by Eastman Johnson is one of the earliest representations of the landscape of Superior Wisconsin.

The natural entry into the harbor is through the Superior entry.

It was the only way into this area when shipping started here.

They were going to bring goods by the ships, and then they were going to load them on rail cars and take them out west once the railroad was built.

From day one, people had faith in their town, that this was a great place to live and it can even be-- it's going to be better than anyone.

NARRATOR: Join us on a journey across vast fresh waters, through untamed land, and over the shifting routes and bumpy roads to Superior Wisconsin.

This is the story of the settlement of the city, its growth in change, the people and places that are gone but remembered.

This is the story of Lost Superior.

A spit of land that parallels what would become the City of Superior seems untouched in places, with ancient white pine climbing skyward on the western edge of Lake Superior.

In the earliest days, the shorelines here were lined with beds of wild rice and the waters were plentiful with fish.

The only inhabitants were the natives, who lived in Ojibwe villages, and American and Canadian fur traders who camped nearby.

It is a sacred place for native people, who for generations lived and died on this plot of earth.

They raised families, lived their lives, and were buried on what is now known as Wisconsin point.

Among them?

Chief Osagie, a respected leader who rose to great prominence.

He came to this area in the 1820s as a young man.

He started fur trading, hunting, and fishing.

He was a good provider for his family.

They had gardens.

He was a canoe builder.

He had the first shipyard here where he built his canoe, and that was just off the Nemadji River.

NARRATOR: Relations between the native population and the first white settlers were for the most part peaceful.

But with the changing population, and as Superior continued to grow, some thought more space was needed to accommodate the burgeoning industry of the region.

I think US Steel had intended to build a plant on Wisconsin Point.

And because they had planned to do this, the Indian graves had to go.

NARRATOR: In a controversial decision, an approximate 180 graves in the Ojibwe cemetery on Wisconsin Point were moved.

There was a great discussion.

There was a lot of anger in that for many reasons.

One, well, of course, these are dead.

You don't want to move your dead.

And man for the second, they were having the tribes pay for the removal.

Which we didn't want them removed.

And then they were pulling people off.

They were making people move off the point, which these were their homes forever that they could remember and then they were being forced off into the city of Superior.

The cemetery was moved in October 1918.

My dad was here when they were bringing up the remains of native people from the end of Wisconsin Point.

And my dad remembers there being a small boat coming up, and the remains being brought here as a child when he witnessed it.

He was troubled by it.

He felt it was a sacrilege to do such a thing to anyone.

Not all the graves were moved, because people are buried throughout Wisconsin Point-- all the way from the point of it all the way back, there are burial grounds.

This just happened to be one that was encased in a picket fence.

So this is just a marking of the old Indian cemetery.

NARRATOR: A sign erected at Wisconsin Point commemorates the original gravesites.

At nearby St. Francis Cemetery, where the graves were moved, a simple sign and single gravestone marks the current resting place of those 180 souls.

It was the mid-19th century when white settlers made their way from St. Paul in the Minnesota Territory north to the Nemadji River and followed it to where it opens to the Great Lake.

This would be the place for the new settlement of Superior, Wisconsin.

They got a land grant to dig the Sioux Locks.

Now, that really was the beginning of settlement up here, access to the area.

It started in '53 and was done by '55.

And at that point, as they were in those days, ocean-going vessels were able to come into Lake Superior.

And that really was the boom moment.

NARRATOR: Borders would be drawn between Minnesota and Wisconsin to designate just where the dividing line should be.

A surveyor named George Stunts accepted the federal contract to mark that boundary.

Mr. Stunts was a remarkable man.

He was one of the dreamers.

Exploiters and dreamers were about in equal numbers in establishing settlement up here.

NARRATOR: The federal government was invested in developing the area.

And it was Illinois senator Stephen Douglas, for whom Douglas County is named, who hired the surveyor Stunts.

He was the person who sent the surveyor up here.

