Beneath Oakdale’s sprawling campus of dormitories, workshops, and farmland were the daily rhythms of thousands of lives. To the outside world, it was an orderly institution, a place where “inmates” were cared for and trained. But for the people who lived and worked there, Oakdale was its own complex community, filled with routines, relationships, small joys, and quiet sorrows.
A Day in the Life of a Resident
Residents woke early to the ringing of a bell. Dormitories—called cottages—were lined with rows of simple iron beds and shared washrooms. Mornings began with roll call, breakfast in a communal dining hall, and then the day’s assigned tasks.
For those deemed capable of work, the day meant labor. Some tended the dairy herd, milking hundreds of cows to supply the institution’s kitchens. Others worked in the bakery, preparing thousands of loaves of bread each week. Some were assigned to laundry, scrubbing and ironing linens in hot, steamy rooms. Work was framed as “occupational therapy,” but it was also essential to keeping Oakdale’s self-sustaining system running.
Children attended classes at the on-campus school, learning basic reading, writing, and arithmetic. Teachers tried to tailor lessons to students’ abilities, but overcrowding meant large groups with limited personal attention. Evenings were quieter, often spent in the cottage common rooms with simple games, supervised recreation, or church services.
For many residents, this structure provided stability they had never known. Yet it was also a life without choice. Residents could not leave the grounds. They were told when to wake, when to work, when to eat, and when to sleep. For those who lived at Oakdale for decades, the institution became their entire world.
Moments of Joy and Connection
Despite the restrictions, there were moments of happiness. Oakdale had its own resident band, which performed for dances, parades, and special events. Holidays like Christmas brought decorations, gifts, and community celebrations. Staff organized picnics and summer outings on the campus lawns.
Church services were a weekly highlight, with music filling the chapel. Residents with artistic abilities sometimes created crafts or played music in occupational therapy programs. For many, these were small but meaningful escapes from the rigid routine of institutional life.
The Staff’s Perspective
For the staff, Oakdale was both a job and a way of life. It was the largest employer in Lapeer County for decades, with generations of local families working as attendants, nurses, cooks, maintenance workers, and administrators.
Employees often lived on-site or in nearby housing. Their children played on the same lawns where residents took walks. Friendships formed among coworkers, and many staff developed strong attachments to the residents in their care. Oral histories from former employees describe a deep sense of community: “It felt like its own little town. We had everything we needed here—work, school, even recreation. But it was also a place where you couldn’t forget the sadness behind it.”
The work was demanding. Staff managed large dormitories with dozens of residents each. They supervised chores, administered medications, and handled crises, often with limited training. Overcrowding and lack of resources made personalized care difficult, and burnout was common. Yet many employees stayed for decades, feeling a mix of loyalty, compassion, and duty.
Shared Humanity in a Confined World
Inside Oakdale’s walls, staff and residents forged relationships that blurred the lines between caregiver and family. Residents celebrated birthdays together. Attendants helped them write letters home. In some cases, staff became surrogate families for residents whose relatives rarely visited.
But the institution’s strict hierarchy was always present. Staff had freedom of movement and eventually went home at the end of their shifts. Residents could not leave, no matter how much they longed to. That divide—between those who belonged to the institution and those confined by it—shaped every interaction.
Remembering the People of Oakdale
Today, when people speak of Oakdale, they often recall its size, its buildings, and its policies. But the heart of its history is in the lives of the people who filled it. Behind every dormitory door was a person with a story—some tragic, some hopeful.
For staff, the memories are mixed. Many remember the residents they loved and cared for, the moments of laughter in the cottages, and the pride of building a community together. Others remember the sadness of lives that never left the grounds, the weight of overcrowding, and the moral questions that lingered long after they left.
Oakdale was a place of contradictions: a sanctuary and a prison, a workplace and a home, a community that both nurtured and confined.
Key Details from Part 4
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Residents lived highly structured lives, with strict schedules for work, meals, and recreation.
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Labor was a daily expectation, framed as “occupational therapy,” but vital for the institution’s self-sufficiency.
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Oakdale fostered moments of joy—bands, holiday events, and church services—despite its restrictions.
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Staff developed deep ties with residents but faced demanding workloads and ethical dilemmas.
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Many families rarely visited, leaving staff as the closest thing to family for long-term residents.
Sources for This Article
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Oakdale: The Lapeer State Home by William Fromwiller & Ron Gillis
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Oral histories from former Oakdale staff (Lapeer Historical Society)
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Oakdale Employees Reporter newsletter (1930s–1950s)
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Superintendent reports on resident schedules and occupational therapy programs
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Lapeer District Library Oakdale History Gallery
Teaser for Part 5: Decline & Deinstitutionalization
By the 1970s, the tide began to turn. National policies shifted, public attitudes changed, and Oakdale’s population began to shrink. In the next chapter, we’ll explore the decline of Oakdale, the move toward community-based care, and what happened as the institution approached its final years.