DuluthCommunityNews

By BEN JORGENSON
DCN Correspondent

The average person who watches the weather on the evening news is paying attention to see if they have to wake up a half hour early to warm up their car and shovel the driveway.

Some have another goal in their head as they watch the blue and green radar blob surge through the Midwest. They watch the weather for the prize of finding the perfect wave to surf on our humble lake front shores.

“In the Northern Hemisphere, the fall and winter has more volatile weather which generates a lot more waves,� said Bob Tema, one of the cofounders of Superior Surf Club, which is an organization dedicated to uniting and informing Midwest surfers about weather conditions and events of the Midwest surf community.

This intense winter storm weather makes excellent waves for Midwest surfers. Although these waves are nothing like the swells that slosh onto the shores of Hawaii or California, Duluth surfers are proud of the niche they have created in surfing our fresh water.

What started as a strange novelty for people on the shores watching in awe is now becoming a well known sport among the hardcore outdoorsmen and water sports junkies in the area.

When the conditions are right, you can find surfers in three main areas of Duluth: Park Point, the mouth of the Lester River, and Stoney Point, which holds the title for the best waves in Duluth from the locals. Unfortunately this year it is hard to find surfers in these locations due to the lack of useful weather patterns. Many surfing are calling this season one of the worst in recent memory.

Without the wind blowing in the right direction at the right speed there cannot be surfing on the lake. Because unlike ocean surfing where a constant current is involved, freshwater surfing requires ideal weather conditions and wind patterns.

According to Randy Carlson, the coordinator of the UMD Surf Club and ten-year Duluth surf veteran, says the good surfing weather occurs when “We’ve had a lot of high pressure just parked above us cold northwest wind.�

Carlson teaches UMD students how to kite board, paddleboard, and surf. With the stubborn weather hitting the Midwest, Carlson is finding it difficult to find time and conditions suitable to help teach students.

Carlson said, “Without the waves we can’t use the surfboards.�

Wayne Gatlin a UMD junior has been surfing with Carlson and the UMD Surf Club for three years. Wayne bought equipment this year in hopes of riding waves on his own time without the surf club. He bought his board from a local whose wife was making him sell it on Craig’s List. Gatlin also purchased a wetsuit in hopes of tearing waves.

“I haven’t been out for a month and a half,� said Gatlin. “I haven’t had many seasons, but this is the ones where I have been out the least so far.�

The weather is not just cutting into teaching and fun time. For some, the weather is hurting some who need the weather for sales.

John Abrahms is the owner of Superior Surf Systems, which is a specialty store related to water sports. Abrahms stocks kayaks, canoes, paddles, life jackets, wetsuits and – for a little over a year now – surfboards and surf accessories.

“It’s terrible this fall,� said Abrahms. “If there aren’t waves, no one is standing on the shores looking to buy surfboards.�

“This is supposed to be the peak of the surf season sales,� he added.

With a crumby season underway surfers aren’t hopeless. They still have Minnesota’s unpredictable weather and several more months of winter months ahead, which could yield some serious surfing conditions for locals.

“Who knows maybe will have a killer December or January,� said Wayne Gatlin.

Posted by Kathleen Grigg at 1:17 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

By KARLI MILLER
DCN Correspondent

Brian Hadfield is spending his Friday night a little differently than he normally does. Instead of spending time with his usual crowd – his rugby teammates – he is surrounded by 60 some rambunctious kids in the YMCA gym. The Mentor Duluth program is hosting its annual holiday party here, and Brian is careful to keep his eye on his mentee, Matt.

“Matt, it’s about seven, I think they are about ready to start the piñata,� said Brian.

Thirteen-year-old Matt rushes over to a snowman made of Paper mâché decorated with a red wool scarf, black eyes, and a top hat hanging from a lowered basketball hoop.

“I bet Matt will break it,� said Brian, with a smile.

Brian was right. Standing at around five-foot-four, gripping a hockey stick, Matt pierced the snowman with the florescent orange blade of the stick. With one more whack, candy covered the floor. Grinning ear to ear, he looked to Brian for approval.

“Good job buddy,� said Brian, but before he could say anymore, Matt was already running around with his friends.
Mentor Duluth is a program that connects community members with the youth.

“Children from all different walks of life are in need of a mentor. These children generally need some extra support and attention,� said Callie Ronstrom, an advocate for Mentor Duluth.

However, despite Mentor Duluth’s best efforts, there is still a lack of help among the community, especially males.

“There are just not enough volunteers, some kids wait three to four years before they get a mentor. Boys tend to wait longer because we have a lack of male volunteers, and many single moms want their kid to have a male example in their lives,� she said.

Mentors are evaluated and interviewed before they are eligible to become a mentor. For at least a year, mentors are required to spend 10-12 hours a month with their mentee.

This summer, Brian’s rugby coach, an advocate for Mentor Duluth, encouraged his players to take part in the Mentor Duluth Program. Taking their coach’s advice, Brian and his teammate decided to give it a shot.

Besides keeping up on his studies, practicing for rugby, working, playing for his intramural hockey team, he still finds time to mentor. To him, it is worth the time, especially when he saw Matt’s improvement in school right before his eyes.

“Last year Matt’s grades really couldn’t get any worse,� said Brian. “Now he has a B average in all his classes except math, which we spend a lot of time working on.�

For college students, the wallet is often empty, and there’s not a lot of cash to spare, which is why Mentor Duluth took account for that.

“We really plan a lot of free activities for our mentors and mentees, we don’t want it to be a financial burden,� said Ronstrom.

Some of the free events that Mentor Duluth has set up, besides the holiday parties, are free tours at the Gleensheen, free admission to plays at the playhouse, and discounted tickets to sporting events.

Despite all the planned activities they do, sometimes just spending time together is good enough.

“My favorite thing to do with Brian is just hanging out,� said Matt.

The next stop is the origami station. As Matt talks about his adventures in school, he strategically folds purple paper into a swan.

“If you can do that [origami] from memory, how come you can’t remember your math?� said Brian.

Matt shakes off Brian’s comment with a shrug and a half smile as he continues to talk about school. Appearing to be a bit mischievous, Matt talks about one his least favorite teachers.

“The other day I threw a pencil across the room and it hit her in the head. She never found out it was me,� he says.
Brian shakes his head.

“He really is a troublemaker,� he said.

Brian has plans to redirect the energy that Matt shows in the classroom to the hockey rink.

“I am going to teach Matt how to skate,� said Brian, smiling.

Matt, for the first time tonight was looking a little bored. “Matt what do you want to do next? Did you want to go upstairs?� Brian asked.

“Yeah, sure,� said Matt with a grin.

“Let’s go swimming,� said Brian.

“No I hate swimming,� said Matt. “It makes my skin itch!�

Brian smiles and shakes his head in response, and just like that, the two are off.

Posted by Kathleen Grigg at 12:30 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

By KIM HENNEN

Walking up the creaky, wooden stairs and into a room with only a sunken futon and a television resting on an upside down garbage can, this house seems to resemble that of any other male college student. However, venturing into the house just a few steps further, one enters a whole new world.

It's the world of online gambling. Rob, an incoming sophomore at UMD, sits in a small room, a palace of technology. Four flat-screen computers accompanied only by other technology equipment rest on a sturdy, oversized desk. In the kitchen are a sink of last week's dirty dishes and a stack of mail lying next to empty pizza boxes. But in this room, there are no distractions, except maybe intertwining cords turning this way and that.

Rob stares intently at his computer screen as he reaches the final two in an online poker tournament of over a thousand people all over the world. First place is $3,000.

"My heart was racing waiting for the river to fall," says Rob, a phrase in poker meaning the last card on the board.

Rob, an avid Texas Hold 'Em No Limit player, is one of few college students who choose to spend their time gambling online. His opponent could only catch two of the remaining aces in the deck, which gives him only a five percent chance to win.

"Luckily, he didn't win," says Rob letting out a long overdue sigh of relief after the final card was turned.

Sometimes, but not always an addiction

In a 2006 study of 9,931 students from 14 different Minnesota Colleges by Boynton Health Services, fewer than one in ten students admitted gambling once a month or more. Half of the students reported participating in some form of gambling at least once. While this frequency may not be dangerously high, the possibility of becoming a compulsive gambler is still there.

Kathy Morris, Director of Health Services at UMD, explains this through the concept of intermittent reinforcement. This means that the gambler can't predict when he or she is going to win. For example, with drinking, the consequences are much more predictable.

"Students know if this party gets too loud, the cops will come. Or, ‘If I have any more drinks, I'll get sick,’ " says Morris. "With gambling, it's not a consistent thing you can count on. People think 'Oh, I'm due any time to win,' but this isn't the case."

Morris says there are a few students who come in voluntarily to get help with their addiction, but not many. It is difficult to measure the prevalence of gambling among college students because it doesn't make as much of a ripple in the community as drinking. Students know that come Monday morning, the stories about who got drinking tickets, which parties got busted, and what dorms got written up will make their way around campus.

"These kinds of measurable consequences are not present with gambling," says Morris. "The amount of people that come in for help with an alcohol addiction is no higher than those that come in for help with a gambling addiction."

For most college students, however, gambling does not cause problems. It is a social or recreational activity.

Keith Whyte, Executive Director of the National Council on Problem Gambling, says fortunately, the majority of those who gamble don’t develop an addiction.

"However, any recreational usage has a chance of being problematic," Whyte says. "All of a sudden twice a year turns into twice a day."

Poker as income

Rob says he does not have a problem, and can't picture himself developing one.

"I have never gone in debt from gambling, never regretted my decisions the next day, and it hasn't negatively affected any of my relationships," says Rob.

Rob started gambling online at the age of 16 after seeing his two older cousins making money. He got his first job working at a grocery store when he was 15, but has taken up poker as means of paying rent on his condo in Duluth and paying off his school loans from Mankato State University where he attended his freshman year of college.

"I look at poker as a job," he says. "Some days it sucks, other days it doesn't. I don't play for the rush that many problem gamblers chase. I mainly play it for economic reasons."

Luck, a word many people believe is essential for any card player to have, is not central to the game Rob says. For a skillful player, it takes no luck to win over a long period of time.

"The difference is that luck is pretty much a one time thing," says Rob. "In the long run, the lucky player will go broke because the math behind the game will never fail."

He explains it like this. If two players meet and Player One is supposed to win, Player Two (the underdog) can get lucky and win any given day, but if they played 100 games, Player One (the favorite) will surely win more often.

"I don't just put money in and hope I win," says Rob, "It's skill-based, like any other job."

Now 20 years old, Rob says gambling will remain a lifelong hobby, but he plans on getting a job in the future with his business major. For now, on a good night, Rob can make multiple thousands. He averaged $70 an hour this past month and depending on his schedule, plays anywhere from two to three hours a night. Some players make up to $1,000 an hour.

