Part of the hotel where employees slept and spare bed parts were stored.
The only light in the ‘coffin’ of the Atlas E is that which leaks through the exhaust vents.
The workshop and parts room was full of light and meticulously sorted bolts, nuts, washers, gaskets, and all sorts of specialty hardware.
Chicago-made fire door.
A shuttered house at the end of the block doesn’t even have boards on it anymore.
The third floor corridor is not so welcoming, as it requires visitors to walk along the support breams without the luxury of a floor. I didn’t mind, but I can’t see the family with young children that was also exploring Noisy doing the same.
The old men’s ward is an example of what the hospital resembled before part of the complex was modernized. Small rooms, light switches outside the door, small observation windows set into heavy wood. If you ask me, though, the tile work across the floors is the most spectacular.
Some of the rotting clothes were in boxes, split long ago from moisture. Others were just heaped in piles.
A gateway for St. Louis as seen through a gateway (of sorts) in East St. Louis.