The lime room was in rough shape, but its colors and textures were like raw gold and oxidized copper.
A firedoor dating to the original car barn is roped off, anticipating demolition.
The office for the maintenance shop was sound-insulated and ventilated.
Before developers saw to cut and cut the flour mills inside Pillsbury, they stood at the ready beside various purposeful chutes the traversed the floors of between sorters. These machines were belt-driven by the power of Pillsbury’s Mississippi headraces and turbines, the force of which notoriously shook the building’s foundations themselves. The wheels would change the grade of the flour, or the size of the dust produced from crushing the kernels.
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.
The great stenciled number on this chute caught my eye.
The common rooms bulge out of the institutional geometry of the wards.
No, it’s not your Mac’s desktop, it’s a beautiful Lake Superior night. Taken from near the former Pittsburgh and Reading Anthracite Plant. You can see the frame that used to hold the lifeboat that was auctioned in 2006 to the left of the Pilot House.
Inside the Beulah elevator were all of the original notices and notices. These are instructions for filling rail cars with flour sacks.