Traces of Old Saint Paul

Facebook hosts hundreds of group pages, mostly centered on a specific topic or area of interest. An old friend turned me on to the Old Saint Paul group page on Facebook a long time ago. That group page provides an almost daily stream of pictures of old buildings, family photos, personal mementos and other images centered around old Saint Paul. More often than not, the images are followed by comments about growing up in the old city of yesteryear.

Granted, one has to be careful not to linger in the past for too long. It’s a common trap oldsters fall into when contemplating a shortening horizon and a lengthening rearview mirror. Yet a reflective stroll down memory lane is a wonderful way of encapsulating so many of the emotions that formed, directed and ultimately created the person one is today. I am a product of old Saint Paul as much as I am a survivor of my agrarian Catholic upbringing and a direct reflection of my Mother’s insatiable appetite for achievement despite the obstacles placed in front of her.

Photo credit: Minnesota Historical Society

What I like most about the Old Saint Paul Facebook page is the trigger it snaps in my brain every time I come across an old photo from my period of living there. It’s amazing how one old black and white photograph of downtown, an intersection, a school or an event can unleash a torrent of emotions swirling through my brain, unearthing a zillion little memory pops that bring back the sights and sounds and smells and youthful mind-trappings of a kid growing up there.

Another plaintiff to the cause is a guy from California who posted regularly on the page about his experiences growing up in my old neighborhood. Walter Jack Savage is like me in many ways and yet we took very different pathways to our adulthood. He has a large and enthusiastic following on Facebook. His posts seem to generate a lot of genuine heartfelt reflections from his followers.

Photo credit: Minnesota Historical Society

The Old Saint Paul Facebook page is a reflection of the culture, values, mores and hang-ups of that era back in the 50’s. It is, at once, hope for the future, a safe environment growing up, downtown movie palaces, neighborhood theaters, unattainable dream cars, streetcar trolleys, buses and the Schmidt brewery on West Seventh Street. It is also a glimpse of an old downtown core slowly dying out before a newer version came along.

I have tried to capture what I remember of my youth growing up in Saint Paul in several blogs:  Retracing Cobblestone Steps, Growing up Catholic, and On the Corner of Fairview and Summit. Growing up there was a story of many perspectives, a Rashomon of secrets, lies, distortions, joy and confusion. A single parent trying her best. Three individuals living under one roof. A swirling cascade of impressions that slipped through and around my brain with just a few getting snagged on the shores of my memory bank.

My journey really began on Smith Avenue, moved to a six plex apartment building nearby and finally our home on Randolph Avenue. Then from 1949 through 1957 it was a daily ride, first on streetcars then buses, down to Saint Louis Grade School.

Photo credit: Minnesota Historical Society

Photo credit: Minnesota Historical Society

Photo credit: Minnesota Historical Society

Photo credit: Minnesota Historical Society

Over the years I witnessed the ever evolving, shifting, changing facades that were West Seventh Street, the old Schmidt Brewery, Seven Corners and a litany of buildings crumbling and growing along that fabled corridor. It was a downtown of W.T. Grant where we caught the ride home each afternoon at 3:15 and theaters each of which came with their own kind of memory.

Photo credit: Minnesota Historical Society

Photo credit: Minnesota Historical Society

The Randolph Theater for its twelve cent Saturday Matinees, Same with the St. Clair Theater. The Paramount where I saw ‘The Guns of Navarone’ and the Orpheum for Saturday night dates with my first love. The Riviera for its movies after school and the Tower and Strand for their old black and white reels and scary patrons lurking in the lobby. Finally the Grandview for its ‘Carry On’ British series and a burgeoning love of foreign films that has stayed with me to this day.

Then it all came to a crashing halt on May 31st, 1961.  That Sunday afternoon ended my eight years of a paper route, obligatory mass on Sunday, excuses for going downtown and a shift toward that Western horizon and college.

After that, old Saint Paul was a place to avoid and a fading memory of times past replaced by hopes for the future. The downtown core evolved and changed and gradually morphed into another layer of new buildings, new hopes for the future, energized worker bees and queen bees intent on creating a new core of energy and activities in that cluster of buildings along the river.

I returned to downtown Saint Paul in the late eighties for several years then shifted once again into another life of free-lance work and real estate investments. By then the memories had faded enough that only the good ones rose to the surface and the bad ones sank to the bottom; still present but layered over by better ones of today.

Now enough time has passed that only the old photographs can trigger my memory bubbles of that period in my life. I guess I have Old Saint Paul to thank for that.