Among the iconic abandoned structures that dot the landscape of Detroit, Michigan, Lee Plaza poignantly embodies the city’s descent from prosperity to urban blight in the latter half of the 20th century.
Abandoned Posts
In a distant chapter of my life, I was granted the privilege of exploring the Lafayette Building, a towering edifice that once graced the heart of downtown Detroit, Michigan.
Located in the Northwest Goldberg neighborhood of Detroit, Michigan, King Solomon Baptist Church’s facility at Marquette and 14th Street was best known as the first African American church to be located on a major thoroughfare.
Located in the Northwest Goldberg neighborhood of Detroit, Michigan, King Solomon Baptist Church‘s facility at Marquette and 14th Street was best known for becoming a popular venue for influential black leaders.
The Gothic-styled church was completed in 1920, and housed Temple Baptist Church from 1934 to 1951. Temple was a conservative, pro-segregationist church that barred African Americans from attending, and boasted a congregation of 5,000. In 1937, an Art Deco-styled auditorium was completed across the street from the church.
Like many churches, it was home to a corner pharmacy which helped pay off the construction bonds of the building, and to help cover future maintenance costs.
After the black community began to dominate the demographics in the neighborhood, Temple relocated to a large facility on Grand River Avenue where there was a sizable white population. But after the neighborhood became more mixed demographically, Temple once again relocated to West Chicago Avenue near Telegraph Road.
King Solomon relocated from Delmar Street to Temple’s vacated facility at Marquette and 14th in 1952, which soon became a popular for influential black leaders. It was also where Malcolm X delivered Message for the Grass Roots, where he attacked the non-violent civil rights movement and called for a “black revolution.” It was also where he criticized the 1963 March on Washington and noted that all black Americans had a common enemy: white people. The church also hosted other leaders, including Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. and Thurgood Marshall, who was the chief council for the NAACP and later appointed to the U.S. Supreme Court by President Johnson. Marshall oversaw the landmark Brown versus Board of Education of Topeka case.
On March 22, 2011, the Detroit City Council designated King Solomon and another church within a historic district. Today, King Solomon Baptist Church survives with a much smaller congregation across the street in the auditorium.
Further Reading
Detroit’s Eastern Catholic High School, despite its blown out windows and scrapped interior, was still breathtaking and beautiful.
Driving down Gratiot Avenue in Detroit, Michigan late night in the summer of 2011, I came across the former Eastern Catholic High School. The obviousness of its abandonment, with its blown out windows and the hulking structure contrasting to the vast, empty lots surrounding it, made the four-level school all the more interesting to enter and photograph.
But the state of the school was not always so dim. From its closure in 2005 to 2010, the building was minimally maintained, enough that the windows remained intact and the interior in decent condition, probably with the intent of reopening the building for a charter school or for another use. But costs of maintaining the building, constructed in 1926, dogged the diocese, and the church stopped all maintenance. Within weeks, all of the windows, which were fairly new, were busted out and the building stripped of anything of value.
The first trip inside was nothing short of a shock. Books from various classrooms lined the hallways, some giving instruction on computers, others on English literature. Test tubes and other chemistry equipment were unbroken and in good condition in a storage room. And the library was fully stocked, the materials neatly lining the bookshelves awaiting for the next guest to come check out some publication. The floors were relatively clean, sans some debris left over from scrappers, and it appeared that the building was salvageable for reuse.
I eventually entered the 1923 auditorium and was enamored at the quality of construction. Cast iron decorative pillars, some of which had completely rusted away, adorned the plaster walls. Some detail work along the ceiling was still intact, along with the retro lighting. It seemed that the auditorium had not been used for quite a while and based on reports from some alumni, had been used for storage for the past few decades.
The history of the school was linked invariably to that of St. Anthony Catholic Church. The first school was built in 1865 and expanded in 1882. A grade school was started in a building near the church in 1896, followed by the completion of the first high school in 1918 at the corner of Field and Frederick Streets. An auditorium, pictured above, was constructed across the street in 1923, with classes held in the basement and first floor. Three years later, a larger high school structure was completed as an extension of the auditorium, adding 13 classrooms and laboratories.
A gymnasium was later built in the 1950s.
Enrollment peaked in 1927 at 1,040. Despite the school’s great academic and athletic record, the number of pupils continued to decline, hitting a low of 125 in 2005 – the same year that the diocese pulled the plug on Eastern Catholic.
