Ghosts of Industry: New Haven's Mill River District

New Haven has been in existence since 1638, so you can trace much the industrial history of the United States here. Eli Whitney was the first to use interchangeable parts in manufacturing--at his musket factory. He later invented the cotton gin. Many industries rose up and flourished here, for a time, at least, including horseless carriages, automobiles, toys (Erector Sets), shoes (rubber boots), clocks, locks, garments and guns.

While many of the old factory buildings have long since been torn down to make way for the future, others have been converted into apartment buildings and offices, and some are abandoned or ruins.

One of the wonders of Rome is that you can be wandering down a nameless street and come upon an ancient ruin on a lot sandwiched between a coffee shop and a laundramat. In New Haven, it's the ghosts of industry that suddenly appear before you.

Elihu Rubin, in a photo from his web site.

Last week, as part of New Haven's International Festival of Arts and Ideas, I participated in a guided tour of the city's Mill River District, which happens to be next to my neighborhood. The tour was lead by Elihu Rubin, a professor at Yale School of Architecture, who is an urbanist and a fan of old industrial buildings. He described the area we were to walk in as a "ghosted landscape."

In one of his courses, he invites students to reimagine uses for some of the city's ruined industrial buildings.

It was raining during the entire tour, so we started in the shelter of the Interstate 91 underpass on Chapel Street. The boundaries of the Mill River District aren't that clear. As best as I can make out, it begins in what was the industrial section of the old Wooster Square neighborhood, what was left after the highway was built through it. It's on both banks of the Mill River. And it creeps over into the the western and southern parts of the Fair Haven neighborhood.

There are still a cluster of old industrial buildings along Chapel Street (the main road running along the bottom of this Google satellite image.) Some are still being used. Others are abandoned. And some are slated for renewal and reuse.

This was the home of the Armstrong Co., a large maker of horseless carriages. In these loft-style buildings, there were no interior load-bearing walls. Instead, huge wooden timbers supported the floors. That made the buildings adaptable for new uses--and helped them survive changes in the economy.

Many businesses lived here since the original factory shut down. Rubin dug up some facts about the building's history from city directories in th 1950s and 1960s. During those times, the tenants' businesses included frocks, paints, oil, tool and die, metal finishing, a luncheonette and a barber shop. This abandoned storefront was originally the doorway through which the carriages passed. The Armstrong Co. building is now to be turned into luxury apartments.

The building next door until recently housed Berkley Hall Upholstery. The last of the family members in the business still does the work--but now it's in the basement of his suburban home. Most of the interior is a single open space. It would be a fantastic place for a community theater. "This is a gem. We must preserve it," says Rubin.

Rubin isn't hung up on 18th and 19th century buildings. Here's an old "service station" from the 1930s that's on East Street. It's nearly surrounded by vacant lots.

This is the remains of the clock tower for the New Haven Gaslight Co. Rubin points out that manufacturing industry changed the perception of time. These organizations wanted to get stuff done efficiently and on deadline, and putting a highly visible clock on top of the headquarters building sent that message loud and clear to employees.

Here's the facade of the New Haven Gaslight Co. Rubin points out that in the early 19th century, firms sought to project their status in the community by erecting handsome buildings facing the streets. He calls it, "a gift to the street--a symbol of caring to the community."

The Chapel Street Bridge, built in the 1930s, spans the Mill River. The span swings sideways to let tugs and other small ships slip past.

A view from the bridge.

Imagine a bustling wharf in 1890, perhaps supporting the city's then-thriving oyster industry.

Here's another view from the bridge. The United Illuminating Co.'s English Station, which operated from 1929 to the early 21st century, is to the left.

In much earlier days, this was a Ford Motor Co. plant. They finished the assembly of cars here. Now it's a printing plant, but it's for sale.

This is our Roman Coliseum, the Bigelow Boiler factory. A majestic ruin that runs the length of a football field. They made huge steam boilers here for nearly a century. Then squatters crashed here. Its future is uncertain. Rubin thinks that perhaps this building should be preserved as a facade, an urban sculpture.

It's on a flood plain, so you can't invest a lot of money here. "I think buildings like this should be preserved without a use because they provide real character," Rubin says. "We don’t know how this neighborhood will evolve. It’s so special. There’s nothing like it. It would be sad to take them down."

During the period when the Mill River District was a center for the energy industry, huge concrete structures cradled gas tanks. This is the last remaining structure. One of Rubin's students suggests converting it into an outdoor performance space.

 Fair Haven was and is still a working-class neighborhood. It's full of duplex houses like these.

At one time, the city was networked with trolleys that ran on iron rails. This was the trolley barn. It's now a wood refurbishment operation.

The Powerhouse Building was where The Connecticut Co. generated electricity to power the trolleys.

This little detail on the facade of the building might be a flower, or maybe it represents a power turbine.

This is the ruin of UI's original power plant in New Haven. Built in 1890, it was probably one of the first power plants in the United States. It is succumbing to what Rubin calls "demolition by neglect." The bricks started to topple onto the sidewalk, so the city ordered it taken down.

One of Rubin's students proposes preserving the facade of this building and turning the back side into an outdoor "museum of dirt," where visitors can learn about the legacy of industrial pollution and think about what should be done about it.

I find beauty in old industrial canals.

Here's a view of the New Haven Clock Co. At one time, it was the largest clock factory in America. Later, it was occupied by squatters, illegal nightclubs, a motorcycle club (The Badass White Boys), strip clubs, artist collectives (including mimes), punk rockers, skaters, drug dealers, armies of stray cats, etc. Now it will hopefully be turned into living and studio lofts for visual artists.

The last strip club in the clock factory, Scores, was recently evicted.

The Mill River District is just one of a number of areas of the city where the industrial past meets the uncertain present. While there are a couple of historic districts in the city where important old homes are preserved, the old industrial buildings are at the mercy of capitalism, the weather, and rising sea levels. What will become of them?

Rubin would like to see New Haven adopt new policies aimed at preserving as many of these structures as possible. Perhaps the city could require property owners to protect the buildings from the weather? Could it take ownership of some important buildings that are under threat using eminent domain?

To me, the questions he raises are essential. We must preserve these ghosts of our industrial past. They remind us of where we came from and impress upon us our responsibility for helping to determine the course of our shared future.