St.
Frances Cabrini Parish
This is from a fading memory, but to me wonderful memories. We moved to Lakewood in 1947 and have lived in the same place to this day. As a young mother, my wife, Rosemary would take our twins, Dick and Don, to the Visitation Villa Catholic Girls School grounds. They would watch the ducks on the lake and the cows in the field. They had a garden too. The man who took care of all this was most accommodating, letting them into the barn to watch the milking, even squirting them in the face with warm milk. All that is gone now. The Villa Plaza and later the Lakewood Mall removed everything, covered the pond and slough and built their buildings. The pond and slough are not completely gone, just covered up and the source of the Ponce Deleon Creek that flows into Steilacoom Lake. A lot of people do not know that before Clover Creek was moved to where it is now it flowed into that slough and pond on the Villa property, just west of the priest’s house. That’s why there’s a dip in Wildair Road.
It was a slower pace then, but you could feel it speeding up. I regret to say I feel I was a part of that speed up. One summer when the sisters still ran the school, they had this native Indian come and burn off all the fields. I learned this had been their custom for years before. This would kill weeds and young trees so the grass would flourish. Apparently, even before the white man, the Indians would do this in the Lakewood area to preserve an open place for camping and pow wows.
Charley Davidson, who I met while I was working on St. Francis, was then in his eighties. He was clear of mind and in apparent good health. He told me as a child he spent his summers in a cabin on Lake Steilacoom. His dad worked for the City of Tacoma and this was way out in the country then. Charley said his first memories of Lakewood was driving past the old wooden auto racing track and bleachers, that was where Clover Park Vocational School is now. From there he could see the three lakes, American, Gravely and Steilacoom, not the water but the indentations of where they were. There were very few trees then because the Indians would burn this area. Steilacoom lake was just a big slough then, but in some places you could swim.
Some of the early Settlers tried dry farming, mostly grain and corn. But it was not very profitable. At one time Steilacoom point was a full time Circus. I used to know the two brothers that were part of that circus and owned the point.
In the twenties there was a dance hall on Steilacoom Lake that later became the Lakewood Ice Arena. It was said during prohabition times, with the dance hall, they would bring the booze in on the lake.
One the families that tried dry farming was the parents and grandparents of Mrs. Carl Knecht. When I first knew them Carl was remodeling the old house.
The Knechts, The Countrymans, and the Enfields are the only families in St. Francis to have the Bishop come and baptise their twelfth child. Our Jenny was the last, they don’t do that any more.
When we first came to Lakewood we attended mass at Visitation in So. Tacoma. We were married at Holy Rosary in Tacoma and would go there often.
Fr. Squire was appointed to set up St. Francis Parish. He started saying mass in the Villa Chapel that quickly proved too small. Then he moved to the school gym. This in no time became too small too. I can remember standing outside more than once listening to mass.
The land was purchased, I think, from the sisters of the Villa. The contract to build the buildings was let to the Cawdry and Vemo Construction Co. As a young carpenter in need of a job, I stopped and asked. The superintendent, the foreman and a laborer were just setting up a construction shack. They told me they were not hiring yet. I can’t remember if it was a couple of days or a week later, but then they put me to work. Working close to home was great and working on my church made it even better. I was the first hired and about the last let go. My first job was building the forms for the footings for the classroom walls and there in is a story. They called for concrete to pour in those footings. Barlow Concrete Co. and Batching (mixing) Plant was adjacent to the church property. The gravel pit went from the church property to Bridgeport Way and from about 104th St. to 108th St. Beyond Davison Rd. did not exist then. The concrete was ordered for 8:00 am, but at 9:00 am it still was not there. They called, Barlow assured us it was on its way. We had lots of work to do, so we did it. At 4:30 pm up drives the truck. We had already put our tools away, so we got them out and poured the footings. The next morning the concrete did not look right to me, so I stepped in it and my foot sank in. In eight hours concrete should be hard enough to walk on. I called the foreman, he looked and said dig it out. I’ll call for more. They called Barlow Concrete and no one answered, so the super drove over. It seems they had gone out of business, telling no one. Later we learned the truck driver knew it was his last day and spent the whole day at the tavern. With the concrete mixing all day it ruined it. They got another concrete company.
Work progressed pretty fast for a job that big. It was one of those summers when there was lots of work, so help was in short supply. Though unions were in control then, but because labor was scarce the union let them hire non-union help. We had teachers, off for the summer, shipyard workers, and others. Some worked out fine, some did not. The foreman could stand someone who did not know what he was doing, but not one who would not work. At this time we were nailing the 8” shiplap on the flat roof over the classrooms. The foreman came to me and said “Look at that man”. He was sitting on his rear end nailing between his legs. The foreman said “I’m going to fire him” and walked over to him. When he came back he had a funny look on his face. “Well”, I said, “Did you fire Him?” “ No”, he said, “when I got to him, he looked up and said, do you have something easier for me to do? This is hard. That stopped me, I didn’t know what to say”. That man was gone at the end of the week.
