Life Is Like a Box of Sausages

I've seen this one before, but wasn't sure whether it was still an operating business (it must not have been as at one point this was an Asian seafood business). But having read that this building is to be the future home of a brewery or distillery with a rooftop patio, this time I knew it's a ghost and thus qualifies for inclusion here.

The sign is on the side of the former sausage factory at 427 Harrison St. NE, right up against the train tracks (train-people tell me this particular configuration of tracks is called a wye). Street View gave me a bit of initial confusion as the sign was not visible when last Google went by in 2014. Upon closer inspection, it seems there used to be siding on the end of the building that has now been removed.

Obviously, I hope they decide to keep the sign as they renovate the building. Unfortunately, it's painted over with a generic mural of wheat in the rendering included with that Business Journal article. Here's hoping the brewer/distiller has more appreciation for the character a sign like this offers than the architect.

As for the sausages, Ambassador is still an existing brand of Scandinavian-style hot dogs that's been around since 1932. Today it's part of Wimmers Meats, which itself is a division of Land O'Frost (and here I'd only head of Land O'Lakes and Land-O-Nod). Before all of that, however, Ambassador was associated with a 2014 inductee into the Minnesota Women Business Owners Hall of Fame (I did not know there was such a thing, but sounds cool to me).

Ethel Arnold began working at what was then called the Sanitary Sausage Company (mmmm... sanitary) in the 1930s, later moving into the front office as a bookkeeper. After the drowning death of her first husband, Ethel got remarried, this time to the company's founder. Once he too passed on, Ethel inherited the company, but it was in bleak shape. She used her experience in all aspects of the business to turn the company around and work out of its debt. She also renamed it. Maybe she thought sausages would sell better if they sounded fancy rather than just clean.

Ethel sold the company in 1991, ending the last remaining independently owned sausage company in the Upper Midwest. She died in 2000.

The Hennepin County Library's tumblr (I did not know it had one, apparently there are a lot of things I do not know) has a post on Ethel, including some old images of the inside and outside of the factory. Here's another shot of the sign from flickr.

Insert Funky Slap Bass Here

I like this sign, because we're clearly not looking at something from the 1890s here.  Check out those colors.  Check out the graphic design.  That's gotta be the 1970s, right?

You'll not be surprised that an auto repair shop that dates to the latter parts of the 20th century, which looks to have been long closed, does not have a large internet footprint.  That means I can't tell you much about this, so I'll keep it brief.  The Interwebs have documented it at least twice before.

This post brought to you in honor of Art-A-Whirl, which is currently taking place in the Nordeast Arts District, including right next door, I think.

No, Not Verisimilitude

I didn't know it at the time, but apparently I should have refrained from breathing as I biked by this sign.  It's a little faded, but you should be able to read "Western Mineral Products Company" on the bottom.  That's gotta mean that they produce something wholesome like calcium to fortify your children's cereal or maybe delicious, pure mineral water.

Wait, what?  This building at 1720 Madison St. NE, back in the Nordeast Arts District, is a superfund site?  As it turns out, this building was a plant that turned "Libby Ore" from Montana into asbestos insulation from the late 1930s to the late 1980s by heating the ore until it "popped" into fluffy material suitable for insulation. Even better, they used to offer waste "rock" for free to the surrounding community, potentially creating a whole neighborhood of cancerous fun.  While it operated, at least 130,000 tons of the stuff was shipped by rail to this location. The product here was sold under the Zonolite brand, and may well still be in your house.  You'll not be surprised that all this resulted in at least one lawsuit.

The W.R. Grace Company bought this building in 1963.  According to them, they're still enriching lives to this day. The company actually originated in Peru in 1854, where it was founded by William Russel Grace, who fled the potato famine in Ireland.  One has to wonder if he knew what he was getting into.  The Grace company website still seems to have a product sheet for Zonolite, but I don't know if that means it's still available for purchase.

I once heard the "mesothelioma lawyer" was the most expensive ad term you could by from Google.  These folks were apparently a little more specific and decided to go directly for "Western Mineral Products."  I thank them for the background information.

