Sunday, March 20, 2011

Commercial Work

One of the first projects my 18-year-old son worked on with me was a conference table, for a commercial real estate sales office in downtown Portland. This was done when cutting and finishing was done with handheld skill saws and grinders. Shaping and detailing an unforgiving and reluctant stone like granite was a real challenge back then. It was a slow and difficult process to turn two raw slabs of granite into a matched three-dimensional stone table.

We were both quite proud of our hard work when we delivered it to the tenth floor of the commercial real state office and installed it on a custom wooden base ready for us. It all came together very well we thought.

Before we left the office, three architects walked in, one stating, “What a handsome piece of stone,” congratulating the other on his stone selection.

Then a group of young commercial salesmen came in, not noticing us, “HOW MANY APES DID IT TAKE TO CARRY THAT UP HERE?” and laughed.

This was my son's introduction to commercial stone fabrication. It's no wonder we all prefer to work for private home owners who respect and appreciate good craftsmanship.

The Inspection

Traveling by jet plane to southeastAlaska,a ferry to the island,crossing it in a international travelall, to Craig, a fishing village.
Finally, sea bag down on a 38 foot trawler,shown to me by the Harbor Master Jim's boat, our home and transportation to the back country.

Jim at six feet six inches, a Portuguese-Norwegian recluse, was educated as a biologist, but had a different dream, headed out at top speed , six knots.
Jim lived on cigarettes, instant office, and Polish sausages, slightly heated, and slept, due to his long frame, in front of the oil stove kept on low temperature 24 hours a day, close to his maps, electronic gear, and books, for guidance.

Provisions including drinking water for cooking and coffee were kept in plastic jugs. Toilet facilities were dispensed with in order to provide extra space for maritime gear.
Jim navigated the waters as only a local fisherman can, understanding the tides, reading the shoreline, the weather, and the surface tension of the water, beyond my imagination, for the last 25 years.
There was no bay, shelter, or passage that he was not familiar with, nor tide or current that he did not work with. He must, for when the tide can run at 8 knots in narrow channels and you can only move at 6 knots, the Marble below can be a serious problem.

Me a stranger to these waters, but with 30 years in the marble business, along to advise him about his dream, marble quarries in southeast Alaska's great limestone deposits.

Me, a small town town boy, raised on the edge of the Prairie in Stearns County, Minnesota, could only observe the rain forest and vast waterways around me.

Three days out, anchored in a cove 20 feet from from a solid white marble island ,its edges shaped by ocean water but its interior rainforest covered with 4 inches of moss under the canopy. The horizon,totally flat, perfectly level, all vegetation in every direction trimmed to perfection by the tide.

Salt water, dead flat, as can only happen in the inland passage, at dawn, I climbed on deck of the old wooden fishing boat with my instant coffee.

The silence
The stillness
The solitude
At Dawn
Was deafening

I sensed the slow upwelling of water steering to my left not violently, just an oval upwelling in the dead calm water.
I can feel it yet, with a deep powerful “sh sh”, no spout, only air movement, a dark form emerged, looked at me, a small town boy, raised on the edge of the Prairie.
Passed inspection, I believe, by nature's most beautiful animal, on the edge of the rainforest, in WHALE COVE, Alaska, that summer morning.

The State of The Arts

He was a beautiful man
Hungarian cab driver in Vienna,
locally referred to as Wien.

Throwing his great 60 year old arms up
declared in a rich baritone voice

Wien, a city filled with art,
over two hundred museums,

Franz Joseph the Hapsburgs were collectors.

Western, Eastern, Asian, African, Persian, Polonaise, Egyptian, Turkish, Greek, Roman,
Ancient, Renaissance, Baroque, Modern
all the masters kept
here in Wien

A city of musical genius
Haydn, Brahms, Mozart, Schumann, Strauss
all kept
here in Wien.

Sculpture along the Danube
and at every turn, beauty,
here in Wren

Architecture, and Gardens equal to any in the world kept,
here in Wien.


someday I hope to go to your country
to see your great art,
home of


Custom Fabrication

After being turned down by two neighborhood machine shops, I searched the large S.E. District for a metal fab shop.

I found two of the three steel fabrication shops recently closed their business. The third was a large building with four lumbering overhead bridge cranes. There is a sadness about such a cavernous tomb, that must have housed an industrial powerhouse in a different world. I counted six bodies in this dimly lit non-heated block-long building .

The girls at the office welcomed me with smiles and interest as I described my need for four U-shaped metal forms, three inches long, made from ¼ stock.

