Carnival of Sorts (Box Cars)

From Mick Melvin:



I arrived at work in Hartford early one morning to find a Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey circus train parked on the tracks across the street from my job. I'm used to seeing freight trains, commuter trains and even Amtrak service pick-up trucks occupying the tracks. It was a delight to see the circus train stretched along the tracks. My eye was drawn to the American flag flying and the satellite disk attached to one of the cars. It made me wonder about the train and its passengers.




Ringling Bros. has two circus trains, the Blue Tour and the Red Tour. They alternate touring major U.S. cities on a two-year rotation. Each unit performs a different edition of the show. Both trains are one-mile long, with 55 cars for the Red Tour and 56 for the Blue Tour. There are four animal stock cars, two container flats for concession storage and 17 piggyback flats for equipment, props and vehicles.

Thirty-three cars are used by the staff, maintenance crew, performers and their families. Approximately 325 people ride the train on the tour.

These passengers must see some beautiful sights while traveling the railways of America. The only view they had while parked in Hartford was the front of my office building, a few auto repair shops and the back of a factory. I am glad it was parked there because I got to see one of the trains that brings joy to so many people in our country.



(I stole the title for this post from an R.E.M. song. In light of the band's announcement last week that it has broken up, I figured I'd bend the format here a little bit and toss in a tribute to a band that I loved completely during the '80s -- ed.)

In Search of President Little

From Dave Brigham:

This post means more to me than anything else I've written here. But with a bit of effort, I'll be posting at least one update, and perhaps turning this story into something more substantive for another outlet.

In my inaugural post for this blog, I talked about how a canoe trip down the Farmington River in my hometown, Simsbury, CT, with my dad when I was a kid inspired my fascination with the backside of America (see March 1, 2010, "Take Me To the River."). But that wasn't the only event from my childhood that sparked my curiosity about what goes on behind the calm facades of Main Street, and in the cracks of society where people don't often look.

When we were teens, my friend Pat and I walked from his house about half a mile down the road, along a set of railroad tracks, down a slope, into a small, wooded section of our hometown and into the back yard of an abandoned house. Two neighborhood kids had told us about the house, so we checked it out. We walked through the open front door and into a house filled with all the stuff of life: cans of food, pots and pans, dishes, bottles and cans, framed photos, clothing, books and magazines, furniture and, most oddly of all, a mannequin.

We walked around for a while, marveling at the fact that somebody had left all of their stuff behind. I suppose we visited the house one or two more times, but honestly, I can't recall. I don't remember paying much attention to the house afterward, even though we used to walk down the railroad tracks to Louie's Market to buy soda and Slim Jims, and to the Country Store to buy penny candy. We also used to pick up beer bottles from the slopes lining the tracks, and line them up on the tracks and smash them with rocks, and scamper through a tunnel under the tracks that connected Boot Pond (where we played hockey in the winter) with the swamp on the other side.

While I certainly found it odd that somebody had left behind all their belongings, and that nobody appeared to want them, I didn't think too deeply about the situation until after college. By then, the house was long gone, having been torn down to make way for a road into a new housing development.

From time to time, I thought about the abandoned house. I tried to work the mystery into a short story on at least one occasion. Last year I posted on a Facebook group dedicated to my hometown, wondering whether anybody remembered the abandoned house and if anybody knew anything about the situation. Nobody did.

Then, last month, a new Facebook page popped up that was more informal than the first one to which I'd posted. I asked the question again, and this time, two people responded that they not only remembered the house, but that they'd spent some time as teens hanging out with the man who lived there.

They told me that the man, President Little, said he was the son of slaves, and that he had no family to leave anything to when he died. This was why, one of the responders told me, the house was full of stuff when President passed away.

Through a quick bit of research online, I found some genealogical information about President. Turns out he wasn't the son of slaves, but it's quite possible that he was the grandson of slaves. He was born in Americus, GA, in 1904, to parents who were born in the 1880's. He also had five children, four of whom were evidently alive when President died in 1981. So perhaps he was estranged from his family, and that's why when he died, all of his stuff stayed in the house.

As it turns out, shortly after I learned who President Little was, I had a trip scheduled to Simsbury to play in a golf tournament. I decided to make a side trip to see if there was any evidence of President's house on the spot where it once stood.

I found much more than I could ever have hoped for.

I doubt many people venture into the little patch of woods that's left between the driveway to the housing development to the south, the bike path to the west (where the railroad tracks once stood) and the main road, Route 10, to the east. I couldn't find an easy path into the woods, so I created my own, and within five minutes, had found what I was looking for.



I was beside myself with excitement. The house had been torn down years ago; 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.