"It's best at night because that's when the drunks come out," says Rob, "and usually their judgment is impaired."

The internet versus casinos

According to Whyte, online gambling poses more dangerous consequences than gambling in casinos.

"It has additional risk factors for addiction such as a high speed of play, 24 hour access, social isolation, and use of non cash payment," says Whyte.

However, gambling online seems to be less popular among college students.

Zach Olson, a sophomore at the University of Wisconsin Superior, says he and his friends have never gambled online but do like to go to the casino every now and then.

"It's somewhere to go, something to do when there's nothing else going on," he says. "Of course it's nice if we leave with more cash than we came with, but it's not a necessity for us."

Olson has kept a running total of his wins and losses out at Black Bear Casino this year and says he's up $85.

"It's not much, but it pays for my groceries," he says. "My friends and I get pretty competitive though. We usually make bets about who will come out with the most money."

Back in Duluth, Rob takes a seat at his computer desk, preparing for a different kind of competition than that at a blackjack table in the casino. He readies himself for another night at work, enrolling in an online poker tournament with hundreds of hopeful winners.

"I always like a challenge," Rob says as he wipes off the already spotless desk with a sweep of his arm. "Of course there is the money factor, but it's something I never get tired of because you can’t ever master it."

In the kitchen will remain that half eaten pizza crust, but right now it's time to concentrate, to calculate odds, to pay off that student loan, to spend another night at the office.

Posted by Kathleen Grigg at 12:21 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

By KRISTEN KREBS
DCN Correspondent

By now it’s almost 4 o’clock. Earl Sullivan’s workday is coming to an end. In just minutes his replacement will walk in. Sullivan has had the store open since 9 a.m. He’s seen about a dozen customers so far today — his regulars.

The life-long Duluthian maneuvers his way around the store like he owns the place — because he does. Sullivan bought 8th Street Video on Ninth Street in June of 1997. He’s been opening the store at 9am and leaving around 4:15 each day since, turning his store over to someone else, who will close up at midnight.

The store walls feature rows of DVD’s. In one corner, 8th Street Video serves sweet treats, coney’s, and beverages. Right now Sullivan is in the front of the store pouring brewed coffee from a pot into a carafe.

After pouring the coffee Sullivan returns to his place behind the store’s counter. This is where Sullivan leans, with his face hung low and his fingertips touching as he stares out the store’s front windows at cars passing.

A customer opens the white screen door and turns the handle to the store’s front door. He stands between the two doors with his hands still resting on each.

“You got it?�

“None yet, Jeffery.�

“Can you reserve it for tomorrow for me?�

“You got it.�

The man leaves the store as quickly as he opened the doors and Sullivan takes out a clipboard. He writes a note for himself. Jeffery, a store regular, wants a copy of “The Dark Night,� a new release that is checked out but Sullivan should have copy back by tonight or tomorrow.

Sullivan’s next customer is a teenage girl who has been a customer at 8th Street Video since before she was born. She enters the store carrying five DVD cases. After Sullivan asks her how school is she replies “good� and leaves the store. “Bye Dayna,� Sullivan calls out as she exits the store to walk back to her mother’s car.

Sullivan shifts the stack of DVDs that Dayna left and begins to record their return into the computer.

As he routinely punches in the data, he lifts his glasses just above his eyes and they somehow sit in place on his eyebrows.

Once the movies are recorded Sullivan enters a small room with a pink wooden doorframe to the left of the counter. Sullivan’s shuffles can be heard from the front of the store. He shelves the returned DVD cases numerically and returns with the shells to display on the shelves that line the store.

A steady stream of customers visit the store between 3:40 and 4:00, including two college-aged girls returning movies, a man in his 20s who returns a movie and pays a $3 late fee, and Sullivan’s brother Mark who is hassled about paying with a $20 bill and using up all the change in Sullivan’s cash register.

Mark rents a DVD and returns two. But before his brother even sets his returns on the counter, Sullivan has the phone to his ear. Mark is returning “The Dark Knight.� Less than 10 minutes later, Jeffery will reappear to claim his prize.

Just before 4, Sullivan’s replacement enters the store carrying a plastic SuperOne bag. Tonight it’s Nate Hergert.

“Hello Nathaniel,� Sullivan said, although Hergert likes to be called Nate. “I’m the only one that calls him that and it’s just to aggravate him.�

Sullivan and Hergert work together for just a couple of minutes before Sullivan heads up the stairs to his office.

“I don’t really know what he does up there for 15 minutes,� Hergert said.

It’s part of Sullivan’s closing routine. He finishes up in his office and walks back down the stairs wearing his jacket and jingling his car keys. He’s off to pick up his wife from work, just as he does every day when he leaves the store.

“I better go; she does not like it when I’m late.�

Sullivan won’t return to the store again until the morning. On his way in he’ll drop his wife off at work.

Posted by John Hatcher at 1:47 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

By RYAN SWANSON
DCN Correspondent

When you walk into the basement of The Ski Hut on Fourth Street, you might get the image of Santa’s workshop in your head. Then you start to think. These guys down here are way cooler than elves and these toys are a little bit better than the ones Santa left for you.

Carson Spohn is one of these cool workers in the basement. He gives off the classic snowboarder vibe. He has a relaxed tone of speaking and he wears a hoody and a stocking cap.

Spohn was working on a customer’s winter mountain bike. The bike is on a hanging bike mount and the back wheel is off. Indie rock tunes are playing in the background making it feel like you’re in a snowboard video.

“This bike needs some love,� says Spohn. “This thing’s been ridden hard.�

As Spohn mounts the wheel in a vice, he talks about how the business has been this year compared to last.

“It’s been pretty normal so far this year. Last year it was crazy around here at this time,� says Spohn as he spun the wheel in the vice. The wheel wobbles. “That could be the problem, there’s two broken spokes.�

Spohn continues to say that it should get busier closer to Christmas time or when Spirit Mountain opens up for their full time hours. The Spirit Mountain Web site says that they will be fully open on December 15.

In the background, Spohn’s coworker runs a snowboard through their new edge grinder machine. The buzz of the machine may be louder than the hand tools, but it is more effective.

“That new edge grinder is awesome,� says Spohn admiring the machine. “It’s like a robot. We really don’t have to do anything for that anymore.�

Spohn’s greasy fingers get back to work on the bike. He removes the two broken spokes and places the new ones in. This time when he spins the wheel it doesn’t wobble. Spohn shows his satisfaction with a grin.

As he takes the wheel off the vice he talks a little about his background. He grew up in Duluth just up the hill from The Ski Hut. He says that he’s a snowboarder, but he started off on skis.

“I could probably ski before I could walk,� says Spohn fiddling with the wheel. “But once I tried snowboarding, skiing just got too boring.�

The winter months give Spohn an advantage to living up the hill from work. He says that when there is snow on the sidewalks he can ride his snow skate down the hill. A snow skate is like a skate board without the wheels and has a bottom like a snowboard.
“It makes going to work fun,� says Spohn.

At this point, Spohn is just about done with his work. He cleans the crud off the gears and the chain and lubes up the axle. His fingers work the bead of the tire back onto the wheel and then he fills it back up with air. He mounts everything back on the bike and it’s ready to be ridden hard again.

As you leave the basement you might notice a sticker on the ceiling that says, “If Hell freezes over, I’ll snowboard there too.�

Posted by John Hatcher at 1:35 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

By SARAH ROSTEN
DCN Correspondent

Megan Swanson sits on her bed in a robe, leaning back against a Disney princess pillow. She just showered after rugby practice and is now examining her arms and legs carefully.

“Wow I can’t believe they are so big,� she says, poking and prodding the bruises that are scattered across her body. “It looks like I got beat up,� she adds, a proud smile spreading across her face.

This is Megan’s third year as a student at UMD, but it is her first as a Rugby player.

“Last year I was pretty unhappy here,� Megan says.

She applied and nearly transferred to Columbia College in Chicago, but ended up staying in Duluth because of finances.

The memory of last year fades away as Megan excitedly chats about the rugby team, their victories and losses, and the future.

“We are like a family,� she says. “We take care of each other.�

Listening to her discuss her teammates easily becomes confusing. The girls all call each other by creative (some borderline inappropriate) nicknames. Her original nickname was “Megs Over Easy� but has since been shortened to just “Easy.�

Rugby is often compared with American football, and the fans and players would like to make it just as popular. According to USA Rugby, the sport has grown 15 percent each year for the past four years.

UMD Women’s Rugby team, the Fighting Penguins, have been an enthusiastic part of that growth.

“It’s phenomenal,� Coach Steve Knauss says. “In 2001 there wasn’t even a program. Now we’ve gone to nationals two years in a row. I don’t think a lot of other teams have done that.�

For a second year the Fighting Penguins have taken home the title of D2 Minnesota Collegiate Champions. This spring they are headed to Sanford, Florida to compete in the national tournament.

“I have the girls work hard at fitness because they aren’t as experienced as some of the competition,� Coach Knauss says.

Before practice Megan describes the “super intense� two-hour workouts that helped the rugby team make it to nationals.

“We start out by doing passing work, because our team tends to drop the ball a lot.� She says, “We do a bunch of that, and if we end up talking too much (which girls do) then he has us do star jumps—so painful.�

Star jumps are a variation on the traditional jumping jack, with the addition of toe touching.

On many December evenings the warm open space of the indoor field house is filled with screams and laughter of the women’s rugby team. They are now preparing for nationals by meeting bi-weekly for a captain’s practice, or a practice led by the captains rather than the coach.

The season is over, but nationals are not until April.

“Because of the weather our region actually plays league matches from September to November,� Coach Knauss says. “The rest of the country starts in February. So we get a chance to heal. It gives us a little bit of an advantage.�

A more rigorous training schedule will pick up when classes resume at the end of January.

“Last year the team placed second at nationals,� Megan says. “I wasn’t there to help, but this year I’m a Fighting Penguin.�

Posted by Kathleen Grigg at 5:53 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

RELATED CONTENT: Get those kids off the street: A history of youth centers in West Duluth

RELATED CONTENT: Community center faces challenges in Lincoln Park

By MICHAEL NOVITZKI
DCN Correspondent

On the corner of First Avenue West and First Street sits a beacon of hope that seeks to make a difference by reaching out to the youth.

Most of the kids that come through the doors of Life House at 3 p.m. every day seem blissfully unaware of the fact that their favorite hangout is about to be the next victim of the financial collapse. A $30,000 debt has been threatening to force the organization’s doors shut by the end of the year.

Life House is a crisis center in Duluth that has been helping wayward teens stay on track for 17 years. It runs programs that offer employment help, transitional housing, addiction counseling and teen parent assistance being that most of the beneficiaries are teens with kids of their own. However, it is unique as far as charities go in that they give nothing away for free.

