American Ruins: From Homefront to Treehouse

Blast walls separate the buildings, their integrity compromised by peepholes

Growing up I had a tree-house. Old Man Jones was a helluva craftsman, but he was just as shrewd. So my tree-house had solid guard-rails around a platform, transparent walls to satisfy the ever-nurturing Momma Jones and her watchful eye. My only respite from Lil' bubba Jones came in the ladder of rope with rough cut oak rungs. Bubba hadn't developed the dexterity to navigate that when it went up. As he got there, us older boys took the rungs out and hung a single knotted strand of rope down over a sturdy branch.

Nothing like what the Military-Industrial Complex of the 1940s left for the kids in an outlet town outside the Chicago metro area.

This place was one of many factories built in the lead up to World War II, and has an outbuilding added later that appears to have been a shop, but has been re-purposed to the epitome of the tree-house euphemism.

Within the factory itself, there are enough spaces to accommodate several various cliques of forlorn teenagers. It appears most include talented artists and spray paintists

Folklore and Urban Legends abound of the history of the factory, disputed accounts of death and mayhem lend to the "haunted" reputation. I haven't find a cite-able reference to such tragedy, and am admittedly skeptical of the paranormal, but found this epithet on the bricks in the boiler room astute.

Of course the elements and the materials onsite have contributed their own "art" as well.

Water seeping through cinder block wall caught the eye

Competing messages echo the conflicted history of this site. Originally a federal lease and a private factory to assemble fuzes for mortars and arty shells that closed upon the conclusion of hostile actions in 1945.

The site had been acquired and expanded to once include a rendering plant and corrals on the grounds where horses once circled aimlessly awaiting slaughter. After the great horse-meat debacle of 1952 in Chicago, the "dog-food" and grease plant ceased processing equine carcasses and soon shuttered its metaphorical smokestack. The rendering plant building is gone now, but their maintenance shed addition serves as a skate-park.


The walls have eyes, in most every room

The old factory loading dock is easily accessible, and well lit through the rusting corrugated roof.

This allows robust flora growth within the old bay.

Fall comes late indoors.

While the factory maintained an Army-Navy E award during the war years, stories persist about the forces applied to various portions of the structure, such as this wall (where the building backs up to a creek.)

Some sections are less stable than others, all show signs of abuse and neglect from vandalistic visitors.

A trail south leads along a row of small concrete bunkers where volatile chemical storage occurred. Alongside tanks, and piping for liquid storage and routing.

Significant, though graffiti-covered and litter-strewn, ruins of the factory remain,

Dual Block-Walls and hallways between the three buildings were designed to contain mishaps in handling the volatile chemicals.

Coverage of the operations history detailed the security guard shakedown for cigarettes and matches the workers encountered entering the grounds, and the anti-static "Specially Soled" boots that were provided for workers exposed to volatile chemicals.

With the uppers lost to time, these special soles litter the place. I'd mistaken this one for a Chuck Taylor.

The worst incident on record of the fuze factory was shortly before it closed, a local newspaper quoted a worker "It dang near blew the roof off."

The roof of the "Pellet House," where the blasting caps were packed with explosive cocktails, has given in to the stress of time.

Interim owners have contributed their woes to the adjoining property across the creek/ditch;