A Mission to Find the Mission of Mission Hill

From Dave Brigham:

This post, like many I have in the works, slipped through the cracks. Many of the photos below were taken quite some time ago, back when my son used to still accompany me on my walks through various Boston neighborhoods. For quite some time now, he and I split up after we take the subway into Boston for lunch. Anyway, let's dig into what I saw in Boston's Mission Hill neighborhood, so named for the massive basilica that dominates the skyline.

Dedicated in 1878 (the spires were added in 1910), Our Lady of Perpetual Help is more commonly known as the Mission Church. The house of worship replaced a wooden structure that had gone up just seven years prior. The church is the focal point of a significant campus that includes the Mission Grammar School (the original building was completed in 1889 and sold to a developer and is being leased to Harvard University's T.H. Chan School of Public Health; the grammar school is active in a different building on the campus); the Mission Church High School (opened in 1926, the school was in operation until 1992. The City of Boston bought the building in 1999 but I'm unsure whether any school is active in the building now); St. Alphonsus Hall, the "parish clubhouse"; and a convent, the latter two of which were sold off and have been vacant for years.

Below is the high school.

It's a beautiful building that for a time was home to the New Mission High School. That school is now located in Boston's Hyde Park neighborhood. I'm not sure what, if anything, is located in the old Mission Church school building.

The building in the above photo is the basilica's former convent. Built in 1888 to house the Sisters of Notre Dame, the building has been vacant since the Reagan Era. Seriously. A 2004 Boston Landmarks Commission report on the Mission Church complex states that at that time, the convent had been "vacant for twenty to thirty years." The convent and St. Alphonsus Hall (about which more below) were sold to Weston Associates, which in 2005 received approval from the City of Boston to redevelop the site for residential towers. All these years later, both buildings are empty. I haven't found anything more recent than this 2014 article about the site. Given the site's location near the Longwood medical area and numerous colleges, as well as public transportation, I find it unfathomable that it hasn't been developed yet, while so many similar sites around Boston have gone forward.

Below is a view of the back of the basilica through an alleyway separating the former grammar school, on the right, and St. Alphonsus Hall, on the left.

And here is St. Alphonsus Hall, which on my first trek through this area I totally missed, because I hadn't done any research ahead of time.

Quite something, isn't it? I've never seen a building like this in my travels through Boston's many neighborhoods. Perhaps there are others that look as majestic as this, or used to be before some idiot demolished them. Opened in 1900 as "a social gathering place," what the church called its "parish clubhouse" housed a library, meeting hall, gym, bowling alley and large theater, per the Our Lady of Perpetual Help history web page.

While there may have been other theaters like this at one time in the city, certainly none of them had as cool a sign as the one in the photo below.

It reads "Pilate's Daughter" in the middle. I couldn't imagine what that meant when I shot this photo. Here's my answer, again from the church's history web page: "The Passion Play 'Pilates Daughter written by Rev. Francis Kenzel, C.Ss.R. was performed for the first time in St. Alphonsus Hall in 1902. With an all female cast, the fictitious drama centers around the daughter of Pilate, Claudia, who threw a rose at Christ as he passed by carrying his cross. The flower touches Jesus and has miraculous powers that impact the lives of many. As a central attraction during Lent, parishioners acted out the play every year for over 50 years until performances ended in the late 1960’s."

So cool!

As regular readers know, I rarely trespass on sites like this, and certainly I don't sneak under fences, break locks and risk arrest to get photos. Other people, however, do (thankfully). To see fantastic photos of the inside of St. Alphonsus Hall, check out this Opacity page.

OK, that's it for the religious part of my journey. To read the Boston Landmarks Commission's full 2004 report, click here.

Now on to a random collection of things and places....

I was just so taken by this building. This is 684 Parker Street, near the intersection with Tremont Street. This building, which is unlike anything I've seen in my admittedly limited travels around Boston (I'm trying to get everywhere) is made entirely of puddingstone, per Wikipedia. There was once a puddingstone quarry in the area, and this building was likely built for working class folks.

Puddingstone, as you can imagine, was used throughout this area. A new project at 1470 Tremont Street is restoring two old masonry row houses and combining them with new construction rising above the historic exterior puddingstone walls, as you can see below.

Naturally, I would love for these old buildings to just stay the way they are, but I'm happy that the developer is incorporating these pieces of the neighborhood's historic fabric in the project.

