Manly Hotel

Interestingly, it was my quest of learning the identity of the owner of a another abandoned house in the area that led me to this little quiet town of Manly in Northern Iowa and thus to the Manly Hotel.  The hotel was an intriguing brick building that stood apart from the rest of the town both in character and architecture; immediately it captured my imagination. After speaking with a few local residents I learned a bit more about the building and was given the current owner’s contact information.

The hotel dates back to late 19^th century. It was originally known as the Doebel Hotel and was built by a German Immigrant and prominent Manly citizen, Henry Doebel, in 1895. Mr Doebel, his wife and their eight children ran the hotel for many years. At some point the building’s ownership changed hands and it was renamed the Manly Hotel. Eventually the building evolved from a hotel into several apartments and then into the base for the local Head Start program. The old hotel was shut down about 15-20 years ago and has been unused ever since, It is currently for sale by the owner.

Locally the building is known as the hotel in which John Dilinger and his infamous gang had spent a night in 1934 before heading into Mason City, about 9 miles South, to rob the First Union Bank the following morning.

Bill Goeken, the current owner, was kind enough to meet with me and allow me the opportunity to photograph the interior of his hotel. I was a little nervous at first when contacting him and had fully expected him to say “No, its too dangerous”, but to my grateful surprise he said okay and trusted me enough hand over the key to let myself in.

I went early the next morning with the hopes of there being some interesting sunlight peaking through the clouds, but instead the sky was a solid bleak grey; which did not make for interesting exterior photographs. It did, however, make for fantastic lighting for the interior shots.

Snow and ice hadpartially blockied the entrance and had to be scooped away so that I could open the side door wide enough to squeeze through. With the door closing shut behind me, I felt like I had entered another world. Outside noises were muffled and the only din to be heard were the steps of my own feet.

Mr. Goeken had warned me to stay mostly on the right side of the building because there was a leak from the roof on the left or backside of the building. He had figured that the continual moisture had made the floorboards weak and unsteady and he was probably right.

Like many other buildings I have entered in the past, the hotel floors held  bits and chunks of wall and ceiling debris, though the first floor was relatively clean. Years of dust had settled on everything and cobwebs collected in dark corners.  Standing in one room you could easily see, through the gaping holes in the walls, into what would have been the next three rooms. The building had been purchased a couple of times with the hopes of renovation, and the materials from those hopes still remain in place. Shovels, piles of lumber and rusted nails could be found and almost tripped over. One room was the bathroom, possibly the original, and easily identified by the salmon colored tiles and old personal hygiene items piled on the floor.

The first floor was easy to walk around, it felt sturdy. I felt comfortable even when slowly inching further to the forbidden zone on the left side for a closer look at some remaining sheets of tin ceiling. I suspect that this might even be the original ceiling from when Mr. Doebel built his hotel. At least the popular use of the material and style would have been consistent during the building’s construction.  Not much of the tin ceiling exists. Only a small corner in the left barely remains attached to the ceiling. The metal is rusted and most of the paint has come off over years of neglect.

It was the top floor that made me want to rethink what I was doing. The floor was fine to walk on as long as I was careful and remained on the right side as Mr. Goeken suggested. The damage from the leak was a bit more obvious; icicles had formed long the ladder’s steps and other wooden edges. I could easily distinguish the light sound of water consistently dripping from the ceiling onto the ladder, down the icicle and then finally into a puddle on the floor.

Most of the floor was barely visible through the thick layer of building materials, garbage from previous workers, chunks of porcelain and wooden boards. The walls, with the exception of a room or two, were almost completely gutted.

A couple of old bathtubs lined what was once the hallway and one room remaining somewhat intact was still covered in lovely floral wallpaper. Evidence of remodeling could be seen along the top edge of remaining walls when a newer ceiling was applied. Perhaps more tin ceiling still remains above the more modern ceiling panels. I don’t know the age of the wallpaper, possibly it could date to the 1940’s and 1950’s, but at some point somebody decided to cover the walls with sheets of wood paneling. My guess is that would have been sometime around the 1970’s or 1980’s when the building was transformed from apartment building into the home base for the local Head Start program. No evidence of this, just a personal hunch.

I spent about an hour inside the Manly Hotel before relocking the door and dropping the key off at the corner gas station for Mr. Goeken to pick up.

