Tag archives for Columbus

Independent Order of Odd Fellows. Columbus, Ohio

IOOF Building, Short North, Columbus Ohio

How many times have you looked up at a building? At the plaque at the top? Sometimes it tells you the year it was built. Sometimes it names the building. Sometimes it says I.O.O.F.

Go on, look up! Do you live in a town which still has buildings from before 1930? If so look up. You’ll almost certainly find at least one building which says I.O.O.F. at the top.

They’re usually in commercial districts, like this one in the Short North of Columbus, Ohio. From the early twentieth century, the ground floor houses a tattoo parlour. It’s a pretty tall building for the area, but nothing out of the ordinary.

Why are there, all across the country, these I.O.O.F. buildings? What does it mean? Well, this one, in Columbus, wasn’t always a tattoo parlour.

From the time of the Civil War until the late 1920s, the I.O.O.F. was the largest fraternal order in the United States. A social and benevolent organisation, the Independent Order of Odd Fellows had a similar structure to the Freemasons. They still exist today, but are a far smaller organisation.

So what happened to them?

One of the biggest draws was that membership included health insurance. In fact, it was a key provider of health insurance at a time when it was almost impossible to come by. The I.O.O.F. became a core component of American society, which is why you’ll find buildings in almost every town you look.

But then came the twentieth century. In the 1920s, membership declined for the first time. Mass media such as the cinema maybe made the fraternal meetings seem old-fashioned. Then came the Great Depression. Members stopped paying their dues. Further developments, such as the creation of the Blue Cross in 1929, meant that people no longer needed I.O.O.F. to provide health insurance.

Today, these buildings—scattered across the country—are the most visible reminder of a whole side of America that simply no longer exists. These grand buildings have almost all been sold and repurposed.

So go on, next time you’re downtown, look up. Read that plaque and remember a whole world that’s disappeared.

IOOF Building, Columbus Ohio
Address: 1042 N High Street, Columbus OH
Visible: 24/7. Incidentally it’s next door to the Fireproof Building.

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Fireproof! A gigantic neon sign in Columbus, Ohio

So it’s Columbus, Ohio and we find this great big—huge—neon sign. It’s three storeys tall, which is seriously impressive. It doesn’t work any more—but that’s a minor aside.

There’s even a ghost-sign on the side of the building. Be still my beating heart!

It looks like there was a contract to construct this building awarded in 1913 (here and here). This makes sense as Fireproof’s own website says they started in 1909.

If you nose around the web, you’ll see lots of people say the building is from 1906 and that the company was also founded in 1906. I can only assume they got this idea when an unskilled practitioner tried to read the date upside down.

The building itself is pretty ugly, and no ornate white-glazed frontage is going to hide this fact. “I’m here to protect people’s stuff from fires, not look pretty!” It declares. It’s so mindblowingly fireproof that it’s even a designated fallout shelter. In case of nuclear war you all know where to go (see map below).

The sign has some quite delightful Art Deco trimmings. It’s really quite impressively large, especially as it’s probably a relic from the 1930s. But it needs a little TLC. A lot, really. Not only does it not light up, but it’s rusting and corroded. Colours bleeding.

Maybe it’s beyond hope.

Unlike the building, it wasn’t designed to last forever.

The Fireproof Warehouse and Storage Co.
Address: Fireproof Records, 1024 N High Street, Columbus Ohio
Hours: Visible 24/7


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Abandoned Church, Columbus Ohio

Meandering through Columbus, Ohio, I came across this abandoned church. I can’t find out anything about it. This is partially my fault as I didn’t note down where it it, though I think it’s near the giant neon Wonderbread Sign.

Doesn’t look like it’s been used in years, but I’m not sure anyone’s told the Post Office.

The back is boarded up with a patchwork of plywood boards. They don’t look as though they’d keep a determined Cocker Spaniel out, let alone a human being.

If you know anything about this place, do let me know!

