Rivets are sexy, and this old machine has more than a fair share.
Copper poured from this furnace and was cast by the autocaster on the right into billets.
A mix of brick and stone construction where the stock house meets the cellars. The caves brought well water to the brewery and drained the refuse away, and the various sewer connections are visible here and tell the story of the company’s expansion above.
The small door leads to the offices, the large door leads to the shop. My back at this time is to the corrugated steel wall. At the time I wondered why there was just one steel wall, not knowing that 40 years before there was another spot for an engine here. This section of the roundhouse has become a sort of town dump–car seats, cans of paint and tires are piled into its corners.
This section of the production floor was constantly dripping. Someone had laid down giant plastic sheeting to attempt to protect the lower floors, but it hasn’t worked.
I like to imagine this as fountain.
The BOMARC launch buildings are spaced on a large concrete pad that looks like a parking lot. Out of view are underground pipes for fueling and cooling the rocket motors.
All that’s left of the lost annex near Saskatchewan Wheat Pool #4 and #5. Arista 100.
It was a strange choice, although I appreciate it, for the firm reusing the shops to brick up the doorways while leaving the doors.
Looking through the washer that is the first stop for the dredgings.
A gateway for St. Louis as seen through a gateway (of sorts) in East St. Louis.
The last of four radar domes on the base.
An Old Crow warehouse, formerly federally controlled, near Old Taylor Distillery.
The roof could be vented when locomotives were running inside.
If there was a problem with the conveyor belt, the grain would go out these chutes.
A massive water tower easily tucks into the shadow of Blast Furnace #6.
A 5-minute exposure of the tunnel and stars, and even some of Duluth’s city lights bouncing off the clouds. A single off-camera flash in the tunnel gives the effect of an oncoming train.
The huge snowfalls of 2011 brought new collapses across the buildings.
This elevator was built in 1922 and was used until the passing rails were removed in the mid-1970s.
In an old ward, two men would have shared this room.
The headquarters for the plant was in the middle of it. It’s abandoned but well preserved–a strange sight in Gary, Indiana.
Some sort of materials handling building, judging by the construction.
Where the approach meets the dock.
The oldest part of this mill had a wooden roof that rotted away long ago. Slowly, rust is dulling the edge on every cog left behind.
After demolition in the mid 2000s, this interior door became exterior. I remember walking through the car shed as a teenager. It was a shortcut, if I didn’t get caught.
The building on the right was where parts not assembled onto vehicles would be set in crates for shipment.
The most derelict of the old bonded warehouses. Note the barrel elevator on the side of it!
A wide view of the poor house. Look at the smokestack and elevator shaft, which show the former roofline.
A teeter totter sits in front of the Memorial Building.
The hike to the village is steep. This is looking into the valley from the halfway point.
“Paint the fence,” they said, but I don’t feel like it… who cares, anyway.
One of the only extant assembly line tracks in the body painting department. No photographer leaves Fisher 21 without capturing some version of this spot; hope you like mine.
Ava between ammo warehouses and railroads.
Point me to the blast furnace.
A look straight down into the chutes were taconite pellets would dump into the dock hoppers. Rebar was a safety measure to keep workers from being buried alive, were they to slip into the holes.
The workshop and parts room was full of light and meticulously sorted bolts, nuts, washers, gaskets, and all sorts of specialty hardware.
While the stokers are gone, the pipes bringing pulverized coal down were left.
Chester Creek takes many such sliding dives where it empties into Lake Superior.
Storms and waves, focused by the Port of Wisconsin entry have focused the faces to tear-up these boards below.
The snowflake (?) patterns were hand-laid throughout the hospital. It is possible some or all of these tiles were laid by patients, as it is on record that they were used for simple tasks in the name of occupational therapy.
The railing were jealous of both the bricks and bits, and chose instead to dissolve like this.
The King Elevator is connected by a manlift and this spiral staircase. The manlift was down–can you believe it? Note the cool turns in the vertical railings. Arista 100 on 120.