I See Dead People

It's been awhile, but we are back, and we're off in Nordeast again.  I went for a bike ride, and boy was a rewarded.  This is near the old railroad tracks in the "Arts District" again, but this qualifies as a both a cool old sign and a cool old building (see the shot below for the loading dock).  And there are stiffs involved.

The Northwestern Casket Company made... wait for it... boxes in which to intern dead people.  It seems the business is still around, but no longer at this location.  Go check out the history section of their website.  It's got some cool old pictures.  They apparently occupied this location until 2006 when they moved to New Hope.  (No, non-Minnesotans, that's not a Star Wars movie, it's a suburban city).  It was incorporated in mid-1882 and received supplies right off the railroad line and turned them into the most solemn of products. Sadly, they are not accredited by the BBB.

Check out the operations in 1937 and the building, with a covering over the loading dock, in 1974 from the Historical Society.   It's at 1707 Jefferson St. NE.  There are a bunch of cool photos of a 2005 tour here.

Ghost Me Two Times

I'll leave it to you to figure out where this one is.  Have you found it yet?  I knew you could.  You are so smart!

Okay, so, this building has two generations of ghosts, and both seem to be actual ghosts in that at least when I went buy, the place was empty and shuttered.  Up top there you can see it says "Nicollet Technologies."  Given that Joseph Nicollet was French, I assume the technologies his people manufactured here were cheese, wine, and surrendering. (I kid, my French friends!  I know all about the bravery of the intrepid French soldier.  Unless he's had too much wine, of course).

Okay, so that was obvious crap, and Joseph Nicollet wasn't involved.  But that logo just screams, "1980s technology company" so let's see what we can find.  Maybe they made mapping software or something.

Well, look at that.  They make equipment for testing phone lines and were founded in, who woulda guessed, 1986. The company's still around, but apparently they've moved on up to the suburbs, Bloomington, to be specific.  Please judge them accordingly.

So let's stroll around the other side and  check out the other one:

It's the famous Plant No. 8, and that tantalizing sign above it.  It's so close to being legible that it's painful.  But I don't know what it says.  As will become increasingly clear, this seems to be the neighborhood of ambiguous signs (stick around for more).

And with that, my friends, I've gone away.

Ghost Metal!

Some of my favorite signs are from businesses that used to work with metal.  I'm sure there are important differences between what these people do or used to do, but it's all metal to me, baby, so I'm lumping them together.

So, in what is becoming a bit of a pattern, we've got some pretty generic words painted on the side of a wall without much other identifying information (maybe now you know why I've been sitting on these for awhile -- look at those green leaves!).  I'm pretty sure you could get aluminum and bronze-brass from these people, but I really wish they'd just put their last name or something up there too.

I had brief hope for a clue from this shot:

But after studying it, I think it just says, "Ornamental Iron & Steel."  Sorry, no luck.

The building is part of the Nordeast "Arts District" in a largely defunct old industrial area by the railroad tracks.  It's now called the Q.arma Building and houses Altered Esthetics, an arts advocacy organization.  It's at 1224 Quincy St. N.E.

Now I'm Starving

This one's not really a ghost, as Kramarczuk's is a going concern, but I like the sign and it's a Nordeast institution.  If you live in the Twin Cities and have you haven't heard of it, well, you must be under a rock or something.  If you haven't been there, your taste buds, at least the ones that like things like Polish sausage and cabbage and potatoes and things, should be waging a silent war on your heathen soul.

What I didn't know is that Wasyl and Anna Kramarczuk were from Ukraine and came to America in the late 1940s.  Their "about" page is a bit vague on the details as to when they opened the deli, but let's just go with "a long time ago."  Here's Walter and Horace K., and a good amount of their fine product in 1998.

Somehow I didn't know that it was featured on Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives.  Guy Fieri says the sausage making started in 1954 with Anna and Wasyl, but the cafeteria was added in 1976 (a good year) by their son.  Hopefully none of the various generations of Kramarczuk's caused Guy to freak out on account teh gay.

