Derrick and Marcus were on their way back to Marcus’ house on 41st and Oakland Avenue. They had walked up to Rod’s on 41st and Chicago Avenue to get some candy. Derrick had a taste for his favorite candy bar, Baby Ruth. He bought three of them, and had eaten two of them before they walked a block. Marcus liked Butterfingers, and Milk Duds. As they got closer to Oakland they heard it off in the distance.
The drums.
They both looked at each other with excitement on their faces. Could it be? They walked past Oakland and headed toward 4th Avenue. The closer they got the louder the drums were.
Then came the horns. Derrick and Marcus took off running. Past Portland, past 5th Avenue. Headed to 4th Avenue. Kids burst out of houses. Dogs barked. Screen doors slammed. The crowds were already lining up. People in the neighborhood rushing to get there. They weren’t even in sight yet, but you could feel them in your chest. The Sabathanites Drum & Bugle Corp were marching down 4th Avenue.
Here they came in a wave of sound and color. Crisp uniforms. Girls dancing in step, leading the way. Horns gleaming in the sunlight. Hats tilted to the side, marching in perfect time.
The neighborhood lined the street-Black families, some who had lived in the neighborhood for decades, others who were more recent transplants, parents fresh from work, young kids dancing on the sidewalk. Everyone moved with the music, heads bobbing, hands clapping.
A few teenagers followed behind the corps like unofficial cheerleaders, doing steps that half the younger kids tried to imitate. Even the grown folks got caught up. Derrick saw Mr. Patterson, who rarely even smiled, tapping his foot hard enough to shake his whole body.
The Sabathanites weren’t just a marching group-they were tradition. They were the heartbeat of the Southside Black community of Minneapolis.
After they had passed by, word made it through the crowd. There was a block party on 38th and 3rd. In the open lot right next to Bryant Junior High, where Warrington Elementary stood just a few years earlier.
The scene looked like a festival. Tables were set up-covered with foil pans of ribs, chicken, greens, cornbread, potato salad, and every dessert a grandmother could possible make. Somebody set up a grill that smoked like a tiny chimney. Kids lined up for red popsicles, grape sodas, and those little bags of potato chips that always ran out too fast.
A D.J. was playing records. Derrick wondered if it was somebody from Jet Record Shop right on 38th and 4th. The energy was pure joy.
Kim, Nina and Donna were in a double dutch rope contest with half the girls in the neighborhood. Derrick and Marcus just knew Tony and Reggie would be hitting the food tables before anything else.
Leon was in an arm wrestling contest, going against Stuart, who was thirteen years old, and almost beat him. Imaging a thirteen year old almost losing to a ten year old, but Leon was super strong.
An older lady at one of the tables looked at Derrick and said, “This is community. You see this? This is us. This is who we are.” Derrick nodded his head in agreement.
After a tough year, this day felt like sunlight breaking through the clouds. It felt like the neighborhood was saying, “We’re still here. We’re still together.”
When the sun finally dipped low, the lights came on. The music kept playing. Older teens danced slow in the glow from the lights. Older folks told stories about the old days. Little kids chased each other around playing tag.
Derrick looked at his closest friends-Tony cracking jokes, Marcus trying to impress Lori, who he had a crush on for months, Leon laughing so hard he had to lean on a car, and Reggie still eating, Nina, Kim and Donna playing those hand-clap games with some other girls. This was home.
Even with everything going on in the world, this little corner of South Minneapolis was full of pride, music, and life. The kind that stays with you forever.
Tearing Up The Old Streetcar Tracks
Fourth Avenue looked like someone had taken a giant can opener to it. All up and down the street, the pavement was torn open in long, jagged strips. Chunks of asphalt were piled in dirty gray mounds, and in the middle of it all, half buried like dinosaur bones, were the old street car tracks.
Derrick stood on the corner of 40th and 4th with Tony, Marcus, Leon and Reggie, watching the road crew at work. A backhoe scooped up big bites of earth, dropping them with a crash, into a dump truck. Sparks flashed as a worker cut through a section of steel rail.
“So those are the tracks to the old streetcar line.” Leon said quietly. “My uncle told me they used to ride the streetcars all the time, back in the old days.”
“Yeah,” Reggie added. “My grandma says you could get downtown for a nickel.”
Marcus hopped from chunk to chunk of broken asphalt like it was a hopscotch board. Now the last visible sign of a day gone by was being dug up, and hauled away.
Derrick imagined it for a second-street cars clanging down 4th Avenue, people hopping on and off. His dad had once told him that the first streetcar in Minneapolis had run down this very street way back in the 1880s. Now the last visible traces were being dug up and hauled away.
A worker waived his arms. “Hey! You kids stay on the sidewalk! Don’t need nobody falling in.”
“We ain’t stupid, “Tony muttered under his breath.
The men kept working, sweat glistening on their foreheads, shirts darkened at the back. The smell of hot tar and gasoline hung in the air. Cars had to detour, leaving 4th Avenue strangely quiet except for the machines.
“You know what my mom said?” Tony asked. “She said them taking away the streetcars had something to do with the mob.”
“The mob?” They all said at once. “Like in gangsters?” Derrick asked.
“That’s what my mom told me Tony said.
“Wow. Reggie said. Like New York, or Chicago. I didn’t even know Minnesota had a mob.”
” I even heard that gangsters from Chicago used to come to St. Paul all the time to go on vacation and stuff.” Tony continued. “As long as they didn’t start anything, the police left them alone.”
“I wish they’d leave us alone.” Reggie muttered.
Derrick thought about that as he looked down at the rusty tracks again. It seemed like history was being dug up and would one day be forgotten. Hopefully not, but well, you know, that’s how it goes sometimes.