More interesting is the nice folks who were setting foot into the school when I arrived on my last trip to the complex. The group, some from Los Angles and San Francisco, California, had come to Detroit to investigate various historic properties to purchase. Their desire was to create an artist work-live environment, but unfortunately, the school was too far gone to be saved and had already been abated in preparation for demolition. L. Rooney, Adrienne and others pose for a photograph below (lost some names).
I gave them a brief tour of the school before I encountered another group – alumni from 1971! D. Spoutz, Linda and C. Lorenzetti pose for a photograph below.
All in all, it was a great and fitting ending to my final trip into Eastern Catholic.
Further Reading
For those entranced by the enigmatic allure of urban decay, the Packard Automotive Plant in Detroit, Michigan, has long reigned as a preeminent destination. This colossal complex, spanning a staggering 3.5 million square feet and dominating the vistas from all directions, has borne witness to the inexorable ravages of time, underutilization, and the incursions of scrappers.
Several years ago, nine schools in Cincinnati, Ohio were auctioned to the highest and most qualified bidder. The McKinley School was one of those.
Spurred on by an impromptu excursion to photograph a collapsed bridge in western Kentucky, I decided to visit a part of the state that I had not yet fully explored. From Owensboro to Paducah, from the isolated Land Between the Lakes to dense streetscapes, I toured the back roads in hopes of finding something new to write about and to photograph. Then, I came across Cairo, Illinois. What the hell happened here?
After a recent drive through Cairo, Illinois (article forthcoming), and seeing the effects of decades of racial segregation and violence, and then economic decline and population loss, I wondered what other major and minor cities in the United States has experienced such steep and dramatic losses? Besides Cairo, Detroit and Wheeling, I asked my Facebook readers of other examples.
In the aftermath of my photographic expedition at the Milton-Madison Bridge, as I traversed the winding roads of Trimble County, Kentucky, an unexpected discovery awaited me. Upon turning onto a side road, I serendipitously happened upon an antiquated schoolhouse, a vestige of a bygone era.
Railroad YMCA’s were once staples in the United States, offering lounges, recreational amenities, restaurants and a safe and convenient place for rest for the myriad of railroad employees. Russell, Kentucky is one such instance of a town that offered a YMCA.
Railroad YMCA’s were once staples in the United States, offering lounges, recreational amenities, restaurants and a safe and convenient place for rest for the myriad of railroad employees. Russell, Kentucky is one such instance of a town that offered a YMCA.
Russell, located along the Ohio River west of Ashland, is best described as a sleepy river community that hugs the bottomlands between the water and the hills that surround. Not resembling much of eastern Kentucky, in terms of architectural styles or development patterns, Russell only saw growth with the expansion of the Chesapeake and Ohio Railroad westward into the town and again when the Russell rail yards were constructed and expanded. The city was never located near a major coalfield, nor was it located near coal processing plants unlike many cities to the south of it, although the adjoining rail yards were comprised of mostly coal cars that moved through the region, carrying a raw resource from mines to power plants and factories.
In 1880, Russell’s population was just 175, expanding to 1,758 by 1920. Consequently, the railroad YMCA, which was constructed in 1896, had a membership of 384 by 1906, with 440 workers that used the facilities each day on average. By 1919, there were 557 members – and was the third largest in the state behind only Corbin and Louisville.
The 1920s saw an expansion of the yards, and a third main track was completed between Ashland and Russell which relieved congestion. By 1924, the YMCA had a membership nearing 1,000, and was the second largest railroad YMCA in the state – behind only Louisville.
Early amenities included boarding rooms, a library and a cafeteria. An expansion in the mid-1920s added a swimming pool, playground equipment and tennis and croquet courts. Those features were added as the railroad YMCA was used more and more by the public.
By 1927, the YMCA was the largest railroad YMCA in the state, with 2,025 railroad members. But by the early 1940s, the existing space was far too small for the needs of the railroad and community, and a new railroad YMCA was completed in 1948 in the modern architectural style. The mammoth building contained new amenities, such as a bowling alley and gymnasium, meeting rooms and an updated restaurant. The railroad was also booming during this time, with the yards seeing a departure of 24 trains per day and over 1,000 car movements were occurring per day on average.
