This is the first page of the history of a man.  Please use the navigation links at the top (or bottom) of this page to further see and understand who he was. Time Clocks and Memories The slow, steady, ceaseless descent of time affects all things as we traverse between birth and death.  In the passage of those years vivid happenings of excitement turn into faded cobwebs in recesses of memory, while to others, whose time clock commenced ticking long after ours, those memories don’t even exist.  Before my “time” clock began its’ finite count, there were countless others whose “clocks” had run their course.  Some of their “ticks” resulted in my memories.  In 1838, over a hundred years before my clock had its first tick, one began ticking in the islands of Lofoten, (a part of the country of Norway), above the Artic Circle.  A healthy boy child was born to the Johannesen Family.  This child would live an entire lifetime before I took the first breath that started my time clock, and what this child would accomplish was to have a profound and lasting affect on mine.  The boy went through his normal schooling, and, at the proper age, went on to higher levels of education, earning a degree in agriculture at the age of 25.  Even with a degree, the young man still had a desire for more, and journeyed to Copenhagen, Denmark, to study engineering. In 1869, the now 31 year old man made his way to the United States, making his “target” Chicago, Illinois, where he arrived that same year.  In succeeding years he found his way to other cities of the Southern United States like Louisville and Nashville. But, in 1878, this now adult man found his way to Sedalia, Missouri, a small, but rapidly growing town, in mid-America.  He was affable, and well educated, and within short order discovered this small town was comfortable to his manner and lifestyle, and made it his home for the remainder of his lifetime.  It was the same town I was to be born in over 60 years later. In the course of his life’s pursuits in his new home, the man accepted a charter to design, as its architect, a bridge for the City Fathers of Sedalia.  As it turned out, his design was that of a covered bridge.  In 1880 he presented his design, which was accepted as the plan for construction, and for which the architect was paid twenty-five dollars. Construction on the Covered Bridge began late in1880 and was completed sometime in 1881, over a small, but critically situated, stream named “Flat Creek”.  The bridge was magnificent: A single span covered bridge, one hundred fifty four feet in length, 18 feet wide and the same in height at the peaked crown.  The intent of the City Fathers of Sedalia was realized: A year-round passageway across Flat Creek to enhance commercial and pedestrian traffic to other townships south of Sedalia.  The Covered Bridge was an instant success on all levels of intent. But, things that the City Fathers hadn’t consciously intended occurred as well.  Families began to have picnics near the bridge.  A “swimming hole” was inevitable, and the Covered Bridge site began to host swimmers during the summer months.  Fishing was another popular pastime, and fisherman could be seen at or near the bridge nearly all year long.  Sweethearts would walk the bridge, and its embankments hand in hand, and many proposals of marriage were made in the shadow of the Covered Bridge.  All these events and more, continued and were repeated year after year by new discoverers of the Covered Bridge and the magic it held for them. The Covered Bridge had a life of its’ own:  It moved … swaying in high winds;  It had a voice, it creaked and roadway boards rattled when vehicles passed across it;  It sounded as if it actually breathed … as the wind would pass through cracks and crevasses of its’ wooden planked sides;  It provided shelter to vehicles and pedestrians alike who utilized its passage way to either shore;  It provided shade to those who frolicked in the water beneath it, or walked nearby on the banks of the stream.  It was a wonderful place to see and visit. All the ticks ran out of the architect’s time clock in 1891, a mere ten years after the construction of the bridge he designed, and he was laid to rest far from the homeland where he was born.  But the legacy of the bridge he designed lived on. The ticks of time wear down all things, and the Covered Bridge was no exception.  The bridges flooring was completely replaced at one point in time, and was in constant need of maintenance or repairs over the years.  The wooden shingles of its roof were replaced periodically as dictated by Mother Nature and the elements.  Side boards were replaced, and “bumper rails” were introduced when the automobile took over from the horse and carriage as the main mode of ground transportation.  Still, through it all, the Covered Bridge stood, because of its’ design and construction, strong and capable.  And … the memories continued to build in the minds of those who frequented the site for a multitude of reasons.  Over the millions of ticks in time the Covered Bridge became a landmark, a beloved spot of those who enjoyed its simple grace and functional elegance. For 85 years the Covered Bridge stood silent but worthy, always performing its’ designed functions, and providing joys and laugher for visitors that were never contained in its’ original intent. On a moonlit night, on the last day of May in 1966, the bridge was burned.  Some say it was vandalism.  If that be true, those vandals had no sense of the “time clock” that began ticking over a hundred years before within the heart and soul of man who created the bridge they burned.  A major milestone in a man’s life, was gone in a matter of minutes. They had no sense or consideration of the work and desire of the man who unknowingly, provided millions upon millions of memories for countless thousand of people who loved that old bridge.  Those vandals’ thoughtless act destroyed a bridge, but more, they destroyed any possibility of future memories ever being created in its shadow again.  My clock continues its’ ticking, and while it runs I am allowed to return to those years of yesterday when the life of a young boy was enhanced by an old Covered Bridge and the joys found there.  But, I never forget that there was another time clock ticking, long before mine, in the heart and mind of the man who made both the Old Covered Bridge … and my memories … possible. That man’s name was: Johan Cornelius Johannesen … who we remember as John C. Johnson. I am thankful, Mr. Johnson, that the ticking of your time clock brought you to my home town, and the design of my memories through your bridge. So vividly etched is the original Covered Bridge in our being, "The Friends of the Covered Bridge" copied and constructed a replica one as a visual and physical reminder of the one Mr. Johnson designed.  It’s our way of keeping Mr. Johnson’s time clock ticking for future generations as well as our own. Thank you, Mr. Johnson, for the memories. Jack Clark, July, 2005