So one day I was about to leave downtown Fort Smith when the orange apparition of a lost transportation network materialized before my eyes and asked me if I had a dollar.
Showing posts with label Fort Smith. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fort Smith. Show all posts
Friday, November 9, 2012
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
Ghost Signs, Fort Smith
While taking a jaunt through the back streets of Fort Smith via streetcar (about which more later), I snapped a few shots of some old, industrial ghost signs. The above advertises the "Atkinsons-Williams Hardware Co." on the side of a building that's likely abandoned. The company evidently "dominated the tinware trade in the region." Another ghost sign after the jump.
Monday, November 5, 2012
Orphaned Frisco Passenger Depot, Fort Smith
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| Google Map |
Just near the edge of the Arkansas River sits this relic of the old Frisco line. Trains still rumble by along the river, but no one's going for a ride these days. The building is in good shape and is used as temporary offices for the planned U.S. Marshals Museum. More pics after the jump.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Snapshots on a snow day
It's been a while since I've just let some picture speak for themselves. And on a snow-carpeted day like this one, I think it's a good a time as ever.
Abandoned church building, somewhere in Independence County
The remains of downtown Ola
Abandoned building in Fort Smith; note the progression of columns (from Doric to Corinthian): an architectural nod to the Roman Colosseum
An old bank in what I remember to be Booneville
A former one-room school, somewhere near Strawberry
Signpost guarding the ruins of Dogpatch USA, Marble Falls
Queen Anne mansion in downtown North Little Rock
Downtown Mt. Carmel, IL; showcasing the burned-out Hadley's Cafe
The Junction Bridge, Little Rock
706 Market Street, today.
-Jonesy
Abandoned church building, somewhere in Independence County
The remains of downtown Ola
Abandoned building in Fort Smith; note the progression of columns (from Doric to Corinthian): an architectural nod to the Roman Colosseum
An old bank in what I remember to be Booneville
A former one-room school, somewhere near Strawberry
Signpost guarding the ruins of Dogpatch USA, Marble Falls
Queen Anne mansion in downtown North Little Rock
Downtown Mt. Carmel, IL; showcasing the burned-out Hadley's Cafe
The Junction Bridge, Little Rock
706 Market Street, today.
-Jonesy
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Last Train to 2010
The winter marches on, and we're back again to the subject of trains. This is a good train story, though: no lamenting over buried tracks or abandoned right-of-ways or derelict depots. No, sir.
This is about the Arkansas-Missouri Railroad.
But first, Van Buren!
Van Buren lies just north over the river from the much larger city of Fort Smith. Van Buren is like Fort Smith's kid brother. Unfortunately, Fort Smith got into drugs and carousing and general raucous behavior, while Van Buren kept itself under a warm hat of responsibility and historical self-respect. What I'm trying to say is, its downtown is ever so much more beautiful than Fort Smith's, even though the latter town used to be some kind of breathtaking destination-town. For example, the above building (probably Van Buren's most famous) is an 1889 bank building that resulted from a feud between two bankers: since in the late 19th century the complexity and beauty of brickwork was indicative of a business's prosperity (and now you shouldn't be wondering why I am nostalgic for such times), one banker just up and built a bank right next to his rival's, only built his to be as architecturally marvelous as possible.
As it happened, none of it would really matter. Neither the "Crawford County Bank" nor the "Citizen's Bank"--the smaller of the two buildings, belonging to the other rival--managed to pull their business into the 21st century. Both of them (as well as the even older bank across the street) lost out to some bank buildings that probably didn't even use bricks.
But in the end, Van Buren got to keep its built environment, and the Crawford County Bank now adorns all of the little "Visit Downtown Van Buren" brochures. Fort Smith, on the other hand:
They sacrifice their built environment so ten more people can park their cars on a Friday afternoon. Oh, sure, they left the pediment and some of the pilasters of this building so people (like me) can see them and just wonder what used to be there. The face remains, like the only piece of a shattered family heirloom we can't bear to throw away.