Next door to 684 Parker Street, which I mentioned above, is Fuentes Market. The store has an amazing mural on the back, painted by the Mayor's Mural Crew, which does great work across the city.

Around the corner from Fuentes Market stands a collection of historic buildings that I knew, from a Google Maps search before our trip, that I wanted to check out.

Dating to 1876, the Vienna Brewery complex was in business until 1918, when Prohibition was ratified, per this comprehensive City of Boston document. There were at least two dozen breweries in Jamaica Plain and Roxbury in the early 1900's, according to this Jamaica Plain Historical Society report. The Vienna operation was replaced by a waste-paper processing plant into the 1980s. Nearby Wentworth Institute of Technology acquired the property in 1984 and used it as storage and office space. Some of the buildings have been torn down; I'm not sure what will become of the remaining structures.

Keep your eyes peeled for a feature on other former breweries, and check out the archives for previous posts about same (see December 9, 2017, "Artist Thinks: I HAF to Fix That Smokestack" and January 26, 2018, "Jamaica Plain Has Plenty of Flair").

Back out to Tremont Street, one of the main drags through Mission Hill.

This place is called Sunny Laundromat, which I didn't know when I took a picture of it with the sun blazing down.

Next I want to present to you what I rarely get to show on this blog: gentrification before and after.

I was interested in the Roxbury Knights of Columbus hall for two reasons: the sign and the mural. I didn't think much about the building, and how run-down it was and that it was probably vacant or would be soon. So I guess I wasn't altogether surprised when, upon my return, several weeks later, the K of C was gone.

"So," you may be asking, "what's going in here?"

I'm glad you asked. Known as Mission Hill Flats, a five-story mixed-use building will include some affordable units, a restaurant and -- ta da!! -- a new home for the Knights of Columbus. That's pretty cool.

I realize, looking at some of the photos I've included here, that in more recent months I've spent more time editing and cropping than I did when I shot these. For that I apologize. The next building, home to AK's Takeout & Delivery, deserves a better photo, but I don't have one.

Part of the reason I used to take photos like this was because I had my son with me, and I did things more on-the-fly than I do now that he does his own thing on our trips into Boston.

Anyway....I hope you appreciate the next photo.

I think I did a pretty good job capturing the dichotomy of old vs. new in Mission Hill. In the foreground is Chacho's Pizza & Subs, which also features Argentinian food, according to Yelp reviews. I don't know how long Chacho's has been in business, but judging by the sign, I'm guessing at least a quarter-century. I could be waaaaay off. In the background of the photo is Milkweed, which is by no means highfalutin, but the eatery does offer something I've never heard of -- Shakshuka. Of course, the restaurant also has Lucky Charm Pancakes, so I guess that's cool.

CAUTION: ANOTHER BAD PHOTO COMING UP!

Can I blame the sun, in addition to my son? No, that would be wrong. This cool building is home to Sociedad Latina, which I think is still a going concern. The organization offers education services, workforce development, arts and culture programs and more.

Ugh, another lame picture. This is the former David J. O'Connor Funeral Home. I'm not sure what's to become of this place.

And we wrap our tour up with a half-decent photo of a nice sign.

Open since 1984, Tremont House of Pizza makes and sells pizza and other foods, all of which I've heard of.

Put Some Lustron In Your Life!

From Dave Brigham:

The future's so bright, you got to pull down the shades....

Sorry, I couldn't help myself, but that is one ugly house.

Post-World War II Americans buzzed with excitement for greater telephone and TV access, bigger, more beautiful cars, an expanded highway system and TV dinners. Soldiers returning from the battlefronts got married, had kids and sought out places to live outside the cities of our great land. In order to help meet that demand, a Chicago industrialist named Carl Strandlund designed, marketed and sold enameled metal homes, looking to push the market that Sears, Roebuck & Co. opened up with its prefab kit houses from 1908 to 1940.

Sold under the name Lustron, Strandlund's homes came in eight models with walls that could hold magnets, be cleaned with soap and water, and never needed to be painted. The kits arrived with at least 3,300 parts and took about two weeks to assemble, according to this article from the National Trust for Historic Preservation.

Just as Tuuperware at this time in American history was thrilling homeowners with the ability to store food for longer periods of time, Lustron homes excited people with their affordability and durability. And for two whole years, the dream of owning an easily maintained, cutting-edge home was real. From 1948 to 1950, the Lustron Corporation sold homes in dozens of states, but went into bankruptcy and never realized its goal of selling 45,000 homes.

