Happy Sign Day! Today I decided to photograph all the signs on Nicollet Island. Why, you ask? Why not? I began with this one, the first I encounter each morning as I leave my home. I just so happen to live on the Odd Address Side of Street--a qualification that evidently merits a sign, for what purpose, if any, I'm afraid I can't say. As for exactly where I live, let's just say that it's either on Maple Place or Nicollet Street, and if I live on the Odd side, I guess that's not entirely out of character. Also, let me just say right now that, due to the apparently uncontrollable fetish for No Parking signs on the part of city planners, the island is awash in them, so I will NOT be posting pictures of them, unless they are unique in some way.
Here was my next stop, where I was able to nail four signs in a single blow: Maple Pl., W. Island Ave., the back of a STOP sign, and my personal favorite, the PEACE sign made of twisted branches on the side of the house in the background. In the evening, the PEACE sign is lit up, as some of you may recall from an earlier post. This intersection is on the northwestern side of the island, and from here I begin my walk southward along the island's western shore. The Mississippi River is on my right side and the front of the house in this picture is on my left--there are small trees in front of the house which are adorned with lights and Christmas balls. I'm really not sure if they will remain there year round.
Here, on my right hand, appears the railroad crossing sign, beneath which a small NO PARKING sign has managed to weasel its way in, and above that, the notable qualifier: NO TRAIN HORN. Which is interesting because, while there may indeed be no train horn, there IS a loud clanging bell that signals the approach of a train. I guess if you were in a car with the music turned up loud, you might not hear the bell, in which case you would be a fool for approaching the railroad crossing with anything less than extreme caution. And I suppose, in such an instance, it doesn't hurt to be reminded by a sign that you are approaching tracks upon which a train with NO HORN may be passing.
And now, sans car and loud music, I am approaching the tracks, of which there are 2 according to this official RAILROAD CROSSING sign. Here too is the barrier gate which descends when a train is approaching. And guess what happens as I am approaching the tracks? That's right, the bell starts clanging, prompting me to accelerate my pace so as not to get stuck waiting for an endless train to pass. Here, too, you can see the sun where it has recently risen in the east (so I'm really walking more east than south), and I don't mind saying that it is damn cold out and my fingers are already becoming very uncomfortably numb (to misquote Pink Floyd) when handling the camera.
After crossing the tracks, I turned around in time to see the barrier gate descending and thought a picture of that, and the flashing red light, would make a good picture. I then turned to face the river because there were a couple of signs there fronting the bridge--warning of danger and citing a statute--and so with frigid, trembling fingers I set about capturing their image.
I guess that while dallying to take this picture, I hadn't realized how close I still was to the tracks, upon which a train was at that moment approaching. When I finished taking my shot, I turned to see that I was on the inside of the barrier gate (oops!), so I looked down the tracks and there was the train, creeping forwards, as though perhaps it had been awaiting my pleasure. It seemed to accelerate after I moved beyond the gate, and proceeded over the bridge. I did see the engineer sitting in his compact apartment behind a window, and he didn't shake a scolding finger, so I guess maybe I had done no harm. I was, after all, a good five feet from the tracks, so no cause for concern.
A short distance ahead, I came upon one of the houseboats moored on the shore. I descended a crude staircase set into the steep riverbank, and found this sign posted in front of a short path leading to the gangplank providing access to the boat. It's a formidable sign, is it not? There is one even more formidable yet to come, associated with the other houseboat. Stay tuned!
Before reaching the other houseboat, I pass this intersection, the first of two. Here, at Grove Street and W. Island Avenue, I pass the Grove Street Flats, a block of attractive and historic row apartments (but then, isn't everything on this island historic? come to that, isn't everything everywhere historic?). You may recall these as the apartments featured in an earlier post, wherein I narrated my uninvited ascent to their rooftops. If I hang a left here, then another left at the end of the block, then cross a small intra-island bridge, I will arrive back at my home. My hands are frozen and I'm tempted, but I will tough it out. Today, after all, is Sign Day, which will only come once in my lifetime!
Well, maybe it'll come twice, as I may have to break this post into two--there are just so many damn signs! Here is the next intersection, which signals De La Salle High School. If I go left here, I will pass directly between the front of the high school and its parking lot. Upon reaching the end of Eastman Avenue, I can choose to go right, along a short upward-sloping ramp that delivers me onto the westward-bound side of the Hennepin Bridge, or bearing left, I would find myself on E. Island Avenue. Today, however, I do neither, but instead go straight, for on my right stands the most noteworthy sign on the island, which nobody can possibly overlook.
