There Was No Sun in the Room
2013
I imagined her stretched out and weeping over her womb on a stretcher, Shaking.
Bridge
2013
There’s no time in traffic on 35E to honor a place such as this—my old neighborhood in ruins. In one second my car wheels cover what was once my brothers’ bedroom with the nursery rhyme floor.
Swimming with the Sharks
2013
Among our family stories is one with a lesson: Don’t try swimming with the sharks.
Mawk-Eyed
2013
A RETIRED NEUROSURGEON, John Mawk teaches all the sciences at the international high school in Lowertown.
Poem for the Saint Paul City Council
2013
The New Year, with its dependable timing, its greeting full of bells and whistles and promises, has arrived. We stand, once more, at a new beginning.
Clarence Street for Sale
2013
Let us think on the porch darling. Sit anywhere you like. I sit here because it fits me.
I can get up quickly, if need be, possibly never return.
You stay here with the morning sun dripping on your forehead.
All Aboard!
2012
My dad James Melvin Young Sr. became a second generation “Red Cap Porter” when his uncle William A. Young retired circa 1949. Melvin was 23 years old when the Saint Paul Union Depot at 214 Fourth Street in Lowertown was the gateway to the world. Working there was the spark that ignited a love for world travel for my dad. There were approximately thirty-six Red Cap Porters employed at the Depot, all African American. Their red caps became synonymous with integrity and reliability. Their work was demanding.
The Telepathic Monkeys at Como Golf Course
2012
In 1989 on the first tee at the newly reopened Como Park golf course, after watching my grandfather’s drive slice across two fairways and bank off a tree, I learned that golf is as much educational as it is recreational. “Grandpa, you missed,” I said, playfully jabbing at my hero. “Yeah, but that’s alright,” he replied with a smile. “Hitting a tree is good luck for your next shot.” “Oh!” I gleefully said, while altering my aim for a majestic birch 100 yards away. “Wait,” my grandfather said while he corrected my stance. “It doesn’t work if you try to hit it. It’s like a lucky penny. You can’t put it down and then pick it up.” This made perfect sense to my eight-year-old brain.
Springtime in Minnesota
2012
In the spring of 1994, I was a writer in residence for Consortium of Associated Colleges in the Twin Cities. This meant that participating campuses would house me for seven days, and during this time I would do individual and group writing critiques, a workshop, and a formal reading for the entire campuses at St. Thomas University, Macalester College, Augsburg College, Hamline University, and College of St. Catherine.
Pig’s Eye Island Adventure
2012
When I was growing up near Mounds Park during the fifties and sixties, fresh milk was delivered to our stoop like clockwork; however, no one came to haul away the refuse. A big, rusty metal drum in our back yard received the trash instead. When it got full, my father lit it on fire. Items you couldn’t burn—bottles, cans, old plastic toys—were driven to the Pig’s Eye Island City Dump. My brother almost always got to go with Dad to the dump, a fact that he lorded over his little sisters. But sometimes we got to go too.
Oreo Cookie
2012
I am proud to make Saint Paul my home, as I feel the African American people of Saint Paul are strong, proud people. The first sixteen years of my life were spent in Minneapolis in a poor White neighborhood. My siblings and I were the only Black children in the schools we attended. Yes, there was a great deal of prejudice in our community. Little children don’t know hate; they have to be taught. Even though my White friends’ parents may not have liked their children being friends with us, most of them accepted it because they loved their children more than they hated us.
How Max Shulman Got to College
2012
Max Shulman (1919–1988) grew up in a Jewish community in Saint Paul’s Selby-Dale neighborhood. After graduating from Central High School, he earned a journalism degree from the University of Minnesota. His writings were invariably humorous and were published in novels and magazines. He eventually became a successful writer for theater and television. His novel Potatoes are Cheaper was a portrayal of life in the city in the late 1930s. Extract from Max Shulman, Potatoes Are Cheaper (Doubleday and Company, 1971): 1–4, 23.