The Town Hall

The Lowry Town Hall, the village "community center", was a large two story red-brick building built around the turn of the century - the 20th century. The first floor housed the fire department and the water works. My father did the regular water testing and any repairs that might be needed and I tagged along, so I was one of the few kids who had the honor of seeing that well room with the pump and the gauges and the mystery of how water got from underground to that big tower high above the building. 

The back half of the 1st floor was a meeting/dining room with an attached kitchen in the back corner. The meeting room was “multi-purpose”, being the venue for village council meetings, elections, bake sales, craft sales, community dinners, smelt fries or any event involving the whole community, usually eating or voting.  

Next to it and rising 100 feet above it was the silver painted water tower with the bold Lowry painted across its belly. These towers are a landmark of every small town and provide the necessary gravitational force to deliver sufficient water pressure to every home in the community (.43 PSI/vertical ft. if you're interested). It also served double duty as a diversionary tactic for parents of tired children returning home from an outing to Grandma’s to answer the challenge of “who can see the water tower first?” Although a locked grate barred access to the ladder to the top, it was a common rite of passage to climb the thing. Marian told me that after returning from WWII Pacific duty in '45, my father took my mother dancing on top of that tower, he laughing and she screaming.

The town hall was generally referred to as the “Fire Hall” since it housed the fleet of fire engines. The fleet consisted of one truck – a pumper from the 40’s - and an ancient horse drawn rig now in the county museum. The pumper dated from the early 1900’s and in the 50's was still used on occasion - dependent on manpower for propulsion - to fight local infernos, usually burning leaves that spread into grass fires. When the siren went off at other than 12 noon or 10 at night and kept on whining, it meant fire, and every able bodied man within hearing distance dropped their work and scrambled to the fire hall, donned fireman hats, coats and boots and raced off, with a few hanging on for dear life on the back of the truck, but most sensibly following behind in cars.  And of course, with a caravan of kids on bikes close behind. Most fires were grass-fires fought with wet gunny sacks, but occasionally there was a car fire, a chimney fire or a barn fire.  

The volunteers took their task seriously, training regularly and always looked for opportunities to burn down some eyesore building for the sake of practice. The State of Minnesota furnished volunteer fire-fighter trainers who traveled throughout the state presenting training sessions.  

The Town Hall was also the site of the annual smelt fry fundraiser for the fire department.  A few volunteer firemen made the trek to the Knife River near Duluth and returned with cream cans full of smelt. (You can't imagine how many smelt fit in a cream can). Since my father was the fire chief, I got recruited for the smelt cleaning operation. It takes dozens of smelt to make a meal, so the cleaning operation went on-and-on-and-on and eventually induced a gag reflex.  Smelt and lutefisk are in the same league in my book.

The entire second floor of the town hall was “the auditorium”.  It was served by a long, steeply pitched 7-foot wide staircase.  And it had handicapped access in the form of a couple of burly guys to carry the person up and down those stairs. For emergency egress, it had an enclosed fire escape out the second floor down the south wall. A wooden fire escape. The auditorium had a raised stage and a 30 x 60 space with rows of interlocked chairs for “events”. These events were usually associated with national holidays or school events. A visiting speaker with a patriotic theme for Memorial Day or the 4th of July, school Christmas programs where the amazing musical and acting talents of the local students were put on display, occasional wild rounds of Bingo and the annual Person of the Year ceremony with the winner accepting praise and gifts with an embarrassed “aw shucks”. (My Great Uncle Dave was the honoree one year and his response to all the adulation was: "A lot of people I've always regarded as upright and honest told a lot of lies here today").

But as a kid, the best use of this big space was basketball. At some farsighted councilman’s suggestion - whose identity is unknown to me, but forever in my debt - the auditorium was converted into a basketball court during the winter, with baskets on each end to allow full court games. And that place was used. The windows were covered with wooden slats to avoid glass breakage, usually successfully.  A couple nights a week, the hall opened at 7:00 PM - so as not to disturb the sacred family supper hour - and was in constant use till 9:30 closing. Breakaway layups were risky business, as the basket was mounted on the stage whose ledge presented itself at a dangerous level. Great sweaty sport – but no showers.  

And guys only. Girls were cheerleaders.