But let's get back to the matter at hand. Whatever railroad depots and tracks and excellent things Fort Smith had are long gone. Van Buren's, however, are not only still standing, but are still quite in use:
Yes, it's your average Italianate depot with the addition of a mission-style shingle setup, much the same as many of Arkansas's smaller towns', but the presence of a sizable crowd is what makes the difference. And what's that? That thing just to its right?
Ah yes. A train. The Arkansas-Missouri Railroad is a small, privately owned line operating out of western Arkansas and southern Missouri. Like the Maine Eastern Railroad, the Arkansas-Missouri operates a freight line as well as a passenger excursion line. They have a number of different excursion packages, stopping in little towns up and down the west edge of Arkansas. We could have chosen one with a seat in a caboose, or one with an acted-out train robbery (complete with blank-shooting pistols). We chose the one that went from Van Buren to Winslow and turned around. Not the most exciting, but take a look at the inside of the car:
It's vintage 1920s. The seats were springy, but did we care? The car is a relic of a time when care went into the making of everyday objects, transforming mundane environments into ones of beauty. Of course, a family trying to get from Little Rock to Memphis because their grandmother is about to die probably would not care if the car was just a steel box, and sure, anyone who sees the same beauty every day might forget it exists.
I wouldn't, though. The sublimity of the car and our surroundings transfixed the four of us (me, Jenna, Drew and Kelsey Spickes). The trip took us through little towns, shallow gullies, cages of blasted granite, pitch-black tunnels, deep gorges at the bottom of which lie the bones of the American telegraph network...
The conductor on our car was an old man, hard of hearing but full of stories. He told us about the train trips he would take in his early childhood on this same route, stopping at the tiny depots every town once had. Each station would only yield a person or two, if any, but one thing was guaranteed: the train would load bottles of milk from every depot. This was an image burned in his mind.
The little towns we chugged through weren't so notable except for an anecdote or two the conductors would relate here and there. Winslow was little more than an arbitrary place with an extra track to turn the train around. But one town I will always remember: Mountainburg. Here's why.
There are three towns in Arkansas that start with the word "Mountain." They are Mountain Home, Mountain View, and Mountainburg. Mountain Home is famous for being the Arkansan version of Florida: old people go there to pretend the rest of the world doesn't exist. Mountain View is famous for attracting musicians from not just around the state, but from around the country, and for just being all around one of the best towns ever. Mountainburg is famous for dinosaurs.
Yep. When we passed the dust-mote sized hamlet, our conductor told us what he used to tell passengers about Mountainburg: "I used to say it was the only place in Arkansas you'd find dinosaurs," he said. "Then I found out about this place up north that has 'em too." Well, the "place up north" is, of course, the late Dinosaur World, but that's too tangential to go into now.
Mountainburg has two dinosaurs. Click here to see what they look like. We could just make them out from the window of our car, and that little glimpse made my day. Of course, the train had already made my day four or five times over, but hey, you know.
Seems like I need to wrap this story up. The funny thing is, I actually enjoyed this train trip more than the one in Maine. Something about the scenery, the antique car, the food, the conductors...it was just better. One more leisure railroad remains for me to encounter in Arkansas, and my ultimate goal still stands: ride a steam locomotive. All in years to come. Don't touch that dial.
In the meantime, I bid farewell to 2009. It has been a good year for Time Fishing. Maybe not so consistent, but good nonetheless. I look forward to fishing in 2010...
-Jonesy
P.S. Take a look here to see pictures of dinosaur statues all over the country. This is awesome.
This is about the Arkansas-Missouri Railroad.
But first, Van Buren!
Van Buren lies just north over the river from the much larger city of Fort Smith. Van Buren is like Fort Smith's kid brother. Unfortunately, Fort Smith got into drugs and carousing and general raucous behavior, while Van Buren kept itself under a warm hat of responsibility and historical self-respect. What I'm trying to say is, its downtown is ever so much more beautiful than Fort Smith's, even though the latter town used to be some kind of breathtaking destination-town. For example, the above building (probably Van Buren's most famous) is an 1889 bank building that resulted from a feud between two bankers: since in the late 19th century the complexity and beauty of brickwork was indicative of a business's prosperity (and now you shouldn't be wondering why I am nostalgic for such times), one banker just up and built a bank right next to his rival's, only built his to be as architecturally marvelous as possible.
