A view of the government presses, with pages of law across the floor covered in footprints.
A 24-hour clock that reeks of the 1970s. A ladder stenciled “LTV”–the failed steel company that built this dock. There is more, if you look closer.
One of the last improvements to this elevator was the addition of a new scale in 1968.
The office was redder than the rest of the building.
Silverton’s elevator, pictured here, is still active.
The only thing that signals that this was an office building, rather than another production floor, is the small amount of wood paneling that remains.
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.
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 view of the Harris offices, complete with great block glass.
Dominion was acquired by UGG, which designated the elevator ‘M’. Their offices still have safety signage.
An insurance office.
Since the foundry went cold, I decided to turn down my color temperature… In the background, a chart showing graphite dispersion is one of the few artifacts left on the foundry floor.
This elevator was built in 1922 and was used until the passing rails were removed in the mid-1970s.
The head distiller could walk out of their office to this balcony and overlook the whole fermentation process in a glance.
In the middle of the foundry, an office is untouched by scrappers, legal and not. Inside, warnings and catalogs for machines that are gone, obsolete, and melted down.
The office for the maintenance shop was sound-insulated and ventilated.
Kodak Tri-X 400/Leica M7. The office (first floor), laboratory (second floor) and mill behind it. Everything was clean and pristine.
Offices above the labs. Note all the air handling equipment. I love the utilitarian design.
The office building was fancy compared to the utilitarian factory behind it. My favorite part was the logo crown.
In the office at the end of the dock are two brooms. One is from the last ore train. One is from the last boat.
This was a living space for the keepers during storms, when it was too dangerous to return to the houses on the point.
This building stood on stilts until it was demolished. The top floor handled radio traffic to boats and trains. The bottom floor had locker rooms, records, and a lunchroom.
The layout of the bins in an elevator office.
Perhaps this office was for a film studio or music producer.
One of many photos pasted to the walls of the ADM-4 workhouse. This shows a minor derailment near Spencer Kellogg & Sons’ linseed oil factory.
The long control room overlooks giant caps where equipment was removed long ago.
Sunrise in the orphanage… between classrooms and whispers.
One of two control towers that reached over the lake. The control panel here was used to move the conveyors over the ship’s hold doors, adjust flow of the taconite, and so on.
The company headquarters. Abandoned last time I drove past it, though it is the classiest building in downtown South Bend.
Rubber dock boots still sits under the desk in the dock office, near keys to rusted locks and files of fired employees.
There isn’t much left of the factory offices.
No ambiguity here… miners, check in at this office.
The Calumet Elevator offices used to be flanked on both sides by rails. Now, only one side has engines running on it.
A calendar and comic strip decorate the current pattern shelf in the building which was a coffin factory.
Office manners dictate that one must tip their file drawer back upright once it is knocked through the wall.
I love that the administration building–almost 100 years old now–still carries the original name.
The office stairs. Part of Herb’s morning walk.
A skyway 100 feet above this office crumbled one day. This is what happened when those two met. High-impact love.
Paperwork litters the floors of the zinc mine offices.