Losing the Nuts and Screws in Gary, Indiana

Jackson Five Mural in downtown Gary

"Some towns are as imperiled as the family farm, as sitting down to dinner together with the family. Many beautiful, important places are being lost; a few will be saved. In your lifetime you have likely seen small towns crumble like sand castles on the beach."        

                                                               ~ Howard Mansfield, Summer Over Autumn

Gary, Indiana is a town of loss. The loss of the steel industry that formed it in the first place, the loss of  The Jackson Five, the loss of Michael Jackson, the loss of over 100,000 residents in less than thirty years. Loss of money, jobs and self-worth is visually apparent everywhere.

Photo Credit: Glen Huizenga 

Before going to Gary I didn't do any research, didn't look at any photographs of either prosperity or decay. I wanted my experience to be uninfluenced by others.

But since I have been home, tucked safely into my suburban neighborhood, I have been doing plenty of reading about Gary. It is a sad tale.

Gary Screw and Bolt Factory - Photo: Glen Huizenga

Gary is situated squarely between Chicago and the Indiana Dunes National Lakeshore, and sits on the edge of Lake Michigan. Sounds like a tourist and summer people mecca, it is anything but that. Gary has lived and died with the steel industry. Summer people want cottages on the lake, not air polluting steel mills.

Inside Gary Screw and Bolt Factory

Gary was founded in 1906 by The United States Steel Corporation. The city was named after Elbert Henry Gary, the founding chairman of United States Steel Corporation. The steel mill provided ample employment, especially for immigrants newly arrived in America. The city's population almost doubled in the 1920's from 55,000 to just over 100,000 residents in the 1930's. It reached its peak in 1960 - 178,000. And then began the decline due to the competition of overseas steel production. By 1990, the population was down to 116,00 and in 2010 it was only 80,000.

Gary Screw and Bolt Factory

Due to loss of residents: schools started to close, hospitals closed and many homes became vacant. At one of the locations where our group was photographing, a gentleman on the Gary Demo Crew happened to drive by, and was curious about what we were doing. In talking to him about the abandoned places, he mentioned that there are over 10,000 properties on their demo list.

Gary Screw and Bolt Factory - Photo: Glen Huizenga

One place that I am thrilled hasn't succumbed to the wrecking ball yet, is the Gary Screw and Bolt Factory. Built in 1910 and opened in 1912 with 100 workers, a tenth of the workforce it eventually employed. The plant prospered through WWII and beyond, but the recession of the 1980's put the screws in the coffin. The plant closed in 1986.

This factory was my dream place to photograph. An abandoned structure full of wide open space, plenty of natural light, and dark stairwells leading to building connecting tunnels with heart fluttery windows. I have a thing for windows. Some might call it an obsession.

Back at home, reading through these articles of loss and hardship, I began to wonder about my delight in photographing abandoned buildings. But as I thought about it, it isn't the abandonment that delights me, it is the fact that in spite of the despair, there remains something to photograph. As long as something remains, hope remains as well.

A Weekend in Gary, Indiana

Mercy Hospital

My husband and I spent last weekend in Gary, Indiana. Now if you are from the mid-west you are probably thinking, what the heck were you doing there? The only things in Gary are danger and abandoned buildings. But if you know me at all, you will also know that I am okay with a little bit of danger and a whole lot of abandoned buildings. 

Photo Credit: Glen Huizenga - City United Methodist Church

We were in Gary (during the day) for a two day photography workshop with Rad Drew and Sally Meyer Wolf, called Abandoned Gary. 

Photo Credit: Rad Drew - Group photo minus two.

There were fourteen of us seekers of decay. Most of us hailed from the mid-west, but a couple arrived via plane. This photo was taken at the last destination on the second day. We were a motley crew by then: so hot, so sweaty and so dirty. But there were still hugs all around as we parted ways. I can't imagine spending two days wandering derelict buildings with any other group. 

City United Methodist Church

This is the second workshop Glen and I have done with Rad. Last summer we did a one day workshop at Conner Prairie near Indianapolis on Mobile Photography. You can read that post here if you are interested.

