Table of Contents
Howie's column is powered by Lyric Kitchen · Bar | eMail Howie
It started like all great ideas up here — too much coffee, not enough adult supervision. Three of us — retired, over-caffeinated, and underqualified — sitting at Gordy’s Hi-Hat trying to solve the world’s problems before the lunch rush.
Roger had his usual: three eggs, four sausages, and a heart defibrillator on standby. Dale, the ex-cop, was halfway through his third refill when he said, “Boys, everybody’s building data centers now. We oughta get in on that.”
And just like that, the Scanlon Data Center & Iceplex was born.
Now, I know what you’re thinking — Scanlon? The tiny river town with more pickup trucks than residents? Exactly. That’s what makes it perfect. You’ve got the St. Louis River right there, bubbling with decades of chemical heritage — nature’s coolant! While the rest of the world is worrying about how to chill their supercomputers, we’ve got industrial-grade cold water flowing free and easy.
Roger leaned back and grinned. “We’ll be cooling the Cloud with the same stuff that ate through my fishing boat.”
Even better, it’ll drive the Cloquet folks insane.
The moment we started saying “Scanlon Data Center,” you could practically hear the Wood City elite spitting out their lattes. “Scanlon? Why not here?” Because, dear Cloquet, the laws of comedy demand poetic injustice. You’ve got your fancy roundabout, your craft brewery, and your “heritage.” We’ve got grit, sludge, and riverfront property that’ll never pass inspection.
We headed down to the bridge for what we called a “feasibility study.” Translation: three guys staring at the water with thermoses. “Looks cold enough to me,” Dale said. “Yep,” Roger nodded. “Perfect for servers.”
The city planner didn’t laugh quite as hard when we showed up Monday morning with napkin blueprints. “We’ll use the river for cooling,” Roger said. “It’s eco-friendly.”
“Eco-friendly?” she asked.
“Well, maybe not eco, but definitely friendly,” I said.
She blinked twice. “You want to pump water from a polluted river into an industrial facility?”
I nodded. “Technically, we’d just be returning it to where we found it.”
She said she’d take it “under advisement,” which in city hall speak means, I’m calling the Carlton County sheriff.
Undeterred, we bought a banner online: SCANLON DATA CENTER & ICEPLEX — COOLING THE CLOUD SINCE 2028. Roger zip-tied it to an old billboard near the river. Looked fantastic, except for the slight lean to the left and the raccoon that took up residence inside it.
Opening day was a sight. The Cloquet old-timers showed up in their purple-and-white jackets, laughing so hard they nearly fell into the river. One of them hollered, “You boys trying to power Duluth or boil it?”
We didn’t flinch. “This is innovation!” I shouted. “The St. Louis River meets Silicon Valley!”
Roger hit the power switch. Lights flickered from here to Moose Lake. The paper mill behind us coughed out a fresh plume of smoke in solidarity. For a moment, everything hummed — progress, pride, and mild electrocution. Then the grid collapsed like a folding chair under a tailgater.
Steam shot from the roof. The mayor tried to give a speech through the fog. A few Cloquet fans started wheezing, half from laughter, half from age. “This is the funniest thing since Hermantown blew that 7A final in ’94!” someone yelled.
“Don’t panic!” Roger yelled. “It’s just the river helping us cool!”
Somewhere in the chaos, the Chamber of Commerce kid fainted. Dale was grilling brats on the transformer by then. And I was already planning the ribbon-cutting for Phase II: turning the servers into eight ice rinks.
Because that’s the beauty of our plan — when the tech boom goes bust, the Scanlon Data Center & Iceplex becomes the home of the Esko Lumberjacks Invitational. Eight sheets of ice, all chilled by the same river that once melted a Mercury outboard.
Imagine the scene: Esko vs. Hermantown or Stella Maris, playing under the humming lights of a former server farm while old-timers sip coffee and heckle the refs. It’s Minnesota’s version of heaven — a little cold, a little loud, and completely ridiculous.
And when the puck drops in that first game, we’ll be sitting in Section B, high-fiving like idiots who somehow got it right.
Cloquet can keep their brewery. Scanlon’s got the future — and a slightly radioactive glow to prove it.
So next time you’re driving down I-35 and see that giant sign by the river — “Cooling the Cloud Since 2028” — tip your hat. It’s proof that a few retirees, too much coffee, and a polluted river can still build something truly world-class.
Even if it’s mostly by accident.
Howie Hanson writes from Duluth, where he’s been poking the city’s sacred cows since before half the current council learned to parallel park. He runs HowieHanson.com, a one-man newsroom powered by caffeine, sarcasm, and an allergy to PR spin. Part reporter, part historian, part irritant, he still believes in telling the truth—even when it makes the room uncomfortable.
