Harding Jones Paper Company operated the Excello Mill between 1865 and 1983. It has changed little since it was built beside the Erie Canal.
A dead brewery marks the graves of four others on the outside of St. Louis, the new Detroit. It’s been empty longer than I’ve been alive, and things are not looking up…
Why write, who cares? The door asked… I guess I just didn’t have an answer. I’ll keep doing my thing, I thought, and you keep doing yours. Now, how best to capture the fingernail scratches around this padded room’s peep hole?
Hamilton is still an industrial city, that much is obvious. But Firestone was one of the first big companies to build here. To remember it, we have a shell nestled between the steel mills. It’s never dark here.
Fisher Body #21 made plane parts in World War II, served as a homeless shelter during the Great Depression, made Cadillacs, Buicks, ambulances, busses, and even paint. What is left of this place, besides some stories and graffiti?
On December 16th, 2011, the last Ford Ranger standard truck left the assembly line and paint shop and not long afterward the doors were chained and locked. Then it was my turn.
The Dutch began building this fort in 1818. The Belgians used it as a barracks. The Germans used it as a prison for the Belgians. The Americans used it as a hospital for the Allied Forces. It was abandoned in the 1980s.
Fort Snelling was first sold off in 1858, long after Minnesota had lost its status as a frontier state, but the Civil War and conflicts between settlers and the Dakota renewed the need for a […]
From failed starch works to a wartime asset, this brick ruin has seemingly always been an unwanted castle of a forgotten island.
From 1910 to 1986, Gary Bolt & Screw manufactured an incredible amount of fasteners and steadily employed about 1,000 people. Then, something went wrong–today its walls are not filled with rusty equipment or even dust. Instead, hundreds of piles of rotting donated clothes fill in the space under the old gantry cranes…
Under the star trails at our rooftop camp it was hard to believe that I was still living in a time when ghost towns–real ghost towns–were still engraved onto the sides of mountains. Below its cracked city streets courses the treasure that built the town and the poison that killed it. Cup your ears against the walls, be very still, and listen to the memory of a place called home.