The machine stood the Atlas missile up vertically over the blast pit, launching position, once the roof opened.
Gloves hang in the basement of the former quality assurance labs.
A green chair in a green room.
Copper poured from this furnace and was cast by the autocaster on the right into billets.
Watching the comings and goings of doctors, nurses and new patients was a mainstay of asylum routine; one can find it easy to imagine pale faces pressed against the block glass windows, staring out at the world moving past them.
Lessons from the day.
Cat paw prints on the control panels. Remember to lock-out-tag-out, Power Raccoons, and keep your own keys.
This was taken before the top of the docks really started to rot-out; now this stretch past the crane is distinctly unsafe to cross. Still, you can’t beat the view of Dock #2 winding into the distance, where the approach is chopped-off before the yard used to extend.