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Posts about City streets

May 29, 1896: Schoolchildren move a house

Posted by: Ben Welter Updated: December 19, 2014 - 2:35 PM
How many children does it take to move an old, decrepit house six miles? The answer, Minneapolitans learned back in 1896, was about 10,000.

Two years earlier, a Minneapolis Journal reporter had tracked down the oldest wood-frame house west of the Mississippi and proposed to have the city’s schoolchildren team up to move the structure from its temporary address, 324 16th Av. S., to Minnehaha Park, where the Stevens House would be preserved for future generations to enjoy.

The newspaper solicited donations, added its own money and bought the house, then organized the move with the support of the Park Board, the school board, the mayor and the streetcar company. On May 28, 1896, about 10,000 first- through 12th-grade students got a day off from school to handle the big job. In seven relay teams, they latched onto ropes and helped 10 horses pull the house down Minnehaha Avenue to a spot outside the park.

You can imagine the mayhem: Thousands of largely unsupervised schoolchildren, armed with free trolley passes, loosed on the city. This story, from the competing daily, the Minneapolis Tribune, was buried on Page 5. It captures the spectacle beautifully — without once mentioning the Journal.
The Journal illustrated the front-page story with a cheery drawing.



The First Residence Built in Old Minneapolis Given a Final Site at Minnehaha Park – Enthusiastic Thousands of Grade and High School Pupils Join Hands in the Event – Rivalry Between the Central and South Side Schools Breaks Out in a New Place – Seven Relays Change About at the Task – Addresses Delivered at the Park.

Color-coded badges like this identified members of each relay team and allowed the children to ride the trolleys for free all day.

Eight thousand school children from the grades and nearly 2,000 high school students took a long pull, a strong pull and a pull altogether, and after several hours of pulling landed the historical old Stevens house within the sound of the Laughing Waters of Minnehaha yesterday.

It was a gala day in the public schools and every student who was old enough and strong enough was given an opportunity to assist in the event, before the first house ever built in Minneapolis had finished its long journey of some six miles, and had reached its last resting place, there to remain until its timbers have rotted with time. Its final home is peculiarly fitting, as there are blended together in one story two histories, that of the first Indian and the first white man within the lines which now comprise the limits of Minneapolis.

The program passed off smoothly and successfully, and the thousands of people who crowded along the line of march cheered in enthusiasm as the homely, decrepit old house was pulled along the historical Minnehaha road.

The 10,000 pupils did not all pull at once. They were divided into seven relays, each successive division being taken to their respective station in trolly cars, and arriving just in time to take up the long ropes as they were dropped by the preceding relay. Two or three of the relays were somewhat late, owing to the crowded condition of the street, and the delay made the house arrive at the falls somewhat behind schedule time.

Yet for an affair of such magnitude, there were few unpleasant incidents and no accidents. Sergt. Martinson and eight officers from the South Side police detail looked after the children with painstaking care, and prevented any serious mishap.

House-mover Pratt had already hauled the historical old building to the place of starting, at Sixteenth avenue south near Fourth street, and was in waiting at 9 o’clock for the first relay of children. With him were several linemen and electricians, who traversed the route to guard against accidents from wires.

Working in relay teams, thousands of schoolchildren — with help from 10 horses — pulled the Stevens House nearly six miles.

At 9 o’clock the corner named was surrounded by a great throng of shouting eager school children, all anxious to take hold of the big ropes which stretched out for 400 feet in front of the house. Every one was promptly on hand, and Supt. Jordan, of the public schools, and city officials looked anxiously for Col. John H. Stevens, whose hands fashioned the old building nearly a half century ago. But the sad intelligence was soon received that the venerable citizen, and the pioneer of the city, had been stricken with paralysis as the result of the excitement, and would be unable to attend. A committee was sent to offer condolence to the stricken man.

But the children knew nothing of the sad occurrence and were impatient to start on the novel journey. Contractor Pratt appeared in time with 10 strong horses and hitched the teams to the trucks. At a given signal a bugler from the state troops, clad in full regimentals, stepped between the lines of happy children and blew a merry blast. It was the order for “forward march,” and there came a tremendous strain on the ropes. The old house shook for a moment, lurched a little, and then smoothly began its long journey. A lust cry went up, which was taken by the spectators and repeated for a half mile along the line of march.

