Saturday, after leaving the cemeteries in Haydenville, I drove back into town, looking for the museum. The tour guide in the cemetery told me there are phone numbers of several local residents on the front of the building, and all you need to do is call and someone will come over and open up. I did, and she did. There is no admission charge. The woman even brought space heaters to plug in so we would be warm!
She talked about the old skating rink (no longer around) that was the social center of the town, the old school (also torn down, but Haydenville has the bell and a hole for the foundation in front of the place), as well as the history of a company town. Each house has something a little different about it, and the higher up in the company, the bigger the house (of course). Some of the houses have pipes as decoration which lead to the “Sewer Pipe Goth.”
Haydenville no longer participates in the yearly “black diamond” festival.
When I was a little shy about taking pictures of people’s homes, the museum tour guide said not only is it ok, but residents expect it. Haydenville gets many tourists and we are welcomed. Tourists, but no tourism, as in no money coming in from people passing through. I don’t think there is a way to spend that first dime in the entire town. Oh, no, I was wrong. There is an auto mechanic.
She also suggested I take a look at the Methodist Church, also built by clay bricks from the local factory, but told me she didn’t have a key so she couldn’t let me in.
Here is the old railway station.
There are ruins of the old factory which seem to go on forever.
There seems to be a thriving timber related business, but I didn’t take pictures of the huge logs and stacks of pallets as the history of the town was what interested me.
Late last night the images of this “ghost” town and all the years played in my head. If the walls of the hotel could only talk!!!
Crazy cat lady alert! When I saw a Morris type, I said, “you look like Spanky!” Morris II moved, and there was another one marked similarly. They ran. I don’t blame them.
Sunday, I went back, dragging along Family Friend. Although it was raining, we were fearless and even found a way to the tunnel without walking down the steep hill from the cemetery.
This picture is courtesy of F.F.