This building seemed like a pump house or compressor house. It was full of empty concrete mounts.
I don’t think we’re anywhere near maximum pressure anymore.
Funny how sensitive modern English speakers have become to gendered language. I doubt the workers here–almost all female–were offended by this posting for ‘Workmen’s Compensation’.
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.
A big sign marks where the elevated walkway is severed where Dock 2 used to meet Dock 3, now gone.
Heavy wood doors for keeping people in.
A bumper sticker with the usual tagline. Note the detail on the radiator!
For some time, Purina ran a feed service out of the elevator. Inside and outside were signs of its past presence.
The old gate sign, leaned against one of the terminal elevators.
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.
An engine on display outside the Montana Territorial Prison in Deer Lodge, MT. This was a typical electric locomotive used by The Milwaukee Road.
The office building was fancy compared to the utilitarian factory behind it. My favorite part was the logo crown.
When it became “Hyde Park Hospital”, this portico was added onto the front.
Every elevator has sets of these conveyor switches. Grain comes down through the top chute and the bottom chute rotates to move the flow onto various belts around the plant by gravity. The cross belt is another switch and the bridge belt brings the flow to the other half of the elevator.
The tallest dock structure is an equipment elevator that connects the many dock levels.
A little catwalk gives access to the most important gauges in the building. Behind them are huge vents and fans. I bet it got steamy in here.
The bottom of the elevator in the new foundry.
A misnomer that stuck.
From factory to skate park to restaurant. This is in the skate park stage. The buildings to the right are demolished now, and in their place are hockey rinks.
Unit 4’s lower levels.
A broken window looking through the First Aid Room and into the Control Room in charge of directing grain into ships. You can see one of the large conveyors on the right, clad in green. Chutes and staircases intertwine seemingly randomly through the big empty spaces.
When the ship loaders were added, a doorway was cut through the metal silo to make a room for the grain handling equipment. Note the dust sensor in the corner of the torch-cut archway.
Between the Old Crow and Old Taylor bonded warehouses are some of the fouled barrels, now the only ones left, which were left to rot in the elements. Nearby in a loading bay that has obviously been disused longer than the rest of the property, terra cotta roofing waits in crates.
Each room is painted a different hue, so the light reflecting into the hallway carries those colors. The blue padding on the left is for one of the padded rooms…
One of the prettier Humphry Manlifts in Minneapolis, in my opinion.
The Harrison flour mill, completed in 1897 and expanded in 1901 and 1902. The tunnel that I am standing on probably transported grain from the elevator to the mill. Medium Format.
Looking up at the LEMP malting plant elevator. Look at that BRICKWORK!
The last time the city sealed this door, they must have been changing out old road signs.
The back door into the old distillery building. Not castle-like at all, sadly.
The Dock 5 sign at track level. Probably as an aid to sailors reboarding their vessels.
To make sure the tourists aren’t scared off, the city painted the side of the elevator with one of its historic names.
The back of the neon sign before it was converted to LED lighting. The image is mirrored so it can be read.
Note that the back of Stockhouse #4 is missing. A year later, Fermentation was on the ground too.
No ambiguity here… miners, check in at this office.
A side door for the shop area with ivy crawling toward it.
I like the fading stencil paint.
Ektar 100/Mamiya 6. A ghost town near Martinsdale, where the market (pictured) served as the train stop.
The main stage and the retired (and in this instance, scrambled) marquee that will be repaired and reinstalled above Superior Street. A former manager of the building I used to photograph Nopeming with told me that the letters for the Art Deco tower are stored somewhere in the NorShor to this day, but I did not see them (and frankly, I doubt it).
One of the former sanitorium common rooms. Its interior is at the end of one of the wards and is lined with glass brick.
Bricks from the demolished buildings.
Ruster at The Pool… employee graffiti about 100 above ground.
A buck-fifty shot for a postcard stand. Taken from the Stone Arch Bridge.
This corner of the building was the coal room, used to feed the two big boilers inside. The steam equipment has been replaced with electric, so this section may not have changed much in the past decades.
The warped floors caught my eye in this room too–a symptom of turning off heat and not patching a leaking roof in the midwest.
Dominion was acquired by UGG, which designated the elevator ‘M’. Their offices still have safety signage.
A cracked sign at dock-level, where loading boats would be tied below the taconite conveyors. All across the surface of the concrete dock were taconite pellets, like slippery little marbles. One wrong step could put a worker in the water, which is a bad, bad place to be.
