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When Madi Tyree drives past the former Central Virginia Training Center, with its sprawling 350-acre campus and 95 vacant buildings, she hears its many voices.
The Lynchburg-area native hears her grandmother, who cared for patients with developmental disabilities there in the late 1980s and early 1990s.
She hears the voices of inmates who lived there during the institution’s darkest period of eugenics and forced sterilization — the period she researched in 2022 for a capstone history project while she was a student at Randolph College.
Tyree, now a history teacher at Nelson County High School, hears the voices of her students, who ask questions about the site as it stands today.
About this storyThis is the first installment in a two-part series on the redevelopment of the former Central Virginia Training Center campus. Coming Wednesday: Local leaders’ plans to reimagine the site as a mixed-use neighborhood.
The training center in Madison Heights, just across the river from downtown Lynchburg, closed in 2020, after Virginia reached a settlement agreement with the Department of Justice to shut down four of its institutions for patients with developmental disabilities. The closure plan followed a multi-year investigation of the state’s institutions, prompted to ensure their compliance with the Americans with Disabilities Act, that concluded that Virginia fell short in providing “services in the most integrated settings” to people with disabilities, according to the Virginia Department of Behavioral Health and Developmental Services.
When plans for closing began in 2012, the Central Virginia Training Center was the largest facility of its kind in the state and was Amherst County’s largest employer.
Over the past six years, local government and business leaders have been planning to redevelop the site to tap into its economic potential — a project that is gaining momentum now that some buildings are slated for demolition and a plan for a new road into the property is in the works.

Meanwhile, local educators, historians and community members are reflecting on the site’s complicated history, how it’s evolved since it opened in 1910 as an asylum, and how it should be preserved.
In the first half of its history, the institution was a legal epicenter for eugenics, the now-discredited movement that sought to eliminate so-called social ills, such as intellectual disabilities, by controlling human reproduction through forced sterilization and other methods.
Later in its history, the facility provided long-term medical care, education and rehabilitation for people with developmental disabilities that families across the region grew to trust and rely on.
With a history that long and with so many lives touched, “people approach CVTC very differently,” said Jeremy Bryant, Amherst’s county administrator. There are those who want to see the campus preserved for its historical significance, those who’d like the site to provide needed medical care again, and those who say “the only way to do it right is to start over” and reimagine the vacant campus as an economic engine for Amherst County, he said.
‘Ground zero’ for a dark history of eugenicsAs redevelopment plans take shape at the site, some community members are wrestling with how to preserve the site’s stories.
“I don’t want the history to be built over, forgotten,” Tyree said. “We need to be able to acknowledge the ugly parts of history and say, ‘This did not work. We’re not going to try this again. We’re not going to repeat the same cycle.’ If we just sit here and ignore it and cut out all the bad parts, then we’re unfortunately doomed to make those mistakes again.”
In 1911, the first patients were admitted to what’s commonly known as “the Colony.” The site was at first an institution for people with epilepsy and soon expanded to admit those with intellectual disabilities and mental illness.

It wasn’t long before the Colony became “ground zero” for the eugenics movement, said Ed Polloway, a leading researcher of the facility’s history and longtime professor in the University of Lynchburg’s special education program. Eugenics is a now scientifically discredited, but once widely accepted, theory that the human race can be improved through selective breeding, using methods such as involuntary sterilization, segregation and social exclusion to “rid society of individuals deemed to be unfit,” as described by the National Institutes of Health.
In 1924, a Virginia statute was passed to establish a legal policy for the sexual sterilization of “inmates” of state institutions like the Colony. In 1927, the U.S. Supreme Court tested that statute and ruled that the involuntary and forced sterilization of inmates at institutions was constitutional — in a case that stemmed from the Amherst campus.
The case revolved around a Colony inmate, Carrie Buck. Her mother, Emma, had previously been institutionalized at the Colony, and her daughter, Vivian, was purported to have intellectual disability. In the majority opinion for Buck v. Bell, Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes concluded that “three generations of imbeciles are enough.” Carrie Buck then became the first person known to be involuntarily sterilized under Virginia’s 1924 statute.
The case lacked proof of the family members’ intellectual disability, and key witnesses in the case included prominent people in the eugenics movement who had not directly assessed Buck, according to Polloway’s research.
By 1938, 30 other states had passed sterilization laws, with many based on the Virginia model, according to Polloway’s research. About 4,000 people were sterilized at the Amherst site by the time the practice tapered off in the early 1970s, according to Polloway’s research — that’s about 50% of all people sterilized in Virginia and about 7% of those sterilized nationwide.
The 1924 state statute remained on the books until 1974. Buck v. Bell has never been overturned. The state historic marker on the former training center’s campus makes no mention of the site’s history of eugenics.
The facility changed names five times throughout its history, eventually becoming the Central Virginia Training Center in 1983. At the time, it served as a “microcosm for the world of American institutions,” Polloway said, as it shifted to a model of providing both medical care and educational habilitation and created new residential spaces to replace the “existing large, virtual warehouse living arrangements.”
About 350 patients lived on the campus in 2012, when it was announced that four of Virginia’s five training centers would soon close, according to Polloway’s research. Over the facility’s 110 years of history, it had about 14,000 patients, with a peak census of about 3,700 in 1972.

