Over a year ago I left my home on the north shore of Shagawa Lake on a trip to discover and understand a piece of history that shaped a small town in canoe country. I’m sure you are curious and wonder why anyone would voluntarily leave Ely and the Vermilion Iron Range. I would fly from Minneapolis to Syracuse and then drive south to a small village.
Here, on the Vermilion Range, time moves slowly. It is not influenced by other places, but of course there is one exception coming from a tiny village a thousand miles from here.
It is hidden away in rolling farm fields and along the edges grow the hardwood forests of the East. And on a desolate street is an old building and in that old building something very special happened. A piece of lightweight metal from bauxite ore was formed, shaped, and sent out the door to change history.
It not only changed history it became a part of Ely’s history. The shiny metal of that processed ore after careful forming and shaping was sent along the ancient waterways of the Indian fur trappers and French Voyageurs.
The people working in that old building gave a name to the formed sheet of aluminum. The name became known far and wide and across the border lakes between Minnesota and Canada. It is often repeated, always in a low respectful tone and followed by a moment of silence. The two syllables tumbling out form the word.
Gruh-mon. The word Grumman is familiar and comforting to most people growing up here on Minnesota’s Vermilion Range. It is like a pasty or wild rice hotdish, porketta, or maybe potica if you crave a sweetness that brings great pleasure.
It might be like hoisting a Duluth Pack with brown leather straps, and balanced on top is a Grumman canoe. Or could it be a feeling of crossing a portage with the bow gently bobbing nine feet in front of you, and then out of nowhere a thin blue line appears and then a lake comes in view that only moments before was hiding between the popples and birch? There is pleasure in this. It is a feeling coming from the experience of living in a time and place far from other places.
Although the word Grumman did not originate here, it managed to influence a way of life in northern Minnesota. It settled here amongst the lakes and timber and made its home.
In the frozen months, the home is the wintering ground of the canoe outfitter’s yard in neatly stacked piles reaching upward almost touching the sky or in a garage in town resting on sawhorses or propped against a fence out back in the alley.
But in summer the home became glacial lakes and camp sites tucked into a vast wilderness of water while floating along the ancient canoe routes for destinations far from town. The home is permanent even though time passes on.
There will always be a history here of the word Grumman and it will be an integral part of the history of Minnesota’s Vermilion Range and Ely, Minnesota.
If you have a vivid memory, the words 19 square, 18 double end, 18 light,17 square, 17 double end, 17 light, 15 square, 15 double end, and 15 light might stir an old feeling.
You may have worked a summer job at a canoe outfitter, or you just knew from being in the woods with your dad or learned on your own while driving down Sheridan Street and seeing canoes strapped on cars with license plates from places we learned of in school. Of course, this was when the fishing season kicked off in the middle of May.
Since it was still spring and not summer, tree buds still forming often were covered in a thin layer of frost, but Sheridan Street was welcoming, and the restaurants and bars with live polka music were full on Friday and Saturday nights.
The word Grumman was just how it was, and it was everywhere, no explanation was needed because you were born into it.
The feeling may be of pulling hard on a wooden paddle while sitting in the stern gripping the freshly coated varnish and watching the swirling of stained water or the pristine water of a trout lake disappearing in a spinning vortex.
You may be brought back in time to a certain portage sinking in loon shit with mosquitos buzzing, hovering, and diving, or perhaps you will remember an evening paddle with a touch of a breeze while hearing gentle ripples lapping against the aluminum skin. Or was it the scraping of aluminum against a hidden rock marking the way?
Canoes in Marathon
After leaving Syracuse in the early morning, I pointed the car south. The town of Marathon sits on the banks of the picturesque Tioughnioga River which winds its way south along Interstate 81.
I drove an hour or so through gentle hills and farm country and finally turned off the freeway. Then I pointed west driving a quarter of a mile after passing the sign, Village of Marathon. Old fashioned storefronts and a church with a white steeple sit tightly together against the sidewalk and along a winding main street.
While gazing eastward and back across the freeway scenic views of the rolling hills rising from the Tioughnioga River would fit well on a calendar. Above it were dull colored field grasses sloping up to a tree line on a far-off ridge. It was nearing 0900hrs when I looked back to the river thinking I might see a canoe floating down it. But my real intention while breathing the crisp air was searching for a cafe to grab a cup of hot coffee, with only one request.
