Nicollet Avenue

   Forty years ago, I lived on and then near the location where Alex Pretti was shot to death January 24.

   That intersection was, and probably still is, a nice area. I haven't been there since, and it'd be a 1,150-mile drive from where I live now, so I probably won't go there again.

   My three years in that neighborhood were happy ones, though, in what proved to be a preview for my life, I had far more failures there than successes. But I was young then and full of hope for an interesting and fun future.

   There were decent restaurants there. At that time of my life, just after college, I didn't care about how food tasted. (I still don't. The idea of spending more than twenty-five dollars to eat out makes little sense to me.)

   One restaurant that's still there was the Black Forest Inn, a German-style place. It was a little upscale for my budget, but it had an adjoining yard you could sit in on warm days. In Minneapolis, that's a waste of real estate, but it was nice to have. There was also a croissant place near the northwest corner. (It was the eighties; croissants were everywhere for a few years.) I'd go there with something to read and get my favorite order; an almond croissant and a cup of coffee. Also, there was a drugstore on that corner. It was big, and not like they are now. It had a restaurant section, diner style. A counter, booths, and I think they only served breakfast and lunch. It was open fairly late. The owner was known to hire men who'd been through rough times and for giving free meals to people down on their luck. The Sunday newspapers would arrive on Saturday night. I have warm memories of walking the few blocks there on hard snow with single digit temperatures, buying the Minneapolis Star-Tribune and the Sunday New York Times, and maybe a bag of peanut M&Ms, then trudging back to my warm apartment to read the papers and maybe something on my little black and white television.

   The neighborhood was safe but, for Minneapolis at that time, a little downscale. One warm summer day I saw a teenage girl wearing shorts and a halter top walking up and down the sidewalk across the street from me. I was watching her because she was wearing high-heeled shoes clearly for the first time. I had no idea what she was doing until an older and wiser neighbor pointed out that she was a fledgling prostitute. But that was about as bad as it got.

   When significant events happen far from you, they do—or should—have impact on you. It's only natural that when they happen in a place you know the impact is greater. Pretti was born five years after I left Minneapolis, but knowing that a decent guy was murdered by barely trained government thugs wounds me.