A bumper sticker with the usual tagline. Note the detail on the radiator!
Rows of offices under the power plant, which was in the middle of being demolished during my adventure. Despite the snow, this was meant as an interior.
A strange sight: Part of the drain here seems to have had a skylight of glass, which has since been filled over. However, the collapsing ceiling began to create natural skylights of its own.
On the left is the broken glass room that contains the controls for the cable spool, now gone, that sat in the metal shell on the right. The stairs led down to the hoisting engine itself. You can make out the slits where the cable ran up to the headframe tower through the gaping archway.
A window for light and air pokes above the big arch in the hallway. Most of the interior ceilings were broad brick archways.
Everyone loves water towers.
This “pit” would allow workers to crawl below locomotives to service them.
Watching the demolition of one stockhouse from another. The two cranes were removing steel storage tanks.
Most of the gauges on the control panels were broken.
…somebody get the number of that truck! Near the Day Rooms in the Paying Patient ward.
In the later years one of the mine garages was repurposed into a truck repair garage.
I like this picture because it shows some of the only unbroken windows at Packard.
The conveyorway that carried the sintering material to the mixing floor at the top of the plant.
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.
There is a cool old air compressor in the corner of the powerhouse.
In this old repair shop, vines fall from the rotting roof to meet mossy concrete. Even though it had been dry for days, water dripped in from the roof to make permanent puddles between workstations. It was full of color and sound and industry and nature.
Note the maps still left on the wall.
A look at the Longmont Sugar Mill in May 2014.
Part of an ongoing series on found American flags in shuttered factories.
The front door to the auditorium.
Sheet metal over the windows. A red boot sole in the tumbleweeds. Is it inside, or outside?
Looking out of the boarded windows in the Great Western Sugar office.
The power lines follow the street, down to the mineshaft. Everything revolved around the mine, it seemed.
This was one of two skyways that went between production line offices. It’s easy to tell because it’s not reinforced for machinery to travel through it. I also like that it’s a double-decker, so to speak.
One of the few man-sized exterior doors, seemingly with an original frame. Classic arching and beautiful textures–every inch of wall had me drooling. If this engine house was in a metropolitan area, it would have been turned into a $10 million white collar office suite ten years ago.
Safety signs decorated every floor, machine and, yes, door. This message spoke to me for reasons my coworkers will understand; suffice to say, I need to take this message to heart.
“It must have been beautiful once.” “Yeah, especially in the winter.”
A vintage X-Ray machine in the oldest section of the hospital.
The side of the maintenance shops, still home to several disassembled electric carts.
While it looks like ground level, everything here is one story above the actual earth.
Rogers Mine is one of the most structurally sound mines in the Iron River area that isn’t part of a museum.
Sprouts of life in center of a smashed glass block.
Paperwork litters the floors of the zinc mine offices.
Behind the grand staircase is this beautifully preserved hallway with medieval-style arches and vivid paint.
The bricks are decaying at different rates at this corner, making it especially colorful.
At night the city lights blast through the broken windows, casting crazy colors through the off-white interior of the mill.
When block glass shatters, it looks like ice.
A dead pigeon that taggers gilded.
A burned and rusted control panel in the corner of the new hoist room.
The new concrete workhouse, as seen through chickenwire.
Behind one of the kitchens is one of the few pieces of furniture remaining. Beside it, a small electric space heater–small by 1970s standards.
A reminder on the Gilman union board not to buy Coors beer. Read more here: http://www.cpr.org/news/story/coors-boycott-when-beer-can-signaled-your-politics
A 1960s style TV set in a sun room at the back of the poor house. The concrete room survived the roof collapse and was full of rotten children’s books and toys. Perhaps it was where donations were sorted, or perhaps it was a nursery/orphanage area.
Kate shooting the cascade of rotten boards and steel siding that is Chain O’ Mines’ gold mill. Leica/Summilux 35/Ektar 100
Looking through the boards of the boarded windows.
In its later years, metal was welded over every door and window on the ground floor.
Looking across the mountain tramway from an abandoned house in Gilman.
A broken television on the main floor. The remains of the plaster ceiling and walls are powdered on the floor.
Camera: Pentax 67.
A control panel for the kilns row.
A broken signal light that would indicate to incoming engineers and brakemen the status of the dock deck. The streetlight-style lighting is a retrofit; originally the top of the dock would be lit by strings of lights suspended by towers on each side of the deck… a poor system according to the workers at Allouez who had the same lights.
Kansas is known for tornados. Think ‘Wizard of Oz’. That, considered with the fact that the workers were surrounded by bombs and bomb making materials called for lots of earthen shelters, just in case.