The top floor of the Chateau was the original surgical suite. Later, hydrotherapy took place here. When Nopeming was converted to a nursing home, it was a place where residents watched movies. Portra 400 on Voigtlander Bessa.
One of the occupied buildings in Nevadaville.
A switchboard to control the flow of electricity into the plant from the city and generators.
The Wheeler Rec Center was very nice and included gymnasiums and a pool.
Outside the locker room without the sandwiches and beer… plenty of glass shards, though, if you feel like it.
The steam plant at Nopeming is an iconic (and crooked) smokestack. Kodak Pro 400 on a Fuji GX680.
Jef throws open the back door of an alley for the trailing photographers and historians.
Before each warhead was crated, it was inspected.
The bottom of the elevator which seemed too modern for the building. The top of the elevator opens into open air, as the second floor has long since collapsed.
Connecting the Administration Building to the wards fanning out. Historical photos show cots lining this hallway when the hospital was severely overcrowded. Lit by lightning outside the grounds during a huge thunderstorm.
Behind the grand staircase is this beautifully preserved hallway with medieval-style arches and vivid paint.
The incinerator’s hardened steel door… useless, but still sexy in a heavy-industrial kind of way.
Typical bunk rooms in MS-20.
An automatically closing door, in case of fire or flood in the engine compartment.
A door covered in pen graffiti.
The tallest dock structure is an equipment elevator that connects the many dock levels.
This door used to open at river level, but it has since been built up and sealed with a steel grate. Still, the original doors (with original paint?) stand in the same place. Once they opened to the fresh air, now they are permanently sealed in the tunnels. This is the official entrance for inspecting the mine, hence fiber optic and ladder. Shortly after the plant was demolished, this entire area was resealed and alarmed.
Perhaps this office was for a film studio or music producer.
This picture shows all three areas of the substation. In the foreground is the transformer room, the tallest space. The darker room in the middle is the motor generator room. The room at the end through the door is the control room and office area.
Kodak Tri-X 400/Leica M7. The office (first floor), laboratory (second floor) and mill behind it. Everything was clean and pristine.
Upper Prize Street in Nevadaville earned the nickname ‘dogtown’ when a pack of dogs took over the abandoned houses.
A bathroom in the rear of the ballroom that overlooks the Rose Garden.
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.
A side door for the brick factory.
The nurse’s station on this floor, a ward still in its original design, featured a half-door where patients could get their medicine. Portra 160.
This wide skyway connected two of the inner factory buildings, where parts would have to be transported to keep the operation moving, which is why it is much wider than other bridges in the plant.
This skyway, built to help seal off two parts of the complex during an out of control fire, was probably too rotten to burn by the time I saw it.
The third floor corridor is not so welcoming, as it requires visitors to walk along the support breams without the luxury of a floor. I didn’t mind, but I can’t see the family with young children that was also exploring Noisy doing the same.
Devan setting up his 4×5 camera.
A bunk room, minus the bunks.
Looking to the chapel addition from the Chateau.
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.
Sharks in the floor.
The entrance to the area where staff could sleep.
Bayard Sugar Mill, as seen from the old power plant
2015. Water damage hastens the decay of the annex and its stage. Every time I visit this room, the chairs are in different places. Kodak Portra 400 in a Voigtlander Bessa.
The last time the city sealed this door, they must have been changing out old road signs.
A sheik mustard-yellow paint scheme across the roofless engine house goes great with the industrial moss and rust.
The old men’s ward is an example of what the hospital resembled before part of the complex was modernized. Small rooms, light switches outside the door, small observation windows set into heavy wood. If you ask me, though, the tile work across the floors is the most spectacular.
Pillars painted red indicated firefighting supplies. Fire was a very common enemy of early rail facilities, and many roundhouses burned down because of a combination of dry wood, hot, fire-breathing machinery and countless oil-saturated surfaces.
Rubber dock boots still sits under the desk in the dock office, near keys to rusted locks and files of fired employees.
The historical entrance.
The roof could be vented when locomotives were running inside.
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.
The building collapsed except for the back room. The slats of the roof cast lines of light across the floor.
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.
Hunter and the Hoist House.
The office was redder than the rest of the building.
A damaged roof channeled rain onto the adobe walls, cutting them in half. In the distance, a preserved house and the ruins of the Colmor School.
The pits have long since been filled so the roundhouse could be used for storage.
The substation has definite structural issues. Pictured is the sidewalk that connected the plant to the company housing.
The sidewalks are littered with rocks.
The elevator tower seems to have been built with expansion of the dock in mind.
When ‘men’ meant ‘worker’.
The moon highlights the contrails over the engine house in the middle of the night. Foreground light painted.
Office manners dictate that one must tip their file drawer back upright once it is knocked through the wall.