“We don’t do anything for the kids. We help them do it themselves,� says Life House volunteer Skye Harrison. “The point is to get them standing on their own two feet.�

The country’s recession which is creating hard times for everyone, is hitting non-profit organizations like Life House extra hard.

Noisy children are drowned out as disheveled Life House director Kim Crawford shuts her office door, sits down at a desk completely hidden by clutter, and with the look of an overburdened mother begins to describe her rather large predicament.

"I have to reduce costs,� she says, “but I can't watch two kids come through the door and say I can help one and not the other... So its like, where can I cut corners?"

In light of the financial trouble, Crawford was hired to replace 17-year director Rachel Kincade as Life House’s executive director in September for her experience in the for profit sector. It was an act of desperation to increase income and cut spending from the typical $900,000 a year budget. On top of the fact that their federal and state funding is being cut, investors who are losing money are starting to cut back their contributions.

However, Crawford’s work so far has greatly helped reduce the probability of closing down.

“I don’t see us just shutting down completely, but we are going to have to make some drastic changes to make sure that does not happen, and it might mean not being able to help as many people as we used to,� says Crawford.

The first thing she did to cut spending was to combine Proctor House and Harbor House, two of Life House’s three transitional homes. The board of directors is also coming up with new ways to approach contributors being that the contributions they receive are often earmarked for programs that do not need it as much as others.

“I don't even want to think about where I would be right now if it weren't for Life House. I was completely lost. It was a nightmare," says 20-year-old Jelayne Sargent, reacting to the possibility of closing.

She was a teen parent who has been using nearly all of Life House’s services since she was 17, but will no longer be eligible after her twenty-first birthday.

"I'll be 21 soon so I'll be on my own soon anyway, but there are a lot of younger kids out there that still need a lot of help staying on track," she says.

The organization has been periodically holding fundraisers in the area to try to make up the $30,000 shortfall and plans to keep the doors open as long as cash flow permits.

Posted by Kathleen Grigg at 4:45 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

By ACHILLES SANGSTER
DCN Correspondent

In West Duluth, the Duluth Pack factory hums and grinds as workers sew together their patented luggage packs. After thick layers of canvas are custom cut to the type of pack being made, they are handed off to a seamstress – or seamster, in the some cases – to be sewn into more recognizable and usable shapes. Some workers wear headphones, listening to Harry Potter books-on-tape to drown out the noise.

Despite pressure to modernize the way the company operates, Duluth Pack is still using the same methods that they've been using since the company's founding in the late 1800’s.

Each sewer specializes in making his or her own type of Duluth Pack. One employee, Sue Oja, removes her headphones and says to a supervisor, "Just finished four Cruisers."

Another, Renee Bergren, pushes a piece of khaki canvas through her industrial sewing machine. She's making a deluxe clip bag, a type of pack that can cost upwards to $210.

Around the corner, where the noise slowly drowns out, riveter Brian Santti is listening to a small stereo playing "Dani California" by Red Hot Chili Peppers. He grabs leather and brass buckles and sorts them by matching thickness and color, taking extra care if he's riveting several packs for the same customer.

Santti places brass rivets into small holes in the leather, by hand, and throws his hammer down three times for each rivet. "Just pound her right down into the wood," he says. He explains that he has only been riveting for six years, but that this is the way that Duluth Packs have been riveted for 126 years.

On the opposite end of his counter, he points out a mechanized riveting machine. Santti says that using the machine takes too long, and that his predecessors have riveted by hand longer than the machine has been used.

But if the company wants to keep up with their internet sales – which, according to manager Jim Haegerl have skyrocketed this year – they might have to start using that riveter soon. Haegerl says that Internet and catalog sales have been “holding their own� against the store, making just a little over half of the company’s total revenue.

With an increase in online sales, Duluth Pack has been trying to compete with larger online retailers like REI and Gander Mountain that provide similar products for lower costs.

The company's president, Tom Sega, says that they are currently trying to move more sales towards their website, and that their brand is now found on every continent on the planet. He points out a photograph on his wall of a man holding a Duluth Pack catalog in front of a research facility in Antarctica.

"We go through the history of what sells, what sorts of things actually move" says Sega. "We've added close to 30 new products that we manufacture in the last 18 months."

Sega says that Duluth Pack pays attention to what's new and in demand, like new kinds of bags. The new style, he says, is messenger bags, and so they have increased production of their sling bags.

Duluth Pack has even revamped their website – twice since the beginning of Autumn – and added 500 products once unavailable online. That means more products than can be ordered through their paper catalog or their store.

They are also bidding for keyword searches on Google, so when customers accidentally type in a misspelling of the company name, such as "Deluth Pack" or "Duluth Backpack," their website will be the first page Google recommends to web-surfers.

Despite a push to increase Internet sales, Duluth Pack as a physical location still draws customers in.

Their store in Canal Park, for example, still attracts local Duluthians and visitors alike, earning about half of the company's revenue. One such customer is Jeff Washburn, a visitor from St. Paul who grew up in Duluth who says that he always tries to think of a reason to go to the Duluth Pack store in Canal Park whenever he makes his annual migration to the Northland.

"I like the way the company is set up," says Washburn during a stop by the store on Black Friday. "We've been in the BWCA, hiking, backpacking, and it's always been a part of who we are. So the fact that it's still going after all these years is great."

In another section of the store, Steve Erickson was at the store looking for a hammock with his son, Dylan.

"I do very little shopping," says Erickson. He has rarely come to the store itself although he lives in Duluth. He says he used to regularly shop at Duluth Pack when their factory housed an open storefront as Duluth Tent and Awning.

"Duluth Pack has a great story," says Erickson. "The Duluth Pack itself lasts forever. And I know it's a little pricy, but I'm okay with that. It's priced correctly."

Store manager Jim Haegerl says they want to have at least 2/3 of the company's sales come through their website and catalog, and only 1/3 through the brick-and-mortar store. The concern is not so much with production, but with storage.

"We'd like to become a multi-million dollar corporation like Gander Mountain or REI," Haegerl says. "But at the same time, we need the capacity to stock and store as much stuff that can end up in demand for the catalog and web-orders."

With a different business model, which Haegerl called a distribution center model, a single building would contain the overstock of the company's packs that can be more easily shipped out for online or catalog orders, and taken to the store when shelves need refilling.

When larger retailers reduce prices on their products, Duluth Pack has to convince their customers that the quality of their products comes not from their price, but from the work that goes into them.

Back at the factory, next to the customer service desk where Internet and catalog orders are processed, is the shelf where orders for repairs on Duluth Packs are made.

One pack bears a stamp reading "Monarch," a brand that has not been put on a Duluth Pack in almost 30 years. It is at the factory because the leather buckles have crumbled into dust and the pack can no longer be sealed shut.

“The only time the leather ever needs to be replaced is when people don’t condition it,� says Solberg.

Molly Solberg holds the pack, which she says might have even been willed to its current owner by a now deceased grandparent, with pride. Over the pulsating noise of the sewing machines, she says that customers see the work that goes into the packs. Sue, Brian, and Renee put a part of themselves into each pack, whether buyers realize it or not.

"I've had a lot of customers ask, 'Why spend $100 on a Duluth Pack when you can go down to Wal-Mart and get one for $15?'" says Solberg.

Haegerl agrees. He says that there are two kinds of consumers in today's market.

"One is the type that goes to K-Mart and Shopko because it's cheaper," says Haegerl.
"But there are also a lot more people who are quality driven. We have a lot of products that we make that stand up to the test of time."

Posted by Kathleen Grigg at 4:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

By EMILY HAAVIK
DCN Correspondent

Behind the hoisting of Duluth's Aerial Lift Bridge is, oddly enough, a man in a La-Z-Boy pushing a big green button labeled “RAISE.�

This morning, Ryan Beamer is that man.

Beamer, the Aerial Bridge supervisor, is sprawled out on the battered green recliner, a purchase to which he personally contributed. He is dressed in an equally worn red and green striped polo, black jeans, and black shoes.

The pilothouse in which Beamer and the other operators spend their eight-hour shifts is a single room with walls the dull navy blue color of Lake Superior in the rain, broken up by huge windows on all sides. In stark contrast from the windy 18 degrees just outside the door – it's 76 degrees in the pilothouse. The floor is gray and uncarpeted, and a small table holds a coffee pot, a tub of Folgers 100% Colombian, and a Ziploc bag of chocolate chip cookies.

"My mother-in-law made them," Beamer says. "They're pretty good."

The City of Duluth's Job Description Database declares the purpose of the bridge operator clearly: "Ensure safe passage of ships, pedestrians, and motorists by operating and maintaining lift bridges, foghorn, and related equipment."

Beamer says that the operators do whatever needs to be done, including the cleaning, maintenance, and electrical work. Two operators work at a time. The first operator runs the bridge, and the second operator answers phones, writes in the log, and visually checks the sidewalks.

The bridge’s control board is straight out of a movie with its huge round buttons in bright blue, orange, and green. The emergency stop button is fire engine red and conveniently larger than the rest. The raise button is pushed when the ship is half a mile from the bridge. There are two identical control panels: an east control and a west control. Only one is used to raise the bridge, but if it fails, the operator can use the other.

"If both sides break, then we grab the radio and yell," Beamer says.

Beamer was an electronics technician on submarines in the Navy for nine years before his 10 years on the bridge.

"You can't just go to school to learn how to operate a bridge," Beamer says. "As far as bachelor's degrees, nobody down here has one. It's really a jack-of-all-trades draw."

One such “jack� is Dick Shaul.

According to Beamer, Shaul has operated every movable bridge in the twin ports, save one.

"How do you not hire a guy that's a bridge operator, you know?" Beamer says with respect.

Shaul accepts the praise silently, with an expression free of either embarrassment or smugness, from his black swivel chair in the corner. With his salt-and-pepper hair, kind eyes, Harley Davidson t-shirt, and well-used tennis shoes, he is at ease here. He has been working since 11 p.m. last night, but with one of the operators out sick, he will be here covering another shift until 3 p.m. today.

"It's a good job,� Shaul says. “It’s decent pay, decent benefits. Pretty much a dependable job; not apt to get laid off."

The bridge has been run manually since its construction in 1905, according to former Aerial Bridge supervisor Steve Douville.

“There’s too many variables just to have a garage door opener,� Douville says. “It doesn’t work that way.�

Like Beamer, Douville was in the Navy before finding a job on the bridge.

“A relative of mine said, ‘Hey, here’s a job you could do!’� Douville recalls. “I said, ‘What do I want to do working for the city?’ And he said, ‘Give it a try.’�

Douville tried it, in fact, for 33 years.

Beamer says he suspects that all of the operators have dreamed about the bridge.

