor. Wayne County [Richmond]. Web. Retrieved February 20, 2026.
3 (See footnote 1).
4 Cassel, K. (1959, February 22). County To Sell 263-Acre Farm Thursday; Will End 110-Year Stay West Of Centerville. The Richmond Palladium-Item. p. 11.
5 (See footnote 4).
6 (See footnote 4).
7 (See footnote 4).
8 Fox’s History Told About Work Local Groups Did For Infirmary (1959, August 1). The Richmond Palladium-Item. p. 16.
9 (See footnote 8).
10 The County’s Insane (1910, February 26). The Richmond Palladium. p. 4.
11 (See footnote 10).
12 Does Wayne County Lead State (1915, August 23). The Richmond Item. p. 4.
13 Better Fire Protection at County Infirmary Discussed at Meeting of Commissioners (1915, April 19). The Richmond Item. p. 4.
14 (See footnote 10).
15 Seven Smith-Esteb Patients Will Be Transferred Nov. 1 (1958, October 23). The Richmond Palladium-Item. p. 1.
16 White, E. (1958, August 31). Propose County Home Move To Smith-Esteb. The Richmond Palladium-Item. p. 1.
17 Lord, F. (1976, July 11). Sale Of smith-ester Home Site To End 40-Year County Tenure. The Richmond Palladium-Item. p. 5.
18 Martin Emery, M. (2017, March 8). Help sought for women’s addiction program. The Richmond Palladium-Item. p. A3.
