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HAMMERS AND SAWS

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T IS THE fall of the year 1891. Come with me and we will walk up the hill north of the sod church. There is a great noise up there, a noise of hammers and saws in action, of scraping planes, the shuffling of feet and the clatter of boards. A building is being erected. It is a large building. There is a bewildering amount of scaffolding on the outside. We step in through the doorway which, as yet, has no door. Once inside, our eyes fall on a man with a large forehead, bushy eyebrows and a full beard. His shoulders are broad and his figure well proportioned. He looks as if he were not easily moved when he spreads his feet apart and takes up a position. He is the master-builder and the building is a church. We walk up to him and extend our hand. He graps it, lowers his chin, looks at us under those bushy eyebrows as if he were taking aim and intended to "pierce us with a glance." He tries to look fierce. It is impossible. There is a twinkle in his eye and a smile on his lips, but the smile is masked by a heavy mustache. The mustache quivers and a deep sonorous voice says, in an assumed brogue, "The top o' the mornin' to yez." It is the greeting of the broad-shouldered man. He is brimful of good humor. It permeates his whole being and lights up his face with smiles. It bubbles over. It is contagious. We laugh heartily as he shakes our hand. It is always thus. This big-hearted man electrifies everyone he comes in contact with, and he does not have an enemy in the world.

    The above is a snapshot word-portrait of A. A. Gustafson, the man who built the new Fridhem church.

    But, enough of this. We follow the master-builder on his round of inspection. We stop to observe a middle-aged man with a full beard, black as coal. He also has a twinkle in his eye, and he makes his ham-

mer go. He is S. A. Jones, the man who helps build the Bethania church, and who says he ''can drive nails,'' Yes, he can drive nails. He loves to drive nails. After he has driven the regulation number of them into a plank or hoard, he drives a couple more, and his work holds. This was proven a few years later when a tornado-like storm blew out a window on the north side. The building filled with air, bulged, swelled, jarred and shook, but the walls did not part, and those extra nails of Jones's, no doubt, helped materially in holding the building together, although there was considerable damage* from the terrific internal pressure. The next man is "Charlie" Hedstrom. He also has a hirsute ornamentation on his face, a chin heard, and we begin to wonder if whiskers are a necessary attribute of a good carpenter, as we were aware that Gustafson did not employ the other kind. No, they are not; the other men are all smooth-faced or sport only a "slight suspicion" on the upper lip.

    Hedstrom is a quiet, unassuming man and a good mechanic. He is employed on some "fine work," of which there is much inside of a building of this kind.

    There is a noise of moving boards overhead, among the joists and beams. Hans Rasmussen and Joseph Nordgren are up there doing some work for the structure of the ceiling. They are the young men on the job, the apprentices, and they are eager to prove their worth. We intend to hail them, when our attention is drawn to a man on the south side who is bobbing up and down like a washerwoman over a tub of suds. We walk over to him. He is Odman Johnson, a former wagon and buggy manufacturer of Axtell, Nebraska. He is not doing a week's washing, however; he is sawing arches for the Gothic window frames with which the church is to be supplied. But look at this man's saw. It is a narrow steel band, supplied with teeth, and is held in place in a light hardwood frame. It looks like a straightened clock-spring, can be turned and set in any direction, and is tightened by twisting a strong cord, with a stick, at the other edge of the frame. "We thought you were making wagons in Axtell," we ventured. "Have you quit?"

    "Eeyah" (yes), he replied. "What with the piece-work, and teamwork, in the big factories, where they use machinery and, figuratively speaking, make a wagon while you wait, I could not make a living making wagons with hand tools."

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* Insurance collected for this damage was $775. But the congregation took the greater part of the loss upon itself.

     Odman was a good mechanic and could construct a small difficult piece faster than any other man on the force, therefore, when there was a piece with curves, twists or bevels to be made, it was always disposed of thus: ''Give it to Odman,'' and Odman made the part.