More than 1,000 Lustron homes still stand across the United States. According to an article on the National Association of Realtors web site, hundreds have been destroyed by tornados, floods and the base instincts of developers who don't appreciate the all-metal homes for their simplicity, kitsch value and magnetic qualities. OK, that last part was all me, not the Realtors.

Back in May 2013, Pete Zarria posted on the blog about a Lustron home in German Valley, Illinois (see "Space-Age Bachelor Pad").

There are several such homes in Massachusetts, including one each in Brookline and Boston's West Roxbury neighborhood.

This is the matching garage for the West Roxbury house, seen at the top of this post. Lustron claimed that its houses weren't prone to rust, decay or fire, which seems hard to believe. As you can see in these photos, this house has water stains (or perhaps something else). The house is in rough shape on the outside. I imagine it might be torn down in the near future.

The Brookline house, above, is in better shape than its compatriot in West Roxbury. It sits in a quiet neighborhood where, on the day I stopped by to shoot photos, renovation work was being done on several houses. I imagine that whenever this house hits the market, the pressure will be pretty heavy on the owners to sell to someone who will preserve the odd metal structure. But the money from developers who want to bulldoze the stubby, tan, formerly "hep" house and put up something larger and more in line with Brookline's moneyed aesthetic will be hard to resist.

Here's a cool video from the Ohio Historical Society providing the history of the post-World War II homes, and showing the inside of a Lustron house occupied by two aging hipsters:

Anniversary Post #2: My Favorites from 2011

From Dave Brigham:

Welcome to the second installment of my look back at the past seven years of this blog. Launched on March 1, 2010, The Backside of America has published more than 400 posts covering three dozen states, written by more than a dozen authors/photographers.

The first installment in my look-back, "Anniversary Post #1: My Favorites from 2010," covered the first 10 months of the blog. This post will cover the entirety of 2011. Future posts will deal with the years 2012-2016, and with some of the challenges of running this site, as well as exciting changes coming to The Backside of America.

I need to mention that Joe Viger has contributed some amazing photos and fantastic write-ups over the years, but I'll be linking to very few of them in this series. Why? Because Joe -- an amazing photographer who has served as a mentor of sorts to me in that regard, and a great friend I've known for nearly 30 years -- has changed the security settings on his Flickr account so that many of his photos that have run on this blog show up as broken links now. I will instead direct you to his wonderful online portfolio.

Without further ado, here are the highlights, as I see them, from 2011, the first full year of the blog.

I brought my then three-and-a-half-year-old daughter with me to take pictures of a long-abandoned section of Route 128 in Milton, Mass. She danced happily along the moss-covered roadway while I snapped away for my January 24, 2011, post, "End of the Road."

The blog has featured other abandoned roadways, as well as some that were built but never put into use. Search the site....

On January 30, 2011, we published the inaugural post by Kristen Smith, a great photographer who'd been recruited by Joe Viger, one of The Backside's original contributors. "Demolition -- Par for the Course" chronicled the demise of a miniature golf course in New Hampshire.

I was extremely excited by David Burke's February 20, 2011, post, "Lose, Place or Show." This marked the first and, to date, only time the blog has run something about an old horse track. Surely there must be other abandoned tracks like this. Maybe you or someone you know would like to take pictures of them....

I would absolutely love to get inside the former O'Hara Waltham Dial Company in -- where else? -- Waltham, Mass.

On February 27, 2011, I posted some photos and background about this building just over the line from Newton's town dump -- see "UPDATE: What a Dump." I returned a second time for a look at the backside of this backside building. I'll probably post that link in a future installment.

In her March 14, 2011, post "Lost Bomber," Kristen Smith showed readers a World War II-era crash site of a B18 bomber in the woods of New Hampshire. I was absolutely floored by her photos, as well as by the idea that such a site existed.

On March 24, 2011, the blog published the first post by Michael Cevoli. Titled "Working In a Coal Mine," the post featured gorgeous shots from Pennsylvania coal country. I had hoped we might feature a lot more of Cevoli's work, but I believe we only published one or two other of his posts. You can see his work at his web site.

"Mysterious. Odd. Mournful. Ramshackle. Puzzling. Even whimsical. Yeah, I’m talking about those weird little shacks on the side of the road that make you go 'hmmmm.'" That's how Kristen Smith introduced her beautiful shots of abandoned cabins in Vermont, New Hampshire and Montana, in her June 10, 2011, post "Roadside Attractions?"

