Erwin’s molar.

That is how some referred to the Health Science Unit A shortly after it was completed in 1971, now officially named the Malcolm Moos Health Sciences Tower. The reference was to the then dean of the School of Dentistry, Erwin Schaffer. The school and dental clinics are one of the primary occupants of the structure.

I have heard others refer to the building as ugly, dark, oppressive, and Orwellian. But the most apt derogatory term would be brutal.

Moos Tower, Weaver-Densford Hall and the Phillips-Wangensteen Building, which comprise the majority of the health sciences complex expansion during the 1970s, are all examples of Brutalism in architecture.

The designation of Brutalism is actually derived from the French term for the style “breton brut,” or literally raw concrete. The style, common from the post-WWII period until the 1970s, is usually marked by rough concrete or stone exteriors with protruding sections that underscore the functionality of the interior spaces over the aesthetics of the facade.

A 2008 story on NPR highlighted the love/hate people have for the brutal style and discussed the move toward designating many structures, to the dismay of the occupants, as historic landmarks.

Boston’s City Hall, which has a strong resemblance to the U of M’s health sciences complex, is one such building on its way to receive a landmark designation.

See also Brutalist Architecture on Flickr.

Most people do not walk through Fairview’s Environmental Services in the “B” corridor on the first floor of the Mayo Memorial Building. Even if they do, they may not realize that this corridor was the former home to Station 12 of the old University Hospital. They also may not realize that this section of the “B” corridor was originally the Elliot Memorial Hospital which opened in 1911.

A passerby will also not know that at one time an artist, who was also a patient, painted a scene of this corridor and that it hung behind the desk at Station 12. The painting depicted the patient’s view of the hallway while suffering from a detached retina. The upper left portion of the picture is shadowed from the loss of vision. I ran across a copy of this painting in a former newsletter published by the University Hospitals; however, I do not know where the original is located. It no longer seems to be hanging on the wall at the former Station 12.

A reader sent in the following photograph in an effort to help identify unique and obscure locations within the Academic Health Center.

The scale is an 850 kg capacity flat scale (also known as a platform scale) located in the A (north) wing on the fourth floor of the Mayo Memorial Building. It was manufactured by the Toledo Scale Company with its motto, “No Springs, Honest Weight,” printed on the back of the lollipop scale. The scale’s design used a pendulum weight rather than a spring for measurement. The model number indicates it might have been manufactured in 1921, thirty-three years before the dedication of the Mayo Building.

At the time of the Mayo’s opening, the fourth floor was designated as the Department of Surgery including space for operating rooms, recovery rooms, and patient rooms. This type of flat scale is used to record weights of patients (minus the bed or wheelchair) in intensive care or surgical recovery. The scale’s platform was built into the floor and offered a seamless surface in order to role a wheelchair or gurney onto the scale.

The scale is no longer operational. The platform is fixed in place. A few unanswered questions remain: Why was a possibly thirty year old scale installed in a new facility and was the scale in use in the University Hospitals prior to its placement in Mayo? Did the scale serve some other purpose over the years before being disabled?

If you witnessed the use of the scale or used the scale yourself your input would be appreciated in the comments below.

After all, history is a matter of weighing perceived facts counter balanced by interpretation and local knowledge.

As institutions grow in size and new buildings are added, older facilities are often remodeled (or not) and used for some other purpose other than originally intended. This often leads to the silent wondering of “What was this place?” by the present day occupants.

My own office space acts as a perfect example. Situated in the former (albeit the building still bears the name) Children’s Rehabilitation Center, my door opens up to an abandoned station that once greeted visitors and patients as they stepped off the elevators.

Many other spaces within the buildings that physically comprise the AHC are only shadows of their former self. The map below provides more examples. It depicts the third floor of the former Mayo Memorial University Hospital circa 1970. Today, the Office of the Dean for the School of Public Health is situated in the former space of Neurology Psychiatry. Station 32 along the southern wing (once the original Elliot Hospital) now serves as office space for many hospital social workers who now work out of old patient rooms. And although the coffee shop north of the main entrance is no longer there, a small snack counter is open for service at the former information desk.