Looking through the center of a scrapped generator, its copper long scrapped.
The coal extractor swings back and forth, ripping coal from the ground and throwing it on a conveyor belt to be burned a few miles away.
Two small generators connected to a Frick steam engine.
Sluice tables stretch into the darkness.
Next to the generator room is the pump room, which moved steam around the complex.
Detail view of one of the fermenting tanks, still set-up for the distillery tours that no doubt took place when there last were such things. Nevertheless, the capacity of this tank multiplied across these all over the distillery floor really shows the power this company once had.
Unit 4’s lower levels.
A better view of the belt system that drives all the machinery in the plant.
The mill is one of the tallest buildings in the city. It’s too bad that the cupola with its big skylights and flagpole were removed.
Made by the Mergenthalen Linotype Company of New York, this model series (300) was introduced in 1960 and boasted a 12-line-per-minute reproduction rate.
The machine stood the Atlas missile up vertically over the blast pit, launching position, once the roof opened.
A staircase threads between the top floor and the sluices, which are in the middle of the dredge-mill.
The entry point for the painting shed on the top floor. Cars would have a few feet in between them before they entered. Separate sheds would prime and add color.
This is the crane that would be used to lower extra-heavy bits of copper ore into the fire of the furnace.
In the nitrating house.
I tried to hide the graffiti from my photos, but sometimes it wasn’t possible.
This rod mill (?) was made in Denver Colorado at a factory now buried by condos. #justdenverthings
I really like the porcelain guides for the silk threads, probably used because they could be polished for perfect, persistent, smoothness.
A brewmaster’s desk leans beside a long-disused stainless steel kettle. The staircase above goes to another level of kettles, which are visibly older.
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.
SWP4-A on the left and Viterra C on the right in a 90-degree panorama.
When a big motor rusted free of its ceiling mount, it smashed onto this workbench.
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.
One of the generators, weeks before it was taken apart to be shipped to another power plant somewhere else.
A machine to cast copper billets.
A wounded flour mill, muscled into the corner to keep out of the way.
The last batch of molded metal stuck in the chute, this metallurgical furnace was falling apart brick by disintegrating brick b the time I got to it. On the upper floors there is a sophisticated network of vents and chimneys to make these little furnaces as hot as possible.
Part of the system below Dock 2.
Around the corner from the old boiler room.
At the end of a conveyor belt and poised over a loading station, it’s easy to image the tinny sound of chicken feed sliding across the metal. Like sand on the old-fashioned stainless steel playground slides.
One of the pair of motors that powered this mine shaft. In the 1950s, this shaft was designated a rescue shaft, and was only maintained for emergencies. One reason that Cheratte built Shaft 3 nearby was because these motors and infrastructure did not have the capacity that the giant mine below called for.
On the middle level of the Poacher House. For a detailed view of the chart see ‘See Reverse’.
Shadows of the skylights form a backdrop for rust-welded machines.
The white mark allowed for a manual RPM check on this big steel flywheel on the ground floor. Note how dark the bottom level of the mills is—that’s because all of the equipment is blocking out the light.
When the building switched souls from booze to bread, these contraptions were mounted across the brewhouse floors… they’re not for hops, either.
I am not sure what this machine does, but I have a hunch that it husks and cleans the sugar beets as they come into the plant. It is certainly the biggest single piece of equipment in any of the mills.
On my first self-guided tour, the calculator was caught my eye because it was one of the few things left behind in the laboratories that filled the second floor. On my next trip, it had been smashed to pieces.
Too big to be scrapped, to simple to be auctioned. It waited for the demo crews and demo cranes to arrive.
A scrapped steam turbine, perhaps. In the background you can see a gutted casing for another turbine.
This is part of the oldest section of factory, one that hasn’t had a roof in a long time and all usable equipment has been extracted. The machines pictured would spin sliced beets in boiling water… it was a sealed system before someone cut holes on sides of each unit.
From the slip where grain boats would tie for loading and unloading, the unloader juts in a modernist-architectural way that is oddly visibly satisfying. Inside that white building is the retracted boat unloader, more or less a long and sturdy conveyor attached to a joint and crane motor. There used to be four loaders that looked like simple tubes with cranes and ropes attached hanging from this side of the elevator. All that remains of those is one fixture on the white building (not visible here) and the frame of one on the elevator proper, visible in the upper-middle of this image, to the right of the unloader apparatus.
A one-of-a-kind installation in Armour’s otherwise gutted engine house.
A few from atop the steam gauges along the western wall. The turbines were scrapped quickly after the plant closed, it seemed.
On the Turbine Room floor, one old steam pump still remains, ready to pressurize steam pipes with the hot stuff throughout the car shops and boilers.
One of the machines left over in the underground magnetic separation plant.
A massive steel sheer’s equally massive drive cog. Imagine the force.