But the Russell railroad YMCA was the last constructed by the railroad, and one of the last in the United States. Steam locomotives were soon phased out for diesels, and as a result, overnight stays were no longer in demand – which reduced the need for rooms at the YMCA. Mechanization of labor also reduced the need for the YMCA. In 1984, the Chesapeake and Ohio had merged with the Louisville and Nashville and other lines that eventually became part of the Chessie System and then CSX Transportation. Soon after, CSX withdrew their support to the YMCA, and in 1992, the Russell Railroad YMCA closed.
In 2002, a redevelopment proposal called for the abandoned site to be converted into an independent living facility, although no work has begun.
Read more about the Russell, Kentucky YMCA, and view plenty of (dated!) photographs of the interior.
During an expedition to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, specifically the Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore, I serendipitously encountered two abandoned railroads, vestiges of a bygone era when the region’s rich natural resources fueled an extensive transportation network.
Located along Stone Lick Creek north of Orangeburg, Kentucky is this quaint and simple farmhouse has newer gingerbread detailing.
Deerton, Michigan is an unincorporated community in Alger County that was founded in 1882 when the Detroit, Mackinac & Marquette Railroad constructed a station for a lumbering camp. A post office opened in 1922, and in 1926, a small school was constructed at the junction of Deerton-Onota Road. Today, not much is left in the community – most of the residences are abandoned, although the school still operates.
While whiling away a dreary afternoon at the local library, I chanced upon a trove of information regarding the now-defunct American Car and Foundry Company’s manufacturing operations in Huntington, West Virginia.
The Packard Motor Company on East Grand Boulevard in Detroit, Michigan was constructed in 1903 and closed in 1958. With just the exception of a brief reuse in several locations, the entire complex – 3.5 million square feet over 35 acres, produced 1.5 million vehicles. Designed by Albert Kahn, the industrial complex used reinforced concrete for its construction, a first for Detroit.
For a town that has been on the economic decline for over two decades, Jeannette, Pennsylvania held its own. Not so much for the Monsour Medical Center.
For a town that has been on the economic decline for over two decades, Jeannette, Pennsylvania held its own as it was located near the Pennsylvania Turnpike and Toll Road 66. The town suffered a loss of jobs that rank in the thousands due to numerous glass factory closures that trickled down and affected nearly every small business and resident. But one constant throughout all of this was Monsour Medical Center.
It would be a fair assumption to say that Monsour never fully prospered, partially because of mismanagement, a high debt load and a poor quality of care. It would also be a fair assumption to say that the economy had some bearing on Monsour’s closure in 2006, especially as there was another hospital just two miles away – which closed in 2010. The facility flirted with bankruptcies four times in its brief tenure.
Monsour Medical Center was located in Jeannette, Pennsylvania and opened in 1952 as a roadside clinic nicknamed “Senator Brown’s Mansion” along U.S. Route 30, the Lincoln Highway. Just a few years later, the hospital expanded into a 100 bed facility, prospering and completing one of two planned patient towers in 1971.
Troubles first began for Monsour in 1980, when it filed for the first of four bankruptcies. The first bankruptcy lasted eight years and was only resolved when a $19 million bond was issued to resolve outstanding debt. In 1991, the hospital filed for bankruptcy again, only to file for another in 2001. Various plans were discussed to improve the financial stability of Monsour, such as renaming it to the Doctors Hospital of Westmoreland County, completing physical improvements, purchasing new equipment, recruiting new doctors and adding a medical arts building. None of that occured, and the hospital languished until 2004, when its two year operating license was revoked by the Pennsylvania Department of Health for failure to comply with regulations. As a result, Monsour was issued the first of four six-month provisional licenses.
Compounding the issue further, Monsour’s highly-profitable pain clinic closed shortly after due to suspicious circumstances, only to reopen with new management. The hospital then attempted to form a new cardiology and geriatric medicine program, although the issue was muddled with its fourth bankruptcy filing in October 2004.
In a last ditch effort to save the hospital, Monsour planned to sell part or all of the hospital to physicians in exchange for 50% ownership. The plan, such as others that included converting Monsour into a speciality surgical hospital, never made it off of the planning board. In January 2006, Monsour was cited with seven regulatory violations and at that time, had just seven patients. Because of this, the hospital was limited to 66 beds and was prohibited from performing surgeries or administering anesthesia. Instead of fighting the charges, Monsour closed its doors almost immediately.
