I was bit on the neck by a bug yesterday, and it’s still itching. Or rather I am itching the bite. An auto-itching bite would be convenient, I suppose. At first I thought it was a bee, and it might well have been - and now that I think of it, the fact that bees die after they sting means that the perfect word for a dead bee is been. Ogden Nash probably did that somewhere.

Let me start over. I have a bug bite and the hydrocortisone is doing nothing, probably because it’s from China and is really just some sort of unguent devoid of medicinal elements at all. I should check the reviews. . . uh-huh. One thousand, one hundred glowing reviews, and a hundred one-stars that say it does absolutely nothing, and one should buy a name brand. Well, at least there’s no unsightly welt, which is good, since I have a date on Thursday morning and do not want to be subsequently described as “a nice guy but a little welty.”

Hot day again. Ninety four. Hard on the dog. I also left him alone for an hour and a half, utter bastard that I am, because the gym, and pastrami sandwiches for Wednesday’s lunch here at Fred Base One. In-laws coming over to talk about their upcoming Rome trip, me being an old Rome hand, you know. In the past I might have gotten an askance look for getting pre-made sandwiches, but they’re fresh, and I’m not left with excess bread. No one around here gives me askance looks. It is nice not to be wrong most of the time.

I haven't been in St. Paul for some time. I had no need. I used to work downtown, and while it wasn't bustling like Mpls, it wasn't dead. It has been on a steady decline for a long time, with the usual stories about how there are encouraging signs, and so on. To me it's an architectural graveyard.

This isn't one building:

The structure in the middle and the right is the old St. Paul Hotel, an elegant hostel that's still in business.On the left, a standard commercial structure from the early part of the 20th century, the unheralded twin of the old Donaldson Department Store tower in Minneapolis. It opened as the Lowry Medical Arts building in 1911, named for its developer. You know, the streetcar guy. It's residential now.

Moving to the right -

HOLD ON DID YOU SAY YOU HAD A DATE

I did. It's just coffee! No big deal. But, you know? Good sign. Anyway, moving to the right:

The Landmark tower, originally Amhoist.

American Hoist and Derrick Company, founded in 1882, was a major manufacturer in St. Paul for over a century. The company's cranes were used in construction projects such as Mount Rushmore and the Panama Canal, as well as transferring the Space Shuttle to and from aircraft carriers. They built ships during World War I and World War II. They prided themselves on building the world's biggest and best cranes, hoists, and related equipment.

Too bad for St. Paul:

Amhoist became a target for vulture capitalists and experienced continued losses in the 1980s, eventually selling its crane business in 1986. In 1988, Amhoist announced a takeover bid for CoastAmerica, previously known as Coast to Coast Hardware, and sold the Waterous division. The deal went through, and Amhoist moved its headquarters to Denver and renamed itself the Amdura Corporation.

Condos on the top since its construction, and I think they're going for full residential conversion now.

It's just coffee.

Moving right: the old Northwestern Bell / AT&T complex. A Moderne building and a modern big brother. Kasota stone loves the sunset:

There's so much office space in St. Paul, and you suspect most of these buildings are empty. It seems impossible. It seems likely. But what do I wear? I can't wear what I usually wear in the summer, because I look like I'm at a resort. Except I am at a resort! But no, black jeans and a white shirt.

The tower was one of those projects designed to revitalize downtown and put it on the map with urban amenities and a marveous shopping mall! It failed! Eventually!

The older structure is a gorgeous terra-cotta clad office building called the Hamm, and if you're thinking . . . that Hamm? That Hamm. The one who was kidnapped, of course.

He was the grandson of the brewery's founder, and at the time of his abduction he was the president. It was the work of the Barker-Karpis gang, and get this: they let him go. After the family paid, of course. Hamm went on to a long career, and yes, this is the third Hamm's reference in as many weeks.

Oh, right: this? Grok thought it was a fancy stylized way of spelling OMM, a mystical chant. No.

In case no one got it: It's the last name of the builder. John Ayd.

He built a gristmill in St. Paul, which survives in the name of a strange little highway, Ayd Mill Road. Here's a funny thing: apparently my coffee meet-up person has a daughter in Boston who went to Boston U, so we can talk about writing checks.

It’s 1903.

Everyone must have known what had happened.

The lead story as recalled today:

The 1903 flood came after a monthly rainfall of nearly 9 inches, at a time when the city had no dikes to stave off floodwaters. The river became 2 to 3 miles wide, heavily damaging business, railroad and industrial districts while displacing 4,000 Topekans, mostly in North Topeka.

All that plus random pistol fire.

		Ancient glories revealed! She was also described as an "international traveller" so we can talk about Paris and / or Rome, although I think the term usually means African Safari or Chinese river trip.

You can head inside if you like:

To be honest, it seems to have been discovered a few years before. But the news took a while to reach Los Angeles.

		The Russo-Finn peril. I've been to Helsinki; that's "International."

		I’ve absolutely no idea why this would be news in Los Angeles, except as a sob story. Which of course is exactly why it was put in the paper.

Fiends take advantage of every new technology to sow mayhem:

We know a bit more about the story.

On 9 May 1903, the New York City Police Department received a letter that said a bomb had been loaded aboard Umbria. The letter said the bomb had been intended for the White Star Line's RMS Oceanic, but that the bombers had changed their minds because there were a large number of women and children aboard that ship. At noon that day, Umbria was still at her berth and she was due to sail. Immediately the police sealed off the pier head and told the captain to delay the sailing.

The police searched the ship and found the bomb. It was in a box three feet long by two feet wide and had been placed near the first-class gangway. One of the police officers tied a rope around the box and lowered it into the sea. When the box was lifted back up and opened, it was found to have 100 lb of dynamite attached to a crude timed fuse. If the bomb had exploded on the ship it would have caused considerable damage. The letter that the police had received also explained that the bomb plot was the work of the Mafia, whose aim was to destroy the British shipping interest in the port of New York. To corroborate that information, the police had descriptions of two "Italian" men placing the bomb on the pier, and the police eventually traced the manufacturer of the bomb back to a Chicago lodging house. The ship eventually got under way to Liverpool on 16 May.

Nice little firehouse.

Gone. Torn down in 1949 for this modern version.

That will do. Outtakes at the Substack today, for paying customers. Thank you, as ever, for your patronage.

Yes yes full details on Friday.