To be plainly honest I was a little sad to leave. Part of me wanted to stay longer inside and become even better acquainted with the melancholy remains of what was once a lovely Victorian hotel. It really is a lovely old building and has so much potential to be something amazing again.

Frozen House

 

I found this frozen beauty a few years back when I was just beginning my quest for rural decay. It is or was located on a narrow farm road in Northern Iowa. Most of it at the time was still standing with the exception of the front room and part of the kitchen. The front room had fallen completely to the ground and somewhat blocked the one clear entrance inside. I debated heavily about climbing over its gelid roof and into the open living space. There was a deep basement below and no one knew where I was, so I regretfully decided to remain outside. Inside the house the floor was covered with bits of the ceiling and a inch or two of snow. A few tattered bits of furniture remained behind. I felt that this house was once a jovial space.

For the duration of my time spent there I was trying my hardest not to succumb to hypothermia. Several times I had to return to my car, which I left running on the side of the road so that it also would not freeze, to thaw my fingers out and warm up before venturing back out into the Artic. The wind chill was equal to what was experienced in Fargo in the dead of Winter. It felt like it was blowing through all the layers and straight into your bones. It was FREEZING!!

Most of the photos taken on this infamously chilly day were pretty bad both technically and compositionally. I had little clue at the time to what I was doing, on what direction I was wanting to take this budding passion of mine and what my new camera was capable of doing. Everything, at the time, felt new and it was exciting. A few of the images taken then were okay and they are posted here now, but I know that if I happen back that way I will happily return to this little farmhouse and retake those images. If I am lucky the house will still be standing and maybe I can learn more about it.

 

 

 

Manalapan House

Thanks to my Mother’s keen eye, I came to learn of an abandoned house existing in Manalapan, New Jersey.

I was so excited about this house that twice I explored it within a few short days to photograph it under different lighting.

For the first visit I parked at a gas station across the street, sprinted across the four lane highway and staggered up a filthy snow bank onto the front yard. Despite the rush of traffic behind me, I could feel the heavy silence in front of me from this once majestic house.

I advanced through snow and the young trees that had sprouted everywhere in hopes of filling up the open space in order to view this rather sophisticated two story farm house from various angles.

The roof of a decaying and formerly grand wraparound porch is now, with the exception of a small section, resting on the ground, exposing a band of pumpkin colored brick sandwiched between layers of stale, aging white wooden panels. In the back were a few smaller brick buildings, also in a state of deterioration. One building was definitely a garage, but now looks to be a seasonal home for a transient individual, while the others look more like storage buildings typically seen and used on a farm.

In the back of the house I found a couple of open doorways and gingerly stepped inside to find dated furniture along with wallpaper from the 1970′s. It looked as though the original occupants took what they valued and left everything that they didn’t want before boarding the windows up. Parts of toys, some old dishes, food jars and clothing were left scattered about. It was obvious that local kids and squatters have been here over tha years, but it was also obvious that they didn’t bring in all the rubbish that I was seeing.

The floor was mostly hidden beneath the rubble and garbage. In the back of the house, with the windows and door spaces left open and exposed to years of harsh weather, were wooden floorboards rapidly rotting away. When looking in and down from one of those window spaces I could see items, such as articles of clothing and colorless plastic objects that I could not identify, from upstairs now lying on the basement floor. At the base of the stairway rested the plastic head of a dismembered doll within a handful of inches from one of these rotted holes, its dress positioned casually over the edge.

In the front the floor was stronger and capable of holding my weight. Carefully, I walked across the first room, possibly a kitchen, and into the next. It wasn’t until my second visit that I had built up enough courage to walked even further inside the rooms, carefully avoiding the back rooms and positioning myself in the door frames to take my photographs. I figured that since door frames were considered safe places during earthquakes then the same logic would apply to a house that may decided to collapse from beneath me.

It was a very nice house at one point and, knowing how NJ has been dividing and transforming what was once beautiful and vast farmland into overpriced and homogenous housing developments and stripmalls for the past 25 years, I am betting that the owners probably sold their property and retired elsewhere. Sadly it is a common story here in NJ. Many of the old farms in Central NJ are now gone and several of the ones that still exist are preserved only through state funding. I plan to do some research on the area and see if I can pull together a more solid story of what really happened, but I think my guess is pretty close to the truth.

