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.

Riesling Romance

The Mosel like so many rivers in Europe unmasks different personalities as it passes through many different regions of Germany. Beyond the bucolic landscapes dotted with fairy-tale castles, terraced vineyards and rust-covered maritime facilities, the Mosel provides a glimpse into its storied history of the region.

Mother Mosel (aka Moselle) River begins its journey in France and flows into Germany where it twists sharply for 150 miles and deposits itself into the Rhine on its way to the North Sea. Along this winding river gorge are found some of the most classic Riesling wines in the world.

Once the most efficient and fashionable means of travel throughout Europe, river cruising continues to be an ideal way to discover the culture, cuisine and unique characteristics of the many countries traveled through. Yet for all their similarities, our two main avenues of travel last summer, the Rhine and Mosel, wear two very different masks.

Father Rhine, as it is called by the locals, has long been Europe’s most important commercial waterway. Its scenic beauty has inspired countless myths and legends. By introducing vines to the region, the Romans paved the way for the excellent vintages that are a further source of the Rhine’s international reputation.

Mother Mosel, on the other hand, wears a very different moniker. Since the days of the first Romans, over 2000 years ago, the most exquisite asset of the Mosel countryside has remained its wine production. Its Riesling wines are known the world over for their quality and taste.

The Mosel is one of thirteen German wine regions known for quality wines. It is Germany’s third largest in terms of production but some consider it the leading region in terms of international prestige.

The area is known for its steep slopes of the region’s vineyards overlooking the river below. At a 65 degree incline, the steepest recorded vineyard in the world is the Calmont vineyard located on the Mosel and belonging to the village of Bremm.

Because of the northerly location of Mosel, the Riesling wines are often light, tending to lower alcohol, crisp and high in acidity, and often exhibit ‘flowery’ rather than ‘fruity’ aromas. It’s most common vineyard soil is derived in main from various kinds of slate deposits which tend to give the wines a transparent, mineralic aspect, that often exhibit great depth of flavor.

Generations upon generations of craftsmen have nurtured, embellished and refined a giant open-air amphitheater to the honor of Bacchus, the God of Wine. The towering slate cliffs store the day’s warmth for the cool evenings that follow while the grapes ripen at just the right angle to the sun.

In the middle ages, whole villages sprung up that were centered on the region’s wine industry. These ‘wine villages’ included paths from the town center up to the area’s vineyards. Nothing much has changed over the centuries except that now those footpaths have been widened and paved over for heavy transport to ascend the heights to harvest the grapes.

Dating back hundreds of years, castles dot the countryside and add to the beauty and charm of the region.

The castles are a throwback to the age of kings and queens, lowly peasants, feudal lords fighting for territory and knights in dented armor. There are huge castle walls looking down on empty moats and dining halls with their huge oak tables and tapestry on the walls. An age of chivalry and corruption and a rigid caste system. A variable plethora of images for a fertile imagination.

For me, the best part of the Mosel gorge were the periods of cruising its waterways. Ensconced in a lounge chair on top of our ship, I was surrounded by an IMAX presentation of surround sights and sounds and slowly moving images.

It became a place for me to get lost inside my head and let my imagination flourish. A time to reflect, appreciate, access and plan for the future. Different surroundings but same results. A near-silent pass through history as time slipped by and my thoughts turned toward the future.

Desert Modern on Parade

 The Coachella Valley and Palm Springs in particular, have a storied history behind it. Since the early 1920s, Hollywood’s elite and famous hangers-on have been coming to this desert playground for fun and mischief.

 Beginning in the mid-40s, architects originated a design movement specific to the greater Palm Springs area. It became known as Desert Modern or McM (Mid-Century Modern.) Their buildings featured ground-breaking techniques such as post-and-beam supports, floor-to-ceiling glass walls and a wide array of colors to match the surrounding mountains and desert. Now famous architects such as William Krisel, E. Stewart Williams, Albert Frey, William F. Cody, Richard Neutra, and Donald Wexler were among the masters of this design.

Although that Hollywood of old has long since passed away and new tinsel town residents tend to hide in their hideaways Down Valley, Palm Springs has found a way to continue its celebration of that colorful, artful, self-indulgent rite of passage. It’s called Modernism Week.

Modernism Week is a signature event held every February in Palm Springs. This year, it attracted over 120,000 modern architecture lovers from all over the country and the world. There were a host of events to showcase and highlight the very best of modernism designs and trends. There are art fairs, a modernism yard sale, vintage car show, lectures and films on historical Palm Springs architecture, as well as many events at the convention center. One of the highlights of the Week was the neighborhood home tours. Our Indian Canyon neighborhood was included in one of this year’s home tours.

In years past, Sharon and I have volunteered to be docents for these neighborhood visits.

It’s always a great opportunity to meet more of our neighbors and peek in on the lives of the design-conscious, artsy-types who created these one-of-a-kind homes. Those homes are as much a statement as anything else. They speak of great taste in design, opulence, class, and status.

A couple of years ago, we were docents at a home that was built around the allure of the Gabor Sisters.  Over time the tales of its past residents have only grown and become more embellished with each new owner. Famously known as the ‘Gabor House’ this house carries its own colorful banner of ‘Old Palm Springs’ and its connection to the golden era of old Hollywood.

Explaining the Gabor sisters to our younger visitors was like comparing them to the present-day celebrity sensations The Kardashians. No talent, no chemistry, no discernable reason why anyone would care but somehow fans do care about the Kardashians. The Gabor sisters had that same aura about them back then.

The house had been totally remodeled and was stunning in its décor. It’s a fitting tribute to the glitz and glamor that was old Hollywood. Older visitors seemed genuinely interested in the tales of its past occupants. The newer ones just liked the mid-century design. So it goes in the land of fact and fiction, rumor and innuendo but always a good story to tell.

We also had a chance to visit the West Elm house designed specifically for this year’s Modernism Week. West Elm (a branch of William-Sonoma) offered a home tour of a vacation rental property that had been entirely decorated with West Elm furniture and dressings. They called it The Seven Eighty and it was fun to explore.

It was fascinating to see what had been done to one of these retro houses and how the other half lives. Most of these homes were owned by interior designers…no surprise there. Each was a designer’s delight. Interesting is a safe word to describe some of those settings.

Fortunately, my taste doesn’t lean toward mid-century modern architecture or eclectic furnishings. I’m too old-fashioned for a $10,000 sofa designed by some ancient Italian or a chair made out of Plexiglas. Give me a comfortable chair, a cup of coffee and the mountains as my backdrop. That’s all I need.

But still, it’s fun to look.