Mr. P. Explores

10/26/2026

The melancholy remains of what was once a lumber company along the banks of the Monongahela River in Brownsville, Pennsylvania. Under the looming presence of the US-40 bridge over the river, this time-ravaged place has seen much better days. Somehow (and I would LOVE to know the story), a decommissioned school bus from the Wickliffe City School District (which is in Northeast Ohio, on the borders between Cuyahoga and Lake Counties, not far from Lake Erie) wound up here outside the ruins, a stone's throw from river. How? Your guess is as good as mine. Enjoy the photos and have a fantastic Monday out there, all. -Mr. P.

10/25/2026

At the sprawling Philadelphia Navy Yard in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, a massive industrial building that once helped build and maintain America's naval fleet has been given an extraordinary second life. Building 16, a towering former machine shop dating to 1917, has recently undergone a remarkable transformation, exchanging its heavy machinery and shipbuilding operations for photography studios, creative workspaces, and, perhaps most unexpectedly, recreational courts beneath its enormous steel framework.

Building 16 was constructed during a period of tremendous expansion at the Philadelphia Naval Shipyard, one of the United States Navy's most important industrial installations. Established at its South Philadelphia location in the late nineteenth century, the Navy Yard grew into a vast complex of dry docks, machine shops, foundries, warehouses, and fabrication facilities. Building 16 was designed to accommodate the heavy industrial work necessary to manufacture, repair, and handle components for naval vessels. Its original construction in 1917 coincided with America's entry into World War I, when shipbuilding and naval preparedness became national priorities. The structure was subsequently expanded in 1938, just as the United States began preparing for another period of enormous military production.

Architecturally, Building 16 was an impressive example of early twentieth-century industrial engineering. Its monumental steel-frame construction, towering interior spaces, massive structural columns, and extensive banks of industrial windows reflected a building designed around machinery rather than people. Enormous overhead cranes allowed workers to lift and transport heavy ship components across the shop floor, while exceptionally high ceilings provided clearance for large-scale fabrication and assembly work. The building's exterior featured broad expanses of multi-pane factory windows, pale industrial cladding, and gigantic loading doors capable of accommodating oversized equipment. Its cavernous interior was essentially a cathedral of steel, built to withstand the demands of heavy manufacturing.

During World War II, the Philadelphia Navy Yard became one of the busiest naval industrial facilities in the country, employing more than 40,000 workers at its peak. Across the shipyard, thousands of machinists, welders, electricians, engineers, and other skilled tradespeople worked around the clock constructing, repairing, and modernizing warships. Building 16 formed part of this enormous industrial operation, providing the heavy machine-shop and fabrication capabilities essential to maintaining the Navy's fleet. The shipyard ultimately constructed 53 warships during World War II and repaired more than 1,200 others. Although the specific vessels and components handled inside Building 16 are not comprehensively documented in readily available public histories, the building was part of the industrial infrastructure that made those accomplishments possible.

Following World War II, the Navy Yard continued operating through the Cold War, although its importance gradually diminished as naval construction and maintenance contracts shifted elsewhere. The shipyard completed its final newly constructed vessel, the USS Blue Ridge, in 1970, but continued performing repairs, overhauls, and other naval work for decades afterward. By the late twentieth century, military downsizing and changing defense priorities placed the entire facility in jeopardy. A federal base closure decision in 1991 ultimately led to the Philadelphia Naval Shipyard ceasing operations on September 26, 1996, ending more than a century of naval industrial activity at the South Philadelphia complex.

For Building 16, the end of the Navy Yard's traditional shipbuilding era did not immediately mean demolition or permanent abandonment. The enormous structure remained part of the former military property's industrial inventory as redevelopment efforts began. In the early 2000s, defense contractor Northrop Grumman leased approximately 50,000 square feet within the building, demonstrating that its remarkable industrial capabilities still had potential commercial applications. At the time, the property was advertised with ceilings reaching approximately 97 feet and eleven overhead cranes with capacities ranging from two to 150 tons. Nevertheless, much of the former shipyard faced an uncertain future as Philadelphia worked to attract new businesses and find productive uses for its aging military infrastructure.

