[I had this dream about a possible future for the Thomson Lumber Building. It's a happy dream - fiction for fun, but maybe useful as imagination lube. The idea here is that it might take a village to work out how to use this building effectively. There would still have to be strict management to define each participant's contract and keep them to it, but this exploration is just a round-up of possible parts. Actually, I was just dropping names in there so as to provoke responses from as many different directions as possible.]
This big old building is a busy place these days, but no one stresses because everyone carries only the responsibility they've chosen to take on. The collective achievement is huge - it's the nexus of our community in many ways, but no one person feels the burden.
This big old building is a busy place these days, but no one stresses because everyone carries only the responsibility they've chosen to take on. The collective achievement is huge - it's the nexus of our community in many ways, but no one person feels the burden.
That big front room, right across from the post office, has become a place downtown to drop in to for a quick lunch. John Jordre keeps the breadboards laden, Angela stocks the salad bar, Virginia Koster delivers a different soup by noon every day, and Marie, her daughter-in-law, always brings over a big batch of curried chicken salad made from Nick's chickens and Emily Haddad's recipe. Fast food is usually not like this. A guy from the produce department at Hyvee (what's his name?) has been spending his lunch hour operating his OASIS juice bar, but a friend of his is going to take over and expand the hours. If fact, the whole TLB lunch hour concept is going to have to be expanded somehow - it's getting crowded. Larry Smith's gelatto-making class was well-attended, so it looks as if he's got another legacy established - three of those graduates take turns keeping that operation going. The fizzy drinks the Erikson boys used to make in the summertime with seltzer water and fruit concentrate were the inspiration for the soda fountain. That pizza recipe contest drew a lot of attention - Barry Timms' solar ovens up on the roof were genius, but now Kevin Meylor and Doug Griffin are going to collaborate on a wood-fired oven, so more food in the evening is in the future. The TLB has become a comfortable place to meet and eat casually with friends. Using salvaged automobile seats around coffee tables seemed like a nutty idea at first, but everyone loves it. (Some of the older guys seem to have a particular fondness for that rear seat from the '57 Chevy.) And the range of enticements to buy is growing steadily. There's a different game on each coffee table, all from the woodworking shop downstairs, and they're all for sale. The tables are for sale, for that matter, as are the plates, bowls, and mugs. Shane Fry used to be a production potter, and his stint as a guest instructor in Jill Caraway's ceramics class really kicked it into high gear. Many of the flower arrangements come from the greenhouses on the roof, and for a price, you can walk out with those, too.
At night, that same big front room is getting to be a happening place. That beautiful old mahogany top bar from the basement of Marie Dahlhof's house has finally found a home, and it's always worth checking John Jordre's four beer taps to see what's new. Grace Freeman has three beehives up on the roof, being cared for by the beekeeping class she's been teaching with help from SDSU bee guru Jon Kieckhefer, and there are rumors that there might be mead at the Christmas party. John E. has been using a neighbor's pear trees to make a freezer full of pure pear puree popsicles every autumn (they're available at the soda fountain), but Tom Reasoner, who makes wine from his bluffside vineyard, has convinced him that pear wine might be more worthwhile. There's no TV (on purpose), but that wacky drama student (who was that masked man?) has staged some highly entertaining puppet shows behind the bar. Someone should check with Russ Husby to see if there's a pool table available from when Cosmos closed. Virginia Koster and her disciples keep those six favorite deserts stocked, and there's always a tempting new one. Her "Just Deserts" corner is a reliably satisfying cheap date. The donut machine is just like the one in the Homer Price story. No one believed that Gene Hawkins could get the thing to run, but he communicates telepathicly with machinery. That contraption, along with Carol's amaZING coffee, is why so many people come first thing in the morning, too. There's a different guest chef at the grill for an unpredictable (but reliably delectable) breakfast each morning of the week. Hash browns made from Dave Roetman's potatoes are a regular feature, though. The walls in that front room are hung exclusively with John Banasiak originals, and every time one sells, its place is immediately occupied by another equally astonishing one. No one (except Carol) knew how inexhaustible that guy's creativity is.