After much excitement and duplication of words they summoned the plant manager, whom I assumed was the owner, who as he walked in smiled at me, looked at my drawing, and said:

“Yes, we can do this for you. It should cost 40 dollars, however, by the time we process the order, track its process in the shop, receive and answer your phone calls discussing its progress, and schedule you for pick up, it will cost me 240 dollars. Incidentally we can make 20 of these for the same price.”

“Pay 240 dollars now, and we will call you when they are ready,” all virtually said in a minute or less, and he walked back into the shop.

I said thank you and pulled out my Visa card and the girls started to process the order.

I now have 16 extra pieces of metal taking up room in my shop which I have no use for.

My Friend Pete


My mentor was Italian whom I worked for when I was a college student. His name was Pete Rigutto, we call his nephew “Repete”.
Pete is long gone now.

Although Pete probably never went beyond high school, I believe he was the most intelligent man I have ever been around, in so many ways.

Pete began his training as a marble mason early, walking over the Dolomites to central Europe with his dad, slacking their own lime to use for mortar after World War One.

During the Depression, living with his mother he raised pheasants, trapped salmon, and grew vegetables around their Portland home. He told me they would catch pheasants in a net trap they set up, I don’t know exactly how this worked. Salmon were plentiful in those days in S. E. creeks, later going to the Oregon coast salmon was abundant, as was deer meat, although many flat tires had to be repaired on every trip. He told me a little bar by my present home was the first stop on the way to the coast, it being a long way out of town, it now part of Portland city limits. The Tillicum.

Later as a young man, he made ends meet by having three jobs at once. Professional wrestler, cello player, and marble mason for his dad. When he asked his dad why he always had to do bathroom work on commercial jobs, his father told him that’s where people sit and have time to look closely at the work, and it has to be good.

As a college student working for Pete I asked him why he always knew more about the subject matter than me, he told me it was due to the fact that Italian was is first language, which gave him insight into technical terms and “I never got along with my wife so I spent a lot of time reading at my beach shack by myself.''

Italian marble masons in those days didn’t bother much with what we call customer relations, so although he was a gentleman, he always put on a gruff face, to keep homeowners away and not peer over our shoulders as we did their marble work. A policy not practiced in todays' world, but still perfectly logical to me. Pete would tell you when he was finished with the job and didn’t invite silly questions by the customer. He was old school.

Pete had many expressions that solved most problems, if the customer questioned his work. His favorite being, “Can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear. As a helper who mixed the cement I hated to hear ''Never got enough until you got too much.''

But Pete was at his best ad libbing uncomfortable situations. Once after working several weeks on a complex slate floor in a bank remodel all the ladies seemed to enjoy talking to Pete even though they seemed to get under his skin as they walked in and out every day. The bank president thought Pete layed the door entry at too steep an angle to the sidewalk, actully I did too but one never second guessed Pete. While we were redoing this entry ramp the women giggled and said you just got through doing that, Pete snarled back, “Women aren't the only ones who can change their mind.”

However I will never forget Pete's retort to a woman in Eastern Oregon who walked over the floor we worked on the previous day with a broom handle tapping the floor thinking she was checking for a good job. “WE JUST LAY THEM, MA'AM, WE DONT TUNE THEM.”

When Pete's younger brother Fred and I get together – Fred no slouch himself – we never talk about Pete, its just to hard for both of us.  

My Dad The Stonecutter

Today, few people know what a stonecutter is, even though until recently it was a common trade that was often a preparation to architectural training. Stone was, and in some ways still is, the fundamental building material for construction.

My dad the stonecutter practices trade between 1920 and 1970 an era when architects were still allowed to put art into architecture.

My dad practiced his trade in a large steal and glass building along with 50 or so others in a building we called the stone sheds in St Earns County, Minnesota, where the glaciers did all the heavy work eleven thousand years earlier.

The stonecutters and carvers and many related trades walked to work from their homes in khakis or blue denim often with aprons on, lunch buckets in hand, not unlike there predecessors 500 years before them in constructing cathedrals of Europe.

In his lifetime the stonecutter moved from job site to quarry site, primarily due to improvements in transportation and sawing technology, and for the most part disappeared from public view.

They were unassuming men whose children probably never knew what their fathers did in the stone sheds.

They including my father and his three brothers, Ted, Richard, and Larry. All were stonecutters and carvers, a dicey trade at best in those times of pneumatic tools. Some lived, some died.

But they were all wonderful artists and craftsmen who left their footprint on every city in America.

