684-710 Canton Street
The Mulford Company, Gray Marine Motor Company, Stroh Industries
There’s something unique about how Detroit looks on a murky, rainy day—it’s hard to describe if you haven’t lived it. The feeling might be in my head, but rainy days have always been some of my favorites to go out taking photos.
Yesterday, before work, it was downpouring. I brought my camera with me, as I always do, and found myself with a spare 20 minutes. I had meant to document a warehouse that had gone up in flames during that bitter cold spell in December, so I headed that way.
When I arrived, it was still downpouring. My camera body is weather-sealed; however, the lens I had with me wasn’t. But, to be honest, I didn’t care. I’ve had the same camera since 2018, and it’s seen its fair share of miscues. From falling 20+ feet onto the steel deck of a boat on the Detroit River to accidentally taking a tumble into a waterfall in the depths of the Keweenaw Peninsula in Michigan’s UP, it’s safe to say I’ve gotten my money’s worth.
This post was supposed to be about the history of the warehouse, but, as you can see, there’s no warehouse left. Some of the contents remain—steel beams, torched cars, and debris—but the entire building is gone apart from a tiny section.
The fire occurred on December 23rd in the early morning. Local4 reported that 65 firefighters were battling the blaze, bitter cold, and high winds.
Walking down Lafayette yesterday in the pouring rain was eerie. Stacks of torched cars line the street, almost as if they were assembled there as a barrier to stop the passersby from seeing the destruction that remains after the fire. From a photography perspective, the landscape was fascinating; from a human viewpoint, the evident carnage leftover by the fire is terrifying.
The sidewalk is littered with byproducts of the flames, and a significant amount of gasoline is trickling across the path in a few places. The rain aided it in its journey, but one has to imagine much more escaped in the 48 days between the fire and these photos being taken.
That’s enough of my waffling on; let’s dive into what buildings used to stand here.
Until recently, there was a large complex of buildings in the rectangle formed by Canton, Lafayette, Helen, and Congress Streets. Although connected, many of these structures were built at different periods and utilized by unique industries and businesses. There were also residential homes slotted in the mix, but today, there’s just one tri-plex left on Helen Street.
Two large parcels made up the warehouse that still stood weeks ago.
The smaller of the two is 684 Canton. The first information I’ve been able to find about the structure is from a want ad for a multigraph operator at a letter shop in 1927. A multigraph is an old-school printing machine that uses a revolving drum with a handle.
By 1929, the Mulford Company was utilizing the space. I believe they may have been the ones who wrote the want ad. Mulford Co. was a printing company that handled advertising and printing services for banks, brokers, and other financial institutions.
Business was good for the Mulford Company; in 1930, they opened a downtown office in the Penobscot Building to handle their financial advising and printing services. Their plant remained on Canton Street.
Over the years, an invite-only club for executives had formed in the boiler room of the printing plant. Ted D. Held, the company’s vice president, would make lunch at noon every day for the executives of the company and their guests in the boiler room.
In 1950, the Detroit Free Press reported, “The Boiler Room register, in which every guest writes his name, includes signatures of big business and professional men, statesmen and celebrities from all over the world.” This sounds like some spices were added to flavor the story, but it’s a fun concept.
What wasn’t so fun, and an indication of when this story was written, was that women weren’t allowed in The Boiler Room. Once a year, they were permitted to an event where the men would ‘entertain them.’ I’m not quite sure what that means, but it’s a bit weird, no matter your interpretation.
In 1962, the Mulford Company expanded its plant on Canton Street, adding 5,000 square feet. T. D. Held, who made lunch in The Boiler Room, was president and reported that the expansion cost $250,000, or roughly $2.5 million today.
After that, I’m not sure what happened to the Mulford Company. Gaylord Printing Company may have purchased, merged with, or overtaken it. Their printing plant was at 15555 Woodrow Wilson, but they were listed on Canton Street once or twice, and the two entities’ LARA pages are entangled.
The other parcel, which is substantially larger, is 710 Canton.
The first inhabitant of the structure I’ve found is the Gray Marine Motor Company. Gray Marine was founded in the 1800s, and just after the turn of the century, Mr. Mulford became involved.
The company produced marine engines and was purchased by Continental Motors Company in the mid-1940s. In their later years, they converted automobile engines for use on the water. Gray Marine existed until the 1960s.
At some point after Gray Marine vacated it, Stroh Industries, an automotive supplier, used the building on Canton. The supplier went out of business in 1973, leaving the structure vacant. By 1974, all of the equipment was being auctioned off, and there were multiple ads in the Detroit Free Press lauding the chuckers, turret lathes, rotary surface grinders, and production mills that were available.
I assume that both structures were constructed by, or with influence from, the Mulford family. Just as they came to be in Detroit at the hands of one man, they left at the hands of one man, Dennis Kefallinos.
Most of the block has been purchased by Kefallinos over the years—starting with the warehouses back in the mid-1980s. Of the ten parcels of land starting where the former Mulford print plant ends on the south side to Lafayette Street on the north side, D & K Investments, LLC owns seven.
For the past few years, part of the structure has been used as a pay-to-store facility for boats, cars, and other large items. I’m not certain if this was Kefallinos’ business or someone he leased to, but countless torched car bodies are sprawled across the complex.
While taking these photos in the rain, two men in a pickup showed up and started moving the debris around. It looked like they were sorting the metal that could be scrapped out to take to the scrap yard. Even if it wasn’t raining, that sounds like a miserable job.
Whenever any building is lost to fire, it’s tragic—but when a building owned by a notorious slum lord is lost, it’s even worse. Dennis’ story is a triumphant one. He worked his way up the ladder and built an empire anyone could be proud of. However, he’s most known at this point for his neglect and disrespect of historic structures.
I’m not arguing that these warehouses were enticingly beautiful—but who knows, the next time one of his buildings burns to the ground, it might be one that is.