And he said, I want you to plan the plat of a city on the Wisconsin side of that border.

NARRATOR: At the time, the only access to the region was along the military road, authorized by Congress to stretch from Point Douglas in Southern Minnesota to the mouth of the Nemadji.

The road, which was never 100% complete, saw settlers track the route on foot.

A lot of them came from St. Paul and Minneapolis.

They'd settled there as a logical point for the Western development.

And then, believe it or not, they walked from St. Paul to the Superior townsite.

And that first winter, winter of '53-'54, they'd started out fighting one another and finally decided, hey, we're better off cooperating.

And so they formed the Superior Proprietors and agreed, a chilly winter night in the only building on the townsite, and that became the beginning.

NARRATOR: The original proprietors were a group of senators and congressmen.

But others included veterans of the Mexican War who saw great potential in the remote arboreal forests at the western edge of Lake Superior.

About every 10 years, there was a recession.

And so you found a town here in '53, '54, and by '57, bang, it collapses.

And the 3,000 or 4,000 people that had come here left, and a few hundred stayed.

And then they built it up again, and then there was the Civil War, and in the '70s, another recession.

So it was a struggle, a constant struggle, to make it happen.

East end never boomed.

I mean, there's a huge hotel out there, the Euclid.

They had their own hospital.

There were several schools, churches, lots of activity, a little business district and all of that.

NARRATOR: Superior did grow again.

The new development moved west.

The second big boom came in the 1880s with John Henry Hammond.

And he decided to lay out a new town, which he called West Superior, which is now Downtown Superior.

In the 1880s, it really started to build up again, and by 1889 to 1890, you had a town again.

It was amazing how many big buildings went up on Tower Avenue within a year, like the New York block, the opera house, the hotel-- everything.

I can't imagine how exciting it must have been to walk down Tower Avenue and see all these buildings going up, these huge structures that people were financing.

A lot of money was put into Superior at that time.

NARRATOR: Almost since their very beginnings, the cities of Superior and Duluth would vie for dominance.

And it was the battle over transportation to and through the twin ports that fueled the fight.

Efforts had long been underway to bring a railroad to Superior.

Superior was the first city, because investors thought that it was going to be the starting point to trade out west, that they were going to bring goods by the ships and then they were going to load them on railcars and take them out west once the railroad was built.

The city fathers of Superior decided that they would sort of grease the skids.

And they developed a railroad right of way from the bay clear through to Thomson, Minnesota.

And they thought if they built that and then gave it to the Northern Pacific Railroad, they would be grateful enough and they'd bring the line into Superior.

NARRATOR: But that was not to be.

By 1870, thanks to the influence of lawmakers and investors like Civil War financier Jay Cooke, the Lake Superior and Mississippi rail line, forerunner to the Northern Pacific, made its way instead to Duluth.

It was a long time in coming, and finally Duluth got it first.

And people here were just really angry about that, because it got to be this terrible competition.

NARRATOR: And then came the battle for dominance over port commerce.

For years, all marine traffic had come in at Superior's natural entry here between Wisconsin and Minnesota Point.

But Duluth leaders decided they wanted to have their own ship canal dug in on the other side of Minnesota Point.

In Superior, they feared that that would affect the natural flow of water currents and basically seal up this entry.

What followed was a long and contentious legal fight fraught with misunderstanding and misinformation.

No, Superior did not file a suit to stop the digging of the canal at the base of Minnesota Point.

It was the Corps of Engineers that filed the suit, and then had to withdraw it.

NARRATOR: One longstanding urban legend even has Duluth residents rushing to help dig their ship canal before any legal action by Superior could stop it.

The myth that the citizens of Duluth dug it with their own hands is just that, a myth.

Can you imagine what would have happened when they broke through to the lake and the water gushed in?

You'd have drowned half the citizens of Duluth.

NARRATOR: Despite numerous court filings and injunctions, work to build the Duluth ship canal continued, with a contingency-- that a new dike can be built between Minnesota Point and Duluth Rices Point to stem the current of the river and supposedly protect the entry at Superior.