One of Martinsdale’s defunct businesses perpendicular to the depot. Recall that Martinsdale is a T-town.
Fire doors separate the buildings.
Glowing observation windows–and someone forgot to lock a patient’s door…
Shag carpet is fabulous, and I hope it makes a comeback.
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.
Lost words over the auditorium entrance.
A bumper sticker with the usual tagline. Note the detail on the radiator!
Standing where the Standard Oil’s boiler used to sit; the coal room is on the right, and would have been filled from trackside.
A sizable crane on the corner of the engine house still swings out.
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.
This is one of the biggest warps I’ve ever found in a wooden factory floor hasn’t broken yet. When you stand on it, it make a very loud popping sound as the boards shift. The poster on the pillar near the left side of the frame advertises recreational boating, presumably to the factory workers who left this floor in the early 1980s.
“Man has set for himself the goal of conquering the world but in the processes loses his soul.” Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, Russian writer and historian.
One of the storage bunkers was cracked open. I wonder how effective this heavy door would actually be… I expect, not very.
I can confirm the existence of the long-rumored Federal Rectangle Research Institute labs.
Easier-to-demolish parts of the power plant were torched apart. Catwalks to nowhere meant lots of dead ends.
“Place Tripod Here” my friends would say. But for me, it’s the money shot. Note the painting around the inside of the skylight.
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.
The shaft house, where hydraulic steel doors allowed or denied entry into the mine shaft. Overhead is a light and alarm. If it sounds, the mine is being evacuated, and you best not go in and best stay the hell out of the way. Locals dump tires here, now.
From the 1909 addition, it’s obvious how much water it takes to carry a single wall to, into and through the cracks between the floor tiles: exactly one roof’s worth.
An unintentional skylight makes the inside of the office glow, showing the inside of the front door and its strange lock.
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.
A side door for the shop area with ivy crawling toward it.
An unplanned skylight. It’s unclear why some parts of the building had wooden roofing, while others were highly reinforced with brick.
A view of the government presses, with pages of law across the floor covered in footprints.
The large domed rooms were surreal.
The curving corridors flanking the Administration Tower are especially ornate, though the prison-like door betrays the real purpose of the building.
A photo from my first trip, although very little has changed in this area of the building except for the level of graffiti. I love skylights, don’t you?
This picture tells half the story about the size of half of the complex. For Port Arthur, it’s average, but this would be a fantastically large elevator if it were anywhere else!
Gary Methodist was a filmset for Transformers 3 in 2010.
This old ward, not a victim of remodeling, still has metal screens over the open windows of the doors. It should be obvious why glass were not used.
In the corner of most of the factory floors, freight elevators flanked restrooms to leave more central space for machines and their masters.
A small bunker and blast wall between shell-loading buildings would have provided shelter during disasters, such as tornados, accidental explosions, and perhaps even enemy attacks.
These houses was built by hard rock miners in the early 1900s.
Pocket door and light switches in the upper control room, at the top of the spiral staircase.
Not ghosts. Slow-moving explorers’ shadows create a ghostly effect in the ‘Old Ward’–the second floor of the Service Building.
A single metal emergency slide rusts away at sunrise.
S&X seen in the background through the fog.
After climbing the elevator shaft to the illusive second level, a new pallet of colors were revealed.
The sluice room was surrounded in fine grating. The company would want to finely control when the doors would be opened so the gold could be removed under supervision. No yellow bonus for the working man…
Looking through the old brewhouse toward the Keg Wash House.
While the maps name this the compressor house, I believe, based on its size and number of heavy machine mounts, that it also housed the pumps to drain the mine.
This spiral staircase isn’t doing Lemp much good–maybe they’ll let me have it! I do love, though, that there is a door going to it–without walls–and it ascends to a second floor that doesn’t exactly exist anymore.
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.
This used to be one of the office doors, but it’s been removed (apparently without malcontent) and placed in the shop area.
Looking from the main shop into the boiler shop, one of three attached buildings that specialized in certain repairs. One thing that architectural photographers have to work with is an elongated “magic hour” with ideal shadowing and coloring–this photo is a result of that lighting.
Inside the main entrance to the depot. Through the ‘To Station’ door, you can see some of the news stands. Look at the floor!
A pink room with very heavy doors that reminds me of the rooms at some of the insane asylums that I’ve explored.
The mostly-empty distilling room is easy to spot from the outside because of the distinctive round window.
Almost all of the doors and windows on the ground floor have been boarded, leaving the ground level very dark.
When Nopeming was affiliated with local farms, it often slaughtered its own livestock. This is the part of the hospital where food would be prepped, below the stage in the Service Building.
Gloves hang in the basement of the former quality assurance labs.
Some of the doors had sliding plastic windows, but most of the older ward doors simply had these peep holes drilled through them. The inside was always marked and worn more than the outside.
