Voices of Uptown

“Now where I come from

We don’t let society tell us how it’s supposed to be

Our clothes, our hair, we don’t care

It’s all about being there

Everybody’s going uptown

That’s where I want to be

Uptown

Set your mind free

Uptown”

—Prince, 1980

Forty-five years ago, Uptown as we would come to know it took root. After the demolition of Calhoun Elementary School, which had occupied 3.5 acres at Lake and Girard since 1887, the city voted 12–1 to declare the “urban blight” that was the southeastern quadrant of Lake and Hennepin a redevelopment zone. Developer Ray Harris’s big vision for the neighborhood meant the creation of a big magnet—Calhoun Square—to attract people. And with people come cars: A multistory parking ramp now stands where school desks and chalk dust once ruled.

Around this same time, a teen with world-class talent was kicking around in a recording studio just blocks away at 28th and Dupont. That skinny Black kid, who would rocket to superstardom a couple years later, had something in common with the 40-something Jewish guy—both men had a vision for Uptown. One’s was grounded in a brick-and-mortar community hub, whereas the other’s was of an accepting place free of prejudice and racism.

Ray Harris and partners introduced Calhoun Square to Minneapolis on February 15, 1984, and Prince Rogers Nelson introduced Minneapolis to the world five months later with Purple Rain. For a generation of Twin Citians, nothing could touch Lake and Hennepin, which Harris and company popularized as Uptown. Prince even opened his New Power Generation store across the street from where his pals Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis held down the corner booth at Figlio—the store’s purple door on Lake Street persists.

“The school board wanted to sell [the old school site]. At the same time, the city council was pushing for Hennepin-Lake to be developed into the first commercial node outside of downtown.”

—Ray Harris, on the genesis of Calhoun Square

In 2021, that Uptown seems to be a world away. But the sense of possibility—and shared community—remains in the DNA of those sidewalks and the bones of those boarded-up buildings. So does the belief in Minneapolis’s most extraordinary neighborhood. Sure, stores like Polka Dots and Moonbeams are a distant memory, but Uptown’s people never left, and the next rainbow looms again. In fact, by the time this story hits newsstands, the plywood at Calhoun Square—now Seven Points—will have been removed, and a new entrance between the building and the corner of Lake and Hennepin will have been unveiled: a new doorway to a new Uptown.

The past 18 months have been stormy for the entire country, and Minneapolis has often been at the eye of it, but, just like four decades ago, there is a new vision and there is a new commitment, and there is a belief that Uptown can be the place again.

“There is no chance of being successful if we don’t service the neighborhood,” says Alistair Parry of Northpond, which is the owner and developer of Seven Points. “We want to create more vibrancy in hopes that it will percolate throughout the neighborhood. Because, at the end of the day, it’s the people who make a neighborhood. Uptown is not going anywhere—it’s about where it goes from here.”

Maybe Prince in 1980, four years before Calhoun Square made Uptown the center of the universe, was right: “It’s all about being there. Everybody’s going uptown.”

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Uptown by the Numbers

As businesses and restaurants, theaters and studios, cultures and subcultures flux in and out, the Lake and Hennepin corridor remains a sturdy thread stitching together Uptown’s four neighborhoods—East Isles, Lowry Hill East, South Uptown, and ECCO. Here’s a numerical look at the evolution of Minneapolis’s most iconic neighborhood.

• 208,009: Population in a three-mile radius from Lake and Hennepin.
• 105: Years the Uptown Theatre played feature films before closing this June due to owing months of back rent.
• 8.6: Percent of residents in Uptown’s neighborhoods who have lived there since 1989 or earlier.
• 125: Population of the Dakota village of Eatonville, established on the eastern shore of Bde Maka Ska in 1829.
• $545,000: Median home price in Uptown’s ECCO neighborhood in 2020.
• $1,080,000: Median home price in the Kenwood neighborhood in 2020.
• 5: Historic landmarks near the intersection of Lake and Hennepin: Old Walker Library, Uptown Theatre, Granada Theater, Moorish Mansion Apartments, Joyce Memorial Methodist Church.
• 28,800: Number of members in the “Uptown Crime” Facebook group.
• 37: Percent increase in violent crime across Uptown’s four neighborhoods, comparing 2008–2014 to 2015–2021.