That dike, however, would prove to be a mistake, obstructing ship traffic in both ports.

At one time, someone set a bomb on the dike, which caused little damage but underscored the high tensions over the structure and its purpose.

Ultimately, the dike was partially dismantled and the remainder left to deteriorate and fall away.

But Superior's years-long struggle to see railroad tracks laid across the city would go on.

I think a lot of the competition came when everybody wanted the railroad.

The transcontinental railroad was moving west, and if you didn't get a train by you, you were dust.

It was either make or break for towns.

did run a line from the west, at Carleton, Minnesota into Superior in 1881.

The first train into town pulled up outside the courthouse at 5th and Newton.

But it was during the next few years when the townsfolk would truly regain their assurance for a prosperous future, thanks largely to one man and his commitment to commerce and competition.

James J. Hill was a remarkable man.

In some ways, he was the second coming of the town of Superior.

He said, I want an easement to bring my materials-- the grain and ore that had been dug up in Minnesota-- to the lake.

And Northern Pacific said, no, you cannot use our pier.

So Mr. Hill did a clever thing.

He came across the South Superior, made a sharp right turn, and went north all the way to the St. Louis River, and created a new harbor in the St. Louis River on the Wisconsin side.

NARRATOR: Hill had large railyards and terminals built in Superior.

He constructed docks and elevators.

And before long, a community of homes, stores, and businesses grew up around them.

A statue of the great man that was built outside the Old Superior Central High School now stands overlooking the modern day railyards and office of the Burlington Northern Santa Fe Railroad, where the man they called the Empire Builder surveys his realm.

The strength of the old people has passed, and we may have declined in a lot of ways since then.

We don't have the strength and endurance, probably, that so many of them did.

To work on an ore dock or to work as a carknocker, repairing boxcars-- that's hard work.

The work is what drew them to this country and region.

Immigrants came for the opportunities they would never find at home.

Rumor had it that there was an agent that had traveled Eastern Europe with posters basically saying, come to Superior Wisconsin.

There are jobs available.

And when you're living in Eastern Europe at the turn of the 20th century, you could either be a peasant, get drafted into someone else's war, or come over here as a land of opportunity and try to make it on your own.

My dad was one of the younger kids in the family, and so these older brothers were here first.

And the older brothers were at what they call the salt sheds down at the end of Tower Avenue.

And my mother came from Sweden also, close to Stockholm.

And she worked in Stockholm before she came here.

His name was Olaf Johnson, and he came from Norway when he was 16.

And he went into the woods.

In Norway he read the newspaper, and they advertised for people to go into the woods in Superior.

I couldn't believe it.

It was in Fredrikstad, Norway he got the advertisement.

We're now in the Allouez neighborhood.

But the Allouez neighborhood is separated from the east end by the Nemadji River, which in aboriginal peoples language meant left-handed river.

This flood plain eastenders would call the fill.

People from Alloue would call it The Fill.

You wouldn't call it by any other name.

And then, crossing the fill, crossing the left-handed river on the new bridge, you'd come into the east end, or what used to be called Old Town.

NARRATOR: Old Town was the first of the fully-formed neighborhoods.

And as others arose and the townsite grew, so too did public infrastructure and the need for municipal employees.

He came over from Sweden as a young lad of 16.

That was in 1904.

And several years later, somebody said he should get a job working on the streetcars.

So that was about 1914 or somewhere in there.

And he worked for them, drove street cars and buses when they turned them over for 42 years.

First he was a conductor on a streetcar.

Then he was a motorman.

And when he changed over to buses, that he drove bus.

And in between there for a little while, they had buses-- trolleybuses, they called them.

But that didn't go over very good, so then they went to regular buses.

My grandfather, Morris Moran, was an old mail carrier.

And he lived in the east end of the Superior.

And he delivered mail down in North End.

Twice a day they did it.

