Duluth suckers are skinned
Front page of the Nov. 20, 1924 Duluth Rip-saw.
Front page of the Nov. 20, 1924 Duluth Rip-saw.
[Editor’s note: For this week’s essay we’ve once again pulled out a relic from the archive of Slim Goodbuzz, who served as Duluth’s “booze connoisseur” from 1999 to 2009. Twenty years ago the Sultan of Sot paid a visit to the O’Gilby’s, 511 E. Fourth St. in Duluth’s Central Hillside, and composed this article for the November 2004 issue of the Ripsaw magazine. O’Gilby’s closed in May 2008; the location is now a parking lot.]
The great thing about being an alcoholic in a region with so many bars is that there is one to fit each of my moods. No matter what I feel like doing, there is an establishment that caters to that specific type of fun. O’Gilby’s isn’t the kind of place you go to see live music. It isn’t the kind of place where you go to try to pick someone up. It isn’t a place where you go to dance or to participate in illegal gambling. No, O’Gilby’s is the kind of place you go to when you just want to get plastered and sit around like an Ethiopian with flies on your face. And tonight I’m having the time of my life.
A recent post about a curious-looking implement with the Duluth Coolerator brand name led me down a surprisingly challenging research path. When did people (in Duluth and elsewhere) stop using “ice boxes” and start using modern electric refrigerators?
This 120ish-year-old postcard shows the Duluth Harbor South Breakwater Outer Light on the Canal Park side of the Duluth Shipping Canal during a storm.
Fifty years ago today — Nov. 3, 1974 — Kiss played the Duluth Arena in what is believed to be the band’s first of eight Duluth shows spanning five decades.
But the documentary TV series Biography released a two-part episode on Kiss in 2021 that briefly shows a handwritten 1974 tour schedule with the band slotted to play Duluth on March 27. Did Kiss play Duluth twice in 1974? Or does the documentary use a fake schedule scribbled together to create imagery for an interview cutaway shot? Or was there a canceled Kiss show before the real one seven months later?
The Duluth North Pier Lighthouse (Photo by Matthew James)
On Nov. 10, 1975 — 49 years ago next week — the SS Edmund Fitzgerald sank in a Lake Superior Storm, killing all 29 crew members on board. As noted in Gordon Lightfoot’s ballad, “The Wreck of the Edmond Fitzgerald,” the ship sank during a November gale, a Great Lakes weather event in which Artic air from the north collides with Gulf air from the south, creating hurricane-level winds. With the Lake Superior Marine Museum’s Gales of November event approaching, this post takes a look at the lighthouses that historically guided Great Lakes ships to safety during these storms. It concludes with a Geoguessr that includes Lake Superior lighthouses in Minnesota, Wisconsin, Michigan, and Ontario.
This undated postcard, published by the W. A. Fisher Company, features a Kodachrome photo of the Aerial Lift Bridge circa maybe the early 1960s.
[Editor’s note: For this week’s essay we’ve once again pulled out a relic from the archive of Slim Goodbuzz, who served as Duluth’s “booze connoisseur” from 1999 to 2009. Twenty years ago the Sultan of Sot paid a visit to the Duluth Athletic Club Bar & Grill, 402 W. First St., and composed this article for the October 2004 issue of the Ripsaw magazine. The Duluth Athletic Club closed in 2008 after it was flooded by a toilet overflow.]
Tonight, in an effort to mentally prepare you for the upcoming presidential election, I ask this question: Where in the Twin Ports would George W. Bush go to get drunk? The answer, of course, is nowhere. Bush doesn’t drink. He used to drink, but then he flip-flopped and turned into an evangelical traitor to the cause.
John Kerry, on the other hand, might go to the Duluth Athletic Club Bar & Grill. After all, the DAC is a nice, clean, all-American place where any political figure could spend a quiet night without any controversy whatsoever. And a rich sonuvabitch like Kerry could certainly afford the overpriced drinks.
One hundred years ago today — Oct. 25, 1924 — the Duluth Rip-saw newspaper published a front page story attacking Minnesota State Senator Mike Boylan. The article contributed to the 1925 creation of the Public Nuisance Law, also known as the “Minnesota Gag Law,” which made publishers of “malicious, scandalous and defamatory” newspapers or magazines guilty of creating a public nuisance, and allowed judges to stop the publication of those periodicals. A restraining order was placed on the Rip-saw in 1926. Publisher John L. Morrison fell ill soon after and died.
In 1931 the gag law was challenged by Jay Near, publisher of the Saturday Press in Minneapolis. The Supreme Court ruled the law violated the First Amendment of the United States Constitution, which protects the freedom of the press.
When I developed the image, two specters became visible behind me (Photo by David James with Photoshop Generative Fill)
With Halloween approaching, this post takes a close look at the tales of hauntings around Duluth, presenting a classification system for the four different types of haunted Duluth locations. It concludes with a Geoguessr challenge made up of five spooky Duluth photospheres.
This undated postcard shows the Lake View Tea and Dining Room at 730 E. Superior St., “on the shore of Lake Superior where you can view the large steamers coming and going.”
Photo of the Hemlock Exchange in 1920 by Hugh McKenzie. (Photo from the Northeast Minnesota Collections of the Kathryn A. Martin Library)
A year after Alexander Graham Bell invented the telephone, George W. Coy set up the first telephone exchange. Making a call to a specific phone required plugging the right cord into the right socket, and that required a person working out of an exchange building. Photos from the Minnesota Digital Library show the Duluth neighborhood exchanges that were operated by the Northwestern Bell Telephone Company in 1920. This post discusses the role of telephone exchanges as a source of employment for women in Duluth with a Geoguessr challenge that reveals what those telephone exchanges look like now.
This undated postcard shows Duluth’s Incline Railway, which operated from 1891 to 1939. The tram system carried passengers from a housing development at the top of the hillside into the downtown along Seventh Avenue West.
Arriving in Duluth (Photo by Matthew James)
“Twenty-six miles long and an average of 2-1/2 miles wide, Duluth is squeezed between rocky bluffs and the waterfront of Lake Superior and the St. Louis River,” a National Geographic reporter wrote when describing the city in 1949. This post describes some of the stranger contours of our long and narrow city with a Geoguessr challenge at the end to test your knowledge of the city limits.
Hit the books and test your smarts with this week’s quiz about Superior schools. (And check out a similarly-themed PDD quiz on historic Duluth schools here).
The next PDD current events quiz will be published on Sept. 29. Please submit question suggestions to Alison Moffat at [email protected] by Sept. 25.
