Recycling the Reeve Building
By Cliff Fuglestad
Having grown up during the Great Depression, I have always believed in the value of family projects that gave our kids some idea of what manual labor was all about, no matter how grubby or how arduous the work might be. Requiring an effort that produced something tangible to show for at the end of the day, whether it was a ditch they had helped dig, or perhaps firewood gathered and hauled from the beach. Something that helped soak up that excess energy that is the special province of youth. Something that if handled right, could also be fun, unlike the family chores that are a necessary part of everyday life. The harder the work, the better. The larger the family, the bigger the projects I always figured -- within reason of course.
Dragging a survey chain through heavy brush that they could barely see over was an early start, but what really worked for us was dismantling old buildings and salvaging the lumber. Not very glamorous, and nearly always grubby work, but nevertheless very rewarding when we could look at a growing stack of useable lumber, plus windows, doors, conduit as well as a variety of odds and ends of miscellaneous materials, all of which could be used some day in building the family cabin. Even our two young daughters would help out, proudly carrying small boards, one at a time to where their brothers were loading the pickup truck. The very dismantling process itself was of interest to the boys and we would put almost as much thought and planning into how to safely take the structure down as probably went into the original construction by the carpenters. We got our start in a modest way, dismantling two small buildings down in the Ship Creek area when the boys were barely in their teens. One of the buildings was the abandoned pump house where Anchorage drew its water from Ship Creek many years ago. With that experience under our belt it was relatively easy to move on to the next step -- putting up the family cabin at Halibut Cove with the materials we had accumulated on land we had gotten in exchange for survey work.
So it shouldn't have come as a complete surprise to me a few years later when an excited Glen and his brothers came to me with the news that the Reeve Building on Merrill Field had to be removed and that we could have it for the materials, provided we could tear it down. The Reeve Building! I nearly fell out of my chair. This was talking big time; a building three stories high counting the loft, 100 feet long by 40 feet in width, plus a long 10 foot wide lean-to as well as a four bay garage addition. How, I asked them, did they propose to dismantle the roof system, working over 30 feet above the ground, a job that would normally require a boom crane and a husky work force? So I said no -- forget it. It was too big an undertaking as well being too risky. Reminding them that the only equipment we would have at our disposal would be mostly hand tools.
But they persisted saying, "Come on Dad." Wait till you see what's inside the building". Which I finally did against my better judgment and just as I feared I was hooked. What really changed my mind was walking up into the loft and seeing row after row of beautiful timber roof trusses, all fabricated with dimensional, first growth Douglas Fir, a quality of lumber now long absent from the lumber yards. Many of the pieces were of premium value ranging from 20 to 26 feet in length. And it was all ours for free provided we could tear the entire building down, no small undertaking considering its size as well as its location immediately adjacent to busy 5th. Ave. But I felt we had to give a try, Besides, I reasoned, we had a fairly large labor pool to draw on; 4 boys, two girls plus a daughter in law to start with. (Before it was over we had dragged in relatives from as far away as Minnesota as well as my brother who had just retired from his job in California).
The Reeve Building had begun its life on Merrill Field in the early 1940's as the headquarters/warehouse for the Morrison Knudsen Co. a giant construction firm with large military projects scattered throughout the Territory, an effort that was mostly served by aircraft support. You might say it was a forerunner of a modern day air cargo facility. When that effort began to wind down after the war, Pacific Airmotive took over the building for its aircraft maintenance work, and when that company was sold, Bob Reeve bought the building and ran it as part of his airmotive operations until it became surplus to his needs. Showing the typical frugality long associated with its name, the Reeve Company had rejected a multi thousand dollar bid to tear it down and instead had asked Jerry, a friend of ours, if he knew of anyone who might be interested in removing the building for the materials. Jerry said that as a matter of fact he did, a neighbor of his who just happened to have a fairly large family -- us.
With that plus a very cursory verbal agreement, we were on our way, without a contract, without insurance etc., outfitted only with chain and circular saws, two heavy mauls, assorted pry bars, hammers, two sets of block and tackle, and other miscellaneous tools. All that plus a wheel barrow and two Molly Hogans (cable slings) that a friend had promised to make for us, insisting that we were sure to need them. We did.