I love the ghost sign across these two elevators, originally built as Superior Elevator. It’s looking pretty rough.
A different kind of tree fort.
I couldn’t help but include this ghost sign for a demolished motel…
A squat building with a rail scale. Taken between rain showers in late summer, when I seemed to be the only one at White Pine.
At sunrise the fog rose near the solvent recovery line. You can barely read the “XXX” warning.
The control room for the whole of the plant. Sinterband here means one of the sintering lines. Temperatures, gasses, mixtures, speeds, and so on were centrally controlled here.
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.
A long exposure panorama of Electric Steel and Kurth from the roof of Russell Miller B, days before it was demolished.
This is the far interior of the hotel, where the darkness made the shag carpet seem to move whenever the trees outside swayed. That is to say, constantly.
It was obvious which parts of the hospital were the newest, by their relative utter self destruction. It’s comforting to the Cubical Dwellers, I think, to know that as soon as the power and plumbing are disconnected that all hell will break loose and dismantle their suspended ceilings, drywall boxes and fluorescent suns in no time at all.
I get dirty.
The most derelict of the old bonded warehouses. Note the barrel elevator on the side of it!
Canal Park (see bridge) and some of old downtown, formerly Duluth City Hall and Police Department (center-left). At least one star has appeared in the sky…
One of the generators, weeks before it was taken apart to be shipped to another power plant somewhere else.
Looking at the top of the Washburn Crosby elevator from a mirrored window in the Guthrie Theater.
The back of the mill reads “Red River Milling Company”
A siren near the main road. Is it an air raid siren?
Looking into the Argo Tunnel at its Idaho Springs portal. I was hoping to see tracks and a steel door, but found a busy crew of environmental workers installing a pipe between the bulkhead and new water plant.
The old No Trespassing sign, with the Peavey logo still on it.
My favorite time to be in the brewery was sunrise. That’s the kind of light that made the brewhouse glow.
Can you imagine workers in a food plant smoking on the job today?
The UP gets a lot of snow, making exploring its old mines a special challenge in the winter. The snow is more than 6 feet deep in this picture, and firm enough to walk on.
The north side of the plant is modern 60s industrial architecture, meaning massive open spaces with no personality. This mirror is the most interesting thing I could find.
Two signatures complement this gorgeous hand-painted sign. ‘Bowers’ from 1987 and ‘Normal’ from 1982. The blocking on the letters is still visible!
Candy jar molds, in the far corner of the paint shop.
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.
Power-up to cool down… would have been nice on the hot day I climbed on top of this machine.
A 8-foot-tall volume indicator that could be read from across the beet boiler floor–convenient when the controls are 20 feet away.
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.
Fire doors and penis talk.
The batch tag specifies some of the technical properties of the silk worked here.
The chalkboard in the filtering plant reminds new visitors of the last day.
The flour mill (rear) and its elevators. The taller elevator was moved here in 1955, when the Harrisons bought it from Federal, who declared it surplus. The smaller elevator replaced an earlier smaller warehouse in 1926. Taken shortly after dawn. This one picture made the drive worth it, for me. Medium Format.
One of the four fire alarm panels in the power station.
The secret sweet-yet-salty center of the nameless factoryscape. Home base, tuned to rule the AC and turn out Product X at record rates, I’m sure.
The view from the larry, looking out at the overgrowing coke oven top. Papers listed the order of the charges for each oven, noting the sticky doors and persistent leaks. Emergency respirators and rescue gear was stored close, as long exposure to emissions from the rusty hatches could make worker pass out on the top of the ovens.
This building looked like some sort of office.
Kurth bears a ghost sign. Recently, its main sign was destroyed by graffiti artists in 2015.
General Mills bought Consolidated Elevator’s “D” in 1943 and renamed it “A,” though no additional elevators have followed from that firm to date. Visible on the right is the first annex, built along with the elevator in 1909.
Outside the Chateau, where the fuel oil tank blocks the chapel.
“This way,” then, “No, that way!”
Behind a nurse’s station.
Wintertime is quiet, except for the planes overhead.
One of my favorite signs. I imagine something like this happened when it was put up: “Wow, that’s a big sign.” “Yeah, you’re going to be putting it up in the elevator at the service door.” “Have you thought of may locking the door?” “What?” “You know, lock it so that there’s no risk, sign aside, of us going through and falling to our death.” “Shut up and just install the damn sign.”