The Western Elevator’s old moniker looks over Fort William (the neighborhood). Snow falls over Mount McKay in the background. This elevator is still active… the only active elevator in Fort William proper.
Peeling paint reveals the room numbers of the past. Kodak Trix-400 on Canon T40.
Instructional film strips on the floor of a second floor closer.
Between all of the buildings was dense growth, especially vines.
David Aho, the owner of Mitchell Engine House, poses beside the boiler.
The middle missile launcher, as seen from the roof of its neighbor.
The roof of the King Elevator had two small vents and a terrific view of Sleeping Giant Provincial Park. Arista 100 in 120.
The individual ovens are skinny to allow even and fast heating of the whole interior. Numbers are cut into signs because no paint could withstand the heat or corrosive emissions from the coking process.
Most of the gauges on the control panels were broken.
The bottom of the elevator in the new foundry.
Pozo Mine, the most menacing mine building I’ve ever seen. Black and white film, shot with the Fuji GX680, a beast of a camera.
Steam pipes snake up the walls like vines, but with asbestos.
Looking from the shaft room into the room where an electric hoist would be.
Blast Furnace 7 as seen from the ore yard. Imagine running up those stairs through blast furnace smoke.
A side view showing the extreme structural damage to what I believe is the Masonic Cottage. I honestly cannot unravel how some of this was done, unless the local armory is missing a 4″ canon and some cartridge shot.
Redlining is the practice of shutting certain races out of neighborhoods, and it is still a big problem today. Such behaviors were a big factor in creating the need for these projects.
The main rail artery for Thunder Bay passes Ogilvie’s.
Sluice tables stretch into the darkness.
Looking out of the wavy stock shop.
From the street, it’s clear that almost every window and door had boards over it, but not every building had a roof. Silly priorities.
The front of the power plant (right), the distillery itself (center), and the regaling house (left).
Fall in line, act skinny, watch out for low hanging pipes. Don’t ask me where in the maze this was… 90% of the plant looked like this; vast rooms and catwalks with crisscrossing pipes and valves.
This corner of the building was the coal room, used to feed the two big boilers inside. The steam equipment has been replaced with electric, so this section may not have changed much in the past decades.
A huge vent looks like it built in a hurry. There was actually very little in the way of bits of machinery left over… I am guessing almost anything of value was scrapped in the 1990s.
Not a part of the Foundry, but the Enclosed Body Building. The rebar welded over the windows and the rust patterns with the lighting makes this geometric photos one of my favorites from the year.
Kodak Tri-X 400, Leica M7. Serious enough to write across the side of the tank, but not serious enough to have a sign made.
Trees between duplexes overshadow the buildings they were planted to shield; revenge for the boards on the windows.
Frankie on the White Pine Mine vehicle access shaft. The mine was traditional inside… all room-and-pillar.
A ruined platform on the railyard platform side of the warehouse.
A typical dwelling in San Luis. I could not tell if it was occupied, but most of the town is abandoned.
Because Oshkosh is close to Green Bay, the Packers are very popular there. Everywhere in the plant there were traces of ‘Cheese Head’ culture.
A heavy steel rail door to help funnel explosions upward, rather than outward.
Looking up at the LEMP malting plant elevator. Look at that BRICKWORK!
An alarm panel in the powerpplant, now demolished.
The former BESCO building in the last light of day.
Ringling, MT is spread thin across the grassy land.
Outbuildings near the perimeter fence. Beyond is all ranch land.
It was obvious which parts of the hospital were the newest, by their relative utter self destruction. It’s comforting to the Cubical Dwellers, I think, to know that as soon as the power and plumbing are disconnected that all hell will break loose and dismantle their suspended ceilings, drywall boxes and fluorescent suns in no time at all.
A shuttered house at the end of the block doesn’t even have boards on it anymore.
A high-voltage tunnel sheathed in concrete dips below ground near a shell packing building that now stores fireworks.
The boilers are gone, but round brick portals remain where they used to meet the walls of the boiler room. Behind it appears to be the coal bunker itself.