"I've had weird dreams where the bridge is stuck at a 60 degree angle, and I've got my hands in the grating, trying to climb up to the pilothouse to try to level it," Beamer recalls. "The bridge goes up and turns into a giant swing and I'm on it. Weird dreams."

For such crises, a phone labeled "emergency line" is attached to the wall across from the control board.

"Fortunately we've got the bat phone," Beamer says. "It's a secret number that only the police, fire, Gold Cross, and the Coast Guard have."

Most of the operators have worked together long enough that Beamer says the jokes get old after a while. After a moment's thought, though, he seems to reconsider.

"Well, Dave is pretty good," Beamer says. "He must have a book at home, like, 'What am I going to say today to crack them up?' He's always coming up with something."

Nevertheless, eight hours in the pilothouse can be boring. Beamer says that in February, with the Sioux Locks closed, no shipping goes through. At this time only one person is needed in the pilothouse for the fire and security watch, and their nights may get long.

"Crossword puzzle, book, Sudoku," he says, listing the possibilities. "You can watch TV if you need to."

A pile of books and magazines, including a collection of Sudoku, is stacked on a bookshelf made by Shaul himself. Other evidences of the fight against boredom are scattered around the room. Beamer motions to a miniature stuffed monkey labeled "Otto." It is hanging by its neck above the control board.

"Otto-matic," Beamer says mischievously. "Because any monkey can operate the bridge!"

He and Shaul burst out laughing.

"We'll be here all week," Shaul says with a grin.

Posted by Kathleen Grigg at 3:45 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

By ASHLEE HARTWIG
DCN Correspondent

Snow sticking to their boot soles, a group of three middle-aged women passed through the front door of Sara’s Table, breathless and rosy cheeked from the strong afternoon wind. Anders Lundahls’ footsteps create dull squeaks across the wooden floor following their melting footprints.

“Can I grab all of you a cup of coffee, hot chocolate? I know how cold it is outside. I had to scrape off my windshield this morning,� Lundahl asks them, placing menus in front of them and opening the menu’s cover with pancake-flipping precision.

This is clearly something Lundahl has done before.
A waiter at Sara’s Table, located on East 8th Street and also known as the Chester Creek Café, Lundahl never stops flashing his high wattage smile and moves with a bouncing gait to match it. He knows a trick or two when it comes to serving his customers.

“Waiting on people is like any sport. You have to have strategy and you have to be in the right mindset, especially when it gets busy,� Lundahl says.

At the beginning of every shift, Lundahl wraps his uniform apron crisply around his waist, but is not satisfied until he runs the index and middle finger of both hands around the inside of the waistband from front to back. After that, he tightly rolls his shirtsleeves up to right above the elbow, revealing a small intertwining tattoo circling his left forearm.

“I get some good reactions sometime when they see it,� Lundahl said, referring to his tattoo. “I guess I don’t look like the tattoo type.�

Standing to the side of the kitchen’s entrance, Lundahl scans the dining area diligently, taking mental note of who needs refills, which tables want their checks, or anything else that means a customer is in need of their waiter. At the same time, he’s discussing the Vikings' upcoming football game with one of the cooks.

“I try to get a feel for the place before diving in,� Lundahl says. “If I see a lot of smiling and laughter, I‘m in for a good shift.�

That seems to be the feel today. Lundahl disappears stealthily into the kitchen and returns with a tray held at this shoulder, bearing steaming cups of coffee and bubbling glasses of soda pop in a variety of colors.

Without breaking stride, he makes the rounds to his designated tables, placing the correct drink before the appropriate customer.

“I remember who gets what drink by something they’re wearing,� Lundahl reveals. “Sometimes it's easy, like the Pepsi goes to the one in the pink sweater. I remember it by P and P. Or the guy is wearing a suit jacket, so I know he’s getting the Bell porter beer.�

The table seating the three women, uncertain about what to order, ask their waiter his opinion. Biting his lower lip, Lundahl tucks his tray under his arm and looks towards the ceiling, thinking hard.

“I’ll let you in on a secret, ladies,� he tells them in a low voice, leaning in close as if to reveal a secret. “There isn’t a dish I haven’t liked here, but my favorite dish here has got to be the Tempeh Sandwich.�

With a flash of his signature smile, the ladies are sold on his suggestion and Lundahl relays the order to the kitchen.

“It’s hard for me to say no when the waiter is good looking,� Debbie Hetland, one of the three women, said laughing with her friends after Lundahl had taken their menus.

“Customers like her make my day that much more interesting,� Lundahl laughed appreciatively as he runs a hand over the white bandana holding his curly hair out of his eyes. “If my looks will get them to come back, that’s okay by me.�

Posted by Elizabeth Strawn at 9:36 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

By KENDRA RICHARDS
DCN Correspondent

Coffee, check. Pie, check. Napkins and plates, check. Anything else?

“Hmm...They might want something to eat it with,� Joan Bushnell thinks aloud sarcastically, as she grabs forks out of the kitchen drawer and spread them out on the counter.

Joan paces around the kitchen, searching for anything she may have forgotten. Finally satisfied, she leans against the counter on her arm, tapping her fingers on the acrylic surface—waiting. Any moment now, the rest of the congregation of St. Josephat's Polish National Catholic Church will come into the reception hall from mass to share coffee and snacks. It is Joan's honor to serve them today, and although she had to slip out of the sanctuary early to prepare, she is delighted in serving what she considers her second family.

Within moments, Joan hears them approaching. The hurried pitter-patter of their feet mixes with the anxious chatter and makes them sound like children on their way to see Santa Claus at the mall. As soon as the door opens, the faces of those who enter light up as they greet Joan like they hadn't seen her in years.

They come in slowly, in singles or pairs, but eventually all 20 members had shuffled their way into the hall. Gathering in a sloppy crowd, they continue their chatter that fills the room with what sounds like 100 voices. Each week, Joan looks at all of the faces and never fails to notice that they are all getting older, and their children and grandchildren aren’t sticking around. Whether in California, Colorado, or just a few hours away, their descendants will not be there to keep this church alive. This could be the last generation of St. Josephat's. But just when this thought is about to leave Joan depressed, her fellow congregation members always remind her how much they are keeping it alive right now.

“Good morning!� exclaims Virginia Mahoney, who couldn't have been more excited to be there that Sunday morning. She jogs up to the counter for her coffee, sporting her permanent smile. Despite her age, she is always full of energy, and Joan is convinced that she will live forever.

Although there are several tables in the large reception hall, everybody sits together at the same long table each week.

“I haven't had whipped cream in a long time,� says Reney Kmieciak excitedly, as she picks up her slice of cherry pie. “Not since the kids were little.� She walks back to the table with a smile on her face, looking at the pie like a dog looks at steak.

Once everybody is seated with their coffee and pie, Joan begins placing the leftovers on one big tray. Then, she makes her rounds.

“Father, would you like any more coffee? Perhaps another slice of pie?� Joan asks the priest, hovering over his shoulder with the tray of goodies, making it impossible to resist.

“Sure, stick another one on my plate there� answers the enthusiastic priest in his thick Polish accent. “You can never have too much whipped cream—at least I can't!�

As Joan continues down the long table, she can't help but smile and shake her head. Each week, it never fails that the men will sit on the right side of the long table, the women on the left, and father right in the middle. Back in Poland over 100 years ago, the men and women sat on different sides of the sanctuary during mass, and that tradition seems to have lived on here almost by accident. Joan is always amused to hear how the conversations differ between the sexes.

“I haven't gone deer hunting in years,� says Ray Bushnell, with his mouth full of cherry pie. “I used to ask the guys I went with: 'Are you going four-legged dear hunting or two?�'

The men all laugh heartily as Joan puzzles over the meaning of this joke. There are two-legged deer? She stands behind the men, her face twists in confusion. She soon shrugs it off and moves down the table to offer leftovers to the women.

“That's all he talked about, was that cabbage!� says Nancy Skoczen.

“Tell him there will be some in the freezer for him when he comes,� says Reney. “I'm sure there already is!�

The women laugh as Robin Brazerol says “I've never heard of it on taco salad before.�

“Oh, he loves to put a little on his taco salad,� says Nancy, her expression beaming with pride.

“Well good for him,� says Robin. “He's a brave soul!�

The women shake with laughter as Nancy pretends to look offended.

Joan is so absorbed in the chatter that she doesn’t realize everybody is done eating. She offers the leftovers one more time before diligently picking up everybody's plates and throwing them away.

As she is preparing to wash the dishes, she hears the sound of a tiny bell ringing, barely audible over the clanking of the forks hitting the sink. Joan looks up to see Robin standing, holding the announcement bell, as the room goes silent.

“As all of you probably know, my mother-in-law is having hip surgery tomorrow,� says Robin. “I wanted to ask you all to keep her in your prayers, and I'll keep you all updated.�

As Joan looks around to see everyone genuinely making a mental note to pray for Robin's mother-in-law, she feels a warm tingle go down her spine that feels like God's embrace. She sees it every week, yet it never ceases to amaze her. This church is truly like no other. These people are truly like no other. Although their number is small, this congregation is as dedicated as their ancestors who built this church, and they are as much of a community as that first generation was. Whether or not this is the end of St. Josephat's, their ancestors' struggle has already been worth it as far as Joan is concerned.

“Thank you for serving the coffee and snacks today, Joan,� says Robin, as everyone is preparing to leave. “It was delicious.�

“It's my pleasure, Robin,� says Joan, caressing Robin's shoulder. “It's always been my job to take care of my family.�

Posted by claes019 at 9:19 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

By APRIL HANSEN
DCN Correspondent

He runs his hands over the burnt-orange colored leather, cutting away pieces to fit around the rough base of the defenders.

Scratching away the remaining plaster with sandpaper, the mold of the mount is ready to be covered.

Mounting deer antlers is something that comes naturally to Randy Bowe, owner of Bowe Taxidermy in Lakeside and member of the National Taxidermy Association. His large,callused hands meet the roughness of the deer’s antlers while he polishes the tips of the ten pointer.

“I became interested in taxidermy at the age of 12, when I got my first wood-duck mount for Christmas,� says Bowe.

Tools hang on every inch of the walls in his workshop. Coffee cans labeled “fish tails� line a wall, while racks of antlers are hung orderly on shelves. The staple gun he uses to tack the leather on the mount sounds through the quiet basement.

Randy Bowe opened his taxidermy business in the same house in 1980, after taking classes in Jamesville, Wis. He and his wife lived in the house for a while, until his wife wanted to move.

“She said she didn’t want to get knocks on the doors in the early mornings,� says Bowe, chuckling.

The cow bell he has dangling above his work bench sounds, which tells him that a customer came through the door. Walking up the sturdy stairs, his 6’7� husky stance barely makes it under the ceiling. His low, warming voice chimes from upstairs as he helps a customer.

