The “thrown together” sculpture included a skill or tool to represent each trade involved in building the Frances Morrison Central Library.
Made of copper pipes and steel bars, hammers and faucets, a theoretically-functional lightbulb and a jaunty piece of bent sheet metal fastened protectively overtop, ‘Gismo’ stands about as tall as a young child.
It looks like what might happen if a group of enthusiastic aliens built a spaceship using a workshop scrap pile.
But to Marilyn Barlow, Gismo is an old friend — and a cherished chapter of her family’s history.
Barlow’s father, Allen Barlow, was one of the tradespeople who built the Frances Morrison Central Library in downtown Saskatoon in 1966.
In the mid-’60s, there wasn’t a lot of work for carpenters in the city. Marilyn was about 10 years old at the time, and remembers how its construction was a boon for the whole family.
“When my dad got hired onto a big project like this, it was good, because he didn’t have to travel out of town,” Marilyn Barlow said. “He used to work out of town a lot, at the time.
“But when he built the library — he built the library, he used to say; we all used to say that. ‘My dad built the library,’ ‘My dad built the Holy Cross High School auditorium’ — he could be here.”
For years afterwards, Allen Barlow spoke fondly about the project, and his affection for particularly creative parts of the building.
“My mom remembers him saying how much he enjoyed working on Pooh Corner,” said Marilyn Barlow, referring to the library’s ever-popular storytime room. “He was one of the carpenters that would have built the steps and the stage and the cave and all that.”
Just before the library opened, Barlow and his fellow workers added one more flourish to their construction: They built Gismo, with members of each trade contributing a skill or tool to include in the “thrown together” sculpture. To represent the carpenters, Allen Barlow donated his own hammer.
“That’s how the Gismo came to be,” Barlow said. “My dad was one of the fellows that built this place, and when they opened it, they presented the Gismo to the library.”
A 1966 photo shows the tradespeople introducing Gismo to Frances Morrison herself. Allen Barlow stands in the front row, right next to the sculpture, grinning with pride.
“(Gismo) was a token of the builders’ cooperative interest in the new structure, and it was meant to be a memento of the tradesmen’s efforts,” said special collections librarian Stevie Horn.
“In an interesting way, it shows that the builders were quite passionate about the building they put together.”
After the library’s grand opening, Gismo spent some years on display in various parts of the building.
“It lived at the library for some time,” said Horn. “For a while, it was in our boardroom. In some photos, it looks like it was out in the stacks.”
Marilyn remembers visiting the library as a child and seeing Gismo on a platform in the window, keeping watch over readers and passers-by.
“Whenever we came down here, my dad would always say to us: ‘That’s my hammer!’ ” recalled Marilyn Barlow, gesturing at the sculpture. “It was always a big deal, you know?”
After Allen Barlow died in the 1980s, Marilyn says Gismo — and the library building itself — kept a part of her father’s legacy alive.
“It’s been a well-used building, and I think he would be proud of how well it lasted,” Marilyn said. “Of course, he didn’t build it all by himself. But he was part of it. And you keep the memories you have.”
A few years ago, Marilyn once again found herself across the street from the library and decided to pay Gismo a visit.
But the sculpture was no longer in the window, where it had stood in her childhood memories. Instead, a librarian helped her find where it had been put away in storage.
“It’s kind of big and awkward, and they kept changing what was in the window, so it wasn’t on display anymore,” Barlow recalled. “I think it had been in storage for a while.”
The next day, Barlow got an unexpected phone call.
“The library called me up, and said I could have Gismo,” she said. “I couldn’t believe it, that I could have it. But I picked it up the next day and it has been in my possession ever since.”
To honour the intent of the tradespeople’s original gift, Gismo still officially belongs to the library, not to Marilyn.
“I have a letter that says I’m the ‘Keeper of the Gismo,’ but if they want it back, they can have it back at any time,” she said.
But now, rather than sitting in storage, Gismo stands proudly in Barlow’s home, where it watches over a new generation of tradespeople.
“My grandkids live with me, and my grandson is a plumber, so he’s very keen on the plumbing portion of the Gismo, with all this copper pipe and sheet metal,” Barlow said. “And my nephew is a carpenter like his grandfather.”
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