The rotating chef concept is also the key to the TLB evening meal. The breads, salads, and soups are part of the appeal, but it’s the idea of offering just one really excellent meal at a time – and a different one every night of the week - that makes this on-going event require reservations. You can bring your own bottle of wine, and sit as close the musician in the corner as you want to (we still need a piano donation). The plates, silverware, and glassware are all appealingly mismatched. The meals are set up on the sideboard, so there’s no need for waiters. Donating that stainless steel sink to Angela’s co-op was a good move. That’s where the kitchen is.
There's real music at the TLB these days, as well as real beer. John Grayson and Jason Klawonn collaborated on a fine-tuned sound system - the amplification is so subtle, you don't realize it's there. On Tuesday nights the music heads all gather because Carl Gutzman drags in (the thing's on a concrete pedestal) his fully restored audiophile turntable to plug into the system, and everyone takes turns spinning their favorite wax. Those wackos in the Tuesday night music club actually pay regular dues for the privilege of worshipping at the altar of the sacred vinyl. The performers all love the monitors for that corner stage. Eric Jepson tracked down Greg Brown (he lives in Iowa) for a memorable evening, and Leo Kottke has played here twice, and there's no excuse, at this point, for a Vermillion resident not to know who Bill Mize and Beth Bramhall are. The English Department house band has moved their Friday night practice sessions to the corner stage, and now we all know how good they are. The breakthrough was realizing that their practices were way more entertaining than performance. The cover charge is a great deal, and there’s a well-used suggestion box. If they play your suggestion from the previous week, though, you’re required to pay up on the spot. Jami Lynn is a big star now, of course, but that last summer's run of gigs is legendary - a real inspiration to the local talent that shows up regularly for the Thursday night open mikes. The cover charge is a measure of the success T. W. King has achieved by presiding over that front. The sign is still up behind the stage - "Locally Focused and Folkily Locused."
And that's just one room in this monster of a building. The other front room is a big draw now, too. It's harder than ever to get Rick Johns to do straightforward carpentry these days - he's usually got more furniture in the showroom than anyone. John Erikson has had a couple of nice pieces in there, too, but you know the Myopia Carpentry slogan - "Slow... but Expensive." There's a lot of accomplished woodworking there, though, from the co-op wood-shop John helped to pull together in the basement at the back. Will Schweinle directs the curriculum of classes there, and a dozen graduates, who knew almost nothing about woodworking beforehand, now supplement their incomes in a non-trivial way by having their way with wood. The frames for all the artwork are made down there. There are several of John E.'s game series set up as kits of materials, so that anyone qualified (Will's certificates mean something) can turn time into money. Lunch customers buy the breadboards all the time. Will figured out that if Gene can find two more wood species to harvest, there'll be over a hundred different combinations possible. (Collect 'em all!) With the choicest cuts coming up the hill all the time from Gene's new milling operation in the grain elevator, several people have been turning out a steady stream of heirloom quality dining tables. Kevin Reins has first pick of all the oak, which no one disputes - his craftsman style pieces are almost all commissioned, so they never get to the showroom. Kevin has handed his storm window fabrication on to Dennis Konkler because it was too successful for him to keep doing. Jill Caraway's contrasting wood doors were written up in Fine Homebuilding magazine recently. The whole north wall is devoted to a display showing why Todd Brevik's stained glass windows are so sought-after, and Mike Marsh has some of his architectural metalwork there, too. The bulletin board by the door, where prospective furniture clients float ideas, has given rise to several rewarding projects. The multi-tasking furniture Junella helped to design for the children's center might become an export item.
It's unusual to be able to drive your car onto an elevator, take it up and drive out onto the second floor of a building, and do laps. Keeping the whole upper floor open is important. Carol always enjoys seeing people come up the stairs into that space for the first time - the wheels start turning right away. Anything can happen up there. Bob Dykstra, ace mechanic downtown, had the idea to have an antique auto meet up there during the "Ribs, Rods, and Rock 'n' Roll" street fair. There's only room for 18 cars, so it's an exclusive engagement, and people pay to see them, which makes the whole experience more valuable. The small house show will be an annual event, as well. That one made national news. Rick Johns and Harry Freeman are thinking about a boat builders' convention, too. John G. came up with the idea of the rolling counters, and Will used them as the subject of a staggeringly popular apprentice program that Rick teamed up with Will to teach. They're all stored downstairs, thirty-two of them, so a vendor of anything can wheel one out, stock it up, and take it up the elevator to claim a spot between the posts on either side of the promenade. Two rows of enticements behind glass are bound to be worth the price of admission. If you're a Druid, the bonsai festival is not to be missed. The Christmas crafts fair was a big success (it provides a real incentive for all the crafts classes), and the Saturday afternoon flea market has really cut down on fuel consumption by the yard sale crowd.