Old conveyor belts are draped over the sides of the ore chutes to cut down on the noise and wear of the dumping trains.
Labeling line elevator.
Giant ingredient hoppers stand on a concrete floor covered in peeled paint.
Let’s play a game called “FIND THE PIGEON”! There is one bird in this photo of dust collectors atop the King Elevator train shed.
The belts on these mills have long ben missing.
Gloves hang in the basement of the former quality assurance labs.
David Aho pictured.
Like many mill-style buildings of the time, the Twohy’s loading doors (in this case, the delivery wagon doors) opened to an elevator shaft. This design cut down on loading time, as long as the elevator was operational. Of course, if it was otherwise occupied, there could be no traffic through the exterior doors!
Local kids probably call this the ‘Shootin’ Shack’, judging by its war wounds.
The sexiest feature of Kurth is this steel arch over the silos on its south side. The manholes in the floor open to the silos directly, and flimsy grates might catch a hurried worker. Grates were removable so that workers could descend into the concrete tubes, so a few are missing today.
A storm passes over BOMARC’s center row of launch buildings. You can clearly see the tracks on which the roof would retract for launch.
I like to think of this as a giant straw, through which the factory is slowly draining the earth, leaving nothing but reinforced concrete below…
Looking at ADM-1 from beside ADM-4, back when ADM-4 had a train shed and ADM-1 had a skyway. In the thick woods beneath the skyway was a long time homeless camp… most of its residents were very friendly.
A fireproof room in the basement, perhaps for ammunition storage at one time.
A street side exposure of the original 1914 section of the orphanage. Turned into black and white to deemphasize all the graffiti across the front steps.
Workers would undoubtedly prefer to use the belt manlift on the right.
One thing that struck me as a midwesterner in the South was the vines. They seem to be able to completely cover a building when left alone for a few decades.
The old crane swung on windier days over the Worthington Steam Pump. This is probably last used to disassemble the antique generators, which are all now gone.
Looking toward Sleeping Giant from the workhouse.
Kat’s pretty cool.
I had to climb into the roof of the half-demolished skyway to see through to the other side of the train shed. That’s my foot in the corner.
This seemed to be the newest building on the property.
This rockhouse was added below the shaft to load Gilpin Tram cars.
A steel powder keg serves as a door prop on the static-proof wood core floor. Note the ‘XXX’ marking to the left of the double door.
Daisy Mill could accept shipments from water, rail, and truck at one time. Now everything comes and goes by rail.
Watching the comings and goings of doctors, nurses and new patients was a mainstay of asylum routine; one can find it easy to imagine pale faces pressed against the block glass windows, staring out at the world moving past them.
The piano must have been a nice distraction; there is very little to do in Roberts.
The pipes above sprayed water onto the hot coke.
Standing atop the dust collector, the factory breaks down into diverging patterns, processes.
We mark our world in unexpected ways… this is how patient possessions would be stored during their stay in the old asylum wards. It’s about the size of a shoebox, and this particular drawer has a name where the others do not. Its place reminded me of the hospital cemetery where more than 3,000 are buried and less than 1% of whom are recorded by stone or plaque in their resting place.
Looking across at the Cargill elevator.
Taken from the most forward part of the windlass room to show how the front of the ship opens up from the front wedge. Note the giant anchor chains and foam strapped to the frontmost beam.
One leg of the headframe meets the hoist house. Two cranes are rusted in place.
A little cloud passes over the Five-Stack powerplant ruins, like a puff of smoke.
The top floor of the apartment seemed so empty without the furniture that once adorned it. Instead, my eyes were drawn to the worn paths in the floor between the rooms.
When the ship loaders were added, a doorway was cut through the metal silo to make a room for the grain handling equipment. Note the dust sensor in the corner of the torch-cut archway.
Harsh rail yard lighting throws shadows of broken windows against the line of boilers.
An impressive message for graffiti in a Detroit warehouse, but then again look at these steam pumps. Over-built and under-appreciated.
To get more light into the wards, the building was narrow and had angular rooms, often staff space, perpendicular to the main hallway.
