Commentary; Posted: 11/15/06
Memories flow as water tower falls
Corbett Johnson
Guest Columnist
The men at Reubís Tire Shop ó Dick Stark, Jack Palmer and Reub Engler before them ó have marked the winter solstice for the past 55 years by watching the longest shadow of the year crawl slowly across their parking lot.
There will not be a shadow this year, nor will there be the excited shouts of a child in the back seat of a car coming up or down the highway, shouting, ìI see it! I see it! I see it first, Daddy!î
The siren that wailed for fires, drownings and tornadoes wonít cry out either. The beacon that guided the night fisherman safely back to the dock shines no more.
Today the water tower that cast that shadow that cradled the siren in its steel arms, wore three red lights on its roof and, most of all told us we were home...came down.
It has been 85 years since the iron workers first wrestled those 500 pound iron plates into place on top of the 120 ft. legs, heated thousands of rivets, tossing them from the ground, man to man, up the tower, to fasten those plates into a 100,000 gallon tank. No cranes, no fancy power equipment...just brute strength and courage and time. We have no record of how long it took to build but the crew that cut it down took only nine hours.
I grew up in the shadow of that tower, our home on the shore of Forest Lake only a few hundred feet away. When I think of it now, the shadow cast by the tower, which marched around this village with the change of seasons, came within 300 feet of almost everything I feel so connected to this community.
Our first pickup ball games were played in the park beneath it behind the old city hall....a cold pop was always available at Dan Nielsonís gas station and store...the creamery and locker plant where my Dad had his first job was in deep left field...the only fans were the ìpaper bossî Bob Frenning and perennial ìsidewalk superintendentî George Simmons.
It was hard to watch it come down. Every section that was lowered to the ground seemed to trigger another memory of our town. I tried to focus on the process of the removal to keep the waves of emotion at bay. But standing in Reubís with its distinctive smell of new tires and the familiar faces of a lifetime coming and going all day...well, it only partially worked.
Piece by piece the tower disappeared before our eyes. First the antennae, then the entire top, all at one time. Then one-fourth of the tank with the lettering -- FOREST LAKE -- its bold black paint peeling and faded.
It seems like yesterday that I was walking up to Grandma Valentyís to beg for cookies or racing to the top of the driveway at the sound of the fire siren when, if I was fast enough, I would catch a glimpse of Joe Houle and Tommy Ersfeld chasing the fire truck up the street, tearing at their white shop keepers aprons and then leaping to the back of the truck as it sped its way from its home beneath the tower.
They are almost done now. The last piece of leg and cross brace with the siren still attached has been cut loose from its mooring and is gently swinging in the light fall breeze as the sharp angle of the setting November sun illuminates it one last time and its now ephemeral shadow is gone.
For some reason they donít immediately lower this section as they did with the rest of the tower. Itís as if they know I am not ready...
I can hold back the sea no longer. I am swept along in a turbulent rush of sights and sounds and smells that reach back as far as my oldest memory ó my brotherís birth when I was two and a half, the smell of balsam at the Boy Scout tree lot, Santa riding the fire truck to the park, scalded milk in steaming milk cans at the creamery, Ersfeldís Meat Market with the herring in the wooden bucket, the smell of fresh produce just inside the front door at Houle Grocery and the green case filled with penny candy, the smell of stale beer and smoke as you walked by Valentyís Bar, the pungent lumber in the sheds at J.B. Weisser and Interstate Lumber and the contrast of coal in the bins along the tracks as you walked between yards, the bouquet of grains at Houleís Elevator, the intoxicating fresh scent in the Waldoís greenhouse, the sounds of horse shoes clanging as Archie and Nate Mattson and the Glyer brothers pitched under the lights behind the funeral home, the thunder of bowling balls and shattering of pins that emanated from the open doors at the back of the bowling at the Pepinís Commercial Club, the almost mystical sound of skate wheels on hard maple accompanying the organ music that could be heard through the open sides of the pavilion, the sound of a single car on warm rainy summer night sloshing down the street or the same car with its chains rolling over a soft snow fall clink home and the smell of grilled hamburger and onions as you walk in the back door of Wagnerís CafÈ.
The last section is on the ground now; the torches are cutting it into manageable sizes; the sun has slid beneath the horizon and the landmark that stood for 85 years is gone.
I have seen pictures of whaling ships, the harpooned whale lashed to side in the placid azure blue of the Pacific or the boiling, angry black green of the North Atlantic. The tower today reminded me of that. Only instead of lying in the ocean, this whale was standing in the palest blue cloud laced sky where it was slowly lowered to its temporary resting spot, entrails in the dumpster, skin flattened and along with the bones, put in a truck labeled ìAmerican Iron,î where it will be recycled and put to a new use in the 21st Century.
It is now time for our community to move emotionally and intellectually into the new century honoring, revering and learning from our past; but we cannot idolize it or we become its slaves.
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It is time, first to envision and then to build a better community for our children, grandchildren and great grandchildren.
Our schools are in the process of implementing a strategic plan created with the efforts of over 200 members of our community and approved by our school board. We, the shareholders have approved a stop gap funding vehicle to help us on the way.
We have a new mayor and city council and a soon-to-be-appointed task force to help chart the future growth of our city. We will have a new library and athletic fields ready by next fall. It is a start. The stirrings of a new and even greater Forest Lake are in the wind.
Itís time to replace an old symbol with a new vision and for new leaders to emerge with bold convictions for hometown
Corbett Johnson is a resident of Forest Lake.
Forest Lake Times
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880 SW 15 St.
Forest Lake, MN 55025
651-464-4601
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