Judging from the state of deterioration, I’m guessing that the property was regrettably abandoned sometime in the last 10-15 years. This was obviously grand home that once belong to a secure and probably affluent family. The architectural details both inside and out are a bit more sophisticated than other farm houses I have entered. I wouldn’t describe it as flashy or expensive in design, but solid in form with some lovely decorative elements in the trimmings.

January 2012 Update: I’m sad to inform that this beautiful house has been demolished, most likely for new development. I came back with the hopes of taking some exterior shots without the snow and maybe try to retake some of the interior shots from different angles, but there was nothing left of the property except for the trunks of a few trees. I not completely shocked that the house was gone – the floors were dangerous to walk on – but I was still hoping for more time with this one. 

Table Rock Revisited

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Table Rock has been in my thoughts for several months now.

The last time I visited I had only a mere 20 minutes to walk through the empty village and photograph the first images that caught my attention! I had promised myself, like always, that I would return to this little forgotten community of rural decay to further explore it with my camera.

So here I am, again.

I parked Simone, my trusty ford,  at an abandoned nearby gas station about 1/2 mile away. There were signs all over the place stating “No Trespassing” and I really don’t know if the company still sends people to check on the area or not. Plus there wasn’t anything to provide proper cover for Simone. The entire development is easily viewed from the Interstate and I was aiming to be a little more stealthy than I have been in the past.

The plan was to focus more on details that I had missed during my previous visit and to venture inside a couple of the houses. I didn’t enter any of them last time due to the time restraints.

Once inside the development I made the decision to again NOT go inside. With more time on my hands to really take in the details of my surroundings I can see all the evidence of squatters.  First I look into the ground floor windows of the “big house”  at the entrance of the housing development and saw several sleeping bags and other personal objects laying about. Later, in other houses, I found unbroken windows with blankets hung up to keep light out, and more personal objects suggesting that there were a group of people possibly still squatting.

Out of respect for their privacy and personal space, I decided to remain outside. My thoughts were that these people don’t know me or what my intentions  are and I don’t wish to put them into a situation where they may feel that they have to react defensively. Interestingly the last time I was here I recalled having an intense feeling that I was being watched by a few of the houses. Perhaps I actually was… I never did see anyone while I was there, only their belongings.

– Later on I learned that there has been a large problem not just with squatters in the village but also people illegally using the space for Meth Labs. The isolation and desert landscape makes this empty community of houses a target for some illicit activity. Knowing this makes me feel grateful that I had followed my instincts and remained outside, despite my curiosity.

From what I had seen through the windows it looked rather cozy inside. The carpet was still plush looking and some rooms still had their walls fully intact. Several of the houses looked as though they had been thoroughly gutted and terribly abused. While other houses appeared  to have been spared some of the same cruel treatment. Perhaps because these houses were the houses people choose to dwell inside?

I took my time walking around the neighborhood, poking my head behind houses and over fences. Looking for clues of what life was like before everyone left. Keeping an eye out for any sort of security, there was a brief moment when I thought for sure someone was driving toward the village to find me but it was a blessed false alarm. my guess is that the residents left maybe around ten years ago and it looks like there was at one point several other houses that no longer exist. There were a few cement foundations left in the center along with open lots and small fences.

The solitude and stillness of Table Rock Road was intense! Near the end of my visit I found myself stopping and sitting in the middle of the road itself listening to the din of the birds and sharp buzz of a few insects.  The sun was warming and a gentle breeze was calming. I could have spend hours there relaxing and meditating at the spot.

And now, after looking through my photos and writing about my experience, I look forward to visiting it again with different lighting and mindset

Galchutt House

Galchutt, its a small town located just off the Interstate and with no services available for those traveling through the area. All that exists in this little spec of a town are a few sporadic houses and a lone church. You would easily pass it by without realizing that it even existed.

From the Interstate highway I had noticed this old two-story house snuggled comfortably within a thicket of tangled trees.  I have driven on this particular stretch of Interstate a thousand plus times over the past few years and never once did I noticed this house before. Possibly it was overlooked because of the trees in conjunction with the visual distraction of an overpass in close proximity. Regardless of the whys, it is better now than never..

