By Tony Leys for KFF Health News.
Broadcast version by Mark Moran for Iowa News Service reporting for the KFF Health News-Public News Service Collaboration

Hundreds of people who were separated from society because they had disabilities are buried in a nondescript field at the former state institution here.

Disability rights advocates hope Iowa will honor them by preventing the kind of neglect that has plagued similar cemeteries at other shuttered facilities around the U.S.

The southwest Iowa institution, called the Glenwood Resource Center, was closed this summer in the wake of allegations of poor care. The last of its living residents were moved elsewhere in June. But the remains of about 1,300 people will stay where they were buried on the grounds.

The graveyard, which dates to the 1800s, covers several acres of sloping ground near the campus's brick buildings. A 6-foot-tall, weathered-concrete cross stands on the hillside, providing the most visible clue to the field's purpose.

On a recent afternoon, dried grass clippings obscured row after row of small stone grave markers set flat in the ground. Most of the stones are engraved with only a first initial, a last name, and a number.

"If somebody who's never been to Glenwood drove by, they wouldn't even know there was a cemetery there," said Brady Werger, a former resident of the facility.

During more than a century of operation, the institution housed thousands of people with intellectual disabilities. Its population declined as society turned away from the practice of sequestering people with disabilities and mental illness in large facilities for decades at a time. The cemetery is filled with residents who died and weren't returned to their hometowns for burial with their families.

State and local leaders are working out arrangements to maintain the cemetery and the rest of the 380-acre campus. Local officials, who are expected to take control of the grounds next June, say they'll need extensive state support for upkeep and redevelopment, especially with the town of about 5,000 people reeling from the loss of jobs at the institution.

Hundreds of such places were constructed throughout the U.S. starting in the 1800s. Some, like the one in Glenwood, served people with disabilities, such as those caused by autism or seizure disorders. Others housed people with mental illness.

Most of the facilities were built in rural areas, which were seen as providing a wholesome environment.

States began shrinking or closing these institutions more than 50 years ago. The shifts were a response to complaints about people being removed from their communities and subjected to inhumane conditions, including the use of isolation and restraints. In the past decade, Iowa has closed two of its four mental hospitals and one of its two state institutions for people with intellectual disabilities.

After closures in some other states, institutions' cemeteries were abandoned and became overgrown with weeds and brush. The neglect drew protests and sparked efforts to respectfully memorialize people who lived and died at the facilities.

"At some level, the restoration of institutions' cemeteries is about the restoration of humanity," said Pat Deegan, a Massachusetts mental health advocate who works on the issue nationally. Deegan, who was diagnosed with schizophrenia as a teenager, sees the neglected graveyards as symbolic of how people with disabilities or mental illness can feel as if their individual identities are buried beneath the labels of their conditions.

Deegan, 70, helped lead efforts to rehabilitate a pair of overgrown cemeteries at the Danvers State Hospital near Boston, which housed people with mental illness before it closed in 1992. More than 700 former residents were buried there, with many graves originally marked only with a number.

The Massachusetts hospital's grounds were redeveloped into a condominium complex. The rehabilitated cemeteries now have individual gravestones and a large historical marker, explaining what the facility was and who lived there. The sign notes that some past methods of caring for psychiatric patients seem "barbarous" by today's standards, but the text portrays the staff as well-meaning. It says the institution "attempted to alleviate the problems of many of its members with care and empathy that, although not always successful, was nobly attempted."

Deegan has helped other groups across the country organize renovations of similar cemeteries. She urges communities to include former residents of the facilities in their efforts.

Iowa's Glenwood Resource Center started as a home for orphans of Civil War soldiers. It grew into a large institution for people with disabilities, many of whom lived there for decades. Its population peaked at more than 1,900 in the 1950s, then dwindled to about 150 before state officials decided to close it.

Werger, 32, said some criticisms of the institution were valid, but he remains grateful for the support the staff gave him until he was stable enough to move into community housing in 2018. "They helped change my life incredibly," he said. He thinks the state should have fixed problems at the facility instead of shutting it.

