Goop and slop slip to drop in the shame drain.
Looking toward downtown, one is reminded that when Stahlmann built here in 1855 that it was on the very edge of the city.
Whoever did this: good job. You get it.
Christmas lights from the time Island Station was an art studio lean against a rusty boiler.
Moon of M.R. ‘1985. Brick Graffiti Series.
I am not sure what caused the discoloration, but two of the walls near the door to the machine shop are stained yellow-red. I assume this had to do with the walls in relation to blowing piles of iron ore, and that the walls have been partly infused with iron oxide. Any other ideas?
A flooded assembly line.
A twin-engine crew pushes full taconite cars onto Dock 6.
This is a 1956 furnace. It was used to forge wheels, casings, and parts for the axel shop.
The neon lighthouse, seen from the top of one of the silos.
The two exhaust vents coming out from the boilers en route to the stacks. Plywood marks where where catwalks were removed to extract equipment.
I loved to spend time in the Hamm’s caves in my teen years. It was cold, wet, but it felt familiar and had its share of surprises.
Don Crist ’83. Brick Graffiti Series.
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.
When the building switched souls from booze to bread, these contraptions were mounted across the brewhouse floors… they’re not for hops, either.
On the outside of the steel silos and headhouse is a riveted bulge that does not look like the silos. Inside is this elevator, a rudimentary (read: dangerous) and old (read: dangerous) freight elevator.
The corners of these buildings are inscribed by a century of bored rail workers and delivery drivers. Pictured is the southeast corner of the Twohy, which is typical of mercantiles.
A heavy cloth separates the sanding station from other areas. This particular section seemed to specialize with chair seats, judging by the many unsanded blanks there.
A closeup of a soon-to-be-scrapped crane pulley.
Looking out the finishing end of the sintering plant at a network of torched-off catwalks through a maze of rust and asbestos. Paradise.
Looking down the walkway that traces the bottom side of the ore dock.
The man behind the curtain watches, but doesn’t say anything. Probably the smartest one in the room.
A US Army Corps of Engineers tug, tied at the end of the pier before the American Victory was parked here.
Lacy hated playing for people. She wanted to make the piano speak back to her, not make people stare.
Although the caves deviated little in their year-round temperature, it was common to use blocks of ice to cool beer immediately before shipment. This is the ruins of the ice chute.
This bay would host boxcars as workers would fill them with the fruits of the factory.
This tunnel goes to the adit over the Eagle River Mills. I bet those carts go fast down here!
Science Alert. When the sun strikes an object, that object absorbs some of the infared light in the form of heat. The heat absorbed by the old Soo dock absorbed and radiated that energy to melt off the snow from the ice around it, making it very reflective.
Latscher. Brick Graffiti Series.
A dead belt-o-vator.
Looking out of a door to nowhere at the fiery sky above.
Asbestos rope isn’t something you can buy at Home Depot anymore, but it’s fire and heat resistant stuff; great for industrial work, like in a sugar mill.
One level below where the cotton was nitrated, the fumes must have been powerful. This floor had several massive ventilation fans in its walls.
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.
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.
The bits with handles are the filters with screens of different sizes. Larger grain particles would be stopped at the top for further reduction via the mills, while the powder at the bottom would be run through another bolter–one of the refinement stages in flour production.
This tunnel had a wooden drafter’s table in it.
Some small candles light one of the few surviving tunnels that once linked buildings on the campus with the steam plant. In winter, it was common for patients to be transported through these to avoid the cold, and during the Cold War these served as nuclear fallout shelters.
Two charmers, I’m sure. This area was a coal pit for the nearby power plant.
In the grungy control room, I found a little slice that was never graffitied.
A side door for the brick factory.
Looking up from the ground floor at the various levels of the sugar mill.
In this photo you see three lives of Lyric: 1.) The Art Deco murals showing the Vaudeville background; 2.) The suspended ceiling put in when the building was converted for film; 3.) The explorers, photographers and others who worked in and on the building before its final demolition.
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.
The final ball mill in the Chain O’ Mines concentrator. Behind it was a bucket of steel balls.
A tunnel that brought heat from the power plant to the Hart House. Since that building was demolished, this only served as a fallout shelter. To my knowledge, this was never used to move bodies to the incinerator. That was probably done with a vehicle and the lower entrance to the power station, which did dispose of TB victims for some time.
A little sheet metal box somehow made it back home.
The machine stood the Atlas missile up vertically over the blast pit, launching position, once the roof opened.
I wonder how sheltered workers on this mid-level catwalk that follows the ore chutes is in storms. Note the chunks of concrete stuck in the catwalk grates–the pockets (right) are falling apart.
” JN 2-27-39″. Brick Graffiti Series.
Moon of M.R. 5-22-1985. Brick Graffiti Series.
Part of a vintage neon sign. I hope it’s been preserved–it reminds me of the sign that hung over my grandfather’s tv sales and repair shop in small town Minnesota.