Places That Were

A school sits abandoned in a small town in rural Iowa, as it has for more than fifty years. Untouched by graffiti, the grand old structure has been eaten away by the ravages of Mother Nature.


The sun touched the horizon behind a cottony layer of clouds as I drove into the small rural town of Clutier, Iowa. After a day of exploring an incredible abandoned brick yard, the ruins of an old boarding school, and a beautiful decimated grade school, I wasn't quite ready to call it a night.

Despite my exhaustion, I couldn't resist the urge to check out a couple more abandoned schools before I ran out of daylight.


Clutier, Iowa is a neat little town of around 200 people, covering three-quarters of a square mile in the Salt Creek Valley region of Tama County. Founded in 1900 by William E. Brice, the town was largely settled by Czech immigrants. Clutier is still known for its Czech cuisine and summertime polka concerts as well as its annual Bohemian Plum Festival.


Clutier Public School was built in 1925 and in 1961, merged with Traer School to become Traer-Clutier. The consolidation of local school districts continued, and in 1965 Dinsdale Community School joined, forming North Tama County Community School District.


It was remarkably difficult to find much information on the history of the school, probably because of the large number of small-town schools in Iowa that closed due to consolidation.

After a lot of digging, I managed to find out that Clutier Public School had a very talented young women's basketball team called The Chargin' Czechs. From 1939 to 1948, they achieved a 201-18-1 record and took part in the state tournament six times.

1942 was an exceptional year for the Chargin' Czechs. They were undefeated, winning 31 games and the Iowa Title. Clutier's Betty Mundt was the state tournament’s top scorer that year, with 75 points in four games.

Photo from the Cedar Rapids Gazette in 1942 of the Clutier girls’ basketball state championship team (courtesy of http://www.thegazette.com/subject/sports/girls-state-basketball-memories-from-newhall-to-clutier-20160214)

The team's memory still lives on. In 2007, the mayor of Clutier proclaimed September 15 as Chargin’ Czech Day and a monument was built in their honor at the town entrance. The Iowa Hall of Pride in Des Moines has dedicated part of its "Six-Girl Basketball in Iowa" display to the 1942 team, including a team photo, the championship trophy, a team uniform, and the white basketball that was used during their time.


The classrooms of the old school are now water-damaged, but surprisingly still intact, a stark contrast to Searsboro Consolidated School, which is in far worse shape.

Despite the lack of graffiti, smashed windows are a sign that Clutier Public School has not been entirely spared from vandalism.


Attempts were made to cover some of the broken windows, but the effort was apparently abandoned some time ago.



A bed of moss now covers the carpeted floors of the old classrooms.


Small plants grow up from the mushy layer of decaying carpet.


Rotting doors hang loosely from decaying frames. The drywall has fallen off in chunks, revealing sturdy brick walls.


Light fixtures still hang in a few rooms where ceiling tiles have not yet come loose.


A staircase stained from decades of flooding leads down to a spooky cafeteria.



The tiles have peeled up from the floor, forming a layer of brittle, curled rectangles.



The kitchen is bare, except for a stainless steel sink leaning against the wall.



By the time I finished admiring the old school the sky had grown pitch dark, but there was still one more school I wanted to check out before embarking on the long drive into Illinois.

A few miles from Clutier lies the town of Dysart, home of the abandoned Dysart-Geneseo Consolidated School. I knew the property was off limits, but I wanted to capture a few shots of the school from afar, if possible.

I parked along the side of the road and could barely make out the old structure in the near-total darkness. I got out my tripod to experiment with some long-exposure photography. I managed to get a decent shot of the school and teachers' dormitory. The pictures turned out a little blurry, but were shockingly bright as if I'd taken them in the middle of the day.


While I stood there with my tripod, a truck drove by, slowing slightly as it passed me, and then pulled into the driveway of the only nearby house. Just as I was getting ready to leave, two cop cars showed up, blinding me with their lights. The police told me someone had reported suspicious activity. It was obvious who had made the call, since only one vehicle had passed during the short time I was there.

I showed the cops the pictures I had taken, to prove that I hadn't trespassed onto the property. They were as amazed as I was at how the photos had turned out. Realizing I'd done nothing illegal, the officers were pretty friendly. I was disappointed that the neighbors had called the police instead of simply stopping to ask what I was up to. I guess that's the sort of mistrustful world we live in, even in small-town America.


I got back on the road and drove for several hours, crossing into Illinois before I stopped to rest for the night. The Rust Belt was just over the horizon and I could hardly wait for the dawn of a new day filled with new places to explore...

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Near the outskirts of Nevada, Iowa lie the ruins of Oak Park Academy, a boarding school built by the Seventh Day Adventist Church in 1911.


Invigorated from a morning spent in Lehigh, Iowa, home of the beautiful ruins of an abandoned brick yard, I got back on the road and continued eastward.

An hour-long drive through Iowa's beautiful countryside brought me to the city of Nevada, Iowa. Along its southern edge lay the remains of Oak Park Academy, a high school-level coed boarding school operated by the Seventh Day Adventists of Iowa.



In 1911 the school was renamed Oak Park Academy and moved to Nevada, Iowa, where it remained until its closure in the spring of 1980.


