Roadside California Movie Sets

From Joe Viger:

Travelling around California I kept finding great old ruins. Many were defunct roadside businesses and there was something remarkable about these places. It took me a while to figure it out, but I think it was the level of preservation and a unique quality to the way the time has worked on these old buildings. I’m a lifelong New Englander and the hot, dry climate in California seems to age buildings differently. The construction plays a role in the impression these building left on me, too, as there is more masonry and stucco than the typical wood structure in my home state. The character of these buildings was so strong that they struck me as looking like movie sets waiting for the crew to arrive.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t always stop and make a picture but Lemon Cove, CA, was worth getting out and stretching my legs for. Here, blocks apart from each other, were two amazing old filling stations.





Just east of Fresno, CA, a man selling cherries out of the back of his truck caught my eye and I quickly realized his place of business had a past life. I stopped to take a few pictures and ended up buying some cherries. I don’t like them but he was a nice guy trying to earn a living on this desolate, hot corner where clearly others had failed.

This Blue Bird Done Flown the Coop

From David Burke:

The last thing I expected to find while roaming amid abandoned auto repair buildings in Plainville, CT, was a burned-out Blue Bird school bus. Yet there it was in all its eerie and singed glory. There were several other decaying vehicles clustered nearby, but the bus was the crown jewel of the whole mess.



In my opinion, the mattress is the creepiest part. This just doesn't seem to be the appropriate place for a nap or romantic getaway, but I have the feeling that someone felt otherwise. I went back to the same location a couple of months later and found that the bus was gone. Just goes to show that the Backside is often brief and fleeting.

Dark Side of the Motel

From Dave Brigham:

When I was a kid, my grandparents lived in Lakehurst, NJ. Most times when we visited, we stayed at their house in a retirement community. But on at least one occasion, we stayed at a place called the Moon Motel (after a bit of research, I'm pretty sure that this is the place. Located in Howell, NJ, this motel is about half an hour from Lakehurst, and is described in a few locations online as being "infamous" and "easily the shadiest place in town.") I don't recall much about the place, but I remember swimming there in the evening and thinking that was really cool. Nobody in my family has much recall on the place, either, other than to remember that it was either "a dump" or "not anything fancy."

Still, I have a soft spot in my heart for old motels, especially ones with loads of neon, nice pools and just a hint or two of mystery. I never stay in them, however, so I'm a party to their demise.



The Picture Lake Motel in Bourne, on Cape Cod, seems like it was just such a place, minus the groovy neon. The abandoned motel is located a few doors down from the spot where the My Tin Man Diner burned down 10 years ago (see Backside's "Two Hearts Beat As One," 7-28-10).

A thorough search online turns up nothing whatsoever about the place, other than generic listings in lodging directories. It's like the place never existed.

The pool, at least, is probably listed in the minds of Bourne-area skateboarders as a cool place to ride, late at night. But watch out for the cops cruising on Route 28, especially under a full moon.

This Old, Decrepit House Update

From Dave Brigham:

As I reported last month ("This Old, Decrepit House," 7-25-10), there was a good chance that a long-abandoned house in Watertown Square in Watertown, Mass., would be torn down. The house had been neglected even when it was occupied, and had holes in the exterior walls. I drove by today and sure enough, the place has been demolished. The new owners hoped to save it, they said, but if they couldn't, they talked about building something in a similar style. I hope they follow through on that. I'll post updates as construction gets under way.

Stairway to...?

From Michelle Loya:

I took this picture in Woodstock, Vermont, while wandering around the historic town on vacation. I was lucky to find some amazing objects to photograph, this metal staircase being one of them.



It was located in the back of what seemed to be a house. There was a very narrow door to the left of it, which first sparked my interest because I was confused by its size. This miniature door led me to this beautiful staircase.

I was unsure how to photograph the staircase. There wasn't one specific way I could capture its beauty; I was tempted to take a video of it. The rusting wrought iron curling in such a simple pattern was amazing to me. There were a few parts broken or missing from it and I wondered how old it could be.

Not many things stay so nicely preserved in the tundra that becomes Vermont in the winter months. Despite its beauty, the staircase looked very unsafe, as it wasn't quite flush against the house and only had one side with a railing. There are so many questions I still have about this staircase, but I suppose I may never know and thats part of the beauty of it.

Two Hearts Beat As One

From Dave Brigham:

The one time I went to the My Tin Man Diner on Cape Cod I was underwhelmed. I don't remember what I ate, but it was nothing special, and the place was a little rundown. Still, I loved diners, so I longed to go back. Unfortunately, in 2000 the place was torched by a guy who thought his wife, a waitress at the diner, was fooling around with customers. The burned-out hulk of the diner sat hard by Route 28 in Bourne for years before being torn down.

I vacation in Bourne each summer with my wife's family, so every July I find myself thinking about the diner. This year, on a drive with my son through North Falmouth, I cruised through a four-way intersection that I'd traveled through before, and spied a "Tin Man Diner" sign. The next day, with some alone time on my hands and anxious to use my new camera, I made a bee-line right back to that intersection.

I parked in the small lot out front and started snapping pictures, acting as though I'd found some Egyptian artifact that nobody had ever seen. After a few minutes, a guy about my age, wearing an apron, approached me and asked whether I was from the newspaper. I told him no, I just love diners and was excited at discovering that the Tin Man had risen from the ashes (I didn't say it so poetically that day). Then, a woman in her late 50s or early 60s joined us. The cook explained that I was just a diner lover, and she gave me a hearty handshake.

Turns out some locals have given the diner a hard time. The woman turned out to be the owner, Barbara Lind. She said that each day she had her small neon "OPEN" sign turned on, the town of Falmouth assessed her a fine (I didn't find out how much). There have been people out front protesting the diner, she said, although she didn't say for what. I suspect that the neighbors in the well-to-do neighborhood weren't too pleased that a scrappy, working class woman and her daughter, who were associated with a lurid and sordid arson case, were now working in their midst.



Barbara was kind enough to invite me in to look at the diner and take some more pictures. "I'm so glad you turned out to be alright," she said to me with a big smile on her face. I wished her well in her battle with the town and her neighbors and told her I'd try to get back the next day for breakfast. Unfortunately, I didn't make it back.

The place is resplendent in "Wizard of Oz" decor, and neat and clean. Barbara has proudly hung a bunch of articles about the original diner's demise, and the launch of the new place. I don't know if I can wait a year to get back there to eat. Some weekend in the near future I need to sit down at the counter and devour some waffles, bacon and home fries.

Finally, how's this for a way to complete the circle: on the exact spot where the My Tin Man once stood, a new diner has been dropped. I snapped a couple of pictures of the place, and as I did so I could hear a radio from inside, and see signs of people working to fix it up for business. Looks like next July I'll have two choices for home-cooked breakfast.

This Old, Decrepit House

From Dave Brigham:

This creepy old manse is right around the corner from one of my family's favorite restaurants, Not Your Average Joe's, in Watertown, Mass. At the time that I first noticed it, my kids were totally into "Scooby-Doo," so I dubbed it The Scooby-Doo House. Backside contributor Joe Viger thinks it looks more like 1313 Mockingbird Lane, aka The Munster's house. Whatever you call this place, it's sad how much the longtime owners let it run down before it was purchased nearly a year ago by three brothers who hope to renovate it to its previous glory.



The Watertown Tab has written a few stories about the house, which has been abandoned for many years. According to neighbors, the house was very beautiful 20 years ago. It's not hard to see how with a LOT of time, money and elbow grease, this could be an amazing residence again. But, given that some exterior walls have rotted away and the place is filled with junk, excrement and decay, the new owners may have to tear it down. I, like the owners and neighbors, hope it can be restored. I'll keep an eye on this project, no matter which way it goes.

For a look inside the house, watch this video:

Elegantries

(Photos by Wendy Hammond)


From Dave Brigham:

These spectacular pictures were taken by my friend Wendy Hammond, who, unlike the rest of us here at The Backside of America, is a professional (not to say that the rest of us don't take great pictures, just that we don't actually, you know, get paid for doing so).

The photos depict long-abandoned Long Island Railroad gantries in Long Island City, New York. Gantries lifted freight cars from rail yards onto float bridges, which then transferred the cars to barges. The barges, or car floats, took the trains to ships or to rail lines across the river in New Jersey.

Vanishing New England Vernacular #2: House Parts

From Joe Viger:







Freedom, NH

Dearly Departed Dearfield

From Mick Melvin:

While vacationing in Colorado, I had the pleasure of visiting the Black American West Museum in Denver. It was a great experience for me since one of my hobbies is learning about Black History. I spent about 90 minutes viewing the pictures, looking at artifacts and reading the captions documenting the lives of black folk. At the end of the self-guided tour, my wife and I were offered the opportunity to watch a 30-minute video, "Dearfield: The Road Less Traveled." Even though it was hot and I was tired from walking the exhibit, I'm glad we stayed.

The video told the story of Dearfield, Colorado. The all-black community was established in 1910 by a black businessman, O.T. Jackson. Mr. Jackson and seven African American homesteaders laid claim to the land. They started out living in tents, dugouts and caves. After 10 years, the population grew to 700 citizens. The town had a church, schoolhouse, gas station, dance hall and lunch room. The farmers grew hay, alfalfa and food crops. They also raised poultry and livestock.

The town didn’t last for long because of many factors. One major factor was the drop in food prices after the end of World War I. Approximately 400,000 US farmers lost their land because of the end of the war. In the subsequent years, the farmers in Dearfield who tried to hold on saw the land dry up in the Dust Bowl years of the Great Depression. O.T. Jackson tried to hold on to his dream, but by the late '40s, there were only 12 families remaining.



After listening to the story, I was intrigued as to the location and found out that it could be found along Route 34, approximately 10 miles west of Greely, Colorado. My wife and I took to the road and after an hour ride, found the site. Most of the buildings are in disrepair, but it was a thrill to know what once was in the location. What remained is the house of O.T. Jackson, the dilapidated lunch room, the filling station and some unidentified buildings. It was an extreme honor to take pictures of black history. I took far too many pictures to ensure that I got some good ones for the Backside. I hope you enjoy.

Highway 180 Blues

From Joe Viger:

Zipping along at an air-conditioned 80 miles an hour through an arid, desolate stretch of California, I was struck by the sight of a fireplace and chimney sticking up out of the field. I stepped out of the car and felt a wave of heat on my shoulders. My feet settled into the pavement like it had just been steam-rolled minutes before. Crouching to make these pictures, the grass as dry as hay, I could feel the heat coming up from the ground. This wispy plant was the only speck of green in eye shot.



I was on California State Highway 180 going from Kings Canyon to Fresno through the heart of the San Joaquin Valley. While only about 60 miles, this stretch of road is full of contrasts. As you descend from an elevation of 6,500 feet in the cool Sierra, the Sequoia trees of Kings Canyon give way to the scorching, low land of the San Joaquin. The twisting mountain road with white-knuckle turns and sheer drop offs works itself out into a straight, cruise-control highway where you drive with your knees and turn up the radio to stay awake.

California is one of America’s primary agricultural states and the San Joaquin Valley is central to that reputation. The Valley has been said to be the “most productive unnatural environment on Earth.” It is a sea of yellow grass punctuated with black rock outcroppings and green islands of agriculture. Many different crops are grown here through the wonders of irrigation. In the area just east of where I made these pictures and near the junction with Highway 63 to Visalia, citrus orchards crowd the road. Earlier in the trip, I had seen trucks with high, open sideboards that literally overflowed with carrots. Just south of here is the world’s largest cotton farm, occupying more than 40,000 acres; Fresno is the home of Sun Maid Raisins.



As I looked at the old rock foundation, I couldn’t help but think this was a heck of a place for anyone to set down roots and try to start a dream. I have no idea of the story behind this abandoned homestead… it’s just a random, interesting thing on the side of the highway that I explored for 10 minutes before jumping back into air-conditioned comfort and driving on to get some enchiladas in Fresno. But as I drove away, I formed a story for myself and searched up the appropriate song on my iPod: “The Ghost of Tom Joad.” I had two versions and I listened to them both -- the original by Bruce Springsteen and another by Rage Against the Machine.

Later, I found out that State Highway 180 was formalized as part of the California freeway system in 1934. Even though the cement steps offer a sense that the house had a modern life, I like to think that this foundation is from that time because it adds to my mind’s story about what this place was. I recently read a great book about the photographer Dorothea Lange, whose iconic images chronicled the dustbowl migration and I'm sure this colors my impression, but this house seems to be an unwritten chapter from "The Grapes of Wrath." After months of traveling west in an overloaded truck, some Okie dustbowl migrant family chose this spot to get another chance at happiness that the corporate farms of the area weren’t going to offer them. It was good enough until they fled to the city and left the dream of farming behind along with this rock foundation.