#67, one of the only lockers that is not crunched to the point it refuses to open. In the corner of the small office area.
A stack of flawed casting molds, in the ready position next to where the cupolas sat when the plant closed.
The entry point for the painting shed on the top floor. Cars would have a few feet in between them before they entered. Separate sheds would prime and add color.
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.
One of the many blast doors. Note the plunger to seal off the airflow in the event of an attack or accidental explosion.
The ‘working’ part of the furnaces are about a story above ground level, so the catwalks snake above the tree line.
In this ghost town where there were brick, wooden, and dirt-brick buildings, the latter fared the best by far.
In the soft wood of the machine, an employee left their mark.
A pipe bracket seems to have rusted off of the ceiling.