I went to the bank today because I like to go to the bank. Talking to tellers, maybe fist-bumping My Personal Banker if he’s around. He’s the guy I go to every few months to roll over a CD or get something notarized. I love the building, but the lobby is chilly and inert and unused. All the teller cages are closed. Why would they have tellers down on the ground floor? No one goes there and besides they want you to use the App. The App can do everything! Hold up a check and it spits out cash! Well, not yet.
Decided to take the skyways back to the office, and passed the Northstar building. It’s being rehabbed. The sign outside says it’ll be ready in 2023. Ground floor work seems finished, and this . . . well, I felt as if I had been thrown back to 1966.
No one opens up a cafeteria these days, do they? It’s such an archaic term. We associate it with schools and hospitals. Yet who among us wouldn’t be curious? What if it was all good comfort food? Meatloaf on white bread and mashed potatoes and gravy and little cups of pudding sitting in a bed of ice.
I wonder if they didn’t find this under an old sign, or, bring back the sign just to draw a link between now and the building’s history. Alas: no one cares about the building’s history.
The ad from the opening in 1963: For dining pleasure you are unaccustomed to; for beauty with relaxation
Let's read that copy:
We urge you to visit the new Northstar Cafeteria soon. Here, indeed, is something special for you to enjoy and remember, while in downtown Minneapolis.
You'll dine in surroundings comparable to, if not surpassing any one of Minneapoli’s finest restaurants . . . but with the selection, economy, and promptness that comes only with cafeteria convenience.
And beware, we do intend to pamper you with an atmosphere luxurious! Wall to wall carpeting, the warm charm of our dinner music from the Hammond Console Organ, and an enchanting decor, promise you that your visit to Northstar will be remembered, and re-made.
Organ accompaniment with your meal! And please, bring the whole family.
Three hour limit on free parking, please.
Well, we'll see.
I cut left and went through the Rand tower, now a hotel. The lobby has aeronautic memorabilia stuck into hollowed-out books. I've noticed this in other hotels. They use old books as decorative objects, carved and gutted however they like.
Wikipedia:
Universal Air Lines was an air-rail conglomerate competing with rival Transcontinental Air Transport. Universal Air Lines was a subsidiary of the Universal Aviation Corporation which included Robertson Aircraft Corporation and Northern Air Lines.
In-flight meals, the early years:
Universal Air Lines promoted the new era of air travel with its "Sky Dinner" Fokker Trimotors, with the conveniences of a Pullman train, which amounted to an electric stove prep area, folding tables, and a lavatory.
Height of modernity, my friends.
I think of days like today when the shut-ins on local subreddits sneer at working downtown because Office Bad, and cheer when buildings lose value because Eff the Owners, and so on. There's so much history if you know where to look.
But you have to want to look. Or at least look up from your phone. And you have to be willing to engage with history, not just regard it as a cesspool of -isms, all of which of course persist to this day, if not amplified by the current state of imminent fascism.
Our weekly recap of a Wikipedia peregrination. Expect no conclusion or revelations, but if you've been with us since this started last year, you know . . . sometimes we learn interesting things.
Spanish-American war details.
When I looked up Schley, a hit came back in an unexpected place:
Schley, Minnesota.
Nothing there.
Schley was established as a station on the Great Northern Railway in the summer of 1898, shortly after US Naval Commodore Winfield Scott Schley's Flying Squadron defeated the Spanish Navy in the Battle of Santiago de Cuba. Schley and the two railroad stations immediately to the west - Santiago and Cuba - commemorate this victory.
They’re gone. There are railroad tracks, but I think they’re more recent, since a parallel line on the ground is called the “Soo Line ATV Trail.” No sign of Santiago or Cuba.
Back to Schley. The account of the battle must have thrilled readers of the day, with all this maritime might besting the Old World’s ships. From the Wikipedia account:
The capture of Cristóbal Colón was an exciting end to the battle. Captain Philip of Texas stated that when he was going to Brooklyn in a small boat to report to Schley, the commodore happily shouted down to him from the bridge, "Some fight, eh, Jack?”
The entry isn’t the best-written thing on the fight, so I’m hesitant to copy large chunks. Let’s just say that there was a Acting Rear Admiral William T. Sampson who was in charge of the overall scene, and . . .
When the victory message from Sampson, who was of course in overall command of the naval campaign, was reported, it contained no reference to any officer other than himself, even though he was not involved in the actual fighting.
Sampson was loath to praise Schley's role in the battle, a fact which derived from professional jealousy, as was evidenced later by Sampson's own conduct at the subsequent court of inquiry. Sampson was of the opinion that had it not been for the Battle of Santiago de Cuba, Schley would have been court-martialed. The public, however, regarded Schley as the hero not only of the battle, but also of the war, while Sampson was seen (accurately) as indecorous for not acknowledging Schley's role.
Sampson would later approve a history of the battle that called Schley a “poltroon.”
Schley lost the hearing but won in the court of public opinion, as the saying goes. The entry continues, with another shot at pusillanimous Sampson:
Rear Admiral Winfield Scott Schley died on October 2, 1911, nine years after Rear Admiral Sampson, who barely survived his retirement in 1902. At the time of his death, Schley was a noted resident of the famous Algonquin Hotel in Manhattan
After his collapse and death along 5th Avenue near the hotel, Schley's body lay unrecognized and unclaimed in the back yard of the local police precinct for several hours. It was only after he was discovered missing that he was properly identified and retrieved by the indignant concierge of the Algonquin.
Again, this is not good encyclopedia writing, but it does make you wonder: how did he know the concierge was indignant? There’s a footnote, and it goes to this book.
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There’s a footnote, and it goes to this book. It's signed:
This first edition of Tales of a Wayward Inn is forced upon Mrs. John Charles Thomas by her admirer / Bob Davis / Chesapeake Bay / On board motor yacht Masquerader / Oct. 28, 1938.
As it happens, the book is dedicated to Mr. Davis.
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Anyway, I found the anecdote. It’s not particularly indignant.
One day in 1911 a guest of the Algonquin rushed in excitedly reporting that a man had dropped dead in 44th Street near the corner of Fifth Avenue.
"Nobody appears to know him, but I think he lives here at your hotel!"
Running quickly up the block I found I was not quick enough; the body, for lack of identification, had been taken to the police station. The station had a small back yard and there on a stretcher under a rough blanket I found Rear-Admiral Winfield Scott Schley, U.S.N. The hero of Santiago Bay, the destroyer of the Spanish Fleet, the commander of the successful relief expedition that found and rescued Greely in the Arctic-a man who had touched glory and known the heights of fame-had lain for nearly an hour in the back yard of a dingy police station as unknown as a tramp. My identification of course brought quick action; the body was returned to the hotel, the family notified, and the Admiral's death was followed by glowing obituaries, columns in the newspapers, and suitable observances by his country.
Frank ended up owning the Algonquin. He was the one who came up with the name; the owners wanted to call it the Puritan. Amusing, given the storied history of the place. (Puritan was the name of the realty company that built it.) His book has an index, but no mention of Bob or Robert Davis.
I'll end here: part of an illustration called "THE ALGONQUIN, BY ONE WHO HAS HEARD ALL ABOUT IT," by Ellison Hoover. Even then they knew it was overhyped.
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Twenty thousand souls. Named after a Jesuit missionary, who also lent his name to an avenue in downtown Minneapolis. Where the Northstar Cafeteria picture was taken, by the way. How about that?
