A Particular Place: Lyndale and 26th Avenues North, a story of Irony and Paradox
Definitions: Irony is an outcome of events contrary to what was, or might have been, expected. Paradoxes are statements or situations that seem self-contradictory but reveal deeper truths.
Two of the social studies teachers of what is now Camden High School (formerly Patrick Henry High) and I collaborated during the recent COVID pandemic to create curriculum that would be of interest to students who were being given assignments to complete as they were locked down at their homes. I researched the stories of some particular sites of mystery, some hidden in the Northside, then passed the info on to the teachers, and they created the lessons. This is one of the historical discoveries I passed on to my collaborators.
I lead bus tours of the Northside. During one of these meanderings, while in the Hawthorne community, a participant told our group that he was admonished by a parent never to step on the ground of the south area of Farview Park for there were germs in the soil there. He mentioned that he had been told that there was “The Pest Hospital” at that location. Could this be a story of a pandemic over a century ago? Thus, my investigation began.
I emailed my mystery sleuth at the Special Collections Department of the downtown Hennepin County Library system, Edward “Ted” Hawaway. True to behold, Ted found several references to this hospital. The original “Pest House,” contagion, or quarantine hospital of Minneapolis was built in 1869 on the southwest corner of Lyndale and 26th Aves following an outbreak of the dreadful disease smallpox. The individuals contracting this illness were removed from society to this small hospital just north of the city limits, next to a place known as “Negro House and Land” or “Negro Hill.” The facility took in people with all communicable diseases, many transferred from the downtown General Hospital to the “country.” Researcher Ted sent me eight accounts from The Star Tribune regarding this location. Shockingly, all from 1914 through 1930 refer to the location of the “Pest Hospital” as next to “n_ _ _ _ _ hill.” (You can obtain the October 14,1914 Strib article from Hennepin County Public Library, Special Collections, 612-543-8000, Researcher Edward Ted Hathaway.) Were there African Americans living on the hill? What was racism like a century ago in this community?
The irony in this story is that at this very location in Farview Park, on the corner of Lyndale and 26th Aves, is now a purple sculpture you will see when you drive or walk by. Where did it come from and who is the artist? What does it represent? Ironically or paradoxically, the 15-foot-high Purple Raindrop installed in 2018, was created by Black artist Esther Osayande, to honor the late Prince Rogers Nelson, our Northside African American son known to the world for his brilliancy. This public art is called Purple Raindrop or “Purple Rain.” The sculpture honors Prince, his signature song Purple Rain, and his major contributions to the world of music.
And, to top it off, a bit of symbolism, the sculpture is painted in a shade of purple called Purple Reign.
This hidden mystery was used to create lessons in history, of pandemics, racism, irony, and paradoxes for students of Camden High School.
Background information of Lyndale Avenue North along Farview Park
The story of this piece of land began with the inhabitants of Indigenous Dakotans. Then the Europeans moved in and stole the land. Prior to the mid-1800s, the pathway of Lyndale Avenue was one route for fur traders coming from “Up-North,” in other words, Duluth and further north. Their carts piled with pelts on the way to the city were pulled by oxen, making a tremendous noise so loud that conversations were stopped in Camden as they bypassed small settlements and occasional homes. One well-known fur trader coming down the rutted “road” from far north was George Bonga, said to have been from the first African American family to have settled in Minnesota. His mother was Anishinabe/Ojibwe, as was his wife Ashwinn. This respected 3rd generation backwoodsman, Bonga spoke several languages, served as a respected translator, negotiator, canoe guide, and storyteller. In 1850 he was one of 14 recorded African Americans recorded in the Minnesota Territory census. He and his wife were owners of a Leech Lake lodge.
I tell you these documented stories of layering history in one corner of the world, in one corner of our community, four blocks from my house, to remind ourselves that there are roots of racism that lie in the very soil that we walk and play on today. It brings one to reflect on the current status of our village, its inhabitants, and the role we each play in creating a future for generations to come.