A major turning point came with the redevelopment of the Navy Yard into a modern commercial and industrial campus. Urban Outfitters, the Philadelphia-based retail company, began converting historic shipyard buildings into its corporate headquarters during the 2000s. Rather than demolishing the old industrial structures, the company embraced their unusual architecture, preserving exposed steel, brickwork, factory windows, and other elements of their manufacturing past. Building 16 eventually became part of this ambitious adaptive-reuse effort. Urban Outfitters purchased the property from Rhoads Industries in 2016, setting the stage for its eventual transformation.

The most dramatic changes came during 2025 and 2026, when Urban Outfitters undertook an approximately $40 million renovation of Building 16. Working with Blue Rock Construction and NewStudio Architecture, the company transformed the enormous former machine shop into a modern creative production facility. The project involved extensive structural and interior work, new exterior wall panels and windows, updated electrical and mechanical systems, four new stair towers, two elevators, and the renovation of three floors. Rather than erase the building's industrial character, the designers retained its massive steel skeleton and monumental proportions, allowing the historic structure itself to become one of the development's defining features.

One of the most striking aspects of the renovation is the creation of a large open-air courtyard within the building's former industrial footprint. Here, beneath the towering steel framework and remnants of the structure's industrial architecture, bright blue pickleball courts, a basketball court, and other recreational spaces have replaced areas once associated with heavy machinery and fabrication. Yellow walkways and railings provide a vivid contrast against the dark steel, creating an extraordinary juxtaposition of historic industry and modern workplace culture. The space also accommodates employee gatherings, informal recreation, and events. It is an unusual and visually stunning transformation, particularly when compared with photographs showing the building's deteriorating factory windows and enormous closed loading doors only a few years earlier.

Building 16 officially entered its new chapter in April 2026, when Urban Outfitters employees began occupying the renovated facility. Today, it serves primarily as a photography and creative production center supporting the company's various brands, including Urban Outfitters, Anthropologie, Free People, FP Movement, and Nuuly. Inside, clothing, accessories, furniture, and other merchandise move through specialized preparation, styling, and photography areas before appearing in catalogs, advertising, and online retail listings. The renovated building also contains offices, meeting rooms, training facilities, and collaborative workspaces. Published descriptions place the redevelopment at approximately 117,000 to 123,000 square feet, depending on the source.

The completion of Building 16 also marked an important milestone in the continuing redevelopment of the Philadelphia Navy Yard. In June 2026, Pennsylvania Governor Josh Shapiro joined Urban Outfitters executives at the facility to announce a major regional investment initiative involving more than 1,000 planned new jobs. By that time, the company's Navy Yard campus had expanded to fifteen buildings employing more than 2,500 people, making it one of the most prominent examples of successful industrial adaptive reuse in the country.

What makes Building 16 particularly remarkable is that its transformation did not require the destruction of its industrial identity. The enormous steel columns, overhead structural framework, towering spaces, and unmistakable proportions of a naval machine shop remain visible, even as the activities taking place inside have changed completely. Where generations of industrial workers once handled machinery and components destined for American warships, photographers, designers, and creative professionals now produce images for international retail brands. And where the thunder of heavy manufacturing once echoed through the structure, employees now play pickleball beneath the surviving steelwork.

Building 16 is a fascinating example of how even the largest and most specialized industrial buildings can find meaningful new purposes long after their original industries have disappeared. Rather than becoming another demolished factory or forgotten ruin, this century-old piece of Philadelphia's naval heritage has been preserved, adapted, and returned to active use. Its second life is certainly different from its first, but the building remains a place of production and employment, continuing a tradition that began more than a hundred years ago.