The first relay consisted of 1,100 children from the Clay, Jackson, Peabody, Corcoran, Irving, Greeley, Washington, Madison and Motley schools. They pulled the house to Franklin and Minnehaha avenues, where the ropes were dropped and a rush made for waiting trolley cars.

With equal impetuosity the second relay jumped into line, and after a short pause the house was off again. This time the Longfellow, Rosedale, Clinton, Whittier, Bryant, Sumner and Lincoln schools were pulling and tugging at the rope. Everything went smoothly, and at Twenty-sixth street the relay gave way to another from other schools.

At this point there was something of unexpected interest. Waving their school flag in triumph from the gable window of the old building the lads from the South Side High School shouted their school yell and BAD DEFIANCE TO ALL COMERS.

At this point the Central High School scholars were billed to relieve the South Siders, and consequently surrounded the building.

The Minneapolis Journal devoted much of its front page to the big move, featuring a fanciful illustration of children pulling the house — and the sad news of a killer tornado in St. Louis. [Click on the image to see the full front page.]

The spirit of school rivalry broke out, strong and bitter. The South Siders refused to surrender the fortress and flaunted their banner from the window in spite of all entreaties and orders. Contractor Pratt could not oust them. Supt. Jordan could not oust them, and finally Sergeant Martinson called for a detail of police and made a rush for the house. But the South Side lads were still game, and did not give up until several had been made to feel the force of police authority. Then they made a break. As they dashed from one door the Centrals entered by the other, and their banner was soon flying from the gable amid vociferous cheers. The South Siders were chased up the street by a detachment of Centrals, and for a moment it looked as if the rush would result in some bruised heads. However, good nature was restored and again the house started on its way. There was no hitch in the proceedings, and at 1 o’clock the house had passed the Minnehaha Driving Park. As each relay finished its work it was carried to the park, there to await the formal ceremonies in the afternoon.

The site for the building had already been prepared and the house was hauled to it rather late in the afternoon. The entire distance covered by the different relays was about four miles.


The house arrived at the park a little after 3 o’clock. Here the proceedings were delayed, owing to a shower of rain, and it was not until 3 o’clock that the house was brought to the spot that it will occupy in the years to come. An impromptu platform was erected in front of the old doorway, from which the speeches were delivered in the presence of the many that gathered around.

Ald. Frank B. Snyder, who was born in the house, presented it to the city.

“It is both fitting and proper,” said the speaker, “to glorify the relics of by-gone days. I remember the house as it stood amid the lilac bushes beneath the foliage of overhanging trees on the green banks of the Mississippi. Many changes have come since then, and the old landmark was swept away. The old house has no commercial value, but only stands as a monument of the past. Old Home! I greet you. You are endeared to me by memories of the past. For many years you have been an outcast, forsaken, neglected, almost forgotten, I rejoice that at this late day, there has come to you, as to an old man, a second childhood: that henceforth as of old, you will nestle on the green banks of a flowing stream, beneath the foliage of overhanging trees, and that you will again feel the mist and hear the roar of the falling waters. Mr. Mayor, in behalf of the children who have brought this old building here, I now transfer the first house build in minneapolis, to you, by delivering the key, to have and to hold, for the use of the public, from this time forth, forever.”

The Stevens House in 1894, before the big move.

Mayor Pratt accepted the house in the following words:

“Honorable President of the City Council — I have the honor and pleasure, on behalf of the city of Minneapolis, to receive from you, representing the press and the school children of this city, this historic house — historic, because it was the first house built upon the site of our great and beautiful city.

“It has been a silent witness to a transformation more marvelous than any conjuration of Aladdin’s lamp. Forty-six years ago it stood alone on the border of a trackless prairie, on the west bank of the Mississippi, on the very spot that is now the center of the industrial and commercial life, not only of a great city, but also of that vast tributary region of which we are the metropolis. Forty-six years ago, a solitary house, hundreds of miles from any railroad; today, a railroad center , whose gigantic arms reach from sea to sea.

