A shipment board for customers that may or may not exist anymore. Let’s assume any of the products made here are probably on backorder.
One of the occupied buildings in Nevadaville.
The fences helped discourage patients from throwing themselves down the stairs.
This was a living space for the keepers during storms, when it was too dangerous to return to the houses on the point.
Before developers saw to cut and cut the flour mills inside Pillsbury, they stood at the ready beside various purposeful chutes the traversed the floors of between sorters. These machines were belt-driven by the power of Pillsbury’s Mississippi headraces and turbines, the force of which notoriously shook the building’s foundations themselves. The wheels would change the grade of the flour, or the size of the dust produced from crushing the kernels.
Fire doors and penis talk.
These machines are at least 100 years old.
Funny how sensitive modern English speakers have become to gendered language. I doubt the workers here–almost all female–were offended by this posting for ‘Workmen’s Compensation’.
The roof compromised, rain water rolls down the main stairway.