Photo's by Dennis Ketterman.
Click on photo for larger view.
PRAIRIE PILLARS FALL
Raymond, Montana. November 18, 2006 . . . .
The prairie landscape in this northeastern Montana town is more barren this afternoon than it has been for nearly
100 years. The town’s two privately owned grain elevators, the first one built in 1914, burned this morning. This
was a “burn for hire” forced by the financial pinch that owners Karen Wollan and her late husband Mike have
experienced since the early 90s when these elevators ceased to be a viable business. Other individuals who own
elevators on land leased from the railroad company are familiar with the Wollans’ economic dilemma and the
tough decisions they faced.
- by Lou Mandler . . AKA Betty Lou Goetzinger
Raymond, Montana. November 18, 2006 . . . .
The prairie landscape in this northeastern Montana town is more barren this afternoon than it has been for nearly
100 years. The town’s two privately owned grain elevators, the first one built in 1914, burned this morning. This
was a “burn for hire” forced by the financial pinch that owners Karen Wollan and her late husband Mike have
experienced since the early 90s when these elevators ceased to be a viable business. Other individuals who own
elevators on land leased from the railroad company are familiar with the Wollans’ economic dilemma and the
tough decisions they faced.
The flames which consumed these towers of prairie architecture have not
been a unique sight to residents of the Montana plains in recent years.
The contractor who planned and set this morning’s conflagration has
burned 52 elevators in the past fifteen years. Doing the math brings the
realization that an average of at least four grain elevators a year have
disappeared just from the area he serves.
Knowing the history of Raymond’s elevators and how Karen came to her
heart-rending decision to destroy her loved property is also to know that
Montana’s privately owned elevators may very well exist only as a record
in the archives of historical societies in a few years.
Mike Wollan bought the Raymond elevators in 1975, at the time a sound
financial venture. However, the 80s ushered in a decade of drought with
little grain to handle. In addition, the railroad increased the fee for freight,
and large grain corporations kept cutting the profit of the small operators.
Although the drought was over by the mid-90s, the profit margin was even
less, and the railroads wanted unit transport, not a few cars of grain. For a
few years in the early 90s, Mike only cleaned grain rather than buying and
shipping it. The scale was certified for the last time in 1995. And so began
the last years of the twin prairie pillars.
The ensuing financial pinch the Wollans found themselves in resulted
from their lease with the railroad. Because the railroad owns the land on
which the elevators sit, the Wollans had to sign a yearly lease with an
automatic 5% yearly increase. By 2006, the annual fee was $1,100.00.
The only way to cancel the lease is to remove the property and return the
land to its natural state. After Mike’s death in 2005, Karen tried to give the
elevators away for eight months. Failing that, through the internet and
various publications she tried to find someone interested in the buildings
as reclaimed lumber only to find the nature of the construction of the
elevators makes reclaiming the lumber too labor intensive.
Resigned to the fact that she would have to destroy the buildings, Karen
put her energies into selling any useful machinery or remaining parts. In
time, she found buyers for the grading scale, the funnel cup and leveler,
and other working components. Then began the process of arranging the
legal burn. This meant more time and money spent satisfying the
requirements of the EPA and the state. In the end, the total cost of the
burn-- about $12,000.00--included the fee of the burn contractor, various
permits, an asbestos inspection, and burying the debris in a pit in Karen’
s pasture.
By 6:30 this morning, a scattering of local residents had gathered to
witness the flames that would change Raymond’s skyline forever. The
volunteer firemen from neighboring Plentywood stood by, prepared to
control spin-off fires in the dry grass and to protect the adjacent rail ties
and power poles. About 7:30, the first orange flames flickered out the top
of the aged structure. Within an hour, fire had encircled the top half of the
building, and it collapsed into the bottom half. By 9:15, the symbol of 90
years of community history was leveled, affirming the prediction the burn
contractor made at 7:30, “In an hour and forty-five minutes, we’ll be taller
than the elevator.” By 11:15 this morning, the second elevator too was
gone.
Karen Wollan spent the morning shedding an occasional tear but mostly
demonstrating her thoughts for others. She poured hot coffee, made soup
and sandwiches for the volunteer firemen, inquired about the welfare of a
neighbor. Finally, when we “were taller than the elevator,” she shared a
poem she had tacked to her wall, “Once I was a pillar in my town,/ A
symbol of progress and a way of life . . . I know for me, it is the end of the
day.” (Barbara Krupp-Selyem)
The End of the Day
It is the end of the day.
Grasshoppers chirp in prairie grasses overgrown around me.
The wind is constant through crevices in my walls. My scale
shed doors hang crooked in their tracks.
Once I was a pillar in my town, A symbol of progress and a way
of life. Now a tombstone, pigeons coo in my rafters, and owls
rest on broken window sills.
Only a moment ago times were prosperous. Farmers gathered
to spin tales while trucks lined at my doors and whistles
announced arriving trains.
Now only transient scavengers break the silence. The old gas
engine sits noiselessly next to tin walls smeared with soot, and
idled machinery ages.
