Last week I had an opportunity to meet with the owner of Keller Manufacturing on Fyler just west of Morgan Ford Rd. Click on the title above to link his business (I want one of these: http://www.gardexusa.com/commercial.asp)
Mr. Keller kindly answered my questions about his business, the buildings (made in 1961), how the street used to look before it was paved and some history of the street (below).
Keller Manufacturing is a series of buildings that I've admired for years:
A paper street is a road or street that appears on maps but in reality remains unpaved. It generally occurs when city planners or sub-division developers submit plans that include such streets; and when changes occur, they are not removed or updated. Fyler was paved in the mid 60's.
Sometime around the turn of the last century a company existed on Fyler, The Parker-Russell Mining Company, that manufactured terra cotta barrel tiles for roofing. The owner of the company had a series of tiny houses made across the street and along MGF that he rented to his employees:
This hill was created when Fyler finally graded and paved. It's filled with broken pieces of terra cotta that previously cluttered the street.
Bits of terra cotta:
This is a typical house along Flyer. Four rooms: The living room and bedroom are upstairs, kitchen and bathroom are downstairs. No basements.
No windows on either side of the houses.
These houses across from Marti's memorial garden on Morgan Ford Rd were also employee housing.
Presenting a collection of St. Louis bricks, sidewalk markers, and the Fleur-de-lis as architectural detail on and in city buildings, brick collecting, urban exploration, and my life by Christian Herman. Reporting from Tower Grove South in St. Louis, MO
3/1/24
2/29/24
Pist. 2012
I admit I'm suspicious of men who cultivate food appointments with me without the boundary defining friendship conversation.
With some men this never needs to be discussed, we just get it. But Piston's inquiry about my serious commitments edged me and when I mentioned it he smiled by lifting one side of his mouth. It was the same methodical wry smile I often find on *my* face. I was asking about your work schedule, he said rolling is eyes, Relax we're not on a date. I treated him to my version of his smile and relaxed.
OK, so I mentioned he's no ballerina on the track at the gym. Rigid back, no swing to the shoulders. It's painful to spy on him walking the track while trying to keep my pogo dancing on the elliptical rhythmic. It's all he does at the gym: No lifting, no machines, nada. Three days a week he's a freaking track junkie. I was thinking about paying 46.00 a month to stroll the track when he tells me the story of a Frida Kahlo-esque accident two years ago in some southern goth backwater town in Mississippi where he was doing research on frogs. This resulted in extended hospital tours that involved lying on polluted beds, howling, incapacitated and beckoning death.
I was a client with no experience to direct my care, he said, I was forced to consider the existential question. The question that takes on a rabid twist for a 'patient' who chooses to spend his time in what basically was a prison. The question that is also in an old Sylvia Plath poem, do you know it? He quoted:
With some men this never needs to be discussed, we just get it. But Piston's inquiry about my serious commitments edged me and when I mentioned it he smiled by lifting one side of his mouth. It was the same methodical wry smile I often find on *my* face. I was asking about your work schedule, he said rolling is eyes, Relax we're not on a date. I treated him to my version of his smile and relaxed.
OK, so I mentioned he's no ballerina on the track at the gym. Rigid back, no swing to the shoulders. It's painful to spy on him walking the track while trying to keep my pogo dancing on the elliptical rhythmic. It's all he does at the gym: No lifting, no machines, nada. Three days a week he's a freaking track junkie. I was thinking about paying 46.00 a month to stroll the track when he tells me the story of a Frida Kahlo-esque accident two years ago in some southern goth backwater town in Mississippi where he was doing research on frogs. This resulted in extended hospital tours that involved lying on polluted beds, howling, incapacitated and beckoning death.
I was a client with no experience to direct my care, he said, I was forced to consider the existential question. The question that takes on a rabid twist for a 'patient' who chooses to spend his time in what basically was a prison. The question that is also in an old Sylvia Plath poem, do you know it? He quoted:
That being free. What would the dark
Do without fevers to eat?
What would the light
Do without eyes to knife, what would he
Do, do, do without me?
I know it, I said, it's called The Jailer. And the question, buried deep, is How did I get here?
2/18/24
2/15/24
2/12/24
1/30/24
1/28/24
Changly is on the Steps
That runt dick, he saidt, lives down the street in a dark, needy, nasty shack. Needs attention, its a patch, like him eth. Runt lawn a shadow. No anything but dust on dirt. No pretty there, no light to it. Man, you fall in lookin at it.
Me: Coffee?
Changly: Yeah, mud like that, that runt dick you tossed.
Me (laughing): Changly, would you like coffee!?
Me: Coffee?
Changly: Yeah, mud like that, that runt dick you tossed.
Me (laughing): Changly, would you like coffee!?
1/19/24
1/16/24
12/30/23
12/26/23
12/24/23
12/22/23
12/21/23
12/18/23
I love thread.
All kinds of thread.
This is DMC Floche, a twisted thread made from the finest long fiber cotton, mercerized to create a beautiful finish.
This is DMC Floche, a twisted thread made from the finest long fiber cotton, mercerized to create a beautiful finish.
12/8/23
Early
My sleep was loaded with you.
We were in a rotating landscape of houses, alleys, garages.
Significant that the alleys were concrete and not black asphalt for white settings dominate my perfect dreams.
The scenes kept shifting but we remained together. We were consistently and successfully dodging something intangible.
You were awkward which charmed me and oddly decisive.
I thought you were tolerating me when a hidden affection escaped through your hands. I caught some of it when an abbreviated smile landed in my hair.
I woke rubbing my head and listening to the cries from various crows as they passed over the house.
I woke smiling.
We were in a rotating landscape of houses, alleys, garages.
Significant that the alleys were concrete and not black asphalt for white settings dominate my perfect dreams.
The scenes kept shifting but we remained together. We were consistently and successfully dodging something intangible.
You were awkward which charmed me and oddly decisive.
I thought you were tolerating me when a hidden affection escaped through your hands. I caught some of it when an abbreviated smile landed in my hair.
I woke rubbing my head and listening to the cries from various crows as they passed over the house.
I woke smiling.
12/4/23
11/30/23
FEAR.
I inadvertently woke Pst who sleeps all day and works in a Lab all night (he's a very white man) with I Love Livin In The City.
I suppose snarlng along with the lyrics out loud was inconsiderate but I was really hankering to hear FEAR'S Fuck Christmas.
Pist: WTF IS THIS!? Me: Hey, you should have seen them live. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4ptb-4p0198&list=TLPQMzAxMTIwMjNosKZVVXpydw&index=2&ab_channel=KicksInStyle
I suppose snarlng along with the lyrics out loud was inconsiderate but I was really hankering to hear FEAR'S Fuck Christmas.
Pist: WTF IS THIS!? Me: Hey, you should have seen them live. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4ptb-4p0198&list=TLPQMzAxMTIwMjNosKZVVXpydw&index=2&ab_channel=KicksInStyle
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