That's right, it's the Grain Belt Beer sign, which greets everyone who is traveling, on foot or by car, over the Henepin Bridge from downtown Minneapolis. I confess I did not take this picture today, but figured I should include a good full-frontal view, it being Sign Day and all. As I've mentioned before, this is an iconic sign here in the Twin Cities, whose image can be spotted in paintings and photos displayed in many restaurants, bars, shops, and other establishments throughout the Cities.
Today we venture in the footsteps of the person who parked on the sidewalk in yesterday's post, over the hillside and around to the front of the towering sign. As you can see by this sign, there are those who would restrict our freedom--but we will not be thwarted. As I scrabble across the hillside, I notice the second houseboat down at the shore, and think that its deck might make a nice spot from which to shoot a picture of the sign. So I venture a little a bit closer, sliding down in the snow amongst trees and roots, grabbing branches to keep balance. I wonder just whose and which Private Property this sign refers to: the houseboat, or the hillside between the boat and the hulking sign?
As I get closer, I spot a sign in one of the houseboat windows, which suggests that the deck of this boat may not be the optimal location from which to shoot a picture of the Grain Belt Beer sign after all. Regarding the houseboat, my web queries yield the following, posted by one Phyllis Kahn in February, 2011: "One of the houseboats is owned by John Kerwin, the developer who restored the Grove St. Flats on Nicollet Island that jumpstarted the revival of that area. He still owns and lives in one of the units there. Arguing some federal right to riparian owners, he built the docking space and got the city council and then the MPRB to agree. The owner of the other boat has some agreement with John."
I don't know if this boat is the one owned by Kerwin, nor for that matter do I vouch for the accuracy of Kahn's account. In any case, I forgo drawing any nearer the boat and instead scrabble up the hill a bit higher and shoot this picture of the island's most imposing sign, erected around 1940. For years, it flashed the letters in sequence ("G-R-A-I-N B-E-L-T BEER"), and IMHO it is a tragedy that this sign is no longer lit up at night.
It's a shame that the city of Minneapolis doesn't do more to maintain historical legacies such as this sign. Even the Nicollet Island Inn, a prominent establishment on the island and popular tourist destination, seems content to leave several letters of its neon-lit name unlit--can it be too costly or too much trouble to replace a few bulbs? WTF? That is the Inn slouching in the background of this photo featuring the Motorcycle Parking sign. It's also the side sporting the neon sign, although it's pretty inconspicuous in the daytime. I said I would refrain from posting Parking related signs, but included this one because it reminded me of an annual island event called the Blind Lizard Motorcycle Rally. From what I've been able to gather, the Blind Lizards Motorcycle Club was founded in Minneapolis in 1975 and meets exactly one day each year, when its members converge upon Nicollet Island (on Fathers Day). So there's another good reason to look forward to June!
After leaving the Grain Belt Beer sign and crossing underneath the Hennepin Bridge overpass (by the way, that bedroll tucked neatly under the bridge in yesterday's post is still there), I pass the parking lot adjacent to the Nicollet Island Inn, round the curving road which is Merriam Street where it becomes W. Island Avenue, and come to this intersection, which is merely the off ramp from the eastward-bound lanes of the Hennepin Bridge. Wilder Street is not much of a street--it is definitely a literal stone's throw in length. When you drive down this street from the bridge, you are facing the Nicollet Island Pavilion, and also this next sign.
The picture is dark because the sun is behind the subject, so you may wish to click on this to enlarge the commemoration of the 1990 Earth Day Celebration, which I gather must have been quite the shindig to merit a sign so stately and permanent. Behind the sign, you can see the white tent which has been affixed to the Nicollet Island Pavilion building (featured in an earlier post).
Well, I see you yawning, which I presume is a SIGN you are beginning to tire of this day's post. Since I featured the sign about not feeding the local wildlife in a previous post, I will spare you a repeat, and instead leave you with this one, not technically a sign but rather the unauthorized work of a local Banksy who evidently wanted to enhance our appreciation for the majestic stature of Mount Everest.
If you can't make out the words, here is what they are:
LOOK AT DOWNTOWN [clearly visible from this location] … MT. EVEREST FROM BASE CAMP TO SUMMIT IS 15X TALLER THAN THE IDS CENTER! PICTURE THAT! [followed by a picture of Everest]
I leave you to ruminate upon the height of Everest, while I do likewise. For those who were unaware, the IDS Center is the tallest building in the state of Minnesota, upon which you can find more information here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/IDS_Center
Sign Day, featuring the eastern side of the island, will be continued at a later date. Until then, here's a song for you: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UHOdzHoXUeI
Life flows on, in and around us--at times regulated by signs, which we may choose to heed or ignore, at our pleasure or peril.
D.E.S.