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Origami

Ichi (Kiminobu Ichikawa), owner Origami with Brenda McFadden, general manager

“After making the decision to sell the original Origami in downtown Minneapolis, we came to Uptown in 2013 because our current building owner frequented Origami downtown. After looking at the space and seeing all the activity in Uptown, we decided it was a great place to move Origami. I would like to see Uptown become a neighborhood that is safe and a place where people go for a night out in the Twin Cities. We are very excited now because we are seeing activity next door to us in the old Bar Louie space. Having a new, bustling restaurant next door would most certainly help our business. I would like to see the empty storefronts redeveloped with restaurants, bars, and shops. It would be great for community activities to return. We are dedicated to keeping Origami open. While dealing with labor shortages (mainly sushi chefs), COVID anxiety, and lack of foot traffic in Uptown, we will still be here giving 200 percent to this business.”

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Barbette

The storied café carries on.

Kim Bartmann, owner, Barbette

“I’ve been working and playing in Uptown a long, long time. I used to manage the kitchen of something called the Little Apple Deli in what’s Seven Points now. In 1991, I opened Cafe Wyrd, so we’ve been on this corner for 30 years. People who came here on a first date who come back for their anniversary? We probably have a hundred of those stories. When celebrities come, the staff is trained to prevent people from bothering them, though I will admit when Bea Arthur was here eating carrot cake, I got a little starstruck. When Josh Hartnett used to come to do his homework, he was just another art kid in the neighborhood, so that didn’t count.

“To me, Uptown is just a one-of-a-kind Minneapolis neighborhood, a lot of funky storefronts with unique businesses, and the people who buy houses here like it this way. It feels like just about every house is a lawyer married to an artist, or a doctor and a teacher, and they ski over on their cross-country skis if there’s a blizzard, because we hardly ever close.

“I’d tell people, ‘Don’t believe what you see on TV.’ So many people who don’t come to Uptown have this perception that the whole city of Minneapolis is like the protest center in Portland.”

—Kim Bartmann, owner, Barbette

“We had an all-staff meeting recently, and people were talking about how much the regulars mean to them and how much the regulars appreciate being seen and recognized by the staff. A brunch regular sent $1,000 for the brunch staff when we first closed for the pandemic.

“If I could change one thing, I’d tell people, ‘Don’t believe what you see on TV.’ So many people who don’t come to Uptown have this perception that the whole city of Minneapolis is like the protest center in Portland. The Star Tribune has played this game for 30 years: Headline: ‘There’s Something Bad Happening in Uptown.’ Or is there something bad happening at the Star Tribune? Why can’t you understand there’s a neighborhood where people like to walk built around an alternative business district, and we like it?”

Tuan Nguyen, culinary director, Bartmann Group/Barbette

“I’ve only been with Kim Bartmann for six months, but I’ve been in Uptown for 10 years. I ran Libertine, Cafeteria, Il Gatto, and Chino Latino. What I love about Uptown is it’s on the border between diverse Minneapolis and the wealthier western suburbs like St. Louis Park, so you get that mix of all kinds of people. It’s been hard watching so many restaurants in Uptown close, but Barbette still packs them in. I think the restaurants that make it through this will be successful in the next period. A city is about growth and change.”

Segundo Chaguan, chef de cuisine, Barbette

“I’ve been with Kim Bartmann for 14 years, most of it at the Red Stag, but the last three years here. I started like a lot of people: I need a job, try a restaurant. But Kim gave me training, gave me a lot of support, and guided me up. I never thought I’d be running my own restaurant, but I really love it. I’m proud of everything we do here. I also really love Uptown. Sometimes, after work, I just walk over to the lake and look at the trees and the water. What a beautiful place to work.”

Laurie Adams, server, Barbette

“I opened Barbette as a cook. There’s a bartender who has worked here for 20 years too, and there are customers who have been coming here for 20 years. I come in the door sometimes and it feels like another part of my home, another family. When I started here, Uptown was all shows and punk rock. People who worked here made films, had art shows. There’s a lot of memories. Frances McDormand really liked it here when they were making Fargo. Kim Bartmann came to my mother’s visitation 16 years ago with her then partner, then took me out to dinner. No one in my family did that. That’s why I’m still here. You’ll see people in a tux and evening gown on their way to Orchestra Hall, people who park their canoes and walk over for beers and mussels and fries. I like to work a mix of mornings and nights now. After a morning, I’ll walk over to Magers and Quinn and buy a book. It feels good: We’ve all been here together for a long time.”

