But now, I know, as they knew when they smiled knowingly at me, l didn’t know what I was thinking when I reincarnated this blog and committed to making entries. I know, I should know what I’m thinking; after all, it is my brain that’s doing the thinking! But sometimes, it gets carried away, all on its own, with grandiose ideas of how much time the body attached to it has. I advise people all the time— do NOT start a blog, if you don’t have time to update it.  So what do I do? I start one! Damn I’m smart. That’s another Hahaha. Ha moment—if you haven’t guessed.

So, lets get back to Scranton! A month + later!

Scranton Lace! Wow! What a history. Yet I feel so let down by what I’ve read and uncovered. It’s so unsatisfying and I’ve been struggling to explain why.  And then I realized why I feel let down —what I’ve read is so impersonal—yet what I found was exactly the opposite. Scranton Lace oozed personal— so much of the people who worked there still remained.

The famed lace is still part way through the looms. Unfinished. Tools are still strewn on desks, in what I imagine was the plant/maintenance room. Bowling shoes wait, patiently in booths, for feet to fill them. Multitudes of boxes containing employee stock certificates are hidden in a darkened barely accessible room. Sewing machines languish alongside cones of thread. You can feel the presence of long-gone seamstresses stooped over the machines.

I am always skeptical of information I find on our beloved World Wide Web, but I found the same sentence repeated in every article, web and print, I read: “It closed in 2002 with the company’s vice president telling its employees, mid-shift, that the facility was closing “effective immediately.” This obviously explains the “what remains” factor, I found so moving.

Just to clarify the historical importance of Scranton Lace: “The company was established by the Scranton Board of Trade as the Scranton Lace Curtain Manufacturing Company in 1890 and was incorporated on June 15, 1897. The name Scranton Lace Company became standardized in 1916 when the Scranton Lace Curtain Manufacturing Company and one of its subsidiaries combined their operations.”

Mmmm, so, historically, this is one very important piece of American industrial history. And it was closed mid-shift—really (that’s all we get)— and then left to rot?? I would love to know more. There must be more. As I said previously this information is so unsatisfying —it’s like decaf coffee.

As a photographer/blogger (albeit a slack blogger), and an intensely curious person, I always hope to reach people who were a part of the places I photograph. I love it when every now and then they turn up.  I would be thrilled to hear from anyone employed at Scranton Lace on that fateful day in 2002, when over a century of history just ceased midway through a workday.  This was a company that cared enough about it’s workers to have an onsite theatre, beauty salon and of course bowling alley.

Then nothing.

Just lace. And I say just lace with complete dismay—abandoned on it’s journey. Stuck. Never to attain completion and reach its destiny, never to be removed from the incredible Nottingham Looms (they are another blog post in themselves).

Thank you, Scranton Lace, for the inspiration.

A 1952 share certificate from Scranton Lace.

I just got home from the theatre, which of course always reminds me of how important story-telling is. I was telling my friends about an incident at Scranton Lace on Saturday. And, like my work friends who heard the story earlier today they were equally  intrigued. I have no explanation for what follows, I have my own interpretation, some of which I will offer, but we all find our own truth in synchronicity, so I believe everyone’s personal perception is valid and as such I am sharing this story as just a good “yarn”! Nothing more-or-less.

It’s hard leaving a blog behind and starting a new one—the history of my exploring habits/shenanigans are gone—but I will attempt to catch new readers up and set the scene as briefly as possible.

My exploring buddy, who I affectionately call “chatterbox,” (only for blogging purposes) has accompanied me on all of my adventures for the past 3 years. I visited most of the places I shot for my thesis alone, and frequently scared the you-know-what out of myself. So, as much as having her along took some getting used to (I whined a lot in my previous blog about the lack of silence) I have grown used to the whole safety in numbers concept, and I have also grown to enjoy our ridiculous banter—but last Saturday she was in Florida and I was going to be in the Scranton area and I was hell bent on doing Scranton Lace. It has been on “my list” for years.

So, I went alone. I did have permission from the owner to be there, which certainly contributed to my somewhat “cocky” I can do this without her attitude. And honestly, I was fine for the first hour or so—a little jumpy—but I was good.

As always,  I was cursing the fact that I never made it past 5’2” and although I like to think I have the shoulders of a footballer — I really don’t—I’m a woman and I’m little and I don’t look terribly threatening. I always have plans to whap whoever might confront me with my 25- year-old, 20 lb plus tripod, but I’m a woos and I don’t really like my chances of whapping anyone—I would just run really fast.

Anyway, the first hour was uneventful. I was nervous, but happy to have the opportunity to shoot this marvelous piece of history. I had finally found the fabled Nottingham Loom. I was completely preoccupied with the enormity of the machine and its intricate mechanical structure when I heard noises! Noises I didn’t expect to hear.