He said he hopes officials preserve historical parts of the campus, including stately brick buildings and the cemetery. He wishes the graves had more extensive headstones, with information about the residents buried there. He would also like to see signs installed explaining the place's history.

Two former employees of the Glenwood facility recently raised concerns that some of the graves may be mismarked. But officials with the Iowa Department of Health and Human Services, which ran the institution, said they have extensive, accurate records and recently placed stones on three graves that were unmarked.

Department leaders declined to be interviewed about the cemetery's future. Spokesperson Alex Murphy wrote in an email that while no decisions have been made about the campus, the agency "remains committed to ensuring the cemetery is protected and treated with dignity and respect for those who have been laid to rest there."

Glenwood civic leaders have formed a nonprofit corporation that is negotiating with the state over development plans for the former institution. "We're trying to make the best of a tough situation," said Larry Winum, a local banker who serves on the new organization's board.

Tentative plans include tearing down some of the existing buildings and creating up to 900 houses and apartments.

Winum said redevelopment should include some kind of memorial sign about the institution and the people buried in the cemetery. "It will be important to us that those folks be remembered," he said.

Activists in other states said properly honoring such places takes sustained commitment and money.

Jennifer Walton helped lead efforts in the 1990s to properly mark graves and improve cemetery upkeep at state institutions in Minnesota.

Some of the cemeteries are deteriorating again, she said. Activists plan to ask Minnesota legislators to designate permanent funding to maintain them and to place explanatory markers at the sites.

"I think it's important, because it's a way to demonstrate that these spaces represent human beings who at the time were very much hidden away," Walton said. "No human being should be pushed aside and ignored."

On a recent day, just one of the Glenwood graves had flowers on it. Retired managers of the institution said few people visit the cemetery, but amateur genealogists sometimes show up after learning that a long-forgotten ancestor was institutionalized at Glenwood and buried there.

Former grounds supervisor Max Cupp said burials had become relatively rare over the years, with more families arranging to have deceased residents' remains transported to their hometown cemeteries.

One of the last people buried in the Glenwood cemetery was Kenneth Rummells, who died in 2022 at age 71 after living many years at the institution and then at a nearby group home overseen by the state. His guardian was Kenny Jacobsen, a retired employee of the facility who had known him for decades.

Rummells couldn't speak, but he could communicate by grunting, Jacobsen said. He enjoyed sitting outside. "He was kind of quiet, kind of a touch-me-not guy."

Jacobsen helped arrange for a gravestone that is more detailed than most others in the cemetery. The marker includes Rummells' full name, the dates of his birth and death, a drawing of a porch swing, and the inscription "Forever swinging in the breeze."

Jacobsen hopes officials figure out how to maintain the cemetery. He would like to see a permanent sign erected, explaining who is buried there and how they came to live in Glenwood. "They were people too," he said.


Tony Leys wrote this story for KFF Health News.


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A Wisconsin nonprofit serving people with disabilities is waiting to hear if federal changes to Medicaid will affect their clients and caregivers, who overwhelmingly rely on the program for their health care needs.

The nonprofit CP serves about 200 people in Northeast Wisconsin that have complex physical or developmental disabilities, nearly all of whom use Medicaid to pay for their services.

Julie Tetzlaff, director of adult day services for CP, said about 75% of clients are in wheelchairs and unable to reposition themselves. She explained the exercise program CP offers is crucial to prevent patients from developing pressure sores.

"A sore on the butt costs a lot of money, anywhere from $30,000 to $150,000," Tetzlaff explained. "Once one of our clients has a pressure sore, it stays with them for a long time. So it might heal up, but they're going to be susceptible to another sore in that same area without active movement and repositioning."

She noted their program focuses on functional skills training using adaptable equipment funded through grants and community support.

