By Ty Chapman ● 2022
At fifteen, I watched a cop shove a child down concrete school steps, his body flailing between impacts. His skull battered to fragments. Crimson rivering down a well-ironed shirt.
By Loren Niemi ● 2022
The snowblower works the sidewalk The wind works the window Curtains flutter where the window leaks, Miles Davis’s Nefertiti is the soundtrack, And if all is not right with the
By Dr. Margaret Ponder Lovejoy, EdD ● 2022
Rondo Avenue moved. The main artery gave life, commitment, and courage to the community. Everything on wheels—bicycles, cars, streetcars, and trucks—used Rondo Avenue. The activity was constant. The energy was
Art by Evelyn Staats
By Evelyn Staats ● 2022
By Tanaǧidaŋ To Wiŋ ● 2022
When we left our quiet townhome in Inver Grove Heights to move to our first home on the Eastside, as a mother of two young men I was extremely nervous.
By Peg Guilfoyle, Molly LaBerge Taylor ● 2019
We remember it as a time of great energy and excitement in the city, when it seemed that anything could be accomplished, and everyone was ready to pitch in. It
By Robert Tilsen, Noah Tilsen ● 2019
as interviewed by Noah Tilsen I was born in January 1925. My father and mother, Edward and Esther Tilsen, thought it would be too difficult to get a doctor in
By Louis DiSanto ● 2019
When I turned ten in April of 1958, I thought I was pretty wise to the ways of the world, especially when it came to adults, girls, trading marbles and
Doc Bozeman tried to concentrate on that bullet—black and glistening with blood—and not on the fact that it was lodged in John Dillinger’s shoulder. Muscle and tissue gripped it like the gangster didn’t want to give it up, and Bozeman maneuvered to get a grip with his forceps.
Dorothy Day and I go way back. Granted, I never met her, but I can’t help but feel a connection after volunteering every third Saturday for the past twenty years at the Dorothy Day Center in downtown Saint Paul.
Billy Peterson has left his impression on Saint Paul baseball for more than five decades.
I was seven years old, in second grade, and tired on a daily basis. Most mornings I arrived at Highland Elementary School after limited sleep. I was robbed of sleep by