The Damper Flapper

It's post #120, so that means we need a landmark.  As seems to be a developing pattern, I don't have paint on brick for one, but I do have one that visitors to town are likely to see.  In fact, I've been seeing this one while driving north on 35W toward downtown for years.  And yet it retained some amount of mystery because despite being readily visible it's sort of in an out of the way neighborhood tucked in next to the freeway.

So, one day, I went looking for it.  From the highway, you can see the clearly-marked smokestack above, but you can also see the big "Wells Fargo Home Mortgage" sign on the neighboring office building.  I thought that meant that the two companies existed in close proximity, but I was wrong.  This is no longer a Honeywell facility.  It just says that on the sign.  So, I guess that means it's a legit ghost.

Honeywell is one of those company's that, if you grew up in the Twin Cities, you had friends whose parents worked there.  It's a step beyond household name.  So much so that I always thought my former colleagues helping to prevent the GE/Honeywell merger awhile back meant that it would remain a Minnesota-based company.  But it seems I'm wrong and the company has its headquarters in Morristown, New Jersey.  It seems a 1999 merger already moved it away.

Nonetheless, the next shot gives us a glimpse into its real origins:

In case you can't read it, the sign says "The Minneapolis Honeywell Regulator Co., 1885-1928."  The company's history starts with a man named Albert Butz inventing a means of regulating the temperature of a coal furnace in 1885.  The precursor of the thermostat was born.  The company didn't get the disappointingly vague, yet geographically specific name of Minneapolis Heat Regulator (see below) until 1898, when the appropriately named R.W. Sweatt bought and renamed it.  A merger with Mark Honeywell's company in 1927 led to the name in the sign above.

You can't really read it, a the sun wasn't cooperating with my photography, but the top of the tower below says, "Minneapolis Heat Regulator."

Long, But Probably Not Winding

It's post #110, so that means it's landmark time.  As seems to be a pattern, we're straying a bit from from paint-on-brick advertising to get one.  This one's full name is  the Chicago, Milwaukee, St. Paul and Pacific Depot Freight House and Train Station. Or at least that used to be it's official name, after the railroads that used it.  Anyway, I've never heard anyone call it anything except the Milwaukee Road Depot, or just the Depot.

Trains rumbled to a stop at this spot dating back to the old Minnesota Central railroad in the mid-1860s.  According to Wikipedia, the "first depot" was built here in 1879, Italianate style.  I'm not sure whether that means that for the roughly 13 years prior existence folks just had jump off the moving train as it went by, or if it means the line was only extended to here a little more than a decade before it's start.

Anyway, that original depot was torn down and replaced with the current one in 1899.
Perhaps you've not heard, but passenger rail had a bit of a decline, and freight rain struggled and consolidated elsewhere.  The Deport stopped functioning in that capacity in 1971 and sat vacant for a long time as folks tried to figure out what to do with it.

The city bought the property in the early 1990s, as described in this wonderful old report from WCCO TV.  As the mustachioed gentleman predicted in his interview, the place was used as a home for the Minneapolis Farmers Market before being renovated in earnest.  Today the old depot is a hotel (you can see the word Renaissance below the original signage if you look closely) and the old train shed, still among the longest survivors of it's kind, is an indoor ice rink.    .

For a bit of 1950s jingle fun, check out this song written for Milwaukee Road's 100 birthday.  You'll not be surprised that the Historical Society has quite a few images.  I'll just point out out a few.  In 1948, there were different signs for different railroads.  The trains of 1950 were a bit steamy and maybe wet.  I would not have wanted to work in the yard in the winter in 1951, and definitely not in icy 1952, or any time for that matter.  You can see one of our previously featured landmarks in the background of this shot of a derailed passenger train in 1953. Despite all the steam, snow and derailment, this fashionable duo in 1954 seem downright enthusiastic about arriving.

Finally, you might recognize the apartment building in the background from it's appearance as Charlize Theron's Minneapolis home in dark comedy, Young Adult.

They Could Make A Movie (Probably Called "Madison")

Try control your excitement, people.  I know you never believed we'd get here.  I know this blog has exceeded your expectations in every way, and now, well, now we've finally made it.  That's right.  We made it to post #100.  Who knew there were that many signs to talk about?

So, as it's a nice, round number, we need a landmark.  I've saved a good one.  Okay, so it's not paint on brick, so maybe it doesn't fit exactly (hmm... maybe that says something about how we got here), but it is significant.  It's the building that defined the Minneapolis skyline for years.  If memory serves, it was long the tallest building in Minneapolis.

The Foshay has a bit of a dramatic history.  It was completed in 1929 just a few months before the big stock market crash.  It was the brainchild of Wilbur Foshay, who got rich buying utility companies and planned to move into a multi-level suite at the top of the building.  The building opened to a lavish dedication and featured John Phillip Sousa conducting a specially-commissioned march.  Each guest got a gold watch.  Splendor abounded.