Here was my next stop, where I was able to nail four signs in a single blow: Maple Pl., W. Island Ave., the back of a STOP sign, and my personal favorite, the PEACE sign made of twisted branches on the side of the house in the background. In the evening, the PEACE sign is lit up, as some of you may recall from an earlier post. This intersection is on the northwestern side of the island, and from here I begin my walk southward along the island's western shore. The Mississippi River is on my right side and the front of the house in this picture is on my left--there are small trees in front of the house which are adorned with lights and Christmas balls. I'm really not sure if they will remain there year round.
Here, on my right hand, appears the railroad crossing sign, beneath which a small NO PARKING sign has managed to weasel its way in, and above that, the notable qualifier: NO TRAIN HORN. Which is interesting because, while there may indeed be no train horn, there IS a loud clanging bell that signals the approach of a train. I guess if you were in a car with the music turned up loud, you might not hear the bell, in which case you would be a fool for approaching the railroad crossing with anything less than extreme caution. And I suppose, in such an instance, it doesn't hurt to be reminded by a sign that you are approaching tracks upon which a train with NO HORN may be passing.
And now, sans car and loud music, I am approaching the tracks, of which there are 2 according to this official RAILROAD CROSSING sign. Here too is the barrier gate which descends when a train is approaching. And guess what happens as I am approaching the tracks? That's right, the bell starts clanging, prompting me to accelerate my pace so as not to get stuck waiting for an endless train to pass. Here, too, you can see the sun where it has recently risen in the east (so I'm really walking more east than south), and I don't mind saying that it is damn cold out and my fingers are already becoming very uncomfortably numb (to misquote Pink Floyd) when handling the camera.
After crossing the tracks, I turned around in time to see the barrier gate descending and thought a picture of that, and the flashing red light, would make a good picture. I then turned to face the river because there were a couple of signs there fronting the bridge--warning of danger and citing a statute--and so with frigid, trembling fingers I set about capturing their image.
I guess that while dallying to take this picture, I hadn't realized how close I still was to the tracks, upon which a train was at that moment approaching. When I finished taking my shot, I turned to see that I was on the inside of the barrier gate (oops!), so I looked down the tracks and there was the train, creeping forwards, as though perhaps it had been awaiting my pleasure. It seemed to accelerate after I moved beyond the gate, and proceeded over the bridge. I did see the engineer sitting in his compact apartment behind a window, and he didn't shake a scolding finger, so I guess maybe I had done no harm. I was, after all, a good five feet from the tracks, so no cause for concern.
A short distance ahead, I came upon one of the houseboats moored on the shore. I descended a crude staircase set into the steep riverbank, and found this sign posted in front of a short path leading to the gangplank providing access to the boat. It's a formidable sign, is it not? There is one even more formidable yet to come, associated with the other houseboat. Stay tuned!
Before reaching the other houseboat, I pass this intersection, the first of two. Here, at Grove Street and W. Island Avenue, I pass the Grove Street Flats, a block of attractive and historic row apartments (but then, isn't everything on this island historic? come to that, isn't everything everywhere historic?). You may recall these as the apartments featured in an earlier post, wherein I narrated my uninvited ascent to their rooftops. If I hang a left here, then another left at the end of the block, then cross a small intra-island bridge, I will arrive back at my home. My hands are frozen and I'm tempted, but I will tough it out. Today, after all, is Sign Day, which will only come once in my lifetime!
Well, maybe it'll come twice, as I may have to break this post into two--there are just so many damn signs! Here is the next intersection, which signals De La Salle High School. If I go left here, I will pass directly between the front of the high school and its parking lot. Upon reaching the end of Eastman Avenue, I can choose to go right, along a short upward-sloping ramp that delivers me onto the westward-bound side of the Hennepin Bridge, or bearing left, I would find myself on E. Island Avenue. Today, however, I do neither, but instead go straight, for on my right stands the most noteworthy sign on the island, which nobody can possibly overlook.
That's right, it's the Grain Belt Beer sign, which greets everyone who is traveling, on foot or by car, over the Henepin Bridge from downtown Minneapolis. I confess I did not take this picture today, but figured I should include a good full-frontal view, it being Sign Day and all. As I've mentioned before, this is an iconic sign here in the Twin Cities, whose image can be spotted in paintings and photos displayed in many restaurants, bars, shops, and other establishments throughout the Cities.
Today we venture in the footsteps of the person who parked on the sidewalk in yesterday's post, over the hillside and around to the front of the towering sign. As you can see by this sign, there are those who would restrict our freedom--but we will not be thwarted. As I scrabble across the hillside, I notice the second houseboat down at the shore, and think that its deck might make a nice spot from which to shoot a picture of the sign. So I venture a little a bit closer, sliding down in the snow amongst trees and roots, grabbing branches to keep balance. I wonder just whose and which Private Property this sign refers to: the houseboat, or the hillside between the boat and the hulking sign?
