Nate’s Auto Parts

1001 North Fifth Street- Minneapolis, Minnesota, 1972

When I was out and living on my own for the first time, one of my neighbors was the establishment known as Nate’s Auto Parts.

Nate’s was actually run by Nate’s son, Morrie. Nate was long deceased and Morrie must have been in his late 50s when I moved in. Nate’s was spread over a two city blocks with auto parts siting behind fences and stacked on porches. The inventory filled several old houses as well as a couple of commercial buildings. I’d see Morrie from time to time when he checked his stock, sometimes pulling a part or two, but usually he just sat in his office. I can only imagine what the inside of those houses held but in the yards there was a wild mix of springs, axles, wheels and even a few more-or-less complete vehicles.

All of it was old.

The houses Morrie used for storage had been built in the late 1800’s—boom times—and had once housed merchants and their families, people who were then building up Minneapolis and turning it into a center of international commerce. These “Painted Ladies,” as the Victorian houses of that style were called, were nearly falling apart when I moved in the ’hood, but they had been fine homes in their day. The picture below shows one of the houses on Fifth street circa 1900:

                        1101 North Fifth Street- Photo supplied by Henry Lee Griffith

Behind this house was a creek that has now been paved over. It still runs—underground—through North Minneapolis—emerging near its outlet in the Mississippi River. Natural habitat preservation didn’t receive much consideration in those times. There is talk from time to time of opening the creek again, but there is just too much industry lying, in reality, right on top of it.

Ultimately, in the early 1990s, the whole neighborhood was redeveloped and all the people living there as well as the entire stock of Nate’s Auto Parts were relocated. Those old houses were torn down as well, finally erasing the last links to what had once been a vibrant community. A North Fifth Street Story

The Houses Across the Street

North Fifth Street, Minneapolis

While digging through the archives I came across this shot of a vintage '48 Chrysler. It was parked in front of the first place I lived when I moved out from home in 1971. The car, which was somewhat unusual to see on the street at the time, wasn't in the best of shape but the thing in the picture which really caught my eye was the house across the street, directly behind the car. I hadn't thought about it in years. We were renting a very small two bedroom house in what was zoned as a 'mixed-use' area, about a mile Northwest of the warehouse district of Minneapolis. There were several small businesses as well as a smattering of houses and apartments, vestiges of what was once a vibrant neighborhood. This portion of the city had been ignored by planners; it was assumed it would be taken by the Interstate 94 expansion and would have cost the city much more to condemn the houses (and did, very expensively, 20 years later) than to let them remain, still paying taxes.

We were young, thrilled to be on our own, but very nervous at living in such a marginal part of town. The house across the street was a duplex, with a middle-aged black couple living on top and three Mormon missionaries below. The missionaries never bothered us, I don't think they cared for my appearance (Charles Manson look-alike) and we never bothered them. The couple upstairs were quiet, except for Saturday nights when they would hold good-natured card parties. We didn't have a lot in common with them, either, I think the whole neighborhood (with one exception) operated with a live and let live philosophy.

The one exception, who lived down the block, thought that brandishing a BB gun shaped like an M-16 would intimidate his neighbors who were warming their car in the dead of winter. The police were called and when they told the miscreant to drop the gun he leveled it at them.

We heard the shots and, later on, saw the gurney. That house was torn down quickly thereafter, they didn't fool around with 'troubled' properties then. The house across the street was taken about year later, this time for the expansion of a business. I stayed put, got a different partner (a new 'we' as it were) and then, over the years, some of our friends actually moved in, the freeway was built behind us, and as our little neighborhood became cut off from the rest of the city it turned into an artists' colony of sorts.

A North Fifth Street Story

Moving Out

1146 North Fifth Street

After a protracted adolescence, it was time for me to move out. A neighborhood friend stopped in one day and said, “Why don't you look in the want ads?” There, in the houses for rent unfurnished, was an ad that read: 2 bedroom house, $80 a month + utilities. Not very much money for a place, even in 1971.

It was not much of a house either, as it was situated only a block away from a couple of of run-down bars. A few blocks away was the street where several businesses had been burned down in a riot in 1967. Still, it was something. Tiny rooms, in an odd concrete structure, but a place of our own. That house, and eventually the one next door (pictured above), and then three more on the next block, would become a de facto center for various cultural activities: a dozen or more musicians, a writer, a potter, a weaver and other artists would all emerge: living, loving, starting families. We knew that it couldn’t last forever, it had been scheduled for redevelopment, and twenty years later it was finally torn down by the city for some ill-defined project.

