Closing Time by Bill Lindeke

Closing Time by Bill Lindeke

Author:Bill Lindeke
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Minnesota Historical Society Press
Published: 2019-08-14T16:00:00+00:00


“These are the guys that can help you out when the car breaks down.”

CARIOCA CANTINA

 1950s

124 STATE STREET, ST. PAUL

St. Paul’s West Side flats was a tight-knit community set within a few square miles of streets gridded out just south of downtown, in the low land between the flood-prone Mississippi River and the train tracks that edged the bluffs to the south. A large swath of land hosting some of the oldest parts of the city, the West Side offered a dense and vibrant mix of industry, simple homes, and lots of different kinds of people. Immigrants from Mexico, Lebanon, Russia, Switzerland, and Jewish communities from all over Eastern Europe and many other groups landed there because it offered the best shelter of last resort, apartments and houses near to the blue-collar and merchant jobs that were the lifeblood of newcomers. Homes butted right up against the river—which by the twentieth century did not smell that great—and neighborhood kids would jump in on a regular basis to cool off from the summer heat, hoping not to cut their feet on any broken glass. One thing was sure: the West Side flats was a place where people knew each other, for better and for worse.

Today the area comprises an industrial park and vacant lots, all protected by a levee that keeps the river from flooding over the land. But back in the 1950s the flats hosted an active working-class and immigrant community, full of characters, families, strivers, grifters, businessmen, and bums. Of course, bars were at the center of the mixing and give-and-take between the different parts of the neighborhood. The bars themselves reflected a diverse mix as much as the people did, with places like the Jalisco, a Mexican bar, or the Tap-a-Keg, frequented by Native Americans. All around the West Side there were old bars like these: the Monterey, Blair’s Bar, the Silver Dollar, the Coronado, the Riverview. They are all gone now, but back then, they all had stories to tell.

“They were socializing places; bars meant culture, friendship,” one longtime flats denizen explained. “At the bars, you could depend on one another, though it does not happen all the time. These are the guys that can help you out when the car breaks down, when the sidewalk is shoveled. The camaraderie, you build that.”

The Carioca Cantina was one among the crowd, a small bar in the midst of the shops and apartments on State Street, next to Skolnik’s grocery store, a barbershop, and, on the corner, a pool hall. Known for its Mexican clientele and often featuring music and dancing, the bar was fairly simple. The doorway and façade were covered in signs that read “Pepsi-Cola” and “Carioca Cantina: Mexican Dancing Nightly.” Inside, the narrow, dark room had a simple bar on the left and a few tables on the right. Behind the bar leaned a one-legged bartender who hopped around on one foot and a pair of crutches, often to the amazement of the local kids, all the while serving 3.



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