Upstairs the showroom proudly displays shoulder mounts of deer, with their dark eyes greeting customers when they walk through. Fish in clear displays are silently floating on wood bases.

Competition ribbons, mostly blue, decorate the mounts.

“I used to do a lot of competitions in the '80s, but stopped competing because of travel time and I wanted to give most of my time to my customers,� says Bowe.

Walking back downstairs to the workshop, the painting room sits silently in the corner. Lacquered paints and airbrush tools sit scattered on the single workbench. Fish hang next to the window, waiting to be decorated with their true colors.

“I study many pictures and I’ve seen enough fish in my life to be able to represent their natural colors,� says Bowe.

Bowe grabs the almost finished mount and cuts away unneeded pieces. The white dust from the sanding collects on the yellow-colored Far Side comics that are tacked on wood beams on the ceiling. The phone rings and he answers it with a smile that was hiding under his woodsman beard.

“Bowe’s Taxidermy,� Bowe says proudly.

In the 1980s, Bowe was only one of three taxidermists in the Duluth area. Nowadays, there are over a dozen, but he still remains busy.

“Deer season is coming to a close and that is where I get 90 percent of my business from,� says Bowe.
With the low economy this year, taxidermists are on the lower end of the totem pole because people want to save money.

“The harvest has been down this year and with the economy being low, there are more hunters that are trying to learn themselves,� says Bowe, who said that he went from 80 to 90 mounts in previous years to 40 to 45 this season.

He holds the mount in his arms like a child while he staples on the last part of the leather. With a look of approval, he proudly sets the finished product on a table that has a colorful tail of a turkey. He brags about the upcoming weekend when he will be hunting on his land he owns up the shore.

“I go hunting, while my wife goes sale shop hunting,� he says while giving a giant grin.

Posted by Brittney Silewski at 9:12 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

By ZACH OLSON
DCN Correspondent

With his hands and forearms covered in white, powdery flower, Jamie Solem waits patiently. Standing behind the counter, his body language speaks volumes about the way business at Sammy’s Pizza has been going for the night.

His arms are tightly crossed against his chest, while his legs follow suit. His left leg, locked at the knee, rests slightly over his right and is firmly planted on the tiled floor. His stagnant stance, however, doesn’t last long.

A young server, Amanda Mertesdorf, rips a bright, yellow sheet of paper from her server tablet and sends it in Jamie’s direction.

With the ticket in hand, his eyes quickly scan it over. Wasting no time, Jamie reaches over and begins meticulously constructing and shaping the dough like a prolific sculptor manipulating clay.

He begins to transform the dough into its large circular form and confidently tosses it above his head and into the air. With his eyes carefully locked in on his target, Jamie waits for the dough to retreat back to his steady, sure hands.

Once the dough is secured, he swivels his hands underneath it, stretching it out to finalize its shape.

After applying the appropriate toppings, Jamie cautiously places his finished product onto a large, wooden pan. Taking hold of the steel oven handle he snaps it down while placing the pizza inside. Stepping away from the oven, Jamie leans back against the counter, crosses his arms and reverts back to his original posture. He waits for the next order.

As the minutes pass, Jamie chats with one of his co-workers, a pizza delivery man, seated comfortably on the padded bench awaiting his next delivery destination.

This may be downtime for Jamie, but Amanda is on the move preparing her table before the arrival of their pizza.

She comes fully equipped to the table — individual side plates and silverware on top of the orderly stack in one hand, accompanied by a pitcher of pop and drinking glasses in the other.

“I enjoy serving here,� says Amanda. “Right now I go to East High School and only work about two shifts a week, but the experience has been good so far. It’s nice to have a part-time job and have a little spending money on the side.�

Peering into the oven, Jamie assesses the quality of the pizza. Reaching to the left of the oven, he retrieves the wooden pan, grasps onto its handle and shovels the pizza up onto the pan’s surface.

“Amanda. Order up,� says Jamie.

Hearing this, Amanda adjusts her apron and makes her way toward the pick-up counter.

She reaches over toward a stack of neatly folded napkins, and comes away with a large handful along with the pizza. She maneuvers her way through obstacles that come in the form of multiple tables and chairs on her way to her table. Remarkably, she manages to accomplish all of this with a pleasant smile on her face.

At the table, Amanda raises the pizza tray above her head, making sure it doesn’t knock into the customer and carefully places the warm pan in the center of the table. As she pulls her arm out of the way, she politely asks the guests if they need anything else.

Amanda, standing over the table, looks on as the guests survey their meal; she waits quietly for a response. An awkward moment of silence follows until they assure her that everything is fine and proceeds to walk back to the server station area.

Behind the diminutive wall that acts as a barrier between her sever area and the dining room, she takes the opportunity to squeeze in a brief break.

She reaches down and grabs a dark brown drinking mug. Clutching it with both hands, she sips slowly suggesting that its contents are quite warm like coffee, hot tea or hot chocolate. She enjoys it, but only for a moment.

Her head swings over to the front door, along with Jamie and the other employees. A group of customers walk through are greeted with a welcoming nod from Jamie and a “Please Seat Yourself� sign.

The guests meander through the dining room, analyzing the best location to sit. Once they decide on their table, Amanda takes the time to make a few final checks. She adds a few straws to her apron, turns over the fresh page in her server tablet with a smile and makes her way toward her new table.

Posted by enkex006 at 9:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

By VERONICA WILSON
DCN Correspondent

Black and white adhesive stickers spell “barbershop� on the window next to the door. I open the door that has a hand-written sign displaying the hours hanging on it and see that Don Hanson is midway through a trim of one of his regular’s hair.

“You could probably say Colonel Sanders was here getting his hair cut,� Hanson says laughing along with the Colonel Sanders look-a-like. Hanson, maybe 20 years younger than the look-a-like, is able to laugh because he still is without gray hair.

The two chat about the weather, hunting and mutual friends as Hanson continues to slowly clip off pieces of hair, each white hair falling on the checker-board floor.

“He’s one of the best barbers in town,� the customer says while sitting in the single chair in the shop.

“There aren’t a lot of barbers left,� Hanson adds. “I’m sure it’s less than 20.�

A week-old newspaper sits on one of the 10 waiting room chairs. Each section of the paper is separated as though it has already been read through several times. On a table next to the chair is an old press release from when the shop opened last February reading, “Barber Shop coming to Woodland.�

“Do you want it shorter or longer?� Hanson asks the closed-eyed customer.

“I’m sorry I woke you up,� Hanson laughs as he makes the finishing touches using his electronic razor.

The buzz is quiet enough that the two can continue to talk on top of the noise. Hanson finishes the cut by combing the customer’s now shorter hair.

“Two haircuts left,� Hanson tells him after he pays. “You get a free haircut after your ninth appointment,� Hanson tells me.

Hanson now takes rest in his barbershop chair and waits for the next customer to come inside. Looking outside through the snowfall we see a young man working underneath the hood of his car.

“He’s one of my customers from yesterday,� Hanson says. “He lives right down the street. He works at the Piggly Wiggly.�

Hanson speculates what might be wrong with the car: A hose? Battery? Engine?

“I hope he gets it to work,� Hanson say genuinely concerned as the Piggly Wiggly employee gets back in his car. The car starts, and he drives away.

Hanson continues to look out the front window where across the seat you can see Denny’s Ace Hardware and Falk’s Drug.

“It can get long,� Hanson says of the waiting in between customers. “I usually read or listen to the radio.�

Posted by Sara Jochems at 9:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

By JORDAN HANSON
DCN Correspondent

Through two big windows on Central Avenue in West Duluth, a bustling crowd of all ages could be seen on Wednesday night. It was open mic night at Beaner’s Central, which is one of their busiest nights of the week.

Chad Bloodson runs the sound for open mic night every week. He said he believes that all up-and-coming musicians should be able to get some experience in front of a crowd.

“It’s a great opportunity for people to get to know sound equipment and get on stage,� said Bloodson. “It helps people to reduce their stage shyness.�

The clientele was less than ordinary. In the corner sat an elderly couple drinking tap beers. At the next table sat three young teenagers who were working on their algebra homework.

Bloodson said it is a place where parents can bring their children without the normal fears associated with most bars.

“Younger people don’t have a lot of places to go at night,� said Bloodson. “It is a great opportunity for people under 21 to experience music.�

The scene was accented with blue and green colored lamps adorning a dark blue wall. A big leather couch lay directly in front of the stage, which hosted a group of teenagers who all wore their hats the same way and have possibly never heard of belts.

The thrill of the stage attracted many different levels of talent. From novice musicians, strumming the same three chords and missing notes to seasoned veterans of the stage, the whole spectrum of musical talent could be observed.

“I come here a couple times a month for open mic,� said Hewitt Station (stage name), a musician from Duluth. “Sometimes I come to listen, sometimes I come to play.�

He used a combination of guitar and harmonica which both seemed very well practiced. A bit of Bob Dylan with a hint of James Taylor, his soulful ballads managed to catch the attention of both young and old, if only for a few moments.

“Considering I’ve been doing this since I was 13, the grammar school that I was in was my real inspiration to make music,� said Station.

His gruff appearance and raspy voice might remind viewers of the grandfather figure who taught them how to tie their shoes or ride a bike. The songs he played and his stage talk reflected this image — reciting memories of his younger years, of gained wisdom and missed opportunities.

“I like to write radical stuff, like ‘this is what’s going on’ type music,� said Station. “There’s a lot more to write about than just love.�

With a boisterous cackle, he dismissed everyone by wishing them happy holidays and then left the stage. He said that he writes his music for the benefit of others, whether it’s teaching life lessons or brightening up the holidays.

“I have two CD’s out, and I’m working on a third one now,� said Station. “I’m also just finishing up a Christmas CD to give out to friends as presents.�

Posted by Kathleen Grigg at 9:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

By ABEL GUSTAFSON
DCN Correspondent

His short, determined steps through the Park Point snow are too casual to be considered "trudging." Methodical, maybe; and markedly second-nature.

They should be; he’s been doing this beat for 15 years.

John Hunn’s official title, "Letter Carrier," is stitched on his navy blue jacket, standard issue for U.S. Postal Service workers.

Now 59, he says “I can almost do it in my sleep.�

His eyes squint when the blustery winter wind off the lake bites his face. In a headwind, his jacket hood is futile.

Starting at 6:30 each morning, Hunn sorts mail for a couple of hours and then walks his beat for the remaining six to eight hours of his shift.

His left hand sports a winter glove and clutches a city block's worth of mail. His right hand is not so fortunate. It is bare to facilitate handling the thin envelopes. Whenever a moment can be spared, he buries it in the warm depths of his coat pocket.