I really should not have posted this just before lunch.

Legal Eagle Update

So, some antitrust lawyer I am, apparently. While I was wandering around the old factories near the railroad tracks and trying to research the history of Electric Machinery Manufacturing Company, its successor company was in the midst of an antitrust investigation of it's acquisition by GE (they bring good things to life).

The result of that investigation is a consent decree with the Department of Justice that requires GE to divest Converteam's Minneapolis facility. While it's not the one I snapped (as I said, it has been converted), it isn't far away.

I didn't even know there was a deal, but I guess it explains why I had a page view from someone in the UK googling "converteam minneapolis."

Anyway, it's a small world and I thought I'd share.

I Need A Nap

It's tantalizingly close to being legible. Obviously, they sold box springs, studio lounges (whatever that is) and spring filled mattresses. It may now be Twin Cities Paper Supply, and they may have obscured the sign on purpose (if so, a pox on them I say!).

I was about to give up, but I think I've got it! It's Land-O-Nod! (From the stuff-o-stuff school of branding, with at least one other local adherent). Google delivered that much, but having figured that out, I've not got all that much more to say. They apparently made mattresses (who woulda thunk) and got a trademark in 1965 for "chiropractic" that resulted in litigation with their rivals and an 8th Cir. opinion in 1983. I don't know what happened to them, but given that I haven't heard of them, they probably didn't last too much longer after that.

You can see what might have been a factory, warehouse or just show room at the intersection of Broadway and Tyler near Central NE.

Melts Your Mouth, Not Your Lungs

I could swear that says, "Mailpress," but the "tobacco" clue made it pretty clear we weren't talking about blogging software. Turns out it's "Mail Pouch," which maybe I would have known had I ever shopped for "smokeless tobacco." I don't think I regret suffering decades of ignorance as the price of having never developed a disgusting habit.

The brand originated with the Bloch Brothers of Wheeling, PA, who started out making cigars in 1879. They made the chewing tobacco from cigar wrapper clippings. That sounds pretty unappealing to me, but I guess it worked because at one point they had more than 20,000 advertisements on barns across the country. Apparently some people like to go searching for the barn signs and you can buy various Mail Pouch memorabilia on ebay.

The sign's on 5th St. NE between Hennepin & 1st.

Less Irritating In The Throat

So, I guess what the good people at the Electric Machinery Manufacturing Company did during their working hours is pretty obvious. That's right, they were a marketing consulting firm that advised clients on effective branding. Their founding philosophy was picking a name that completely obscured what you really do (I'm looking at you, Altria), to create a sense of exotic mystery that truly entrances customers. The size of the abandoned building they left behind is pure evidence of the success of their strategy.

Okay, so, maybe that's bunk. It seems they made really big round machinery thingies, at least in the 1920s. A successor company still seems to be out there, now called Converteam (hmm... wonder if any branding consultants were involved). And the building isn't actually empty having been converted to office/studio space like a number of other old factories in the area (more to come).

The company was founded in 1891 as a service shop before moving into manufacturing and designing custom-engineered motors and generators. It seems to me that they make big custom motors for big industrial processes.

I could actually read this one while standing there on the street, but it's a little hard to see on the front of the building:

Pizza! Pizza! (sorry, Little Ceasar's)

This is a good one! Okay, so, even if you aren't local, you know these people's products. If you are local, you may not know the history. I'm sure all of you think of Minneapolis as the natural source of all your frozen Italian foods options.

This is the original location for Totino's, which started in the 1950s as a local take out pizza place. Eventually it grew into a restaurant, and then a frozen food empire. It's amusing to me that here, on the original Nordeast location, which closed some time ago (maybe 15 years?? or not quite that long), relocated to my neck of the woods, not far from where I grew up, in Mounds View.

I'm sure we went there once or twice when I was growing up, but I can't stress enough how extraordinary it is for tomato, onion and garlic based food (YUM!!) to have had so much success in the heart of meat-and-potato land (although had they still featured fried shrimp, my dad woulda been a regular). It's inspiring enough that I might have to pick up some pizza rolls and watch some hockey! Go North Stars!

