Workers in the basement tunnels had to communicate with the workhouse operators 100 feet above and vice versa. Alarms and bells were installed to signal trouble over the sound of the elevator machinery.
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.
A 8-foot-tall volume indicator that could be read from across the beet boiler floor–convenient when the controls are 20 feet away.
I don’t think we’re anywhere near maximum pressure anymore.
The batch tag specifies some of the technical properties of the silk worked here.
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.
No ambiguity here… miners, check in at this office.
To make sure the tourists aren’t scared off, the city painted the side of the elevator with one of its historic names.