It's easy to pass the building on North Tower Avenue in Centralia without a glance. The vertical wood beams in front invite no comment, and the display case contains shoe molds that look as if they might have been tossed there 50 years ago. Some sort of shoe place, a casual observer might guess, and one not doing very well at that.
Such an observer might be surprised to learn that Kulien is a custom designer of shoes with a clientele around the U.S., and into Europe and Japan. The store has been doing so well for so long that it gave up advertising prior to World War II.
"We're five to six months backlogged," said store owner John Kohnke. "Advertising would sell a few more pair of shoes, but drive our backlog farther behind."
Kulien specializes in work shoes for loggers and line workers (electrical workers climbing poles), along with orthopedic shoes for people whose feet are abnormally shaped through injury or birth defect. A pair of its second-grade quality shoes runs $650. Its best runs $200 more.
"Typically, with a real good product, it is a lot of little things that make it better," said Kohnke.
With Kulien, that starts with measurement. A first-time customer will have his or her feet traced on a piece of paper, then be asked questions about preferences: how light or heavy a shoe, what type and color of leather. A "last" or mold then gets made, and the shoemakers go to work.
Kohnke picks the best part of a tanned leather hide for the leather "upper" (the soft top part). The remainder is sold to other shoe factories in the Northwest. The upper part is sewn together. The sole is stamped out of a type of German leather called "oak" that's been pickled in vats for 18 months until it is as hard as the wood.
The next step is attaching the top and bottom. That is done by a series of cuts and stitches with hand-made thread from Kevlar (the same material used in bulletproof vests).
The goal is to make the shoe perfectly fit the customer's foot. A customer can expect a call and dozens of questions about how well the shoe fits, and what, if any, improvements could be made to future shoes. Shoes may be returned for free repair.
"We claim to make shoes that will fit any feet in the world," said Kohnke. "We get some wild and crazy feet."
A brain surgeon in Deerfield, Ill., for example, is missing half his left foot. Kohnke pulls a pair of molds out of a couple of hundred on wooden shelves. The mold for the right foot looks conventional, but the left resembles the end of a misshapen club.
History
In 1877, Marcus Kulien immigrated to the United States from Norway. In the old country, Kulien had traveled around from farm to farm, making and repairing shoes. He came to the new world with the idea of bettering himself
by setting up a small shoe factory.
He did so, initially setting up in Iowa, where there was a community where there was a community of around 100,000 Norwegians. That didn't work out so well.
"He was making shoes for Norwegian farmers again," said Kohnke. "To expand our market, grandfather traveled around the U.S. by train."
Arriving in Centralia in the early 1890s, Kulien found a booming logging economy with a need for a high-quality work shoe that was comfortable, a type known as "rockerbottom" that would roll forward without flexing.
Kulien started by wholesaling to a local shop, then hired a man to sell shoes directly in Centralia. In the middle to late 1890s, Kulien recognized that he was selling more shoes in Centralia than in the rest of the country. In 1902, he purchased two lots on North Tower, packed all his tools and machines on a rail car, offered to employ any of his shoemakers who came with him and moved west.
Kulien, who was born in 1852, lived until 1949 (97 years), and retired only at age 96. His son, Selmer, and his daughter, Nettie, joined the company in the teens. The business did well until the Depression.
"We had the most expensive shoe," said Kohnke. "We stopped having our shoemakers come in until 1931, when my uncle got the idea to offer the tanneries half price for our leather, then offer our shoemakers half wage. We offered $16.50 shoes for $8.25. Overnight, we became the cheapest logging shoe made."
Kulien was able to hire the shoemakers back, and did well. By the time World War II hit, it was a few months behind in orders. All its shoemakers joined the service, and it fell a year behind in orders.
Its prices also recovered, going back to the most expensive logging shoe around. Throughout the years, the cost of a pair of Kuliens has been equivalent to five days' wages of the average logger.
Loggers, however, no longer make up the majority of its clientele.
"When I came to work at the shop in 1970, over 90 percent was loggers," said Kohnke. "It was still 75 percent in 1990. It is 25 percent today."
To make up for the decrease in logging shoes, Kulien has focused on orthopedic shoes, which make up more than 50 percent of the business, along with footwear for women forest firefighters, hunting, hiking and even work Oxfords.
The very fact that Kulien's exists after 127 years shows that it has found a niche that large shoemakers didn't.
"The majority of shoes sold in this country are not made in this country anymore," said Kohnke, who recalls in the mid-1980s receiving a couple of flyers every week from East Coast shoe factories that were auctioning off their assets.
Mark Lawton covers economic and energy issues for The Chronicle. He may be reached at 807-8231, or by e-mail at mlawton@chronline.com.