No one sweeps.
I am left alone to the elements. My ledger books mildew on
crooked shelves and scale tickets litter my floor. It is always
damp and musty, as rotting boards and missing shingles, invite
the rain.
Poets write and artists paint. They whisper my fate. But though
the evening sun sill glimmers on peeling walls, I know for me, it
is the end of the day.
Barbara Krupp-Selyem
The Country Grain Elevator Historical Society
See Grain Elevator photos
From Rural Montana 1999
Tomorrow morning, Karen’s view out her north window will not include a
prairie pillar.
been a unique sight to residents of the Montana plains in recent years.
The contractor who planned and set this morning’s conflagration has
burned 52 elevators in the past fifteen years. Doing the math brings the
realization that an average of at least four grain elevators a year have
disappeared just from the area he serves.
Knowing the history of Raymond’s elevators and how Karen came to her
heart-rending decision to destroy her loved property is also to know that
Montana’s privately owned elevators may very well exist only as a record
in the archives of historical societies in a few years.
Mike Wollan bought the Raymond elevators in 1975, at the time a sound
financial venture. However, the 80s ushered in a decade of drought with
little grain to handle. In addition, the railroad increased the fee for freight,
and large grain corporations kept cutting the profit of the small operators.
Although the drought was over by the mid-90s, the profit margin was even
less, and the railroads wanted unit transport, not a few cars of grain. For a
few years in the early 90s, Mike only cleaned grain rather than buying and
shipping it. The scale was certified for the last time in 1995. And so began
the last years of the twin prairie pillars.
The ensuing financial pinch the Wollans found themselves in resulted
from their lease with the railroad. Because the railroad owns the land on
which the elevators sit, the Wollans had to sign a yearly lease with an
automatic 5% yearly increase. By 2006, the annual fee was $1,100.00.
The only way to cancel the lease is to remove the property and return the
land to its natural state. After Mike’s death in 2005, Karen tried to give the
elevators away for eight months. Failing that, through the internet and
various publications she tried to find someone interested in the buildings
as reclaimed lumber only to find the nature of the construction of the
elevators makes reclaiming the lumber too labor intensive.
Resigned to the fact that she would have to destroy the buildings, Karen
put her energies into selling any useful machinery or remaining parts. In
time, she found buyers for the grading scale, the funnel cup and leveler,
and other working components. Then began the process of arranging the
legal burn. This meant more time and money spent satisfying the
requirements of the EPA and the state. In the end, the total cost of the
burn-- about $12,000.00--included the fee of the burn contractor, various
permits, an asbestos inspection, and burying the debris in a pit in Karen’
s pasture.
By 6:30 this morning, a scattering of local residents had gathered to
witness the flames that would change Raymond’s skyline forever. The
volunteer firemen from neighboring Plentywood stood by, prepared to
control spin-off fires in the dry grass and to protect the adjacent rail ties
and power poles. About 7:30, the first orange flames flickered out the top
of the aged structure. Within an hour, fire had encircled the top half of the
building, and it collapsed into the bottom half. By 9:15, the symbol of 90
years of community history was leveled, affirming the prediction the burn
contractor made at 7:30, “In an hour and forty-five minutes, we’ll be taller
than the elevator.” By 11:15 this morning, the second elevator too was
gone.
Karen Wollan spent the morning shedding an occasional tear but mostly
demonstrating her thoughts for others. She poured hot coffee, made soup
and sandwiches for the volunteer firemen, inquired about the welfare of a
neighbor. Finally, when we “were taller than the elevator,” she shared a
poem she had tacked to her wall, “Once I was a pillar in my town,/ A
symbol of progress and a way of life . . . I know for me, it is the end of the
day.” (Barbara Krupp-Selyem)
The End of the Day
It is the end of the day.
Grasshoppers chirp in prairie grasses overgrown around me.
The wind is constant through crevices in my walls. My scale
shed doors hang crooked in their tracks.
Once I was a pillar in my town, A symbol of progress and a way
of life. Now a tombstone, pigeons coo in my rafters, and owls
rest on broken window sills.
Only a moment ago times were prosperous. Farmers gathered
to spin tales while trucks lined at my doors and whistles
announced arriving trains.
Now only transient scavengers break the silence. The old gas
engine sits noiselessly next to tin walls smeared with soot, and
idled machinery ages.
No one sweeps.
I am left alone to the elements. My ledger books mildew on
crooked shelves and scale tickets litter my floor. It is always
damp and musty, as rotting boards and missing shingles, invite
the rain.
Poets write and artists paint. They whisper my fate. But though
the evening sun sill glimmers on peeling walls, I know for me, it
is the end of the day.
Barbara Krupp-Selyem
The Country Grain Elevator Historical Society
See Grain Elevator photos
From Rural Montana 1999
Tomorrow morning, Karen’s view out her north window will not include a
prairie pillar.
7:45 AM
9:15 AM
11:15 AM
Mop up
The End
 | |  | |  | |  | |  | |  | |  | |  | |  | |  |