Tetzlaff pointed out most of their clients are deemed to have a level of disability which could place them in a nursing home and most are poor. About half live with their parents, who she acknowledged can easily experience burn out. She added day services provide respite for these caregivers and prevent costly nursing home placements for clients.

"Looking ahead, if you have all these parent caregivers who, some of them, are on Medicaid because they're caring for somebody that's on Medicaid and they need health insurance themselves," Tetzlaff observed. "If they become more ill as well, and aren't able to care for their person, and they need long-term care - it doesn't seem like legislators have thought of that. The people that are caring for all these people, that's a big group."

Starting in December 2026, most Medicaid recipients will be required to complete at least 80 hours per month of work, schooling or community service to retain coverage. There are exceptions but it is unclear if they will apply to people caring for an adult with a disability.

Jon Syndergaard, executive director of CP, said lawmakers have assured them their clients will not be affected.

"But then in the next breath, they're all telling us that they can't necessarily be certain about that because they don't know the details," Syndergaard emphasized. "In many cases, it's sobering to say that they haven't even worked their way through all of the legislation in its entirety yet."

Experts have said it is nearly impossible to carve out people with disabilities or their caregivers because cuts to Medicaid will affect everyone. With all the uncertainty, Syndergaard underscored the nonprofit and the families it serves have grown cynical about the future of health care coverage.


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Nevadans with disabilities are concerned with proposed federal cuts to Medicaid, despite claims from GOP lawmakers that the cuts target only waste, fraud and abuse.

The U.S. Senate is currently considering a federal budget reconciliation package containing cuts to Medicaid and other social safety nets. The bill narrowly passed the House last month, with the latest version proposing cuts to Medicaid worth more than $700 million.

Ace Patrick, a Nevadan living with a disability, said other proposed changes in the bill, such as implementing work requirements to qualify for Medicaid, would be particularly challenging for those with disabilities.

"Those of us that could work, are working," Patrick said. "Those of us that cannot work, and there are many people on disabilities who are unable to work, who are in their homes, in apartments, in group homes, in nursing care facilities - what are they supposed to do without care? It will be devastating and many of us will die."

Republican lawmakers have said work requirements may help boost employment. The majority of Medicaid recipients already work, even if it's for informal jobs that don't produce pay stubs. Health-care advocates argue low-income Americans are already struggling to put food on the table and cover their housing costs, and clearing a work requirement would be yet another hoop to jump through.

About 740,000 Nevadans are enrolled in Nevada Medicaid, according to KFF, a nonprofit specialized in health policy research. The state program covers about 35% of working-age adults living with a disability in the Silver State.

Patrick said politicians in the nation's capital aren't thinking about the consequences of the cuts.

"I don't know what they think we're all going to do," Patrick said. "It's going to overload the ER, if they're even able to manage without getting that kind of income."

Advocates have warned that significant cuts to Medicaid could increase the number of unprofitable hospitals, especially in rural parts of the state, which can then put them at greater risk of financial distress or even closing their doors.

Indiana University now trains police academy recruits in Deaf culture awareness and basic American Sign Language.

The program aims to improve communication between future officers and the Deaf community across campuses statewide.

Brennan Cox, a law student and part-time officer for the Indiana University Police Department, helped launch the course after noticing a gap in police training on interacting with Deaf individuals.

"This training is beneficial for the Deaf community because it creates safer interactions with officers and members of the Deaf community, creates more engagement with the Deaf community," Cox explained. "Really, we just want the Deaf community to know that we want to learn and that officers have a desire to learn about the Deaf community."

The nearly three-hour course features Deaf faculty who teach recruits key signs like "police," "help," and "stop," while emphasizing patience and alternative communication methods.

Cox noted the training also benefits officers themselves.

"What made me want to bring this training to IU Police Academy is I took ASL when I was in my undergraduate at IU for two years," Cox recounted. "It made me really just become passionate about how law enforcement interacts with members of the Deaf community and how we can better serve them."

The program now includes recruits from Indiana University campuses in Bloomington, Indianapolis, and South Bend and plans to expand to other agencies.


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