We began to dismantle the building in December of 1982 and hauled the last board away in May of 1983 a period considerably longer than our original permit from the City of Anchorage and the Airport Manager. Fortunately they took a tolerant view of our efforts and allowed us to extend our completion date more than once. Nature also smiled on us by keeping the snowfall light that winter. Friends would drop by occasionally to see how we were doing. A few would stay to help; others would take a look, shake their heads and leave. We came up with a scheme for dismantling the roof structure by using block and tackle to drop the roof sections inward onto the second floor like a draw bridge where we could then dismantle the trusses in safety, a huge load off my mind.
Frankly, in looking back at it now, I don't see how we did it. There were times when the endless work of pulling nails as we cleaned each and every board, the endless sorting, stacking and restacking of the dimensional lumber, siding and decking, became almost mind numbing and threatened to overwhelm us. But there were also the days when my brother Stan and I would reminisce as we worked at a steady pace, recalling the Depression years when as youths we performed almost the same kind of work at a feed and mill warehouse. For each sack of scrap wood that we cleaned of nails, we received the princely sum of 10 cents, big money in those long ago days. Counting the two small buildings the family had previously taken down, you might say we brought a wealth of experience to the job.
To haul the lumber to our lot we paid $700 for "Old Red", a 2-1/2 ton Dodge stake bed truck that the Ramstads had driven up the Alcan Highway in 1952. There were also a lot of trips to the dump as we cleaned out building debris and the accumulation of 30 years of use -- aircraft parts and equipment, insulation and roofing, empty containers, a propeller, a wall tent, some bed frames, etc. Some of the stuff was good junk which we kept such as a chain hoist, an ancient AC/DC converter that I have yet to find a use for, a WPA pulaski for grubbing (which I have often used from time to time), a weather vane, and so on. I also ended up with a 5 year supply of aluminum sheet metal screws, at least a 50 year supply of aircraft safety wire, some conduit, etc.
One item destined for the dump which we postponed hauling to the very last was the old heavy coal fired furnace which had originally heated the building and now squatted there like a brooding, inert hulk about the size and weight of an old D-6 Cat, far exceeding our meager equipment. But by borrowing a mobile chain hoist used to lift large aircraft engines plus rigging up a timber ramp, the boys somehow managed to load the engine onto the very end of the truck bed and then set off for the old City dump with only a vague idea of how they were going to unload it once they got there. Because of the marginal brakes and a tricky transmission the short drive required their full attention and it wasn't until they reached the dump face that they looked back to check on their load. No furnace! Sick at heart and dreading the possible sight of the boiler sitting in the middle of 5th Ave. blocking traffic, or worse yet with a crushed automobile beneath it, the boys started to head back toward the gate and lo! There the boiler sat, in the middle of the land fill where it had fallen off due to the rough ride over the fill. Needless to say the boys left it there and beat a hasty retreat.
What did we do with nearly 40,000 board feet of excellent dimensional lumber, siding and decking, plus doors, windows and hardware? Well, first of all we sorted and stockpiled it on our lot where I could look at it each day and gloat, like a miser over our treasure. Some of the trusses that were intact were either given to old friends or were sold, as were the large sliding garage doors. Everything else we kept including all the multi-paned windows. And then we began using the materials to build cabins at various locations involving just about every mode of transportation to get there: truck, aircraft, boat, snow machine, etc.
Piling and decking for a floor system were the start of a remote cabin at the foot of Mt. Susitna; 2 x 6 framing lumber and ship lap siding were used to build a sleeping cabin on our beach at Halibut Cove; while a fairly large cabin complete with tool shed and sauna on Crossman Ridge behind Homer soaked up most of the remaining material. The final touch there was a very nice brick wall in the kitchen using second hand bricks that had somehow made their way without charge from an abandoned fish cannery at Naknek to Anchorage via a certain airline and thence by truck to Homer. All in all you might say it added just the right touch to a very satisfactory ending for the Reeve Building - as well as a new beginning.