The new steel door of the diesel car shops, built in 1948 and used through the 1960s, as seen from the service pit. On the top of the photograph you can see the exhaust vent.
2016. A section of the third floor that has changed a lot over the years. Compare to 2006 shot.
Before the gold could be extracted, the rock was turned to powder. Depending on the size of the steel balls inside the mill, the rock would be reduced to a certain size. So, multiple mills were usually used in stages.
Old boathouses near the dock.
This building would store and maintain warheads. It was right next to the launch pad, but the two were separated by a high mound.
When I moved from the roof back into the upper floors of the distillery, the plants growing out of the masonry caught my eye. It’s 60 feet up, but looks like it could be an old wall.
Taken on a short trip where the whole floor of the roundhouse and engine shop was covered in fresh snow–thanks to the holes in the roof and open windows.
Expanding foam provides some textural contrast to the wood floors, worn smooth over a century. This building dates to the 1890s and was built as the coffin plant.
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.
The cold air collided with the sun-warmed water on the floor, filling the ground floor of the Keg House with thick fog…
In the many-windowed metal building, the lumberyard buildings and the abandoned starch works buildings are separated by a thick wall of pallets.
The floor in this building (now demolished) was very rotten. This picture was taken through a window from very firm ground.
Presumably, in a nuclear blast the antenna would be blown flat and pop back up, allowing communication even after a near-direct hit.
The gauges on left of frame are the steam pressure indicators for the various steam-powered components around the ship, like the steering engine and windlass motors. Below the gauges are a case of tiny wooden parts drawers… note the ancient oiling can on the locker near the upper-right corner of the frame.
Looking into the main workhouse from the skyway into the annex elevator. But who care? Look at the colors!
Sleeping bags mark this former courtyard as a crash pad for the local homeless.
The side of Stelco and its scrubber-stacks. This is demolished now.
An insurance office.
In this section of the Men’s Ward, sealed by brick from lower floors, the room doors had messages painted in their inside–some motivational, some not. I would be interested to hear if anyone knows the backstory of this section. Lighting is natural; it was just after sunset.
On the top floor of the former casket building is the finishing line for the coating section; on this section the final spray of plastic would hit the wood before a small furnace would seal the plastic permanently to the surface, making it more resilient, I assume.
An ajar car elevator car afar, technically.
One of the cupola air intakes, rattled loose by the demolition downstairs, hangs stranded on the second floor. You can see that the floor I’m standing on in this picture used to extend all the way to the right wall. The blue paint on the wall made the climb absolutely worth it.
Part of an ongoing series on found American flags in shuttered factories.
These were some of the most attractive shops of all the mines in the area. It’s no wonder Hanna Mining wanted to use them as their center of operations in the Iron River district.
A big door into the fire pump room.
A typical shower in the old section of the hospital. It looks a little horrifying in the harsh light of a camera flash on the thousands of little white tiles. One soap holder hadn’t been stolen yet.
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.
My favorite time to be in the brewery was sunrise. That’s the kind of light that made the brewhouse glow.
A view of the hallway outside of the auditorium.
Call me angsty, but I like it. Found in the Auxiliary Hospital.
The end of one of the scrapped turbines. Judging by the aborted attempt at cutting it in half, the scrappers had some trouble with this one.
A skyway 100 feet above this office crumbled one day. This is what happened when those two met. High-impact love.
Looking down into the lunch building of an Atlas D, near the motors for the retractable roof. In this design, the roof separates to allow the missile to be erected into launch position.
Aaron by the concentrator.
A decaying door of the Medical Director for the unit. Because this is from one of the outbuildings and not Administration, I doubt that this was the Medical Director of Norwich State Hospital’s office.
The old truck scale sits in the middle of what was Nettleton Avenue Slip.
Hip bump girl.
Prize Mine has been the victim of erosion. Its north wall is pushed in by rockfall and its south side is far from ground level.
The machine shop today.
The right passageway is a carved staircase that winds upward to an old entrance. The left portal is one of the bigger and well-carved rooms… I would guess it’s part of the original caves.
The old way to get to the elevator from the mill.
The side of the maintenance shops, still home to several disassembled electric carts.
A typical narrow hallway at Birtle.
Looking toward Mitchell from its last building.
Inside the office was a small furnace and a collection of mechanical belts. You can see “SERVICE AT COST” and “POOL 168” in the background.
An old nurse’s station (you can tell because of the half-door with table) with torn-up tiles. Notice through the curved doorway that even the ceiling has a curvature.
Looking into the engine works from the concrete addition.
A Merrill Piano from Boston, in the Recreation Room of the Front Dorm.
A wimpy crane by most standards, only suitable for moving around parts of steam turbines.
On the second floor of the kettle building where corn mash was boiled, holes where tanks once sat were everywhere.