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Ragstock

Mike Finn, president, Ragstock

“We’ve owned the Uptown Ragstock building for over 30 years, and it’s always done pretty well for us. This September 2021, we actually had sales close to equal to what we had in 2019. If you take the long view, Uptown has become much more populated recently, with more and more apartments. There must be 300 just behind us on Holmes alone. It’s only a matter of time before some of the vacant stores get filled with more retailers. Things went down; hopefully now it’s on an upswing.”

Libby Finn, vice president, Ragstock

“We office out of Northeast, so we’re aware of how things are going all over Minneapolis. Out of all our 40-plus stores, none look the same. Uptown isn’t our top store; those tend to be on college campuses—Madison and Ann Arbor come to mind—but Uptown isn’t the bottom, either. We’ve been there a long time, and we love Uptown.”

Mon Cherie Chandler, store manager, Ragstock

“I used to shop here when I was in high school. Today, I’m a fashion designer myself, so I always have thought Uptown is where you come to see people’s self-expression and style. You see a liveliness and diversity in Uptown that I really love. We get a lot of vintage collectors shopping here and a lot of fashion designers looking for clothes to upcycle into their own thing. Just this morning someone came in and bought $300 of clothes to transform—I wonder if I’d recognize them when they’re upcycled. That’s Uptown, though; it always has that energy of being a really good place to see what’s changing and how it’s changing and what’s next.”

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Mike Pickart

Owner, Combine

“I opened on 31st and Hennepin with Karen Heithoff in 1989. I’ve been in Uptown pretty much ever since. I have 25 parking spaces behind my current store, Combine, and my customers are basically women and men who have been shopping with me for decades and young people in the neighborhood who just walk by. Janet Jackson used to shop with me back in the day—I’d close the store for her so she could shop in private. I’d do it again, Janet, if you’re listening.

“When George Floyd was murdered, of course I was heartbroken. This is not what I’m good at talking about, but I was—I mean, my heart. Beyond horror. What happened next—I had boards up, twice.

“Now I get phone calls from landlords in other parts of the city: You have to come to 50th & France. No offense to 50th & France; I’m not a 50th & France kind of person. I came to Uptown when I was 22 to be myself, and this year I turn 62, so I have been in Uptown for a good long time, and I love it. There’s never a time I wake up and think, I don’t want to go to work. Uptown to me is people, and Combine is about my customers and my relationships. I think a lot of business I’ve done lately is like my community, especially the women around the lakes, saying, ‘I have to get in and see Pickart; I’m worried about him.’

“That’s my story! I love Uptown.”

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Ben Graves

Hotelier

This summer, Ben Graves sold his house on Lake of the Isles and moved downtown.

“Nothing against Uptown, though!” he protests over a glass of vino at The Tasting Room, the ground-floor wine bar of the condo building bearing his grandmother’s name, De La Pointe, on 31st and Holmes (his dad, Jim Graves, lives in the penthouse upstairs).

For the last 20 years as chief operating officer of Graves Hospitality, Graves fils has specialized in identifying and developing the next hipster havens for the company he runs with his father, like Williamsburg, Brooklyn, where he spearheaded the development of the Hotel Williamsburg in 2011, or the Uptown Art District in Oakland, California, where he opened the newest Moxy Hotel four months ago. According to Graves, the development cycle is usually “cool restaurants and bars first, because of cheap rent, and then commerce and big boxes come in, unless there’s major city planning or a neighborhood that demands to keep its uniqueness.”

This is precisely the point, he says, where Uptown failed—without a clear plan in place, the developers and the city and the neighborhood associations ended up with a generic row of corporate retail that the people actually living in the neighborhood and beyond never really wanted.

“The lenders, the banks, city planning—there’s no one person to point fingers at with what happened to Uptown,” he says. For myriad reasons, Graves says—not wanting to shop for lingerie outside the warm confines of an indoor mall, whatever—Minnesotans never were going to flock to the Victoria’s Secret on the corner of Hennepin and Lake. That kind of big-box retail just never really worked here. And therein, ironically, is where Graves believes we may find the breathy updraft underneath Uptown’s neglected feathery wings.

