The Sixteenth Rail

by Adam Schrager

  The facility opened on October 1, 1909, in a temporary headquarters in a house at 1610 Adams Street, a couple of miles west of the State Capitol and a few blocks away from the campus. When the new building on campus formally opened in June 1910, a couple of months after the staff of forty-five had officially moved in, its focus centered on four specific research areas: wood preservation, timber tests, wood chemistry, and wood technology. The facility would shortly thereafter add units dealing with engineering, pathology, wood distillation, and pulp and paper.

  The Forest Products Lab’s early work focused on building relationships with the principal forest products industries, laying out its general plans for research, and gathering as much data as possible on the fundamentals and properties of wood. Then the lab, which did not seek dramatic increases in appropriations, began to slowly grow its staff and its capabilities.

  It was to this wood mecca that Arthur Koehler arrived in January 1914. His job functions were specifically described as the “Determination and description of species, Instruction of industrial representatives and Relation of structure to properties.”

  He worked in the Wood Anatomy unit for Eloise Gerry, the first female scientist in the US Forest Service. Gerry arrived the day after the facility’s formal opening with bachelor’s and master’s degrees from Harvard University’s Radcliffe College to prepare microscope slides and photomicrographs for wood anatomical study. Her thesis had focused on the bars or folds of cellulose found in the genera of living conifers. As she later noted, “I must admit the Forest Service did not want a woman, but as it happened there wasn’t any man willing to come and do the work.”

  FPL didn’t have much of a wood collection when it opened, and Gerry had to borrow a microtome from one of her former professors at Harvard to help begin the process of wood anatomy research. She solicited samples from expositions and fairs throughout the United States. Those initial samples were usually one-meter logs cut and finished to show their bark, end grain, and longitudinal grain. Pieces were cut off for closer study and added to the collection, while the rest of the logs were used to decorate the halls of FPL.

  What the lab did have right off the bat was supplied by Harry Tiemann, who was in charge of the Timber Tests unit. He was a kiln drying specialist who had worked at Yale University before moving to Forest Service headquarters in Washington, DC. When Koehler arrived at the lab, he supplemented what Gerry had accumulated by bringing Tiemann’s collection, stored in beautiful walnut cabinets, from Forest Service headquarters.

  By the time the United States was fighting World War I, FPL was making its knowledge and facilities available to the War Department and other areas of the government that needed help; Eloise Gerry had moved to Columbia, Mississippi, to help the navy by applying her knowledge to the research of the wood in its ships; and Koehler was basically in charge of the Wood Anatomy unit.

  Three thousand pieces of wood came to the Forest Products Lab for identification in September 1918, the most in its short history. The government wanted to make sure the wooden parts of war equipment came from the best possible lumber, and thus knowing the origin of the material coming to the laboratory was vitally important to winning in Europe.

  In 1920, Arthur became the head of a new FPL division, Wood Technology, formed due to the growing belief by Forest Service management that there should be a closer relationship between the living forests and products made from wood. The lab’s wood collection was still small, only a few thousand samples, the majority of which were native to the United States. Only a small percentage was tropical.

  It was as the head of Wood Technology that Arthur was now being called as an expert witness. Besides his testimony in the murder trial against John Magnuson, he found himself testifying in civil cases as well, including an insurance trial where he was asked his opinion on whether a tree in question had been hit by an automobile sixteen months prior. He appeared as a witness on behalf of the Federal Trade Commission when it was trying to stop the Indiana Quartered Oak Company from selling material identified as Swietenia, or “true mahogany,” when in reality it was Shorea, or “Philippine mahogany.” The resulting cease-and-desist order against the company was later upheld by the 2nd Circuit Court of Appeals and the US Supreme Court.

  Koehler wasn’t necessarily a fan of the courtroom or, more specifically, of being a witness. “A wittness [sic],” he wrote his brothers, “has got to be one sided or he won’t be asked to testify, and he can’t say any more than he is asked. There is no chance for a wittness [sic] to get up and give an impartial discussion or opinion of the case.”