Shadows of the rusty trestle and cold control towers on the Barker. Workers are preparing to swing over the sides of the boat to help secure her to the Minnesota Power dock.
Steam pipes snake up the walls like vines, but with asbestos.
The building in the foreground–the old control booth–was arsoned in 2009.
I believe this is the push car, meaning it would push the charge in the oven out the opposite side into the train car.
Looking into the Pool 8 Annex from the original Ogilvie’s elevator.
In the soft wood of the machine, an employee left their mark.
The workshop sat below the main working floor and had serious power going to it.
A closeup of a soon-to-be-scrapped crane pulley.
A closeup of one of the winding machines that found itself under a leaky section of roof.
A polaroid (FP100c, actually) of the newer grain car dumper.
Part of the 1917 mill that had a little bit of roof left over it–most of this building was open to the sky. The birds loved it, but everything metal was quickly becoming too unstable to walk on.
A sort of blender in a powder line building. The top vent had been removed, so leaves and light fall onto the teeth now.
This is an example of the equipment that was originally manufactured at Barcol.
The engine room.
When I revisited the mine in 2013, the hoists were scrapped and sitting by the road.
It was as noisy then as it is colorful now…
There are so many pipes i the factory–I wonder how many people knew where they all went, in the days these machines operated at capacity.
A closeup of the pulleys atop Manitoba Pool #3 which once pulled conveyor belts full of grain across the cupola building as it was sorted into the silos below.
The main shaft’s cable spooled with bird castings belies the fact that lives used to dangle from its steel-wound strength. Arrows on the circles would indicate the mine level the cars were currently at.
The Big Dipper brought its friends into view, and the best seat is 80-feet up.
Empty spools, thousands of them, were around the mill.
The end of the heating line allowed glass to cool slowly, and thus be stronger.
One of the three ovens where the powder would be heater to over 2000 degrees… hot enough to fuse iron, but not hot enough to liquify it.
These steam powered pumps were integral to the cooling of the meat packing plant next door.
The turbine hall, without turbines. I guess that makes this a hall… at least it has a clock.
The winch that hauled the sea leg, a decide to unload grain from waiting boats and barges.
This mean-looking thing had a purpose, probably, but that function has been lost to decades of expansion.
There is a cool old air compressor in the corner of the powerhouse.
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.
This is the building with the water tower on top, full of Barcol stuff that did not sell at auction and not worth the trouble to scrap.
This belt-run axle ran a turbine (now gone) to blow fresh air into the mine.
The working end of the blast furnace, where molten metal would flow like lava out of the furnace… a process called ‘tapping’.
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.
A view of the government presses, with pages of law across the floor covered in footprints.
The last tailings on a broken conveyor belt.
The mill itself is one giant room sectioned into levels–more catwalks than concrete. Here you can see the evaporators and have a sense for the miles and miles of pipes that zigzag through the plant.
Under the steam engine in the lower engine room–the camera is mounted right over the beginning of the cam shaft.
A closer look at the side of the generator.
At night the city lights blast through the broken windows, casting crazy colors through the off-white interior of the mill.
Jet Lowe is my inspiration.
The incinerator’s hardened steel door… useless, but still sexy in a heavy-industrial kind of way.
The gold mine is now a gravel pit.
I like to think of this as the hardware abstraction layer. It’s one of many subassembly monorail conveyors that dipped onto the factory floor to deliver assembled subsections where they needed to be on the main assembly floor below.
These machines had embossed metal numbers marking their ends.
This machine was last overhauled in February 1955, and last turned out Crepe silk, probably dress material.
The Engine House’s boiler, which would have been fired all day all day, virtually from the day the shop opened until the day it closed.
A colorful boiler is a happy boiler! RotoGrate systems remove ashes from the boiler firebox by revolving the bottom of the system to let the fly ash drop into a hopper. This greatly increases boiler efficiency.
Scrappers tried to take this steel pulley out of Fisher, but it proved too heavy.
Without a conveyor belt, this tripper seems lost. The job of this machine was simply to take grains from the moving conveyor belt and eject it into the silos via the chutes on the sides. Note all the dust collection venting added to the machine to suck up any explosive grain dust.
This picture typifies the industrial ideal of the early 20th century. More metal than air. More efficiency than beauty. More profits than people.
After crushing, these machines would float lighter material to the surface of the water, where it would be skimmed and discarded. Gold and silver laden stone would sink to the bottom, where it was collected for the next stage of processing. Leica/Summilux 35/Ektar 100
The boiler doors are beautiful, and feature the name of the smelter and mine company. If you like these, check my article on the Mitchell Yards of Hibbing, MN.
Inside a launch building you can see how the roof would split in the middle to allow the rocket to be raised into launch position.
Giant paint mixers.