    Near the entrance stands Carl Larson, a youth with a high white forehead and clear blue eyes. The master-builder stands by his side. Plans for the spire are studied. "How do you lay out the octagon?" asks the deep voice of the master. "By figures 5 and 12 on the steel square, using the short bevel," replies the youth. "And the length of the sides?" "Five inches to the foot at the short diameter," promptly came the answer. "Correct," was the short word of praise. "You will he a great man some day. A prominent engineer." These were not merely idle words; they were prophecy: Carl Larson is to-day a civil engineer in the employ of the Canadian Pacific Railway Company, and he is near the top. His ambition was attained largely through the encouragement and aid given him b Mr. Gustafson.

    The last man on the force is Sam Viden who, like Noah's ship carpenters, helped build this ark of safety. He is a man of silence and very seldom converses with his comrades. He usually sits apart, smokes his pipe, and reviews the panorama of life by himself.

    But we hear voices. Two men walk in. One has a long auburn beard and mustache and is dressed in a professional black suit. He is the parish pastor, the Rev. Anders Kinell. The man with him, a large man and smooth shaven, is J. S. Johnson, the treasurer of the building committee. He walks over to the master-builder and, after a cordial greeting, hands him a package, takes a receipt, and joins the minister.

    J. S. Johnson is a capable and sympathetic man and has many times been entrusted with office. Among these positions of trust we can mention that of representative in the legislature of Nebraska from Phelps County. In regard to his holding of office he says: "The office of treasurer of the Fridhem congregation is the biggest office I ever held." This unique statement contains the essence of philosophy. Is it prophetic of a great influence for good in the community? Let Fridhem furnish the answer.

    The minister and Mr. Johnson walk around to view the progress of the work, and when they have satisfied themselves that everything is advancing smoothly, they step into their buggy and drive away.

    The noon hour has now arrived, and the master-builder gathers his workmen around him, takes the package that he has received from the

treasurer and hands each one of them a few ''bills.'' It is pay-day, and the ''boss'' is both timekeeper and paymaster.

    We also now, take our departure and go about our own business.

    The following year (1892) the temple was completed and dedicated.

    It is a frame structure, 36 feet wide by 60 feet long, with side walls 16 feet high. It has a sacristy 18 by 26 feet in size. The spire is 12 feet square at the base, and 84 feet high. It is surmounted by a gilt cross, standing on a gilt globe, indicating that the cross shall be firmly fixed on earth and that it shall conquer the world.

    A parsonage also was built at this time. For this, beside new lumber, that left over from the church and the best material from the old sod church was used. The parsonage is an 8-room, two-story frame building, 26 by 30 feet, and cost in round numbers the sum of $1,237.65.

    How was it possible that the pioneers dared in this time of depression to build a temple such as the one that rose on the prairie north of the old sod church in 1891? Short crops with prevailing low prices made money a scarcity. Wheat sold for 35 cents a bushel and corn for 9 cents in the home market. The housewife's produce was proportionately low, with eggs at 5 cents a dozen, and butter -- but we have been admonished not to make this story a tale of woe. We shall therefore desist and spare our readers.

   The money needed to build the church was raised by subscription. Rev. Kinell and members of the church council drove around among the parishioners and took promissory notes for the amount each one wished to pledge. When the church was completed it was found to have cost $4,228.85. There was no basement at this time. The House of God stood on a stone foundation,* like a giant hand pointing its tapering white spire like a finger toward that heaven which is the hope of all Christendom, the gleam of its cross lighting up the landscape all around when the Lord turned upon it the spotlight of His sun, from among the bursting roses of a newborn day even before that golden luminary appeared above the horizon of the prairie.

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* The foundation and corner stone were laid in 1890, but the building was not begun until 1891.

 

N 1910 we again have occasion to witness a change of conditions which called for the removal of the church from its first location. In Funk there was beginning to he felt the need of a church. English meetings had been conducted at irregular intervals for some time by ministers from other places, but it was the consensus of opinion in Funk that the Fridhem congregation should move its church into the village. The business men promised to subscribe money and help with the expense of moving. A business meeting of the congregation was called to broach the proposition. While a matter of this kind could not be decided without some friction, it was found that those who lived farthest away voted for the removal, although it added two miles to their distance to church. But the congregation had acquired wisdom from its own early experience and was therefore willing to hearken to this Macedonian cry from the English-speaking brethren in Funk. A church was promised them and English services Sunday evenings.