A heavy steel security door, taken right off its hinges. This was likely installed after Grafton State School took over the hospital.
An interesting crane in the back of the machine shop. It seems very light duty, so I am not certain what it was used for.
I love this original brick archway, near the narrow gauge shop. Gorgeous!
Why the door had to be moved over 2 1/2 feet will remain a mystery.
A side door on the rear of the castle that let guests out into a small stone courtyard below a tall turret.
Different doors for different vehicles, I would guess. White Pine Mine used tire-based vehicles, rather than track-based, making it pretty different than other mines I’ve been to.
Books in nooks and not getting a look… about the crook with hooks that cooks.
The top floor of the Meal Storage Elevator.
There were a few large houses on the Old Crow property where employees would live. The glen had little housing.
What I make out to be the dining room or great hall of the castle, as seen through of the side rooms, which appeared to be a very ruined library. Teenager graffiti looks cooler in French.
A storage vault for guns and other weapons to protect the base from attack.
The first floor hallway between conference rooms and the diesel lab at the center of the facility
Some of the internal staircases were fitted with cages that wound round down the stairs to deter suicidal patients from taking a dive.
Many of the higher floors were more or less demolished–usually more. These would have been condos had ‘The Arcade’ project come to fruition. Now there are simply wide open floors punctuated only by pillars and meaningless hallways.
Camera: Pentax 67. Film: Kodak Ektar 100.
This is one of my favorite images of the year because of the color, light and textures. Someone told me once that the medium of photographers is not film or digital sensors, but rather shadows. This photo is evidence of that.
The roof compromised, rain water rolls down the main stairway.
This is one of my favorite doorways (yes, I have favorites) for a few reasons: 1.) You can see how the once-arched door has been squared-off for rectangular doors to fit; 2.) you can see one complete historic door and one ruined door, and the chain that used to hold them together before someone kicked-out the security, and; 3.) I like the texture of the bricks and design of the radiators in the room beyond–the blacksmith shop. Just do.
The largest room was the diesel laboratories, which tested various devices and fuel additives to make it safer to mine underground with diesel trucks and other machinery, such as at White Pine Mine, Michigan.
In the nurses’ dormitories, beds, couches and chairs still sit. It’s unclear whether these are remnants of the homeless shelter in the 80s or the actual nurses.
It was a strange choice, although I appreciate it, for the firm reusing the shops to brick up the doorways while leaving the doors.
Note the severed skyway–that led to a set of grain elevators that have since been demolished.
When I first visited the chapel, it had a projection TV, two organs, Bibles, and more. Now these are mostly ruined, except for the tapestries, which have somehow survived.
The Blacksmith Shop (right) was connected to the Bunk House (left) via this narrow walkway. This is likely due to the fire risk in each building. The left building had a cooking stove and furnace for heat and the right building had a small industrial furnace to repair mining equipment. A little walkway would mean that a fire on one side would be easier to fight from the other.
Looking across the catwalk attache to the elevated control room, in charge of the train dumping part of the operation.
Paperwork litters the floors of the zinc mine offices.
The piano must have been a nice distraction; there is very little to do in Roberts.
In one of the hundreds of bunkers across the busy highway from the empty plant ruins. Most did not have doors, but I got lucky on this one.
To move air around the non air-conditioned buildings, may of which date to the 1920s and 1930s, fans were mounted above the high door frames.
This bedroom built for a tuberculosis patient has been converted into a safe room.
The blacksmith shop is pretty rugged looking. Through the door you can see the collapsed walkway that might have once connected to a building covering the Santiago Tunnel adit.
I believe this is the push car, meaning it would push the charge in the oven out the opposite side into the train car.
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.
A look at another “Belt-o-Vator”. I like the sign.
Dr. Muchow’s offices stand near his ‘new’ mill, but they show evidence of vandalism.
Looking at the ghost sign from a rust-locked cement conveyor that linked the silos with a packing warehouse.
The end of the new elevator. Line of bird droppings follow the fire sprinkler pipes and wires in the room.
Left: A medium storage chamber with access to an interconnecting steam tunnel at ceiling height. This room also has various smashed toilets. Why? Because dead toilets–all of them–always find a home in a cave. Center: Steps go past a +-intersection, left goes deeper, right goes to utility tunnels for the brewery, forward used to go to the brewery basement… it’s now backfilled. Left from the backfill is a small hallway; see ‘Backfill Self Portrait’. Center-Right: Utility tunnels tie knots between the brewery’s demolished basement and its caves. Right: Most of the storage volume is in large chambers down this causeway.
A common room with a big bay window that overlooked the main entrance of the hospital.
On the extended engine bay…
Mold creeps up the walls of the offices that housed the Closing Team of the TCRC – Twin Cities Research Center – as water damage pulls ceiling tiles down.