The heart of the TLB, really, is the shipping and receiving room. Terry Hill, the building manager, is the captain there, and runs a tight ship. That room is a place for materials handling, not storage, so anything unauthorized that settles there gets a parking ticket. Gene managed to replace the broken wheel on the big cart, which is just the thing for his lumber. Nick found a pallet lifter that rolls nicely (no fork lift fumes here, thank you), and that old two-wheeler with oak handles that John G. salvaged has found a home. The one exception to the no storage rule is the millwork racks suspended in the space between the first floor ceiling and the second floor joists. Whenever someone, especially John E., mills up a useful molding profile for a job, that collection provides an incentive to take the time to make extra stock - using as many different species of wood as can be managed. As the offerings available proliferate, the various possible configurations of casings and band moldings, baseboard caps and shoes, crown and cornice moldings, chair rails, wainscoting panel moldings, etc., (as displayed by the mock-ups on the wall) have become the equivalent of a candy shop for carpenters. Gene's lumber racks in the basement are carefully organized, and an undeniable inspiration to any woodhead. All the stock is stored on edge so that nothing is buried, and it's all labeled. There's a strict rule against drooling on the stock.
There's real music at the TLB these days, as well as real beer. John Grayson and Jason Klawonn collaborated on a fine-tuned sound system - the amplification is so subtle, you don't realize it's there. On Tuesday nights the music heads all gather because Carl Gutzman drags in (the thing's on a concrete pedestal) his fully restored audiophile turntable to plug into the system, and everyone takes turns spinning their favorite wax. Those wackos in the Tuesday night music club actually pay regular dues for the privilege of worshipping at the altar of the sacred vinyl. The performers all love the monitors for that corner stage. Eric Jepson tracked down Greg Brown (he lives in Iowa) for a memorable evening, and Leo Kottke has played here twice, and there's no excuse, at this point, for a Vermillion resident not to know who Bill Mize and Beth Bramhall are. The English Department house band has moved their Friday night practice sessions to the corner stage, and now we all know how good they are. The breakthrough was realizing that their practices were way more entertaining than performance. The cover charge is a great deal, and there’s a well-used suggestion box. If they play your suggestion from the previous week, though, you’re required to pay up on the spot. Jami Lynn is a big star now, of course, but that last summer's run of gigs is legendary - a real inspiration to the local talent that shows up regularly for the Thursday night open mikes. The cover charge is a measure of the success T. W. King has achieved by presiding over that front. The sign is still up behind the stage - "Locally Focused and Folkily Locused."
And that's just one room in this monster of a building. The other front room is a big draw now, too. It's harder than ever to get Rick Johns to do straightforward carpentry these days - he's usually got more furniture in the showroom than anyone. John Erikson has had a couple of nice pieces in there, too, but you know the Myopia Carpentry slogan - "Slow... but Expensive." There's a lot of accomplished woodworking there, though, from the co-op wood-shop John helped to pull together in the basement at the back. Will Schweinle directs the curriculum of classes there, and a dozen graduates, who knew almost nothing about woodworking beforehand, now supplement their incomes in a non-trivial way by having their way with wood. The frames for all the artwork are made down there. There are several of John E.'s game series set up as kits of materials, so that anyone qualified (Will's certificates mean something) can turn time into money. Lunch customers buy the breadboards all the time. Will figured out that if Gene can find two more wood species to harvest, there'll be over a hundred different combinations possible. (Collect 'em all!) With the choicest cuts coming up the hill all the time from Gene's new milling operation in the grain elevator, several people have been turning out a steady stream of heirloom quality dining tables. Kevin Reins has first pick of all the oak, which no one disputes - his craftsman style pieces are almost all commissioned, so they never get to the showroom. Kevin has handed his storm window fabrication on to Dennis Konkler because it was too successful for him to keep doing. Jill Caraway's contrasting wood doors were written up in Fine Homebuilding magazine recently. The whole north wall is devoted to a display showing why Todd Brevik's stained glass windows are so sought-after, and Mike Marsh has some of his architectural metalwork there, too. The bulletin board by the door, where prospective furniture clients float ideas, has given rise to several rewarding projects. The multi-tasking furniture Junella helped to design for the children's center might become an export item.