I have seen this structure from both ends of the refurbishment. Last I was here was in 2023, before the renovation had begun. At that point, the decommissioned aircraft carrier, the John F. Kennedy, was docked a stone's throw from this massive structure. It was still covered in its original brickwork and the windows were covered with translucent coverings. This summer, upon return, it was in the state you see in this set, only having been open since its grand reopening in the spring. And what a job! This again proves that old buildings CAN be reused and repurposed with will, money and some ingenuity. I have included some past photos of the facility when it was still used by the US Navy for ship repairs and building. The first photo is from 1964, where a shaft propeller was being rebuilt for the aforementioned John F. Kennedy. It one of the last major jobs done by the facility before its closure as a major shipyard building in 1970. The next two photos are of Building 16 in the summer of 1995. The final photo shows the building under construction in 1917. Enjoy the set and this beautiful rebuild, and have a fantastic Sunday out there, all! -Mr. P.

10/25/2026

A new Substack article on the history and the demise of the truly amazing and sadly now gone "streetcar graveyard" of Windber, Pennsylvania. Please drop by, have a read, enjoy the photos and if the mood strikes you, leave a comment or a like on the Substack page! Or, if you can, share this article to your own feed. Any little bit helps get these articles out and past the lovely algorithm. (in fact, I'm using one of my two FREE monthly links here, generously given by Meta, to share this on my own page, so help a guy out! :) )

Have a great weekend all! -Mr. P.

Reminiscing about the rusting and abandoned trolley graveyard of Windber, Pennsylvania.

10/24/2026

An autumn look through an abandoned rebar factory in western Pennsylvania; this one was quite a surprise as we spent several hours here. Plenty of interesting things left behind to document, and the sheer size of the place alone was worth focusing on with a camera. Enjoy the wandering and have a great Saturday, all. -Mr. P.

10/23/2026

Along West Fort Street in Detroit’s industrial Delray neighborhood stands one of the city’s more fascinating and overlooked industrial survivors: the former Roberts Brass Manufacturing Company. This sprawling brick-and-concrete complex was once a busy manufacturer of precision brass components during Detroit’s transformation into the Motor City. Today, its weathered exterior, empty windows, deteriorating interiors, and distinctive architectural details tell a story of industrial ambition, changing fortunes, abandonment, and the continuing struggle to preserve Detroit’s manufacturing heritage.

The company traces its origins to Canadian mechanical engineer Dugald H. Roberts, who helped establish McRae & Roberts, a brass manufacturing concern originally based in Wallaceburg, Ontario. The business relocated to Detroit during the 1890s, taking advantage of the city's rapidly expanding industrial economy. In 1905, Roberts departed the partnership to establish his own manufacturing company, reportedly hoping to build a family enterprise that would provide opportunities for his five sons. Construction began that year on a new factory along West Fort Street, and the Roberts Brass Manufacturing Company opened its doors in 1906. The building was designed by the Detroit architectural firm Pollmar & Ropes, which created a substantial industrial facility combining manufacturing space with an unusually handsome office section.

Roberts Brass specialized in manufacturing high-quality brass fittings and components used in steam, water, gasoline, and other mechanical systems. Its products included valves, gauges, gasoline feed c***s, drain c***s, engine fittings, and other precision parts essential to the machinery of the early twentieth century. The company supplied components to Detroit's growing automobile industry, but its products also served industrial engines, heating systems, and other mechanical applications. By 1910, the company was even manufacturing fittings for airships, demonstrating the remarkable variety of industries that depended upon its products. As Detroit's manufacturing economy expanded, so did Roberts Brass.

The factory's architecture reflected both the practical demands of heavy manufacturing and the desire to project industrial prosperity. Its imposing West Fort Street facade featured decorative brickwork, stone accents, recessed windows, and a stepped central roofline. Perhaps its most distinctive feature was an enormous illuminated clock, approximately eight and a half feet in diameter, mounted high above the main entrance. Intended to serve as a neighborhood landmark, the clock was eventually removed, leaving behind the large circular opening that remains one of the building's most recognizable features. Inside, the complex contained manufacturing floors, foundry areas, machine shops, offices, and a large central courtyard. The original building included handsome woodwork, decorative staircases, and an executive office suite that was considerably more elaborate than one might expect inside a brass factory.

