Wacko House 002 2285
MVRDV, Swimming-pool (Sloterpark, Netherlands: 1994).
UN Studio, Port Terminal (Yokohama, Japan: 1994).
George C. Nimmons & Company, Architects, Sears & Roebuck Merchandise Distribution Center (Philadelphia, PA: 1920; imploded 30 October 1994).
Re: what a blast
I was in NYC Saturday, 29 October 1994. After having dinner in the Village, I drove home. As I passed the Sears Tower on the Boulevard, the song playing on my car cassette player was by Brian Ferry and the lyrics were "here today, gone tomorrow"--I'm not kidding.
The next morning I got up about 8:15. I set the VCR to record the local news coverage of the approaching implosion, and around 8:30 I set off on foot for the site. All 12 lanes of Roosevelt Blvd. were closed to traffic, and it was kind of cool to just walk in the middle of the "boulevard" without cars. There were others also walking in the direction of Sears.
The implosion was set for 9:00 am, but actually happened about 9:08. It was all over in a matter of seconds. By the time the 14 story clock tower began to move, most of it was already engulfed in a huge cloud of dust. And when the clouds dissipated, there was just nothing there--a very strange phenomenon of absence manifesting itself, a very paradoxical presence of absence.
The local news van that recorded the event was right next to where I was standing to watch the implosion, so when I went back home and watched the recording of the event, it was neat to see the whole thing from exactly the same angle that I saw it in person.
Several square miles of neighborhoods immediately north of the Sears complex were covered with a thick layer of dust after the all the windswept implosion clouds settled.
The site is now a huge shopping center/parking lot, like hundreds of recent shopping centers in the U.S. and beyond--HOME DEPOT, OLD NAVY, STAPLES, PEP BOYS, DICK'S, HAIR CUTTERY, etc., etc., etc. Like when I was younger, I still do a good bit of my shopping at that place.
Regarding what may seem to be my fascination with all this, simply put, it's not everyday that a world record implosion happens in your own neighborhood.