By Jack Boardman
Who am I and why am I writing on this blog? I’m Jack Boardman, the husband of the author of this blog…and I’ve been shanghaied into it.
Oh all right, I agreed to do it more or less willingly. I plan on keeping my writing relatively simple, more of necessity than desire.
Mine is not one of the grand old St. Paul families arriving either before or shortly after Pierre “Pig’s Eye” Parrant and Father Lucien Galtier in the 1840’s. Our family did not rub elbows with any of the original St. Paul pioneers. We had the common sense to wait until 1912 before showing up in this town, when at least some of the roads were paved.
My grandfather moved the family from Stillwater to St. Paul in 1912, making the day-long trip and settling at 283 Bates Avenue on the East Side. East Side—not “East St. Paul” as some in the media wish to rename the neighborhood.
St. Paul has always been the home of my heart, no matter where I’ve lived and for 46 years of my life I’ve had a St. Paul address.
I lived here before the freeways cut their swaths through the city, when there were streetcars still plying the streets and when gone, the abandoned tracks left behind as a reminder of their glory days.
I lived here before the suburban shopping centers, when downtown was the place to go to see a first-run movie, when such names as Shueneman’s, Grant’s, The Golden Rule and Emporium were the anchors of downtown shopping.
I lived here when the streets were paved with wooden block and the curbs were stone, not concrete.
I lived here when Kaiser, Hudson, Packard, Nash, DeSoto and Edsel were common automobiles and all sold somewhere in the city.
I lived here when White Castle and Dairy Queen were just about the only fast food outlets in the city.
I lived here when Popcorn Pete would drive his 1930’s Ford truck through the alley every day in the summer and once a week the junk man would clatter through on his horse-drawn wagon.
I lived here when families of eight lived quite happily in a two-bedroom Pullman apartment.
I lived here when there were more kids on a single block than in some entire neighborhoods today.
I lived here when the cops wore green uniforms and some drove three-wheeled motorcycles.
The fifties should not be viewed necessarily through rose-colored glasses; there were serious problems in those days that would not be addressed until the sixties and beyond.
My posts will cover only the world of a grade school child and his memories of the city during that period.
This is where I hope to go with my weekly posts here, my memories of my childhood, and perhaps some of the changes since.
Photo:
Library of Congress, Prints & Photographs Division, FSA-OWI Collection, Photo in the Public Domain
