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Encore: Mary Levi, builder of fun

Mary Levi, 2005
Copyright Michael DeFilippo

This article first appeared in the St. Louis Beacon, May 30, 2013: Late last week, the scene inside the City Museum’s Cabin Inn was similar the after-hours moments there on a lot of weekdays. With the public portion of the Museum’s day over, a small gang of workers sat at the bar. Not just any workers, but the members of the Cassilly Crew, the artisans who’ve built the place from scratch, done under a little bit of personal peril.

With a couple bartenders pouring drinks, the stories bounced between work and personal. The soundtrack, curated onto ever-playing loops by KDHX and Cabin Inn DJ Darren Snow, was commented upon, too, with Dolly Parton’s “Jolene” a particular hit.

Some years back, while writing for the late St. Louis Design Magazine, I spent big chunks of my tenure covering the Museum and its rapidly expanding indoor and outdoor exhibits; these ranged from an indoor skate park to a gargoyle exhibit to the incoming aquarium. And the name of fabricator Mary Levi came up frequently. I wrote about her once before, a piece that’s her mom’s favorite, apparently. We’ll see if there’s a new story for that title. Because Mary Levi’s still on the job, still making fun.

One job, two locations, many memories

The day’s still clear in her mind. After four years of schooling at SIU-Edwardsville, Mary Levi visited the City Museum, based on the recommendation of a friend. He mentioned that a job might be available. While she figured “it would be floor staff or in the gift shop, I was told, ‘no, bring your boots, bring all your stuff tomorrow.’ I hadn’t done any large-scale fabrication at that point, only small-scale, table-size things. It was pretty intimidating the first couple of years. I didn’t know how to deal with Bob (Cassilly). But I’ve learned so much in my time here, so much more than the four years of school, which I paid for. Twelve years later, though, I’m totally fine.”

In July 2013, Levi will celebrate a full dozen years at the City Museum, working with the famed Cassilly Crew. As craftspeople and artists, the staff’s seen personnel changes over the years, naturally, but Levi’s hung in. The majority of the crew’s on-hand year-round, working outdoor projects during the summer months, then going inside when weather becomes an issue. (With that said, two of the 10 members take three months off annually, spending that time working on the construction crew of Burning Man.) The nature of their job ensures that they’re close-knit, even as they miss their unpredictable boss and mentor.

“Ten years was a big year for me, because of the situation with Bob’s accident,” she says. “I had my 10 years here when we were still together. My 11th year was without Bob. So the decade mark is much more important in my mind. And when I get to 20, that’ll mean something.

“I really enjoy this job and the people I work with,” she adds. “I like the feeling of it. It’s weird because it’s this bohemian experience, being a part of something like a big, dysfunctional family. I like what I do. It’s satisfying to complete something and see people tear into it and be completely happy. A new exhibit comes along and people come right in and play with it. The treehouse climbing area was one of the last things we did with Bob. We opened it at 3, came over here (to the Cabin Inn) to have a drink and watched people play on it. The same happened with a section of the cave opening; it was very fulfilling to see. I consider myself an artist and here, you see thousands of people every day enjoying the things you make.”

In some respects, the job’s like a lot of others, an 8 a.m.-5 p.m. gig, with a “a nice, leisurely hour’s lunch” break. Of course, it’s anything from a regular job; and Levi’s aware of that, too. Most of us don’t hang suspended from harnesses dozen of feet above the ground, after all.

Levi gives a lot of credit to those who’ve succeeded Cassilly in running the City Museum, Rick Irwin and Dave Jump. The crew’s never stopped construction; and projects that might seem done -- like the Museum’s amazing rooftop -- really aren’t done, not completely. In fact, connecting MonstroCity to the rooftop will be a big push this fall. Still, the loss of Cassilly stings, since Levi says “I loved him like family.” 

Saying that she could see herself celebrating a 20th anniversary at the Museum, Levi says, “I know there’ll be work. Whether, or not, I can still do it physically is the question.”

