Ghost Town – Centralia, PA

The Coal Region is a seven county section of Northeastern Pennsylvania, situated in the central Appalachian Mountains. The area is home to the largest known deposits of anthracite coal found in the Americas. Settlements in this region pre-date the Revolutionary War, but the population boomed in the early 1800′s with the discovery of this coal.

Bull’s Head Tavern opened in 1841, in what is now known as Colombia County, and within a few years, streets were laid and homes were built. The village was dubbed Centerville. But in 1866, the town was renamed Centralia and given it’s own ZIP code, to avoid confusion with another town in Schuylkill County.

Centralia grew. At it’s peak, the town had over 2,000 residents, 27 saloons, 14 general stores, 7 churches, 5 hotels, 2 theaters, a bank, and a post office. Centralia was served by two railroads, and operated it’s own school district, and three-man police force.

But that would all begin to change in May, 1962. Town planners had previously failed to install a fire-resistant clay barrier between a garbage pit and an abandoned coal mine. So, when haulers lit the trash, an exposed coal vein in the underground mine also ignited. Fire crews thought they had the blaze contained, but within a few days the fire had moved underground. For the next two decades every attempt to suppress the blaze failed, and the flames had consumed an underground area some 400 acres in size.

The fire caused fissures in a section of Highway 61 that runs through Centralia. Smoke, fumes, toxic gases, and in some cases flames, rose up through the ground, and into people’s homes. Several cases of carbon monoxide poisoning were reported. People began moving out. The fire was literally consuming Centralia.

According to a 1983 engineering study, the Centralia mine fire “could conceivably spread over an area of approximately 3,700 acres” and might still be burning in another hundred years. After dragging it’s heels for two decades, the U.S. Congress finally acted in 1984, doling out over $42 million to relocate the 1,100 residents who remained in Centralia. Most took the grants, and settled in nearby Ashland and Mount Carmel, as the government began tearing apart their town, piece by piece.  Though some families refused to be bought out, in 1992 all properties in Centralia were claimed under eminent domain by the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, and condemned. Highway 61 was closed off in 1993, and permanently rerouted around the town. In 2002, the U.S. Post Office revoked Centralia’s ZIP code. A majority of the buildings that once stood in Centralia have been demolished; the last remaining house was razed in Sept. 2007. Today, with just 9 residents remaining, and little trace that it ever existed, Centralia is a ghost town.

It was April 2009, just after completing my cross country trek, that I first learned about Centralia while researching ghost towns in Pennsylvania. A few nights later, I was watching TV and saw this segment on History Channel’s series, Life After People.

I was determined that someday I had to make a journey there. That day came Oct 11, 2010. I didn’t realize it at the time, but it was Indigenous People’s Day, aka Columbus Day.

The day before, we celebrated my sister’s birthday, so I woke up fairly hung over. The little tasks to prepare myself and my bike for the journey seemed to be taking longer than normal, and I didn’t hit the road until 11 a.m. Depending on traffic, and the route I chose, I could be there in 2.5 hours. I took Bristol Rd. out of Bensalem, which linked to Limekiln Pike, Bethlehem Pike, and ultimately Rt. 309 for a long stretch. Rt. 309 is at times like a freeway, alternating between stretches of two lane roadway through some towns. I stopped for numerous water breaks along the way, and made one fuel stop.

Eventually, I turned on Highway 54 and cruised past some active coal mines and small towns. After a few miles, I had reached Big Mine Run Rd. My GPS said to make a right, and I followed the directions it gave. Then it kept telling me to make a u-turn. If I did, I would have ended up in Ashland. I ignored those directions and continued up Big Mine Run Rd. for about a mile when I came to the intersection of Highway 61 (Locust Ave.) and Highway 42 (Centre St.). I thought to myself, “Am I in Centralia?”

Pulling over at the intersection I looked left up the hill on Locust Ave. and saw a few parked cars and people strolling up a dirt road.

So I rode towards them.

There is a notice board posted near protesting the evictions and demanding that Governor Rendell takes action on .