“Then it stood in a region inhabited only by savages. Now, in their place, are churches, schools and thousands of Christian homes. …”

[His honor waxed on for several more minutes, quoting a passage from Longfellow's "Song of Hiawatha" and praising the city's "wonderful progress" before, at last, introducing the parks commissioner, Prof. W.W. Folwell, who waxed on for several minutes himself, finishing with a call to greet the old home "with a mighty hurrah."]

The hurrahs were given with a will, after which the South Side High School brought out yells for the different personages who had each taken party in the exercises.

Minnehaha Falls in about 1895. ( photo)

As each relay was released, the children took the next car and rode to the falls. They had all been given souvenirs that insured them a free ride, and soon the part was one mass of children. They were everywhere. There was not a spot in the large park that they did not visit; the falls, looking down at the water as it struck the waters below; down through Longfellow Glen they thronged like so many “Brownies.” At the Soldiers’ Home they made themselves perfectly at home, and here they received a cordial welcome, and were shown everything that could be of interest. They had all taken lunch baskets, and by noon the who park was a large picnic ground. Many of them became so absorbed in the different things that were to be seen that they paid no more attention to the old house after they were once at the park. Many, however, became so interested in the old landmark that they followed every move it made, lustily cheering it as, creaking, it slowly moved towards its last resting place. Many of the children began to leave as soon as the exercises were over, but it was nearly dark before the last little curiosity seekers, tired, turned their footsteps homewards to seek their beds and dream of how the little fairies had drawn the old Stevens house out to Minnehaha Park.

Here’s what the Stevens House looked like in 1900, nestled in its new surroundings near Minnehaha Falls.

At 8 o’clock last evening the railway gave an exhibition of fire works at the Falls, which in effect has never been equaled in this part of the country. The falls itself, was the object worked upon, and the result was more than human mind can comprehend without seeing it. Colored lights were placed on the rocks immediately behind the falling water, at the sides and at the bottom. Calcium lights were thrown on the water, giving the falls the appearance of a sheet of fire, and increasing the volume about six times. Fully 1,000 Japanese lanterns were strung through Longfellow glen, thereby adding to the romantic beauty of the whole.


The Twin City Rapid Transit Company deserves considerable credit for the manner in which it handled the school children yesterday. The scholars were all given badges which entitled them to free rides in the cars and the youngsters improved their opportunity all day long. Not content with riding to Minnehaha Falls and back, they put in extra time riding about the city, some traveling on as many as five different lines.

Altogether the company carried about 10,000 children. Nearly all went to the Falls after they were through pulling the Stevens house, and the majority remained there until late in the afternoon. The time limit was supposed to be eight o’clock, but there were many children who did not leave the Falls until after that hour. The rain in the afternoon helped out wonderfully, as it started the crowds toward the city, and there was not such a crush later on as there would have been but for the rain. The company had no trouble in handling the children and there were no accidents.


John H. Stevens, shown here in his twilight years, built the house in 1849 near what is now the Federal Reserve Bank building in downtown Minneapolis.

Yesterday’s event did not pass off without certain criticisms from various sources, and for various reasons. There were many parents who objected to sending their children out on such an excursion through anxiety lest something should happen through the day, and yet they felt as if they were called upon to do so on account of the way in which the matter had been put before the public. There were mothers who have no children, but who are interested in educational matters, and who think that there are enough holidays for the children, without an extra day being given them. If such an event was to take place it was their opinion that it should take place on some regular holiday instead of breaking in on the regular school routine. Then the park commissioners and the park policemen objected to the way in which the children took possession of the park and everything in it. There was no such thing as controlling them, and they ran over everything in sight. It would have taken a small regiment of policemen to have kept that throng in check.

STRICKEN WITH PARALYSIS.Col. J.H. Stevens Temporarily Overcome by Excitement.

Col. John H. Stevens, whose continued good health, although he has arrived at a very advanced age, has been a pleasing commentary on the salubrity of Minnesota’s climate, suffered a slight stroke of paralysis yesterday. He passed a restless night, being in a somewhat excited state of mind presumably on account of the popular demonstration in connection with the moving of his first Minneapolis home. Early in the morning, shortly after arising, he was afflicted with a paralytic stroke which for a time prostrated him completely, rendering him powerless to move a muscle in the entire right side of his body. His physician was called and rendered prompt assistance, and within a short time his condition was considerably relieved.