As it happened, none of it would really matter. Neither the "Crawford County Bank" nor the "Citizen's Bank"--the smaller of the two buildings, belonging to the other rival--managed to pull their business into the 21st century. Both of them (as well as the even older bank across the street) lost out to some bank buildings that probably didn't even use bricks.
But in the end, Van Buren got to keep its built environment, and the Crawford County Bank now adorns all of the little "Visit Downtown Van Buren" brochures. Fort Smith, on the other hand:
They sacrifice their built environment so ten more people can park their cars on a Friday afternoon. Oh, sure, they left the pediment and some of the pilasters of this building so people (like me) can see them and just wonder what used to be there. The face remains, like the only piece of a shattered family heirloom we can't bear to throw away.
But let's get back to the matter at hand. Whatever railroad depots and tracks and excellent things Fort Smith had are long gone. Van Buren's, however, are not only still standing, but are still quite in use:
Yes, it's your average Italianate depot with the addition of a mission-style shingle setup, much the same as many of Arkansas's smaller towns', but the presence of a sizable crowd is what makes the difference. And what's that? That thing just to its right?
Ah yes. A train. The Arkansas-Missouri Railroad is a small, privately owned line operating out of western Arkansas and southern Missouri. Like the Maine Eastern Railroad, the Arkansas-Missouri operates a freight line as well as a passenger excursion line. They have a number of different excursion packages, stopping in little towns up and down the west edge of Arkansas. We could have chosen one with a seat in a caboose, or one with an acted-out train robbery (complete with blank-shooting pistols). We chose the one that went from Van Buren to Winslow and turned around. Not the most exciting, but take a look at the inside of the car:
It's vintage 1920s. The seats were springy, but did we care? The car is a relic of a time when care went into the making of everyday objects, transforming mundane environments into ones of beauty. Of course, a family trying to get from Little Rock to Memphis because their grandmother is about to die probably would not care if the car was just a steel box, and sure, anyone who sees the same beauty every day might forget it exists.
I wouldn't, though. The sublimity of the car and our surroundings transfixed the four of us (me, Jenna, Drew and Kelsey Spickes). The trip took us through little towns, shallow gullies, cages of blasted granite, pitch-black tunnels, deep gorges at the bottom of which lie the bones of the American telegraph network...
The conductor on our car was an old man, hard of hearing but full of stories. He told us about the train trips he would take in his early childhood on this same route, stopping at the tiny depots every town once had. Each station would only yield a person or two, if any, but one thing was guaranteed: the train would load bottles of milk from every depot. This was an image burned in his mind.
The little towns we chugged through weren't so notable except for an anecdote or two the conductors would relate here and there. Winslow was little more than an arbitrary place with an extra track to turn the train around. But one town I will always remember: Mountainburg. Here's why.
There are three towns in Arkansas that start with the word "Mountain." They are Mountain Home, Mountain View, and Mountainburg. Mountain Home is famous for being the Arkansan version of Florida: old people go there to pretend the rest of the world doesn't exist. Mountain View is famous for attracting musicians from not just around the state, but from around the country, and for just being all around one of the best towns ever. Mountainburg is famous for dinosaurs.
Yep. When we passed the dust-mote sized hamlet, our conductor told us what he used to tell passengers about Mountainburg: "I used to say it was the only place in Arkansas you'd find dinosaurs," he said. "Then I found out about this place up north that has 'em too." Well, the "place up north" is, of course, the late Dinosaur World, but that's too tangential to go into now.
Mountainburg has two dinosaurs. Click here to see what they look like. We could just make them out from the window of our car, and that little glimpse made my day. Of course, the train had already made my day four or five times over, but hey, you know.
