Check out photos of the implosion in our slideshow.
On the chilly morning of December 19th, 2010, people from around the region gathered to watch as the de-facto face of Sugar Land was changed forever. An implosion of two buildings of the former Imperial Sugar refinery was scheduled for seven in the morning - the white furnace building next to the char house, and the red bin building to the north of the char house.
The char house is that nice, big red-brick building, the one that looks good in all the pictures. What can we say, darling? Red is just your color.
For many people in the crowd, it was bittersweet - many had family members that had worked at the refinery, where operations were suspended in 2003. Others were just attached to the property as an iconic representation of their city, some having lived within sight of the buildings.
(Click ahead for the video.)
For us, well, we love a good explosion. But we can vividly remember touring the factory on class field trips - the heat and humidity, the wonderment of the heavy machinery that would crush our adolescent bones, the noise, the sickening smell of it all. We loved every minute of the tour, because we knew that at the end, each of our wriggling, suburban elementary school bodies would be blessed with two packets of that pure, most blessed white powder: refined sugar. After all, we were probably nine years old (and we definitely hadn't seen Scarface yet).
D.H. Griffin of Texas Inc. coordinated the demolition, which should have been no problem. After all, this is the same company that boasts demolitions of the AstroHall, Jeff Davis Hospital, and currently holds the title for "tallest building in Texas taken down with explosives" - Fort Worth's 407-foot tall Landmark Tower.
So we trudged into the cold morning, eager with anticipation. Folks were milling about in the pre-dawn light, securing their vantage points and setting cameras on tripods. Events of this magnitude only come around so often, and it was a vivid reminder of Sugar Land's small-town roots. Oh, and there were T-shirts: an equally vivid reminder of Sugar Land's ever-present marketing as an affluent suburb.
As the countdown reached zero, and the big boom sent a shockwave heard for miles, a string of smaller charges were triggered, and slowly the bin building began to slip from the sky. It was almost poetic and graceful, giving way to a giant cloud of black dust, which then settled just as quickly as it rose.
However, the furnace building never fell - despite the structure's visible lean of about a half-window difference between its base and its roof. Our familiarity with the property suggests this to be around a two-to-three foot distance. Some brave souls in hard hats were sent in to re-set charges, which were to explode in another 30 minutes. Much of the crowd stuck around to watch.