"Some people couldn't stand to do this because of the weather extremes," says Hunn. "Just like if some people worked in a cubicle, they'd get bored out of their skulls."
He seems to be one of the latter.

Approaching an iron-fenced yard, Hunn is broadsided by thunderous barking. A hello of sorts.

Hunn reacts to the greeting with a grin.

"Oh, that’s just Elvis," he chuckles. "He's pretty nice." He quickly adds, "But I wouldn't stick my arm inside the fence."

Elvis is a Hungarian Kuvasz. Shaggy, white, and nearly the size of a motorcycle, Elvis could pass for a polar bear.

"Oh, he's down to 160 pounds now!" says Elvis’ owner, Elizabeth Adams, commenting on the dog’s improving health.

Hunn knows the people in his beat well. But the familiarity is not a result of peeking at their packages.

"The myth is that we get to know you by the mail we deliver," Hunn explains. "But actually, I get to know them better by just talking two or three minutes a day. Just spending the small time communicating with people, you get to know them pretty well."

He chats with Adams a bit longer and then stepping over a snow drift, follows a gravel driveway to a house set far back in the dunes, flipping through the letters as he walks.

Hunn ducks through a stone gate and navigates a path through several towering, labyrinth-like stacks of split firewood. His destination is the mailbox of an old rustic tudor.

Stepping over the ornate, rusty sundials and carved lawn decorations that are strewn about the porch, he explains, "These people used to have an antique shop."
It seems that it was the shopping that left the antique shop; because the antiques certainly haven't.

At a small house near the end of the block, Hunn turns aside into the yard to repair a section of a retaining wall where some bricks had fallen off. As he stoops in the snow, rebuilding the wall, he says "This fellow is an older guy. I think he has a hard time, sometimes."

Hunn steps back to inspect his work. Satisfied, he tramps onward, treading squarely in the tracks he made yesterday.

Posted by David Buckner at 9:06 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

By ALEX DE MARCO
DCN Correspondent

Walking into the building one is instantly struck by the overwhelming bangs and annoying grind of metal on metal. More than 75 people laugh and yell, attempting to be heard over the roaring music that plays in the background.

It is below freezing outside, but in here temperatures are high enough that windows remain open and fans are kept running in order to keep it cool. The smell is faintly reminiscent of a sweaty high school locker room, but no one in attendance seems to mind. This skateboard park does not seem like a place where you would expect talk about faith and God to take place, but that is what makes it so unique.

Extending further into the Encounter Youth Center of Duluth, located at First Street and Second Avenue East, one sees the many shapes and sizes of skateboard ramps and railings. People from age 13 to their early 20s roll up and down the ramps on their skateboards as they smile and cheer for one another. The entire building is open for use, but practically everyone is crowded into the only indoor skate-park in Duluth.

There is a constant rumble that comes from people off to the side of the skate-park. People are either taking a break to chat with friends or simply watching the others skate. The only thing to temporarily break this sound is the occasional “Ohhh� or “Yea!� that gets yelled almost simultaneously by those who see a difficult trick get landed.

“Alright everyone, we will be locking the doors and meeting upstairs in just a few minutes here. Everyone start to clear out of the skate-park,� says a muffled voice over the loudspeaker.

It is 5:30, time for the weekly Sunday night Youth Church. The children begin to clear out.

Peter Cpin is one of few directors at the Encounter Youth Center. He has helped to run the Sunday night program since it started in 2003. While others had skated and talked about their weeks with their friends, Peter was in the kitchen making enough pancakes for close to a hundred people.

According to the Web site, the Encounter offers free admission to the building Sunday nights from 4 to 8 p.m. Anyone over the age of 13 is invited to come use the gym and skate-park except during the half hour for the Youth Church service. Cpin said that this normally consists of a short prayer, a small meal, and some sort of an activity. During this time, discussions about things that are relevant to the Duluth's youth are also common.

While some of the children come in and sit down on the floor and others grab chairs from the back of the room, most choose to use their skateboards as a seat instead, as if they never wanted to part with them. Once everyone has found a place to sit, Peter introduces the group to the evening’s guest speaker, Matt. According to Peter, Matt is visiting from a local Lutheran church

He begins to speak, and everyone grows instantly silent. He shares a few short passages from the Bible. Each child pays close attention to him.

When Matt is done reading, everyone shares in a moment of silence followed by a prayer for those in need. Once the prayer is over, everyone begins to disperse throughout the room for the rest of the evenings events. Tables start to be set up as Peter heads back into the kitchen to begin serving the pancakes he had spent most of the night preparing.

Peter flops pancake after pancake onto each plate, bearing the same continuous smile that each of the children has held all night. “Thanks Peter,� they say while squeezing the syrup onto their plates before going to sit down and eat.

As people finish, a few go into the kitchen to begin making Christmas cookies, something Peter said “not all children get to do.� The others began to slowly go back downstairs to the skate-park in small groups just as they had come up.

While the cookies are being made and the clean-up begins, Peter talks with some of the children as they start to leave throughout the evening. He knows almost everybody by name, and they all certainly know him.

“I'll see you next week!� says more then one child to Peter as the evening comes to an end and groups of people begin slowly leaving.

“I'll be here,� Peter responds, reassuring them that they will be able to come and share in food, prayer, friends and skateboarding again next week.

Posted by Julia Davis at 9:06 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

By CORY BELLAMY
DCN Correspondent

The air is cool late on a weekday afternoon. A partly sunny sky is hovering over Duluth as the temperature hovers around 10 degrees.

These are perfect conditions to enjoy one of Minnesota’s richest traditions — ice skating.

But Bayfront Park rink, Duluth’s only public skating rink operated by the city, is far from crowded. Of the six people on the ice, only two of them are skating. The other four are simply walking across the ice, which is caked with a thin layer of snow.

The two skaters, Zack Muckala and Peter Hannegraf, find themselves at Bayfront rink in an attempt to improve Hannegraf’s skating ability.

At first, it looks as though Hannegraf is walking on his skates. He looks very unsure of himself as he leans forward and takes very small strides one after another.

Muckala instructs Hannegraf to dig into the ice with his skate blades, rather than lifting his feet and stepping as he has been doing. Muckala shows what he means by planting his skates firmly on the ice and twisting one foot. This maneuver, which Muckala called a “c-cut� produces a harsh grinding sound.

Hannegraf laughs, knowing that he will have trouble emulating what his friend just did.

“I’m re-learning why I never skated or played hockey,� Hannegraf said. “I’m more worried about learning how to stop.�

Muckala then attempts to show Hannegraf how to stop in the most basic way, which is by leaning both skates inward until running out of momentum. This is affectionately known as the “snow plow stop.�

Hannegraf continues to walk on his skates as cars are heard racing northbound on Interstate 35 in the background. He begins to feel confident that he can learn how to brake with the snow plow technique, as he learned to stop the same way when he went skiing as a child.

“I like to think of myself as being on the bunny hill right now,� Hannegraf says.

After attempting to cut through the ice for a short period of time, Hannegraf gives up. He then works hard at utilizing his newfound way to put on the brakes. It takes him a while, but he is soon able to stop at will, even if it takes him a while to reach a complete halt. Hannegraf says he is a huge fan of the National Hockey League and the Minnesota Wild, and if he could learn anything it would be to stop on a dime and watch the snow spray from his skate blades.

Muckala shows him how it is done. From a dead stop he sprints to the center of the rink, turns his body and drives his blades deep into the glossy surface. Snow sprays waist high as his skates make a shearing sound.

“I see why he wants to be able to do that. I remember how excited I was when I learned how to slam on the breaks like the pros do,� Muckala said.

Hannegraf decides to try and slam on the brakes just once. After hitting his top speed, he becomes a bit hesitant and tries to dig in with his blades. The end result is him on his backside, being fully reminded of how painful a spill on the ice can be.

“Yeah that was one try too many,� Hannegraf said.

Following the painful realization that ice is hard, the two friends are also reminded of how cold life on the ice is. A brisk wind pierces exposed skin as the ice seems to howl. The teacher and student quickly decide to make their exit.

“It’s too bad I had to end the day on my back,� Hannegraf said.

Posted by Julia Davis at 8:59 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

By FATIMA JAWAID
DCN Correspondent

Welcome to the fun room.

Eleven women stand hips cocked, arms in the air, and their faces a picture of intense concentration, many mouthing the steps under their breath.

Side, side, up. Side, side, up. Forward, step, spin. Again and again they move, their body’s picking up speed with each steady movement. Behind them the stereo pulsates with sound. The driving beat of the drum almost moving as fast as the women themselves.

Amongst the chaos sits Eman Haddad, her smile as bright as the glimmering room, clapping to the beat and calling out words of help and encouragement.

“Very nice Marie!�

“Where were you on Tuesday Sue? We missed you! You better have been practicing!�

“Excellent Jessica, I can really see the difference in your shape.�

“Move your hip down a little. No, not your leg! The hips. There, like that! That’s very good.�

The “fun room,� as Haddad calls it is actually the five o’clock belly dance class held at Eman’s Belly dance and Fitness Studio.

It may seem like any other dance studio. Gleaming wood floors and floor-length mirrors line the walls, reflecting each movement of the dancers in the room. But, to Haddad, this room is her passion. This is her life’s work. She’s been teaching women of all ages the art of belly dancing for more than 20 years, every since she immigrated to the U.S. from Jordan.

Here, in this small dance studio nestled away on the corner of Fourth and Fifth, she is in her element.

“I want to see less black clothing next time,� Haddad calls out as the song stops and the flurry of movement in the room slowly fades away. “I know it’s depressing outside, but dress happy.�

The women line up at opposite ends of the room in preparation for the next song. Many smile and talk amongst each other, a few pumping their fists in the air in excitement for dance number two. One walks over to the door and cracks it open, letting in a gust of cool, crisp winter air.

“I love it here,� says Sue Oleson, who started taking the class to try and get in better shape. “I haven’t lost any weight, but I feel better, tighter, stronger.�

The next song starts, this one with a slower tempo, and the women file onto the floor ready to begin their next dance.

“Again,� says Haddad. “I want to see the dance again. It’s not that hard. Don’t look, just move and let your body flow naturally,�

“That’s easy for you to say,� calls out Marie Anderson as the class laughs. She is a United Health Care worker who has been taking the class with Haddad on and off for almost two years. “I bet you do it in your sleep. High -kick your husband right out of bed.�

These women have been with each other each step of the way since the class began last September. Slowly over the course of 13 months, all traces of self-consciousness have faded away.

“It's not a class, it’s a club,� says Haddad. “We get together, we work out together, and we laugh.�

As the last song finally ends, everyone leaves the dance floor and packs up their belongings while laughing and talking amongst themselves. Many still lingering even as the next class files in.

