At its peak, Port Arthur and Fort William was home to more than 30 elevators once. Some of them remain, but many are abandoned.
Minneapolis was Mill City; flour mills and linseed mills dotted the landscape, and not just along the Mississippi River. To support the world’s biggest flour and linseed companies, a huge network of grain elevators were built by various interests just outside of the east bank’s industrial districts. I investigate these elevators and the factories immediately around them one by one. Welcome to Mill Hell.
This brewery fought off the local competition only to be brought down by Prohibition. After the booze started flowing again, instead of hitting the bottle it hit the sack–the flour sack. It spent the rest of its life as a flour mill, and most of it survives today.
Named after the ‘baker King’ and endorsed by a Duke, this elevator has led a charmed existence on the banks of the Kam. Between almost sliding into the river and being set on fire by teenagers, it’s amazing that it still remains. Here’s an article to show our appreciation, with guest co-author Ava.
For Pillsbury to be abandoned in Minneapolis is like the Gateway Arch to be rusting from the inside out and passed by hundreds—unnoticing. This is Mill City, and this is the Mill of Mill City, and the people pass on, not even looking up to ask why these three square blocks on the river are the way they are.
Sentinel grain elevators watch over the Manitoba prairie: its ghost towns, its defunct flour mills, and its endless fields.
The picture from 1919 says it all; when an F5 tornado rages through the town leveling everything around it, this flour mill stands, anchored to the river, indomitable.