“To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee,
One clover, and a bee,
The revery alone will do,
If bees are few.”
― Emily Dickinson
Where workers’ pay would be doled out and collected.
This room on the top floor of one of the oldest buildings has seemingly not changed since it was adapted for employee use. Some sections of the hospital were adapted for staff to live in. Paying Patient Ward–where capable patients were separated from wards of the state.
Soft rain on Vulcan’s ashy pyre… Both of these peaks are dead volcanos, too hard to be totally washed away by storms. As a result, they seem to rise dramatically from the flat valley.
The former express concourse, as seen in 2005.
The superstructure for the sea-leg skyways serves no purpose now… the offices are bricked up, too. Why?
“Ballistite is a smokeless propellant made from two high explosives, nitrocellulose and nitroglycerine. It was developed and patented by Alfred Nobel in the late 19th century.” -Wikipedia.
Thick glass windows allow workers to check the beet juice levels in this steel tank. You can tell by the reinforcement that it had a lot of liquid and had to hold against immense pressure. Kodak Tri-X 400/Leica M7.
Near the guard post protecting the launch pad at the Duluth BOMARC is an orange windsock.
Robotic pincers to move molten rods of glass between machines.
The top floor of the condemned Russell Miller mill “B”, which would have housed sets of powerful electric motors to power the plant’s dust collectors and grain purifiers.
There are 700 of these storage bunkers. Their design was to funnel explosions upward, rather than toward other buildings, to minimize secondary explosions.
Looking up to the second floor of the Nitrating House, where cotton would be soaked in nitric acid. These brought cotton into the building.
Outside the Chateau, where the fuel oil tank blocks the chapel.
The stone chapel sits beside the main house and received a particularly heavy dose of gothic architectural touches.
King Elevator sits in the corner of a more recently-defunct lumber mill: Great Western Timber. Perhaps in the future I will write the history of it. Arista 100 in 120.
The roof had structures bigger than most buildings in South Bend.
Rogers Mine is one of the most structurally sound mines in the Iron River area that isn’t part of a museum.
Circa-1960s graffiti. Someone got their ass kicked.
A back-lit tree with the silhouette of a roof spire in the background.
Either the company was pulling parts from this evaporator to use as parts for other plants, or the last thing the workers did was to get this machine ready for the next campaign. Either way, plans changed.
A few of the stalls in the older section of the roundhouse, the noon sky peeking in.
The chapel (left) and surgical suite (straight on) move in an out of view as fog rolls up from the St. Louis River valley.
Vents in the boards over the windows helps prevent mold and animals from getting too crazy inside.
The whole smelter ran on gravity… elevating the various raw materials and working with them until at the bottom of the furnace, copper poured out.
When a big motor rusted free of its ceiling mount, it smashed onto this workbench.
A long exposure of the launch pad and its dedicated guard shack. In the middle of the base is a tall antenna which was part of the MARS program during the Gulf War. The MARS program helped connect calls between deployed soldiers and their families.
Two of the remaining four towers in the projects. Throughout our time there we saw and heard squatters inside and chose not to go in. What do you call a smart choice made in the midst of a dumb choice? There should be a word for that.
A vent sitting at the base of one of the crumbling smokestacks.
Little crosses on the side of the church, near a broken window.
I love that the administration building–almost 100 years old now–still carries the original name.
I’ve written it before, but I like observing the way buildings change in terms of new windows, bricked up doors, and so on, and thinking of how their forms change to reflect the work inside of them.
One of my favorite photos of the ADM-Delmar #1 skyway, when it stood. Taken at sunset, with the reflection of the overcast sky in the remaining windows.
On the ground floor of the main factory there seems to be only one chair left.
Standing where the Final Assembly Building used to hum and staring across the former site of the Sheet Metal and Spring buildings. Today, of course, the Foundry is gone as well, so you’d be looking across Prairie Ave.
A cottage for masons infected with TB to live together.
This view of BCT shows the portico where the main entrance is at the base of the office tower, and the clock.
