What is it about ruins that fascinates people? In the 18th and 19th century the Grandees of England had follies on their estates, specially created fake ruins, invoking an idealized rural life, or harkening to ancient Rome and Greece.
I love ‘em. Add to that the satisfaction of going beyond the nickel tour—of going where the public is not supposed to go—and I’m having a great time.
Last year the Scott Boulevard Baptist Church sold its building complex and moved into rented space in Decatur Baptist Church. With the proceeds they created an endowment designed to aim their ministry to the elderly in group homes or living alone.
The developer who bought the property is in the slow process of demolition. It is a sad sight to drive pass that handsome sanctuary with plywood replacing the stained glass and vegetation on the grounds going to seed.
This afternoon I noticed a side door standing open. I parked at the still in-business Presbyterian church around the corner, then walked back to explore.
Even in ruins, there’s something about a church building that still feels churchy and sanctified. All of the religious emblems are gone (along with the doorknobs, electrical wiring, and furnishings) but it’s obvious that the large room, with lots of debris strewn about, used to be a sanctuary. I walked up the back stairs to the balcony; the pews were gone, as well as the windows. It’s different to look through what used to be a window but now is just a hole in the wall, and see the streets and landmarks that you know well from living nearby.
I was not the first outsider to sneak in. Taggers had used the plywood over the windows as their canvas. On one side of the sanctuary were a series of primitive, cartoony graffiti, one with old school flash paradise lettering. Opposite was a well done color portrait—a bit cartoony, but clearly more serious and accomplished. If I were the developer I’d put it on display after the new shopping and residential complex is complete.
With my handy LED flashlight at the ready (now you know why Paul makes Amy tote one in their hip pack) I set to explore.
I was surprised at the extent of the complex. The sanctuary is connected to what used to be the church offices, the library, a music room, and the children’s rooms. It went on and on and on. A few rooms had windows onto an inside hallway; several of those had wire mesh in the glass and had been partially broken out.
One of the utility rooms was painted a bright yellow, with yellow shades on the window. You’d expect that for a kindergarten, not for a furnace room.
Floor tiles, ceiling tiles, baseboards, and random trash was everywhere. The closets and restrooms I encountered were full to the ceiling with crud. There was the occasional beer bottle and Red Bull can.
I couldn’t get over how the twisting hallways kept going. The campus was much larger than I ever imagined.
I kept thinking how this used to be an important meeting place for people. Abandoned now and poised for complete eradication, the building at one time harbored fellowship and hope and social cohesion for many people. Two years from now there will be a bunch of stores there, with apartments or condos above.
I was the Research Director at 99-X when the labels completed the changeover from vinyl to compact disc. The Music Director asked me to weed out our holding stack: keep the few keepers, and trash the rest (Also scavenge the trashers for plastic inner sleeves, for anyone old enough to remember when phonograph records were 12 inches across). I got sad doing the job. Nobody puts out a record thinking, “this is a piece of crap but maybe it’ll sell.” Every single one of the junkers represented somebody’s hard work and hopes. And their destiny was a big ol’ dumpster. Sad, hell; it bummed me out. I told Sean the Music Director. At least he didn’t laugh. Knowing what I know now, I realize a couple of beers would have been a big help.
So goodbye, Scott Boulevard Baptist Church. Don’t know when the developer will flatten you, but it can’t be long now. I’m glad I got to explore it, sad though it was.
I love ‘em. Add to that the satisfaction of going beyond the nickel tour—of going where the public is not supposed to go—and I’m having a great time.
Last year the Scott Boulevard Baptist Church sold its building complex and moved into rented space in Decatur Baptist Church. With the proceeds they created an endowment designed to aim their ministry to the elderly in group homes or living alone.
The developer who bought the property is in the slow process of demolition. It is a sad sight to drive pass that handsome sanctuary with plywood replacing the stained glass and vegetation on the grounds going to seed.
This afternoon I noticed a side door standing open. I parked at the still in-business Presbyterian church around the corner, then walked back to explore.
Even in ruins, there’s something about a church building that still feels churchy and sanctified. All of the religious emblems are gone (along with the doorknobs, electrical wiring, and furnishings) but it’s obvious that the large room, with lots of debris strewn about, used to be a sanctuary. I walked up the back stairs to the balcony; the pews were gone, as well as the windows. It’s different to look through what used to be a window but now is just a hole in the wall, and see the streets and landmarks that you know well from living nearby.
I was not the first outsider to sneak in. Taggers had used the plywood over the windows as their canvas. On one side of the sanctuary were a series of primitive, cartoony graffiti, one with old school flash paradise lettering. Opposite was a well done color portrait—a bit cartoony, but clearly more serious and accomplished. If I were the developer I’d put it on display after the new shopping and residential complex is complete.
With my handy LED flashlight at the ready (now you know why Paul makes Amy tote one in their hip pack) I set to explore.
I was surprised at the extent of the complex. The sanctuary is connected to what used to be the church offices, the library, a music room, and the children’s rooms. It went on and on and on. A few rooms had windows onto an inside hallway; several of those had wire mesh in the glass and had been partially broken out.
One of the utility rooms was painted a bright yellow, with yellow shades on the window. You’d expect that for a kindergarten, not for a furnace room.
Floor tiles, ceiling tiles, baseboards, and random trash was everywhere. The closets and restrooms I encountered were full to the ceiling with crud. There was the occasional beer bottle and Red Bull can.
I couldn’t get over how the twisting hallways kept going. The campus was much larger than I ever imagined.
I kept thinking how this used to be an important meeting place for people. Abandoned now and poised for complete eradication, the building at one time harbored fellowship and hope and social cohesion for many people. Two years from now there will be a bunch of stores there, with apartments or condos above.
I was the Research Director at 99-X when the labels completed the changeover from vinyl to compact disc. The Music Director asked me to weed out our holding stack: keep the few keepers, and trash the rest (Also scavenge the trashers for plastic inner sleeves, for anyone old enough to remember when phonograph records were 12 inches across). I got sad doing the job. Nobody puts out a record thinking, “this is a piece of crap but maybe it’ll sell.” Every single one of the junkers represented somebody’s hard work and hopes. And their destiny was a big ol’ dumpster. Sad, hell; it bummed me out. I told Sean the Music Director. At least he didn’t laugh. Knowing what I know now, I realize a couple of beers would have been a big help.
So goodbye, Scott Boulevard Baptist Church. Don’t know when the developer will flatten you, but it can’t be long now. I’m glad I got to explore it, sad though it was.