Its early December when I find the Galchutt House and the sun sets around 5:20ish these days. I manage to arrive just before 4PM when the sun is low and casting a strong warm glow on everything. The house is located at the end of a barely used farm road. Most of it is covered in snow. I couldn’t drive all the way up to the house so I parked in the middle where the road was somewhat clear of the snow and then quickly walked the rest of the way. It was cold.

The house looks like it has been empty for a very long time, possibly even since the 1980’s or earlier. Because I didn’t enter the house  I’m not sure exactly what it was that I saw inside, but there was what looked like an old heater in the style that echoed the 1940’s or 19 50’s. There wasn’t much else inside the house besides the building materials lying in piles. The second floor was swiss cheese. Several boards were missing, giving a clear view outside the front upper level window from the back lower level window..

 

 

Looking inside through one of the glassless windows I saw that there was no basement to dangerously fall into, only a shallow floor space beneath the boards. The real danger would have been the house itself collapsing above me. Looking inside through the windows I could see how the building was concaving inward at the house center. It was literally falling apart at the seams like a poorly stitched jacket, but from the outside the house looked eerily peaceful. Walls were tearing apart at the corners, the effect of which provided an ‘Alice in Wonderland‘ like perspective.

The day was beautiful and the air was extremely chilly. After about 20 minutes I could barely feel my fingers and after 20 more I could hardly bend them to take photos. I figured that that would probably be a good time to leave. The sun was getting closer to the horizon and now that I know about this house I can come back for more Interior shots.. Maybe even getting a closer look at the heater.

 

Oregon Farmhouse

 

This old beauty was located somewhere along Interstate 80 in Eastern Oregon. The house looks like it was once a beautiful and well loved farm house  nestled comfortably into the side of a low hill. Its a large building with a strong presence, but not excessively large or flashy in design. The interior had a simple layout with a large wrap around inclosed porch area. Across the street exists a brand new truck stop that I am guessing was once the farm itself.

When I first saw the house the sun had already gone down, it was far too late for to take clear and decent photos. A few days later I had return just as the sun was close to disappearing past the horizon. Fortunately for me there was still enough natural light to carefully explore the building and take a few decent photos. Not as many as I had hoped for, but a few indeed.

There was evidence of local kids and homeless squatters making some use of the place. Graffiti adorned the walls and the floor was hidden under a thick layer of rubbish. Many shoes and old papers left about along with remnants of a mattress. It was easy to walk inside. Doors and windows were left wide open. I didn’t venture upstairs as the stairs was mostly rotted away. I did manage a peek into the upper level by walking up the hill, but by that time the sun was past the horizon and I wasn’t able to get the photograph.

Left for the Cows

 

Driving South along Hwy 70 through the Texan Panhandle  and I came across this farm house with what appeared to be a decaying motel building next door. Currently the property was being used for cattle and they had made a real mess of everything.  Cow chips was all over the place inside and outside. I must have spent nearly as much time trying to avoid stepping in anything messy as I was trying to capture interesting perspectives of what was left of this old house.

The interior of the main house was fragile. The walls were bare of plaster and wall papers; and wooden beams were exposed. Looking up one would see that the roof was practically swiss cheese and the floor had better days. The house was simply a shell slowly closing in on itself. The presence of cattle and several other animals had helped accelerate the damage.

 

Next to the main house was an interesting looking ‘L’ shaped building with may doors and windows. I had thought at first that maybe it was a small motel. This idea would made sense because the building was located about a 1/2 mile away from Interstate 40. Not too much else exists before or after the exit, thus making it a good place for late night travelers to stop and rest. But, upon further inspection, I think the building could also have been apartments for those working on the farm. Some of the rooms were small and separate while other rooms were a bit larger and connected  to other room through a series of doorways. Also there was one bathroom and one kitchen on the end for the entire building. The limited utilities and small living spaces paints the image of a few farm hands living together in a fashion that imitates college dorm life.

Most of the rooms were empty with the exception of cow chips and random bits of debris. Some rooms did contain more interesting stuff like an old TV screen, a pile of rotting beds and several unknown wooden objects..

 

Outside were several random items of interest, specifically the rusted remains of an old Buick. Other items included bits of farm equipment and old cans.