There was only one problem.  Old Wilbur had a secret and, like Bernie Madoff, the onset of the Great Depression exposed him.  His empire collapsed, he never moved into his new home, and the check he used to pay Sousa bounced.  Wilbur was accused of running a Ponzi scheme and charged with fraud.  His first trial ended in a mistrial after one juror, Genevieve Clark, held out for his innocence.  He was convicted and sentenced to 15 years the second time around.

Only later was it discovered the Mrs. Clark's husband knew and had business dealings with Wilbur.  Rather than face obstruction of justice charges, she and her family fled.  The Clarks and their two children were later found dead from intentional carbon monoxide poisoning.

Things are a bit happier in the Foshay these days.  The tower is taken up by the W Hotel and the two-story commercial space at the base houses Manny's, arguably the best steakhouse in town, and Key's, one of the better places for brunch and/or pie.

Even more fitting, the Foshay is framed here by the IDS Center, which replaced it as the tallest building in town in 1972 and the Well Fargo Center (originally, the Norwest Center, and before that the one with the weather ball), built to be technically just shorter than IDS out of Minnesota nice or something.

Close Personal Friends

It's post #80, which means I need a landmark, but I'm not sure I've got anything that qualifies. Nonetheless, I'll stretch a little (like the Vikings picking Christian Ponder with the twelfth pick), and use the authentic 1940s styled signs of Murray's. It kind of looks like something from 2005 that is trying for an old-fashioned look, but this is the real deal.

I've never been, and I try not to eat red meat, but this is a place I have been hearing about since I was a little kid. Every Sunday morning I'd wake up to my dad listening to WCCO's Sports Huddle with Sidd and Dave, which has been bestowing Murray's silver butterknife steaks on guests for as long as I can remember. And all of a sudden I'm hungry.

Foreign Lands: Foreign Landmarks

For post #70, I'm breaking the rules a bit. Not that you guys would know, as these rules aren't written down anywhere, but I felt I needed to confess anyway. I'm not supposed to put foreign signs up here in the the premier, round-number spots. But right now that rule is in tension with the rule that every tenth posts is supposed to be something that can be legitimately called a landmark. It's a conundrum.

Anyway, I will console myself with the fact that it is at least beer. And, thanks to St. Paul's apparent lack of local loyalty, it's also beer we haven't covered before. So we've got that going for us. Which is nice.

It's the old Jacob Schmidt brewery. Jacob Schmidt immigrated from Bavaria in 1865, and after stints working at the Hamm and Schell breweries, moved to St. Paul and started brewing in 1884. After the original brewery burned down in 1900, they moved to this location on W. 7th St. The company stayed independent until 1955, before the first of several subsequent acquisitions. Schmidt stopped brewing at this location in 1990.

There have been subsequent attempts to make a go of it again, including by the Minnesota Brewing Company in 1991. They brewed the Pig's Eye, Landmark (as you can see, this landmark is also conveniently labelled "Landmark") and Grain Belt brands here until shutting down for good in 2002. Today there is talk of re-developing the space.

Be safe out there, because Big Jim is coming (apparently the American sportsman is afraid of him). Good thing you don't need a glass.

ETA: I can't believe that I let you down, esteemed reader, by failing to make the obvious Mongo reference. I wonder if the Candy Gram trick would work on Big Jim.

Poppin' Fresh!

Completing our survey of Falls-adjacent flour mills, it's time for Pillsbury. Perhaps the most famous of the local milling names (thanks to the blandness of General Mills), the "A" mill has been in the news fairly recently after being named as one of the most endangered historic places. The mill was completed in 1881 and was the largest flour mill in the world for 40 years. It stopped operating in 2003 and has since been through the redevelopment wringer.

Unlike the Washburn A Mill, this one never exploded, although its design, by an architect rather than an engineer, had trouble standing up to the vibrations produced by its massive machinery, leaving the outer walls of the original mill building bowed out by 22 inches at the top.

I took several pictures I thought were worth posting, but once I got a shot with the horse-drawn carriage out front, how couldn't I put it up top? It's vaguely reminiscent of the horse drawn carts in front of the mill in this 1884 postcard.

Not surprisingly, there are many old images available from the Historical Society. This one, showing a train preparing to leave from the center of the complex, makes me think that someone should do a comparison showing what things look like today. Hmm. Perhaps I have a new project idea.

Finally, I'd highlight this one, from around the turn of the 20th century, showing a smaller mill complex as well as the water flowing on the riverbank below the mill. If I was more familiar with mill terminology, I could probably describe it more accurately, but I'd bet the water there has already been through the waterwheels.