Discovering new places to explore is great, but I find that when the stories we post here on the blog have a personal angle, I like them best. Mick Melvin went back to his adopted hometown in New Jersey and took photos and wrote about childhood memories in the June 23, 2011, post, "The Gut." Spoiler alert: "As it turns out, the families we met in the Gut will be friends of ours for life," Mick writes.

Folks like those of us here at the Backside of America who enjoy taking pictures of the dilapidated, abandoned and forgotten parts of this country sometimes get accused of exploiting the poor and downtrodden and trafficking in "ruin porn." I maintain that we are documenting the past and, sometimes, providing a forum for reminiscence to those who recall certain places and times.

Still, sometimes I make assumptions about places that I know nothing about.

The Reef was a bar in Waltham, Mass., that closed down several years ago, and has since been replaced by an apartment building. I never went to The Reef, and when I wrote about it in my August 25, 2011, post, "Goodbye Reef, So Long Bill," I was somewhat dismissive, writing, "I picture lots of skinny, old guys wearing tank tops and smoking in and around the door. I hear old country music leaking out the grimy windows. I smell pickled eggs on the bar."

This post received numerous comments -- a rarity for the blog -- from former customers who missed the bar, but also mourned the former owner, Bill. "It might have looked scarey (sic)," one person wrote, "but there where a lot of awesome people who hung out inside."

I learned not to judge a book by its deteriorating cover from those comments.

Mick Melvin made personal connections with his return to a place he once lived. I, too, have profiled a few places in my hometown of Simsbury, Connecticut. The most personal was the ruins of a home that I'd walked through as a teenager, not long after it had been abandoned with every personal possession intact.

The house was torn down decades ago, but I was amazed to see upon my return that there was plenty left behind in the mud. As I wrote in my September 20, 2011, post, "In Search of President Little," "I had no reason to expect that anything would be on the site. I'm not a spiritual guy whatsoever, but I feel like something drew me here to discover the remnants of a forgotten place."

Finally, on November 20, 2011, I published the second of a three-part series about long-abandoned waterworks in and around Newton, Mass., where I live. "History Flows On, Part II" covered the old structures of Cutler Park, specifically the section in the town of Needham, just east of Route 128, and the graffiti-covered tunnel running under the commuter train tracks.

Make sure to check back for the third part, covering all of 2012. Highlights will include photos of the remains of an old boathouse on the Charles River in Waltham; a spooky old barn in New Hartford, Conn.; and the remnants of a World War I-era rifle range in Concord, Mass.

House That Onions Built?

From Rich Morahan:

(I love getting unsolicited material. Today's post comes from my father-in-law, who took the pictures and provided the basic information about the location. I did a little research and writing to flesh it out. -- DB)

Anticipation sets in. You can sense at this point that there's history here.

Sure enough. Located along Pulaski Highway in Pine Island, New York, this place may have been migrant housing at one point. I have driven by it for a decade or two. They never tear anything down around the very prosperous onion capital of the world.

Go ahead, shed a tear.

Target Practice

From lostlosangeles:

(East of the Sierras, California.)

Space-Age Bachelor Pad

From Pete Zarria:

(Lustron house, German Valley, Illinois)

Beach Town Ghosts

From Peter Arnemann:

With summer just around the bend, I wanted to feature these pictures that Peter took a few years back in Old Orchard Beach, Maine. The town has been a vacation destination for about 175 years, and remains a popular spot, but like any place these days, parts of the area have fallen into disrepair -- DB.

Check out Peter's pictures here.

Lazarus

From Peter Arnemann:

Looking at the pictures Peter took of a burned-out house in Standish, ME, it's hard to believe this place could be saved. But Peter tells me place has been rehabbed and now houses several business -- Ed.

Check out his pics here.

Nice Little House

From Kristen Smith:

How many times have I driven right by this? Probably dozens. Never saw it until one recent day when I HAD to stop and shoot it.

It's a relatively tiny house, a cabin, really. With two chimneys and presumably two stoves for heat, it must have been quite snug. Each of the windows had a latch and pulley system and some of the interior finish work seemed quite nice.

It is a comfortable-looking little house, but it didn't appear to be wired for electricity and had no indoor plumbing that I could see.

Unfortunately the light was pretty harsh and I couldn't photograph what appears to be a wagon body leaning vertically up against the chimney on the far right. No chassis, just the wooden body. Very cool.