“I sit on my butt all day long and it really feels good to get up and move,� says Oleson. “I’ve tried other fitness classes, but this is definitely the best fit for me.�

“And, you know, it just wouldn’t be the same without Eman,� she adds. “She’s crazy, she’s wonderful and you can tell that she actually cares.�

Posted by Elizabeth Strawn at 8:51 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

By VENESSA OSTERGAARD
DCN Correspondent

Its 8:30 on a Tuesday night at the Twins bar in the Central Hillside. There are five or so groups of people indulging in conversations over beers and popcorn. The place smells like a moldy pool. There is only one girl in the entire bar besides myself. There are pull-tabs in the corner. An old man, in his sixties, runs the operation.

Taking a seat at the bar, I glance around at all the empty tables and dart boards. Typical for an early weekday night I guess.

The bartender was 30 or so and wearing a Mario T-shirt.

“What can I get you?� he asks. “I recommend the 89 cent beers until ten.� He says this with his hundred-watt smile shining down on me.

Two other guys work behind the bar. Both seem young enough to be freshly legal. I estimate college age, working for rent money.

A scruffy looking woman wearing a large coat with a hat, scarf and mittens enters through the door. She makes her way toward the bar and takes a seat.

“Can I get you something?� asks the bartender who is sporting the Mario T-shirt.
She replies with “No, I am just waiting for the bus.�

A middle-aged man buys some pull-tabs. He must have spent a hundred dollars on them throughout the evening. He sits down beside me with a tin of Copenhagen, a spit cup, two beers and his pull-tabs strewn out on the surface of the bar.

His name is Mike Herald. He lives in Duluth, in the Woodland neighborhood. He tells me about his family. He’s not married and has no kids of his own, but he has a niece that attends to Central High School. He talks about her, Jenna, so much that I think he is actually her father.

Mike has just been laid off. He is a laborer at a construction company. “It’s not a big deal or anything…it's just seasonal work.� So the best thing for him to do is hang out at Twins.

He comes here often, more now.

“Why wouldn’t I want to come here? Look around. There are Christmas decorations and a tree, and the bartenders are great and go talk to the people. Like Ken over there, he’s a good guy.�
Ken is the pull-tab guy. He has worked at Twins for a few years now; his wife works pull-tabs at the Blue Crab in West Duluth.

“Those are the kind of things that make this bar so great, the people and their stories,� says Mike.

We talk about school, basketball, why we are there and music. According to Mike, Boom Town is the best song out there. The meaning is what gets him. Everyone has their problems, but they make them better people. It’s good for them.

He uses this to shift topics to his uncle. He was sober for 12 years, but recently fell off the wagon. He now drinks out of the vodka bottle and smokes four packs a day.

He seems upset or embarrassed for telling a complete stranger this story.

At this point he orders himself a shot and tells the young bartender to call him a cab. Mike stands up to leave, but pauses with a smile.

“And that, is a lesson in responsibility…�

Posted by Zach Olson at 8:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

By PAUL BUDD
DCN Correspondent

Pete Ullrich applied a warm, foamy lather of shaving cream to the back of a man’s neck and his sideburns. He pulled out his straight razor and began to carefully and precisely remove the excess hair left on the sides and back of the man’s head.

Once he was finished, Ullrich wiped away the shaving cream, effortlessly brushed the leftover hair clippings to the floor, and whirled the robe off from around the man’s neck.

“You’re good to go,� says Ullrich as the man hopped out of the old-fashioned barber chair and turned around to pay him.

Ulrich then paused and looked at the two men who were patiently waiting for their own cut. “Who’s next,� he says with a smile, while motioning to the chair.

Cutting hair is what Pete Ullrich does and what he has been doing for over 40 years. He is the fourth generation in a family line of barbers, starting with his great grandfather who was a barber surgeon in Kaiser Wilhelm’s German armed forces during World War I.

Pete Ulrich stands by an old-fashioned barber chair in the Lakeside barber shop.
(Photo by Paul Budd)

“I couldn’t imagine myself doing anything else,� he says. “I’ve never gotten up in the morning and not looked forward to coming to work.�

Ullrich is the owner and head barber of Pete’s Lakeside Barbershop on the corner of Superior Street and 45th Avenue. He’s owned the shop since he purchased it from Fred Anderson in 1999, however the shop has been a landmark in the Lakeside District since the 1920s.

Outside the shop is a classic red and white barber pole and inside, the shop has three old- fashioned, red leather barber’s chairs.

Ullrich has also developed a respect among his regular customers who value his professionalism and care when it comes to cutting hair.

“I’ve had some customers for over 40 years,� says Ullrich. “Some even who my dad was giving haircuts to before I was.�

“You don’t get that at a Cost Cutters,� says Jim Wright, Ullrich’s partner and the only other full time barber at the shop, as he watched Ullrich giving one man a haircut while talking to him as if they had known each other their whole lives.

There is no question about Ullrich’s dedication to his job.

Just observing Ullrich cut hair is like watching a skilled carpenter who has perfected his art through hard work and plenty of repetition.

He pays attention to the small details and slowly works from one part of the head to the next. Hair in one hand and clippers in the other, he takes off just the right amount, in just the right spots. Once he has finished with the clippers, he brings in the buzzers to crop and then always finishes with the straight razor and hot shaving cream.

The straight razor is something you won’t find in a fancy hair salon or a cheap, in-and-out haircut chain. Only in a barbershop such as Pete’s, where the barber takes pride in every haircut and strives to make sure no stray hair goes uncut and no customer leaves unsatisfied.

And rarely does a customer ever leave Pete’s Lakeside Barbershop unsatisfied with the haircut he’s received.

After his day is done, the customers gone and fellow barber Jim Wright gone as well, Ullrich begins to clean up the shop.

“I still love the job and hope to still be doing it when I’m 70,� says Ullrich as he turned the “open� sign in the window to “closed� and begins to mop up the muddy floor.

Slowly dragging the wet mop from one side of the floor to the other, the barber removed the dirt and slush; the results of another long day.

“I’m here five days a week, from open to close,� he said. “And I’ll do it all over again tomorrow.�

Once he has finished cleaning the floor, he rinses out his mop bucket, turns off the lights, steps out into the cold night, and locks the door behind him.

Posted by Brittney Silewski at 8:45 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

By ALEXANDER RISSE
DCN Correspondent

Snow is falling, but at Lake Superior Divers Supply and School getting wet is still a top priority. For over 50 years Duluthians have been learning to dive at the shop, which is located on Third Sreet in Lincoln Park. For nearly the same amount of time, Lake Superior Divers has taken yearly trips near Roatan, Honduras for world-class diving.

Don VanNispen, Joe Cheetham, and Paul Makynen all work at the shop. VanNispen founded Lake Superior Divers over 50 years ago. Cheetham and Makynen are both diving instructors.

“An uncle got me into diving—my Uncle Sam,� he says with a rough laugh, pulling up a chair in the center of the room. He goes on to explain that he learned to dive while serving in the Korean conflict. It’s apparent that VanNispen has fallen in love with diving in Honduras.

“Ever since I found [that spot], I don’t want to go anywhere else,� he says looking a little distant. The spot he is referring to is Anthony’s Key Resort. According to VanNispen, the resort was founded by a retired World War II U.S. naval officer.

“There were three huts to start out and additions are made every year,� says VanNispen. “[Now] it can fit 100 people at a time.�

The Honduras trip takes place every March, during the best diving weather for the region. Anywhere from 12 to 40 people will take the trip. Some are regulars, while others tag along once or twice.

“It’s a gregarious lot,� says Cheetham glancing at the others and smiling. “We fly out of Minneapolis and transfer planes in Houston and from there to Honduras."

Cheetham explains the Roatan area of Honduras as having the same high profile recognition within the diving community as Las Vegas does for most people.

“It’s known all over the world,� he says with a small nod.

“There are a wide variety of dive sites, even some shipwrecks,� adds Makynen. “It keeps you sharp.�
The two men reminisce about the stellar diving conditions off the coast of Honduras.

“Salt water tends to be clearer than lake water,� says Cheetham.

“Once I was on a dive and I looked up at the boat and thought, ‘Wow I’m not that far down,’� says Makynen, rocking forward slightly as he finished his sentence. “Then I checked my depth and I was already 80 feet down!�

The trip to Honduras contrasts greatly with the diving conditions experienced in Duluth. Even in the dead of winter, divers from the shop dip beneath the waves. In fact, Lake Superior Divers has developed the rather unique tradition of taking a dive in Lake Superior at the stroke of the New Year.

“You can wear a dry suit to keep you warmer,� says Makynen. “You can fill the suite with air,� he says, making pumping motion with his hands. “It insulates you.�

If a dry suit is not available, the best that can be done to warm up before the plunge is to pour some warm water onto your suite before you dive.

“On cold days it’s not really the water that will get you anyway,� says Makynen. “It’s when you get back into the air that you feel it,� he says with a smile and seeming to shiver.

Posted by David Buckner at 8:40 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

By BECKY EDWARDS
DCN Correspondent

The large coffee machine hisses to life as a woman and her young daughter wait for their hot beverages to be ready, both dressed in clothes that would make an Eskimo proud. The coffee pours into the cup held by Alyssa Bethke, who handles the machine with a precision that can only be learned from working at the shop for a year and a half. She proceeds to add the essential ingredients to the drink, adding whipped cream, a shot of espresso and toppings.

The little girl is all smiles as the mother pays for their drinks and they leave the shop, braving the harsh winter weather.

“I didn’t use to be such a big coffee drinker,� Bethke says. “ That definitely changed when I started working here.� Like all the other workers, Bethke gets free coffee during breaks.

It’s the night after the first real snowfall in Duluth and despite the blustery wind and swirling snow outside, the coffee shop still has its fair share of customers.

“I love these bagels!� one of the customers exclaims as she leans back in her chair.

Ever since its grand opening in 1998, the coffee shop called Bixby’s has become a familiar haunt for college students because it’s so close to campus.

Bixby’s is filled with signs of the upcoming holidays with shimmering lights and a fully decorated tree in the corner and even a few special drinks and desserts for the holiday season on the menu.

Bethke moves to the side to avoid another worker who is donning a set of headphones that look like something an air traffic controller would wear.

“Is that all?� she asks as she spreads cream cheese on a bagel, taking the order of a customer waiting patiently in the drive-through lane.

“The drive-through doesn’t stop with the bad weather,� Bethke says, adding that she has noticed a definite decline in overall business when the snow started to pile up and the temperature started to drop in December.

“I heard that about 30 percent of our business comes from the drive-through,� she says.

Bethke pauses to take another order from a shivering customer, who buys a large coffee, momentarily distracted by the loud squawk from one of the birds in a cage that lives in the flower shop connected to Bixby’s. The two stores are connected and aren’t even separated by a door.

