Shelter 3 at the Waterways Experiment Station, Vicksburg, Mississippi

In the previous article, I described how the Waterways Experiment Station in Vicksburg, Mississippi, formerly conducted numerous tests using hydraulic models. Some were outside, like the famous Mississippi Basin Model in Jackson (see the December 2010 update). But most models were inside shelters or hangars to keep them out of the weather and limit dirt and debris.
Shelter 3 is an example. There is nothing glamorous about it; it is just a steel roof over a dirt floor. When complete, it covered 97,300 square feet of model space. Most of this shelter will be torn down soon, so the models were dismantled and miscellaneous equipment was moved out in 2010.

(Notice the "blooming" around the windows and doors. This is diffraction that occurs when the source of light is many stops brighter than the main part of the image. It is worse with small-sensor point-and-shoot cameras. High-speed black and white film would have responded similarly because of the thickness of the emulsion, but a thin, low-speed film like Kodak Panatomic-X would have minimized the blooming. The quality of the lens coating and the number of elements also affects diffraction.)
Until the building is demolished, it serves as a convenient place for employees to park cars. In a 1949 aerial photograph of the lab, a low wood shelter occupies this location, but in a 1981 photograph, this steel building is present. Many of the World War II-era wood shelters were replaced with steel in the 1960s.
A few treasures remain. A sizable collection of file cabinets and map cases contain old project files. As time goes by and technicians retire, fewer and fewer remain who remember what the files pertain to. It is unlikely that a hydraulic model would ever be rebuilt, but most Corps of Engineers projects, such as locks, dams, and waterways, last for centuries, so the data in the files may be of value in the future. But how will these files be stored and organized? Eventually the bugs and mildew will eat the paper if they don't move the files to a climate-controlled space.
There is still one model in the north part of the shed, but I have not seen it used in a long time. It was a section model of the Dalles on the Columbia River. You see a number of odd little footprints in the soft dirt, probably raccoon. There are also fox on station
The south side of the shelter was used by a joint US Army Corps of Engineers and US Geological Survey program that developed and calibrated river sediment samplers. Measuring how much suspended sediment moves down rivers is difficult and labor-intensive because field crews have to cross the river and collect water samples at various depths. Bedload samples are even harder to collect and calibrate.
For the field work, they used sturdy Army Bridge Erection Boats. These were sent away to some other Army base. I like strange heavy-duty equipment like this.

All images except the last (the boat) are from my Panasonic G1 digital camera with a Lumix 14-45mm lens, tripod-mounted. The in-camera black and white mode is very nice, with results as good as reprocessing the RAW file.

Update April 30, 2012: The shelter is actively being dismantled.

Pumps from the Waterways Experiment Station, Vicksburg, Mississippi

Pumping water has always been a big activity at the Waterways Experiment Station, the Corps of Engineers research center south of Vicksburg, Mississippi. In the past, most hydraulic models were physical models, meaning they were three-dimensional reproductions of the earth, rivers, and channels through which water was run to test how different engineering works performed.

Over the last decade, the amount of physical modeling done at the station has dropped off greatly because of the high cost of the technicians and equipment. Also, numerical (computer) models can now do many of the simulations more quickly and can test a wide range of options. Therefore, much of the old pump equipment has been surplussed, and some of the hangers have been removed. The scene above shows Pump House 3063 being demolished.

The pump house formerly housed six or seven 200 horsepower pumps that distributed water to the surrounding shelters and to an open-air model of Old River Control. Pipes ran underground to the various shelters, and the return water flowed back to the lake.


This was massive, heavy-duty equipment. The pump house appears in a 1949 aerial photograph of the station, so we can assume the pumps are older. The body of water that served as the reservoir was known as the Supplemental Lake (with Brown's Lake being the "main" lake). Over the years, the lab switched to using city water to reduce fouling from silt and organic debris. The lake now is a healthy habitat for fish, turtles, snakes, and fish. I occasionally see a Belted Kingfisher perched on a pole looking for lunch.


All the pumps were taken away by a metal recycler on May 11, 2006. I heard that he found a buyer for the equipment, so maybe these historic pumps are still at work somewhere.

Digital images taken with a Sony DSC-W7 digital camera.

Follow-up: Demolition of WWII-era building at the Waterways Experiment Station, Vicksburg, Mississippi

In the last essay, I showed some photographs of Building 2025, one of the "temporary" structures erected in World War II at the Waterways Experiment Station. I am glad I stopped to record what was left because on July 8, 2011, the backhoe started tearing it down.

It does not take long for a machine to tear down wood walls. But the floor was well made; the tractors drove on it without it collapsing.

This very interesting manifold was part of the water sprinkler system. Plumbing was well made in those days, made to last.