The power pulley that ran air compressors straight off of the steam plant’s axel.
Fire buckets did not have flat bottoms so they could never be used for other buckety tasks, and were thus always handy in an actual fire.
Behind the main shaft is this familiar industrial sight… a running count of days since the last injury.
A filter to separate the sliced beets from boiling water.
A line of huge machines wait to be used as parts under a long-disused belt drive.
We know what the ladies’ favorite treats were! Found holding parts on a repair cart.
Copper poured from this furnace and was cast by the autocaster on the right into billets.
One of the early automated painting booths in the paint plant line.
The generator hall of the last power station, as seen from the gantryway.
The left wall is stacked high with wooden crates holding spools. Tags hang on machines describing the last batch of silk the mill ever produced.
Gilman had a bowling alley.
The hoist signal dangling beside the modern mine shaft would ring a bell next to the giant electric motors that would send the men and machinery into the underground.
On the second floor of the former casket plant, which was retrofitted with a conveyor system to coat finished products.
On the upper floors where the sunlight is yellow–the color of flour dust, once exposed to the elements.
The powerhouse was notably older than the rest of the complex. I’m still not sure if it was build just for the cooperage, or whether it preceded it.
The aerial tram at the Mayflower Mill gives a sense of what the Gold Prince Mill in Animas Forks once looked like. Trams connected the mill to the mines around it without the need to negotiate trees, rivers, and rough terrain.
A closeup of the old fashioned wood-and-iron flour mill, a little while before they were all scrapped.
The remains of the surgical suite.
The generator room was state of the art when it was installed, allowing the complex to use motors and electric lighting ahead of its competitors.
The right-pointing crank adjusts the rollers inside of the mill. How fine do you want your flour?
Looking through the washer that is the first stop for the dredgings.
The porcelain hoops guided the silk threads through the device.
The top of the docks are so rotten in places that you can see the lake through the boards. In the foreground you can see the controls for the chutes, which work on a clutch.
Inside the pilot copper concentrator.
An old stoker in a power plant that was abandoned long before the mill next to it, by all indications. Sugar mills burned dry beet pulp pellets for fuel.
Park Insurance Agency is no longer in business, nor would you be able to dial that phone number.
Tucked-into the side of the concentration mill… these machines were meant to crush underground rock into a fine dust for mineral extraction.
As the Barker steamed past the dock and island, the sunset casts the shadow of the Taconite Harbor receiving trestle on the boat. Through the fog, you can see some of the islands that were joined into a breakwater.
The beeping never stopped. The robots never slept, not even when they were unplugged. It was a nightmare.
Colors of the boiler room.
Barrels were prepared across the street, then moved across the road with a special conveyor, seen crashed here. This is down the road from Old Taylor, and was probably a part of the Old Crow operation.
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.
Much of the milling equipment predated the mill itself, so I would not be surprised if this particular machine really dates to 1860.
The final ball mill in the Chain O’ Mines concentrator. Behind it was a bucket of steel balls.
Under the monster and its teeth.
Note the large belt pulley in the center of the frame. Follow the axel it’s on and you’ll see several belts still attached to the drive, which was originally steam-driven.
Patented in 1965 and produced by Specialized Mass Markets. User would insert token and use a rotary-phone-style dial to enter their token number. The machine would tally the numbers and indicate winners depending on the sum of said numbers. See USPTO US3455557.
Away from the rest of the plant–as if forgotten, or hiding–is this little stamp press. Yes, this is little by press standards.
The flour mill’s interior is really just a system of steel and rubber tubes that crush flour over and over in the gap. This mill was never run off of water power directly, but it used to generate power using the river.
The end of the monorail in the nitrating house.
Light-painted to show off the beautiful radar equipment inside and Park Point across the bay.
In the back of the warehouse is the old incinerator, probably used to destroy kegs that could not be reused.
Robotic pincers to move molten rods of glass between machines.
The giant cog is missing on this machine, which turned a sugar slurry intro crystals. Green-blue stained glass makes the rusty machine glow in aquamarine.
A hydraulic ‘bridge’ couple lower onto the tracks to bring mine cars into the shaft house, presumably for repair. I haven’t found this system anywhere else, but it makes a lot of sense.
The first step of the filtering process is being spun through this tube.
Aluminum spools replaced their wooden counterparts, later in the factory’s history.
The middle section of the smokestacks were coal hoppers, and this device would load the coal into the hoppers from the conveyor belt it rode across. The bottom section of the stacks were storage rooms while the very top were, surprise, chimneys for the power plant.
A mid-line polishing booth. It was fun to see the thousands of lasers and other sensors that guided the robotic arms and tools around the bodies as they passed. Note the red/green stop/go lights in the distance.
A side view of the floatation level. I found it interesting that there were little ladders and staircases in the mill to help workers get around–this place was not as shoddy as other mills I’ve seen.
