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This place holds a special meaning for me. I’ve visited several times, determined to explore every corner and uncover its secrets. But no matter how hard I tried, I never quite managed to see it all. The main front building, the one closest to the road? Never got inside. The massive cooling building in the back with its giant fans and smaller outbuildings? Missed that, too. And then there was the tank farm—a cluster of 22 rusty tanks tucked away in the upper right corner of the property. For some reason, no one ever took pictures of those tanks, even though they sat quietly in the shadows. I only noticed them recently, flipping through my old research notes. That’s when it hit me: I’d never taken the path that led there, too hesitant to get close to the Trenton-Mercer Airport’s fence line. I wasn’t here to get in trouble. I was here for the peaceful, empty buildings, not to risk getting caught wandering near airport grounds. Still, being there felt like stepping back in time. Walking t...
In the realm of industrial history along the Passaic River in Northern New Jersey lies a captivating tale of an oil company's struggle for survival against the evolving landscape of progress. Amidst the modernization of Route 21 in the 1950s, the Riverbank Petroleum Company later renamed to Northern New Jersey Oil Company stood as a fierce opponent to the development. Their existence pivoted on the river's access, a lifeline for their business. Relinquishing it meant demise, so they fiercely contested the eminent domain battles. Ultimately, a compromise was reached: a tunnel beneath McCarter Highway, enabling oil transportation without disrupting the flow of the newly expanded route. Riverbank Petroleum Company Wharf had its last recorded shipment of under 2,000 tons of fuel oils in 1997. Time has seen the oil company fade into history, leaving behind an abandoned, flooded tunnel. However, a peculiar sight remains – a doorway, a relic from the past, etched onto the side of Rou...
Starting off hopefully with a series of archive posts from today. For now, it will contain either one or several photographs of various decay and abandonment that will be posted in a full write-up, an undiscovered location, or something from the past, present, or future located in my two-year Lightroom catalog. Or it may never be written up or shared as a full album set. I currently have written up a post from this place but still debating whether to publish it or not. The only first time I have ever been caught exploring abandoned buildings. The pictures from here definitely carry significant emotional and mental weight. One, because I could have been asked to delete my pictures. Two, I could have had a criminal record or not based on a judge's leniency, or lastly having a gun-toting security officer pointing a gun at me. You definitely don't find intact glass in abandoned places and this place certainly had a lot of it.
Steeped in rich history and bearing the telltale signs of a bygone era, the Erie WR Draw Bridge, colloquially known as the "Cut Bridge" stands as a living testament to the industrial past of Newark and Kearny, New Jersey. This landmark, which once 'cut' a path between the former Maas & Waldstein Company and the Northern New Jersey Oil Corporation properties, is a fascinating piece of local history, which I endeavored to understand back in 2016, only to find my nascent research skills wanting. In the heydays of my urban exploration and my modestly viewed YouTube channel , the bridge was a mysterious entity that intrigued me. Initially known as the Consolidated Rail Corporation Railroad Bridge, it is presently recognized as the landmarked WR Draw Bridge, a name that bears testimony to its strategic location. Constructed in 1897 and subsequently modified in 1911 and 1950, this plate girder swing bridge, spanning over the Passaic River, is a unique architectural marve...
For weeks, I had been orbiting the perimeter of the impending demolition of the Church of St. Michael and St. Edward, a once revered church in the heart of Fort Greene, like a moth drawn to a flame. The neighborhood, a patchwork of tight project housing, seemed indifferent to the fate of this historic edifice. The intel I had received suggested that entry was as simple as scaling a wooden fence, yet the timing had never felt right. Until one day, it did. With a mission in New Jersey looming, I knew it was now or never. The demolition was advancing at a startling pace, the church's twin steeples already reduced to rubble. The skeletal remains of timber beams and rusted steel frames peeked out from the ruins, a testament to the relentless march of progress. Summoning a surge of courage, I seized a moment of quiet in the bustling housing project and vaulted over the fence. My heart pounded in my chest as I slipped unnoticed into the church grounds. The once grand entrance now stood as...
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