Photo Credit: Glen Huizenga - City United Methodist Church

The Abandoned Gary workshop started on Friday night with a meet and greet dinner. Glen and I enjoyed a date day first, so we trickled our way down to Indiana by way of a few wineries in southern Michigan, and a late lunch at a favorite restaurant - The Stray Dog. We checked into our hotel in Merrillville, had a quick soak in the hot tub, and rested before going to the restaurant.

We spent the bulk of Saturday morning here at City United Methodist Church. Built in 1925 for $800,000. It was closed in October of 1975. You can see the destruction that abandonment will do. 

City United Methodist Church

The other place that intrigued me on Saturday was Mercy Hospital. A whole hospital completely abandoned. 

Mercy Hospital

Nothing left except for peeling paint, trash and dripping water. The dripping water can sound a little creepy when you are on a floor by yourself. 

Mercy Hospital

We were suppose to be on the buddy system, except every time I looked around for my buddy husband, he seemed to be MIA. That's because he was busy climbing up on the roof. 

Photo Credit: Glen Huizenga - Mercy Hospital

This is my favorite shot of Glen's for the day. So I guess the climb up to the roof was worth it, and he did bring me up there eventually. 

We ended the day with beauty of a different sort. Sunset over Lake Michigan in Michigan City.

I'll be back with Day Two and my favorite place from the workshop...

Velvet 56 Love

Late last fall, I purchased the Lensbaby Velvet 56. Lensbaby was having a pre-Christmas sale on some of their lens. I have always been intrigued by them, but wasn't sure if I was ready to be that brave and different. The sale was too good to resist (Merry Christmas to me), so I clicked "purchase", and waited for my new lens to arrive.

The demo video that sold me on it, showed beautiful, shallow depth of field portraits of people, hmm... self portraits? My daughter? and of dogs...Findley?

As soon as it arrived via UPS, I sliced open the box and put it on my Canon 6D. Findley...where was Findley? What I wasn't prepared for, was the manual focusing, and I total skipped over the fact that I had to manually set the aperture. Let me say, manually focusing on an energetic puppy, well...the photo says it all.

I slid the Velvet 56 into an empty lens slot in my camera bag, and returned to my 35mm auto-focus lens. The Velvet 56 would stay in the camera bag until this month.

April, a new season, and new subjects to photograph. I dug the Velvet 56 out of the camera bag. I did not go looking for Findley, instead I went to the garden center.

I do get frustrated with not being able to do something well, but rarely do I give up, so I watched some Lensbaby videos and actually learned what to do with the Velvet 56, there was that bit about manually setting the aperture.

A successful outing at the garden center, and I was ready to try the Velvet 56 on a trip. I was tagging along with my husband on a business trip to my favorite part of northern Michigan. A good place to try the lens, on things I know and love, and have photographed many, many times. I was looking for a different approach to these places.

The Velvet 56 stayed on my camera the whole time we were gone. This time the 35mm stayed in the camera bag.

I still have more to learn, more videos to watch, and more practice is needed, but I love the look I am achieving. The Velvet 56 sees the world the way I do - one spot of sharp focus and blurry around the edges.

My husband and I are leaving for vacation in a couple of weeks. We are going through upstate New York, to Boston and to a photography conference in another part of Massachusetts. I have a feeling the Velvet 56 will be getting a lot of use.

A Good Marriage

July 19, 1986 finds me exactly one month into my eighteenth year of life, I am standing on a green carpeted stage in my $150, off-the-rack, chin to toe, polyester and tulle wedding dress. Carefully pinned to my head is a swooping, wide-brimmed polyester and tulle Southern belle style hat. Next to me stands a fresh-faced boy of nineteen dressed in light gray tails. Sweat beads up on both of our foreheads and trickles down the sides of our faces, tunneling under high collars and continuing its downward descent. The nasty beads of moisture don't come from nervousness, but rather from the stifling humidity inside the small country church.

We certainly had no idea what we were getting ourselves into on that ninety degree day thirty years ago. We were anxious to get the ceremony and the reception over with so we could get to our hotel in Grand Rapids for the start of our weekend honeymoon trip. Our first destination when we got to the hotel wasn't what you would think, it was the pool, so we could finally rinse the sweat from our bodies.

When a friend a recently asked what our secret was when I told her we were going to be celebrating our 30th Anniversary, I told her in all honesty - It's a lot of hard work. The mushy hand holding of the honeymoon year quickly wears off, and that is when you have to dig deep to constantly find things you can share in together.