When my father the stonecutter learned I was following him in the trade, he gave me some practical advice that would serve many of us well:


Saturday, March 19, 2011

My Apprenticeship in the Stone Business

As a kid I suspect most children of the 40s and 50s generation were given household chores by their mother ranging from doing the dishes to hoeing weeds in the garden, or farm chores if you lived on a farm. I remember the first outside the family job, my brother Tom and I were hired by a man named Krebs to dig a foundation for a building at his lake side cottage.
I don’t remember getting much out of this other then income toward buying a Columbia deluxe bicycle from Sears & Roebuck which arrived by train, in a crate, at at great northern depot in town.
At 14 “Woosht” (Marlin Worstfield) asked me to clean the bowling pins in the six-lane bowling alley in the basement of St Boniface High School. I those days bowling pins were painted wood, which got quite beat up each season. Cleaning was done with steel wool and lacquer thinner. The vapors in the unvented back alley basement room were horrendous. Good thing as pending freshmen I had not started smoking yet. My friend Spitz told me 55 years latter that I came out of there in a daze, something, only he would remember.
Only lesson here gave me some insight on the nature of home town advantage in competition. In the 50s Bowling tournaments with prize money has held at all local bowling alleys in the early spring as the season was winding down. My dad won one year, seemed like big money, this was how the competition was rigged. Old beat up dried out pins like I cleaned were set out the weekend local bowlers played, new heavy plastic coated pins with good bottoms were set out the weekend neighboring town contestants bowled. A early lesson in competition, of course everyone knew.
Going into the freshman year at St Boniface High School I got my first big work opportunity, which when I think about it, eliminated all extra curricular activities of high school, like sports, or theater, or band etc. For the next 4 years. I had a job, which came first. At 3:30 right after school I went to the basement, I must have had a key to the bowling alley. In those days, bowling was communal drinking and smoking activity among friends, for both men and women. It helped get you through harsh Minnesota winter nights. Women didn’t need group therapy sessions to deal with there situation, they had women's league bowling nights, and men could compete twice a week. But it created a awful mess, the place reeked of spilled beer and dirty bathrooms, just as any tavern must be every morning. After every school day then I started out by picking up beer bottles and putting them in empty’s cases, then I filled the cooler behind the bar with pop and beer. Next I wiped down the all the spectator and bowler seats with damp cloth. Then I sweep ed the place out, and mopped the floors. And cleaned the bathrooms. Next, the alley maintenance. The runways were cleaned of all dust, sometimes steel wool to remove any marks, with a special large mop, just for this purpose. After everything else was clean, a special continuous roller cloth the with of the alley was pushed up and down the alley. Then in stocking feet of course a hand pump spray of just the right amount of oil was applied, and moped in with same roller device. . This left a sparkling clean alley, which you could kind of smell as you first entered the bowling alley at 7 pm for the first shift at 7:15.
I then went home 2 blocks and ate supper, which in our house was always remnants of dinner mother served at noon in our German tradition. My brother Tom and I washed dishes and usually fought over who was to do what and I headed back to the bowling alley to spot pins, 7;15 to 9;30. I never spotted pins second shift 9:30 to 11:30, many guys did. We hated certain bowlers who threw the fast bowling ball since 3 pound wooden pins could hurt when they hit you. I could pick up 4 pins at a time big guys could handle 6 at at time, Most bowling balls were between 14 and16 pounds, which you handled around 100 times per single shift.
Not that it matters, but we got 7 cents a line per bowler, five bowlers three games, thirty-five times seven cents, paid one dollar and seventy five cents per two hour shift, for a single lane. Some guys could easily do two lanes at a time. I never did. Two lanes would pay two dollars and fifty cents per two hour shift. That would have been fifty cents a hour above then minimum wage at one dollar per hour. Two cents per line was held by Woosht to be given to pin spotters in the spring, at the end of bowling season, as a bonus if you did not quit Some guys would run up a charge account for cigarettes and candy and pop in case they got fired or quit to beat the two cent bonus rule. Sort of a company store plan back then. I loved it, bought my first car and insurance as junior in high school. '47 Plymouth with suicide doors in the rear. Like any dumb teenager I ruined it trying to be trendy.
More then any other memory of the bowling alley is the memory of walking home from from the bowling alley and seeing rabbits in the garden, on bright moon lit snow and the stillness of the night before snowmobiles, maybe the sound of crunching ice snow under the wheels of a car driving home somewhere. Snow seems to be a great peaceful dampener of sound which sticks in my memory.
I left high school with a felling of failure. I passed geometry and physics quite well but failed chemistry and algebra, was a poor speller but a good reader. Seems to me to be a strange combination but I was glad it was over with. Father Vernon the vice principle agreed, and told me I would not amount to much as I left.