In 1916, Roberts Brass undertook an enormous expansion that more than doubled the size of the original operation. The same architectural firm returned to design the addition, which incorporated reinforced-concrete construction, larger manufacturing spaces, additional offices, and improved foundry facilities. The expansion brought the complex to approximately 106,000 square feet. Unlike the earlier sections, which relied more heavily on traditional industrial construction, the newer portions incorporated fire-resistant concrete engineering. The factory's courtyard once contained a 75-foot water tower capable of holding approximately 32,500 gallons, while several large chimneys served the foundry furnaces. The resulting complex became a striking mixture of early twentieth-century brick industrial architecture and the reinforced-concrete manufacturing buildings that would increasingly define Detroit's industrial landscape.

One particularly interesting episode in the company's history occurred during World War I. According to historical research compiled by Detroit industrial historian Nailhed, Roberts Brass executives reportedly refused to manufacture military-related materials during the conflict. This was an unusual position for a manufacturing company at a time when wartime contracts offered substantial financial opportunities. The precise motivations remain unclear, although the decision may have reflected pacifist or antiwar sentiments among company leadership. Roberts Brass also participated in Detroit's thriving industrial baseball culture, fielding a company team that competed against other local factory-sponsored clubs during the early 1910s. These teams were an important part of working-class recreation, bringing together employees, neighborhood residents, and competing manufacturers through organized sports.

Over the following decades, the former factory passed through a succession of commercial and industrial occupants. Businesses associated with the property included A. R. Cosgrove & Equipment Association, S. J. Tesayro & Company, Automatic Data Processing, and Universal Scientific & Industrial Supply. Wayne County Community College also reportedly utilized portions of the property for storage and liquidation activities. These later uses kept at least some of the enormous complex occupied long after its original brass manufacturing operations had ended. By the 1990s, however, its industrial importance had diminished considerably. The property eventually fell into disuse, joining the growing collection of aging industrial buildings scattered throughout Detroit's southwest side.

Abandonment brought the familiar problems associated with Detroit's neglected industrial properties. Broken windows, water infiltration, deteriorating roofing, vandalism, and years of deferred maintenance gradually damaged the interior. Urban explorers documented abandoned offices, peeling paint, deteriorating staircases, rusting industrial equipment, and the remnants of the building's former manufacturing operations. Particularly memorable were the surviving executive offices, elaborate wooden staircases, and an old company vault that once protected the firm's records and business documents. Elsewhere, discarded industrial containers and chemical materials raised concerns about environmental contamination. Federal environmental records have identified cleanup activity associated with the property under the name Providence Brass, although the precise relationship between that designation and the building's later occupants remains unclear.

The property also experienced several incidents during its years of decline. Around the summer of 2005, there was a sizeable fire inside the building. Detroit firefighters arrived and used powered cutting equipment to force their way through the rear doors before entering to extinguish the blaze. The building survived, although the incident demonstrated the vulnerability of large, deteriorating industrial structures. Fortunately, its substantial brickwork and reinforced-concrete sections have helped portions of the complex withstand decades of neglect.

In 2006, the property was purchased by Dennis Kefallinos, whose real estate holdings have included the Russell Industrial Center and numerous other aging Detroit buildings. Despite the purchase, a comprehensive rehabilitation of Roberts Brass never materialized. There have been intermittent signs of maintenance and interior work, and the building has periodically faced the possibility of demolition. However, the property has remained largely underutilized, with no substantial redevelopment project bringing the historic factory back into productive use. Preservation advocates and local observers have suggested that the enormous structure could potentially accommodate loft apartments, artists' studios, workshops, or other mixed-use development. Its unusual courtyard arrangement and surviving architectural features could make it particularly attractive for adaptive reuse, although the costs of rehabilitation would undoubtedly be considerable.

