Days before the end of the last century, hundreds of prisoners filed into the South Wing of Baltimore's new Maryland Penitentiary, heralded as "an imperishable monument to the humanitarianism of the state."

At the time, the imposing granite fortress was state-of-the-art, a far cry from the squalor in which inmates had been living. So dramatic was the change that The Sun reported prisoners were "delighted with the conveniences" as they were locked into their dormitory cells for the first time. It was Dec. 10, 1899.

But over the next 85 years, the South Wing deteriorated into a filthy, roach- and rat-infested home for the state's worst inmates -- where some days the stench of human waste and body odor was nearly overpowering and the climate of violence palpable.

After a 1984 investigation into prison conditions that was prompted by the slaying of a correctional officer, the South Wing won a new label. The Maryland attorney general branded it "the innermost circle of hell."

And last week, 92 years to the day since its opening as part of the prison that was to live forever, the last inmate was ushered unceremoniously out of the Forrest Street dormitory building. Its future -- whether to tear down the South Wing or refurbish it -- is still uncertain.

By the time of the attorney general's investigation, the South Wing had become overcrowded and understaffed and clearly showed its years of mismanagement and neglect. Drug and weapons trafficking, homosexual rape, beatings and stabbings

were commonplace.

Almost symbolic of the brutality it had seen, the South Wing won a dubious distinction as the site of the only murder of a Maryland correctional officer to die in the line of duty.

After the investigation, conditions improved, if only slightly. New security measures were ordered, as well as a cleanup and a thinning of the inmate ranks.

But four years later, the South Wing's cell house -- a huge, free-standing cage within the thick dormitory walls -- began to fall apart, bending and twisting under its own weight, as if its tradition of evil were pulling it to the ground. Last December, after an inmate crashed through a crumbling floor to the level below, the Division of Correction stepped up its efforts to abandon the five-story dormitory.

In an almost surrealistic tour of the now-empty building, a few correction officials, reporters and photographers milled about yesterday, peering into the 9-by-5-foot cells that at one point had each housed two inmates.

"I'm glad this is over," said Warden Sewall B. Smith Jr., walking out of a cell, trying to push a stuck door to one side. He shook his head and smiled as a pigeon fluttered overhead.

L "Takes you back, doesn't it?" a sergeant asked Warden Smith.

"Yeah, it sure does, from day one. I spent my first six years here," said the warden, a 20-year veteran of prison security.

Correction Commissioner Richard A. Lanham Sr., who initiated plans to remove inmates from the crumbling building a year ago, walked from cell to cell, reading graffiti aloud to no one in particular.

"Kill guards at random. Method. One, learn to kill quietly. Two, have patience. Three, strike the throat with large knife. Four, control your victim. Don't let go. Five, become the panther: Stalk. Observe. Strike," Mr. Lanham read.

"Nice people, huh?" he added.

Other walls were decorated with pictures of women and men from magazines, one still smeared with feces. "Keep hope alive," read one message. "Silence is golden," read another. "Oppression is worst than death."

Said Mr. Lanham, "It's always housed Maryland's worst. I think that speaks for itself. It's a very ominous-looking place."

Water still ran from one of the shower heads. A nearby pump gave off a vomit-like odor. Officials pointed out a Plexiglas shield on wheels that patrolling officers would roll past cells to keep from being hit by urine and feces flung at them by inmates.

Many of the inmates housed there -- those in administrative or disciplinary segregation, or in protective custody -- have been transferred to the nearby Maryland Correctional Adjustment Center, the so-called Supermax.

Others have been shipped to the new 144-bed segregation unit at the House of Correction's maximum-security annex in Jessup.

The last 13 inmates to live in the penitentiary's South Wing were removed Dec. 10. Nine went to the House of Correction and four went to another segregation unit at the penitentiary.

"They were glad to get out . . . and they went quietly," said Theodore Purnell, chief of security at the penitentiary.