No one who ever lived there would want to return to that existence, yet it is hard to imagine a more vital time, a Bloomsbury in Minneapolis, a Café Society without the café.

There are zoning laws against this kind of thing now.

A North Fifth Street Story

Backyard

1146 North Fifth Street, Minneapolis, 1978 A special place, one of those hidden oases which sometimes exist near the center of the city. In the late 70's this particular lot had been overlooked in the city's redevelopment plans, along with a handful of other rundown properties on Minneapolis's near north side. This back yard, as humble as it was, received a lot of use- parties, playgrounds, or just as a place to relax with friends.

The land behind the lot had been taken for a freeway ramp which wouldn't be built for several years. There once was a school behind the fence which, along with the church it was associated with, had also been taken for the freeway. This property was scheduled to go as well, but a mysterious last minute reprieve kept it in private hands for another dozen years.

When the property was finally taken for new development, one of the legal terms used in determining its fair market value was "highest and best use." The lawyers were speaking of monetary value. The rosy glow of nostalgia (pictured here augmented by Photoshop effects) is sometimes over stated, but not always inaccurate. This was a good place, a place of good happenings, lived in by good people. The highest and best use of any land, methinks.

A North Fifth Street Story

Nine Pound Hammer

Twenty Years Ago on FITK

Back when we had rental property on North Fifth Street, it was always a challenge to keep the place from falling down.

Once a whole section of the north fence had collapsed, requiring some emergency repairs. I enlisted the aid of Frankie Paradise to help me drive in some new fence posts. We began working, and as soon as we had established a rhythm, I began to sing:

This Nine Pound Hammer, Is a little too heavy, For my size, Baby for my size.

And without missing a beat, Frankie rejoined:

Well it's a long way to Harlan, It's a long way to Hazard, Just to get a little brew, Just to get a little brew.

And then we both sang the chorus:

Roll on, buddy, Don't ya roll so slow. How can I roll, When my wheels won't go? Roll on, buddy, With your load of coal. How can I roll, When my wheels won't go?

Frankie knew all about swinging a hammer that was a little too heavy. He was stubborn enough in a lot of ways to make his life more trouble than it should have been, but he did what he wanted to do for the most part, and heaven help you if you stood in his way. The metaphor of mining and life fit him in a certain way, always digging for some coal, be it in music, motorcycles, love, or drugs.

And when I'm long gone, Don't you make my tombstone, Outta number nine coal, Outta number nine coal.

Still, I am glad for the times we spent together. Making movies, playing music, shooting hoops and even working on that dumb fence. That fence is long gone now, as is Frankie. But whenever I hear that traditional country tune, I'm right back there with him, sweating and singing:

Roll on buddy, Don't ya roll so slow. How can I roll, When my wheels won't go? Roll on buddy, With your load of coal. How can I roll, When my wheels won't go? How can I roll, When my wheels won't go?

A North Fifth Street Story

Nine Pound Hammer

Back when we had rental property on North Fifth Street, it was always a challenge to keep the place from falling down. One time a whole section of the north fence had collapsed, requiring some emergency repairs. I enlisted the aid of Frankie Paradise to help me drive in some new fence posts. We began working, and as soon as we had established a rhythm, I began to sing:

This Nine Pound Hammer, Is a little too heavy, For my size, Baby for my size.

And without missing a beat, Frankie rejoined:

Well it's a long way to Harlan, It's a long way to Hazard, Just to get a little brew, Just to get a little brew.

And then we both sang the chorus:

Roll on, buddy, Don't ya roll so slow. How can I roll, When my wheels won't go? Roll on, buddy, With your load of coal. How can I roll, When my wheels won't go?

Frankie knew all about swinging a hammer that was a little too heavy. He was stubborn enough in a lot of ways to make his life more trouble than it should have been, but he did what he wanted to do for the most part, and heaven help you if you stood in his way. The metaphor of mining and life fit him in a certain way, always digging for some coal, be it in music, motorcycles, love, or drugs.

And when I'm long gone, Don't you make my tombstone, Outta number nine coal, Outta number nine coal.