One of the stranger stories associated with the property over the last few years involves rumors of an individual entering the factory and being mauled to death by a dog. This HAS been the rumor around town, though I could not find any solid information or news reports to corroborate this story. However, according to one source, several dogs apparently HAD been used to guard the abandoned complex. During a photographic visit documented by local Detroit historian EHERG, the photographer encountered multiple dogs that rushed toward a gated area, barking aggressively. The animals appeared healthy and cared for, suggesting they were being kept on the premises rather than simply roaming as strays. At least three dogs confronted the photographer from behind the property fencing, with another later observed inside the courtyard. Although the encounter was intimidating, the account does not describe anyone actually being bitten or injured. Instead, the dogs remained behind the barriers, alternately barking and watching the photographer as he moved around the exterior. The incident has become another peculiar chapter in the building's modern history, though no serious details as to the dog's owners was ever located.

The former Roberts Brass factory has also attracted attention from architectural historians and preservation enthusiasts. An architectural survey conducted in connection with the Detroit River International Crossing project identified the building as potentially eligible for the National Register of Historic Places because of its industrial history and architectural significance. Its combination of early brick construction, reinforced-concrete expansion, decorative facade, and surviving industrial features makes it an important physical reminder of Detroit's pre-automotive and early automotive manufacturing industries. However, a recommendation of eligibility does not automatically provide historic designation or guarantee protection from demolition.

As of October 2026, the most recent publicly available accounts reviewed continue to describe the Roberts Brass complex as standing but without a completed rehabilitation. Its future remains uncertain. Although the building has reportedly received enough attention to avoid demolition in the past, no verified, fully funded redevelopment project or firm reopening date has been identified. Much of the property remains a deteriorating industrial landmark, surrounded by a neighborhood that has experienced more than a century of manufacturing growth, industrial decline, population loss, and major infrastructure changes.

What makes Roberts Brass particularly compelling is that it represents an earlier chapter of Detroit's industrial story, before the automobile completely dominated the city's identity. This was a factory built to manufacture the valves, fittings, and mechanical components that helped make the industrial age possible. Its workers produced the small but essential pieces that kept engines running, machinery operating, and an expanding industrial nation moving forward. More than a century after its construction, the old factory still stands along Fort Street, its missing clock a reminder of a time when the building was important enough to tell the neighborhood what time it was. The machinery has fallen silent, the workers have long since departed, and the company's name has largely disappeared from public memory. Yet behind its weathered walls remains a remarkable piece of Detroit's manufacturing heritage, waiting for someone with the resources and imagination to give it another purpose before another irreplaceable piece of the Motor City's history is lost.

Roberts Brass has always been a special place for me, as it was among a few of the earliest structures I ever explored when I first began coming to Detroit to document abandoned factories there. These photos harken back to the autumn of 2021; I would love the chance to return here to apply five years of learning curve and improved method, though I'd like to do it without the possibility of dogs chasing me through the property. Time will tell. Enjoy the set and have a spectacular Friday out there, everyone! -Mr. P.

10/22/2026

Tucked away in Norwood, just northeast of downtown Cincinnati, Ohio, stands the former Perry & Derrick Company paint factory, a sprawling industrial complex that once played a role in the region's manufacturing economy. The property represents another chapter in the long story of Greater Cincinnati's industrial growth, decline, abandonment, and efforts at redevelopment.

The Perry & Derrick Company was founded on May 12, 1913, in Dayton, Kentucky, originally specializing in paints, coatings, and related products. As the company grew, it eventually moved its manufacturing operations across the Ohio River to Norwood in 1959, establishing itself within an already thriving industrial community. Norwood was home to numerous factories and manufacturers throughout the twentieth century, and Perry & Derrick became part of that landscape, producing paints and specialized industrial coatings for commercial and industrial customers.

