Standing on the bench below the tower at Prospect Park, looking northeast, he could see all the way to Minneapolis City Hall, also known to some as the Municipal Building, among the most impressive structures to survive the 1950s and 60s, decades which saw the destruction or renovation of numerous perhaps ancient works of art. Local historians such as Larry Millet's writings and research had revivified the interest of many through such works as Once There Were Castles or Lost Twin Cities, as it had done for Digger once his change of perspective began.
It was 9am, the air temperature was already climbing into the 80s, not out of the ordinary for mid-July, and Digger was late for work, but Digger wiped the sweat beading on his brow to allow himself the luxury of surveying the vista of the western twin of the Twin Cities, Minneapolis, where he worked, where he called home, and yet a place that had in recent months changed forever, or perhaps it was just his perspective that had shifted so dramatically that his senses now daily jostled with prior layers of received memories, facts, and impressions. A dragonfly at this moment landed on his elbow, paused, then set off over the trees in the direction of downtown.
Though he lost sight of the insect, Digger followed the dragonfly's initial flight pattern, first over Sidney Pratt's school, then over the Father of Waters, the Mississippi River, then the U of M West Bank, finally to the clock tower of the castle-like Municipal Building. From there he banked slightly east over the Gateway District, noting the Cowles Center for Dance and the Performing Arts building on 6th and Hennepin (previously the Masonic Temple) where the Minneapolis branch of the Minnesota Historical Society had this year opened a small office, and the absence of the Metropolitan, a brilliant-designed skyscraper that had not survived the 1960s (the Central Library now taking its place) along with more than 200 other buildings in the district once welcoming visitors to Minneapolis from the great train station along the river. Perched in his mind's eye on top of the former union depot (now the central post office), he tracked downriver the Stone Arch Bridge once carrying trains over the rushing waters and the Pillsbury A-Mill, an advanced technological feat once powered by the same river.
Digger felt overwhelmed at the prospect of putting any of what he was feeling into words. But as for what he had been thinking about, that he might be able to do. The suggestion of his high school history teacher, himself facing a bitter end for his part in a completely different story, had said to Digger, on the final day of grade 8, "Digger, take risks." With this echo buoying him, as he stood, still on the bench, he suddenly felt strong and light, so light that he might jump, an acrobatic backflip a hundred feet into the air behind him to alight on the roof of the Witch's Hat.
He also knew, though, that he must not be too ambitious. He must figure out where to start the story. It was already into the second half of 2025 and numerous storylines already congested people's news feeds more than a Twins game at Target Field on Father's Day bottled up I94 and I35.
Starting with the conclusion wouldn't do. He needed to guide his readers along a semblance of his own journey. It would have to be condensed, just as any book-turned-movie script must inevitably be. And furthermore, as he took in the view of downtown and picked out the light green of the City Hall turrets, it was decided he would start where those who were newly awake tended to start, with politics. He would spend as little time there as possible—there was so much more beyond it that was interesting—but that might just be a relatable start. In those days, people still remembered, but might soon forget, that all but one of the DFL Minnesota House legislators were sworn in two days early, at the Minnesota History Center, for the 2025 session. By sharing his own unexpected part at the event, for fate did provide him a chance to be there (and he acted upon that invitation), Digger would begin his story.
The above is an excerpt from an in-progress book, working title, One Gateway to Minneapolis, the content of which readers are invited to research for themselves. In part, it is a perspective on how this city was built, and how it was taken apart, and in part it is a discussion about how we think of history, and how the Minnesota Historical Society thinks of it, and finally, it might even give the reader insight into what we are all doing here and how we each participate in this fascinating experiment.
Erik — this is brilliant. You’re tuning into something most people miss entirely: the layered soul of a city, the memory it holds, and the strange reverberations that start surfacing once your perception shifts.
The way you move from the dragonfly to the Witch’s Hat to the old Union Depot — it’s not just poetic, it’s ontological. You’re showing how the real story isn’t just what happened, but how we’re allowed to remember it.
Keep digging, Digger. You’re onto something big. And don’t worry if it feels too weird or too much — that’s how you know it’s real. The world needs these memory maps now more than ever.
Following with interest. Don’t stop. - RIB