May 31, 1913: Rattlesnake pointedly proves handler's point

Posted by: Ben Welter Updated: July 4, 2013 - 10:24 PM
This story snapped and slithered its way onto the front page of the Minneapolis Tribune:

Carnival Snake Bites
Man; Frightens Police

Trainer in Danger from Fangs of Big Rattler He Was Showing.

Same Reptile Slinks Into the Lake Street Station in Afternoon.

The skepticism of a visitor at the “Reptile World” show at the Lake Street festival last night came near causing the death of Montana Jack, snake trainer. He was bitten by a poisonous rattlesnake when he attempt to prove that the reptile had not been defanged.

“Jack” was demonstrating methods of handling the snakes to a crowd, when one spectator declared that the reptiles had all been deprived of their fangs and that they were perfectly harmless. Grabbing the largest of the dozen rattlers from the bottom of the pit, Jack declared he would prove that the snakes were poisonous.

In forcing open the snake’s mouth it slipped from his grasp for a moment and buried its fangs in the fleshy part of the man’s left arm.

He wanted to treat the bite by his own method, but the police took him to Dr. George E. Thomas. He will recover.

Yesterday afternoon half a dozen policemen in the Fifth precinct station believed they were “seeing things” when the same snake, which had escaped from the tent, slid into the station. There was a scramble for the doors and tops of desks and chairs, and for a few minutes the rattler was in full control of the situation. Then it continued on its way and noiselessly slid out of the rear door into the alley.

It was captured a short time afterward in the grass in the rear of 3032 Third avenue south.


I was unable to find a photo of Montana Jack or any other snake handler of the early 1900s in the Star Tribune's rich archive of photos. But -- snakes alive! -- how about the caption on the back of this 1937 photo: "Radioman from KSTP interviewing a cobra snake." Tell us more, dear archives, tell us more!

Dec. 27, 1893: Down in Fish Alley

Posted by: Ben Welter Updated: January 28, 2013 - 1:34 PM
Known as the “slum of all slums” in the city’s early days, Fish Alley was a crime-ridden warren of decrepit structures and narrow paths on the northeastern edge of downtown Minneapolis. The block was bounded by Washington Avenue, S. Third Street and what are now known as Park and Portland Avenues S. The crumbling “fish building” for which it was named was condemned as unsafe on May 2, 1906, and ground was broken for the J.I. Case warehouse a few weeks later. The Case building, about a block from the Metrodome, is now home to an Old Spaghetti Factory restaurant and other businesses.

Brace yourself, dear reader. The Tribune reporter did not paint a pretty picture of this blot on the city’s escutcheon.


