A bridge to Dakota County's past

Today, the utter stillness around the barricaded Old Cedar Avenue Bridge in Bloomington gives the impression that it was always a place where wild things ruled. But decades ago, the bridge and its swinging extension over the Minnesota River were an indispensable part of life in the Twin Cities, a corridor for commerce and fun and even a little vice.

The two bridges led to rich river bottoms that produced the earliest, best sweet corn in the region. They were a way for teenagers to find their way to a shady river bar for a taste of illegal beer. More than once, drivers who were reckless or drunk drove off the swinging bridge into the river. The couple who lived on the downhill stub of Old Cedar Avenue that curved toward the bridge over Long Meadow Lake got so used to the sound of crashing cars that they had a routine response.

"I would run outside to see if there was anything I could do and my wife would call the police," said Brad Pederson, who owned a garden center on the hill. "That was our ritual. We didn't have to say anything."

Bloomington's debate about whether to repair or replace the 1920 lake bridge for use by pedestrians and bicyclists has centered on the value of preserving the unusual bridge structure. Renovating part of the span and replacing the rest could cost $7 million -- more than twice as much as building an all-new crossing, according to the most recent public estimates. Local officials will have to decide later this year if it's worth the money.

But supporters of the idea point to the historic value of the bridge as a prime example of camel-back steel truss design. And longtime residents attest to the memories it conjures up. They recall when land near the bridges was not only an important farming area but also attracted people seeking recreation and other amusements, legal or not. On both sides of the river, there were picnic grounds with baseball diamonds and horseshoe pits, and icy beer that was sold even when liquor was supposedly banned.

Prime farmland

On the river bottoms, hard-working farmers like the Pahls raised asparagus, potatoes, squash, onions, cabbage and eventually sweet corn that was always the first to hit Twin Cities markets. Yvonne Pahl Bublitz grew up in a farmhouse on bottomlands between the two bridges. The land periodically flooded, forcing her family to evacuate and scattering five children among friends and relatives until waters receded and things could be cleaned up.

It wasn't an easy life. Bublitz's father, Leo Pahl, had been shot in a hunting accident in 1943 and lived the rest of his life in a wheelchair, paralyzed from the chest down. His wife, Myrtle, was pregnant at the time. With the help of friends and relatives, Myrtle kept the farm running until the kids were old enough to work in the fields under their father's supervision. Bublitz said her oldest brother began operating a tractor when he was 9 or 10.

"In those days, there wasn't handouts for charity like there is today," Bublitz said. "We had to make do."

Bublitz's nephew, Gary Pahl, grew up in Burnsville but spent a lot of time on the farm. He remembers skating the length of Long Meadow Lake with his brother and their dog. Pahl, 49, recalls going hunting before school and dropping off ducks with Grandma Myrtle, who would pluck and cook them.

Pahl and his father grew sweet corn on the bottomlands until 1993. Flanked by water, the land thawed early and froze late, allowing the Pahls to plant and harvest sweet corn early. Pahl, who still farms and runs Pahl's Market in Apple Valley, said his family tried to buy the Old Cedar Avenue Bridge when it was closed to vehicle traffic in 1993. Eventually the land was sold to the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service.

"It was the best land around," Pahl said. "I haven't been able to find a piece like that for early sweet corn anywhere in the state, and I've looked everywhere."

On the south side of the river, the tiny Dakota County railroad stop of Nicols sat near the bridge's end. With a boat landing, a store and a bar and restaurant known in later years as the Meadow Inn, Nicols was a wild place during the first part of the last century, according to a 1989 story published by the Dakota County Historical Society. The boggy land meant all the buildings in town shook when trains went by.

During prohibition in the 1930s, moonshine was made and sold in the area. Though Nicols never had more than 18 adult residents, the story said, it became a major shipping point for tons of onions that were grown in the area until the 1920s, when southern farmers began dominating the market.

By the early 1960s, Nicols was dying and its sagging hotel was occupied by railroad hoboes. Pederson remembers the tiny town's justice of the peace sitting by the road in a folding chair with a clipboard to "take the license number down if anyone sped through Nicols."

Tales of the bridge

Until a motor was added, the swinging bridge over the river was opened manually by four men who pushed what looked like a giant key to crank the bridge open so boat traffic could pass beneath, Pederson said. Barges repeatedly plowed into the bridge's center support, and each time it would have to be closed and repaired.

Pederson, who lived on the steep Old Cedar Avenue hill that attracted accidents, recalled once running down to the lake bridge after he heard the crunch of metal against the metal span. When he got there, he saw a shaken man climbing out of his smashed vehicle.

The man said he had to check on something in the attached camper.

"He opened the door and there was a cow in there," Pederson said. "Don't ask me how that happened."