In recent months, 2 more residents were evicted as state officials wrestle in court with the remaining holdouts, who have filed suit to reverse the 1992 eminent domain claim. The sign references a notorious hate crime murder in nearby Shenandoah.

Across the road, the land appeared to be level, as if engineered for some type of structure. But behind the level spot, was a crater in the ground, where the fires once burned. There was steam rising from it, though its hardly visible in the photo.

I rode up the hill along what remained of South St. The pavement was smooth in some spots, but buckled and broken up in others. At the top of the hill is SS Peter – Paul Orthodox Cemetery.

I jumped off my bike, snapped a few photos, and was about to walk around the cemetery, when I heard the familiar rumble of a motorcycle getting louder. A man and woman rode up, we chatted briefly, I took a photo for them,  and I went on to see some other parts of Centralia.

On my way back down South St. an older fellow wearing a US Navy cap was driving toward me. He slowed down to say something, so I stopped. In a frail voice, he said that used to be where he lived, as he motioned toward a plot near us. I didn’t know how to react. I asked where he lives now, and he said Ashland, and that he was glad he took the government buyout, because “there’s nothing left here.” Then he drove on.

In this image, you can see the steam busting through the dirt. I rolled down the hill and was  back on Locust Ave. I turned  left went about a block, to Park Ave.

There I saw what was left of the veteran’s memorial.

From other photos I’ve seen, there used to be a bench here, and a large replica of the Liberty Bell was once the memorial’s centerpiece. What remains today is a cinder block alter with a few painted stones placed there, like this one.

Also in this park, there is an eerie reminder of the town’s past.

It is expected that many former residents will attend a ceremony in 2016 to open the time capsule. I rolled down Park Ave. to see if I could find any signs of what once was.  The area appears to be a field with a paved street and driveways, but no homes.

About a quarter mile down, the street abruptly ends in a pile of litter and bramble and the former neighborhood is being overrun by new-growth forest.

I walked around a little bit on what seemed to be at one time, someone’s home.

A few hundred yards away, I encountered some type of ailing structure. If I had to guess, I’d say it was once a chicken coup, or some other type of animal pen. But I really have no idea.

I walked back to my bike and hopped back on, heading  back toward S. Laurel Ave, to look for the closed portion of Highway 61. I went south, and rode along the new portion of Highway 61, going past the shell of the Byrnesville washhouse, but three cars were parked there, so I turned around and went back up the hill and  parked at the top  on the former site of St Ignatius Church, where now only a graveyard remains.

Across the ridge, on the other side of town, you can see a clear view of one of the few buildings still left standing in Centralia. Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary Ukrainian Greek-Catholic Church, still holds weekly services.

I walked around the cemetery a bit.

Past the southern end of St. Ignatius Cemetery, large piles of dirt block off the abandoned portion of Highway 61. It is likely accessible by motorcycle, but there was a 3 foot mud puddle there and I didn’t feel like risking it. I walked along this stretch of road, taking in some of the graffiti.

A pair of ATVs suddenly came along out of the wooded area, startling me as they went by. I got a little freaked out, and without seeing the entire closed portion of Highway 61, headed back up toward the graveyard, thinking to myself, “For a ghost town, there sure is a lot of activity here!” There was another abandoned logging road behind the cemetery.

The stunning autumn colors are occasionally contrasted by the remnants of a vanquished culture.

I went back to my bike, and checked out a few other streets in Centralia. Heading north on Locust Ave, I went through the intersection of Centre St, and back to the other side of town, where the Municipal Building is located.

Apparently a fire crew is still operating here, as there were two trucks parked in a garage behind the building.

The Centralia Police Dept, however, no longer exists, and the area is now patrolled by PA state troopers.  Through the door, a sticker was visible from the outside.

There was much more to see in Centralia, but as I was cruising around the areas fun roads, thunder started clapping, and I saw some lightning, so I needed to get moving.

I left the ghost town with mixed emotions. After seeing firsthand the carcass of an abandoned town being reclaimed by nature, I thought, “Was this a look into the past, or future? Am I seeing what was, or what is to be?”