And he went by horse and buggy, and when he got done with his day he'd stop at the northern brewery and have a beer, and then he'd go catch the streetcar to go out to east end to go home.

He started being the chief and being a fireman when they had horses and wagons.

And he talked about how they used to have the horses and take care of them too.

And they had a horse barn.

Then when the fire came, they had to quick get the horses all lined up, and away they go.

And I guess you can do that pretty fast.

And my grandfather was the one that had the change from the horse and wagon and his buggy for riding in, and the new mechanical equipment.

And this is my grandpa.

Hardworking people-- not without flaws-- but hardworking, dedicated to family, and, I imagine, in large part to church, made the community strong, helped each other.

NARRATOR: There is more "Lost Superior" to come.

travel between the two port cities-- and for that matter, the two states-- would be better served with a link across the bays from point to point.

Superior's east end rail lines would stretch north and west to the water's edge at a peninsula called Connor's Point.

And soon that piece of real estate would be the main thoroughfare from Superior to Duluth.

This little point which connected Superior and Duluth and became the major artery between the two communities, that's why they called it Main Street.

So one had to cross a toll bridge, which was the old Interstate Bridge.

So in addition to car traffic, you also had street car traffic.

Streetcars used to run down the middle of Main Street.

I lived here since I was a baby until I was 19, right here on 257 Main Street.

We had cows, pigs, chickens, and a big garden.

We always had good food.

Behind me was a railroad trestle.

There was also a railroad bridge that served Duluth and Superior.

So you'd have locomotives coming across, you'd have trains coming across as well as vehicular traffic and pedestrian traffic also.

So this was the way that you were going to get to downtown Duluth if you lived in Superior.

So this street would be very, very busy during the day.

Along here were shops, there were billboards.

It was pretty busy, and it was a residential neighborhood also.

Trains this way and trains that way.

It the kitchen.

And what was nice, there was grain cars.

And if there's excess grain in that, the guys would fix it up and tell me with my sack, we could fill it up and we could have it for the chickens.

NARRATOR: Andy's father Andrew was the youngest of the eight Leeshach children; his aunt Annie, the youngest daughter.

Their life was one of hard work, but the neighborhood also offered unique opportunities for play.

I liked going swimming.

You could walk into the bay, St. Louis Bay here.

NARRATOR: Her older brothers took up boxing for fun and fitness.

Later, like so many others, they would earn their living in the nearby waterfront trades.

MAN: My grandfather worked at the shipyard for a while.

My uncles worked at the shipyard.

My aunts during wartime worked at the shipyard.

My grandfather worked at the coal dock down here.

And then railroad, my uncles worked on the railroad and Connor's Point had several rail lines that ran the length of the point.

NARRATOR: The rail lines hauled the coal used to fire the transportation and industry of the day.

That coal came in on lake freighters.

At one time, there was some 20 giant coal docks in Superior, several of them on Connor's Point.

And since 1894, in a bay the locals call Howard's Pocket, various shipbuilding and repair operations have persisted.

MAN: There were sawmills down here at one time.

And then as coal started to die out, you saw the rise of grain elevators.

And so people would work at the grain elevators, but the shipyard was always an important part.

This is the pier for the Lambourne Avenue Bridge.

And I believe the bridge was removed in the '40s because the shipyard was very busy and the bridge became an impediment to shipyard activity.

But this was one of the ways that folks were able to get from Connor's Point to downtown.

NARRATOR: Remains of the bridge abutment are part of the current Fraser shipyards.

The Interstate Bridge, opened in 1897, provided access to the neighboring state through Duluth's Rice's Point.

The Interstate carried rail cars on tracks that ran down the middle.

Pedestrians, horses and buggies and later, motor vehicles traveled on the side decks.

And the center span of the bridge would open and pivot to accommodate ship traffic.

Longtime Superior residents recall the common practice, to try and avoid paying the full toll on the Interstate.

