Scarlet Stone

It was late in the afternoon on Thursday, Nov. 20 when I found myself sitting at a lounge table next to a cold stone wall in a long room with no windows.
The air was chilly with the residuals of haunting events from the past still trapped within the cavernous space of what had once been simply known as the Wabasha Street caves on St. Paul’s west riverbank. The caves once housed the thriving Castle Royal Nightclub with its Fireplace Room, where notorious characters from the mid-1930s, including John Dillinger, used to hang out in the smoke-filled speakeasy to gamble, plot, and exchange dark stories. They were free to be in the caves because of the city’s “gentleman’s agreement,” created by Police Chief John O’ Connor, which allowed gangsters to launder money, party, and hide in the city without being hassled. In other words, crime was tolerated as long as it didn’t happen within city limits.
But what if it did?
I wonder what it would’ve been like to have been the waitress on duty one particular night, when four gangsters happened to be in the Fireside Room playing poker after everyone else had left. Suddenly, the waitress, who had briefly left the room, heard gunshots and reluctantly returned to find three dead bodies on the floor. In a state of shock, she called the police, and they told her to wait outside for a few hours. When they finally took her back inside to the crime scene, it was all clean with fresh tablecloths, place settings and stacked poker chips at each table. The police told her to never call them again for a false report, and the murderer was never found. I toured the caves and saw the bullet marks in the fireplace and was shown the area in a dark, unfinished cave where the bodies of the victims are said to have been buried.
Employees have accumulated many stories about ghost encounters over the years, but to hear much more about those along with the general history of the caves, of course, you have to go on their specific ghost tour.  
The highlight of the trip was attending the Chanhassen Dinner Theater to see a musical performance of “White Christmas.” I had not been there since 1975, when a group of high school theater nerds went down to the cities to get some culture, so it was time to go back. On this visit, we were staying at my friend’s Minneapolis condo and were all dressed for the show with the final detail being to put my shoes on.
As I lifted them out of the suitcase, I noticed a cracked sole down each side of both shoes and fairly large holes on the bottoms. Iwas shocked because I rarely wear the shoes. It soon occurred to me after doing some quick “matrimonial-math”— calculations done for decades by my family and based on which of my husbands I was married to at the time of the event in question — I figured they were a purchase from the era of my second marriage and were roughly 33 years old. Obviously, the material was simply broken down and tired of the night scene! I told my crew, “Ma will just tread lightly and hope they make it through the night, but tomorrow I will need to shop for a new pair to wear to the next function!” My son drove us to Chanhassen, and we parked fairly close to the grand porte cochere entrance with its large marquee. On approach, I could see through the glass doors and windows, a warm inviting room awaited, decorated with a large Christmas tree, fireplace, and other lovelies.
People stood mingling. Some were drinking wine at various seating areas as we walked across the carpet to the theater entrance guided by the big red velvet crowd control ropes on both sides. Being mindful this was the closing act for my shoes, I was about as controlled as I could get. My son, Keaton, tipped his head toward me and with a grin said, “Ma, you’re doin’ good. I was worried you were gonna blow out your tire walking across that parking lot.”
I laughed and said, “I think the shoes will make it through one more event.”
As you approach the tiered dining area with the stage below, you see the blue-toned lighting and sparkly ceiling that draw you in to something magical. Shallow, carpeted steps take you and your guide to the tables and booths that are set in a semi-circle around the stage, with a capability of seating 577 dinner guests.
We settled into our booth at stage left center and ordered our beverages and entrees. It was a treasured evening, and we all thoroughly enjoyed the show, me in particular because of the song, “Happy Holidays,” which has been my personal go-to-pop-up tune for decades. I begin singing the chorus at random moments the days before Thanksgiving, and within reason, ramp it up all the way to Christmas.
“Happy holidays, happy holidays, may the merry bells keep ringing. Happy holidays to you!” It was a thrill to see the show, and it definitely put us in the holiday spirit with the 1940s-style costumes, hair, and sets.
The acting, singing, and dancing were top notch and included regular Chanhassen company performers, a few that exceed age 70 (info I heard from the folks sitting at the table above us). How tremendous it is to still be movin’, shakin’, and getting paid to perform their craft. During intermission, after ordering dessert, I slipped off my shoe to scratch an itch on my foot and could feel chunky things on the carpet under the table. I thought it was dried peas or food that had fallen and momentarily questioned the vacuuming.
In curiosity, I shone my iPhone flashlight to discover it was not peas, but chunks of rubber from my rotting old shoes ... and must now clarify the theater is very well kept. We all laughed and then seriously wondered if I would make it back out to the car ... and I did, holding my son’s arm, laughing all the way.
At Von Maur’s department store the following day, I headed straight to the shoe department and bought a new pair of black leather Clark’s with solid soles and a silver button embellishment on each shoe.
Our day continued with a lengthy visit to the Minneapolis Institute of Art. I had never been there, and although I largely am appreciative of art and consider myself an artist, I found it overwhelming. The problem lies in trying to see every display on a single visit because the detail of painted flowers, fruit, flesh, frames, and artist information is just so much to soak in. I am good for about one to two hours, then I want to lie on the couch in a dark room with a cool rag on my brow because of overload.
On this day, however, I had to push myself to keep peace in the family, and I did not want to appear too doddering or decrepit while walking, climbing stairs, and standing for loooong stretches of time.
After all, being a quitter could cut down the amount of years the next generation lets me keep my car keys, don’t you think?
Our kids watch us — yes they do — and they exchange notes concerning our downfall. Well, I was wearing the best support shoes I have — my New Balance-Fresh Foam 1080s — because shoes matter, and I think I passed the aging senior activity exam for 2025.
That evening, we went to the Basilica of Saint Mary to take in “Luminiscence,” the immersive sound and light show.
It was a one-of-a-kind experience that totally laid waste to the capabilities of my old $9 disco ball I pull out of the drawer for wow effects on Halloween and other spontaneous events. Here, we were talking about a show encompassing full choir, orchestra, history, fabulous light effects, and spirituality throughout. It was a humbling experience that made me feel so very small in this universe.
On our final night, we took in the Minneapolis Candlelight Ghost Trolley Tour that begins in the old Pillsbury Club mansion. The tour takes you and other passengers through parts of the city, including Nicolette Island, while traveling on a colorful, embellished trolley that actually came from New Orleans.
The guide is a whimsical character in a black hat and tux that spins paranormal tales mixed with documented history, such as past newspaper articles that are projected on a small screen in the trolley. Passengers each hold a battery-operated candle and wear silly green ghost-capture glasses throughout the tour. It’s a mix of staying onboard and getting off the trolley at your discretion.
After the tour, we had a late supper at an Irish pub with me ordering the best mocktail I have ever had. The following morning, we packed, left the condo, and headed out for a great breakfast at Fat Nat’s Eggs. The name of the restaurant is highly suggestive and foreshadows menu choices a hungry person will most likely make once seated!
Nobody was hungry for the rest of the day, and to-go-boxes accompanied us as we left. So, now, life’s routine has returned, and it is crunch time at the Timberjay as we wrap up the next coming weeks before our annual two-week vacation. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.