Having grown up during the Great Depression, I have always believed in the value of family projects that gave our kids some idea of what manual labor was all about, no matter how grubby or how arduous the work might be. Requiring an effort that produced something tangible to show for at the end of the day, whether it was a ditch they had helped dig, or perhaps firewood gathered and hauled from the beach. Something that helped soak up that excess energy that is the special province of youth. Something that if handled right, could also be fun, unlike the family chores that are a necessary part of everyday life. The harder the work, the better. The larger the family, the bigger the projects I always figured -- within reason of course.
Dragging a survey chain through heavy brush that they could barely see over was an early start, but what really worked for us was dismantling old buildings and salvaging the lumber. Not very glamorous, and nearly always grubby work, but nevertheless very rewarding when we could look at a growing stack of useable lumber, plus windows, doors, conduit as well as a variety of odds and ends of miscellaneous materials, all of which could be used some day in building the family cabin. Even our two young daughters would help out, proudly carrying small boards, one at a time to where their brothers were loading the pickup truck. The very dismantling process itself was of interest to the boys and we would put almost as much thought and planning into how to safely take the structure down as probably went into the original construction by the carpenters. We got our start in a modest way, dismantling two small buildings down in the Ship Creek area when the boys were barely in their teens. One of the buildings was the abandoned pump house where Anchorage drew its water from Ship Creek many years ago. With that experience under our belt it was relatively easy to move on to the next step -- putting up the family cabin at Halibut Cove with the materials we had accumulated on land we had gotten in exchange for survey work.
So it shouldn't have come as a complete surprise to me a few years later when an excited Glen and his brothers came to me with the news that the Reeve Building on Merrill Field had to be removed and that we could have it for the materials, provided we could tear it down. The Reeve Building! I nearly fell out of my chair. This was talking big time; a building three stories high counting the loft, 100 feet long by 40 feet in width, plus a long 10 foot wide lean-to as well as a four bay garage addition. How, I asked them, did they propose to dismantle the roof system, working over 30 feet above the ground, a job that would normally require a boom crane and a husky work force? So I said no -- forget it. It was too big an undertaking as well being too risky. Reminding them that the only equipment we would have at our disposal would be mostly hand tools.
But they persisted saying, "Come on Dad." Wait till you see what's inside the building". Which I finally did against my better judgment and just as I feared I was hooked. What really changed my mind was walking up into the loft and seeing row after row of beautiful timber roof trusses, all fabricated with dimensional, first growth Douglas Fir, a quality of lumber now long absent from the lumber yards. Many of the pieces were of premium value ranging from 20 to 26 feet in length. And it was all ours for free provided we could tear the entire building down, no small undertaking considering its size as well as its location immediately adjacent to busy 5th. Ave. But I felt we had to give a try, Besides, I reasoned, we had a fairly large labor pool to draw on; 4 boys, two girls plus a daughter in law to start with. (Before it was over we had dragged in relatives from as far away as Minnesota as well as my brother who had just retired from his job in California).
The Reeve Building had begun its life on Merrill Field in the early 1940's as the headquarters/warehouse for the Morrison Knudsen Co. a giant construction firm with large military projects scattered throughout the Territory, an effort that was mostly served by aircraft support. You might say it was a forerunner of a modern day air cargo facility. When that effort began to wind down after the war, Pacific Airmotive took over the building for its aircraft maintenance work, and when that company was sold, Bob Reeve bought the building and ran it as part of his airmotive operations until it became surplus to his needs. Showing the typical frugality long associated with its name, the Reeve Company had rejected a multi thousand dollar bid to tear it down and instead had asked Jerry, a friend of ours, if he knew of anyone who might be interested in removing the building for the materials. Jerry said that as a matter of fact he did, a neighbor of his who just happened to have a fairly large family -- us.
With that plus a very cursory verbal agreement, we were on our way, without a contract, without insurance etc., outfitted only with chain and circular saws, two heavy mauls, assorted pry bars, hammers, two sets of block and tackle, and other miscellaneous tools. All that plus a wheel barrow and two Molly Hogans (cable slings) that a friend had promised to make for us, insisting that we were sure to need them. We did.