This is a great example of a combination rock house; the silos below used to fill trains with ore dropped from mine cars pulled to the top of the structure.
Cracked gauges have a certain quality that hearkens to movies, I think. One can imagine the gauges going off the scales before dramatically cracking, throwing glass right at the camera. This damage, however, is unfortunate vandalism.
The Peavey logo, before it rusted off and the offices were demolished.
A heavy steel device locks the anchor up.
Bits and things in a pile in the corner of the smelter, the unsold chunks of industrial history that didn’t sell at an on-site auction before my visit.
It is unclear whether this area was for coal dumping or ore dumping, though the huge dents in the steel plating suggests the latter.
What you see is not a crack in the floor, but a long vine extending ten feet onto the shop floor, as if reaching in to escape the wind and rain.
In the bottom of a creek, an antique children’s wheelchair is buried in grass, where someone threw it. Wooden leg braces suggest this dates to the 1950s.
Officers got houses and the honor of living near other officers. They call it Officer’s Row.
The fences helped discourage patients from throwing themselves down the stairs.
So much relies on one thing stacked on top of another thing.
The shed in the front was full of worker supplies–namely goggles and heavy leather gloves. Molten copper isn’t a friendly thing to handle.
I wish I had the equipment then that I have now… I look back at these 10-year-old pictures and can’t ignore all the grain.
Fake Fact: The term ‘stovetop hat’ was coined by Island Station’s architect while trying to explain why he wanted to put the steel chimney on the station. ‘Live Here’ was part of the advertising when the building was host to artist lofts. They weren’t kidding.
A windmill marks one corner of GOW.
A misnomer that stuck.
This floor of the workhouse had corkscrew conveyors–big augers–in the floor to move material around. Most of the walls that were metal were missing, leaving the concrete structure and open doors.
Kurth bears a ghost sign. Recently, its main sign was destroyed by graffiti artists in 2015.
Miners at the turn of the century had better taste in typography than the average person does today.
Kodak Tri-X 400/Leica M7. The office (first floor), laboratory (second floor) and mill behind it. Everything was clean and pristine.
The playground used to be near the school which is now in ruins.
The basement of the asylum was a strange place. Take, this fireplace, for instance, in an otherwise barren room. Random cinderblock (left) has created a little room behind the fireplace. To round out the strangeness, a toilet was plumbed into the middle of the space. Note the stone foundations.
A winding flue between the ovens for Furnace 6, capped with sketchy catwalks.
The steam-powered hoist that pulled ore and dropped men from the mine. Note the hydraulic-operated brake on top with its massive brake pad. Now scrapped.
Bits of pulp hang from a rough grate on the first floor of the plant, which was dark because all of the equipment blocked the light. This is a grate picture.
The left cave is the largest of the three, and shows the most evidence of expansion.
A typical stretch of the assembly line.
Trees by the beautiful Nurse’s Cottage above and behind the Kirkbride. One side looks out over farmland while the other faces the back of the hospital grounds. As of 2014, the city is allowing artists to rent spaces inside.
Looking out from my perch close to the Kam toward the Ogilvie head house. To the left is a newer concrete annex, probably built in the years it bore the name Saskatchewan Pool 8.
The smokestack for the sintering plant included a big blower room, to launch the fumes into the atmosphere and away from the town. What could go wrong?
In the quality assurance labs there is a old safe.
The top of the grain handler of Ogilvie’s. The flagpole serves as a lightning rod. In fact, I would not be surprised if that was its primary purpose.
The mine was built with stone, wood, and steel. It’s in good condition.
Beautiful belt wheels above the grain cribs. Getting to the spot where this was taken is now impossible, and I don’t know whether these remain or not anymore.
Wood brick floors reduced noise and vibration, making the work environment safer and keeping the superstructure intact. Too bad people like to pile these up and set them on fire on the weekends. With 3.5 million sqft, though, it’s not exactly running out…
This is the former air compressor house–one of them, at least–which turned steam power into air power to drive machinery across the production line.