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LeVeque Tower. A Citadel in Columbus, Ohio

Do you ever wonder how a city gets to look like a city? I was wandering through Columbus, Ohio’s civic district thinking to myself, “But all the buildings are the same”. Art Deco buildings everywhere. How did it happen? 

LeVeque Tower. Columbus’ first skyscraper. Built in 1924. Right in the middle of the Roaring Twenties. Boom time for the USA. Perhaps that’s what happened: the 1920s. Money. New buildings. Simple as that.

But something must have been here before then, here in the heart of downtown Columbus. Where did it all go, and why?

You walk one block west. You lean against the Neo-Classical balustrade, look out over the broad, serene Scioto River. It occurs to you that the balustrade is probably from the same date as LeVeque Tower. Is there a connection?

It’s March 23, 1913. Three separate storm systems meet over Ohio. They hammer the state for four days. The land, saturated and still frozen from winter, can’t take any more. Up to eleven inches of rain pours into the rivers. In Dayton alone, four trillion gallons of water charge through the city. In Columbus, the flood left thousands homeless and nearly 100 dead. (More images.)

By 1913, only the poorest still lived along the river. Slums and derelict buildings which hadn’t been destroyed by the flood were removed in the aftermath. The Army Corps of Engineers recommended widening the Scioto, building new dams and a retaining wall–the one you’re leaning against.

Then someone had a vision: a whole new and glorious downtown should be build right here.

John Jacob Lentz saw his opportunity: he would build a skyscraper—a Citadel—for his American Insurance Union. It would dominate the Columbus skyline. The American Insurance Union Citadel would be architect Charles Howard Crane’s masterpiece. Ground was broken in 1924.

Because it is so close to the water, Crane plunged the foundations right down into the bedrock using caissons—watertight structures usually used in the construction of bridges or dams. Workers had to go through a decompression chamber after working down there, to avoid getting the bends. As a result, work on the foundations was slow and expensive. But that was okay: it was the 1920s.

The Citadel was clad in glazed terracotta tiles, which allowed for the large number of ornamental sculptures around the building. If you look closely some are still there, though many have bee removed for safety reasons. No one wants an 18ft terracotta eagle plummeting onto them, do they?

The Citadel was completed in 1927. In 1928 ground was broken next door on the Ohio Judicial Center (now home to the world’s largest gavel). The land devastated in 1913 was finally reborn.

Of course, things went rather pear-shaped in 1929 with the Great Depression. The building program stopped, leaving a small group of Art Deco buildings in the space of a few blocks just east of the Scioto River.

With the Depression architectural commissions dried up in the USA. Charles Howard Crane relocated to Britain in 1930 where he was influential in the design of movie theatres. Most famously, his Exhibition Centre at Earl’s Court opened in 1937.

The American Insurance Union went bankrupt in 1935. John Lincoln and Leslie LeVeque eventually bought the building at fire sale prices in 1946. The Lincoln-LeVeque Tower was renamed The LeVeque Tower in 1977.

Nothing ever goes quite to plan, does it? But here for a few blocks in downtown Columbus you can see a glimpse of a city-that-might-have-been. A city created and ended by two disasters. Despite everything, the Citadel stands firm.

LeVeque Tower (Nee, The American Insurance Union Citadel)
Architect: Charles Howard Crane; Exterior Ornamentation Carl H Keck & Fritz Albert
Address: 50 W Broad Street, Columbus OH 43215
Visible: 24/7 (Lit at night. In pretty colours.)


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Giant Gavel. Columbus, Ohio

Just to the south of the Ohio Judicial Center in Columbus, Ohio is an enormous sculpture of a gavel. It might be the world’s largest gavel, but I can’t find any confirmation of it.

One reason I love travelling the country, visiting things like “the world’s largest strawberry” or “the biggest Cherry Pie pan in the Western Hemisphere” is because I love the insane creativity which goes into them. They are gaudy, weird, colourful, silly. They’re a celebration of life.

