St Margarets Academy - Dayseye Yearbook (Minneapolis, MN)

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‘Dayesye ST. ANTHONY FALLS IN 1855 A Minneapolis Rip Van Winkle WHOEVER has made a voyage up the Mississippi must remember the beautiful little village which later became Minneapolis. Every change of season, every change of weather, indeed, every hour of the day produced some alteration in the magical mists and hues that hung over the river city, especially at dawn and dusk. Some three score and ten years ago. there lived in that growing village, a simple, good-natured man who won for himself the famous title Rip Van Winkle. Although of a peaceable and neighborly disposition. Rip had an unconquerable aversion for all profitable labor, especially about his own place. Mrs. Van Winkle being very thrifty, often tried to arouse Rip from his lethargy by a good tongue thrashing. On such occasions. Rip only shrugged his shoulders, whistled to his dog. Zip. and quietly slunk away. One sultry summer morning after the customary kitchen lecture. Rip set out to fish. Accompanied by Zip. he wandered down the street, passing the private school of Miss Electa Backus, and meeting and chatting with many of his friends. Pierre Bottineau always annoyed Rip by declaring that his house was older than the Van Winkle home. Disgusted. Rip left him and went on down the street. He passed W. R. Marshall's store and the Godfrey and Steele saw-mill. Godfrey stopped him at the Post Office, and told him of his new daughter, the first white child born in the village. When Rip finally reached the river, he had to wait for the ferry. Above him. on the bank, was the new University, in process of construction. A steamer was chugging into St. Anthony. the first to come so far up the river. A large group of people awaited it. The Mayor. H. T. Wells, was talking to Robert Smith and Colonel J. H. Stevens, ex-soldiers of the Mexican war. who had settled on the military reservation. The editor of the St. Anthony Express also anxiously awaited the steamer, to get news for his paper. Rip picked up his fishing pole, whistled to Zip. and went on up the river about a mile. Sitting against a tree, he threw out a line and drowsily watched the water. After a few minutes, he began to nod. Soon he was fast asleep, and he slept, and slept. And hereby hangs my tale. 25

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7 jc Dayesve w i Our City A Short Story HPhe story of Minneapolis. like the story of many western cities, reads like a fairy tale. It is the story of a golden dream come true. It is the story of a rainbow promise crystallized into changeless tints. It is the story of the life-work of a true-hearted. God-fearing generation, lured by the call of the West to the Land of sky-blue Waters. The setting wafts us back some two hundred years, to the Falls of St. Anthony, where, on a sultry August day. Father Hennepin, then a Sioux captive, stood at the head of the splashing waters, and raising his cross, gave them the name which has not been washed away. Nearly a century later. Carver stood gazing upon these same falls, and envisioned a great empire due to the development of their vast power. But neither the rapture of a Hennepin nor the prophecy of a Carver gave us our beautiful City, our Minneapolis of today. This transformation of a wilderness into a great metropolis: of wild hunting grounds into homes, and parks, and gardens: of tepees and wigwams into majestic buildings for business, church and school, was not wrought by a fairy wand. It is the monument reared by the courage, the faith, the sacrifice of that noble band of pioneers, who laid their foundations upon a rock, and in passing on. handed the torch of vision to their children, and their children’s children. To all these it is due that railroads and paved highways cover Indian and camp wagon trails: that the honk horn and the traffic whistle have hushed the howl of the wolf: that the chime of bells calling to worship have silenced the war whoop of Chippewa and Sioux: that the anvil replaces the tomahawk, and the cross the calumet. May all honor be to the makers and the builders of our City: and all glory to the good God who gave them the place and the spirit to build. 24

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 He awoke with a start, jumped to his feet, and looked around for Zip. He whistled, called, but no Zip appeared. Glancing about, he saw two rows of lights extending across the river on a long bridge. What was it? Where did it come from? How did it get there? He laboriously climbed the embankment, and hobbled out on the road. It was smooth, hard, and grassless. He saw a strange car approaching. It had four wheels, but no horses drew it! Rubbing his eyes, he looked again. Yes. it was all true. Limping down the road he gazed around him. What were those two lights up in the sky? They seemed to come from a tall, white building, like a light house. Suddenly he saw a long, yellow, noisy car coming toward him. In it were comically dressed people. This puzzling thing stopped, and a woman stepped out. Such a ridiculous woman! Her skirts to her knees, her hair to her ears, half-way shoes, with three-inch heels! Rip gasped in fear and amazement. Was he in another world? But this freak creature was looking intently at him. Rip looked down. His clothes were rags, his beard was white and long. What had happened to him? As he hurried down the road, he heard a long, shrill whistle. He did not believe in ghosts, but this was queer, indeed. Shrieking, a long line of dark, narrow cars went by above his head. Rip had once seen a picture of a train A whirring noise next attracted his gaze upward. The object looked like a huge bird. It seemed to be following that long stream of light pointing south. As he stood watching it. a shrill terrifying noise, accompanied by a long red. shining car with ladders, whizzed by him. Rip was stiff with fear. Well, he would soon find it out from old Jake, who ran the ferry. But the ferry was not there. In its place was another of those enormous stone bridges. He decided to climb the slope and try crossing the bridge. iMany tall build- that somewhat resembled that long procession. Milling District 1870