So I'm waiting in the cheap snip-joint Sunday, waiting for a barber to call my name. I go to the same place every few weeks. Every stylist gives me a card. I never see any of them again. I used to go elsewhere, because they had a stable, well, stable, and I could talk kids with one of the stylists. The other, however, was snooty and dumb as a busted blow drier, and no fun at all. I stopped going when they chance I'd get her dropped to 50-50, and chose another place that's somewhat cheaper.

This time I got a friendly fellow who was a natural, fluid conversationalist, so it went quickly. We were talking neighborhoods, and he said he lived in Uptown. When he gave the location I wanted to say "no, you really don't," but I'm an old purist about these things. Sorry, you're in the Wedge. Past the Green Mill, it's not Uptown. What's more: as Uptown moved east, the northern definition contracted. I used to live at 2880 Irving, which was right on the grassy strip called the Mall, right in the Throbbing Heart of Uptown in its heyday.

After I left, of course, it was all downhill.

That's the first rule of Uptown: it was never as good as it was. The news that the Uptown bar will probably get razed for stores was depressing, even though I haven't been there for years. Once upon a time I was there every Sunday morning for eggs, hash browns, hockey-puck sausages. Spent many nights there; put it in my second novel. The late 80s were the glory years of Uptown, you see - and why? Because I lived there and my friends lived there and we were all single. Pity anyone who came before or after. I mention this only because I told the barber Uptown was different now, and he agreed:

"It's so commercial."

Almost laughed in his face - well, the reflection of his face; he was cutting my hair, after all - because THAT was what we thought when we went back after moving away, and THAT was what people who'd lived there before we did said. It was more commercial when I was there, if only because Calhoun Square was a going concern. But it had enough of the old Uptown to remind us of its pre-mall state. The Port Arthur Cafe, with its incredible 1940s red exterior; Morrie's, the old corner market, eventually ground to dust by Lunds; the Rainbow Cafe. The Sub World theater was still in operation. The pre-war Uptown was on the way out, but enough remained to ground the neighborhood in the intersection of Minneapolis Then and Minneapolis To Come, and it was marvelous.

Like many of the great trolley nodes, it had grown up providing everything people needed in the immediate area. Two movie houses, a candy store (Abdullah's, a brand you can still find), a bowling alley, bars, a drug store, Schlampp's for the fur trade. On and on. Last week while making the weekly prowl through the microfiche, I found an ad for a sales event in Uptown. The logo:

That's right, a Weatherball, side by side with the iconic dirigible-mooring-mast of the Uptown:

The Weatherball once stood in Uptown as well. Didn't know. The ads tell you how times have changed:

Hurry in! Only 25 shotguns! First come first served!

When Calhoun Square rises again, I think Uptown will be better than it's been since - well, since I lived there. But they'll always be missing something. There used to be a pet store on Lake, and I remember walking past one evening in the middle of April, 1995. There were puppies in the window. I bought one. He's still with me. So are the memories of Uptown, he said, writing as poorly as possible in an attempt to tie it all up, but it's all someone else's place now. Same with Dinkytown and other places I've lived. You can't go home again. For one thing, you turned in the keys.