  He wrote his first book, The Properties and Uses of Wood, released in 1924, in part to “increase interest in wood by more widely disseminating information about it.” But more fundamentally, his work was important because “better selection of [wood] materials and improved manufacturing processes also mean the production of more satisfactory products. This is of direct benefit to the consumer and eventually results to the advantage of the manufacturer.

  “The builder who sees to it that his lumber is carefully selected and properly seasoned, and that untreated and non-durable wood is not used in situations which favor decay, is building not only for the advantage of his client but also for the good of his own reputation and the permanency of his own interests.”

  Two years later, in 1926, he wrote The Kiln Drying of Lumber, also published by McGraw-Hill. Shortly thereafter, his FPL department was expanded to become the Division on Silvicultural Relations, “to tie in more closely with the work in the field,” and he was promoted to run it. He kept even busier by teaching courses in forest products at the University of Wisconsin and giving speeches like The Unusual Uses of Wood, which he delivered to the three hundred people attending a January 1927 meeting of the American Institute of Electrical Engineers.

  “Unusual uses of wood often bring to light qualities that might not be suspected when one sees the wood used in carload lots,” he said in that speech to the electrical engineers in Pittsfield, Massachusetts. “For example, spruce lumber is used for siding, sheathing, rough construction and a score of other common-place purposes; but it issued for airplanes, ladders, masts and the like, that bring out the value of its combination of light weight with rigidity and a considerable degree of toughness—a combination not found in many species of lumber.” The local newspaper, the Berkshire County Eagle, called the speech “very interesting.”

  Koehler’s professional life was thriving. So, too, was his personal life.

  The Koehlers had moved to Madison and into a five-room upstairs apartment located within the bungalow-style home of Ethelyn’s parents. Her father had added a second story to his home to accommodate the new family. The city, in the south-central part of Wisconsin, had become the state capital shortly after its founding in 1836. Three lakes are found within its city limits. The university opened in 1849; less than a decade later, Horace Greeley would declare Madison to be “the most magnificent site of any inland town.” By the time the Koehlers arrived, more than thirty thousand people lived in Madison and the State Capitol building was almost fully constructed.

  The Capitol was built at a naturally elevated location in the city center, on a narrow isthmus between two of the city’s lakes, Mendota and Monona. Its dome mirrors that of the US Capitol in architectural style, made of white Vermont granite and flanked by four wings of equal size.

  Edgar and Marie Smith’s home sat just a block from Vilas Park, a large public space with an adjacent free zoo. The Henry Vilas Zoo was named for the young son of Colonel William F. and Anna Vilas who had died due to complications from diabetes. The family donated the land to the city and stipulated that the park and the zoo always remain accessible to everyone and admission free. Neighbors in the Vilas Neighborhood could hear the lions roar.

  Arthur and Ethelyn paid her parents 20 dollars per month in rent and evenly split with them the cost of utilities and oth
er expenses. Arthur was earning 125 dollars a month at the lab, supplemented by the 30 dollars per month the couple received from the buyers of their Washington, DC, home. They bought a car and joined the First Methodist Episcopal Church in downtown Madison. Ethelyn joined the Ladies Aid.

  Arthur’s financial ledger chronicled expenditures in categories such as groceries, meat, milk, household running expenses, household permanent, clothing for each member of the family, and “Better Life,” which included spending on such things as going to the movies, dining out, and donations to the church and to charities.

  The Koehlers took trips to Niagara Falls and California, the latter sparking a love of the western part of the country with side travels to Cripple Creek, Colorado; the Grand Canyon; Catalina Island; and Portland, Oregon. Arthur loved the outdoors, and the family picnicked and camped all along their journeys.

  By 1916, plans were underway to build their own home a few blocks from Ethelyn’s parents, and Arthur took a large role in the process. He had helped his father build a new farmhouse, putting up studs, nailing on sheathing and siding, shingling, laying floors, fastening wainscoting, and helping with the painting, so it was no surprise he felt comfortable supervising the building of his new family home.

