I first met Wes Hansen about 15 years ago when we were looking for some steps for the front of our house. My first impression was consistent with everything I have learned about him since. He reminded me of the ageless and friendly trees in Tolkien's "Lord of the Rings." Rooted to the earth, their movements were slow and deliberate, but they moved with such power and, at the same time, gentleness that there was no mistaking their intent. Shaking hands with Wes, you feel the massiveness of his hand as it wraps around your own and you realize he could crush it in an instant if he chose to. But, for some reason, you know he won't.

His face is broad and intense, with deep-set eyes that seem to burn through you. Your first thought is that if he happens to not take a liking to you, he might just pick you up and hurl you over the high fence surrounding his place. But as you get to know him, you become more aware of that mild nature that would make such a gesture impossible.Tucked against a side hill overlooking the Jordan River south of Midvale, Wes Hansen's stone yard is strewn with rough-hewn blocks the size of cars. Inside the shop, large steel wire bandsaws gush a constant stream of creamy gray water from their cuttings. The water runs down the sides of the huge stones, which look like great loaves of bread being cut into gigantic slices.

Wes has worked with stone all his life. He can remember as a small boy working with his Grandpa Jensen in the flagstone quarries, unearthing the thin slabs of red sandstone so popular in the '50s for walkways, retaining walls and elaborate backyard barbecues.

He continued working with his father, Wilford, into his adult years, bringing in the large stone blocks from the family's quarries in eastern and southern Utah.

When the bid was put out for building the Salt Lake Temple annex in the 1960s, the Hansens ended up with the job, and a much more difficult degree of complexity was added to their experience. The temple granite was dense, heavy and difficult to work with, and they gained a great deal of experience as they learned how to handle it. At the same time, the work fostered a new respect for the pioneer stonecutters who had worked the granite with such amazing skill and simple tools.

Again, when the Salt Lake City-County Building was restored, Wes' expanded competence with stone became a vital link. Whole sections of the original stone facades, which had flaked and deteriorated over a century of weathering, had to be replaced, including delicate Romanesque carvings and details. Many of the stone details were so worn away that it was impossible to see the original forms. Aided by photos and faded blueprints, Wes and his crew were able to complete the restoration with precise accuracy.

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People often wondered why scaffolding surrounded the building for so long. But once you realize the intricacy of the problems that had to be solved, a new appreciation is gained for the work accomplished during those years. A display on the building's second floor chronicles the process and shows some of the workers' tools.

The art of the stonecutter, an important craft in prior ages, has become so uncommon in our own time that few places still possess it. Consequently, Hansen and his company have been involved in almost every major restoration project in Utah over the past several years. They have done major work, for example, on the Catholic Cathedral of the Madeleine, the First Presbyterian Church and the complete reconstruction of the old Social Hall at This Is the Place State Park at the mouth of Emigration Canyon.

In recent years, new interest in native stone for both residential and commercial buildings has spurred strong demand and new applications. At Hansen's stone yard, an elephant-size yellow front-end loader weaves about between the massive piles of stone, delicately juggling the huge blocks between the stockpiles and the saws.

Out in the back corners of the yard, between stacks of rubble from current jobs, remnants of granite and fragments of the old City-County Building lie piled about in the weeds like discarded stone pages of local history, a history that Wes and his men are very proud to have been a part of. In a time when the skill of stonecutting is becoming almost extinct, they are doing their best to keep it alive.

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