I've sent emails to both the Simsbury Historical Society and the person from whose web site I gleaned the genealogical information, to see if they can provide more information about President Little, his family, his life, his work, etc. If I can put together enough of a picture, I hope to publish an article in a history, genealogy, archeology or some other type of magazine.

For the record, much of this information (and some different photos) first appeared last month on my blog, DaveTronik 2000. See August 24, 2011, "My Nascent Archeology Career."

Dis-Connector

From lostlosangeles:



This is a barricade signifying one end of the unfinished I-89 southern connector in Burlington, Vermont. Since its initial planning stage in 1965, the project has experienced one delay after another with constant route and design changes. Many local residents expressed concern that the neighborhood would be destroyed. There have even been issues with nearby toxic conditions. After almost 40 years, the project remains incomplete with this connector to nowhere as its symbol. This debacle has even inspired an installation, The World's Tallest Filing Cabinet, symbolizing all of the wasted time and paperwork...

(For similar posts, see March 7, 2011, "Graffiti Highway" and June 30, 2011, "Ghost Highway," both about the same tangle of never-used highway connectors outside Hartford, CT.)

Bridge of Refuge

From Dave Brigham:

Every once in a while I drive west into what passes for "country" in the Greater Boston area. On a recent jaunt while my kids were at camp, I crossed this one-lane bridge on Pelham Island Road in Wayland, MA. The road sits in the middle of the Great Meadows National Wildlife Refuge.



The bridge itself isn't all that noteworthy, and in fact it is slated for replacement by the Mass. Department of Transportation. Still, I like what the bridge represents, which is a method of slowing folks down before they pass through the wildlife refuge. I'm sure the trolls underneath appreciate that, especially given all the clanky metal that cars have to drive over.



I hope the view of the new bridge remains just as nice as the one of the current one from the banks of the Sudbury River.

Sunset On the Sunrise

From Mick Melvin:

I like "finding" my backside subjects, but sometimes they are placed in my lap. A recent front page story in the Hartford Courant described an abandoned resort in Moodus, CT. I instantly had my subject. The article, along with a few pictures, gave me a good indication of what the place was like both in its heyday and what it has come to be today. When I arrived at Sunrise Resort, it was what I expected.



The resort is next to Machimoodus State Park, which has trails and a nice pond. It was pretty eerie walking the grounds of Sunrise. Once a vacation destination, it's like a ghost town. Most of the outside property, including a basketball court, shuffle board court, miniature golf course, playground set and kiddie swimming pool, are overgrown with high grass and weeds. The small amount of buildings, a few cabins and hotel/motel-like dwellings, were looking worn and unkempt.





The weathered resort was sold to the state of Connecticut for approximately $3 million in 2008. The property had been in decline and with the diminishing demand for summer resorts and the decline in the economy, the owners sold the resort. They hoped the state could utilize the land instead of selling to developers. Since the sale, little has been done with the property. The Department of Energy and Environmental Protection (DEEP) has used some of the garages for storage. Mostly local residents who walk their pets or take walks and hikes utilize the resort area.

It's a real shame to see this once-thriving resort in such a sad state. While researching the resort, I came upon a web site with people describing their times at the vacation spot. People talked of wonderful experiences of family fun. It reminded me of a place you went to in the summer and made lifetime friends.



Let's hope someone comes up with something for the site to generate more enjoyable memories. The latest possibilities for the site are a soccer camp or a cooking camp. I'll keep you posted.

Sugar and Stone

From Heidi Waugaman-Page:



This sugar house is located on Route 9 in Antrim, NH. It doesn't have much life left after all the snow we got last winter. One day my husband, Brad, and I just drove around and took pictures of cool things we came across. He wanted me to take a picture of this place because he wants to maybe use it someday for a blues CD cover.

The sugar house is just down the road from a cool double stone bridge, one of five in the town.

Goodbye Reef, So Long Bill

From Dave Brigham:



Just a few years ago, this little strip was home to a dive bar called The Reef, as well as a chiropractor's office and some other small business. I went to this corner of Waltham, MA, near city hall, to take pictures of a different old building near the commuter train tracks that is likely to be torn down soon and replaced with housing. I didn't find that building all that interesting, however.

As I walked by this old brick building, it spoke to me. Although I drive and jog by this place regularly, I'd never been this close to it before (except when I parked nearby last winter when taking the picture for my January 7, 2011, post, "Trash Guitar").

I love the simplicity of the bar's entrance. 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.



I got closer to the door and saw a dried rose hanging there, with a note attached, reading,

"Bill,
Still missing you.
Love,
Your wife & Michael"



My first thought was that it was a tongue-in-cheek message to some guy who used to spend too much time at The Reef. But then the thought occurred to me that perhaps Bill had died and this note might actually be truly heartbreaking. Either way, I was amazed to find it there, and touched by its simplicity and grace.

