Our early life’s experiences, no matter how vividly imprinted, are also hopelessly skewed. For example: as a kid, I frequently swam at the old South Side YMCA.
The building where I learned to swim is abandoned. It has been for quite a few years—I testified in favor of its preservation a while back—but I hadn’t seen photos, or imagined that there’d be graffiti and curling paint (oh man).
The first abandoned building I ever went in was a school I had attended maybe a decade prior, and I hadn’t even known that it had closed. It still smelled the same, and the art room was still full of art projects made of the same construction paper and paint we used.
Not much later, I was at the library where I worked at the time and I stumbled across a book of abandoned 1950s homes and honky tonks on the High Plains. In the introduction, the photographer wrote about being upset seeing the ruins of his own generation, in his lifetime. I was 20 or 21, and I’d already seen the same thing myself. I thought You have no idea. The cycle moves a little faster in the Rust Belt.
all these people publicly talking about going into this building, etc have ruined it for others.
It’s now all boarded up (all glass windows, etc completely covered in white boards). Not only does it now draw attention to the abandonment, but as I said it ruins it for others who might have wanted to go inside for themselves…