Episodes

  • Albany Interrupted

    Albany Interrupted
    Jun 9 2025
    Episode 5: Albany Interrupted:The Lost Neighborhoods of the Empire State PlazaEpisode Summary: The Empire State Plaza was built to showcase power, but its construction came at a steep human cost. Governor Nelson Rockefeller’s vision transformed the heart of Albany into a marble civic center meant to project modernity and control. But to build it, nearly 100 acres of working-class neighborhoods were condemned and demolished. Thousands of residents were displaced. Streets like Jefferson, Hamilton, and South Pearl vanished from the map, along with churches, stores, and homes that had stood for generations. This episode of Restoration Obscura returns to the neighborhoods erased by the Plaza, tracing the outlines of a forgotten city and the lives that once gave it shape.It was built to impress the world.The Empire State Plaza, with its gleaming marble facades, soaring towers, and futuristic shell of a performing arts center known as The Egg, was designed to stand as a symbol of power, vision, and permanence. Governor Nelson Rockefeller didn’t just want a civic center, he wanted a statement. A modern acropolis. A New Rome rising from the banks of the Hudson.And yet, for all its ambition, what the Plaza projected upward came at a steep cost below.To build this monument, nearly a hundred acres of Albany’s oldest neighborhoods were condemned and cleared. Jefferson Street. Grand. Hamilton. South Pearl. They weren’t just names on a map, they were lived-in places, filled with stoops and storefronts, corner churches and bakeries, neon tavern signs and second-floor bedrooms still warm with memory. Thousands of people were displaced. Homes were bulldozed. Entire communities were dismantled in the name of progress, and largely forgotten in the shadow of marble.This episode of Restoration Obscura Field Guide explores how Albany’s past was deliberately cleared away, and how traces of that past still remain. Even after demolition, memory persists in the landscape, in the surviving architecture, and in the stories passed down by those who once called the neighborhood home.We return to Albany not as it appears on postcards or political banners, but as it was, a city built by laborers, immigrants, shopkeepers, and children who ruled the alleyways before the wrecking balls came. We walk the streets that no longer exist. We follow the invisible paths where foot traffic once stitched the city together. And we listen for the stories that still hum beneath the stone.Governor Rockefeller, alongside architect Wallace Harrison, brought global influences to bear, particularly from Brasília, to reimagine Albany as a seat of authority and architectural elegance. They imported marble from Vermont and Italy. They reshaped the skyline. But in doing so, they also severed Albany from itself.The Empire State Plaza didn’t evolve out of Albany. It interrupted it.Condemnation notices arrived without consent. Families packed up and left behind not just their homes, but entire ways of life. Oral histories tell of mothers weeping over government envelopes, of neighbors clinging to collapsing blocks while bulldozers roared outside their windows. What had once been dense, diverse neighborhoods were reduced to rubble fields in months. What had taken generations to build disappeared under concrete in weeks.But the story doesn’t end with demolition. It continues in the shadows of what was left standing, in the cracked retaining walls where the natural slope of the city still resists the flattening of marble. In the misaligned buildings that weren’t quite absorbed into the master plan. In the dead-end streets that once carried the weight of community and now end in silence.And it continues in the stories. In the memories passed down. In the whispered names of streets no longer found on maps.We also follow the construction of Interstate 787, another act of severance that walled off Albany from its riverfront and redefined its relationship to space, sound, and flow. The highway and the Plaza together carved Albany into zones: administrative, commercial, marginal. The city was broken apart by vision, divided by design.This episode isn’t just about architecture. It’s about identity. About what makes a city a living thing. About what’s lost when the state imposes symmetry where chaos once lived, and why the human scale always finds a way to return.If you’ve ever walked the Empire State Plaza and sensed something off, the stillness, the way sound scatters, the absence of the familiar rhythms of the city, this story may help explain what you’re feeling. And if you haven’t been, it might offer a way to understand places like it in your own city: spaces built to project power, where the design is intentional, but the silence speaks louder than the architecture.Because cities remember.Even when we try to pave that memory over.Citations98 Acres in Albany (WordPress project documenting the social history of the demolished South End ...
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    27 mins
  • After the Rain

    After the Rain
    May 19 2025

    Episode 4: After the Rain: The Storm That Dumped Radiation on Troy, New York

    Restoration Obscura Field Guide Podcast

    Written and hosted by John Bulmer

    In this episode of the Restoration Obscura Field Guide, we investigate one of the Capital Region’s most unsettling Cold War legacies—a radioactive rainstorm that quietly fell over Troy, New York, in the spring of 1953. Drawing on Bill Heller’s A Good Day Has No Rain, along with government documents and independent research, this story traces how nuclear fallout from a Nevada test site traveled across the country and landed, unannounced, on a city that never saw it coming.

    Act I introduces listeners to the events surrounding “Shot Simon,” a 43-kiloton atmospheric nuclear test conducted at the Nevada Test Site. When radioactive debris entered the jet stream, it traveled thousands of miles before being pulled down by a spring storm over New York’s Capital Region. At Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute, Professor Herbert Clark’s students detected radiation levels in local rainwater more than 4,500 times the government’s safe limit—higher than some areas impacted by the Chernobyl disaster. While Clark urgently reported the findings to the Atomic Energy Commission, the response was silence. Meanwhile, documents revealed that Kodak had received prior warnings about nuclear tests to protect its film products—an agreement never extended to the public.

