By Bruce Schwartz, Discover Lansdale
One Family's Legacy, Set In Stone
When it comes to building the unique visual character of the North Penn area, few families have a resumé that stacks up to that of the Boyles family.
The four generations of Lansdale stonemasons — starting with Joshua soon after his release from the Civil War, right into the 2000s — helped construct many of the town’s most notable, enduring and imposing façades.
There’s the Masonic Temple on Main (home today to Retroware), the original Methodist church at Third and Walnut (slated to be demolished for apartments), to the former Episcopal church at Fourth and Broad that today is home to Lansdale Life Church, plus numerous homes and businesses both remaining and lost to history.
And then there’s the iconic Reading Freight House on South Broad, standing nearly impenetrable since its construction in 1902. Dennis Boyles, at 88 the last of the masonry line, vividly remembers his grandfather William telling him the stories. “It was my grandfather and his two brothers that worked on it primarily,” says Dennis. “His older brother George had the business, and his brothers had to work for him.”
With the explosive industrial growth of the borough in the late 19th century, Lansdale shipped materials and products, from steel to stoves, across the country and beyond. “The old frame station wasn’t adequate anymore for all the freight on the Reading,” he says. So the company contracted with George Boyles, and George put his team — his brothers William and Joshua Jr. and his masonry apprentices — right to work.
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The Stone Puzzle Pieces
From the street, the stately stone structure seems solid, nearly untouched by time. But get closer — nearly nose to the stone — and you begin to appreciate the craftsmanship and care that went into constructing the Pennsylvania & Reading Freight House.
Aside from where wooden joists passed through the walls, there’s hardly a crack in the cement or a space between stones. They fit as tightly as Tetris blocks. It looks like it was constructed yesterday, not more than 120 years ago. “And this thing will be sitting here for 200 more years,” says Dennis.
The vault-like walls are 18 inches thick, in two layers. The foot-thick outer wall is set in a block pattern called ashlar. The dark gray granite stones, about 10 inches square and 15 pounds each, “came from a quarry in Rockhill,” Dennis says. “They had stonecutters working at the quarry that would cut them out from big boulders, break them down with sledgehammers, and cut them into blocks. Then it was up to the stone mason to shape them. It was all hand work, hammer and chisel.”
The mortar in those days was just sand and lime, not cement. Dennis says that “it takes 20 years for lime to get to its full hardness,” but it lasts nearly forever. The “ribbon-cut pointing” is as intricate as the stonework, with raised 5/8-inch rules between the stones. “It was fancy,” Dennis says. “They must have felt it was a very important piece of the town, and they probably figured to make it look great.”
The Test of Time
The interior wall, by contrast, is “nothing fancy,” Dennis says. The stones are all shapes and colors, and seem slapped in and cemented over. Much of the work was done by apprentices. But that doesn’t make them any less solid. From the roof ’s massive rafters on down, the interior seems impenetrable, even to driving rain.
Despite the grueling handiwork, the Freight House went up in six months and was completed before the passenger station that was started simultaneously. But the construction did not go up without incident.
“There was a bad accident at the track,” says Dennis. The stones were carted from Rockhill by horse and cart. “An old guy was driving the big two-horse cart. There were no gates — you heard the locomotive whistle and you stopped. Well, either this old gentleman was asleep or deaf and didn’t hear the whistle.”
A steam locomotive hit the cart, he says. “The horses broke free. They were all right.” But the cart driver was killed. “He was in pieces. And they had the nerve to ask the masons and carpenters to help pick the pieces of this guy up. My grandad said he helped, but he didn’t ever want to do that again.”
The Freight House’s massive bay doors continued to roll open for shippers into the late 1970s, after which they were shuttered for the final time.
Dennis says of passersby today, “Probably a lot of people don’t even know what it was.” But he’s thrilled the structure his family built with their hands and hearts will experience a rebirth. “To bring it back to life, and have historical meetings there, and recreation for the town — I think that would be really neat. This would be the perfect place.”