“I think Bixby’s is so appealing because of the atmosphere. We get a lot of college students and elderly people because it’s pretty quiet in here. It’s not a library but it’s a good place to study because you can have your own bubble,� Bethke says with a smile.

With one glance at the menu, a customer can see that they have a pretty daunting task of choosing what they want. The menu is split up between hot and frozen drinks, beverages, salads, sandwiches, bagels and wraps.

“We have cheat sheets,� Bethke says, referring to the fact that many of the drinks contain multiple ingredients that need to be measured.

“We have a pretty thorough training program but we like new employees to just try it. We’ll step in if they’re doing something wrong,� she says.

Two more customers walk in, letting in a cold gust of wind and a few flurrying flakes through the door as they walk up to the counter with squeaking shoes. Bethke greets them with a smile as their eyes peruse the menu on the wall.

Posted by Sara Jochems at 8:40 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

By DAYNA LANDGREBE
DCN Correspondent

More than Memories: Antique Emporium is a small store on Fourth Street in Duluth’s East Hillside. Inside, hundreds of old-fashioned trinkets, dishes, and collectibles are carefully organized into display cases and shelves.

One Friday afternoon, customers are filing into the shop and milling around the tight corners.

“Oh, I used to have something just like this!� Charlotte Fields says. She is looking at a pale-green wicker stroller. The knee-high stroller is filled with shabby/chic bedding and a porcelain doll. Fields is from Isanti, Minn., but had always wanted to stop into the shop when she visited Duluth.

Today, Fields doesn’t buy the stroller.

This is true of most of the items in the store. People stop in off the street and poke around. Someone may find a small treasure to buy but the store looks almost completely unchanged. Nothing moves.

Old remnants of memories are forgotten about. Nobody wants them anymore.

Someone’s lumpy davenport is left behind. A stack of yellowed postcards had been addressed to somebody and those were discarded too.

Fields makes her way to the cash register with a 99-cent scarf. It’s sheer with small patterns across it, perfect to put under old-fashioned radios, she says.

“It’s going to be $1.08,� Ron Garatz says to Fields. Garatz is the vendor who is running the register. The transaction is completed, another item gone.

Garatz says that each vendor takes a turn running the shop a couple times a month as a part of renting the space.

A few days later, Shirley Duke stops into the store. She is a regular in the shop and today she is buying some fabric to make curtains.

“Four bucks,� Duke says, waving the crimson-colored fabric. “I don’t always buy things but it’s fun to look. You never know what you’re going to find.�

Aside from Dukes there are not customers in the store. Today, Rosemary Bjornaas is working the register. She rings Duke up for her purchases.

In this store, people can pick and choose leftovers from someone’s life. But mostly, the stuff just sits on the shelves.

“Unless you have the right person at the right time at the right price, [the items] mostly stay put,� Bjornaas says, shifting her stance behind the counter. Bjornaas says that most of the stuff in her booth had been there since the store opened in March 2007.

Bjornaas sells mostly antique jewelry and linens, but ladies gloves, little green dishes and matchbooks are arranged among dozens of other items. An old-time can of Sherwin Williams Flaxosoap sits high on the shelf.

The antique store isn’t run like a usual business. The goods don’t come from a manufacturer. Instead, the inventory is collected from estate sales after a death or from people who want their things sold.

Dealers rent spaces in the shop creating a bazaar under one roof. There are 15 different booths in More than Memories.

Maybe Duke’s newfound curtains were used as curtains before or maybe they were just scraps from a leftover bolt of fabric.

In this quiet shop, most people who stop in don’t buy anything at all. Old memories are long forgotten in this store. Previous owners may never know where their things ended up.

But here, at this antique emporium of drifters and shoppers, the items are slowly being made into new memories.

Posted by krebs068 at 8:31 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

By LIZ ENKE
DCN Correspondent

A chilling winter breeze blows behind a customer entering the Fourth Street Market. The smell of fried chicken lingers in the air while Christmas music plays in the background.

Behind the counter employees carry on gleeful conversations one another. The laughter personifies the unhurried, yet productive, atmosphere that’s always present.

Two little boys run up and down the aisles from behind the counter. Scurrying around the store, they briefly slow down to inspect the few customers browsing the merchandise and then giggle.

After a quick loop around the store, it’s back to behind the counter. They tug on a man’s pants while he’s in an intense conversation about soup with a coworker.

“What did I tell you about talking to me while I’m talking?� the man says.

And that was that. Back to running around the store they went.

A performance is happening off in the distance. Pickles are plopping onto burgers in a crazy, yet refined process. In the blink of an eye, about a dozen sandwiches are accompanied by a single pickle.

The star of the show emerges. Sandwich artist April Miner is on a roll. Plastic wrap and sandwiches flail around in the air. From a distance it looks like pure chaos. It is not chaos, it’s an assembly line of sandwiches run by one person.

Miner has her game face on as she tries to package these sandwiches in a record time, hoping to beat nobody’s record but her own. Finished. She looks at the packaged sandwiches with what seems to be satisfaction.

“Click, click, click,� goes the price gun. Satisfaction has not been reached. The one-woman assembly line must press on. Up, down, down, down, up the price gun travels until all the sandwiches are tagged, “click, click, click.�

Pause.

Miner steps away from the stage and picks up a yellow grocery basket from one of the aisles. Back to the show she goes. The end is in sight. She places the sandwiches in the basket; it’s time to move.

Spoke too soon. A sandwich, unwrapped, came out of hiding. Miner quickly wraps, tags it and tosses it with the rest.

The sandwiches are brought to the deli section. One by one, each is put out in an abrupt manner. Done. Miner takes a step back to admire the finished product. And there they are, 15 “Ma & Pa Fourth Street Market Double Cheeseburgers $2.39.�

Perfection. As a line starts to form at the Fourth Street Market, Miner heads back to the stage with Styrofoam plates and a bag of buns. Another performance is about to begin.

Posted by claes019 at 8:22 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

By CORY CLAESON
DCN Correspondent

On a typical wintry Duluth day, the snow falls slowly and fluffy until it comes to rest on the ground. There is a fogginess caused by the weather making visibility low. The sidewalks are covered with the outline of size nine shoe imprints embedded in the snow. That is until you reach the St. Louis County Government Center.

It is here where you can find rosy-cheeked workers shoveling the concrete steps and sidewalks shortly after the snow starts falling. The cleaning staff employed by the county has no problem working in this kind of weather.

“It’s kind of nice out…it’s not too windy and not too cold,� says Mary Milleker as she shovels and directs her employees.

As the snow falls, you can find Milleker pacing back and forth moving the snow into piles, leaving behind a small trail that somehow eludes the shovel. She stops occasionally to clean her foggy glasses. The combination of heavy breathing and cold weather contribute to her temporary blindness.

Milleker is not alone in the cleanup effort. Another worker with a matching yellow-handled black shovel joins in the effort. It’s as if they are spinning their wheels because the snow is falling faster than the two can shovel together. Within just a few minutes, the snow continues to plummet down, blanketing the trails they had cleared off only minutes before.

The fast snowfall doesn’t damper Milleker’s spirits as she recalls the times she had to shovel snow for the city during times of inclement weather.

“I’ve shoveled blizzards, this is nothing,� she says about the inch of snow on the ground.

As the skies turn from gray to dark, there are fewer people walking the sidewalks. Milleker and her staff work diligently as they strive to complete their job.

The snow subsides and Milleker battles on, clearing a path. She has some difficulty chipping the slick ice that lays on the stubborn and uneven brick pavement. It’s as if no challenge could deter Milleker from finishing her mission.

Men and women wearing suits walk by Milleker with sprinkles of snowflakes on their coats and little or no snow on their shoes. The path is clear. Just across the street you can find a person slipping and sliding as they walk. The sidewalk is full of snow there. The people realize how important this sometimes-overlooked job is.

“Anybody with a sidewalk out front, it is a necessity,� said local worker Gary Houdek, referring to having a clear sidewalk outside businesses.

The next time snow falls in Duluth, Milleker and her crew will be on the scene again, manually shoveling snow from the steps and sidewalks outside the government center. Barring a bizarre circumstance, she’ll be pacing back and forth leaving the same faint trail of snow behind until all of it has been removed from the sidewalks.

Posted by Zach Olson at 8:12 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

By MARK WARNER
DCN Correspondent

It is December in Duluth. It’s early on a Friday evening, but pitch black nonetheless. The first significant snow of the season falls, blanketing the Central Hillside with a quilt of fresh powder. Oddly enough, while most are indoors or at least out and about enjoying the start of a new weekend, Donovan Boucher, a freshman at Lake Superior College, is shoveling his front walk as the snow still falls.

“I know this probably looks goofy,� he says with a smirk, “but it’s the cheap way out.�

Cheap? So the prospect of a snowy driveway come morning is now an expense?

“Well, using snow just beats buying ice… for a party,� he finally explains.

Despite the reward awaiting the completion of his task, Boucher does not enjoy moving snow. He has been at it for about 20 minutes, plodding along, filling tubs with fallen flakes. After a bit, he rubs his fingers. His outer extremities are now feeling the effects of overexposure.

“Wish I’d brought some gloves out here. This is pretty lame,� he says.

Lame indeed. Hypothermia aside, little has gone right for Boucher so far on this night. A lost bet forced him into the cold, a fact his “pal� Jonathan Blair will not let Boucher forget as he watches on.

“We were just playing some Madden, and he suggested adding some stakes. I’m glad he did,� Blair laughs. “That blue shovel works great with his outfit.�

At least it works with something, for it definitely seems to be a shovel built for looks, not performance. Cheap plastic is less than ideal for activities involving lifting or scraping. Time after time, Boucher approaches his tub pushing a heaping load of powder only to have his shovel bend and distribute the snow all over what used to be a clean step.

Finally, Boucher conquers the flimsy shovel. Carrying snow works better with this substandard gear than pushing it. Boucher will not be in the cold much longer.

After nearly a half hour of work, Boucher has beaten the weather. The driveway is clean and the snowfall has lessened.

Unfortunately for Boucher and his housemates, Mother Nature is not on their side tonight. During the rest of the night and weekend, nearly four inches of snow will fall. Someone will have to repeat this work all over again tomorrow.

After all of tonight’s work, Boucher has learned his lesson.

“I just wish I could make that bet over again,� he admits. “Next time I’m going be the Patriots.�

Posted by enkex006 at 8:03 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

By ALEXANDER DeMARCO
DCN Correspondent

Since 1978 people have gathered at Sir Benedict's on Superior Street to take part in the fellowship of bluegrass music. Ted Heinonen has been there since the beginning. He took a few minutes to share with us a little bit about this Wednesday night tradition.

Posted by Kathleen Grigg at 11:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)