I worked with the bricklayers laying out the walls and making sure they were straight. I set the metal doorjambs so the bricklayers could lay to them, but they kept removing my brace because it was in their road, so I had to keep putting it back. In the end, I was amazed they, the jambs, stayed as true as they did.
With the classroom area walls going up, we started what was to be the church. The lay of the ground put the west end wall some 4’ lower than the east wall. We had to dig down for the basement under the old altar. I was setting up batter boards to square the footings. It was June and it was cold. Suddenly it snowed, not much, but to a Minnesota boy, that was snow. We used wire because it’s not effected by wind like string is, but it is harder to work with. The wire broke as I pulled it tight. The batter board snapped back hitting me in the mouth, sending my upper teeth right through below my lower lip. That hurt, but it was so cold it did not bother me much.
The basement was poured, the columns and beams were formed and poured. The brick for the walls was laid in later. Setting the wood beams to support the roof was a thrill too. It was my first time with laminated wood beams. They had to be predrilled on each end to receive the two ¾ inch bolts. I stood on the west side to guide the beam down on the bolts when the crane lifted it up. It wasn't easy to do, but all worked. Then the crane set up the 2x8 joist. For the next two weeks we set joist and sheeted it over.
I suppose I shouldn’t mention this, but to me it’s part of the story. In those days they didn’t have Sani-cans or out houses on job sites. That was your problem, so when you had to go you found a dark corner. One of the darkest was the southwest corner of the old church. I swear for years as I stood back there that I could still smell it.
When putting the fascia or edge trim boards on the school office area. I cut my finger and got a big glob of blood on it. I forgot to wipe it off. I think it took three paintings over the years before I could not see it. Anyway, my blood is in that building. Along with other stuff.
Tiny Chapman was the cement finisher that finished most of the floors. I got to know Tiny there when I worked with him setting up pours and I like to think I made a friend, too. Tiny was black and big, about 6’ 5 “ tall and 300 lbs. and a good cement finisher, one of the best. The bottom of his shirt, in the middle of his stomach was always gone, worn off by dragging in the cement. Tiny was the first one, gee, the only one I ever heard say “Fill that wheel barrel up, I don’t want to make two trips”. I was to see and work with Tiny many times over the years to come. He had little education but he was one of the wiser men I have known. It was always interesting to listen to him and I always considered him a friend.
This man came to work fresh out of the military service, and I guess he was trying to show how fast he was. One day the superintendent said to me “Look at him saw with that hand saw, he is going to cut himself.” No sooner said than wee watched the saw go up between his thumb and first finger, a bad cut, too. No medics then, so his wife picked him up and took him to the doctor. As they left the super said, “I don’t want that man back on my job, if he don’t hurt himself, he will hurt someone else.” This then became part of my learning experience.
The Wild Rose Bush. About where the driveway to the priest’s house is now stood a big wild rose bush. It was to be dozed out anyway, so I took a big section home and planted it. I had heard that you could graft tame roses to it. After several attempts at grafting and several years I gave up and let it die. Wild roses are not very pretty and their thorns are horrendous, still I wish I had tried harder.
Those years, that include working on St. Francis, I consider my Golden Years. It seems we had one baby after another, each a gift from god. I now miss those years. I’m sure I could not go through those years again, but I thank God he gave them to me. My children are my real pride. They have made my life a joy and gave me the feeling that I did accomplish something in this world. I have said many times, “The children, they are what it’s all about”.
I worked partners with this old carpenter until he quit to build a house to retire in. One day he gave me a step stool he had made. It was a nice one too, he really tooled (shaped) it. He said, “Here this is for you, as short as you are you need it. I was really impressed and thankful. Not many fellow workers do something like that. I did not need it that day so I put it in my car. After work that day it was gone. I asked everyone, no one had seen it. My car was parked in full view, but I never found out how or who got it. The old man was part Indian and in the Indian way of life when they give you something you are suppose to give something back. I was not raised that way so I never thought of it. Oh well, it was one of those things in life and I don’t know why it still bothers me.