It was a nickel for each passenger and it was a dime from the car, I think.

And like I said, the little kids would hide in the backseat so they didn't get counted.

[chuckles] NARRATOR: In 1961, the highbridge later named the blood Nick bridge for Congressman John blot Nick was built to replace the Interstate.

The old Interstate Bridge was dismantled in the early 1970s, with a section left on the Duluth side for use as a fishing pier.

All around Connor's Point are reminders of a once-thriving commerce and remains of a community, a place that provided great growth for a city and its people.

And this here is the foundation from a school.

It was called, I believe the Kimball School.

And I don't know when the school was either moved or torn down, but the foundation remains.

As a kid, it was a great place to be able to spend time.

It was sort of wide open, a great place to explore.

It was just a really, really neat place in the middle of the Duluth-Superior Harbor.

NARRATOR: As the townsite expanded north and west, there seemed to be endless opportunities for development, especially along the St. Louis Bay.

And it was there that another investor from the east determined to build a steel plant.

That capitalist was the father of a future president.

A man named Roosevelt came out and built a steel mill.

That man had a son called Franklin.

James Roosevelt was an ambitious man.

WOMAN: James Roosevelt invested heavily in Superior.

He built the Roosevelt Terrace, which is still standing.

He owned the Watkins Block across the street from the library.

He owned a lot of property beyond 21st Street.

And he was president of the steel mill that was out in Billings Park.

MAN: At one time, Billings Park was called Steel Plant.

That was the nickname that it had as a neighborhood.

NARRATOR: In the late 1880s, foundries and shops went up in the area, and by 1892, the West Superior Iron and Steel Company was in operation.

WOMAN: The whole neighborhood built up around the steel plant, all the houses and all of that out there.

But it wasn't very successful.

I don't know, it must have just been the times.

NARRATOR: Indeed, it was the economic panic of 1893 that caused the very swift demise of the steel plant and the steel plant settlement.

MAN: It was unfortunate that those crashes that happen every 10 years happened to Mr. Roosevelt and the steel plant went under.

But it was an ambitious idea, an exciting idea, and of course it employed people.

And then when his outfit closed down, the people from Superior who worked there had to go across the Bay to work in the steel plants in Duluth.

NARRATOR: In the years that followed, the waterfront property would be recognized as a prime site for carefree times away from the workaday worries.

It was named Billings Park for businessman Frederick Billings, who had owned much of the land and donated it to the city.

Lifelong Superior resident Sigrid Johnson recalls as a girl, Billings Park was the place to go for a dip, a picnic, or a young woman's adventure.

SIGRID JOHNSON: We lived at the end of what we'd call First Point.

Down the steps, the steps are still there.

And that's where the swimming area was.

It was a regular bathhouse.

But there were [inaudible] I don't know [inaudible] if that other boathouse is there.

That was on the other side of the First Point.

Where you could rent canoes and boats.

One morning my girlfriend Lily and I decided that we would take breakfast and bring it-- walk out to Billings Park, which was three miles from our house, which we did.

And another time I remember we went out there, we roasted potatoes.

And it was dark, it was pitch dark by that time.

NARRATOR: Sigrid's father had been a streetcar conductor.

And on weekends, the line to the park was always one of his busiest routes.

My dad used to say that at Billings Park, the streetcars were filled, people were almost hanging out the windows to get there on Sunday afternoon.

And it was a lovely place, always has been.

Of course there weren't any houses or anything around there at that time.

What remains from nearly a century ago are the well-trod stairs that led people to the beach and the bathhouse, and some remains of the granite bleachers where park visitors sat to watch boat races, water sports, and various recreation of the day.

NARRATOR: Many of those activities took place just north of the park, at the [inaudible] club, where members socialized, golfed, and for a time, hosted boating competitions.

WOMAN: That was like, the country club for the elite.

They had a golf course and they had yacht races, and they had a lot of festivities out there at the country club.

It later became like a restaurant, and that burned down too.