I grew up in a central Minnesota town population of 2500 which was the home of the largest stone fabrication company in the world. This may seem strange to many readers. Blocks of granite from25 upper Midwest locations were shipped, mostly by rail, to be cut and fabricated for architectural projects all over the United States in this little town. The glaciers did the heavy work, removing the top soil uncovering many colored granite deposits. Variates of color helped provide a steady job source for this company. My father and his three brothers and my three brothers, and many other family members worked there in many different capacities. My dad made an appointment for me with Bob Tice, vice president in charge of engineering, where my two older brothers already worked. He hired me as an apprentice pattern maker, I am sure because of my dad and brothers.
In order to better understand what this job was, think about the next time you see a large urban plaza granite job with sweeping curves or complex shapes, or stone fountains, or slopping walls of stone. Each stone was fabricated to fit in a certain place, based on architectural drawing as interpreted by shop drawings and individual shop work tickets and zinc patterns for durability and accuracy in the fabrication process. I, like everyone else, started out in the office basement floor, it was great, minimum wage, and an opportunity to learn, 19 years old as a apprentice pattern maker.
Architects provide general information, site specific, for stone engineers to make shop drawings for stone fabrication, as per their general plans. These stone fabrication shop drawings were made by senior draftsman. And approved by the architectural design firm before fabrication was begun. Stone mill blocks could then be ordered from the quarry the correct sizes and quantities to produce the project. Apprentice draftsmen would make a individual shop ticket for each individual stone on the project to be sent to shop with fabrication instructions for that individual stone. If adequate information could not be put on the individual shop ticket a pattern was made for that stone.
This is how this was done, my first job in stone. I did this for one year.
In the office basement was a space, from my memory, about 40 by 50 smooth concrete floor. There was a large roll of very heavy paper about six feet wide. This paper was pulled out and taped to the floor to make area large enough, to draw out the project full size. Then with the aid straight edges, snap lines, long sticks and points to swing arks, hundreds of pre-made zinc radius templates and other aids, a drawing was made with 6 h pencils, in stocking feet for clean lines. As a example a plan view, of a given radius on a curved wall with given end points defined by architectural drawings, could be lay ed out full size, so equal individual stone pieces could be arrived at. Granted all of this can be done mathematically with the help of logarithms etc. But full size patterns are needed for shop fabrication nevertheless. Full size layouts help to eliminate errors, and often provide a visualization that is hard to in vision mathematically (I wrote a article about this published in Stone World magazine in 1996). The process helps to see three dimensional forms developed from two dimensional drawings.
These full size layouts were inspected by a senior draftsmen and he would then tell you to proceed to the next step, making zinc patterns for the fabrication shop if he found no errors in your layout.
There was a pallet of zinc sheets about three feet by five feet that you placed over the paper layout, of the stone you were working on, and with a sharp scratch awl you scribed the shape of the future stone, the zinc was then bent to break on you line, edges filed, and felt pen ink piece numbered with all the specific information pertaining to that stone. This pattern went to the fabrication shop to be used in connection a shop ticket to fabricate the stone. That was pattern making. Of course I was also every draftsman’s errand boy as well to fetch whatever from the fabrication shop.
The next time you see a Notre Dame football game on TV, look at the large stone mural of Christ and his disciples on the campus profile, made up of many stone colors. I did not do much on this project, but it was all laid out with patterns on the office floor, the first year I was there, I remember fetching stone for a couple of weeks when the project was being cut and cast in panels to be assembled on site.
After one year of working there, it was my turn to go on active duty in the US Navy for two years, were I served one year on a Island and one year on a troop transport hauling American troops to SE Asia and back, 12 pacific crossing in one year, we rarely stopped.
This was my introduction to the stone industry. As stated Cold Spring was the largest stone company in the world, may be 1500 people at that time, so there were many opportunities to learn many trades or professions there. By spending much time running errands in the fabrication shop I could see many aspects of how high production architectural fabrication was done.
I learned how to read shop drawings and was introduced to general drawings which served me well all my life.
I was taught to be precise and neat, which is fundamental to stone work were the product is so unforgiving. And mistakes so costly.
And I got my foot in the door of the stone industry with maybe the best architectural stone company in the world. Few could argue that.
Originally posted December 4, 2012

My first YouTube video: Splitting & Cutting Stone

My second YouTube Video: Splitting, Cutting, & Sculpting Stone