USS Recruit TDE-1

Just to the west of San Diego International Airport was once a large U.S. Naval Training Center named Naval Training Station San Diego, known today, post-redevelopment, as Liberty Station. Scrolling over a satellite view of the former naval base, one peculiar structure sticks out: what looks to be a Navy ship, somehow sailing on land. Affectionately nicknamed the USS Neversail for its lack of propeller or driveshaft, USS Recruit was built at the tail end of WWII to train recruits on naval customs and tradition before they set sail on a real ship. Commissioned, decommissioned, and recommissioned in 1982, TDE-1 USS Recruit had a hand in the training of naval recruits from WWII through the Gulf War, serving until Naval Training Station San Diego’s closure in 1997.

I was surprised by just how large the ship is when I walked alongside it. Originally designed as a 2/3-scale model of a WWII destroyer escort, she was reconfigured in 1982 as an Oliver Hazard Perry-class frigate. This added the requisite CAS antenna and single OTO Melara 76 mm gun mounted forward, which can still be viewed today. I can’t say I’ve ever walked alongside a real U.S. Navy frigate before, but I can easily imagine just how large they are based on this model.

Believe it or not, USS Recruit wasn’t the Navy’s first attempt at a land-bound ship. The first USS Recruit was constructed in 1917 in New York City’s Union Square as a recruiting tool to drum up enlistments for WWI. A fully rigged battleship, the original USS Recruit helped bring 25,000 sailors to the war effort. The 1917 USS Recruit featured a full complement of six 14-inch guns and ten 5-inch casemate guns, all recreated from wood. Another landlocked ship, USS Trayer, is still in use at Recruit Training Command Great Lakes in Illinois.

From afar, the starboard side of the ship looks pretty convincing if you can ignore the fact that it isn’t afloat. The port side of the ship reveals USS Recruit’s dual purpose as a classroom and model, as six sets of doors are cut into the hull for ease of entry. Within the windowless hull were six classrooms to complement the array of naval equipment used to train recruits topside. The little details like anchors, hatches, and radar equipment on the mast all match what you’d expect to see if you were sailing the high seas on a ship like USS Samuel B. Roberts, another Oliver Hazard Perry-class frigate. The ship remains in stasis today, maintained but not open to visitors. The USS Midway Museum is involved in the maintenance of the ship, and the landscaping surrounding it is very well kept. There isn’t an immediate plan to open the ship to tours that I know of, so for now we’ll just have to be satisfied with admiring this naval oddity from the outside.

The Ohio State Reformatory

The Ohio State Reformatory, an infamous prison and filming location of The Shawshank Redemption, is now a tourist destination which allows you to walk the cell blocks and get a glimpse of life behind bars for the thousands of inmates that once called Mansfield, Ohio home. The prison is imposing, designed by the architect Levi T. Scofield (who also designed the Athens Lunatic Asylum) and had an initial capacity for 1,500 inmates. While immortalized in The Shawshank Redemption as a maximum security prison, the Ohio State Reformatory was initially an intermediary facility intended to bridge the gap between the Boys Industrial School and the State Penitentiary in Columbus, Ohio. Only intended to house young, first-time offenders, the inhumane conditions that existed in the prison were enough to cause a federal judge to order its closure in 1983.

Starting in the administration block, the self guided tour route snakes through the various cell blocks and inner workings of the prison. In typical early 1900s institutional design fashion, a degree of ornamentation was included in the design of the trim, banisters, and other woodwork. One eye-catching architectural detail of the prison are the numerous fireproof staircases, which can be found throughout the administrative and cell blocks. These staircases imitate ornate wooden varieties, but are constructed of steel to maintain structural integrity during a fire. This also allowed the exclusion of unsightly fire escapes from the facade.

