This gives a sense of the scale and the water damage of the old side (brick, rather than concrete) of the roundhouse.
Presumably, in a nuclear blast the antenna would be blown flat and pop back up, allowing communication even after a near-direct hit.
These long curved corridors connected the wards. Locked doors on both of their ends were a security and comfort feature. Sounds and people would be sealed in their respective wards, as the hallways would act like beautiful airlocks; they were so long that it was unlikely that doors would be open on both sides at the same time. Portra 160.
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.
After climbing the elevator shaft to the illusive second level, a new pallet of colors were revealed.
The largest extant structure when I visited.
Looking into the Pool 8 Annex from the original Ogilvie’s elevator.
A basement classroom, its chalkboards long gone, overlooks the playground.
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.