Astring o sol dating marathon
But this was only part of the Marathon success story.
There was the mill, completed and in production a scant 16 months after actual construction work started.
No Welcome for No-Goods The first man I met at Marathon was a little, stooped individual who liked to talk about dogs. Lots of fellas lyin’ around these parts in graves nobody bothered to mark.
As I stepped off the train he offered to carry my bags down the sand and gravel slope leading to the hotel. They tell me one night a big dice game was on when a dog walked into the room luggin’ a man’s head in its mouth. Just kept rollin’ the dice.”One thing you have to get accustomed to in Marathon is the fact it is a company town.
Continued on page 65Continued from page 22When the papermakers arrived one rainy day in June, 1943, to reclaim the site, they found only a handful of people in the area.
Most of these were settled in three or four frame shacks near the old railway station, a half mile east of where Marathon was destined to rise out of the forest.“We started from scratch,” recalls Grant Ross, former chief engineer and now mill manager for the Marathon Company.
They talk about the 10 million feet of lumber used in construction; the 2,500 workmen employed on the job; the more than 4,000 railway freight cars that brought in supplies and equipment; the 25 miles of pipe laid in the town and mill; the 20 million gallons of water used every 24 hours by the mill—and a lot of other things, all staggering in size and volume.
A paper company waved an eighteen-million-dollar wand —and a town sprang from the Lake Superior wilderness BRUCE Mc LEODHE WASN’T a big man but he had a short bull neck and a barrel chest that made him look like a wrestler. And paper made this town.”I walked to the edge of the platform and looked out over the town.He gnawed at a plug of tobacco and began pacing up and down the station platform at Marathon, Ont. I saw the new mill where 450 are employed—five acres of it sprawled at the foot of Peninsula mountain.A flaming three-inch beard covered his chin and cheeks. I saw the new homes, all neat and bright in their parklike surroundings.Two immense stacks of barked pulp stood along the rim óf the bay, looking for all the world like giant toothpicks spilled from a box.It had been cut by men like the big, tobaccochewing Frenchman and rafted behind tugs from the mouth of the swirling, muddy Pic river, 12 miles across the bay.