“People have realized that the big boxes came in and failed,” he says. “And that’s a great thing for Uptown, because you know what that says? Lenders aren’t going to give you a loan just because you got a big box.”

He believes the downward trajectory was a bad institutional money play and was only accelerated by COVID and the civil unrest that followed the killings of George Floyd and Winston Smith. Graves thinks that first, you have to convince people that Uptown is safe, and to that end, his family, together with other community stakeholders, founded a 501(c)(3) called The Uptown Community for Racial Justice Peaceful Solutions, which is partnering with We Push for Peace, a community group that will be patrolling the streets for the next year “in order to promote a safe and inclusive environment to live, work, shop, and play.”

If it works, and Graves believes it will, this community safety plan will be rolled out in markets that need similar assistance, like Oakland and Portland.

“For 15 years, it’s been cool to hate on Uptown. But from 10,000 feet, there’s no way it won’t be a survivor when you look at what’s happening around it.”

—Ben Graves, hotelier

But underneath all the tumult and the boarded-up storefronts—which, when left up, Graves believes to be an ugly and unnecessary overreaction, by the way—the neighborhood’s fundamentals are stronger than they look.

“For 15 years, it’s been cool to hate on Uptown,” he says. “But from 10,000 feet, there’s no way it won’t be a survivor when you look at what’s happening around it.”

He cites the billion-dollar real estate market around the lakes and the density of housing along the Greenway—all this delicious cake surrounding an empty donut hole of restaurant and retail options. In fact, his family is betting big on a comeback: In addition to the condo building and the wine bar, they have the Moxy just a few blocks down Lake, and he’s ready to announce a huge stake at Seven Points (formerly Calhoun Square), where he’s developing what he describes as “a mini Meow Wolf with a bar,” an immersive art experience with curatorial assistance from the Art Shanty Projects and Northern Spark people, among many others.

“It can turn really fast,” he says. “There’s tons of people here! We just have to give them what they want to see.”

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All About Uptown

Photos and interviews by Jenn Ackerman and Tim Gruber

Really want to know what’s going on in Uptown? Chat with the folks who are around on a random Wednesday afternoon.

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Inventing Uptown

A conversation with Ray Harris, the man who almost single-handedly created the Uptown business district, on what the corridor was, what it is, and what it could become. Read More

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Steve Nesser

Owner, Familia Skateshop

Like Labor in NYC or Uprise in Chicago, Familia is one of those homegrown skate shops that seems like a prerequisite for real city status. Owner Steve Nesser—whose 43-year-old bones are assuredly more resilient than yours—is an Uptown guy: He grew up skating the YWCA parking ramp, and he has “3110” tattooed in big black numbers on his wrist. “3110 Fremont,” he says. “My first skate house when I was, like, 17 and moved out of my parents’ house—four skaters and a couple girls.” He founded Familia in St. Paul before moving it to Hennepin and 28th—right across from the Y—in 2009 for Uptown’s increased foot traffic and just to be closer to other Minneapolis shopping spots. He says the pandemic limited Familia to store pickup for a few months, but his people are back now, buying decks and hanging out. Mustering what must be maximum skater-guy diplomacy, he says the neighborhood is “in transition.” Regardless, when the construction crews have finally moved on and the dust has settled, Nesser and his crew will be here. “I hate getting quoted on this kind of shit,” he says.

“But it could get dope again.”

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Sons of Norway

Chris Pinkerton, CEO

Sons of Norway, the Norwegian fraternal organization and insurance company, is a true veteran of Uptown. Its spot on West Lake Street—built in 1963 and recently reconstructed as part of the Daymark apartments—even predates Calhoun Square. Anchoring a bustling Scandinavian community in the Lake and Hennepin area, SON made a home for itself hosting lutefisk feasts, traditional rosemaling workshops, art exhibitions, and other cultural events. (Back in the day, Uptown-adjacent high schools even taught Norwegian.) Given the chance to relocate somewhere cheaper in 2018, SON chose to stay, even with the neighborhood in flux. “It’s a unique mixture of people, of arts organizations, of opportunities to give back to the community,” says CEO Chris Pinkerton. “There aren’t a lot of places like it in other large cities. And so we felt like this was our home.”