A firedoor dating to the original car barn is roped off, anticipating demolition.
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.
Between lines of Number Sixes right after sun rose behind them. This photo shows how extremely lush the grounds are that make getting around in some places impossible.
Looking at the ghost sign from a rust-locked cement conveyor that linked the silos with a packing warehouse.
Some sort of materials handling building, judging by the construction.
In the corner of most of the factory floors, freight elevators flanked restrooms to leave more central space for machines and their masters.
An old sign directed patients and visitors back to toward the central parts of the hospital.
An original stencil-brushed sign.
The cornerstone of the building, in Latin.
This bridge over Eagle River is beautiful.
With the maintenance door open you can see the buckets on in the vertical conveyor.
Two bin signs criss-cross in the North Annex.
An old name for an older elevator, as seen from an abandoned rail spur.
Looking out at the town water tower (which I love) from the sugar mill (which I also love).
Elevator B, used by a local farmer, stands behind an old farm truck at the edge of town.
Much of the mill is wooden–even the larger chutes.
A door covered in pen graffiti.
2005. Flavored beers are still popular. The flavor concentrates were stored in this bank of fridges.
From a distance (here, Union Yards), you can still see ARMOUR spelled out on the smokestack in white brick.
Hales & Hunter sign, as it looks today.
Only two machines sit on the rails in the roundhouse, both oil cars. It’s not clear whether there’s anything inside either, but they have to have been placed here before 1970, when the turntable outside these numbered doors was removed.
Part of the unremodeled hospital, above the Service Building, where employees would stay sometimes.
The Osborn Block (front) and the Twohy (rear) at sunset. In the distance, you can almost make out Globe Elevators. One of my favorite photos of 2013.
The barracks are being reclaimed by nature.
This sign was important when trains ran the length of the elevator.
Two steel hoppers supported by counterweights and springs, which were used to weigh incoming grain loads before being deposited in the silos beneath this floor. Garner is another way to say “big measuring tank”, if you were wondering. I fell in love with all the tubes and chutes on this floor.
The historic entrance of the mill, alongside the (relatively) new Great Western offices.
The headquarters for the plant was in the middle of it. It’s abandoned but well preserved–a strange sight in Gary, Indiana.
Pillsbury from across the Mississippi River and Stone Arch Bridge from the roof of the Washburn Crosby Elevator (aka Gold Medal Flour).
I wish I had the equipment then that I have now… I look back at these 10-year-old pictures and can’t ignore all the grain.
The Sivertson’s sign seems like from a different time. I’ve never seen it lit, but I bet it’s beautiful.
I love the texture of the rust through the decaying yellow paint.
Standing between pockets 1 and 2. You brought hearing protection, right?
Global Trading remarked the building in the mid-60s, but far above the door is the old ‘Detroit Shipbuilding’ paint, though it’s faint nowadays.
Looking up the tallest structure left at ACME.
Somewhere between the grain elevator and the distillery.
“But everyone I used to know was either dead or in prison
So I came back to Minneapolis this time I think I’m gonna stay” -Tom Waits
An abandoned gatehouse bearing the name of the former factory.
Shot on a Pentax 67 in monochrome and toned to match the set. For some time the marquee was lit at night to advertise the fact that the city bought it and planned to apply for credits to repair it.
Inside the main entrance to the depot. Through the ‘To Station’ door, you can see some of the news stands. Look at the floor!
One of the covered rail loading docks. All of them were overgrown and rust-clad.
“The fresh snow mixed indistinguishably from the ashes of the half-demolished power plant.”
I’ll remember the neon glow fondly.
The rear of engine bay 13… according to the heavily faded sign.
Van Dyke Cab Company and Yellow Cab served the terminal in lieu of a streetcar loop downtown, which was planned but never built.
Shelves in in the coloring department, where hundreds of different mixer lids are splashed with hardened glass dyes. Color thanks to a yellow-tinted skylight.
Looking out of the American diesel crane at the gantry crane that ran the length of the dock.
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.
Carter Color used to occupy this block.
One of the occupied buildings in Nevadaville.
Looking out upon Mill City through the lens of FLOUR, highlighted in pink and low clouds. This sign has recently been converted into LED lighting.
In case power was lost, this manual signal could direct trains on and off the taconite trestle. Turning the pole would change the color of the light on top and the shape of the metal flags.
Parking strictly forbidden. A sign in front of Cheratte’s former truck shops.