Despite these fireproof staircases, the prison still suffered a deadly fire on April 21, 1930. 322 inmates were killed when guards refused to open the cell doors of the burning sell block, trapping inmates in their 7x9 foot cells. Some prisoners who escaped were able to wrestle keys from the guards and run back into the prison, saving a number of those inmates who were otherwise left for dead. Built for 1,500 inmates and completed in 1910 (construction was delayed from the start in 1896 by the Bearing financial crisis), the prison held 4,300 at the time of the fire.

Sections of the administration block remain unrestored, but some rooms filmed in The Shawshank Redemption were left as-is by the production crew. There’s still plenty of peeling paint and crumbling plaster to see, but the Mansfield Reformatory Preservation Society has done a good job of stabilizing the buildings and preventing further degradation. Moving onto the cell blocks, it’s almost impossible to understand just how tiny each cell is without seeing for yourself. Stacked six stories high, sleeping one on top of the other, two adult inmates would share a cell designed for adolescents which included a toilet, small sink, and mirror. Gang-type showers were located just off each cell block.

Like many institutions of the day, the prison functioned like a walled city - food was prepared on-site, a small hospital provided a minimum standard of care, and a library gave inmates the opportunity to learn. Job training programs played an important role in the prison, and the land was farmed to provide fresh food for the kitchens. Most of the outbuildings that supported the prison were leveled when the modern Mansfield Correctional Institution opened as a minimum/medium security prison in 1990. Delays in construction of Richland Correctional pushed the court-ordered closure of the reformatory back from 1983 to 1990.

The Victor Talking Machine Company

Despite all the time I spend researching, reading, and digging up new leads, I’m always excited when a bit of interesting history just falls into my lap. With some time to kill in Camden, NJ before the Battleship New Jersey opened, I decided to walk around the city and take in the sights. As I wandered through downtown, I was surprised to find a building with “VICTOR TALKING MACHINE COMPANY” engraved above the main entrance. An abandoned warehouse sat diagonal to the what must’ve been the central office building, and another warehouse-like structure nearby (the defunct cabinet factory) had the trademark stained glass image of “His Master’s Voice” featuring Nipper, mascot of the company, prominently featured atop a central tower. I had my D850 and Nikon PC-E (tilt-shift) lenses with me for the battleship, so I took advantage of the nice skies and decided to shoot first then research later.

As it turns out, Camden was once the Mecca of phonograph production in the United States. Eldridge R. Johnson of Victor owned the patents to several key technologies needed to manufacture phonographs, which gave the company an edge over their competitors. The design of the lateral cut shellac record, patented by Emile Berliner of Victor, improved on Thomas Edison’s wax cylinders (invented 10 years earlier) by drastically simplifying the manufacture of playback media. The company started out making tabletop phonographs, but there were many competitors in this product category. Constantly embattled in expensive  patent infringement lawsuits, Victor looked to a new product named the “Victrola” to bolster sales. Priced at $200 in 1906, the Victrola took the best Victor tabletop phonograph and flipped it on its head - literally. The unsightly horn, at this time a massive size to improve volume and sound quality, was flipped upside down in a wooden cabinet. The unsightly apparatus of the phonograph could now be hidden in a stylish cabinet that looked at home in the most elegant parlors of neighborhood socialites.

The Victrola catapulted the Victor Talking Machine Company to success. Carpentry shops were added to the Camden factory to churn out Victrola cabinets by the thousands. Floor standing models proved most popular for Victor, and several low cost options were introduced to the market in 1911. The factories in Camden produced 500,000 Victrolas annually by 1917, and an electric motor variant was introduced in 1913. The hand cranked models remained most popular through the 1920s as adoption of that remarkable technology known as electricity slowly entered American homes. Along with electricity came the next evolution of home audio, which would eventually destroy the Victor Talking Machine Company - radio. Radio broadcasts meant no more pesky records, better sound quality, and endless variety which were just some of the selling points that made radio more attractive to the average consumer.

