Hemanth, of Instant Kaapi, read my post mentioning the passing of the old Madras Club and has posted several pictures of it here. They're beautiful.
My father loved buildings, and he was a Civil War buff. He travelled to a number of plantation houses in the South. He took the family along on some of the trips, but my sister and I were too small to appreciate them, and whined a lot, so I didn't make it down to Louisiana to see Belle Helene. He took a picture of it, though, that haunted me for years -- a crumbling, columned building, hung about with Spanish moss. I just found a picture of it, in better shape than when he photographed it, at Louisiana: Plantation Country (page down). And a more evocative picture here. The image of Belle Helene came back to me quite recently, and I wondered if it was the root of my love for crumbling buildings. Our obsessions tend to stem from such tiny and arbitrary beginnings, don't they?