Finally, I found a room with thousands of 35 mm slides strewn about on the floor. They had once been labeled and neatly stored in sleeves or Kodak Carousel trays. Is this the fate of most old photographs? We cherish 100-year-old photographs of people and cities, but age and rarity have enhanced their value. Once photography became a common hobby in the post-war era, people took millions or billions of snapshots and dumped the negatives and prints in boxes. Possibly only the original photographer considered the work valuable. I often read on photography forums how a digital photographer backs up all his files on a RAID machine and sends a spare backup to safe storage somewhere. And if those machines fail, will it really matter? He takes 10,000 photographs a year and all of them are works of art? It is a guy thing. Will his family ever really look through his tens of thousands of files? The same with this old building. Does it really matter that it was torn down?)

(Photographs taken with a Panasonic G1 camera. The scene with the slides was an 8-second exposure.)

Update, July 13, 2011. The demolition continues.

During the 1980s and 1990s, this part of Building 2025 was the supply depot, where you could pick up stationery supplies, field books, some tools, work gloves, and similar small items. Back then, pens and pencils had "U.S. Government" or "Federal" written on them. They even stocked fountain pens and ink (was it red ink?). At the end of the summer, students would raid the supplies and take off to college crates of diskettes and notebooks. Then they closed the depot, with the idea that it was cheaper to send a government employee to Office Max to buy supplies. So much for convenience or saving money.

Historic Buildings at the Waterways Experiment Station, Vicksburg

The Waterways Experiment Station (now known as the Engineer Research and Development Center or ERDC) is a 550+ acre army base in Vicksburg, Mississippi, located south of I-20 off Halls Ferry Road. The station was created by Congress in 1929 as a response to the great 1927 Mississippi River flood as a testing laboratory for the Corps of Engineers to build hydraulic models and study riverine processes.

During World War II, the laboratory's mission expanded greatly in response to the war effort, and many temporary wood building were built for offices and workshops. One of these is Building 2025, used until recently as the Shipping and Receiving office. Sadly, it's time has come and it is being dismantled.

I am not sure why it will be demolished other than the typical problems associated with 60-year-old buildings, such as difficulty in maintaining climate control and possibly vermin.

I recall visiting Washington, DC, in the 1960s and at that time, there were still many clusters of these one-floor wooden "temporary" buildings still being used as government offices. Most have disappeared, so now you have to find them on remote bases off in the hinterlands.

The work crew removed asbestos shingles that covered the original pine siding. A couple of the gents told me that overall the building was in excellent condition. The asbestos panels had preserved the pine siding and there was no rot or decay.

After 60 years, the ceilings and floors had not sagged at all. I am sure the joists were heart pine or cypress. I asked about recycling the wood, but the workmen said it would be too expensive to dismantle piece by piece.


There is still a lot of furniture and detritus inside, but little is worth recycling.

The walls were painted with industrial pink, possibly a bit more cheerful than the gross green you see in most institutional buildings. The blue box contained some sort of router for the computer network.

A final farewell.

(All frames except for no. 1 taken with a Panasonic G1 digital camera with 14-45 mm lens, tripod-mounted.)

Decaying hotel, Nerantza, Greece

Greece has attracted tourists for centuries. In the 1800s, well-to-do young Brits visited Greece as part of their almost-obligatory continental tour. Some Philhellenes, like Lord Byron, lost their lives in the revolution when Greece freed itself from Ottoman domination. (From Wikipedia: Philhellenism ("the love of Greek culture") was an intellectual fashion prominent at the turn of the 19th century, that led Europeans like Lord Byron or Charles Nicolas Fabvier to advocate for Greek independence from the Ottoman Empire.) By the late 1800s, foreign archaeologists were combing the countryside, excavating ancient sites.

The early 20th century was rough on tourism. Greece suffered dictatorship, the Balkan Wars, World War I, World War II, and the brutal civil war, during which almost 20 percent of the population perished. Finally, with the advent of the Truman Doctrine and the defeat of the communist forces, Greece slowly pulled itself out of poverty and began to rebuild. Adventurous tourists came in the 1950s, and Greek builders began to erect big box hotels to attract the mass-market crowd in the 1960s.

This example is a hotel in the town of Nerantza (Νεράντζα), a farming and vacation village about 15 km west of Corinth on the south shore of the Gulf of Corinth.


I suppose it was a necessary economic step, but the 1960s and 1970s were a rough phase in Greece's architectural and cultural history. Mass market tourists cared little for archaeology and culture, but were drawn by cheap lodgings, sun, beer, wine, and sex.


The hotel has been deserted since well before 1992, when I first visited Nerantza. A relative remembers when he taught water-skiing to tourists here in the 1960s.


I remember these hotels: drafty, echoey, and charmless. As late as the 1970s, you had to find out when the hot water would be on, but you could always have a cold shower. The bathrooms were a wet mess after a shower. They were damaging to the environment because often they overwhelmed the local sewage treatment systems, and excess runoff ran into the sea. Tourists used far more water than local inhabitants.