Victor’s balance sheets drowned in surplus inventory, with thousands of machines crowding warehouses when a literal fire sale was held at Victrola dealers in 1925. Near-worthless Victrolas were burned as consumers traded them in for radios, and remaining inventory was sold at 50% of list price or shipped to South American distributors. The explosive growth of the Camden, NJ factories ground to halt, but by this time the factories sprawled over many city blocks. If you look closely at the postcard above, you’ll be able to pick out the buildings in this post as they were in the 1920s.

Despite the sale of improved acoustic phonographs and phonograph/radio combination units, the end was near in 1925. The company’s stock was worthless, and audio technology had moved past the Victrola’s acoustic amplification technology. More affordable electronically amplified phonographs allowed for volume control beyond the basic “doors open or closed” method offered by the acoustic phonograph, a massive improvement for the average consumer. Volume control was such a problem before electronic amplification that we were given the phrase “put a sock in it” - referring to the act of stuffing a sock down the phonograph’s horn to lower the volume.

The Victor Talking Machine Company, makers of the famous Victrola, operated from 1901 until 1929 when a buyout by the Radio Corporation of America (RCA) formed RCA Victor. Over the years, the company would produce phonographs, records, radios, and other electronics. Through subsequent acquisitions, Sony Music Entertainment became owners of Victor’s back catalog. Through a cooperative effort with the Library of Congress, you can stream over 16,000 recoding of Victor and Colombia records via the LOC online catalog. Give it a try - I listened to some fox trot recordings from 1924 through the National Jukebox while writing this blog post!

USS New Jersey BB-62

Sometimes the project you have in mind just doesn’t work out, and it can be tough to let go. Whether it comes down to a matter of timing, lack of resources, or just a loss of motivation, it’s important to recognize when you’re spinning your wheels. The images you see here are what’s left of a canceled project focused on the Battleship New Jersey. I burned through two rolls of 120 Ilford Delta 3200, one roll of 120 Ilford FP4 Plus, two rolls of 35mm Kodak P3200, and one roll of 35mm Ilford FP4 Plus before I decided it was time to switch gears to a new project.

With limitless ideas and limited time, I have to prioritize the projects I work on. My main gallery projects on the “Work” page of this site usually involve in-depth research, travel, or otherwise extraordinary expenditures of effort to complete. They can take anywhere from a few months to over a year to document between shooting, researching, and editing. For example, I’m just now wrapping up research for an upcoming gallery project covering Endicott Johnson’s legacy in the Triple Cities - a project which I started in Spring 2022 and have been researching ever since. Blog posts are more focused on smaller subjects, things which I can shoot in a weekend or where the history is readily available.

So how did this failed project begin in the first place? Well I regained interest in the Battleship New Jersey through the museum’s YouTube channel. Like many potential projects, I jumped straight into the research without pre visualizing the end result. I soon realized that no matter how much research I did, I’d never be able to document anything about the battleship that the YouTube channel hadn’t covered. I like to focus on the obscure and interesting history that can be hiding in plain sight, and a battleship isn’t exactly “hidden or obscure history”.

Shooting more film is never a bad thing, and any chance to practice composition in the field leads to better pictures in the future. My Mamiya C22 and F6 had been (figuratively) collecting dust in my dry cabinet since the summer, and I did get to explore every inch of the tour route on my many visits to the battleship. The lesson to be learned here is it’s ok to pull the plug on a project before you finish it. Enjoying the process of shooting film and improving your technique is just as important to becoming a better photographer, even if the end result doesn’t work out as planned.

Cincinnati Union Terminal

Cincinnati Union Terminal is a 1920s-era Art Deco station that sits on the outskirts of downtown Cincinnati. An iconic example of Art Deco design, construction was started in 1929 and completed by 1933. The station was a massive infrastructure project for the city and was funded to the tune of $41 million by the railroads, despite financial setbacks caused by the Great Depression. Because of its proximity to the Ohio River and the low elevation of the adjoining rail yard, the station and tracks were raised up on 5.5 million cubic feet of fill during construction to prevent track washouts. Sporting 94 miles of track with a theoretical capacity of 216 trains per day, this “Temple to Transportation” was busiest during WWII and practically abandoned by the 1970s as air and automotive travel won over the public. Amtrak discontinued service at the station from 1972 until 1991 when a renovation was completed by a coalition of museums who hoped to revitalize the terminal. Based on the crowd that showed up while I was visiting, I’d say their revitalization efforts were successful!

