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Tuesday, June 29, 1976
University Daily Kansan
Sawmills and sawdust in their blood
George and Steve lock one of the logs into place on the sled. "There's other things I can do." Steve says, "but in them it seems like I don't work as hard as doin' this."
For 40 years Bill Fainin's been around the sawdust and sweat of a wood-cutting mill. Once past the three drooling dogs on Fainin's farm at the end of a bumpy gravel road ten miles north of Lawrence, you'll likely find Fainin feeding lumber to the 6-inch saw he makes a living with.
It's just quiet enough there to bear clusters of bees in the tall weeds and clover that sprout up between the piled stacks of cottonwoods in Fannin's yard. But come eight in the morning Fannin, his son Steve and son-in-law George will amble down the path from their house to fire up the four-cylinder saw motor, and the sound of metal slicing easily through wood will echo down the hills that fall away from the farm.
"You gotta keep the saw runin', that's the main thing." Fanim says, "You can see by them," he says, pointing at his helpers, "that just anybody can feed lumber and catch it. But you gotta keep the saw in shape. The blades gotta be sharp and you gotta have the tension up or 'i'll tag a dishrag when you cut."
FANIN OUGHT to die. In the 1380s his father ran a saw mill in Topeka, where he cut mostly railroad ties. Fanin was the mill's waterboy, whose duty it was to fill ponds with water. He was also a man of many trades.
But the second generation's saw runs on gasoline and is one of five small rigs in the area. Only one other such saw, in Osage County, has enough business to run
But the second generation'saws run on gasoline and is one of five small rigs in the area. Only one other such saw, in Osage County, has enough business to run.
"There’s a guy in Tonganoxie that hadda shut down 'cause nobody hardly knew he even had a mill," Steve says. "We never had that problem."
Steve sports a thick black mustache that grows out of the bottom of his nose and wears an "I AM LOVED" button on his ten-gallon hat. He wrestles a log from a platform stacked with wood and locks it in place on the sled that holds the pieces for a cut. The sled moves on rails into the saw and after the cut George tosses the finished pile and flips the scraps in a heap with his big, brown forearms. Uncle George doesn't talk much; he mostly takes pokes at Steve between cuts and smiles.
Fannie will cut about 100,000 feet of wood this year, most of it walnut and cottonwood. The saw's running 10 hours a day, six days a week, to keep up with the weather.
"We plan on buildin' a warming shed out here for the winter work but we'll run anytime the cuttin' to be done, shelter or not." Fain savs.
Fanin pulls a pack of Skool's wintergreen from his overalls and puts a plug in his mouth under his three gold teeth. When he offers the tobacco around Steve takes a break.
STEVE TOSSES away a scrap and spills on the sign tacked up the saw that says NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR ACCIDENTS. Steve's check full of stories of other cutters who've had their arms severed in saws, hands sliced in half. But it's never happened to a Fanin.
After the lumber's cut Fanin puts the pieces into an edger to smooth jagged cuts. He files the blade and runs a calloused, brown finger along its edge to gauge
"This is a poor man's way to make a living," I admit that, he says. "But still, there ain't nobody standin' over my shoulder tellin' me what to do or to hurry up."
AFTER THE lumber leaves Fainn's it will be dried in a klin, smoothed and polished and put to use in construction. Much of the wood Fainn cuts is brought to him, although he sometimes makes logging ventures to secure his own wood, often from places like Clinton Dam where timber is already being destroyed.
Lunch comes at high noon and the men are ready for it. They rest in the shade of Mrs. Fannin's kitchen and eat platefuls of pork and mashed potatoes. When their hour's up, Mrs. Fannin fills three gallons jugs with cool lemonade and they start down the path again to the saw.
When Fanin comes back to work, things pick up. After five tries with George shouting "c'mon Betsy!" the engine motor sparks and starts. Fanin takes a turn loading the sled, and soon woodchips are flying. He doubles the pace the other two set before lunch and Steve and George scurry and sweat to keep up.
"SOMETIMES THE CHIPS hit you, but boggles are more nuisance than they're worth." Steve says. "Besides, you can wear about anything you want on a windy day like this and nothing's gotta keep the sweat from your eyes." Steve started working on his father's will I must know
Steve started working on his father's mill 11 years back
"I was born and raised with this," she says. "If my Gun I get an urge to go and up and do it, I always come back here to out. There's other things I can do but in them I don't."
Steve butts away Uncle George's open-handed swipe and runs to the scrap pile with a splintered piece from the saw.
"You gotta keep the saw in shape," Fann says. "The blades have be sharp and you gotta have the tension up or it'll be a lash like a dishrag when you cut."
"I'm one of'em I guess," Steve says. "A Fanin."
Words by Greg Bashaw
Pictures by Jay Koolzer
The cut of a 60 inch blade.
Although he's gone to other places and done other things, Steve always comes back to his father's mill. "I'm one of 'em I guess," Steve said. "A Ffanin."