Black please. I crossed a metal bridge and then after a block or two I read the sign. “Grumman Way.” It appears that I’m in the right town and on the right street, but where is the factory?
I began searching for the factory of the Marathon Boat Group, the maker of the iconic aluminum Grumman wilderness canoe. I wanted to see the fabrication, meet the skilled tradesmen and women, hear the banging of rivets being bucked, feel the smooth virgin aluminum after the stretching and forming and the precise drilling of the countersunk rivet holes. And I knew once I entered the factory, memories of working at Canoe Country Outfitters, once the largest Grumman dealer in the United States would come back to me.
0920hrs. November 7, 2023, Marathon Boat Group I spotted an aged building from a bygone era with a flat roof, white painted bricks, and attached to different sections was a metal siding material reminding me of the mining properties on Minnesota’s Iron Range. The building stretched for some distance, quite long, like a long narrow rectangle with metal stacks and duct work above the roofline.
It was situated below a side street like Miner’s Drive around Miner’s Lake. In many ways resembling the old mining warehouse buildings from the 50s and 60s. The building rose up from a brown grass field and looking to the east you could see the Tioughnioga River. This building did not have the red rust color of the old mining buildings but instead was covered in a faded industrial white patina revealing nothing of the inner workings of the iconic factory or of the skilled craftsmen working there. The factory building appeared deserted except for a couple of cars about halfway along the east side of the lengthy structure.
Driving down Grumman Way I turned onto the gravel driveway. Lying in the grass was a half built 19-foot square stern.
Unfinished, the gunwales were not attached. Seats were missing. Thwarts were missing. But all the ribs along with transom were riveted in place. The forward and aft bulkheads were also missing.
My heart skipped a beat as my eyes focused on this: a precision fabrication of sheet aluminum—a sight that a person living or growing up in Northern Minnesota and from the town of Ely known as the “Canoe Capital of America” would appreciate.
You see, it was like the slight tremor of the rod tip—and then another tap—and suddenly the stretching of the monofilament bending the rod almost in half—and you hear the spinning clutch whirring and watch the line on the spool as it gives up more line and the tip is bent double and your fingers know it’s a big one and your mind is crazy with excitement and thinking out loud, Who’s got the net?
It was that type of feeling.
Getting an inside look
I was met in the parking lot by one of the foremen who was on his way out, he seemed too young to be a foreman, he did not have silver hair or a white shirt or the grumpy eyes that I was used too. I thought it was a good sign that he was wearing a flannel shirt and blue jeans.
We both said “hello,” his name was Anthony, and we introduced ourselves and then shook hands. And after that he turned around and escorted me inside the warehouse- like building.
Sounds of rivet guns banging away filled my ears as I was led up a set of stairs which opened into a narrow hallway with a series of small offices packed together along one side. The opposite wall was the inside of the concrete outer wall of the building.
I met up with Nathasha from the marketing department, the one I had emailed months earlier when I asked if I could tour the factory. She smiled and we shook hands. I could tell at once by listening to the first few words and by the enthusiasm in her voice, it would be a great tour.
Her office was small, but a desk was squeezed in there along with a computer, phone, and paperwork. It was not fancy by any means but why should it be? Will that matter to the customers of the Grumman canoe?
Through an email sent months earlier she offered to show me around and introduce me to the people building the canoes. I always enjoy talking with the working people to understand the skill and to show appreciation for the talent they have.
Soon we were walking along the factory floor as my eyes darted here and there and everywhere. I explained the point of my trip which was to watch the fabrication of the Grumman canoe from start until finish. But of course, she already knew that from the email.
Nathasha and I were talking in front of a 13-foot double ender, she was explaining the riveting of the curved bow plate which has always used a special adhesive, the only place on the canoe where adhesive is used. The adhesive is manufactured by 3M, I did mention to her that 3M is from Minnesota, it’s one of those things a Minnesotan is proud of.
And then I saw movement. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted a man walking towards us from the office upstairs. He was heading our way, I couldn’t tell yet if his shirt was white, or his eyes were grumpy.
Oh, no—a foreman. I better look busy.
Good that I’m only a visitor. As Nathasha introduced me to Greg Kiernan, the general manager, he shook my hand and then I asked him how he came to be the general manager.
“I worked on the floor, and I’ve done almost every job in this building.”
I really appreciated the fact that he worked with his hands.