Massachusetts Tableaux

From Michael Cevoli:




(Factory, North Attleboro)



(Factory, North Attleboro)



(Garage, Wrentham)



(Garage, Wrentham)



(House, Wrentham)



(Bucket of nails, Norfolk)



(Factory stairwell, Franklin)



(Power lines, Norfolk)

A Room With a Shower and a Movie, Too

From Joe Viger:

A few weeks ago I went to see the great Texas singer/songwriter Joe Ely. You know how it is...I overloaded on Ely’s music before and after the concert. Ironically, he didn't even play this song, but there’s a lyric from “Me and Billy the Kid” that’s been going through my mind ever since. It’s a story about two men vying for the same woman.

The narrator sets up Billy in a bogus heist and gets the girl. The last verse goes like this:

"Now my baby sings harmony with me, to 'La Cucaracha'
She winds her silver pocket watch and pets her new Chihuahua
I moved into the hotel, I got a room with a shower
We lay an' listen to that watch tick hour after hour"

That line about a room with a shower really struck me. He sings it like it’s as good as getting the girl. Our level of expectation has definitely risen. We don't want a room with a shower. We want two or three full baths in our 2,500 square-foot house.

When I travel for business, I’m annoyed if there isn’t a flat-panel television, let alone a room with a shower. Not long after this show, I went on a field trip with my son to a village of 1800’s homes and businesses. In the doctor’s house, ostensibly the best in the village, I noticed all the open copper piping in the kitchen and the big hot water tank in the corner and thought that would never do today. Things like that need to be finished and hidden even though there really was nothing unattractive or dangerous about the piping.

It seems nothing can be simple anymore. And that means nothing can be cheap any more either. Consumption and expense has been driven into everything we do.

And that brings me to the Playhouse Theater. I had the great luck to photograph this old theater, where a movie hasn’t been shown in 30 years. I’m sure it was a treasure to the little village of Kezar Falls, Maine, in its heyday. Not because of its architecture, but because it brought the community together and brought the world to this little Maine town through motion pictures.

This place is great and I wish its new owner, Silas Haggerty of Smooth Feather Productions, the best of luck in creating a new studio there. He's bringing this example of the backside to the frontside again.

I spent almost four hours in the theater one evening recently thanks to Haggerty's generosity. I was by myself and soaked the place up, making hundreds of images. The simplicity and utility of the theater was particularly interesting from the unassuming exterior covered in asphalt siding, to the simple wooden bench seats in the balcony. It was wonderful like a room with a shower. Compare this to your local multiplex, stadium seating, $14-a-head movie house.







I love how the Office of Insurance Commissioner has been X'd out and retitled as Department of Public Safety.

That small box of rods on the left, are essentially welding rods. They are the source of the light in the theater's projectors. They create so much heat, they're vented outside like a woodstove.

Rebuilding the Lost City: UPDATE

From Dave Brigham:

The most seriously blighted property I've written about is finally being demolished. For 70 years, the Haartz Mason factory in Watertown, MA, made roofing and auto-top fabrics, before closing in 1993. For the last 18 years, the site has been a haven for vandals, graffiti artists and homeless people.

I posted pictures of the site last summer (see July 5, 2010, "Rebuilding the Lost City") and speculated that a future developer would include retail space on the property. According to the Watertown Tab, Criterion Development Partners plans two apartment buildings on the lot, along with retail space and a parking garage.

I often jog on the bike path directly behind the property, and have long been fascinated by the state of ruin at this old factory. Now, with the demolition in full swing, I'm equally fascinated by the amount of graffiti on display inside the buildings. I'm sure the demolition and clean up will go on for quite some time, given that Haartz Mason made coated fabrics, which I suspect means loads and loads of chemicals in the soil.

I'll post more updates as this new project gets under way. I'm excited that this blighted stretch of Pleasant Street will soon have new, vibrant life.

















(The one site that may be more blighted and polluted than this one is the former Watertown Arsenal munitions burning facility. The extent of the mess at that site is difficult to gauge from the road. See May 19, 2010, "Nuclear Dump Playground?")

Water Damage

From Lostlosangeles:

(I'm pleased to introduce a new member of the Backside Gang. He goes by the name "lostlosangeles," and he takes great shots of cool places -- d. brigham.)



This water tank is located in a small room off a stairwell at the abandoned Dixie Brewing Company in New Orleans. As I was climbing to the roof, I noticed the strange textures in the paint. It was like a unique form of decay that I had never discovered before and so I had to stop and shoot it.

The Dixie Brewery was shut down as a result of Hurricane Katrina when it was submerged under 8 - 10 feet of water. 10,000 cases of beer were destroyed. Although the owners had planned to restore the facility, it continues to sit empty.

For more of lostlosangeles's work, check out this Fluster magazine feature.