Postcard from a Great Lakes Packet Freighter
This undated postcard, published by Zenith Interstate News Company, shows a Great Lakes packet freighter passing through the Duluth Shipping Canal under the Aerial Lift Bridge.
This undated postcard, published by Zenith Interstate News Company, shows a Great Lakes packet freighter passing through the Duluth Shipping Canal under the Aerial Lift Bridge.
I am sorting through items found at the College of St. Scholastica book sale, and I ran into this CD from the 1990s.
It feels like an argument could be made to submit this to the archives and special collections at the University of Minnesota Duluth as a significant artifact of the Duluth music scene.
Dive into this week’s quiz, which covers vessels (and other things) lost, found and run aground on Lake Superior. For additional maritime trivia, check out the first PDD Gales of November quiz.
The next current events quiz sails your way on Nov. 26. Submit question suggestions to Alison Moffat at [email protected] by Nov. 22.
Who is the handsome gentleman in this cabinet card photo? That information might be lost to history, but we know from the printing on the card that the image was shot at Carl Thiel’s Art Gallery in Duluth. Handwritten on the back of the card is the date: “Jan. 1896.”
The Superior Telegram reports that a tour of three of the historic townhouses that make up Roosevelt Terrace in Superior will be held on Nov. 18. The event is a fundraiser for the Douglas County Historical Society and a school project for two Glenwood City High School students.
Roosevelt Terrace was designed by Carl Wirth and built in 1890.
[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 Keyport Lounge in Superior and composed this article for the Nov. 12, 2003 issue of the Ripsaw newspaper.]
It’s Vikings vs. Packers, and the place where I want to be is the Keyport Lounge. It’s right at the foot of the Bong Bridge, so you know it’s where all the cheapskate Viking fans are gonna be, swilling Wisconsin-priced booze and risking life and limb among the inbred Packer Backers.
Sure enough, when I walk in, the amount of purple and green in the room is enough to violate some kind of health code. At least it should.
Anyway, this is a big night for me, because I like watching Viking and Packer fans interact. Personally, I don’t care who wins the game. Drink specials and free food at halftime make us all winners (at least in a loser sort of way). See, I’m a natural-born border straddler. My mother is a Viking fan who lives in Wisconsin. My stepfather is a Packer fan who actually worked as a meat packer years ago. My real father didn’t watch football at all, but he acted a lot like a Viking. You can see how it’s hard for me to develop a clear allegiance.
This undated postcard, published by W. G. MacFarlane, shows Superior Street in Downtown Duluth with the Lyceum Theatre at left and Spalding Hotel at right marking the intersection of Fifth Avenue West. The Maurices headquarters and Ordean building and plaza occupy those corners today.
(Excerpts from Scions of Cloquet by Jean-Michel Cloquet, 1946, out of print)
I was left for dead at Nopeming sanatorium in 1918, as the Cloquet-Duluth-Moose Lake fire combined with World War I, tuberculosis, and the influenza pandemic just hitting the northland. I’d brought my tuberculosis home with me from the filthy trenches of the Somme. There wouldn’t be an armistice for a month. Reaching Duluth, I was trucked on the dirt road to Nopeming with other infected veterans, fresh off the hospital ship. There we met citizens suffering from the homegrown TB outbreak traced to sewage in Lake Superior. That’s the Duluth I returned to. I’d barely survived overseas, evading German flamethrowers. Some of my trench-mates weren’t so lucky. Now I was barely surviving even though I was stateside, too sick to be properly shell-shocked from the omnipresent global crisis. So they tucked us away 10 miles outside of town in the forest sanatorium. Its name is Ojibwe for “in the woods.” The woods that burned.
This undated postcard depicts plans for the Duluth Civic Center, a cluster of government buildings that includes the St. Louis County Courthouse (1909), Duluth City Hall (1928), Gerald W. Heaney Federal Building (1930), St. Louis County Jail (1923) and the Soldiers and Sailors Monument (1919).
I’m still amazed at the media I am finding around town — especially since Best Buy announced it will no longer sell movies or TV shows on DVD or Blu Ray. Will we see a resurgence in the medium in ten years, as vinyl and even cassettes have come back lately?
Featured here are two undated postcards from Gallagher’s Studio of Photography that promote the Spruce Point Motel in Beaver Bay. The older card shows how it was originally a one-story structure before the second story was added.
Below are artifacts from the Richardson brothers 2005 Free Republic of Duluth events. The idea was a Duluth secession into a city-state embodying Situationist ideas of art-as-life. It culminated in a community art event at Washington Studios where these were displayed. Allen and I created these in the spirit of détournement, the practice of subverting commercial art like comic strips to revolutionary ends. Our house became a collaborative artspace freakout, reflected in the fact that the lettering in the last strip was done by someone I can’t remember, it could have been anyone, some citizen of the Free Republic …
This old cabinet card photo, for sale on eBay, was shot in Duluth. Several details are provided, but some mysteries persist.
Duluth Public Library in the November 1980 issue of Architectural Record.
Last month, an article appeared in the Duluth News Tribune about the decision to demolish the Duluth Public Library and replace it with something smaller in a shared building. The reasons provided for demolition instead of restoration mostly involve challenges to reprogramming and subdivision created by structural pillars, expensive building systems like insulation in serious need of replacement, and other issues related to years of deferred maintenance.
Excerpts from Scions of Cloquet by Jean-Michel Cloquet (1946, out of print)
“In 1820, when he was 17 years old, the Frenchman Pierre Cloquet boarded a packet ship in Le Havre and sailed across the Atlantic Ocean. He was trying to escape his father, like many of us try to do, perhaps all of us. He just wanted a little peace and quiet. By a certain measure, he found it in the territory eventually known as Minnesota. Pierre (or Grandpère Cloquet as my brother and I refer to him) became a legendary voyageur and fur trader 20 miles southwest of Duluth, trapping, hunting, and occasionally bear-wrestling. Over two decades of working for the American Fur Company, he built his own trading post where metal tools shipped in and beaver pelts shipped out. He gradually adopted native dress, and he married into a Black-Ojibwe family out of Michigan, sought-after guides and translators. And, right around the collapse of the beaver pelt industry in 1843, he inadvertently founded the town of Cloquet.
