By Jon Kerr
He shys
from comment on almost anything political and his 6’3” frame is more lean and
less bulked up than his famed wrestler, turned Governor, brother. But Jan Janos, 50, knows
the head locks of the Mississippi - those located at St. Anthony Falls in Minneapolis -
which are themselves caught in something of a fast-moving political current these days.
An Army Corps of Engineers’ lock and dam operator at a facility marked for possible closure if the City of Minneapolis’ “River Green” plan goes ahead, Jan Janos tries to remain neutral on the subject of riverfront development. But in a familiar, gravely-sounding voice, he proudly describes how he and his younger sibling Jim (Jesse Ventura) both grew up with their own personal relationships to the Mississippi.
“We spent most of our time on that sandbar right by the Lake Street Bridge - near where that canoeing club (Minneapolis Rowing Club) is now,” said Jan with a smile, recalling the halcyon days of the mid-1950’s when joy was catching a carp, a catfish or a sheephead. “Our dad (George Janos) grew up on the river near Seven Corners and he taught us how to hike and fish, and even camp down there. ...In the winter we’d toboggan down that hill. It was pretty daring.”
In fact, the Janos boys were nothing if not daring, young river rats.
“Our friends and us would sometimes cross over to the Saint Paul side to go swimming up there by the old locks (south of Franklin Avenue). ...A couple of times I remember swimming across if the current wasn’t too strong,” said Jan, noting that a “safer” crossing alternative was to use the catwalk under the old Chicago-Northwestern railroad bridge.
In those less environmentally-conscious days, the Mississippi had other hazards, he remembers.
“There used to be this big sewer right there (where the Janos brothers swam). I’m surprised we didn’t come down with infections,” Jan said, laughing. “I’m glad they’ve kind of cleaned up the river.”
Other hazards were more social, he said, describing youthful conflicts over river turf.
“Every now and then we’d get in a fight with a gang coming over from Saint Paul. There was a rivalry kind of,” he recalled. “We usually stayed on the Minneapolis side.”
Janos’ connection to the Mississippi was renewed after he returned in 1971 from a tour with the Navy (he was definitely in Vietnam) and a cousin helped hook him up with a job at the Army Corps’ Lock Number 18 in Burlington, Iowa. As a “District Diver,” his job was to take on the dirty work that any lock and dam facility eventually encounters.
“It was mostly maintenance-type stuff, maybe changing gates or removing logs that get stuck,” Jan said. “But most of the time the water is muddy and you can’t see beyond your hand. Except in the winter it’s clearer, but then it’s cold.”
He was ready when a chance came in 1975 to return to Minneapolis as one of 11 lock and dam operators at St. Anthony Falls.
“I wanted to come back up here to be closer to home. And I knew this part of the river,” said Janos.
Working two-at-a-time (plus an electrician) at the 24-hours-a-day facility, the Army Corps crews often alternate between the mundane and the extraordinary in their duties. Long winter months actually bring the most intense labor, with maintenance of the lock’s four 12-foot by 12-foot concave valves some 50-60 feet down the dam walls a major priority. In the summer, crews are primarily responsible for locking through boats - a total of 4,814 in 1998, including barges, recreational watercraft, and the Anson Northrup daily excursions.
Jan matter-of-factly walks a visitor through the 20-minute routine of filling the lock, opening the massive steel doors for entering boats, then draining the lock to allow the slowly-settling boat to exit at the Mississippi’s lower level below St. Anthony.
“It’s just like pulling the plug in a bathtub,” he said, while standing
beside the lighted console that controls the lock’s hydraulics. “It gets very
routine after awhile.”
Not as routine are the rescues or water retrievals that bring Army Corps workers in a jonboat out into the river. Most common are the recreational boaters who lose power above St. Anthony and begin drifing toward the falls.
“We’ll see them or the fire department will call and we’ll usually get out there in the rescue boat in time,” said Janos, though noting a 1991 case in which two drowned when their boat went over the falls and two others could only be rescued by helicopter. “I wish they’d all carry heavy anchors with them if they’re going near the falls.”
Other occasional duties include the gruesome task of running the boat for Minneapolis police or the coroner’s office to pick up bodies in the river.
“Maybe three or four times a year, usually people who jump off bridges or something,” he said, without obvious emotion. “Sometimes we can rescue them.”
Happier sights on the river include for Jan, its use by the kayakers and canoeists who have proposed a Mississippi Whitewater Park just below the St. Anthony Falls.
“It’ll bring more people to the river and it’ll give us something else to look at,” he said.
Janos doesn’t overtly share his younger brother, the Governor’s passion for motorized personal watercraft however - though quickly noting that Jesse Ventura doesn’t consult him on even river-related political issues.
“Things he’s interested in he brings to the job, it seems to me,” said Jan Janos, quickly catching himself before sounding critical. “Of course maybe that’s good because the people of Minnesota are also interested in a lot of the same things.”
Clearly more interesting for the elder Janos river rat however is the Mississippi itself.
“Going back through the years it must have been really different. ...It’s hard to imagine the whole area without roads, maybe only (Indian) hiking paths,” he said, launching into a brief, tentative soliloquoy on the origin of St. Anthony Falls. “I hear it used to be way down there by Saint Paul and the river was really wide. ...I like to think about things like that.”