Looking toward Fort William (Western) Elevator from the top of Superior Elevator. Fort William is bordered on the south and east by this wide, winding railyard. Note the pretty and quaint brick offices of the Western.
Ladders crawl the back of the signs. Graffiti writers’ right of passage.
Four A.M. was the best time to be on the main assembly line. This was about shortly after most of the machinery was removed.
Spare parts ready for this building’s reactivation.
The mine was built with stone, wood, and steel. It’s in good condition.
For some time, tugboats were stored next to the elevator.
A sign hanging near the shop office.
As photographed from a cement piling for Slip #3 poured in 1935, disconnected from land by erosion. How do I know the date? A pair of steamship engineers carved their initials and ranks into the wet cement!
The old movie theatre sign was sitting right inside the sealed front doors.
One level below where the cotton was nitrated, the fumes must have been powerful. This floor had several massive ventilation fans in its walls.
Between the gauges for the power plant boilers and the steam pump flywheels.
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’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?
This volume gauge could be read from 30 feet away, which is useful when the control panels and valves are that far away.
All of the fire alarms had been triggered.
The Western Elevator’s old moniker looks over Fort William (the neighborhood). Snow falls over Mount McKay in the background. This elevator is still active… the only active elevator in Fort William proper.
A few of the stalls in the older section of the roundhouse, the noon sky peeking in.
The elevator works on gravity… this is where a conveyor belt was to move the grain toward the main elevator to be loaded into ships.
The Calumet Elevator offices used to be flanked on both sides by rails. Now, only one side has engines running on it.
The end of the new elevator. Line of bird droppings follow the fire sprinkler pipes and wires in the 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.
Winter skies over Allouez Bay. From a distance, it looks almost fragile.
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.
My first night on Minneapolis’ Lighthouse–now an old picture and distant memory… I still remember the exhilaration and the view of the city off one edge of the roof and the Mississippi River over the other.
A sign facing the city on an exterior wall–a sort of motivational poster.
It is unclear when the ‘Superior Warehouse Company’ sign was put up, but it was likely around 1916-1917, when maps indicate it served as a dry goods warehouse, operated by Twohy-Eimon Mercantile Company. The Sivertson sign was likely added in the mid-1980s. In this image I tried to preserve the colors the bricks turn at sunset.
The neon lighthouse, seen from the top of one of the silos.
Note the tiled floor between the bucket conveyors and an old mill.
Every fitting label in the stock department was cracked, curled, and blank.
The guard shack protecting the Nike launch pad.
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.
These buildings were largely used as concentrators for the crushed rock, although I did spy some small mills inside these too.
This was my first view of Harris Machinery’s property… it was strange to find what looked like a ghost town five minutes from downtown Minneapolis!
Looking from the powerhouse across to the old Electrical Assembly side of the plant that manufactured products like thermostats. Most of the complex is connected by skyway and tunnel systems.
The front of the mill reads “Montana Flour Mills Company”
The fantastic red elevator that is Pool #61, built 1928.
From Main Street, looking straight up at the A Mill, only the silence makes one think that nobody’s still inside, grinding grain into Pillsbury’s Best.
Around the corner from the old boiler room.
Vents in the boards over the windows helps prevent mold and animals from getting too crazy inside.
The clock, which was sold after Amtrak dumped the building, was returned to the Waiting Room in 2005.
A tore-up Colorado Southern Railway sign and the majestic (in an industrial sense) Argo Mill. Go. On. The. Tour. Leica/Summilux 35/Ektar 100
Below Dock 2 is a set of fire pumps.
Above my head while taking this picture was the seal of the Department of the Interior.
The laundry building, where many of the tunnels came to an end. It looks very East Coast industrial to me.
Hand painted fire extinguisher notices and a long room which I strongly suspect was a pattern cutting room.
The tunnels were full of bricked-up doorways. I wonder how many rooms under there are totally sealed from the outside world…
Serve [unknown] Build… What do you think the middle says? Tell me in the comments.
A chalkboard halfway to the headhouse is untouched since the mill closed. It still has the cheat sheets!
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.
A century-old ghost sign for Royal House Flour was preserved after a building is built above and through it! Looking from the north annex elevator toward the headhouse.
Devan setting up his 4×5 camera.
The side of the maintenance shops, still home to several disassembled electric carts.
An abandoned news stand between the concourse and ticket booths. This is one of my favorite pictures from the 2000s.
Construction in 2014 reveals a lost stone sign.