We began to dismantle the building in December of 1982 and hauled the last board away in May of 1983 a period considerably longer than our original permit from the City of Anchorage and the Airport Manager. Fortunately they took a tolerant view of our efforts and allowed us to extend our completion date more than once. Nature also smiled on us by keeping the snowfall light that winter. Friends would drop by occasionally to see how we were doing. A few would stay to help; others would take a look, shake their heads and leave. We came up with a scheme for dismantling the roof structure by using block and tackle to drop the roof sections inward onto the second floor like a draw bridge where we could then dismantle the trusses in safety, a huge load off my mind.
Frankly, in looking back at it now, I don't see how we did it. There were times when the endless work of pulling nails as we cleaned each and every board, the endless sorting, stacking and restacking of the dimensional lumber, siding and decking, became almost mind numbing and threatened to overwhelm us. But there were also the days when my brother Stan and I would reminisce as we worked at a steady pace, recalling the Depression years when as youths we performed almost the same kind of work at a feed and mill warehouse. For each sack of scrap wood that we cleaned of nails, we received the princely sum of 10 cents, big money in those long ago days. Counting the two small buildings the family had previously taken down, you might say we brought a wealth of experience to the job.
To haul the lumber to our lot we paid $700 for "Old Red", a 2-1/2 ton Dodge stake bed truck that the Ramstads had driven up the Alcan Highway in 1952. There were also a lot of trips to the dump as we cleaned out building debris and the accumulation of 30 years of use -- aircraft parts and equipment, insulation and roofing, empty containers, a propeller, a wall tent, some bed frames, etc. Some of the stuff was good junk which we kept such as a chain hoist, an ancient AC/DC converter that I have yet to find a use for, a WPA pulaski for grubbing (which I have often used from time to time), a weather vane, and so on. I also ended up with a 5 year supply of aluminum sheet metal screws, at least a 50 year supply of aircraft safety wire, some conduit, etc.
One item destined for the dump which we postponed hauling to the very last was the old heavy coal fired furnace which had originally heated the building and now squatted there like a brooding, inert hulk about the size and weight of an old D-6 Cat, far exceeding our meager equipment. But by borrowing a mobile chain hoist used to lift large aircraft engines plus rigging up a timber ramp, the boys somehow managed to load the engine onto the very end of the truck bed and then set off for the old City dump with only a vague idea of how they were going to unload it once they got there. Because of the marginal brakes and a tricky transmission the short drive required their full attention and it wasn't until they reached the dump face that they looked back to check on their load. No furnace! Sick at heart and dreading the possible sight of the boiler sitting in the middle of 5th Ave. blocking traffic, or worse yet with a crushed automobile beneath it, the boys started to head back toward the gate and lo! There the boiler sat, in the middle of the land fill where it had fallen off due to the rough ride over the fill. Needless to say the boys left it there and beat a hasty retreat.
What did we do with nearly 40,000 board feet of excellent dimensional lumber, siding and decking, plus doors, windows and hardware? Well, first of all we sorted and stockpiled it on our lot where I could look at it each day and gloat, like a miser over our treasure. Some of the trusses that were intact were either given to old friends or were sold, as were the large sliding garage doors. Everything else we kept including all the multi-paned windows. And then we began using the materials to build cabins at various locations involving just about every mode of transportation to get there: truck, aircraft, boat, snow machine, etc.
Piling and decking for a floor system were the start of a remote cabin at the foot of Mt. Susitna; 2 x 6 framing lumber and ship lap siding were used to build a sleeping cabin on our beach at Halibut Cove; while a fairly large cabin complete with tool shed and sauna on Crossman Ridge behind Homer soaked up most of the remaining material. The final touch there was a very nice brick wall in the kitchen using second hand bricks that had somehow made their way without charge from an abandoned fish cannery at Naknek to Anchorage via a certain airline and thence by truck to Homer. All in all you might say it added just the right touch to a very satisfactory ending for the Reeve Building - as well as a new beginning.