Raising a child together doesn't make things magical, that is when the really hard work begins. You each want the best for your child, but often that "best" is not arrived at in the same manner. My advice to any married couple with young kids - no matter what, find a way to have a date night once a month, and don't talk about the kids while you are on the date. Your marriage will be blessed because of that stolen time together. That is one thing I wish we had done better.

Last week we celebrated our 30th Anniversary. Instead of going to our comfort place of beautiful, rural northern Michigan, we chose to step out of our comfort zone and spend five days in the very alive city of Toronto. We spent our first real vacation twenty-seven years ago there. The only things we remember about that trip were that our car broke down on the way there, we went to Niagara Falls first, when in Toronto we stayed somewhere downtown near the Maple Leaf Garden, we had no credit card, and according to Glen, we walked three hours each way to Casa Loma.

This trip was a bit better. We didn't go to Niagara Falls first, our car did make a strange noise but didn't break down, we stayed downtown just off of Yonge Street in a beautiful hotel, we do have credit cards, and the walk to Casa Loma only took 1 hour and 5 minutes according to Google Maps.

It was good to go to a new place, working together to figure out what we wanted to do, and how to get there without killing each other in the process. Glen was an extremely good sport as I dragged him down side streets to photograph doors on old buildings, and into Catholic churches to photograph stained glass windows and church pews, and even stalking colorfully dressed ladies sitting on park benches. In return, I tried a mussel, drank a whiskey he selected for me, tried new beers, and returned to diner style restaurants every morning for breakfast.

I think I taught him a bit of what the world looks like through my eyes, and he taught me a bit of what the world looks like through his eyes. After thirty years it is still a good marriage.

You Gotta Wait For It

Once upon a time my husband and I use to have date days. One day each month we escaped, taking turns planning surprise outings. It was great for our marriage.

I don't remember many of the places we went, and I didn't journal at the time, although now I wish I had. But one particular date day does stand out in my mind, and its not because I planned it. No, it was because we both contributed to it without even knowing it.

One day in early summer, my husband brought home a brochure for the Pierce Cedar Creek Institute, a nature center with seven miles of hiking trails. He had been to the Institute on a work sales call, and picked up the brochure while he was there. He showed it to me as soon as he got home, saying "we should go here sometime, they have lots of scheduled activities, including a firefly viewing party". As with most "sometime" things the brochure was placed in a pile and promptly forgotten. Until one day when I was sorting through that pile. It was my turn to plan the next date day, and since it was now October with fall in full technicolor glory it seemed the perfect time to go.

The day of our date we set off as soon as we dropped our daughter at school. My printed turn-by-turn directions tucked discreetly into the driver's door pocket. I had planned it so we would be there as soon as the gates opened.

We had a great morning and early afternoon, at one point stopping at a bench beside a lake to eat the snack I had packed in my small backpack. But eventually the snack wore off and we were hungry, we had hiked quite a bit of the seven miles of trails. We decided to drive into the town of Hastings, about nine miles from the Institute for a late lunch. Not knowing the area, I let my husband drive us there. He had been to a brew pub there once for work, and wanted to take me there.

Now eight years later, I found myself back in the small town of Hastings on a solo adventure. I stood in front of the same brew pub, but this time I noticed a whole new world of details that photography and writing have taught me to see. I parked downtown, a short distance from the pub. I didn't want to rush the memory, I wanted to walk slowly and savor all the things around the pub, things I was unaware of last time.

First order of business was to look for a coffee shop. A coffee shop tells a lot about a town, and a lot of small towns don't have anything besides a Starbucks located next to the strip mall on the outskirts of town. The best small towns still have a local coffee shop in the heart of their downtown. I was fortunate, this small town did. I paused outside on the pavement, trying to determine if this was my kind of coffee shop, when a gentleman headed for the door said to me "Go on in, best coffee in town". Well, who can argue with that, so in I went. Adorable coffee shop located on the street level of an old Masonic Temple. Oh, how I wanted to go upstairs and explore, especially when the sign outside said there were offices to rent. I am certain there will be a return visit to this coffee shop.

Back out on the pavement with a 16 oz. chai latte in hand, I set to wandering.