Still, I am glad for the times we spent together. Making movies, playing music, shooting hoops and even working on that dumb fence. That fence is long gone now, as is Frankie. But whenever I hear that traditional country tune, I'm right back there with him, sweating and singing:

Roll on buddy, Don't ya roll so slow. How can I roll, When my wheels won't go? Roll on buddy, With your load of coal. How can I roll, When my wheels won't go? How can I roll, When my wheels won't go?

A North Fifth Street Story

Imagination

Seth, 1146 North Fifth Street, Minneapolis, 1984

private moment internal

scenario childhood dreams

gone forever

A North Fifth Street Story

Darkroom

1142 North Fifth Street, Minneapolis, c.1972

   My old darkroom, in the attic of an non-insulated house, was usable only at certain times of the year. Hardly high-tech, even for that time. Still, it offered me a place to experiment, to escape from my squalid existence for a few hours. Woefully short on cash, I "made do or did without" (geezer talk.) I've still got most of the negatives (AKA The Flippist Archives), but very few of the prints and none of the gear. There are a few die-hards with wet darkrooms who still suffer with stinky chemicals and clunky equipment.

I don't miss it at all.

A North Fifth Street Story

Twistin'

1146 North Fifth Street, Minneapolis, 1980

Let me tell you ‘bout a place
Somewhere up Minnesota way
Where the people are so gay
Twistin’ the night away-ay
Here they have a lot of fun
Puttin’ trouble on the run
Man, you find the old and young
Twistin’ the night away
They're twistin’, twistin’, everybody's feelin’ great
They're twistin’, twistin’, they're twistin’ the night away
Here's a man in evening clothes
How he got here, I don’t know, but
Man, you oughta see him go
Twistin’ the night away-ay
He's a-dancin’ with the chick in slacks
She’s a-movin’ up and back
Oh man, there ain’t nothin’ like
Twistin’ the night away
They’re twistin’, twistin’, everybody’s feelin’ great
They’re twistin’, twistin'… they’re twistin’ the night away...

~Sam Cooke

A North Fifth Street Story

Image: Tim Rummelhoff

Plum Trees

When I was very young the house I lived in was located in an odd little corner of far North Minneapolis. There were about 20 houses on our block, with undeveloped land to the South and West. Most of the houses had been built in the 1920s, so they would have been about 30 years old at the time. My best friend Kevin lived two doors down, that's his house in the above picture. Right behind the house was a plum tree, it had probably been planted when the house was new. In the late summer the plums would ripen and we would eat ourselves sick on them.

Years later, I lived about 40 blocks south of there, on North Fifth Street. That house had a plum tree in the back as well although, being in an industrial area, it was lonely and needed another tree to cross pollinate with it to bear fruit. Despite this, it did blossom, usually in Mid-May. One year, however, it was blossoming on April 21st. I remember the date because that’s the day I got married and the bride’s bouquet was made from those blossoms.

Years after that, when we had a family, we moved about fifteen miles north of Minneapolis. After we had settled in, I took the boys exploring down by the Rum River. There, on its bank, was a forlorn plum tree, broken down and barely alive. But full of plums.

Like the plums of my childhood, these were old-growth American Plums, not the European or Japanese cultivars. They were smaller, with a tough skin, but the flesh is tart and delicious. If I lived on some acreage, I would consider planting ‘wild’ plum trees, if only to relive that simple joy from my youth and the memory of my children discovering them as well.

Ghost World

This little section of Near-North Minneapolis, pictured here in about 1960, was my home turf from 1971 to 1991.

I stitched together the above panorama (click to embiggen) of three images from the Minnesota Historical Society archives. Many of the buildings had already been demolished by the time I moved in and, by the time the City redeveloped the area in the 1990s, all of the properties shown here had been razed, replaced by freeways, light industry and bus garages.

Pictures of places where you lived before you lived there are a curious form of history. A ghost world of sorts, this had once been the fabric of a vibrant community but by the time I moved in it had already started to fray.

Those of us who lived there in its final days cherished it; now it is we who are the ghosts.