 

 

Monument Church

I’m in Western Kansas.

And there exists about 11 miles West of Oakley the unincorporated town of Monument, KS. Monument is a small spec of a town. It was once considered a large town for the area, but like many other prairie towns it is on the decline. Now it is populated mostly with elderly folk who grew up in the area and chose to stay.

About a block or so away from the main highway is an old church that was beautifully lit by the late afternoon sun. Within seconds I found myself standing on a grassy corner in awe of this magnificent find!

I learn from a local woman that the town was originally settled by German and “White” Russian immigrants. I’m not exactly sure what she means by “White Russians”. She wasn’t all that sure either what it meant. It was a term that had been used to describe her family heritage. The best explanation was a group of Russians that first went to Germany before arriving in the states… All I could think about was the drink..

At first I was kinda nervous about photographing the church with all the little houses and their occupant around watching me. Most people don’t really mind me poking my head around, but normally I am out of sight from town and its denizens. With Simone parked on the side of the road, I managed to wave a passing local resident down to ask if she knew anything about the church. Being that I had planned on walking around the property I thought it best to see how someone local would react to my presence. Sorta feel out the place a bit.

The woman, Crystal, was more than friendly. She knew who owned the property and drove home to get the owner’s phone number. Since she couldn’t get ahold of the owner she then called the owner’s Daughter. Crystal then came back to where I was and waited with me until the Daughter called back with how to get ahold of her mother.

20 minutes Later Jolene, The owner, drove up with her grandkids and unlocked the church door for me!

I felt so grateful and fortunate! I really didn’t think that someone would drive from the middle of nowhere to the middle of nowhere just to let me inside a decaying church. But here she was more than happy that someone was wanting to know about her little church.

The church was constructed in 1930 and used by local Methodists until maybe 20 years ago, when the congregation then united with a Methodist group in Oakley. Around this time Jolene’s father bought the building in hopes of preserving and maybe doing something with it. Sadly nothing was done with the building except being used to store all the random antique items collected by Jolene’s father. Sometime in August of 2010 a strong gust of wind blew a large portion of the roof off during a storm. Since then the pigeons have taken over even more of the inside and thus created a mess not worth cleaning up.  There was some talk on repairing the roof, but the costs are too much for the people of a small agricultural town to conceive on paying..  eventually they will salvage what they can and let everything fall…

Its a sad story.

Jolene hasn’t been able to enter the building for a while. She grew up in this town and went to Sunday school in the church basement. Seeing it in this condition is hard for her, but with me she decided that now was the time to see it again before it gets worse. She talks about the items inside, what they once were used for. Some of the items belonged to her family from when she was a child, other items were picked up at shop sales by her collecting father..

Inside were maybe 50 pigeons. They were all over the place. Most of them flew out through the ceiling gaps. A few remained behind. The place was filthy. Everything was covered with pigeon droppings. But at least the wooden floor was sturdy and I didn’t have to worry about falling through into the musty basement with all the shit covered antiques.. 🙂

After rummaging around inside the Church with Jolene we walked next door to the parish house. i looked through windows as Jolene immediately went for the front door. I was impressed. She was just as ready to see inside as I was. 🙂 The place has been empty since the mid 70’s and was once occupied by an old widow. Jolene had no recollection of the widow’s husband. She once heard that he worked with the trains. There was no bathroom inside and the outhouse that once existed was used as kindling for a school spirit bonfire last year.

It was a very informative photo excursion! Jolene was more than kind and generous for spending so much time walking and talking with me.

The Britt House

 

This isolated beauty immediately captured my imagination.. She was standing alone on a remote rural corner calling out to me as a drove by.. An hour later I was back and crawling all over the place. Inside were empty oil drums and large tractor tires mixed in with chunks of ceiling and wall plaster.. The Kitchen was mostly collapsed in the back and exposed to the weather elements. I never did go upstairs, the last thing I wanted was to fall through the second level floor.

 

 

 

 

 

The Discarded Life in Texas

 

I found this little house in the middle of a Texan cotton field! I walked inside expecting very little and found that the previous occupants just left everything behind. They were in the middle of packing their life into several boxes and in the middle of everything they just stopped and walked out; discarding their belongings and starting new.