Tomorrow at about 6:45 a.m., Baptist Memorial Hospital on Union will be
imploded. At 960,000 square feet, the building’s demolition will be the largest implosion in the country this year. It’s kind of sad, though, really. That’s where Priscilla Presley gave birth to Lisa Marie in 1968, and nine years later that’s where Elvis was pronounced dead.
The whole time I’ve been in Memphis, though, the hospital has been an empty hull, and a creepy one, at that. It’s just right down the street from the CA office, so It’s part of my daily commute. Every day, as I take the ramp from 240 to Union and I top the little hill, it looms large and silent, its halls totally vacant except for whatever wildlife has taken up residence. I always thought it would be an obvious choice for a local indie horror flick to be filmed. The exterior, in its neglected state, is menacing. The spiraling parking garage is probably even scarier from the inside than it is just driving past it. But tomorrow it will all become a pile of rubble.
Some of my co-workers, when we get off at midnight, are going to start drinking and stay up to watch the implosion from a nearby steet, which won’t be all that nearby, since they’re roping off almost entire area within several blocks of the hospital’s radius. They’re even stopping traffic on the interstate for a bit.
I’m glad I won’t be coming to work for a couple of days after the demolition. Officials are warning people that there will be brief but severe air quality risks for a few days after the implosion. Broken glass, micro particles, and dust will linger. I imagine the dry air here will make it even worse.
So, from the comfort of my bed 11 miles away, if I’m awake, I’ll watch Baptist tumble on TV. And when I come back to work Tuesday, I’ll just have to start getting used to the new skyline.
UPDATE: They didn’t demolish the parking structure after all. I was thinking they would. Here’s a photo of the tower in mid-tumble:
ITs a good thing that’s not the hospital that next door to your apartment.
Word!