I swore—a lot. And then preceded to creep over to the entrance of the building so I could peek out. When I say entrance, it wasn’t a doorway, it was just a gigantic, house size, hole in the side of the building, I guess to get the looms out. So I felt pretty vulnerable. All I could see was a big black SUV and a person in a big coat and baseball cap, I had no idea if they were male or female. They were probably 400 to 500 meters away (I’m not good with yards…it’s an Aussie thing) and of course at my age, my eyesight is a bigger problem than my height, so I couldn’t see a bloody thing except a bigger than me person and a big black truck and I was conjuring up all sorts of scenarios. Another problem was, I had only recently read an article on a website by a group of young explorers who had been chased by a local gang in a black SUV a year or so ago at Scranton Lace. So I am sure you can imagine where my mind was going. And I was ALONE!

However, because I’m obsessed with my photography (or I’m just plain stupid) I shrugged it off and went back to shooting, reminding myself that I had an email with permission in my pocket, and also pleading with my overactive imagination to just shut up!  About 10-15 minutes later I went back to check what was going on. The SUV was getting closer and I couldn’t see anyone. I could hear voices but couldn’t make anything out.

Next, I had a serious conversation with myself! It went like this: You really need to get out of here! You don’t know who is in that truck! You are alone! You are 4 hours away from home! No one you call can get here in time to help you! YOU NEED TO LEAVE NOW!

I stopped shooting. I folded the legs of my tripod together. I balanced the tripod against a post.

An old brown piece of paper attached to the post caught my eye; it was in between the post and a piece of wire that was wrapped around the post. I gently pried it away from from its home. It was an old American Legion event ticket. It was dated July 18, 1936.

I guess, dear reader, you’re saying— so what. But July 18, 1936 was the day my Dad was born—he died almost 15 years ago. That little old worn piece of ticket (see picture) with my Dad’s date of birth on it has survived  75 years stuck to a post in a bustling factory — it even has paint on it from a paint job on the post. And I was the one to find and remove it. ????

I looked at the date. I looked again. I got a weird feeling in my stomach. It actually kind of took my breath away.

I don’t know what you call finding this ticket.  I’m not going to get into my personal beliefs  on my “fun, light-hearted, soon to be historically correct “ blog. But finding it made me stay and spend the day at Scranton Lace. I held the ticket close. I stared at it.  I tucked it into my inside jacket pocket and looked upward and said, I guess it’s OK to be here, you’re watching over me.

I still packed up my gear and headed up several flights of stairs and then into another adjoining building— away from ground level— as far away from the black SUV and voices as I could get. I was intensely aware of their presence throughout the day, their footsteps and chattering. Hours later, I recognized women’s voices and felt much more comfortable. And then eventually we ran into each other.

They were all very nice people, like-minded souls. Turns out they were at Scranton filming a paranormal tv-series. We chatted about what we were doing there; exchanged info, and then we all went our separate ways to other parts of the massive complex—they, in search of the bowling alley—me, in search of the clock tower.

We ran into each other again when I was leaving and they were setting up for their night-time investigations. We said our goodbyes and I never mentioned my ticket to them. It always takes me days to analyze and then discuss things (it’s a Virgo trait).

So, I love this story. I had to tell it. I have so many, from my many adventures, and I rarely write about them. But this one begged me to be told.

I imagine the “why” of it all will be explained to me at some point. I believe we all experience synchronicity. I believe there are no accidents. I don’t know why I found the ticket that made me stay. Well that’s not entirely true. I do have my theories, and they may be right or they may be wrong. But I’ll keep my theories for me.

I know one thing for certain. I was meant to photograph the Scranton Lace factory. I am honored to have experienced first-hand it’s wonderful history. Thanks Dad for giving me the courage to stay!

I have spent so much time doing battle with WordPress to make this blog look like it “belongs” to the rest of the Spirits of the Abandoned site that I have no energy left to write something entertaining. How disappointing!

However, it is very satisfying to have a blog back up and running. Once upon a couple of years ago there was a Spirits of the Abandoned blog that I really enjoyed writing.Then the amount of galleries I had to finish became overwhelming and the choice became photograph and edit or write. Unfortunately the blog lost to the photos and the editing.

Now to get 2012 off to a productive start the website is all up-to-date- and I can try and divide my time more evenly between writing and photos.

In it’s last incarnation this blog was a rather egocentric but humorous and very tongue-in-cheek journal of my “urban exploring” escapades as a middle-aged professional photographer, who suddenly found herself  enamored with falling down, off-limits and very dangerous buildings. While I doubt I will be able to avoid this style of entry completely, I intend to be a little more serious with this new blog and revisit and share the fascinating histories of many of the wonderful places on this website.

I will be forever grateful both as a photographer and as a person with an insatiable fascination for the unknown to have visited so many intriguing and historically significant, and most importantly, often rarely visited abandonments. I have seen and photographed what most will never see. I smile every time I think about it. It brings to mind one of my very favorite quotes from Diane Arbus –”My favorite thing is to go where I’ve never been.”

I’ll leave you, dear reader,  with that thought. I will be back to blog some more when I am not so frustrated with the inner workings of WordPress.

If you have a favorite site you would like to know more about please leave me a comment and I will do my best to make sure I post about it!