    A committee consisting of A. A. Gustafson, J. S. Johnson and Louis Hanson was appointed to contract for the removal. A subscription* had been started and on this list the business men of Funk pledged about $600. All other subscriptions raised this amount to $1,800. August Anderson donated half a residence block in the northeast part of Funk for the new church site. The other half was bought from Mr. Anderson, so that the congregation now owns the entire block. The portion last acquired has been planted in forest trees which will soon be large enough to produce shade.

    The contract for moving the church and parsonage was awarded a house-moving firm in Hastings. This firm gave bond for $1,000 and

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* Adolf Franzen, the banker at Funk, had charge of the subscription in the village.

began work in August. The church was raised on jackscrews, a set of three large trucks put in place under it, the capstan started and the building pulled off the foundation. It was barely off when one of the truck-beams broke and the building sagged at one corner and got a had wrench. New beams were gotten, but the result was the same. Heavy steel rails were procured, but they bent like wire bows. A. A. Gustafson, who had been appointed by the congregation to look after the interests of the church, suggested that structural steel beams, such as are used in making bridges, be gotten and put under the church. He also advised that these be strengthened by bolting heavy timbers to their sides. His advice on the latter point was not heeded, and the large I beams did not hold.     The contractors, who had by this time become heartily, disgusted and tired of the undertaking, told Gustafson that the committee had better call the congregation together in a business meeting and decide to allow them to pull the church back on the foundation again, as they would not be able to move it to Funk. This meeting was called, but instead of giving up it was decided to go ahead, in spite of obstacles. One man arose and said, "The church shall never be set back on the old foundation." This seemed to be the sentiment of all, and A. A. Gustafson was authorized to take charge and move the church, the contractors to work under his direction.     Gustafson undertook the job. He first wound the church building with steel cables to hold it together, then he procured a number of maplewood rollers, six inches through and four feet long, secured two sets of 18-inch three-sheave steel tackle-blocks and a long 4-inch steel cable. The rollers were placed under the church, with timbers and planks for track. One set of tackle-blocks was securely fastened to the building, while the other lay a short distance away. The cable was    10.

run through the blocks and fastened to the drum of the capstan. The driver started the team, the cable became taut, the church spire rocked and a tremor was perceptible throughout the entire structure, but it moved. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, it crawled forward. Over the wire, gingerly stepping, went the heavy two-horse team, as they slowly wound toward themselves the towering mass a thousand times heavier than they. Here, then, was the solution: A winch and rollers. In this manner the church was moved nearly two miles to the place where it now stands. In Funk it was raised off the rollers and supported on rail ties, laid in triangles, a basement was dug and a brick foundation built under it. The parsonage, being a smaller building, did not present the same problem in moving as the church did. It was therefore moved with less trouble. The parsonage now stands at the southeast corner of the church block. It has been renovated and supplied with modern improvements, conveniences that could not as easily be gotten in the country where it formerly stood. The moving of the church and parsonage took about two months' time and cost $1,500. The repairing and renovating $1,500 more.     In Funk the church was made more serviceable by the acquisition of a basement hall and a kitchen back of this. A hot-air heating plant and acetylene lights were installed. The latter were changed to electric lights when the village of Funk built a light plant and strung wires to the church property. The parsonage and the grounds were also lit up by electric lamps.    During the time the church was being moved the congregation conducted meetings in a tent on the old church site. Heavy rains and severe storms appeared, and while it had made the moving of the church difficult, the holding of meetings was made uncomfortable. One Sunday

morning, following a storm in the night, the church had blown off the trucks and the tent was down. Adolf Akerson, the Sunday-school superintendent, was the first to arrive. He found everything wet from the rain which had fallen in the storm -- the organ, the hymnbooks, the seats and all. The canvas hanging down from the organ and some tent-poles had formed a reservoir and was full of water. Into this Mr. Akerson stepped, knee deep, and baled out the water. After this had been done the tent could be raised and services held.

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© 2002 for the NEGenWeb Project by Pam Rietsch, Ted & Carole Miller.