Seems like I need to wrap this story up. The funny thing is, I actually enjoyed this train trip more than the one in Maine. Something about the scenery, the antique car, the food, the conductors...it was just better. One more leisure railroad remains for me to encounter in Arkansas, and my ultimate goal still stands: ride a steam locomotive. All in years to come. Don't touch that dial.
In the meantime, I bid farewell to 2009. It has been a good year for Time Fishing. Maybe not so consistent, but good nonetheless. I look forward to fishing in 2010...
-Jonesy
P.S. Take a look here to see pictures of dinosaur statues all over the country. This is awesome.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Two more old theaters (and one new one)
It's two hours past midnight and I can't stop thinking about theaters. Is..is there something wrong with me? Probably. Anyway, I know I just posted about theaters, but I don't think I can sleep until I unload a little bit.
We took a small-highway exploration drive back from Fort Smith last weekend, both to avoid the monotony of the interstate, and to scour some small towns for ghost signs. But I also found things like this!
The Savage theater (what an awesome name) in Booneville is one of the more recent of the theaters we've talked about, having opened in 1947 with a movie called Suddenly in Spring. The facade could use a paint job, and the plastic letters in the marquee look like they haven't been changed since 1947, but the Savage otherwise is a pretty nice piece. It evidently still shows movies on weekends, too.
The Strand lies in the faraway world of Rockland, Maine. You can always tell the older small theaters by their entirely-brick structure, sometimes with retail spaces sandwiching the main entrance. The Strand was built in 1923. Here's a postcard from the official site from its good ol' days:
Not much has changed! The theater remained in full operation right up until 2000, even having its balcony renovated to make way for a second screen. Then, some nearby multiplex bought it. Did they use their power to restore the building, bringing about a new genesis for the 87-year-old venue? No. They just closed it. Did I say something about being positive about the 21st century? I'm taking it back now.
But fortunately this story has a happy ending. The theater was bought in 2004 by a local admirer, who managed to get it restored and reopened by 2005. The reopening was celebrated by a block party and a showing of Buster Keaton's The General. Admission was priced at 25 cents, harking back to a more awesome time. Maine: the way life should be. It's true.
Next, here's a New Theatre for you.
You don't see it? Take a closer look.
Whoa! That is a ghost of a ghost sign. So yes; I lied. The New Theatre, located in downtown Fort Smith, Arkansas, is actually the oldest theater in this post, having opened in 1911 as a Vaudeville stage. The first inkling I got of this lost treasure was from this remarkable facade:
The (marble, I believe) title above the awning reads "Sparks, 1922." On the right and left of the awning are two retail spaces, now used for a small cafe and a used book store, respectively. Under the awning is this art deco door:
The lady in the bookstore kindly informed me that this door was once an entrance to the New Theatre, which she referred to as the "Old Malco Theater." The New was bought by the Malco company in the 40s and was then switched to an entirely movie-centric venue. Around the corner is what I believe to be the original entrance.
The 1911 date coincides with the same year the New was built, and shares an architect with the bookstore's facade ("Sparks," who I know nothing about). Some of the concrete blocks making up the sides of the facade are chipped and missing like teeth. Whatever decorative entrance used to be under the grand arch is now covered with plywood and modern steel doors, and Christmas lights adorn the covering. Two great rusted chains, which might have once supported a marquee, now dangle pointlessly. And take a look at the gargoyle-esque head in the middle of the arch:
Click to enlarge; somewhere down the line he seems to have partially swallowed a wasp nest.
When we peered through the windows at street level, we could see tremendous, vaulted ceilings and decaying areas which obviously once held chandeliers. Mold and rot had built up everywhere. On my new favorite site I was able to find a picture of the interior of the New Theatre:
It's a small image, but still. Good Lord. I am informed that a then-relatively-unknown Al Jolson performed here once upon a time.