The campus lawn is surprisingly well-maintained, probably due to the fact that the property is not entirely abandoned. The Seventh Day Adventist Church near the entrance to the former campus is still operational. Across the parking lot stands the Oak Park Estates apartment complex, which occupies the renovated structure of one of the old dormitories.
The other four buildings at the far end of the well-kept grounds continue to stand vacant, as they have for more than 35 years.

Intensely curious, but not wanting to disrespect the owners of the land, I crossed the lawn and approached the ivy-covered structures. The abandoned dormitory is in very rough shape. Nearly all the windows are gone, giving it a haunting empty appearance. The entrance is marked with graffiti. The spray painted image of a hand with its middle finger raised clashes with the bible verse etched above the doorway urging people to love one another.


A rusty yellow station wagon with a For Sale sign is parked just outside the overgrown side entrance.


Judging by the fact that it's parked behind an abandoned building, I'm pretty sure the owner has given up on finding a buyer.


A few other old vehicles are parked between the old dorm and another building, which might have contained the gymnasium. Unlike the dorm, it was fairly well sealed up and the windows were mostly intact. Some were covered with blue tarps on the inside. Figuring it might be occupied by squatters or used for storage of groundskeeping equipment, I decided to take a few pictures of the outside and call it a day.


From Nevada, Iowa, I drove down to Des Moines to check out the abandoned Titan Tire factory. On the highway, I passed a teenager who had smashed his shiny sports car into a telephone pole. The front end was completely smashed, and the car was obviously totaled. Fortunately the driver appeared uninjured as he stood talking to a police officer. I shook my head in silent judgment, figuring the kid was probably driving recklessly and lost control.

I arrived at Titan tire, eager to explore the vast abandoned industrial space and its rusty machinery and artifacts. The place was so huge that it would easily keep me occupied for the rest of the afternoon.


My excitement came to an abrupt end when I spotted a utility truck and a group of men in orange vests outside performing some sort of maintenance work. For an instant I wondered if I could sneak past them undetected.

Then I thought of the teenager with the smashed car whom I had silently judged for his assumed recklessness and I couldn't justify taking such a risk. I reminded myself that I'd soon be in Detroit, where there would be plenty more abandoned factories to explore.


I got back in my car and continued east toward the town of Searsboro, where the abandoned ruins of Searsboro Consolidated School awaited me. Come back next week to hear all about it!

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Deep in rural Iowa, hidden by a lush green forest, a sprawling brickyard slowly crumbles as nature creeps in to reclaim it. 

I woke up early and drove into the town of Lehigh, Iowa as the sun peeked over the horizon. Ragged tatters of storm clouds receded overhead.

I'd been in Iowa for less than 24 hours, and already I'd fallen in love with the state. Wending my way along rural roads, stopping to admire the simple beauty of abandoned homesteads and the majesty of a vacant luxury hotel, it quickly became apparent that Iowa was home to many hidden gems.


Iowa Brick is one such gem. Closed several decades ago, the old brickyard is still largely intact. Vandals have left it alone for the most part, allowing nature to creep back in and slowly wear away at the structures and equipment that were left behind.

[**Note: This facility is located on private property and CANNOT be accessed without permission from the owner]


The ceiling of the old workshop has begun to collapse, allowing a bed of moss and small plants to take root.



The place looks to have been abandoned very suddenly. Workbenches still line the walls...



Forklifts and other equipment are still parked inside several of the old structures.



Stacks of brick wait patiently to be shipped out to customers.




Many of the rooms were flooded from the previous night's storm.




Located near the banks of Crooked Creek, I wouldn't be surprised if flooding was a common occurence in the old brick factory.


It would explain why plants have flourished in just about every building.




Inside the main factory, eerie silence hangs in the air, interrupted only by the echoing sounds of dripping and my footfalls.


It's strange to imagine that these places were once filled with workers' voices and the roar of industry.


Half a dozen chimneys keep vigil on the grounds of the old brickyard.


Piles of rubble at their bases mark the locations of smaller structures that collapsed long ago.


An enormous dome-shaped kiln rusts among the thick vegetation.


Time and the elements have done incredible things to the brick walls and floor inside.




Lehigh, a small town in Webster County, Iowa, was built upon two major industries: coal mines and brickyards. Brickyards made clay from shale excavated at the local coal mines. Formed into bricks and drain tile, the clay was baked in kilns heated by coal from the same mines.

Coal mining declined in Webster County during the first half of the 20th century. The population of Lehigh has fallen steadily since then, from 1,004 in 1940 to about 400 nowadays.



Lehigh Brick and Tile company was established in the late 1800s as a producer of bricks and ceramic sewer and drain pipes.


In 1896, the company won the contract to produce the paving brick for the city of Dubuque, Iowa. Then in 1897 a serious fire crippled the facility. Several other local brickyards rushed in to fill the void in production. By 1903, Lehigh Brick and Tile had fully recovered from the fire and was back in business.

Most of the structures that currently occupy the site were built in the 1950s and '60s, with the final additions made in the late '70s.


At some point, the Lehigh Brick and Tile Company became Iowa Brick. It operated under that name until the facility closed in the 1980s.



After stopping in Lehigh, I hit the road again and headed off to check out the ruins of an old boarding school.

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