The highly visible hospital has suffered greatly since its closure. While the hospital seemed fairly intact from the exterior on a recent inspection, two fires in 2011 have left the brown brick facade charred. Inside Monsour and the conditions vary dramatically. The eastern wing is plagued with black mold while the upper levels have suffered smoke damage, with burnt remains of furniture, ceiling tiles and other materials littering the floors. More unsettling are the needles that scatter the floor, some used, others still within their packages. The morgue, while intact, contains visible stains and unidentifiable materials.
The lobby, with its pink decor, has at least remained in decent condition. Furniture still reside in the waiting area, along with an assortment of magazines and browned plants. Other equipment, such as mechanical beds, copiers and televisions, can be found throughout the complex.
Any hope at salvaging the hospital for a potential future use diminish with each passing year, and it does not seem there is a reuse in the works. The property, which was in foreclosure, is in ownership dispute which explains as to how the hospital has remained unboarded and wide open essentially since its closure.
One of the more infamous UFO encounters in Kentucky is the Kelly-Hopkinsville Encounter, otherwise known as the Hopkinsville Goblins Case. Occurring in the fall of 1955 near Hopkinsville and Kelly, Kentucky, the event centered around a rural farmhouse belonging to the Sutton family.
One of the more infamous UFO encounters in Kentucky is the Kelly-Hopkinsville Encounter, otherwise known as the Hopkinsville Goblins Case. Occurring in the fall of 1955 near Hopkinsville and Kelly, Kentucky, the event centered around a rural farmhouse belonging to the Sutton family.
Seven people in the farmhouse claimed that they were being terrorized by an unknown number of creatures in similar stature to gremlins, around three feet tall with upright, pointed ears with wasted legs and thin arm, claws and silver in color. The movements of the gremlins were best described as floating, walking with a sway as if they were wading through water. The ghastly creatures never entered the house, although they were caught peering in windows and doorways.
After waking up the children, the family called the local police station. Sheriff Russell Greenwell noted that the Sutton family were shaking in fright. Twenty officers, including Greenwell returned to the farmhouse, yet the gremlin occurrences continued. Police spotted evidence of a struggle and damage to the house, and witnessed strange lights and noises emitting from the sky and around the property. The officers attempted to shoot the silver creatures which had no effect other than damaging the house and surrounding grounds.
Later, investigations conducted by the state police, Air Force and civilian ufologists found no evidence of a hoax, although they could not explain the occurrences at the Sutton household that night. Similar occurrences have occurred along the Ohio River and in the United Kingdom, with observances of gremlins and other similar unidentified creatures.
KET’s Kentucky Life explores this infamous UFO encounter in their latest segment!
Caesar Creek School, located in Caesar Creek Township in rural Greene County, Ohio, was constructed as a high school in 1908. It began serving elementary students in 1927, and a small addition was constructed in 1957 that included two classrooms, two indoor restrooms and a gymnasium. Caesar Creek closed in 1967.
Okay folks, it is almost time for Halloween! What are some of your favorite haunted houses or abandonments?
Okay folks, it is almost time for Halloween! What are some of your favorite haunted houses or abandonments?
Click here to jump to Facebook to respond or leave a comment below!
It was a slightly chilly morning in downtown Cumberland, Maryland when I awoke to my alarm and the passing locomotives chugging along the former Western Maryland rail line through the heart of the city. I enjoyed listening to the trains throughout the night as it had a calming effect upon me, something that I recalled during my tenure at my parents house which was next to the massive Russell, Kentucky railyards. Feeling refreshed, I packed my gear and headed to my car and pointed my compass westward to Frostburg and then south to Lonaconing.
It was a slightly chilly morning in downtown Cumberland, Maryland when I awoke to my alarm and the passing locomotives chugging along the former Western Maryland rail line through the heart of the city. I enjoyed listening to the trains throughout the night as it had a calming effect upon me, something that I recalled during my tenure at my parents house which was next to the massive Russell, Kentucky railyards. Feeling refreshed, I packed my gear and headed to my car and pointed my compass westward to Frostburg and then south to Lonaconing.
I happened to be the first guest at the mill that morning when I showed up at 9:00 AM prompt. I didn’t note any other vehicles around, but it was within a matter of seconds before Herb Crawford, the owner of the mill, popped out of an aging swing door at the top of a staircase and smiled.