In 2022, a redevelopment master plan for the training center site was published after a multi-year study spearheaded by the Lynchburg Regional Business Alliance and contributed to by Amherst County officials, state representatives, and other local and regional partners. The master plan proposes that the most feasible and best use for the vacant site is its transformation into a mixed-use, walkable neighborhood with a combination of residential, retail and office spaces, along with a set of light-industrial buildings.
The master plan makes some arrangements for preservation of campus landmarks, including a plan for the site’s two cemeteries “to be preserved and honored as best feasible.” The Memorial Gardens cemetery would get an enhanced gateway and be more visible from neighborhood trails and green spaces, the plan states.
The second cemetery, thought to be the resting place of some Black patients, is currently overgrown, and significant landscape cleanup is required, according to the plan. A memorial lawn space, gate and fenceline are planned to be added to the area.
There are at least 1,000 people buried on the campus, Polloway said: “They went to the institution and never left.”
The master plan also proposes that a monument be constructed from the cupola of the Bradford Building — the “centerpiece” of the campus, as Polloway describes it, that was designed by prominent local architect Stanhope Spencer Johnson.
Regardless, the “site build out plan” section of the master plan calls for the demolition of buildings that are not feasible for reuse or preservation, “which can help overcome the complicated history of the Training Center site.”
Local educators say the campus still has lots to teach the community.
Tyree said the training center’s past is important to study today because “you can definitely see some parallels” between the practice of eugenics then and modern conversations about bodily autonomy and healthcare. She talks about the Colony in her classroom and said she “would love to see the site turned into some kind of a museum — something that they can use to walk through what the daily lives of these patients would have looked like and see the history outside the classroom.”
Alexander Sutton, an assistant professor of sociology at Washington and Lee University who teaches a disability studies class, sees Carrie Buck’s case as the “crescendo” of the history he covers in his syllabus — one that rings even louder when students realize that her story stemmed from the central Virginia region they’re learning in.
“The Carrie Buck case, a Virginia case, is really at the heart of American understandings of disability and bodily autonomy,” he said. “Virginia is an important stop on the long historical journey of constructing what disability is and how it’s defined.”
Gerry Sherayko, a history professor at Randolph College, said he talks about the training center in his class about the Holocaust. At the Nuremberg trials that followed World War II, Nazis who had carried out forced sterilizations cited Buck v. Bell in defense of their actions.
“That German story, long ago and far away, is very much local history that is 15 minutes from where we’re sitting, where I’m teaching,” he said. “Something of global significance happened here, and there should be a museum — not to rub negativity in people’s faces, but to acknowledge that this is one of the major centers in the world for this history.”

Others say the site has meaning because of the quality care it provided in its later history.
For Martha Bryant, “home” is the word that comes to mind when she thinks of the training center. Her twin sons, Taylor and Tyler, were born prematurely with intellectual disabilities, cerebral palsy, airway difficulties, and other health challenges, and they lived at the training center for about 20 years.
Bryant remembers feeling like her sons had everything they needed at the training center, from physical therapy to special education to a wheelchair clinic. She still remembers the teachers and nurses who worked with her sons the closest and keeps photos of them around the house.
The training center also feels like home, Bryant said, because of the jobs and sense of purpose it gave to her family of nurses: 10 of her family members, including her mother, sister and herself, worked at the training center.
“I knew from that that it was good care, or I would have never taken my sons there,” she said.
Taylor and Tyler were moved to a care facility in Petersburg in 2017 as the Amherst site began to close. Tyler could not cope with the abrupt changes to medical care, Bryant said, and he passed away less than two months after leaving his home at the training center.
Taylor, now 32, has lived at the Petersburg facility, called Hiram Davis Medical Center, since 2017 and gets the specialized care he needs, Bryant said. But his home is at risk again: in 2024, the Department of Behavioral Health and Developmental Services announced a process to close Hiram Davis, and today, an amendment in the state budget awaits approval to officially “proceed with the closure of Hiram Davis Medical Center by December 2027.”
Earlier this month, the Virginia Department of Behavioral Health and Developmental Services presented an updated closure plan for Hiram Davis, and lawmakers on the Joint Commission on Health Care must cast an advisory vote by the end of July recommending whether the state should move forward with the plan.
Bryant said she’s always seen her role as the parent of children with disabilities as also the role of an advocate, but “I’ve never had to fight as hard as I am now.”
“I feel like I need to have my elevator speech of about two sentences ready to go, always,” she said. “Right now, it’s: ‘Keep Hiram Davis open. This is life or death, and I don’t want to be the voice of another dead son.’”
Bryant said when she looks at the healthcare system in place for people with intellectual disabilities and mental health challenges, there has been “overall positive growth in certain areas,” particularly in crisis care that’s designed to deliver emergency treatment and get patients rehabilitated quickly.
“But if you’re on the far end of the continuum, like Taylor is, you can get stuck,” she said.
Bryant said she’d like to see the training center used as a medical facility again, especially for patients who don’t fit into normal models of long-term care, such as those with dementia or those with significant developmental disabilities like Taylor.
“Corporate America leaves some populations behind, because they’re expensive to take care of,” Bryant said of her experience of trying to move Taylor to a skilled nursing facility closer to home, but getting rejected due to the complexity and cost of his care. “We need a regional approach for long-term care, and the common sense solution is in the Lynchburg area. It’s already bought and paid for.”
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