Urban Exploration Month, Vol. 4: Inside North County St. Louis’ Looming Lever Soap Factory

There are different ways to drive towards the old Lever Soap factory, located in the heart of Pagedale. One way is to notice parking spots alongside the city’s little park, which sits just across the street from the Pagedale Police Station. You can, if you must, make a hard, left-hand swing into one of the parking spots, only to realize that one of Pagedale’s finest is pretty much sitting in the driveway to said station house and no doubt has now summed up the driver of this vehicle as a person of, at least, some mild interest. Now, let’s say that this is the way you’ve entered Pagedale for the purposes of some urban exploration. Oh, my, that’s no way to greet the town!

Well, that scene was one experienced by, er, um, a friend of mine just this past weekend. The rest of the story he told seemed to confirm the possibility of the above (and below) happening. It’s, in effect, a believable story, documented by words, along with pictures and video. So let’s say it… might’ve happened.  

Because, you see, this person claims to have first entered into the Lever Soap factory several years ago. That trip was part of a large, group outing, with a good dozen people carrying in baskets and backpacks full of food and drinks for a rooftop picnic. No slovenly visitors, these guests even brought trash bags and carted their junk out of the Lever after the visit, which also included a few paint marks left for future generations of urban explorers to behold. Our source indicated that several of the markings still remain, a welcome reminder of that great afternoon in the breeze and sun.

This past Sunday, an overcast sky began to settle in during the mid-afternoon, but the temperatures were still absolutely right for exploring. And the exploration on that gorgeous day began by finding a good entry point to the plant, which is entirely fenced ‘round, if curiously bereft of “no trespassing” signs. Luckily, some previous travelers left a wonderful, well-trodden entry point, one that presents itself to an explorer with open eyes and a curious streak. From that slim, but usable entry, it’s a hop-skip to the plant itself, which features several different buildings, most of them connected through what appear to be different generations of construction.

What’s left of the sprawling North County plant is rather eye-popping from the eastern approach. The walls of the main structure have been long removed, giving the plant a slightly sinister and foreboding look. Occasionally, even when walking outside the plant, a bit of loose metal swings in the breeze, which causes a strange, eerie sound to emanate from the empty complex, which is otherwise quiet to the point of creepiness. Outside, the crickets chirp. Inside, water drips into small pools. Otherwise, it’s very silent and still, though the higher you go in the building, the more that you can hear the surrounding community. On a day like Sunday, for example, one could hear the hum of Metro trains and the whistles from kids’ football games across the street.
 

Watching your step during the trip up, or anywhere in the plant, is essential. The most interesting visuals are undoubtedly the large, gaping circles cut into the floors throughout the plant. Obviously, these aren’t careless placements or holes created by the years of inactivity. These were for industrial uses and are easily spotted, though the reckless observer would still be well-served by planting themselves a couple feet away from the rims; falls here, it must be noted, would be severe and, likely, life-threatening. But the UE buzz also calls for a little bit of mischievous creeping and the call of the rooftops is too much to resist. From there, all of North County is visible, from multiple angles and vantage points.

Throughout, the Lever’s buildings have been hit by multiple taggers and graf artists and the sometimes-vivid colors suggest that these folks are still finding their way into the space. The omnipresent metal scrappers have pretty much gotten what they can, without completely giving themselves away to public view, so there’s not much of that utilitarian, if largely illegal, use for this place on their end. And it’s been years since soap was manufactured here, to the point that there’s not even a ghostly smell of what used to be, which frequently occurs with industrial spaces like this. (Think the Armour and Hunter meat plants in East St. Louis, which still give off the smell of cattle, decades later. Seriously.)

If one were to go into the Lever Soap factory, one of North County’s urban exploration gems, this is the type of story that one could write. We assume.