As I get closer, I spot a sign in one of the houseboat windows, which suggests that the deck of this boat may not be the optimal location from which to shoot a picture of the Grain Belt Beer sign after all. Regarding the houseboat, my web queries yield the following, posted by one Phyllis Kahn in February, 2011: "One of the houseboats is owned by John Kerwin, the developer who restored the Grove St. Flats on Nicollet Island that jumpstarted the revival of that area. He still owns and lives in one of the units there. Arguing some federal right to riparian owners, he built the docking space and got the city council and then the MPRB to agree. The owner of the other boat has some agreement with John."
I don't know if this boat is the one owned by Kerwin, nor for that matter do I vouch for the accuracy of Kahn's account. In any case, I forgo drawing any nearer the boat and instead scrabble up the hill a bit higher and shoot this picture of the island's most imposing sign, erected around 1940. For years, it flashed the letters in sequence ("G-R-A-I-N B-E-L-T BEER"), and IMHO it is a tragedy that this sign is no longer lit up at night.
It's a shame that the city of Minneapolis doesn't do more to maintain historical legacies such as this sign. Even the Nicollet Island Inn, a prominent establishment on the island and popular tourist destination, seems content to leave several letters of its neon-lit name unlit--can it be too costly or too much trouble to replace a few bulbs? WTF? That is the Inn slouching in the background of this photo featuring the Motorcycle Parking sign. It's also the side sporting the neon sign, although it's pretty inconspicuous in the daytime. I said I would refrain from posting Parking related signs, but included this one because it reminded me of an annual island event called the Blind Lizard Motorcycle Rally. From what I've been able to gather, the Blind Lizards Motorcycle Club was founded in Minneapolis in 1975 and meets exactly one day each year, when its members converge upon Nicollet Island (on Fathers Day). So there's another good reason to look forward to June!
After leaving the Grain Belt Beer sign and crossing underneath the Hennepin Bridge overpass (by the way, that bedroll tucked neatly under the bridge in yesterday's post is still there), I pass the parking lot adjacent to the Nicollet Island Inn, round the curving road which is Merriam Street where it becomes W. Island Avenue, and come to this intersection, which is merely the off ramp from the eastward-bound lanes of the Hennepin Bridge. Wilder Street is not much of a street--it is definitely a literal stone's throw in length. When you drive down this street from the bridge, you are facing the Nicollet Island Pavilion, and also this next sign.
The picture is dark because the sun is behind the subject, so you may wish to click on this to enlarge the commemoration of the 1990 Earth Day Celebration, which I gather must have been quite the shindig to merit a sign so stately and permanent. Behind the sign, you can see the white tent which has been affixed to the Nicollet Island Pavilion building (featured in an earlier post).
Well, I see you yawning, which I presume is a SIGN you are beginning to tire of this day's post. Since I featured the sign about not feeding the local wildlife in a previous post, I will spare you a repeat, and instead leave you with this one, not technically a sign but rather the unauthorized work of a local Banksy who evidently wanted to enhance our appreciation for the majestic stature of Mount Everest.If you can't make out the words, here is what they are:
LOOK AT DOWNTOWN [clearly visible from this location] … MT. EVEREST FROM BASE CAMP TO SUMMIT IS 15X TALLER THAN THE IDS CENTER! PICTURE THAT! [followed by a picture of Everest]
I leave you to ruminate upon the height of Everest, while I do likewise. For those who were unaware, the IDS Center is the tallest building in the state of Minnesota, upon which you can find more information here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/IDS_Center
Sign Day, featuring the eastern side of the island, will be continued at a later date. Until then, here's a song for you: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UHOdzHoXUeI
Life flows on, in and around us--at times regulated by signs, which we may choose to heed or ignore, at our pleasure or peril.
D.E.S.
Thanks for the info on the red houseboat. I've been curious about that.
ReplyDeleteYou're very welcome, but as indicated in the post, I cannot vouch for the accuracy of the information. In fact, some time after writing this post, I chatted with my neighbor Chris Hage, co-author with his wife Rushika of two fine books about Nicollet Island, who informed me that he (Chris) in fact owns the red houseboat. I'm pretty sure he does not speak with forked tongue, so you may be fairly comfortable in accepting this information as true. I strongly recommend the books mentioned: Nicollet Island and Nicollet Island, History and Architecture -- both readily available at the NE Lund's checkout counter, and on Amazon and other places.
ReplyDelete