I received a mysterious night telegram from 9402 Pacific Street, possibly emitted from the warning trees, which caused me to hurry up to the property without delay. I cannot be sure how I got there, but I had cast off my thick Hudson and bed
Author: myomahaobsession
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Hello, my friends and welcome. It is that time of year again and we are celebrating another anniversary—a birthday of sorts. My Omaha Obsession is now seven years old. This is an unpardonable distraction on your Thursday night but a lazy March
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When we last gathered in October, we had a delicious time sifting through the early chronology of our obsession, 9402 Pacific. A mysterious presence, 9402 Pacific has, as long as any of us remember, displayed quiet walls—a kind of beautiful,
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There is a wild and wooly environ just a stone’s throw from the huge, Hidden House we churned about on 96th and Pacific that I’ve been meaning to return to. 9402 Pacific Street, my longtime dream property in this area, is situated on two acres,
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I thought I had caught a lucky break back in 2015. A remodeling of the Beverly Hills Plaza at 78th and Dodge exposed a large ghost sign had been perfectly sealed underneath the strip mall’s eastern façade. I snapped away at the hand-painted
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Back in October of 2021, I received a note from a young inquirer working his own case. We had a back and forth transmission as I tried to make out what building he was after. What follows are his questions and clues—with minimal fusion
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Friends, this is not an investigation about a great mossy building. Warning! Warning! We have now entered a nightmare world of contemporary times. If you’ve gathered with us for a long while then you already know that I wish my architectural
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I found the letter placed on my desk. The envelope had been tidily cut open with a paper knife, its contents, a single sheet, still crisply folded inside. I presumed this was Mr. Cross’s passive way of letting it be known that he’d like to
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The Omaha wrecking ball was in full swing last week. As we, lovers of the long purview, intone our well-worn phrases, light our little candles and murmur the custom platitudes of pities, I will admit I can’t really keep up with this pace. The
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Last night there was the sound like the firework’s crackle and in my startle, a sudden uprush in bed. I had forgotten! I had forgotten My Omaha Obsession’s sixth birthday. Armed with my pillow and blankie, I consulted the ceiling and