When viewed from above, the most jarring addition to the terminal is the massive stretch of asphalt parking lots that flank Ezzard Charles Drive. This wasn’t always here—as built, the terminal included 20,000 square feet of space which housed an underground parking garage. The parking garage even featured a garage of its own, and travelers could send their cars in for service while they were away on a trip. In order to breathe new life into the terminal in the post-rail era, the garage was converted for exhibition space and the manicured landscape leading to the terminal was paved over in 1980. While I understand the logic behind converting the parking garage to museum space, it’s a pity that the beautiful landscaping had to be destroyed for a parking lot.

The architects behind Cincinnati Union Terminal were clever. As you walk up to the station, you’ll see three staggered wings jutting out from the half-dome. Each was designed to serve a different mode of transportation—one ramp for cars and taxis, one for buses, and a loop for streetcars. Much like the incomplete Cincinnati Subway, the infrastructure was in place but the tracks were never built to connect the station and downtown Cincinnati by streetcar.

The concourse, where passengers would board their train, was demolished in the 1970s at the insistence of the railroads. Double-stacked cargo trains were now too high to fit under the overpass, and this reduced the theoretical capacity of the active rail yard. Much of the 18,150 square feet of murals that adorned the walls and depicted the industries of Cincinnati were located down this concourse. Luckily these 14 murals were saved, though the beautiful “map of the world” mosaic above the information counter at the rear of the concourse proved too impractical and costly to relocate. I’m hoping to track down some of those murals which were saved when I’m back in Cincinnati.

At the height of rail travel during WWII, over 30,000 passengers a day passed through the concourse on their way across the country. The USO set up accommodations for soldiers on their way home or to the front, filling offices with cots for a quick nap and converting the tea room into a snack station serving coffee, doughnuts, and locally donated baked goods. An air-conditioned theater just off the rotunda showed the latest newsreels, and a lunchroom offered a hot meal to travelers. To give you an idea of just how far backwards we’ve gone from the golden age of rail travel, passengers could take advantage of a wide variety of services while waiting for their trains. Rather than scurrying through Penn Station like I used to do every workday, passengers could grab a reasonably priced meal at the lunchroom, take a quick shower to freshen up, get a haircut and a shoe shine, or have light refreshments at the tea room. Now only two Amtrak trains stop in Cincinnati three times a week, and both in the early hours of the morning (1:30 AM inbound and 3:30 AM outbound to NYC on the Cardinal route). Cincinnati Union Terminal was truly the gateway to the city, guaranteed to leave a lasting impression.

The engineering behind the terminal is a marvel within itself. The half-dome is 180 feet wide and uses a double-walled construction method. Steam heat is piped between the roof and ceiling to keep the rotunda at a comfortable temperature. The entire terminal and rail yard had to be raised to avoid flooding. The complex mixture of steel and concrete had taken a beating by 2016 when occupants of the terminal were able to raise enough money to fund a complete renovation, which wrapped in 2018.

Operated as an independent corporation, Cincinnati Union Station contained offices for the station management which were completed in the Art Deco design. Suffering from weather damage and vandalism, these offices were restored to their former glory by volunteers. The secretary and president’s office feature Art Deco built-in desks, and the president’s office in particular is awash in hand-crafted detail. A map of the United States is inlaid over the fireplace (which was used on occasion) and a motif of the terminal is inlaid above the office’s entrance. The offices and board room feature cork floors, a nifty building material choice designed to dampen the noise from the nearby rail yard.