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Richard Moody

Bon Vivant

Richard Moody needs a break from moving 34 years’ worth of stuff into his new apartment, so we’re meeting for happy hour at Stella’s Fish Cafe.

“Don’t worry,” he says, crinkling a smile around those architecturally high cheekbones of his. “I’m only moving a block away.”

He bought his first building in 1988, just a few years out from his cheerleading days at the University of Minnesota, with savings from his double career as a model and flight attendant. Now, he just bought his second, a triplex on Humboldt.

“I grew up an Air Force kid,” he says, “Moved around a lot—so I aspired to own property.”

Moody is dismayed at what’s happened to his neighborhood over the last couple of years.

“It looks like a ghost town,” he says. “And it’s the Indy 500 at night.”

He had to sweep up needles from the sidewalk last week. He wonders where all the cops have gone, even though when they were still around, they never recognized him as Richard Moody, the local fashion icon.

“I’m just another Black guy when they pull me over,” he says. Moody says every time he’s had to explain to a cop that no, he’s actually the owner of the building, he’s reminded of all the people of color who don’t feel respected by and don’t feel safe around the police. “We need police, but the people in charge need to know the community they’re policing.”

He wonders if maybe the cops should have to live in the areas they are charged with protecting.

At 64, Moody plans on retiring from the airline next year, but after being grounded by the pandemic for 18 months, he’s back flying. He’s a full-on international man of mystery—for years he’s kept an apartment in Cape Town and a lake cabin in Webster, Wisconsin, switching on and off different personas according to each place. But he still spends most of his time in Uptown, still tends to his garden, his “naughty” young tenants, his new Airbnb people, and the five-year-old niece who lives with him.

“I’m somewhat isolated back here on Humboldt,” he says. “But I hope things turn around for the other end of this neighborhood.”

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Ann Kim

Chef and owner, Sooki and Mimi

“I lived in New York for a couple of years after college, and then I came straight to Uptown. I lived right by Bde Maka Ska; I had a Toyota Corolla; I was acting at the Children’s Theatre. I wanted to walk to coffee shops, get my Times, get my bagel—like New York. Very few neighborhoods in Minneapolis are like this.

“Since then, it has evolved and changed, but that’s life, right? Change. Whenever a neighborhood seems to get very hip, the next thing is that the hip people can’t afford it—so you get Victoria’s Secret, the Gap, the Apple Store. Did Uptown lose its soul?

“I didn’t want to go to a bro bar that cared only about dollar signs. That doesn’t build community; that creates drunken brawls. If your heart isn’t in the right place, if money is your sole focus, you will fail eventually. I believe that. So now, after everything: Does Uptown have a chance to reclaim its soul?

“The pandemic has affected everything and everyone. Neighborhoods are no different. It’s sad to see so many buildings boarded up and the streets so empty. On the other hand, I’m excited about what’s going to happen next. When you’re on the outside looking in, you make assumptions: Uptown is burning, Minneapolis is dangerous.

“No. There isn’t any other neighborhood in Minneapolis like this. Obviously, we are where Lucia’s was, and Lucia’s was a landmark. All I could think was, ‘Lucia’s can’t be a Walgreens.’ I want to honor what she did. She wasn’t just a visionary; her restaurant was a cornerstone of the neighborhood, a meeting place. Her patio was always packed. People just came, like it had gravity that pulled you in. I hope that’s what we become.

“If your heart isn’t in the right place, if money is your sole focus, you will fail eventually. I believe that. So now, after everything: Does Uptown have a chance to reclaim its soul?”

—Ann Kim, chef and owner, Sooki and Mimi

“I think Sooki and Mimi right now is, above all, a beautiful space. I love beauty, I love design—I think people want to go to a beautiful place. We have one goal here: to create something so wonderful and beautiful that you feel you have to get up and come here. I think we’re doing that, and I think we’re on the cusp of great change.

“It sounds cliché, but I do believe: You want to see the change, be the change. The city government, city council gets so wrapped up around paying lip service to what is good and what is bad without taking any real action. I hope by building something beautiful, that’s an action that moves people. If a woman immigrant chef saying, I want this to be a creative, vibrant, healthy neighborhood, and betting everything I have on it isn’t enough—well then, I don’t know what ever could be enough.” 

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Originally published in the November 2021 issue.