I learned a lot on that job. The super and foreman were very knowledgeable and not afraid to pass it on. I had another partner, I think he was the super’s dad. We were setting forms for the west wall of the old church. This fellow came over to talk to him. It seemed they were old friends, good friends. As they talked my partner asked, “What happened to your daughter?” The man said, “Well as you know she is pregnant. I told her to get the hell out of my house. Now my wife is mad at me too.” It was nun of my business and I had no right to but in, but I just blurted out “At a time in your daughters life when she needs you more than she ever has, you abandon her!” They both just looked at me and said nothing. A couple weeks later he came by again. As they talked my partner asked, “How’s your daughter doing?” The man said, “ Oh, we decided to let her stay at home until the baby comes, then we’ll decide what to do.” I kept my mouth shut and thought maybe, just maybe, I did something. I have written about being a messenger of God, I like to think I was one then.
The bricklayers, eight or ten of them, had worked all morning on the north east wall of the class room furnace, storage area. As we all sat down for lunch in front of that wall I kept looking at the wall. Finally, I said, “ You know, I’m color blind, but the mortar does not look the same color as the other walls.” The brick foreman was a grouchy old guy, a good brickman, but grouchy. He jumped up to take a closer look. “By golly, you’re right!” he said. They spent the rest of the day taking it down and cleaning the bricks. When they got it straight, it seems the company that makes the coloring had changed both the color and numbering. It took about two weeks to get the right color and they had to drive to southeastern Washington to get it.
The southwest wall of the gym had just been laid up, atleast the top half. This and all the brick walls are three bricks thick. Inside is a norman brick about 2 ¼ “ thick, in the center is a duo brick 5 ½ “ thick, and outside is a roman brick 1 1/4th “ thick. So you can understand the difference in mortar joints causes a variation in shrinkage as the mortar dries. It was 4:30 pm, the bricklayers were gone. As I put my tools in my car, I looked at the wall. I could see it curling out. I yelled to the foreman to look. He looked and said, “There she goes.” I said, “Do you want to try leaning planks against it and try to push it back?” We had some long 2 x 12s. The Foreman said, “Let’s try.” We did, and the next morning it looked just fine. That saved a lot of time and money, too.
As a young carpenter I had done a lot of framing and general building, but no finishing And door hanging. One day the super said, “You get a twenty inch joiner (plane) and I’ll show you how to hang doors in metal frames.” At the hardware store I found a twenty-inch joiner, but the eighteen-inch joiner was a lot cheaper. The super said, “No, twenty inch or no deal.” I couldn’t stand the thought of paying so much more, so I had my wife get it. I hung a good many of the doors in that school and learned something too.
The finished ceiling of the old church is seaweed mixed with cement. The problem with it is that it varied in thickness. As I nailed it up I had to shim the edges to make it look even. I was about three weeks putting it up, standing on a rickity scafolding, boy did my arms get tired.
During construction, one Monday morning there was a one ton truck parked near where that wild rose bush was. It was an older model, but it had been all painted and just looked great. After setting there for two weeks or so, the neighborhood kids started playing on it. They got rougher and rougher. We would yell at them, but they paid no attention to us. One day with kids all over it, a mother came to them yelling someone’s name. So we watched, thinking someone’s going to get it now. No way, she just reached up and grabbed this kid that was jumping on the hood trying to smash it down, put him on the ground, put his sweater on, then put him back up on the hood and left. In another week that truck was a total loss. Why I remember things like this, I’m at a total loss to explain.
After forty some years, St. Francis now has a real church. I wish Fr. Squire had lived to see it. I know he had far grander ideas, more of a cathedral. I do think what we have is more practical, but a cathedral would have been nice. The first time I entered the new church I felt it was too austere, too plain, not like catholic churches I had known. I still miss the statues, but not the one Fr. Squire put behind the old altar. I still miss the Latin too, so I guess that just makes me old.
I continued to feel this way until one Sunday at 9:00 am mass. As Fr. Jim was giving his sermon, a good one too, a flock of geese flew back and forth beyond the window behind the altar. What a beautiful sight. I felt as if God was saying to me, The whole world is my church, Enjoy - enjoy.
I remember when I was about ten and serving on the altar. I got the giggles, and try as I did, I could not stop until I got the look from Fr. Collins. Fr. Collins was straight from Ireland, a no nonsense type. After mass I got it good. Fr. Collins said mass was serious and laughing was not tolerated. At this time I was into deep thinking and I really thought this over. I could not make myself agree with him. I did enjoy my religion, why should it be serious. That was not the way I felt about my religion.
I felt a bit guilty about this until I listened to a Fr. Madigan in Sacramento, CA. Say most of the same things as I felt, and he was from Ireland too. I talked to him after mass and told him he had made me feel better about myself and why. Yes, he said those old Irish priest were too serious. I have been to mass with Fr. Madigan maybe four times, and his sermons have always made an impression on me.
I know this has nothing to do with St. Francis, I guess I got a bit off track. But I think it goes with the geese in the window. Sometimes you need something like that to clear your mind so you can enjoy. Another saying I like, “Life is so simple, most people don’t get it.”