It's unusual to be able to drive your car onto an elevator, take it up and drive out onto the second floor of a building, and do laps. Keeping the whole upper floor open is important. Carol always enjoys seeing people come up the stairs into that space for the first time - the wheels start turning right away. Anything can happen up there. Bob Dykstra, ace mechanic downtown, had the idea to have an antique auto meet up there during the "Ribs, Rods, and Rock 'n' Roll" street fair. There's only room for 18 cars, so it's an exclusive engagement, and people pay to see them, which makes the whole experience more valuable. The small house show will be an annual event, as well. That one made national news. Rick Johns and Harry Freeman are thinking about a boat builders' convention, too. John G. came up with the idea of the rolling counters, and Will used them as the subject of a staggeringly popular apprentice program that Rick teamed up with Will to teach. They're all stored downstairs, thirty-two of them, so a vendor of anything can wheel one out, stock it up, and take it up the elevator to claim a spot between the posts on either side of the promenade. Two rows of enticements behind glass are bound to be worth the price of admission. If you're a Druid, the bonsai festival is not to be missed. The Christmas crafts fair was a big success (it provides a real incentive for all the crafts classes), and the Saturday afternoon flea market has really cut down on fuel consumption by the yard sale crowd.
The heart of the TLB, really, is the shipping and receiving room. Terry Hill, the building manager, is the captain there, and runs a tight ship. That room is a place for materials handling, not storage, so anything unauthorized that settles there gets a parking ticket. Gene managed to replace the broken wheel on the big cart, which is just the thing for his lumber. Nick found a pallet lifter that rolls nicely (no fork lift fumes here, thank you), and that old two-wheeler with oak handles that John G. salvaged has found a home. The one exception to the no storage rule is the millwork racks suspended in the space between the first floor ceiling and the second floor joists. Whenever someone, especially John E., mills up a useful molding profile for a job, that collection provides an incentive to take the time to make extra stock - using as many different species of wood as can be managed. As the offerings available proliferate, the various possible configurations of casings and band moldings, baseboard caps and shoes, crown and cornice moldings, chair rails, wainscoting panel moldings, etc., (as displayed by the mock-ups on the wall) have become the equivalent of a candy shop for carpenters. Gene's lumber racks in the basement are carefully organized, and an undeniable inspiration to any woodhead. All the stock is stored on edge so that nothing is buried, and it's all labeled. There's a strict rule against drooling on the stock.
The roof garden was a huge project (fortunately, Jim Wilson provided adult supervision), but it solved elegantly the problem of how to insulate the roof. Gene just about donated the hackberry lumber, and Jim Stone supervised a crew of volunteers to fabricate a (seemingly endless) series of laminated I-beams. The deep planters for perennials are all at the perimeter, on the bearing walls. There are photovoltaic electric generating panels on the outside of the south-side ones, and a small windmill on each corner of the building. A long greenhouse encloses the north wall of the roof enclosure (which Doug Griffin and Bob Hanson built higher for the purpose), along with that run of deep planters. The temperature inside it is controlled by venting extra heat - to the building below when it's needed. (The sawdust furnace takes care of the rest of the heating needs.) The planting boxes vary in depth, but not in the other dimensions, so the garden is made up of interchangeable units, which can be moved out from the greenhouse and placed between the walkways. Dean Spader, now Vermillion’s Compost Commissioner, is in charge of the soil mixes, which he customizes for each planter. The acreage up there is intensively utilized. Amy Schweinle has moved the farmers' market to Court Street, and estimates that with Angela Jackson's local foods processing and distribution network playing its role, the investment in the roof garden will be recouped within ten years.
[Could that sprung dance floor be built in the pink room? They've secured a grant. Would Jon Trefz want to teach his Taekwodo classes there as well? How about Nick Willan's Kung Fu classes? Could a select few of the herd of exercise machines reside there? Can I build a rowing machine for Will?]
