Rubber dock boots still sits under the desk in the dock office, near keys to rusted locks and files of fired employees.
Unintentional art comes in the form of a beet juice slurry baffle.
I wish I knew what has become of this great one-of-a-kind sign that used to brag how many days the Clyde Iron factory has gone without a serious accident. Update: It’s hanging in one of the smaller venue spaces behind the bar.
Jars like these were used to measure the volume of fluid pumped out of TB patients’ lungs.
Cracked gauges have a certain quality that hearkens to movies, I think. One can imagine the gauges going off the scales before dramatically cracking, throwing glass right at the camera. This damage, however, is unfortunate vandalism.
The headquarters for the plant was in the middle of it. It’s abandoned but well preserved–a strange sight in Gary, Indiana.
A staircase threads between the top floor and the sluices, which are in the middle of the dredge-mill.
My guess is that the Capitol Hotel closed and Adler bought up some of their equipment.
Ruined cars abandoned in the generator hall, long after its namesake was scrapped.