  The land cost $1,400, and contractors cost $1,850. Arthur paid for it by borrowing money from two banks and his parents. When it was completed in 1917, the two-story Arts and Crafts–style home featured a den just off the entryway and a small living room on the other side. A brick fireplace separated the living room from the dining room, where all the family meals were eaten. Wainscoting made of the best wood available lined the lower few feet of all the first-floor walls.

  The dining room led out to a back porch that ran the entire width of the house. A small kitchen, with a built-in nook for breakfasts, was at the back of the first floor. A side door adjacent to the kitchen led outside and to steps heading down to a basement full of the results of fruit and vegetable canning and also Arthur’s tools.

  On the second floor were the bedrooms, four in all, and the house’s sole bathroom. They would need the extra bedrooms, as Kathryn, whom they called Katie, was joined by Ruth in August 1918. In addition, Arthur’s younger brothers Walter and Alfred often stayed with them while they were taking classes at the university.

  The Koehlers continued to travel throughout the 1920s, making multiple visits out west, to Yellowstone, Salt Lake, the Black Hills and Badlands of South Dakota, and back a couple of times to Colorado. The family traveled around the upper Midwest, including Minnesota and northern Wisconsin, as well as out east to Gettysburg, New York City, and Washington. All the while, Arthur taught his girls about trees and Ethelyn shared her passion for bird watching.

  Arthur and Ethelyn bought lots along Lake Mendota, west of the city, in 1925, and Arthur supervised the construction of two cottages, primarily for summertime use. One was “Big Cottage,” for his family’s use; the other, “Little Cottage,” was intended for visitors and for renters. The land and construction cost just under $8,000.

  Arthur corresponded with his brothers and father throughout this time with a circular letter that traveled from one Koehler man to the next, with everyone responsible for updating his own personal and professional life for everyone else. Arthur created his first efforts in spirals on two paper disks in an effort to make his brothers laugh. The goal was to be true to the concept, with each word following the next clockwise in a circle, expanding from the center out to the edge of the paper. He attached his pen to a second pen that wrote on the paper attached to the side of a large grindstone wheel that Ethelyn was drafted to turn. At the beginning of the fourth side, Ethelyn turned it too fast, leading to scribbling and requiring Arthur to explain to the rest of the Koehler men that he “forgot the outer edge of a disk moves faster than the center. You see I am not faking this. It is such natural slips that a good detective looks for in the genuineness of a piece of work.”

  They called their never-ending correspondence The Flying Dutchman. The name could have had a few different meanings. First, “Dutchman” was common slang at that time for a German. Second, one of the most famous baseball players of the era, the German-American Honus Wagner, was nicknamed “The Flying Dutchman” for the way he flew around the bases. Or, maybe they named it for the phantom ship and its crew doomed to never finding port, celebrated by Richard Wagner’s opera, Der Fliegende Hollander, or The Flying Dutchman.

  Whatever the genesis of its name, the missive allowed the Koehler men to share their successes and failures, worries and dreams. They wrote about their jobs, families, and every other topic imaginable. Following one trip to California, Arthur wrote, “The reason why I did not stay is that nobody offered me a job. There are two places in the world, where I would like to live, namely, Berkeley, California and Madison, Wisconsin.”

  Louis, Ottilie, and their five sons who lived to adulthood. From left, in order of age: Hugo, Arthur, Ben, Walter, and Alfred. (Courtesy: George E. Koehler)

  Ethelyn became more active with their church, and the family attended regularly. She enjoyed handicrafts, bird watching, and hosting various groups at the house. However, the Koehler girls, Katie and Ruth, would say Ethelyn’s chief “project” arrived on May 5, 1930, in the form of a baby boy, George.

  “Ruthie! Ruthie!” Katie yelled, running down the block after hearing about his birth. “George is here—and we love him.” Katie was sixteen and Ruth eleven when George arrived. Arthur and Ethelyn were forty-five and almost forty-two, respectively.

  Times were tough as the Great Depression swept the country. No raises were offered at the lab, and Arthur supplemented his income with book royalties, lectures, investments, and real estate. He was able to maintain the family’s quality of living during an era few others would. The family spent eight dollars on a new baby carriage since the last one had been sold years earlier.

