On a chilly winter night in 1894, a coal barge glided up the Mississippi toward a dilapidated sugar plantation, delivering its seven sickly passengers to their new home.
It was the last chance of refuge for these patients, and it was more than likely the place they'd be buried. For two years, no physician or nurse would risk infection, and the seven leprosy-afflicted souls were alone.
Then, the Catholic Daughters of Charity of St. Vincent de Paul came.
Disguised as an ostrich farm to prevent locals from forming an angry mob, the Louisiana Leper Home was essentially a prison for sufferers of the fearful disease who had been court ordered to quarantine. After the assigned resident doctor abandoned his post and no one would agree to replace him, the Board of Control appealed to the Daughters of Charity, who answered the call. First there were only 4, then, 120. For the next 109 years, the sisters would care for their forsaken charges at what would soon become a leper colony, the National Leprosarium. The Carville colony was one of two in the United States. The other, Kalaupapa Leper Colony, was a world away on the main island of Hawaii.
As the number of quarantined patients grew, the crumbling estate slowly transformed. In 1905, the Louisiana State Board purchased the property and began construction. They also began medical experiments, which evolved as the facility grew into one of the most sophisticated medical, research, and rehabilitation centers in the world. Most of the patients that came to the Leprosarium would continue to live there until they died, their bodies buried in a cemetery that now holds over 1,000 former residents.
By the late 1930s, the colony had its own infrastructure that included a sewer system, a power plant, and a man-made lake with paddle boats. There was a church, a ballroom, a cantina for snacks, and a golf course, but that didn't change the fact that the patients were still considered inmates, some even brought to the complex in shackles. Mercifully, the 1940s brought swift victories in treatment and understanding of the disease, and as medications succeeded and myths about contagion were dispelled, the word "leper" became unaccepted, replaced with the new, less stigma-drenched "Hansen's Disease". In the 1950s the mandatory quarantines were lifted, and as the years trudged along, the "leper colony" transformed into what would eventually become the Gillis W. Long Hansen's Disease (Leprosy) Center. Out patient programs were developed, the gates were opened, and patients were finally free. This presented a new challenge-many didn't have anywhere to go. Their homes and families long gone, their ability to function in the outside world destroyed by deformities and decades of isolation, some remained at the facility, and some that tried to leave would return, unable to find their place in the outside world.
In 1998, it was decided that too many funds were going to a center for a disease that had been demystified and cured, but the remaining community appealed to the Clinton administration to stay. 40 patients were allowed to remain at the location, although the research center was relocated to Baton Rouge.
The Hansen's Disease Museum opened its doors in 1999, just as the treatment facility closed. The museum has over 6,000 square feet of exhibits on the history of the colony, windows into patient life, staff members and the Daughters of Charity of St. Vincent de Paul. They offer extensive education on the disease itself, and there's a chance that one of the small handful of "lifers" that remain on the grounds will be acting as a "Museum Ambassador," sharing stories of many years spent in the Leprosarium, the prison that became home.