This was the kitchen. Breakfast was a boring affair with a mandatory two pieces of bread (yesterday's leftovers?), a piece of pound cake, Nescafe, orange drink, and a certain number of grams of butter. The government must have established this as a minimum standard for all hotels. No delicious, crusty peasant bread at these establishments.

Here was a pool, even though the sea was across the street.

The problem with this hulk is no developer wants to pay for demolition, and the architecture is unsuited for contemporary hotel use. The United States is not the only country where commercial structures are abandoned, leaving the municipality (and taxpayers) to deal with demolition and environmental issues.

Nerantza must have experienced a building boom in the 1960s because there are a number of unfinished concrete frames along the main road. Did tourists lose interest? Was the setting not glamorous enough for a resort? With the completion of the high-speed rail link to Athens, the town is becoming a popular place for vacation and year-round homes. Farm fields are disappearing, to be replaced by concrete.

All photographs taken with an Olympus E-330 digital camera and Olympus 14-54 mm f/2.8 lens.

The Country Store, Farnham, Virginia

Farnham is a small farming town in the tidewater region of Virginia, located on the peninsula between the Potomac and Rappahannock Rivers. This area has been settled for three centuries, and 1800s farm houses attest to the farming heritage. You still see rich fields of barley and corn.

This is an old country store. A long-time local resident told me Farnham was prosperous in the 1950s and 1960s when a tomato factory was active and hired many local workers. The factory closed and the town fell asleep. The store would have sold gasoline, groceries, and odds and ends to residents in the old days.

But the store has a new life. A lady from the Washington area retired to Farnham and bought the store and the adjacent house. The store is a perfect place for a party!

A Gulf sign from the gas station era.

I remember seeing steel chairs like these at old resorts in New England.

The back shed had the most interesting bits and pieces.


The main room looks great. This a nice way to revive an old building.

All photographs taken with a Fuji F31fd digital camera.

Mississippi Valley and Yazoo Railroad Depot, Vicksburg, Mississippi

First the flood came, then the media came, and they photographed the poor, forlorn Yazoo and Mississippi Valley RR Station with water up to the first floor windows. Possibly this scene will became symbolic of the great flood of 2011. Fortunately, the water is receding and workmen, who were restoring the depot, can dry out the first floor and clean out mud and muck and eject a few snakes.


The depot, completed in 1907, is a handsome brick building on Levee Street, located just north of the concrete floodwall at the base of Grove Street. It was designed by the Chicago architectural firm of Daniel Burnham & Co. (We are not sure if Burnham himself designed the building, but he was well-known for his seminal designs of the Chicago waterfront and parks and the monumental buildings of the World's Columbian Exposition). Because of its location, the Vicksburg depot was vulnerable to exceptionally high water, and the first floor was flooded in the great 1927 flood.

In the early 20th century, rail service ran north-south at least as far as Greenville and possibly to Memphis. I believe passengers along the east-west line (heading east to Jackson or west to Monroe, Dallas, etc) would have boarded trains at another depot just off the Cherry Street bridge. Passenger rail service in Vicksburg ended in 1959. I do not know who owned the Levee Street station over the decades. The ground floor had been used by various companies or activities but was also empty for years at a time. Remodeling removed almost all traces of authentic walls or features , so I did not take photographs in these areas. In the 1990s, a kidney dialysis company leased space here. But when remodeling began recently, a stationmaster's office or control room of some sort became exposed.

The second floor provided more of interest to an urban archaeologist. The stairs to the second floor were reasonably intact and still had their deep varnish. I have seen this time and time again: varnished wood has been painted, and after a few years, the paint looks nasty, but areas where the varnish was left original, it looks perfect.


At the top of the stairs, a long hall runs along the east side of the building. Turn left and it leads to a ladies' lavatory.


The lavatory retained some of its original features, including granite stall walls and handsome varnished stall doors.


Turn right, and the hall led to a office or work room with some of its original trim.

About 15 years ago, there were two apartments on the third floor. The tenants in one unit let me come up and access the flat part of the roof to take some photographs. Back then, it was still a bit odd to live downtown and must have been nice and quiet at night. The photograph above shows what is left of one of the attic apartments.

The window shows the view up Grove Street. I am not sure what will be done with the third floor in the current renovation. Fireproof steel stairs have been installed at both ends of the building to comply with fire codes. It is a lovely building, and I am glad it will be used as the Vicksburg Transportation Museum. Please come and visit.

Finally, this postcard from the Cooper collection at Mississippi Department of Archives and History, shows the view of the railroad depot and the Yazoo Canal from the roof of the First National Bank building.

Here is another postcard showing Washington Street with the depot to the left. Vicksburg was a bustling industrial and commercial city then. How did it decline so badly in the latter half of the 20th century?