A wide view (15mm) of the shadow 4B is casting on 4A. Light leaks because of cheap camera.
It’s a straight view from the projection booth to the stage, but hell of a walk. At a fast pace, I think it would take 10 minutes to walk from this spot to the chair. Behind the curtains is a big white screen, so the theatre could be used for either stagework or moving pictures. The two projectors are set up for 3D movies right now–hence the little switch below the window–a Polaroid 3D synchronizer. Cool, huh?
Looking from the crane-motor catwalk into the Calumet. The arm shown here with the pulleys looped through it would have been lowered and the bucket conveyor in it would throw grain to waiting ships and boats bound for flour mills and foreign lands.
A jankey ladder leads to a platform over a wooden tank. Here’s hoping my usage contributes to jankey being accepted into the dictionary! Thanks, lexicographers.
Copper thieves haven’t left anything behind but the shell.
After Wilson Bros moved out, a furniture company moved in.
One of the principal businesses in McConnell was a farm implement and lumber store. This is too new to have been bought there, but I like that it’s still on the edge of town. It’s more comfortable than the emptiness beyond, that used to be a little prairie town.
The batch tag specifies some of the technical properties of the silk worked here.
Looking down Pommenicher Straße from Gaststätte Rosarius, the monstrous machine about to devour the town bites at the ground.
A closeup inside the mill’s power room.
One of a few rolling workbenches to keep the thousands of pulleys, cogs, and belts working properly.
This wheel scoops the washings from the sluice room and places it on the tailings conveyor.
One of my favorite visual feature of grain elevators, especially big ones, is how they repeat.
In one of the small offices there’s this machine that bills itself as “The Recorder.” I’m an old tech geek and I still don’t know what this really does.
A huge steam pipe snakes between catwalks, through the floors, and toward the condensers, so the water could be recovered and reused.
Compressors and turbines over the Eagle River.
This picture is lit by a direct lightning strike of the building. It’s impossible to describe the feeling of being in this giant open building the moment it channeled an electric explosion into the earth.
This is a 1956 furnace. It was used to forge wheels, casings, and parts for the axel shop.
These monorails were on a side line to build smaller parts of the Ranger before being attached to the truck itself. Note in the upper right that there’s another conveyor above this section.
Looking at the side of 4B from the roof of its car shed.
The note on the left announces that the spindles in the crates are dirty.
An antique clothes dryer and sample inline 4 engine, the latter used as a training piece after WWII to retrain veterans.
There big filters helped the mill sort through the flour, for additional milling, for example.
This movable chute came off its rails.
Grain is taken from the bottom of the silos through a conveyor in a tunnel. These blowers keep the air in the tunnel fresh.
In a strange loft next to the brewhouse are these twin kettles, which seem much older than the main kettles in the brewhouse.
Inside the pilot copper concentrator.
Gold, which has a relatively high mass, would drop through the slats of the sluice boxes as the water flowed over them. Around the dredge were a half dozen radiator pipes to keep the water flowing through the machines.
Looking up to the second floor of the Nitrating House, where cotton would be soaked in nitric acid. These brought cotton into the building.
Note the tiled floor between the bucket conveyors and an old mill.
This sea leg was installed to unload grain boats. It’s pretty much a big bucket elevator that can be moved and lowered into waiting boats.
A vintage X-Ray machine in the oldest section of the hospital.
A morning shower made the plant’s metal siding shake… probably nothing, though, compared to when the furnaces were blasting. The objects on the ground are molten ore containers.
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.
One of two projectors, still set to run old 3D flicks.
A sharp turn in the coatings department twists the steel out of sight.
Installed in 1904 at the center of the plant, this is one of two batteries of boilers. Being in Oshkosh, heat was very important to keeping labor moving in the cold months.
The hoist room, before it was used for storage.
Looking down at the Port Arthur Ore Dock from Manitoba Pool Elevator #3. The conveyor belts are gone and King Elevator is in the far distance.
An impressive message for graffiti in a Detroit warehouse, but then again look at these steam pumps. Over-built and under-appreciated.
The tailings boom is the first and last thing you see when approaching the mountaintop shipwreck.
Open wide! Here comes the sugar beets!
A printing press in the attic of the Reception Hospital.
The metallic arms of the missile erector, which would stand rockets over the blast pit in the launch position. Medium Format film–cheap but excellent Fomapan 100 in a Pentax 67.
A typical lab at the Research Center.
Part of the brewing process is sterilizing the kettles, pipes and tanks all product would touch. This was done with a caustic solution. To the left is a healthy pile of asbestos where a heating tank used to stand, insulated in the carcinogenic mineral. The tank got cut apart, the asbestos stayed here.
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.
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.
A dead belt-o-vator.
Much of the signage in the mill was hand-drawn.