Heading back to WNC from Memphis, my daughter and I paid a visit to the creepy Bolivar asylum ruins. The sign was real. There were cameras everywhere and we had less than 5 minutes before leaving to avoid approaching security.
I learned after visiting that my father once led a department here. My mother shared stories, late into the evening, of its operational days in the 1970’s. Dad kept a room with a view and worked long weekends, and she would spend those days enjoying the grounds.