Here is a glimpse into my thoughts while wandering:

• I wonder if I look more like a local if I have a coffee cup in my hand as opposed to my dslr slung over my shoulder.

• I wonder what that yellow building is over there...

• That looks like an old train depot... 

• I love old doors.

• A his and hers shop, how practical.

I have found I need a minimum of two hours in a town to get a good feel for it, and the only way to explore is on foot.

I had put in my two hours of wandering time and was back at my car, feeling I had discovered everything of interest, but also feeling disappointed. There had been no defining moment in those two hours. The defining moment for me is something that gives my heart that fluttery feeling. As I was driving toward the end of main street preparing to turn around and go back the way I had come, I saw it...the defining moment. A river walk that actually went past decaying industrial grunge buildings, my heart was a fluttering.

There was a convenient parking lot right next to the bridge leading to the grundy buildings. I grabbed my dslr from the back seat, not caring if I looked like a tourist anymore, and set off for more wandering.

The defining moments, the heart fluttery moments, are the moments that I get lost in. Although I do try to stay aware of my surroundings and who is around me. So it came to be that I noticed the gangly high school age boy leaning against a telephone pole across the street, watching me. A lady with a german shepherd came walking by, and the boy stopped her to chat and tell her what a nice looking dog she had and give it a scratch behind the ears. I dismissed him, figuring he couldn't be too harmful if he liked dogs. The lady walked on, the boy resumed his watching, and I returned to my moment.

Shortly thereafter I heard him cross the street behind me, turning around I saw that he was now leaning against a telephone pole about ten yards away. I had two options here: continue to ignore him and let him watch, or make eye contact and acknowledge him. I chose the latter. He was a brave boy, a curious boy, he asked the question I have been anticipating forever "What are you photographing?". Even though I have been anticipating the question, I failed to find the words to express what truly lies within my heart.

He was looking at a chain-link fence, an overgrown yard, brick buildings, windows encircled in rust, and couldn't see what I saw, the defining moment, the heart fluttery moment. Maybe if he saw my photographs he would understand, but then again maybe not, and maybe it doesn't matter.

He's Watching Me

He stood astride his bicycle at the corner of 8th and Franklin. I could feel his intent gaze on me as I photographed the red doors of Trinity Episcopal Church. Satisfied with my red door captures, I wandered toward the former Masonic Temple father down the block, I felt his gaze follow me.

Maybe he was the documentary photographer that I had been fantasizing about, but I doubted that he had $4000 of camera gear in that backpack at his feet.

I was on his side of the road and started to make my way towards him, but I chickened out at the last minute, choosing instead to recross the street and photograph some pretty flowers at the side of the church. I wasn't ready to answer any questions regarding what I was doing. Even though I had my acceptable answer ready. I was taking a photography class, and one of the assignments was to visit a small town and photograph the buildings. While not 100% true, I am always taking some online photography course, and I will probably need pictures of architecture sooner or later.

By the time I had finished photographing the flowers, he was gone. He must have realized I was avoiding him, and didn't wish to creep me out any further.

Able to wander freely again, I set off to explore the rest of the downtown that I had driven through for the past twenty years. Driving through the boarded up and crumbling in favor of the bright, shiny and new at the Outlet mall.

I was happy to see fewer empty, dusty plate glass storefront windows and more open signs. A sign of hope and better things to come. Restoration is a slow and painful process in small towns like this, but it can be done. It just takes a community that cares about supporting local businesses and local business owners. 

Eventually I did have to answer the question of what I was doing, but I was ready when the time came. I had passed this door once, in favor of an artfully arranged window of local artist's wares, but I could feel the tug of the green door pulling at my heart. I went back. In the process I passed the owners of a new gallery admiring their business sign that had been hung the day before. As I passed them the second time, they inquired if I was looking for a certain business or waiting for a store to open. I gave them my 'taking a photography class' answer, and they completely understood. But I could have told them the truth, that I was having a day to myself to photograph and work on writing a blog post, they would have gotten it. They were artists after all. 

Even after my successful day of exploring old buildings, it was hard to leave even one unphotographed. On my way out of town, I saw this place. My heart got that fluttery feeling, and I knew I had to turn around and go back. As I got out of my car and stood in front of this boarded up building, I looked around for the guy on the bicycle, I was ready to answer his question.