A job unfinished

For the past couple months, I sent out notes to someone affiliated with Cementland, hoping to get a more official trip to the premises. Truth be told, I visited the location on two occasions in the past, before security tightened and urban explorers became less welcome on the grounds. Attempts to gain entry haven’t come through and questions about the venue’s long-range expansion still remain. Perhaps another story for another day.

Mary Levi at work at the museum.
Credit Provided by Mary Levi; photo by Leef Armontrout
Mary Levi at work at the museum.

The space was amazing to see and experience, even in an unsanctioned setting. From one visit to the next, you could see things emerging. Hills were popping up, crafted from the hundreds of truckloads of dirt delivered to the old cement factory. Buildings were gutted. Planes and buses were scattered. It was a work-in-progress, but an inspiring one.

For a good chunk of time, Levi and her co-workers weren’t just doing construction at the City Museum. Splitting their time between the Museum and Cassilly’s biggest dream, Cementland, the Cassilly Crew were participating in the creation of an amazing space. Initially, the crew continued working on the project following Cassilly’s death on the property. Significant issues emerged, though, over ownership and the progress of work; and active building sessions there paused in January 2012. It’s a situation that sits strangely for all involved in that buildout.

“It was seasonal and we’d jump back-and-forth,” Levi remembers. “Sometimes the crew was permanently there, finishing projects; during the good weather, we were always at Cementland. When it got strangely hot, or the snow was there, we’d come here (to the Museum) and do other things. I didn’t go out there much the first four years I worked here. Initially, there wasn’t much call for a fabricator; it was more about earth-moving, clearing out random trash. It wasn’t until six years before the accident that we were more involved in cutting stuff out, adding new stuff. It was really unfortunate, as it was just as the point where you believe in it yourself.

“It had just been dirt, dumpster, trash, empty Bi-State buses,” she remembers. “It wasn’t pretty to look at. The month we left there, grass and trees were planted. There were ponds and bridges. It was the vision that the pessimist in me had unfortunately, slightly doubted. But it made sense. People would want to come there. I definitely have mixed emotions about it. It’s not on my normal paths and I’ve not driven past there. When everything was going on, we’d drive out and on the weekends, bring the dogs and wave at Bob moving earth around, making these giant earth mounds. It was fun. There’s good nostalgia there, but was tough to be out there working after (Bob’s death) happened.” 

But the work at the Museum, she says, will continue. Projects will be built. Others will be rebuilt. Probably, a few shots will be enjoyed inside the little Cabin at the end of the work day. And Levi will be in the midst of it all, representing those people who love to go work every day.

If you see her on the job, she’s totally cool with hearing your “City Museum story.” She’s heard a lot of them, but they’re still welcomed.

“It’s almost refreshing,” she admits. “I’m here everyday. I lose a little bit of the magic sometimes. I enjoy bringing in people who’ve never been here. When you’re in wonderland every day, you don’t recognize the same magic. And it’s really hard to explain, the whole ‘giant children’s museum, largest jungle gym in the world’ thing. You really have to see it to see it, rather than having it explained to you.”

About this series

For the past two-decades-and-change, Thomas Crone has covered alternative music and culture in St. Louis for the St. Louis Beacon, Riverfront Times, Post-Dispatch and St. Louis magazine, along with a host of smaller, deceased titles like Jet Lag, 15 Minutes and his own zines Silver Tray and 52nd City. He's co-produced the music documentaries "Old Dog, New Trick" and "The Pride of St. Louis," along with several shorts. He's currently pre-producing the web series "Half Order Fried Rice," while teaching media writing at Webster University. And a lot of his memorabilia is available to the public at www.silvertrayonline.com/

The "Second Set" series highlights known and unknown stories of St. Louis musicians, deejays, promoters and gadflies. Each week's edition will showcase artists, albums and songs that collectively make up a fascinating Midwestern musical culture, one filled with both major successes and vexing could-have-beens. Combining personal recollections with interviews of the principals, these articles will put into context the people, recordings and venues that have informed St. Louis' recent rock'n'roll and pop music.

"Encores" follow in the spirit of the earlier series as Crone and The Beacon roll out an ebook that developed from Second Set. Read Second Set columns.