Um. Okay. Well. Lest we all leave with all warm feelings, I have to mention that the founders of Totino's also are name-sponsors of Totino-Grace. I'm sure it's a fine institution, but for half of my high school sports career, and the lead up to it, it was a cross-conference rival (darn you Iker Iturbe!). I will eat my frozen snack foods with a bitter aftertaste of thwarted teenage competition.

Their Term, Not Mine

This one isn't so much a ghost, as Dusty's is very much still alive (there's actually a nice looking patio on the other side of the building), and the sign if prominently displayed on the bar's website, but it's classic Nordeast. I'm hoping that proprietors/founders were themselves of Italian dissent, but regardless, it seems that to them a "Dago" is an Italian sausage sandwich. I've never been, but it's on my list of Nordeast cultural experiences to explore.

It's on Marshall Street, near the Grain Belt Brewery.

Pulp Free

Unless they have a pseudo-scientific sounding old name, it can be hard to find much to say about signs for products that are still on the market. But I rather liked this sign for Orange Crush, in part for its general randomness of the sign on what must have been some sort of small commercial building in the middle of a residential area in Nordeast. There's a sign on the front door that says "Orange Crush Art," which must mean its in use as a studio, but I don't know.

Wikipedia tells me that the brand dates to 1911, and is currently owned by Dr. Pepper Snapple Group.

The building is at 2217 Marshall Ave. NE.

Rhymes With Clicks

I'm back. I hope all 4.5 of you that read each post had a lovely 4th of July weekend. I did, as the weather at the lake was more than a little perfect. It could not have been better, really.

But we're back in action now, and back with beer no less. I'm fairly sure this says Gluek's, although looking at it now it looks more like Glue's. There was to be a K in there somewhere. Regardless, we are back across the river in Nordeast (no, you can't call it Northeast). There will be more from the downtown core, which seems to be the gift that keeps on giving, but for now it's time to stretch a bit. So far I've only had one little bike trip through the area, but it made me more than a little nostalgic for an area from before I was born. I found a cool old neighborhood featuring brick houses and blocks with a church on one end and a neighborhood bar on the other. Granted, I'd only visit one of those two institutions, but it still seemed to me like the way to live.

As for Gluek's, well, there is a bar/restaurant downtown still, although I've personally not heard the best things. I've not been there in probably 15 years myself, so clearly I'm due. The building dates to 1902, which is certainly worthy of a visit. Gottlieb Gluek started his brewery at Marshall and 22nd NE in 1857. There are some old-fashioned labels and the like about the brewery and the brand here. The brand apparently came to an end last year.

There are many images for Gluek's in the Historical Society archive, and more than a few from Norton & Peel, which seems to be searchable despite the government shutdown. There are a ton of cool images, including some that go all the way back to the 1870s, and a number of mystery local bars of this type and some from the neighborhood. They are worth a look just for how the city used to be. My favorites, though, might be the ones anticipating the end of prohibition.

This particular relic is at 1400 NE 4th St.

Outside and Friendly

We've already covered the beer, brand and history, so maybe I'll go in a different direction with this sign on the back/inside courtyard of the old Grain Belt Brewery. As for the brewery itself, as the City of Minneapolis tells us, construction began in 1891. It was closed from 1927 until the end of Prohibition, but re-opened with the passing of that dark age and operated until 1975 when operations were transferred to St. Louis. Today it houses office space.

I was also a little surprised to see this ad, directly on the side of the brewery, sporting the name of Naegele. I get how the billboard portion of the former Naegele Outdoor Advertising business worked. They put up a sign and you pay to advertise on it. But why would they be involved in a sign on your own building? If that was a more interesting question, maybe I'd look for an answer, but instead I'll just point out that Naegele was a key source of the fortune that brought hockey back to Minnesota in the form of the Wild.

Getting back to beer, the building is an excellent example of what I call the "cool old building" architectural style. Yes, I'd be happy to guest teach an architectural class at your school. Meanwhile, enjoy this friendly sign from the front of the building: