December 18, 2023
As luck would have it, I was filling up my car at Neighbor’s last Saturday, December 18th, when I observed Stuart Harris writing on the community chalk board near the post office. To say I’d been out of touch with the renovations of the steeple at the town hall would be an understatement. When I returned to Ashfield at the end of the summer, I had vowed to pitch in again to prepare the steeple for removal and repairs. But a bathroom renovation, a recent flair up of arthritis, and sheer laziness, had all conspired to get in the way of my best intentions. And here it was the week before Christmas and things looked pretty much the same since I had left town. Maybe the project had been postponed until next spring. I finished pumping gas and moseyed over to the board just as Harris reemerged from the post office.
“Long time no see,” Stuart greeted me with a wry grin.
“No excuses,” I replied, while reading the notice he’d written on the board.
T.H Steeple Removal For Repairs
A.M. Thursday 23 Dec. 2021
“Holy mackerel,” I exclaimed, “I thought you’d shut things down for the year!”
That afternoon I happily rejoined my comrades in crowbars. The narrow passageway from the second floor to the base of the tower felt like old stomping grounds, but after ducking under the 12×12 support beam at the base of the 15’ square tower I’d cracked my head on numerous times, change soon became apparent. Old support columns that had been replaced 36 years ago but hadn’t found their way out of the building leaned against the wall in preparation for removal by crane once the steeple was removed. I squeezed around the forest of columns and headed up the long flight of stairs to the upper platform we had built back in May that would access the base of columns needing replacement.
Here I encountered my first familiar face, Bob Markey, an original, dedicated volunteer, and highly skilled carpenter to boot, with the additional bonus of being fearless of heights. A somewhat sketchy but still versatile oak ladder led to the hatchway penetrating the copper hip roof 12’ overhead. Further evidence of progress greeted me there. A temporary platform we had constructed back in May just above the nmetal clad roof and around the bell had been removed and a tall ship’s ladder took me to the same levitated floor 8’ higher. Ducking beneath a web of cross members tied into the tapered tops of the eight-sided colonnade columns, appearing like oversized pencil posts surrounding a giant’s bed chamber, I encountered Will Elwell busy at work. Will was in the process of removing the oak pegs that pinned the tenons of the columns to the mortises of the cross members, the final step before the uppermost roof and eight-sided arched fenestrations that adorned the spire could be removed.
“Want some help?” I offered.
“Sure!” Will chuckled. “But they aren’t coming easy!”
Difficult indeed. Will had assembled any number of “persuaders” to assist in the removal process, from a five-pound handheld sledge to more serious two-handers of various heavier weights. Each intersection had two 1” oaks pegs pinning the timber joints together. This was clearly a job for two people, one brave soul and one eager fool ready to make up for lost time. Will held one of the metal driving pins in place with a pair of adjustable vice grips while I readied one of the heftier sledgehammers.
“Ready?” I asked.
“Ready!” Will answered bravely.
The oak peg barely moved as the entire tower vibrated from the impact and the reverberation of metal on metal echoed down Main Street. This would require an even greater swing and follow through I thought, pulling the sledge back as far as I could along the conveniently located perimeter plate beam. I’d like to think Will and I became bosom buddies on the fifth strike when I followed through a little too aggressively and barely missed shattering his wrist. The wooden pins locked the timber joints so tightly that even the last inch of purchase required significant persuasion. Suffice it to say we lived up to the task, grunting through the afternoon while driving out sixteen pegs. Well fifteen strictly speaking as one of the columns thankfully had only one peg pinning the timber joint. We replaced the driven pegs with slightly smaller diameter oak pegs that Will had thoughtfully brought along, easily slipping them into place in case a hurricane came along and tried to blow the top off the town hall. It was actually quite cozy up there with the walls wrapped in heavy plastic, making me feel like I was inside one of those personal dining bubbles you see on the sidewalks beside swank restaurants. Now where’s the pizza and beer? It even started to snow toward the end of the afternoon, adding a bit of festive atmosphere. Stuart and Bob joined us mid-way through the task, bringing even larger “persuaders” and custom punch pins fashioned from rebar to deal with the more recalcitrant pegs. Only Kurt Meyer was missing from the original fearless foursome, soloing over at the Harris and Gray shop on a new 12”x12” oak replacement plate for the top of the tower’s east wall with no less than eight mortised notches that needed chiseling. If anyone was up to the task, master woodworker Kurt was. As the light began to fad and the temperature started to plummet, we paused to admire our handiwork and collect our tools. We were ready for the big day. We were ready for Thursday’s dramatic removal.
December 23rd dawned bright and clear and bone numbingly cold, with the temperature reading 17 degrees Fahrenheit. While walking the dog at the DAR at 7am that morning the temperature felt like -17 on my face as the wind whipped across the lake. Would this be a premonition for the job at hand? Cold was one thing, but wind might well prove to be a factor.
The town hall was a beehive of activity by the time I arrived at 8:15. An enormous C.D. Davenport all terrain crane was already positioned in front of the fire station, it’s four outriggers elevating and leveling the 275-ton capacity machine entirely above the pavement while providing lateral stability. The Grove GMK5275 was a very impressive machine indeed, with a 223-foot main boom in addition to a luffing jib of over 100 feet, capable of lifting 25 tons at full extension, four times greater than the steeple’s estimated weight of 6 tons. An anemometer gauging wind speed was mounted near the top of the rig, a good idea considering the windy conditions. The crane operator would be operating in the blind so-to-speak and his movements would be orchestrated via walkie talkie by an experienced worker high in the steeple.
Grabbing a few homemade cookies for fortification from a Christmas tin just inside the town hall (a testament to the true community involvement and spirit) I headed up the multiple flights. I thought I had pulled on enough layers that morning but was clearly mistaken. Dressed in an old Woolrich wool jacket, sneakers, and ski gloves, I was no match for those clad in washed duck insulated coveralls, ski masks, and steel-toed, insulated work boots. It was doubtlessly too late to wish for a Carhartt present under the tree. In preparation for the lift, the heavy plastic dining pod providing safety below from falling tools, protection against the elements, and a false sense of security was being removed. I began rolling up the plastic, catching my breath as the wind whistled through the suddenly exposed colonnade. Beside the familiar faces already beginning to turn various shades of red from the cold there were as many new faces, all with ready smiles and carpentry skills to match, a desire to be of help, and to bear witness to the historic event. There was Aaron Scott of Easthampton, an experienced timber framer and third generation Scott participant who had come to pay homage to his grandfather Norman who was responsible for carving the urn adorning the steeple, and son of Dwight Scott, also in attendance. There was Arnold Jones, aka Jonesy, and John Gould, both moving with calm assurance and purpose.
There was still much work to accomplish. The intricate task of attaching a metal framework to safely lift the top of the steeple from the eight pencil post columns needed to be positioned inside the lantern of the steeple. Four approximately 10’ long 1” diameter threaded rods with forged tear drop ends needed to be snaked into the spire and gingerly inserted down through predrilled holes in four lower beams the spire would ride on. Enormous square washers and nuts as well as secondary locking nuts completed the task at the bottom of the oak beams. Next, three large steel W8 x 31 beams were hoisted by the crane operator, guided by Frank, his walkie talkie-seeing-eye inside the steeple, and carefully finessed into place by Stuart Harris and Bob Markey from the outside, who had both donned safety harnesses with multiple buckles and cinch straps to tight rope walk on the hip roofs beyond the removed arched windows. One 10’ wide flange beam and two 5’ beams were intricately attached at right angles to welded flanges on either side of the 10’ beam by 12 bolts forming a stable cross shape. Inside the 8-sided windowless lantern, foot support limited by four tenoned timber cross members and their braces, and accessible only by major contortions and relatively thin people, provided just enough standing room at eye level with the steel beams for helpers inside the steeple.
“It’s really COLD out here!” Stuart exhaled, catching the full brunt of the wind. “I can’t feel my fingers,” he exclaimed as I passed him one of the enormous shackles with threaded screw pins. It wasn’t exactly tropical inside either.
“Up a little with the rod,” Stuart said.
“Up a little with the rod,” I relayed down to Jonesy.
The ice-cold surface of the steel penetrated our gloves as we strained to give Stuart another inch or so to make the connection, finally securing the steel candy canes to the I beams. Last but not least, the four straps from the spreader beam attached to the crane’s hook were secured to the corners of the steel framework.
It was all systems go. It was time for lift-off. A last-minute check was made to be sure the temporary pegs had indeed been removed. Now, if only Mother Nature would cooperate. The weather channel the crane operator could access in real time inside the cab had indicated a window of opportunity between the hours of 1pm and 2pm. Propitiously, the anemometer read that the wind had fallen and was within safety range. It was launch time.
“Mast up,” Seeing Eye Frank spoke calmly and confidently to the operator far below.
“Jib up slow.”
“Jib up one click.”
“Hold.”
“Load up one click.”
“Load up one click.”
“Free.”
“Swing left.
The time was 1:23pm.
The steeple floated free and clear through the bright, blue-sky afternoon, moving gracefully toward the ground. Many Ashfield residents, perhaps hungering for a sense of community after so many cherished events had been cancelled over the last two years, had gathered throughout the morning to witness the historic event. Those that had stayed to brave the elements were rewarded by a glorious sight. The cherished steeple of our town hall, clearly in need of a little tender loving care since it’s last descent nearly 37 years ago to the day on December 11th, 1984, coming back to earth on December 23rd, 2021. What a wonderful sight!
What a glorious early Christmas present for the town of Ashfield.