I'll leave you with one last shot, taken from across the river and showing the stone arch bridge and a bit more of the surrounding context:

Save Me A Seat In The Balcony

In keeping with my prior attempts to make every tenth post something that can legitimately be called a landmark, I give you the Uptown Theater. It was opened in 1913, although it was then called the Lagoon, and is one of the oldest and largest movie theaters left in the Twin Cities. It's also the only one with a balcony that's still in use. In addition to being a landmark, it's also an institution, in no small part for its long-lived tradition of showing Rocky Horror Picture Show at midnight, although it doesn't seem to be doing that at the moment.

In thinking about it, I think I've only actually seen two movies there. The first was Trainspotting, when I must have been 18, and the second more recently, although I'm unsure of the film. Perhaps it was Cedar Rapids? Anyway, while the place isn't necessarily in pristine condition, it's a reminder of when movie going was a grand experience (well, or at least when people pretended that movie going was a grand experience).

I was surprised that there are only a few images available from the Historical Society. Norton & Peel snapped it in 1938, before the big tower-sign and while there were cobblestones and streetcar tracks, and again in 1957 in the snow. But more interesting to me is this one from circa 1980. The year doesn't sound all that long ago to me, even though I was four at the time, but it sure looks like a different era.

You can find it at Hennepin and Lagoon (and near Lake, obviously).

Flour Power

We're back to the mill district, with the preserved Gold Medal Flour sign that's a landmark on the riverfront. Above it's framed with the old mills and the Mill City Museum, and below with the "new" Guthrie Theater. We've already covered nearby Northwestern mills, and I'm sure the Pillsbury A mill will be in our future, but this time we feature signage for the still-available product from General Mills. The site is the Washburn A mill, which dates to the 1870s and was the largest in the world upon its completion. In 1878 an explosion rocked the mill, killing several people and reducing the city's milling capacity by a third. Not to be deterred by the deaths of 18, the mill was rebuilt and back up and running again by 1880.

As you would expect, the historical society has a few good shots of the days when the mill was running as well.

It's Pronounced Eye-Gor

From lumber and saw milling we move to flour. This is the side of the Northwestern Consolidated Milling Company's "Million Bushel Elevator," with the Carlyle condominium (the tallest residential building in Minneapolis) visible in the background. At the time of its formation via the consolidation of several local milling companies in 1891, Northwestern was the second largest milling company in the world behind local rival Pillsbury and just ahead of the predecessor to General Mills, also a local rival. In this era, Minneapolis, and St. Anthony Falls, was the flour milling capital of the world.

The Ceresota brand (a combination of Roman goddess of agriculture and Minnesota?) dates to 1891, but the building here is a relative new comer being built as recently as 1908. It operated as a mill until the 1950s, when it was converted to light industrial and manufacturing. Today it's rental office space.

Once again, the Historical Society has some interesting images, in particular of old ads for the Ceresota brand. I'll just highlight an interesting interior shot of the bagging operation from 1940, an undated exterior showing the industrial nature of the area that's quite a contrast to today, and an undated shot of some women holding Diamond and Ceresota brand bags (I tried but failed to resist the temptation to point out that the one on the left looks a lot like Marty Feldman).

The mill and the sign are near the river on S. 2nd St.

And They Complain About The Browns

Another Minneapolis riverfront icon, and this one involves at least a bit of paint on masonry. The North Star Woolen Mill Company built this textile mill in 1864 as part of an effort to establish the industry near St. Anthony Falls, with its long and prosperous tradition of milling. By 1925 it was nations largest manufacturer of woolen blankets.

You'll not be surprised that there are quite a few images out there. I also found this cool mother's day blanket ad from 1946.

The company moved to Ohio in 1949 and the building sat empty for nearly 50 years. It was turned into condos in what I think was one of the city's earlier loft conversions in 1988-89. It's a personal favorite and when shopping for housing I was sorely tempted to buy here. Had I done so, I would have had my very own ghost sign, immediately below my balcony:

If you can read it, you know it's located at 109 Portland Ave. S.

Taste of Nordeast

I wanted something special for the 20th sign, the second full page of posts, so I decided to bend the rules a bit again (I'm The Decider, so I can do that) for a true Minneapolis icon. The Grain Belt beer sign has been flashing it hints of barley and hop goodness toward downtown from its perch on Nicollet Island for ages. It was apparently for sale and in ill repair a year and a half ago, and hasn't flashed as it's meant to for some time.

Before American brewing became concentrated in Milwaukee, St. Louis and Colorado (or who are we kidding, these days, South Africa, Belgium and Canada), Grain Belt was one of the regional brands that served the Upper Midwest. The brand dates to before Prohibition and today it seems the original yellow beer seems to be gaining PBR-like ironic popularity. Today it's owned by August Schell Brewing of New Ulm and the original brew is complimented by the deliciously darker Nordeast. The abandoned old brewery in Northeast Minneapolis is on the national register of historic places.