I was hoping to take a tour of Tower A, which gave a bird’s eye view of the tracks surrounding the terminal, but it was unfortunately closed. The Cincinnati Railroad Club restored the space and occupied it until the latest restoration was completed, when they were unceremoniously evicted from the space over stipulations which forced the terminal to charge the volunteer organization rent. Hopefully they reopen it someday and I’ll be able to take that tour.

Among one of the more unique reuses of Cincinnati Union Terminal was the opening of a department store in the rotunda, which survived until 1985. Luckily the Art Deco details of the terminal were left intact! These details remind me a lot of my office at 30 Rockefeller Plaza in NYC—the abundance of painted artwork like that on the ceiling of the Cincinnati Room, the chrome door hardware, and the US Mail Boxes in the rotunda walls. The breadth of materials used is impressive—paint for murals, tile and dyed concrete for the 100-foot wide motifs depicting Cincinnati’s history in the rotunda, glazed tiles in the tea room, and hand-cut linoleum as the material of choice to depict the African-themed artwork near the lunchroom.

Gazing out the terminal and imagining how things would’ve looked here in 1941, I realized something—the tallest building on the horizon would’ve still been there to greet me. Built in 1931, the Carew Tower is another Cincinnati Art Deco icon that held the record of “tallest building in Cincinnati” until 2010. The tower features a historic Art Deco hotel, so I think I’ll need to find an excuse to stay in the city for a night on my next visit…

Nansen Ski Jump

The “Big Nansen”, otherwise known as the Nansen Ski Jump, was built between 1936-1937 and hosted its first event, the US Olympic tryouts, in 1938. The site is undergoing restoration efforts after being abandoned in 1988, and an additional two smaller jumps are under construction alongside the original. With the jump having sat dormant for so long, smaller jumps were needed to teach skiers how to handle the big one. As of this blog post, the smaller “Little Nansen” jump (situated to the right of the original) has been decked and is almost ready for use! You can keep up with their progress at the Nanasen Ski Club’s Facebook page.

Steel and wooden decking forms the backbone of the 171-foot tall ski jump, which looks impossibly large when viewed from the road below. A historical marker at the base of the jump explains how the Big Nansen was a product of the nearby City of Berlin and the National Youth Administration, and how it hosted the United States Ski Jumping National Championship in 1940, ’57, ’65, and ’72.

Across the way from the ski jump, the Nansen Wayside Park provides access to the Androscoggin River and a small boat launch. It was a beautiful summer day when I parked my car at the wayside area, crossed the road with my D850 in tow, and started the hike up the service road to see the Big Nansen up close.

Ascending 200 feet up to the Big Nansen, the incredible scale of the jump becomes even more apparent. While I don’t ski, I can see why the decision to construct two smaller jumps was made - taking your first jump off the Big Nansen would be a terrifying introduction into the sport. Adjacent to the ski jump is the decaying remains of the two story judges booth, which has yet to be restored. The worn decking of the jump was replaced in 2017.

The two circular images with black borders in this post were shot with my newest lens, the Nikon 8-15mm f/3.5-4.5 fisheye. Fisheye lenses are a bit of a gimmick, creating a circular image at their widest end but offering an incredible field of view using a non-rectilinear design. They flare like crazy because so much of the front element protrudes from the lens barrel, and I struggled to block the sun without getting any extremities in the photo. The lens hood can only be used at the 15mm end because otherwise it’ll show up in the picture.

I was always on the fence about the usefulness of fisheye lenses, but now I’m sold. Shooting situations like the Big Nansen are where a fisheye can really shine by providing an exaggerated sense of scale and offering unique perspectives that only a circular fisheye could provide. I haven’t been up to NH in the winter (because the family cabin is 3 seasons and I don’t want to be a popsicle), but I just might have to make a trip up when the jump opens up to the public. I won’t be making the jump myself, but I’d love to see somebody who knows what they’re doing give it a shot!