At one point it looks like someone used it to store crafting and greenhouse supplies, since there was a big garden hose on one wall and tons of plastic pots for plants and bins of pinecones, now falling to pieces. Oh how I wish places like this could speak and tell their stories.

The Gut

From Mick Melvin:

I was driving in my adopted hometown of Downingtown, PA, (I was born in New Jersey) and thought I would drive past my old house. As most of you know by now, I love nostalgia. Downingtown is an old paper mill town along the Brandywine River, which was the site of many battles in the Revolutionary War. The town is a mixture of 18th century stone homes and new mega-houses.

On the way to my destination, I saw this old rundown house with the words "No Trespassing" spray painted on the front.



I remember driving by this house a million times. It has steadily declined over the years. The house is right next to the former home of the Anderson family, which are still friends of my family to this day. These houses are located in a section of town known as "the Gut."

The Gut was a small stretch of road with about 10 or so homes. Most of the families who lived in the Gut were African American. Many of the homes were in decline, which is probably the reason it was called the Gut.

The houses up the hill from the Gut were more modern and up to date homes; we lived "up the hill." When coming from Downingtown, we had to drive up the hill and through the Gut to get to our house. I remember my father telling me that the real estate agent didn't want to take him that route for fear of seeing that section of town. It ends up that it was one of the major selling points for my parents.

As it turns out, the families we met in the Gut will be friends of ours for life. The Boggs, Smith, Simpson, Walls and the Anderson families to name a few. My family always lived in the white neighborhoods (up the hill), but our parents made sure we lived close to other African Americans so we would understand and appreciate our culture. I basically lived in two worlds growing up, the white and the black. As a result, I have friends and acquaintances from many cultures in Downingtown.



I'm so glad my parents picked that location, because it exposed me to those cultures. Seeing that house reminds me of a time when I was trying to figure "it" all out. It comes down to the fact that we are all connected no matter the color of our skin. Taking pictures in my old stomping grounds brought back memories of a childhood with many good friends and a lot of lessons learned. If any of those families get to read this, I'd like to say thank you for all the love and the life lessons I gained because I lived up the hill from the Gut.

Summer House

From Joe Viger:

I’m fascinated by getaways and summer houses. Friends of mine on Facebook have probably noticed a series of shared posts from Steve Casimiro’s blog called “Weekend Cabin” that indulges this fascination. Sometimes in the fall I started making images of summer houses.

This seems sort of silly I guess, but there’s something about these places that intrigues me. I’ll confess that part of this fascination is pure, unadulterated envy on my part. Who are these people who own these amazing properties and are content to let them sit dormant most of the year!? Usually I imagine quitting my job and moving in immediately.

But, I think there’s more to it than that. These houses are often architectural gems. In the valley north of NH’s Presidential Range, summer houses are built in “the Randolph style.” This is a specific shingled cottage popular in the little town of Randolph, NH.

Others are classic New England.


Some are reflections of their surroundings, like when riverstones are used in the building.

Some summer homes are more modest, but no less interesting to me.




When my Dad passed away, I remember thinking there should be more than his dog tags from the Navy and an old, corduroy railroader cap. So, above all, I think the hook for me with summer houses is the sense of family legacy that they invoke. I see them as touch points to shared history and experience of place that tie people together. Summer houses play host to generations of visits by families and friends. The only agenda item for the gatherings are unstructured time where people connect, enjoy each other and perpetuate family myth.

I realize this may be a romanticized idea that isn’t always true. But certainly legacy is getting tougher to come by as people have become more transient, families are changing shape more frequently and financial pressures make it harder and harder to hold on to family assets. All hail the summer house. Someday I’ll have one.

Anatomy of a Teardown

From Dave Brigham:


I live in Newton, Mass., a well-to-do community that's gone teardown crazy in recent years. See a '50s-style ranch house that's a little worse for wear? Don't blink; it'll soon be gone.

This house used to be in the Oak Hill section of my fair city, on Dudley Road, one of my favorite "big ol' house" thoroughfares.



The older section of the road is close to Route 9, and filled with enormous houses, both new and old, set on wooded lots and away from the road. The teardown house was located on the newer section of the road, amid average-sized houses. It went on the market in March of 2010, and was scooped up by a developer, who soon leveled it.



By July, the new house looked like this:



Now it's on the market for a cool $1.525 million.



I'm not gonna argue that the original house was anything worth saving, and I understand the economics of development means that you have to build something that you can put a big price tag on. But doesn't anybody remodel anymore?