  Their youngest child would give them numerous scares in his early days. On September 18, when George was just four months old, Ethelyn put him down for an afternoon nap on a thin rubber sheet spread on her bed, leaving a young couple, Bill and Helen Hildebrand, to babysit.

  “George caught hold of one corner of the sheet and pulled it over his face,” Arthur would write in The Flying Dutchman of October 22, 1930, explaining that the baby had swallowed part of the rubber blanket. “[Helen] said she heard a peculiar noise coming from the room, so she looked in and she found him unconscious and blue in the face. . . . [Her husband, Bill] is a medical student and he happened to be [there]. She called him and he used artificial breathing on him and he soon come to enough to breathe himself.”

  Katie recorded in George’s baby book that “George was unconscious for about six hours—till 9:30 pm. At ten o’clock, Mother fed him a little weak formula milk and he went right to sleep and slept till 6 o’clock, when he was just as normal and happy as ever.” The incident would be reported in the Wisconsin State Journal two days later under the headline “Student’s Efforts Save Child’s Life.”

  About a year later, George drove his “Kiddy Kar” down the cellar stairs, leading to profuse bleeding and a scar under his lower lip.

  In far more peaceful moments, Arthur often took his son out for evening walks, politely touching the brim of his hat if a lady were to pass by. George would sit on his lap, drawing “monkey faces” on his face using a mechanical pencil with the lead withdrawn.

  In 1932, Koehler’s division continued to collect and care for wood samples, microtome sections, and photomicrographs. The Forest Products Lab had outgrown its space on the University of Wisconsin campus, and Congress authorized a new building. The facility was constructed for $735,298, west of campus, adjacent to the railroad tracks. Everywhere one looked in the new building, there was wood: wood floors, walls, desks, chairs, and stair railings. The entryway floor was inlaid with several wood species.

  The southeast corner office at the top of the new buildi
ng belonged to the head of the Division of Silvicultural Relations. Koehler could sit at his desk there with a clear view of Lake Mendota.

  Arthur moved to Madison in 1914 to work at the Forest Products Laboratory. He and Ethelyn, shown here with their two youngest children, George and Ruth, in 1930, also had an older daughter, Kathryn. (Courtesy: George E. Koehler)

  By 1932, Arthur belonged to the American Association for the Advancement of Science, Sigma Xi honorary scientific fraternity, the Society of American Foresters, and the International Association of Wood Anatomists and was an associate editor for the Journal of Forestry. He was also supervising efforts to measure the relation of growth conditions to wood quality in southern hardwoods and conifers. In addition to his management role, he worked in the lab himself, furthering work that had started in 1920 to recognize wood of abnormal shrinkage, so that it could be guarded against or properly diagnosed immediately if troubles arose.

  He was subpoenaed in early February 1932 to travel to Lake Charles, Louisiana, for a case involving a failed piling at the city’s harbor. At that time he was also working on a technical paper about raised grain and starting on another one dealing with causes of brashness (tendency to break) in wood.

  Arthur was content at both work and at home. He and Ethelyn had purchased a new Studebaker to replace their old Dodge and an 8-millimeter movie camera to capture family moments on Adams Street and their travels around the country. The family was doing well. Katie was studying sociology at the University of Wisconsin, living at home. Ruth was enrolled at the newly opened Madison West High School and enjoyed birding and playing piano, just like her mother. And Arthur was having a ball with George, making him laugh by tossing him into the air in the front yard.

  At work, he kept on his desk a clipping from the Forest Service Bulletin of August 22, 1927, that he glanced at whenever he needed inspiration. “We like to talk of the importance of our vanishing timber supply and the need of conserving it,” the passage read. “But more important than the number of board feet of lumber in a forest is the spiritual medicine it contains for what ails us, particularly us of the U.S.A. There is nothing like the sun-dappled aisle of a forest to foster in the human heart a new sense of humility, a fresh appreciation of privacy, a better perspective regarding the values of life. And if any people ever needed these things, we do.”