A North Fifth Street Story

Losing My Religion - North Side Story

In the early seventies, I lived in a run-down area of Minneapolis. It was on the fringe of downtown; in its heyday (the 1890's) it had been where industrial workers and teamsters would live with their families. There was money there then. Saint Joseph's, a large Romanesque-style church, had been built along with an adjoining school, convent house and rectory. It was a point of pride for its parishioners and social center for the neighborhood. Its magnificent twin steeples were landmarks, visible for miles. Bit by bit, the church began to fade. Urban development, changing demographics, and the forces of nature all played a part in its demise. A windstorm blew down the steeples, the children grew up moved out to the suburbs, and large areas of homes were demolished, the land converted to industrial use or just left empty where a freeway was scheduled to be constructed.

The church was to have been spared, but it was finally demolished while a legal appeal to save it was in the works, torn down to make any point of saving moot. I still have a bench made from one of its pews; the church was torn down so quickly that most of the rest of them were crushed and ended up in a landfill. The congregation moved to an outer suburb. A freeway exit ramp occupies its former location.

There are still a couple of occupied houses and a old brick apartment building in the area. All the rest are gone and, excepting the occasional memorial, effectively erased from the history of Minneapolis.

A North Fifth Street Story

Jack Clark's Bar and Cafe

Minneapolis, July 1977

This may well be the last picture of the interior of a venerable North Minneapolis watering hole. It was torn down not long thereafter, to make room for a freeway entrance ramp.  I was not yet in the habit of hanging out in bars, so although I lived an actual 'stones throw' away, I never went inside. It was for old guys, a twenty-something hippie would have been laughed out of the place. This was an old building, built before prohibition.It was nothing fancy yet the fireplace and the wood paneling made it a pleasant home away from home for those who took their drinking responsibilities seriously. As to the 'cafe' part of the name, I think it may have served sandwiches. An internet search did turn up a picture of the bar's most memorable feature… the 'thirst things first' sign:


Image: Thomas W. Bremer, MHS

The beer was made just across the river, about a mile or so away. Local wags would sometimes call Grain Belt Beer 'Brain Melt', although it wasn't particularly strong.

The band I was working with used the entrance as a backdrop for publicity photos:



A North Fifth Street Story

My Back Pages - Progress

Back in 1973, I used to live in Minneapolis on North Fifth Street, just across the street from this house. Upstairs, a married couple would host card parties every Saturday night, while below them a pair of Mormon missionaries resided. It was a vibrant scene that now remains only in memories, as the house was eventually torn down to make way for a parking lot:

Over the years, the neighborhood had already undergone significant changes, transitioning from a primarily residential area to a mixed-use industrial zone with an abundance of parking lots. This transformation took place gradually, with houses being demolished one or two at a time over a span of thirty years. Interestingly, my own house was the last to be taken down, managing to stand for an additional eighteen years. Living under the constant threat of condemnation caused me to lose my sense of place in the world, which in retrospect, may have actually prepared me for some of the challenges of modern life.

This experience profoundly influenced my perspective on permanence and the ever-changing nature of our surroundings.

“But now… when that world is no more… the spirits rise up from the well of oblivion. People and pictures from a vanished world are reincarnated and assume a significance which was hidden at the time.” ~ Halldór Laxness, The Fish Can Sing

Transition

The neighborhood I moved into when I left home was, to put it mildly, in transition. Many of the houses and businesses had already been razed; there were plans for more redevelopment. One location, a block away from my house, was a prime example. The Salvation Army had (and still has) a large complex where they processed donations and sold some of them in a store (on the corner, pictured above.) Upstairs from the store was a men’s dormitory. It is still there as well, although it is now only a minor player in Minneapolis’ burgeoning homeless problem. The anomaly was the large house which sat directly across street from the Sal:



I had the opportunity to inspect it when the owners—middle-aged men who had grown up in the house—were having an estate sale when it had been sold (for a parking lot.) It was quite a building in its heyday, eighty years prior. It had fabulous woodwork, fireplaces, and many spacious rooms that had not been butchered by remodeling. The sale, however, was a disaster. They had done almost no prep, the house was filled their parents mementos and personal things. Nothing was priced. When I asked about a some 45 rpm records one of the men, embarrassed, said “Oh, that's not in the sale.” I gave up on buying anything, the vibes were too weird. There were obviously issues that needed to be resolved. Nevertheless I did spend some time looking around. One thing I did notice was a stack of photographs—8x10s, professionally shot. They were of the Minneapolis Aquatennial parade, sometime in the early fifties. There were many pictures of the "Junior Royalty"—and I realized that the boys in the pictures were the owners of the house. 