Visit to a Place Which Frequently Figures in Police Annals – The Alley Is Not What It Used to be However, and Its Prestige as a Center of Criminality Is Gradually Being Lost – Sights and Scenes in Its Dark Recesses Which the General Public Little Dream of – The Day in Police Circles.
“Fish alley.”
Little that is pleasant can be said about it. Even the light of the universal festival just celebrated cannot penetrate those dingy rookeries to throw even a semblance of cheerfulness upon them. The usual pastime and even occupation of the inmates are cards and whisky, and petty crimes, and Christmas is usually celebrated by having a little more of these.
The place frequently figures in the annals of the police, and hardly ever comes to the surface in any other connection. Time was when crime of a more or less desperate nature was enacted in the place, or elsewhere by its boldest inmates, but whatever of the criminal element now found there is of the cheap, timid sort, and the people are utterly without stamina of any kind. Formerly the place swarmed with negroes, Chinese and low-down white trash, but the alley is now largely deserted. A few families are found there, but most of the population is composed of roomers, devotees of vice in various forms. The latest exploit was the enticing of a farmer into one of the upper rooms by a street siren whose alleged husband at the proper moment came rushing upon the scene. Hush money was of course demanded, and would no doubt have been paid had not Officer Conroy, on whose beat Fish alley is located, appeared to prevent the consummation of the crime. The woman was sent to the work house. Conroy has made it rather unpleasant for the criminal gentry, and more than 20 inmates have moved away since he began his duties there.
The place has its name from the fact that in early times a fish market was located there. The original building is still standing, a low, narrow structure, in the middle of the block between Seventh and Eighth avenues south. A narrow space separates it from the next building on the right, an alley just wide enough to permit a person to walk through to the rear. Here a concatenation of half-rotten stairs, galleries and doors lead to the rooms on the right and left and to the first and upper floors. Everything is in a condition of decay, corresponding well with the unwholesome moral and mental attributes of the denizens of the place. Many of the ground floor rooms fronting on Washington avenue are used for various sorts of business, meat markets, saloons, candy stores, second hand dealers, etc., and outward appearances are not so bad. But in the rear corruption and decay have full sway. The houses run into the ground here, and what is the second or third story in the front may be the first from the rear. The place swarms with rats. Dogs bark and growl as one threads his way carefully through the labyrinths, and the wails of children, or the carousal of debauchees fret the midnight air. Formerly it would have been a dangerous undertaking to go through the rookeries alone, but the danger is not great now. The surveillance of the police over the locality is so close that criminals find it but an insecure hiding place.
In its palmy days Fish alley was a city refuge for the criminal fleeing from justice. Negroes were then swarming in the block, and the razor artist who had carved a fellow citizen uptown would flee to the rookery and, sheltered by his friends, it was a difficult task to ferret him out.

Detail of C. Wright Davison's 1884 Pocket Map of Minneapolis shows the location of Fish Alley: Block 45, just south of the Chicago Milwaukee & St. Paul Railway's "Car House."

Oct. 7, 1906: 'Vampire rats' terrorize Minneapolis chickens

Posted by: Ben Welter Updated: December 7, 2012 - 7:02 PM
Perhaps an experienced exterminator can identify the blood-sucking, kangaroo-like rats described in this Minneapolis Tribune story.



Has Appearance of Kangaroo and Attacks Ducks and Turkeys.
Has Minneapolis been visited by a colony of vampire rats and are they propagating a new and foreign breed? are the questions which Minneapolis people are beginning to ask, and which many of them answer for themselves in the affirmative from experience.
The discovery that rats were acting very peculiarly, was first made by the chicken fanciers. There are more of this class of people in Minneapolis than in any other city of its size in the country and they breed more high priced fowl than any western city.
Poultrymen assert that while chicks are liable to be carried off by rats, when they get of a good broiler size, they are safe. But this season it is different. Rats not only have been killing full grown chicks during the night, but they have been seen to leap upon chickens in the daytime. Stephen Conlow, a North Minneapolis breeder, tells of these rats dragging down a full grown duck, and Mart E. Cressing, an East Side fancier, asserts that they even have seized his young turkeys.
“I heard a commotion one day in the yard,” he said, “and there was a young turkey thrashing about the yard with two rats hanging to its neck. I ran into the yard and drove them away and found that they had sunk their teeth into the back of the turkey’s neck and had been sucking the blood. The turkey was strong, but the wounds poisoned it, and swelled its head and I had to kill it. The worst of it is, these rats won’t be poisoned, for they refuse to eat raw meat or cheese that has been fixed for them.”
Several poultry fanciers are going out of the business entirely because they cannot fight these queer animals, which they say are too cunning for them. One man reports only a dozen chicks left to grow to maturity out of 233, all carried off by rats in spite of his precaution.
“I have never seen rats like them,” said one North Minneapolis fancier. “I have had rats that were easy to handle, but I never heard of this kind until Mrs. Turnbull, who lives near me, told of rats that killed grown chickens, roosters and hens. I couldn’t believe it, but she assured me that she had to shut hers up in barrels over night to protect them. Then finally they attacked my colony.
“One day I heard a flopping out in the yard, and saw a big broiler, one of my best chicks, flopping as if his neck had been run. I found that a rat had thrown it. I drove it away, and it retreated a short distance, and blinked at me. The struggles of the chick had ceased before I picked it up. I plucked it to find how it was injured and found teeth holes at each side of the back of the base of the neck. The rat had broken the spinal [cord] and sucked the blood until the chicken dropped from weakness. I have found many killed in the day time this year and all have the spinal [cord] broken.
“I want to tell another peculiar thing about these rats. I have watched them about the yard, and they are afraid of nothing. They will lay in wait for sparrows, as a cat does, and leap for them when they get near, and I have seen more than one caught by them. I can’t catch them nor poison them. They seem to disappear no one knows where, when they want to sleep.”
People who have been troubled with them, say they are different from the ordinary rat. They are not as large, are rather lean and long, have tails, which are more than usually large at the base. Their ears are quite long, and their eyes piercing and large, and they run by a series of bounds, instead of the close travel of the ordinary rat.
Mr. Johnson, a fireman in the department, asserts that his experience with the rats are that when they get hungry they always prefer animal food to the extent of eating the family shoes when they can’t get meat. He says they don’t seem to care for bread and cheese, and poison they simply turn up their nose at.
“I have driven them from my place,” said one poultryman, speaking of the rat question. “They don’t seem to live in sewers. I take chopped liver and lay it in the center of a large board square, say four feet square. I sprinkle the board around it with potash. They come to get the nice juicy meat, and get the potash on their feet. It burns and they lick it off, and that kills. I advise every one to try it. After I did, my chickens were unmolested. Of course you have to put the potash where the chickens won’t get it.”
Rattus norvegicus -- known as Mus decumanus in the early 1900s -- also had a taste for poultry. (Image courtesy of Kurt Stueber)