“To me is so important when a foreman has experience working on the floor it makes it easier to fix a problem, this is so valuable,” I said.
Greg eventually went back to school and now holds an MBA.
“We love what we do here,” he said.
Both Nathasha and Greg laughed. I could tell by how they talked and laughed that they have a lot of pride in this company, this factory, this small town in New York. It was incredibly refreshing to hear.
Greg explained he grew up in the area but was working in New York City, he and his wife wanted a backyard for their young son. He began searching for a job closer to their family roots in a part of the state where they grew up and finally found a job in manufacturing.
Marathon Boat Group gave him an opportunity first as a project manager and from there moving into sales and then national sales manager.
Along the way helping with the start-up of the pontoon division and finally becoming general manager. It’s a story about having a goal and finally succeeding. You are the guy on the floor and then all of a sudden, “The Guy” that runs the place. It’s part of the old school way of working your way up.
We continued talking about the canoes.
“I would like to see how the 19foot square stern is built,” I said.
“That’s too bad you weren’t here two months ago before we shipped two custom painted 19 square sterns to a dealer in Canada,” said Greg.
Now, just to be clear, the 19-footer or the “Freighter” as Grumman calls it was not in production that day, but Marathon will produce it again when the demands in the market change.
This canoe in the early days of the Boundary Waters Canoe Area (BWCA) was a staple of the Ely woodsmen motoring into the BWCA on fishing trips into Lac la Croix, Crooked, Basswood and Insula lakes.
As Nathasha and I walked to the far end of the building, questions about the forming equipment and vintage sheet metal equipment continued to fester. We walked past a specialized machine used to punch holes in the extrusion used for the gunwale and another for bending the radius or gentle curve in the gunwale before squeezing the rivets attaching it to the upper edge of the formed half of the canoe.
The machinery covered in thick paint took me back to the machine shop classroom back in Ely High School and the Industrial Arts building with the machine shop tucked behind the band room.
Oh—the band room. Of course, the band room is well known, it seemed the band was involved in everything at school and everyone was in it. This room was the place where Mr. Klein and his large tuba belched out the oom-pah-pah notes, but let’s not get trapped in the band room with the screeching clarinets, saxophones with broken reeds and off-tune trumpets—back to the machine shop.
In the classroom behind the band room was the machine shop. A classroom where many of us spent two hours a day for two years learning the basic operations of machining, measuring with micrometers and calipers to the thousandths of an inch, and fabricating simple projects out of metal.
This was in the 70s, a time when manufacturing was still important and skilled machinists were highly paid. Mounted to the vibration absorbing oak block floor were the vintage South Bend metal lathes, an overhead Bridgeport mill, flat surface grinders, a gear cutting machine, small presses and a metal brake. There was also a small foundry where molten aluminum was poured into sand molds.
Those South Bend metal lathes with spinning chucks, polished levers and silver hand-wheels and these old heavy metal forming machines and industrial presses were all built in the same era after WWII and built in America. And they were built for years and years of production, which is why they are still being used on the factory floor at Marathon.
Most likely any part on these old machines can be repaired or fabricated by a machinist, so with some basic maintenance and knowledge of where to find a skilled machinist the production of formed ribs, thwarts, seats, bow plates, yokes, gunnels and bulkheads will continue.
Crossing the shop floor also reminded me of the sheet metal shops found in the aviation industry, an industry that I worked in for over 30 years.
And it should be that way because Grumman Aircraft is the manufacturer of many different types of airplanes such as the WWII carrier-based F-6 Hellcat and now the popular Gulf Stream II business jet.
But in Canoe Country we know the name Grumman as the manufacturer of the aluminum Grumman canoe which originated in Beth Page, New York, at Grumman Aerospace on Long Island. This is where the legacy began before moving in 1952 to Marathon. The story is fascinating and nostalgic.
And if you take the time scrolling through the Marathon website you will find where the story begins in the mid-40s with an overworked aviation engineer worn down from the stress and pressure of designing the planes fighting the air battles of WWII.
He spent his vacation camping and portaging and paddling into the wilderness of the Adirondacks. He portaged a 100-pound canvas canoe. Need I say more? The rest is history. Soon this aluminum canoe designed by Grumman Aircraft would explode onto the outdoor scene changing the American dream of vacationing outdoors.
(NEXT WEEK: Part two of the story of the Grumman Canoe.)