There were dozens of houses in my old neighborhood that were destroyed. Everyone of them had a story, a story of better times, before the world changed around them and they became redundant.  My story was only beginning then, it was still full of joy and promise, although ultimately all of us who shared in that great adventure were also forced to leave, supplanted by freeways and parking lots. In an ironic twist, many of the buildings pictured behind the Salvation Army have been turned into pricey condos. Just to the right of building in the center of the top picture (with the water tower), sits a new Major League Baseball stadium, a modern commuter rail line meets the light rail system in the same location.

We were forty years too early.

A North Fifth Street Story.

Freedom Now!

When you move out own your own for the first time, the newness of the experience ensures that you will never forget it. No more curfews! No more chores! No more babysitting! It's you against the world, baby, and are you ever ready! Bring it on! Of course, then reality sets in.

   Things like:

   Making rent.
   Trips to the laundromat.
   Cockroaches.
   Police shoot-outs down the street.
   Digging through the sofa for enough loose change to be able to buy food.
   Pounding on the door by your girlfriend's ex-boyfriend, threatening bodily harm.
   Police coming to YOUR door (in a squad of SIX) looking for the previous tenants.
   Mice. Mice. And more Mice.

Still, it was all worth it. Crazy parties. Nights of passion. That sense of ‘This is MY place.’ And the feeling of regret when you finally move on. When I moved out of that first place, I had only moved next door but my friends moved in to my old place. On their very first night, a police chase ended with a car crashing into the house on the other side of them.

Never a dull moment when you are 21.

A North Fifth Street Story

Spring Trim, 1984

Paul explains the importance of proper grooming to Jan and Joan:

Jan submits to Joan’s ministrations:

A North Fifth Street story.

Shedding the Past

Dreams can be useful, many times I’ve had a problem that I solved in a dream.

Some dreams, however, are re-hashes of issues that are long gone. I have recurring dreams about the place I lived when I was in my twenties and early thirties. I lived in a small house for several years, and then the landlord moved out of his bigger house next-door and offered me the chance to rent it. That house came with an outbuilding: a ”garage” that had probably  once been a stable. It had been added on to in the front to make it deep enough to hold a car, but that part was falling in (see above.) It was full of junk—all of it worthless.

Ultimately, when the kids were big enough to play in the yard, I tore both sheds down; they were definitely a hazard. They still exist in a way; my dreams revisit them from time to time, and I have some pictures of them, especially the bigger one. It made a funky backdrop for promotional pictures of the band I was working with at the time. I could probably sell that weathered wood now for interior decorations or picture frames.

I got rid of that physical junk once. It would be nice to get rid of the mental junk as well.


A North Fifth Street Story.

Ghosts

Minneapolis, c. 1978

Living on the fringe of an old warehouse district I found myself surrounded by the ghosts of the past. When the area was built up, in the 1880s, the primary source of moving merchandise within the city was by horsepower. This meant that there were numerous stables in the outlying areas along with modest housing for the teamsters who used horses to draw their wagons. Most of the houses were gone by the mid 70s, lost to redevelopment or highway construction. There were still a number of stables remaining, however. They had all been converted to storage or light industrial use. With their tell-tale hay lofts, it was easy to spot them.

One day a car containing an elderly woman came by the house where I lived. She was on a visit to the neighborhood of her youth. She had her son, who was driving, stop so she could talk to the "young urban pioneers" who now lived in her old haunts. Her house was gone, but she remembered most of the buildings which remained.  She mentioned that the Fire Station (on the next block) was where a large horse barn had once stood. She said that her most vivid memory of childhood was when that barn had caught fire.

She said she could still hear the horses screaming.

A North Fifth Street Story

Ghost World

Pictures of places
Where you used to live
Time gone by
Memories give

A ghost town now
Silent and bare
Once was a community
Life everywhere

Ghost world we see
Past lives and dreams
Faded away
In still-framed scenes

When I moved in
Not much was left
Whispers of laughter
Echo of breath

History's shadow
In every stone
Where life once thrived
Now overgrown

Stories untold
Of days gone before
A vibrant world
Behind each door

Ghost world we see
Past lives and dreams
Faded away
In still-framed scenes

Concept and Imagery: Stephen Cowdery
Story: https://flippistarchives.blogspot.com/search?q=north+fifth+street
Music: Suno