As demolition continues on the primary building at the old St. Joseph campus on Biltmore Avenue, I’ve found myself reflecting on just how many lives were shaped inside that building, including my own.
I started my career there nearly 20 years ago, never imagining how deeply connected my family already was to that hospital. My father was born there in the 1950s, and years before that, my grandmother volunteered there as a candy striper. St. Joe’s wasn’t just a hospital to many of us in Asheville; it was part of the fabric of our families and our community.
The building itself held a personality all its own. People still talk about the kindness they felt there and the cafeteria food that somehow always seemed better than hospital food had any right to be. We remember the view from the 10th-floor family waiting room overlooking Asheville, moments of hope and worry shared there, the tiny ER where you truly never knew what might come through the doors next, and that long hallway to Radiology that seemed to stretch forever. And of course, so many of us can still picture Sister Carmen, all her glory wrapped up in such a small package, walking those halls and bringing love to anyone who needed it…