For some, school houses and old hospitals can feel like home

COLUMBIA, Mo. -- John Tinker has a well-stocked library in his home. So does Patrick O'Hanlon.

Tinker's library is full of the kind of books a gentleman should have, from treatises on international affairs and military history to the paperback adventures of James Bond and Perry Mason and maybe a couple of things he shouldn't. Sitting on a shelf looking perfectly at ease among the volumes of military history are two shiny tins of Kroger brand survival crackers circa 1962.

Patrick O'Hanlon shuts the main door to his new residence in the old Fitzgerald hospital.

A grand piano is the centerpiece of O'Hanlon's library. The shiny black patina of the piano contrasts with the green-and-white checkerboard linoleum floor. Rows of hardback books line the wall opposite the piano.

Tinker and O'Hanlon's libraries aren't necessarily the most fascinating aspect of their homes. Not nearly.

Tinker has a second-floor gymnasium in his home complete with wood floor, stadium seating and full-size basketball court. O'Hanlon has two elevators in his house (though only one works) and the door to his laundry room is lead-lined. Scores of people have died in the space he calls his bedroom.

Neither Tinker nor O'Hanlon is financially wealthy, but their homes are rich and fascinating in a way most homes aren't.

Tinker lives in Fayette with his wife and young son in a four-story decommissioned school building built in 1928. O'Hanlon lives with his wife in Marshall in the three-story in front, five-story in back building, built in 1923, that used to be the local hospital.

Both men, who have never met, have in common their sense of the uncommon, and that shows in the place each calls his home.

Back to school

"I never wanted to be part of the empire," Tinker said, when asked of his home and atypical life.

John Tinker does not come off as an eccentric. He is shy and introspective and prides himself on being a family man. He is also very likable and has a keen intellect.

It's ironic that he should end up living in a school building, considering that in 1965 Tinker was kicked out of his Des Moines, Iowa, high school for wearing a black armband in protest of the Vietnam War. His case, Tinker v. Des Moines, would go all the way to the U.S. Supreme Court as one of the seminal freedom of expression cases of its time; Tinker's anti-war statement would later be upheld by the court.

Tinker, 57, has a history of living in unusual circumstances. Among others, he's lived in a 1941 Ford delivery truck, a vault in an inventor's supply store, and a 120-by-80-foot stone barn. In 1995 he purchased the Daly elementary school building in Fayette with the thought of making it his home. Throughout the 1990s and 2000s, Tinker lived in various parts of the country. This will be the first winter he's lived in the school with his wife, Patricia Fisher, and their 3-year-old son, John Fisher Tinker.

Living in the large school house has given Tinker, a Web site developer who works from home, the space to indulge his pastimes.

"I have a lot of interests," Tinker said. "I wanted an art room, a music room, a big library, a workshop and living space."

Working from home

Patrick O'Hanlon sold his first work of art when he was in third grade. It was a frog done in mixed media string, cardboard and construction paper that his teacher purchased from him for $5. From the proceeds of the sale, young Patrick O'Hanlon bought a toy robot from Sears.

O'Hanlon now makes his living selling art. He, like Tinker, also works from home.

Like many older homes, the kitchen in O'Hanlon's home has been remodeled, or perhaps rezoned is the better word. His kitchen didn't start out life as a kitchen at all; it was a hospital's hydrotherapy room.

O'Hanlon, 53, bought the old Fitzgibbon Hospital in Marshall in 2004, relocating with his wife, Dee Yoh, from Virginia. He has since converted the hospital into an art gallery and residence.

O'Hanlon lives with his wife in the basement of the old hospital in what used to be the emergency room. The ER's automatic sliding glass doors still work, though most of the time they are turned off. ("You don't want your front doors opening every time a car drives past," said O'Hanlon.) They're still used as the front entrance to the ER-turned-home.

The artist, who once held a "real job" as a mainframe computer operator, admits his choice of home is a little unconventional.

"Most people don't have the mind-set to think of an ER as a house," he said. And most people aren't comfortable sleeping where so many have died.

"In 1923 people didn't come here to get well," he said. "They came here to die."

'A richer culture'

What is remarkable about both Tinker and O'Hanlon is how unremarkable each considers his living circumstance.

"My son, my daughter and my wife are my central values," Tinker said. "The building is really peripheral, believe it or not."

O'Hanlon has a different notion of what it is to be rich.

"What do you see as wealth?" he asked. "I've always wanted a place with pillars. I've got two or three acres of grass. This place embodies a lot of things that I like. It's conducive to art and showing art and building art."

"For me, it's a richer culture when people find a special way of doing things," Tinker said.

Like doing your laundry in an old X-ray room, or in his case, an old boy's restroom.