As the pictures might tell you, the tale of the New Theatre does not have a happy ending like that of the Strand. It's a gigantic and painstakingly beautiful product of a time when our entertainment spaces were just as amazing as the entertainment itself. And it's been left here, deserted, to decompose since 1980. Is it funny, that we travel to places like Paris and London for their meticulously preserved streets and buildings, when we used to have the same things? We've just let asphalt and Alzheimer's pave them over. But I guess it's time to lay the New Theatre, disdain for progress, and myself to rest. Perhaps someday I'll come to forgive my culture for being too eager for its own good. But that day is not today.
-Jonesy
We took a small-highway exploration drive back from Fort Smith last weekend, both to avoid the monotony of the interstate, and to scour some small towns for ghost signs. But I also found things like this!
The Savage theater (what an awesome name) in Booneville is one of the more recent of the theaters we've talked about, having opened in 1947 with a movie called Suddenly in Spring. The facade could use a paint job, and the plastic letters in the marquee look like they haven't been changed since 1947, but the Savage otherwise is a pretty nice piece. It evidently still shows movies on weekends, too.
The Strand lies in the faraway world of Rockland, Maine. You can always tell the older small theaters by their entirely-brick structure, sometimes with retail spaces sandwiching the main entrance. The Strand was built in 1923. Here's a postcard from the official site from its good ol' days:
Not much has changed! The theater remained in full operation right up until 2000, even having its balcony renovated to make way for a second screen. Then, some nearby multiplex bought it. Did they use their power to restore the building, bringing about a new genesis for the 87-year-old venue? No. They just closed it. Did I say something about being positive about the 21st century? I'm taking it back now.
But fortunately this story has a happy ending. The theater was bought in 2004 by a local admirer, who managed to get it restored and reopened by 2005. The reopening was celebrated by a block party and a showing of Buster Keaton's The General. Admission was priced at 25 cents, harking back to a more awesome time. Maine: the way life should be. It's true.
Next, here's a New Theatre for you.
You don't see it? Take a closer look.
Whoa! That is a ghost of a ghost sign. So yes; I lied. The New Theatre, located in downtown Fort Smith, Arkansas, is actually the oldest theater in this post, having opened in 1911 as a Vaudeville stage. The first inkling I got of this lost treasure was from this remarkable facade:
The (marble, I believe) title above the awning reads "Sparks, 1922." On the right and left of the awning are two retail spaces, now used for a small cafe and a used book store, respectively. Under the awning is this art deco door:
The lady in the bookstore kindly informed me that this door was once an entrance to the New Theatre, which she referred to as the "Old Malco Theater." The New was bought by the Malco company in the 40s and was then switched to an entirely movie-centric venue. Around the corner is what I believe to be the original entrance.
The 1911 date coincides with the same year the New was built, and shares an architect with the bookstore's facade ("Sparks," who I know nothing about). Some of the concrete blocks making up the sides of the facade are chipped and missing like teeth. Whatever decorative entrance used to be under the grand arch is now covered with plywood and modern steel doors, and Christmas lights adorn the covering. Two great rusted chains, which might have once supported a marquee, now dangle pointlessly. And take a look at the gargoyle-esque head in the middle of the arch:
Click to enlarge; somewhere down the line he seems to have partially swallowed a wasp nest.
When we peered through the windows at street level, we could see tremendous, vaulted ceilings and decaying areas which obviously once held chandeliers. Mold and rot had built up everywhere. On my new favorite site I was able to find a picture of the interior of the New Theatre:
It's a small image, but still. Good Lord. I am informed that a then-relatively-unknown Al Jolson performed here once upon a time.
As the pictures might tell you, the tale of the New Theatre does not have a happy ending like that of the Strand. It's a gigantic and painstakingly beautiful product of a time when our entertainment spaces were just as amazing as the entertainment itself. And it's been left here, deserted, to decompose since 1980. Is it funny, that we travel to places like Paris and London for their meticulously preserved streets and buildings, when we used to have the same things? We've just let asphalt and Alzheimer's pave them over. But I guess it's time to lay the New Theatre, disdain for progress, and myself to rest. Perhaps someday I'll come to forgive my culture for being too eager for its own good. But that day is not today.
-Jonesy
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