Although Drexel University is relatively young among northeastern schools, it has not escaped its fair share of hauntings. For a school that prides itself on innovation and progress, its campus hides some unsettling history. Many of the university’s buildings predate Drexel, and from hospitals that treated deadly diseases to residence halls that survived explosions, each of these buildings has a unique history that adds to a spooky ambiance. Whether you believe in the supernatural or are just interested in some good university lore, here are the buildings where Drexel’s long history tends to linger.
The Rush Building (30 N 33rd Street)
Shrouded by Rush Garden outside, the Rush Building is home to many student organizations. The unlucky ones operate out of the basement, which is often cited as one of the scariest places on campus, and for good reason.
Drexel acquired the Rush Building in the 1960s, but the original building was built in the 1900s. Before being owned by Drexel, it was the Rush Hospital for Consumptives and Allied Diseases. Tuberculosis was the greatest killer in Philadelphia from the late 1800s to the early 1900s, caused by the city’s high population density and contaminated milk. While the archives only have the floor plans of the upper floors, for an extremely infectious disease like tuberculosis, the hospital would likely have had its own morgue in the basement. Any shudders felt down there are surely well justified.
The Psychology, Sociology, and Anthropology Building (3240 Powelton Ave.)
The PSA building is across from the Apple Pi Lambda house, and very few students make their way inside. Even before entering, it is imposing all on its own, with an iron fence and stately trim. Drexel hardly uses it now, but the university acquired it in 1977. Before that, it was the American Oncologic Hospital, one of the country’s first hospitals devoted to cancer. In 1947, a radium spill in the basement went uncleaned by the hospital, allowing staff to continue walking the contaminated halls. Now, the only confirmed hazard is asbestos, which was removed a decade ago; students and faculty are still allowed in the building, but the stairwell to the second floor and the stairwell down are curiously separated, making traces of radium in the basement far from out of the question.
Main Building (3141 Chestnut St.)
Drexel’s famous Main Building, completed in 1891, was the original building on campus. Its ornate architecture was meant to symbolize learning and progress. With its soaring arches, winding staircases, and amber-lit halls, it certainly bears relics of another century and echoes with history. Deeper in the building, however, the intricacies fade, leading to drafty hallways and questionably marked doors that leave students wondering what goes on after dark. This morbid curiosity is not completely unfounded.
As Drexel expanded over the decades, Randell Hall was incorporated into the building in the early 1900s, which now holds one of campus’s darkest pieces of history. In 1984, a student was found murdered at the bottom of a flight of stairs. Considering the building’s age, its maze-like layout, and the tragedy that occurred there, it is no surprise that students feel uneasy when walking its corridors alone.
Van Rensselaer Hall (3320 Powelton Ave.)
Located on the edge of campus, Van Rensselaer Hall does not stand out in most minds, but it has a long history. Donated by Sarah Drexel Van Rensselaer, daughter of founder A.J. Drexel, Van R. was the first women’s dormitory on campus, which was groundbreaking for its time. Her portrait hangs proudly in the hall’s ornate ballroom, surrounded by intricate molding and grand windows. Some swear that her eyes will follow you.
The elegant atmosphere has borne witness to some somber moments. In 1956, disaster struck when the nearby Tidewater grain elevator exploded at 8 p.m. one night, killing three workers and injuring over 25 Drexel students. Some on campus thought an atomic bomb had been dropped.
Van R. was damaged with shattered windows and cracked walls, and while there is no evidence today, the empty ballroom windows are eerie in the dark. Hauntings aside, Van R. remains one of Drexel’s most character-filled residences, making it a great place to live on campus despite a creaky floorboard or two.