    Act II explores the science of fallout and its long-term effects on the human body. Radioisotopes like Strontium-90, Iodine-131, and Cesium-137 entered Troy’s ecosystem and were absorbed into water, soil, crops, and livestock. Once consumed or inhaled, these isotopes embedded themselves in bone, muscle, and organs—altering DNA, irradiating tissues from within, and triggering illnesses years or even decades later. Studies from the National Cancer Institute and other public health agencies have linked fallout exposure to significant increases in leukemia, thyroid disorders, and soft tissue cancers. Yet despite scientific confirmation of the dangers, no government-sponsored study was ever conducted in Troy. Families were left with unspoken questions, unexplained diagnoses, and a generational burden of illness without acknowledgement.

    Act III expands the focus beyond Troy to reveal a national and global pattern of radioactive exposure. From the sheep ranches of Nevada and the rain-soaked farms of Iowa to the windswept atolls of the Marshall Islands, communities around the world became unintentional participants in the nuclear arms race. The Kodak Agreement stands as one of the most disturbing symbols of this era—a private arrangement prioritizing corporate preservation over public health. The episode closes with a sobering reflection on modern environmental crises, including PFAS contamination, that mirror the same institutional silence and delay that defined the fallout era.

    This episode combines historical storytelling with investigative research to bring one of Troy’s most overlooked Cold War events back into the public eye. It’s a narrative shaped by declassified documents, scientific studies, and the voices of those who lived in the fallout’s shadow. What happened in Troy wasn’t isolated—it was part of a larger pattern of denial, misdirection, and forgotten consequence.This episode includes full source citations.You can read the original article here: https://restorationobscura.substack.com/p/the-fallout-that-fell-as-rain

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    🎧 The Restoration Obscura Field Guide Podcast is streaming now on all major streaming platforms.

    Every photo has a story. And every story connects us.

    © 2025 John Bulmer Media & Restoration Obscura. All rights reserved.



    Get full access to Restoration Obscura at restorationobscura.substack.com/subscribe
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    34 mins
  • The Bloody Pit

    The Bloody Pit
    May 5 2025

    Restoration Obscura Field Guide – Episode 3

    The Bloody Pit: Hoosac Tunnel, Western Massachusetts

    Beneath the Berkshires, a nearly five-mile tunnel cuts through Hoosac Mountain—a staggering feat of 19th-century engineering. Officially called the Hoosac Tunnel, it’s more commonly known by its darker name: The Bloody Pit.

    This episode tells the full story, from the tunnel’s origins in the mid-1800s as an ambitious plan to link Boston with upstate New York, to the nearly 25 years of brutal labor it took to complete. Hundreds of workers, many of them Irish immigrants and Civil War veterans, toiled in near-total darkness using hand tools, black powder, and later, nitroglycerin—powerful but dangerously unstable. Explosions, cave-ins, and toxic smoke claimed lives by the dozen. Official records say nearly 200 men died. The real number may be higher.

    We dive into one of the worst disasters in American tunnel history: the 1867 fire and collapse of the Central Shaft, which trapped thirteen men underground. Their bodies weren’t recovered for nearly a year. The tragedy and the ghost stories that followed helped cement the tunnel’s chilling nickname.

    As construction dragged on, reports emerged of disembodied voices, cold winds in still air, and phantom lights on the tracks. Some claimed to see ghostly workers in the dark. Others believed the tunnel itself was cursed.

    Today, the tunnel remains active. Freight trains still rumble through daily. There are no lights, no walkways, and no room for mistakes. While its engineering legacy is significant, its emotional and human cost is just as profound. The Hoosac Tunnel is both a marvel of progress and a monument to the people it consumed.

    This episode also draws connections to other forgotten industrial sites like the erased mining town of Tahawus in New York’s Adirondacks—places where ambition met wilderness and where memory lingers even after the buildings are gone.

    Please note: while these stories are powerful and compelling, the sites themselves remain hazardous. Trespassing into active or abandoned infrastructure is both dangerous and often illegal. Curiosity is important, but so is respect.

    The Bloody Pit isn’t just a tunnel. It’s a wound carved into stone. And this episode is a reminder that some places remember—even when we forget.

    Companion article available at: https://restorationobscura.substack.com/p/the-hoosac-tunnel

    Learn more at: www.restorationobscura.com

    About Restoration Obscura: Restoration Obscura brings lost history back to life through long-form storytelling, archival research, and photographic restoration. From Cold War secrets to vanished neighborhoods, wartime experiments to strange ruins, each story casts light on what history left behind.

    Streaming on: Spotify, Apple Podcasts, Audible, Amazon Music, and YouTube Music.

    © 2025 John Bulmer Media & Restoration Obscura. All rights reserved. Educational use only.



    Get full access to Restoration Obscura at restorationobscura.substack.com/subscribe
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    26 mins