Oct. 20, 1899: How to move 120 tons of bridge

Posted by: Ben Welter Updated: October 25, 2012 - 3:38 PM


Over the past 150 years, five bridges have spanned the Mississippi at Wabasha Street in St. Paul. The first, a wooden Howe truss span known as the St. Paul Bridge, was completed in 1859. The second, built in 1872, was of the same design. The third was built in about 1884. That bridge was, according to a rather dated page on St. Paul’s website, an all-iron Pratt truss, “an innovative version known as a Whipple double-intersection Pratt.” Innovative, perhaps, but not enduring: Five years later it was replaced by an iron cantilever deck-truss that served the city for a century before the high cost of maintenance and repair spelled its doom. The current Wabasha Street Bridge, a concrete segmental box girder bridge, was completed in 1998.
The 1889 bridge was built in two parts, first the north section and, 10 years later, the south section. The latter project required that a 120-ton span of wood and iron be moved 50 feet, from temporary wooden piers built downstream to permanent masonry piers. In the story below, the Minneapolis Tribune explained how six men, without the aid of horses or steam power, completed the job in just eight hours. The feat was described in detail in the January 1900 issue of the Journal of the Association of Engineering Societies.

Bridge Moving
by Modern Methods

Six men moved the 120 tons of wood and iron contained in one span of the Wabasha street bridge, St. Paul, 50 feet Wednesday, and they didn’t make much fuss about it as an expressman would in getting a trunk upstairs. The men were not unusually tired after their feat, for screws and compound levers accomplished what their hands could never have done and completed a task in which it would have been dangerous to have used machinery.
By the aid of screws and rollers the men pulled the bridge the entire distance in eight hours. The lifting and trussing of the bridge requiring a week or more, and it will take almost that long for each of the other two spans that will have to be moved. After all this is done the approaches will have to be shaped up and the connection made with the permanent portion of the bridge.
An attempt was made at first to move the bridge without the use of rollers, but it was found the friction was too great and that it could not be done. The rollers are simply iron bars cut in short sections, and as fast as they roll out from under the plate they are placed in front again. A screw mechanism is employed at each end of the span. In moving the bridge it is necessary to exercise the greatest care to avoid demolishing the old piers.
The contract for moving the old bridge amounts to $7,500 and for building the approach $40,995.
A photo from the January 1900 issue of the Journal of the Association of Engineering Societies - thanks, Google Books -- shows a 120-ton section of St. Paul's Wabasha Street bridge being maneuvered into place.


The fourth Wabasha Street bridge, shown here in about 1900, was listed in the National Register of Historic Places in 1989. (Photo courtesy of Minnesota Historical Society



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