"Sure, they were glad. It's a different environment," said Sgt. David K. Jackson. "Some of these inmates have been in segregation seven, eight years, and even to get out of segregation in one place and go to segregation in another place is a change of pace."

The future of the South Wing is up in the air, since plans were

put on hold two years ago by the Maryland General Assembly.

What is in place is a plan for a Metropolitan Transition Services Center on the penitentiary site. It would include a training center staffed by the Department of Education and Department of Public Safety and Correctional Services. The center would be designed to assist nearly 3,000 Baltimore-area inmates each year in their adjustment to life on the outside.

How the South Wing might figure in that plan was unclear.

The House of Delegates wants the building taken down and replaced by a 400-bed facility, a proposal favored by Public Safety Secretary Bishop L. Robinson. But the state Senate, particularly the powerful Budget and Taxation Committee, wants see the structure refurbished and used again and expects to fight the battle of the South Wing again this year.

"It's a solid-wall building with a good roof, and three different people have come up with studies and said it can be renovated for prisoners' use -- education or something," said Sen. Charles H. Smelser, D-Carroll, one of the opponents of tearing the building down.

"I think it can be renovated and used again."

But it is doubtful it will ever be used again for segregation of the state's worst inmates.

State penitentiary -- South Wing vacated

Dec. 10, 1899:

The Maryland Penitentiary's new dormitories open to inmates. The South Wing is to house 280 prisoners; the West Wing to house 540.

April 8, 1972:

Commissioners on the state Inmate Greivance Commission, appointed by Gov. Marvin Mandel, describe South Wing as a "cesspool," and one, a former chief of the federal Bureau of Prisons, calls for the area to be abolished.

July 8, 1972:

Chairman of the Maryland State Bar Association, demanding correctional reform, labels conditions at the pen "nothing short of barbaric."

Jan. 25, 1977:

Legal Aid Bureau's Prisoner Assistance Project files suit in U.S. District Court, asking that the penitentiary be closed because of overcrowding, unsanitary conditions and acts of brutality. It would later be the basis of a federal consent agreement to clean up the prison.

...1982:

The South Wing is designated the regional segregation unit for inmates from Baltimore and Jessup prisons who had broken institutional rules. Infractions punishable here included assaults on correctional officers or inmates, sexual acts, possession of weapons or drugs, arson and escape.

Oct. 6, 1984:

Correctional Officer Herman L. Toulson Jr. is stabbed to death in the South Wing. At the time, 381 inmates are housed in the dormitory building, designed for 280.

Nov. 10, 1984:

Attorney General Stephen H. Sachs releases his report on investigation into South Wing conditions. Gov. Harry R. Hughes announces changes at prison, including replacement of the penitentiary's warden and an assistant warden, security improvements, reduced number of inmates, and planned renovations.

July 1986:

State undertakes plans to renovate the South Wing, after Governor Hughes includes money in the budget to do so.

Nov. 2, 1988:

Public Safety Secretary Bishop L. Robinson tells legislators the South Wing is in danger of collapse, based on most recent engineering report, and calls for its demolition. The week before, three heavy slabs of slate flooring from the third floor of the cellhouse collapsed and fell to the second floor, after the rusted steel supports gave way.

March 1990:

Mr. Robinson, again calling for demolition of the South Wing, tells legislators conditions at the prison have worsened. Engineers report that the dangers of living and working in the South Wing have taken on "catastrophic" proportions because the cellhouse deteriorating "at an ever-increasing rate." The cellhouse, five stories high, is listing to the north; some cell doors don't open or close; cell bars are bent and bowed; steel plate is rusted through; catwalk supports crumble to the touch.

Dec. 20, 1990:

Inmate falls through crumbling floor of South Wing, prompting the Division of Correction to remove more than half the 151 prisoners from the South Wing. The remaining 75 inmates are moved to the ground floor.

Dec. 10, 1991:

The last 13 inmates are removed from the South Wing and dispersed to the House of Correction maximum security annex and another segregation unit at the penitentiary.