But the giant gavel in downtown Columbus is… well, it’s kind of boring. 13 feet high and 30 feet long, it’s made of about 7,000lbs of stainless steel. Andrew F. Scott completed it in 2008. Here’s an interview with him about the work:

I wanted to like the gavel, but it’s grey and dreary. In some ways, Scott’s hands were tied: his sculpture had to fit in with the austere surroundings. The Ohio Judicial Building next door is a horrible blot on the landscape. Proof that Art Deco buildings can look bad, it looks like a prison: an institutionalised disaster with tiny, pokey windows. I was glad to get back in the car and drive off to see something else.

Giant Gavel
Address:
Park on the south side of the Ohio Judicial Center, 65 S. Front Street, Columbus, Ohio
Hours: Visible 24/7


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King Gambrinus, Inventor of Beer. Columbus, Ohio

This statue of King Gambrinus, legendary inventor of beer (or its patron saint, depending on who you talk to) is a survivor. Giant statues in the USA usually date from the mid-twentieth century, but this one is over 100 years old.

Bavaria apparently has the highest density of breweries per capita of anywhere in the world. So was probably no surprise that when August Wagner emigrated from Bavaria to the United States in the 1890s that he would found his own brewery. In 1906, Wagner’s Gambrinus Brewery opened at the corner of West Sycamore and Front in Columbus, Ohio’s Brewery District. Above the entrance, August placed this giant statue of King Gambrinus (source, image from the 1930s or 40s):

During Prohibition, the company changed its name to August Wagner and Sons Products. They returned to brewing beer in 1933 and the company survived as the August Wagner Brewery until 1974. The land was bought by the Columbus Dispatch newspaper and they also preserved the statue even after the brewery was demolished.

Gambrinus lived in a park at Front and Sycamore until the Brewery District was redeveloped in the 2000s. Now he has his own spot, not far from where he originally stood. Although he looks rather out of place—a touch of gaudy in a slightly austere-looking neighbourhood—he seems quite content to be there still.

So just who was King Gambrinus? I think he’s just one of those mythical figures who never really existed. Maybe a dozen people from the eighth to the sixteenth centuries AD have been identified as Gambrinus. None of whom could have invented beer as it’s been around for thousands of years. He’s traditionally represented as a somewhat overweight, cheerful man with a big beard. Not entirely unlike a drunken Santa Claus.

 

Giant Statue of King Gambrinus, Legendary Inventor of Beer,
Address:
Half a block north of S Front and W Sycamore, Columbus, Ohio
Hours: Visible 24/7


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Posted in Giant, Giant People, Ohio, Statue | 2 Comments

Neon Wonder Bread Sign. Columbus, Ohio

Italian Village is a rather genteel, residential neighbourhood of Columbus, Ohio. Historic buildings, brick streets, little parks. It’s the last place you’d think to find a giant, neon sign advertising Wonder Bread. And that’s exactly what drew me there.

How long had it been here? And who was supposed to look at it? It’s such an oddity but it had to have a purpose: no one would have spent the money building it otherwise.

To find out, I did what anyone would do: I googled it. I turned up a page on the excellent Waymarking site which answered some of my questions, but posed a whole lot more. The sign is at one end of a largely empty parking lot, at the other end sits a large, low, vacant building. According to Waymarking, it used to be a bakery, owned by Interstate Bakeries Corp. (Now Hostess Brands Inc.). Hundreds worked here in its heyday; the aroma of freshly baked bread filled the neighbourhood. A victim of falling demand for Wonder Bread’s less-than-healthy products, the bakery closed in 2009.

And that raised question: just what was an industrial-sized bakery doing in a residential district?

The Waymarking article said something else that also didn’t sound right: “The Wonder Bread neon sign … was built in 1916.”

The thing is, it can’t have been built in 1916. While neon gas had been discovered in 1898, it wasn’t until 1912 that Georges Claude started selling neon advertising signs in France. They were introduced into the USA in 1923. So, while the building may be from 1916, the sign certainly isn’t.