“You’re back,” he exclaimed, motioning me to the top of the steps.
I hurried up the two flights and walked into the mill and caught a glance to with the owner, clad in gray hair, a plaid shirt with blue jeans and a truckers hat.
“Howdy!”
My voice was upbeat as I began reminiscing about old times with Herb, except those old times were only months old.
“We had a good group the last time,” he mentioned, crinkling his eyes to catch a glance outside. A car had pulled up with out-of-state plates.
“Well, I’ve got a group of Canadians this time that are anxious to see this old mill,” I proclaimed. Herb was surprised at photographers and historians from other countries driving down just to see a relatively small three level mill in the middle of the mountains in western Maryland. His wonder was similar of when people scurried down to Maryland from as far as Massachusetts and North Carolina on the first trip inside a few months back.
“People came this far to see this?” Amused, he showed a list of individuals who visited the mill in the past year which was growing with each month.
He knew the building was special. It is one of the last remaining silk mills in the United States that has remained all but unchanged from the time it closed over a half-century ago. But Herb did not realize just how many people were willing to fish out cash to see the inside. After all, he has owned it for over three decades and has been paying taxes and completing basic maintenance just to keep the property stable, but had not thought of the idea of opening the property up for self-lead tours.
“I should have done this years ago,” he conceded. “The money goes towards paying the taxes.” Unfortunately, little else goes into the building because of that, although temporary repairs have kept the roof from caving in throughout the years. He motioned up at the corner of one room. “That will go either this winter or during the next year.”
Indeed, there was a bulge pointing downward. The roof was stabilized with some temporary wood supports mounted on buckets, but a heavy snowfall could spell the end of those shaky apparatuses.
He sighed and mentioned that he may get some state money in the upcoming year to complete some additional repairs to the building. After a flurry of activity when Herb threatened to sell the mill to a scrapper from the west coast, local politicians pledged to find some money through grants and other state preservation resources. But that was months ago. I did not sense any defeat in Herb’s voice as he talked about what was needed for the mill, but he conceded that he was in his 70s and that sooner rather than later the mill would be passed onto another person.
What if they do not care about the mill’s future?
After concluding our discussion, I set up my camera gear and began wandering around the lobby and first floor. It was not long before other photographers showed up, and within 20 minutes, the mill was crawling with bewildered facial expressions.
“I cannot believe this mill is so pristine,” I overheard, which was followed up with, “this mill is very much photogenic and worth the trip down.”
I had not explored much of the basement on the first trip due to a lack of overhead and side lighting. Discovering that much of the basement had electricity, I spent much more time on the lower level poking through manuals, walls of fuses and the storage bins.
I then headed back upstairs and focused my remaining time on macro photography. I figured that I had photographed enough of the wide and exhaustive views of the mill and focused my efforts on the minute and detailed.
Afterwards, we all said our goodbyes to Herb and thanked him for his courtesy in allowing photographers to breathe in the aura of one of the last intact silk mills in the United States. Herb handed each of us a souvenir bobbin and shook our hands as we left. We headed down the staircase for our vehicles and departed for Cumberland for lunch at the junction of the Chesapeake & Ohio Canal Trail and the Great Allegheny Passage.
A few departed from the group after lunch, and after a lengthy drive along scenic Interstate 68 through western Maryland and Toll Road 43 through West Virginia and Pennsylvania, we made it to Brownsville, Pennsylvania’s General Hospital. It was not without incident, however, as a wrong way driver by a very much stubborn and drunk elderly driver on the toll road had nearly caused a serious accident by which we had resolved by forcing her into the correct direction. Unfortunately, we were not able to take her keys nor were the police able to catch her.
By the time we made it to Brownsville, I was exhausted, partially because of the drive but also because of fatigue. I opted out of going inside the former hospital and satisfied myself with exteriors that were only marginally acceptable due to a heavy overcast sky on the last trip.
We finally made it to Pittsburgh after coming through the change bucket for toll money and traveling the torturous Pennsylvania State Route 51, and celebrated by climbing to the top of an abandoned commercial building, enjoyed a spectacular sunset view from Fifth Avenue towards the Monongahela River.
This article is part of a series covering the Lonaconing Silk Mill in Maryland, and a glass factory and hospital in Pennsylvania:
- A Travel to the Mill
- Conversations
- The Follies of Jeanette