The complex occupied approximately 3.9 acres and contained roughly 120,000 square feet of industrial space. The buildings accommodated paint production, mixing, packaging, chemical storage, and warehousing. Like many midcentury industrial complexes, the factory evolved around the needs of its operations, resulting in a dense collection of manufacturing spaces that reflected decades of industrial use.

Perry & Derrick continued operating through the latter half of the twentieth century, expanding its business through acquisitions and its involvement in the regional paint industry. In 1987, the company acquired retail operations belonging to Foy-Johnston, another Cincinnati-area paint business. In 1999, it purchased Harrison Paint's retail stores and industrial coatings division, although the former Harrison retail locations were subsequently closed. These acquisitions reflected a changing paint industry in which smaller regional manufacturers increasingly faced competition from larger national corporations.

By the mid-2000s, manufacturing activity at the factory had ended, leaving behind a substantial industrial complex with an increasingly uncertain future. The buildings gradually deteriorated as years of vacancy took their toll. Windows were broken, interiors suffered from water infiltration and neglect, and the once-busy production areas became empty, decaying spaces. However, the factory's abandonment presented a far more serious problem than simply deteriorating architecture.

On April 27, 2011, the Norwood Fire Department discovered dangerous conditions inside the former factory and requested assistance from the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency. Investigators found enormous quantities of chemicals and industrial waste left behind throughout the complex. The inventory included approximately 1,500 industrial drums, more than 8,000 smaller chemical containers, 2,300 aerosol paint cans, 23 large chemical totes, and ten storage tanks. Many contained flammable, corrosive, toxic, or otherwise hazardous substances associated with paint manufacturing.

The combination of deteriorating structures and abandoned chemicals created a serious threat to public safety. Leaking containers, combustible materials, and improperly stored industrial waste raised concerns about fires, explosions, and environmental contamination. On April 29, 2011, local health authorities declared the property unfit for human habitation. The EPA subsequently undertook an extensive hazardous-waste removal operation, completing its federal removal action in December 2011. What had once been an ordinary manufacturing facility had become a significant environmental cleanup site.

Even after the removal of hazardous materials, the former Perry & Derrick factory remained a deteriorating industrial property. Its size, physical condition, and complicated history made redevelopment difficult. The abandoned buildings became another example of the challenges faced by older Rust Belt communities attempting to address obsolete manufacturing facilities that no longer served their original purpose.

A new chapter began in the early 2020s when public redevelopment organizations turned their attention to the property. In 2022, the Hamilton County Landbank authorized its acquisition, identifying the vacant complex as a blighted property and public safety concern. By 2023, the Port of Greater Cincinnati Development Authority was pursuing plans to stabilize and redevelop the site. Those efforts included funding to demolish structures posing immediate fire hazards while evaluating whether other portions of the complex could be preserved and adapted for new uses.

The property's ultimate future remains a question of balancing public safety, redevelopment costs, and the potential value of its remaining industrial architecture. Although redevelopment efforts were underway by 2023, as of October 2026, the future of that redevelopment is still uncertain.

The Perry & Derrick Company factory is a reminder that abandoned industrial buildings are more than empty shells of brick, steel, and concrete. They represent businesses, workers, changing economies, and the environmental consequences of manufacturing practices that were once commonplace. For more than four decades, this Norwood complex was associated with the production of paints and coatings. Its later years brought vacancy, neglect, hazardous materials, and uncertainty. Whether its remaining structures ultimately find new life or disappear entirely, the former Perry & Derrick factory remains part of the industrial history of Cincinnati and the surrounding communities.

We visited this considerably labyrinthine complex in the winter of 2023, on a blustery southern Ohio day shortly after Christmas. The gloomy day outside added to the overall vibe of the place. Still, a rather interesting and intriguing documentation that kept us surprised over the next three hours. Enjoy the view and have a great day out there, all! -Mr. P.