Not only that, but Wonder Bread wasn’t invented until 1921. Even then, it was just a local brand of bread produced in Indianapolis. It wasn’t until 1925 that Continental Baking bought the brand and started to market it nationally. Here’s an early advertisement, from the October 23, 1928 edition of Spokane’s Spokesman-Review:

So, I figured, it’s safe to assume that the 1916 bakery was taken over by Continental Baking some time after 1925. The neon sign must have come later. I wondered if I could narrow down the timeframe a little more.

I leafed through some more old newspapers. When I saw this one in the November 24, 1943 edition of the Deseret News, I knew I was onto something:

The advertisement from 1928 uses a serif font, while the one from 1943 uses a blocky, sans-serif font very similar to the one in the neon sign.

It was about this time that I stumbled upon an article in the Seattle Post-Intelligencer from July 16, 2009. An apartment complex had just been completed on the site of an old Wonder Bread Factory in Seattle’s Central District. In a nod to the building’s heritage, the original neon Wonder Bread sign had been preserved and put on top of the apartment complex. And you know what? That neon sign looks an awful lot like the one in Columbus:

Image Thom Weinstein/seattlepi.com.

As you can see, it’s not quite the same sign. It’s bigger than the Columbus one and the neon piping is a bit different. The Seattle sign dates from 1952, so the Columbus sign is probably from around this time too. Let’s say late 1940s to the early 1950s.

So, that settles the date the neon sign was put there. But what was a factory doing in the middle of a residential district in the first place? It turns out that it’s a remnant of an industrial park at the eastern side of Italian Village which had been thriving since the late 19th century. There’s not a whole lot of the industrial area left today, the bakery was one of the last outposts.

Ok, so now we know why the bakery was there, and roughly when its neon sign was built. That just left one big mystery: what was the point of the sign being there at all?

Today, it’s just about visible from the I-670 which forms the south border of Italian Village. The thing is, though, that construction on the I-670 didn’t begin until 1975, so the sign definitely wasn’t built to advertise for drivers along that road.

This sent me looking for old maps of Columbus. Did the I-670 replace an older Route, perhaps? But as far as I could see, there had been no other major roads in that area. Certainly, none big enough to justify a neon advertisement.

Fearing I wouldn’t be able to figure it out, I started to think outside the box. In 1929 Transcontinental Air Transport (which would later become TWA) opened an airport nearby (you can still see the original Art Deco buildings). Perhaps the sign was meant to be visible from the air to passengers as they took off or landed? No, that was silly: if they’d wanted it visible from the air, they’d have probably just painted “Wonder Bread” on the roof of the bakery. And anyway, cheap mass aviation didn’t really take off until at least the late 1950s. Before then it was restricted to the more wealthy: people less likely to be Wonder Bread’s target audience.

One thing I did notice, however, was that passengers arrived at Columbus airport by train. By train! Why didn’t I think of that before? I pulled out an old map from 1901. The first thing I notice is that every single railroad going into Columbus passed just a block away from the Wonder Bread sign (marked with a white arrow in this image), and would have had an unobstructed view (source):

By the mid-1950s, rail travel was on the decline. In 1956, there were only 42 passenger trains per day travelling to Columbus, the lowest number in 80 years. Automobiles and planes were taking over. In 1979, four years after work on the I-670 began, not only was the airport remodelled at a cost of $70 million, but the city train station was finally demolished. Today all that remains is a single archway from the station, preserved at one end of a park.

So finally, I’d figured it out. The neon sign has stood here for at least sixty years. A survivor. Its original target audience long gone. In fact, it can only have stood there a very few years before the railroads started to die. Then, not only did the bakery close, but Hostess Brands recently went into receivership—the second time in a decade. Maybe that sign, so magnificent and out of place, will outlast even the product it was built to advertise too.

Neon Wonder Bread Sign
Address: Hamlet & Warren, Columbus Ohio
Hours: Visible 24/7


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