Yesterday was both a joy and a pain.
I was interviewed for a job (doubt I’ll get it), I played handball, I went to Keegans for my first round of trivia, and I said goodbye forever to the Pizza Shack.
First, Keegans Thursday Trivia was a lot of fun. I had my friend Tony Garcia with me, as well as Chumley from Plastic Hallway and his wife. Our team got beat, really bad. We lost to Night Writer’s elementary age daughter (who chided me for thinking that the first two episodes of Star Wars “sucked”). We also got the final confirmation on a date and a time for our radio program from “The Ox.” We start July 31, and will be on Sundays from 1-3pm. We can start booking guests and the like. Very exciting.
However, after I got done at Keegans, I rushed over to the Pizza Shack for a last slice of some of the best thin crust pizza available in Minneapolis.
Pizza Shack was an official joint for the U of M conservatives. It’s where we sharpened our teeth.
See, a police officer was murdered at the Pizza Shack in 1992. The Pizza Shack is (was) located at an unsavory part of south Minneapolis. Its location at 17th and Lake Street is the place of late night drug deals, strange characters walking around with swords, and late night phone calls to the 911 dispatch.
I loved it.
When I was younger, my father would take myself and the family to various locales about the United States. We would walk through just about any neighborhood we came across. I remember walking through a disgusting and wretched area of Chicago, my father just joking and walking with an easy strut that I rarely saw out of him. He normally walks with some grim determination. It was only in Chicago or New York, Washington D.C. or San Fran that would get him to loosen his stride. He never had any problem in any of these large cities. (Then again, he was shot at periodically in Vietnam…)
In a way, for me, the Pizza Shack reminded me of those fun trips. I remember a story my father told me about when he was walking around a bad section of Baltimore with one of his flight crews. As they were walking (my father with a former Marine and another crew member whose hobby was powerlifting) at night when a Baltimore Police car pulled up, the officer making a recomendation that they get out of this part of town. My father just ignored him, thanked him for the concern.
Wow, a cop tells you “bad idea to stick around here” and the guy replies “that’s alright, thanks.”
(later my dad called me up and said that he did take the officer’s advice “I always listen to law enforcement concerns”…right…that’s not what you said the first time you told the story Dad…)
In a way, it’s that kind of courage we all seek in ourselves. I’d like to think I found a small piece of it within myself, everytime I went to “The Shack.”
I give a posthumous review of the Pizza Shack here
Aaron Solem says his goodbye
Bill Gilles gives his:
The Pizza Shack was an initiation rite for many a young conservative that came through the University of Minnesota and joined Orlando’s cabal. The trip to the Pizza Shack served many purposes. For one, it emboldened Orlando’s mystique since he lived within walking distance of the grisly crime scene.
The Shack served as a mild form psychological torment for the young new members. Those from the suburbs were very much aware of the Shack’s history and their mother’s warnings for staying away from such places. Low level anxiety was visibly present on many a young face when they learned of their next meal. I must admit, I’d never had pizza at a crime scene before.
The Shack served as a retreat for the campus conservatives. It was assumed, and circumstantial evidence backed this up, there was no chance that our liberal foes would dare get dinner at such a place. While our liberal friends wanted to “help” minorities and the poor, they didn’t actually want to be around them. Our rowdy political and strategic discussions must have entertained quite a few post-bar closing drunks and reefed up stoners who were fixing their late night pizza jones.
For the campus conservative, the Pizza Shack served as Diversity 101. Not the book bound kind in the ivory tower, but the kind found on the gritty, dirty, and dangerous inner city setting. The city bus regularly spilled it’s contents right before our eyes outside the big pane windows. Meek hispanic workers, the proud old black guy in greased mechanics garb, the gruff black mother with her two children, the two twenty-something fat chicks who would blend into any trailer park in America, the 4 scary looking gang bangers and the lone hispanic tough glaring at them. Employees who at times screamed at each other and the customers. The dungeon like bathroom where Jimmy Hoffa’s remains just might be stored. The stoners on harsh highs who suddenly screamed and smashed their plates on the table. The ‘happy’ highs that lead to spontaneous song and dance performances for all the patrons. And the constant flow of squad cars often with lights and sirens blaring in pursuit.
The Pizza Shack had a section reserved for law enforcement only, I believe that they offered all police a discount, and it was typical to see 4-5 cops from various districts (transit, park, Minneapolis, county) there enjoying the Shack’s delights. In a way, the Pizza Shack served as a thank you to what these men do on a daily basis, as it was impossible to forget the grisly crime that had taken place there.
As I left the building, Orlando showed me where he had wedged himself between a lamp post and a mailbox to prop himself up during one of his binge drinking recoveries. He also pointed out the spot where he had spent the night passed out from drink.
Good times.
Update (june21)
Doug Grow chimes in:
On Sept. 25, 1992, everything changed at the Pizza Shack — and nothing changed.
The menu at the restaurant that closed Friday after a 48-year run never changed. The owners — brothers Monte and Lonnie Anderson — never changed. The clientele never changed. The restaurant at Lake St. and 17th Av. S. in Minneapolis remained a neighborhood place and a place for cops and street thugs.
Funny how that worked, recalled Pat McGowan, a former Minneapolis cop who now is the Hennepin County sheriff. The Pizza Shack was an urban demilitarized zone.
“What happened on the streets was business,” McGowan said. “When you went inside you were saying, ‘I’m here to relax and have dinner. If you don’t bother me, I won’t bother you.’ “
Cops loved the Pizza Shack. The food was good. There was a nice “cop discount.” And the banter was easy.
Filed under: MOB, Personal Update, Restaurants | 4 Comments »