NARRATOR: By about mid-century, the boathouse and pavilion would be removed as well, and swimmers warned to stay out of the bay where years of residential and industrial runoff had left the water too polluted for swimming.

Billings Park now has picnic facilities, playgrounds, walking trails through the grounds, and along the water, and it remains today a welcoming sight for nearby residents and tourists alike.

Superior was thriving at the turn of the century, and would soon see a population of 50,000.

Families yearning for a better life for their children made education a priority.

In 1910, a brand new, centrally located sandstone and brick high school was opened.

The stately three-story structure, fronted with massive columns, stood at Belknap and Grand Avenue.

In the coming decades, numerous students would go on to make a name for themselves and their hometown school.

WOMAN: Central had, in 1918 they had a state champion football team.

And on that team were Ernie Nevers and Morgan Murphy, whose father owned the newspaper and who later on went to run the newspaper himself.

G.W.

Becroft, we had a bookstore in Superior named after him.

He started the Literary Guild, the subscription book club.

And Gordon McQueary, who was an editor of the Superior Telegram, but then went on to edit a Milwaukee paper, and then went on to write books that are still read today.

NARRATOR: Ernie Nevers would play professional football for the Duluth Eskimos and others, landing him in the Pro Football Hall of Fame.

Classmate Ole Haugsrud owned Eskimos, and later part of the Minnesota Vikings team, which some believe was named after the Superior Central Vikings, who also wore purple and white.

Coach Bud Grant was another alum of the high school.

1939 graduate Bobby Specht was a national champion and Olympic bound figure skater who later skated with the Ice Capades.

Richard Bong, America's Ace of Aces graduated from Central before flying off to shoot down a record number of enemy planes during World War II.

Photographer Esther Bubley first framed a shot at Central.

WOMAN: She got her start at Central High School by being the editor of her school yearbook and she also won her first photography contest in Superior.

She left Superior and became a world-famous photographer.

NARRATOR: But Central School is likely best known for its stint as headquarters for the president in 1928.

That's when Calvin Coolidge spent his summer vacation fishing Wisconsin's Brule River.

He came on the invitation of Superior's US Senator Irving Lenroot and set up office in the school library.

On his arrival June 13, a presidential parade was held.

My dad, he sang for a quartet for President Coolidge.

And that was one of his big memories.

NARRATOR: For almost three months, Coolidge would travel from Brule to Superior to conduct the nation's business.

Residents milled about the school to catch a glimpse.

All I can remember is walking up in the cold, cold morning, dark as could be, early in the morning with my mother and my dad was working.

I was so little.

I think I was only seven years old.

And all I remember is those brand new gloves that I wore.

And I lost one, never found it.

NARRATOR: Superior Central would welcome two other would-be presidents.

The building was used as a middle school beginning in the mid-1960s.

The historic high school was torn down in 2004 after a year-long battle to save it.

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There's not many high schools in the country that had three presidents walk the halls.

Because not only was it Calvin Coolidge's office, but Herbert Hoover came to visit him that summer and he went to Central High School and in 1959, John Kennedy, when he was running for president, visited Superior and he spoke at Central High School.

So there were three presidents there.

It was an important building and one that encompassed so much of Superior's history.

NARRATOR: Superior experienced a golden era in entertainment during the late 19th and early 20th centuries.

With the introduction of the railroad in 1881, nationally known performers could make their way to the head of the lakes and played at packed vaudeville houses and theaters.

WOMAN: Our first legitimate theater in town would have been in the far north area of town, in the downtown area.

And it was on Banks and Fourth, and it was called the Music Academy.

A lot of traveling actors, singers, dancers came.

John Philip Sousa, he went everywhere.

And James O'Neill, who was the father of Eugene O'Neill, the 20th century playwright.

And Madam Modjeska, she was a famous Polish Shakespeare actress.

And the Dolly Sisters.

NARRATOR: Performers such as the Marx brothers, performing as the Four Nightingales, Jack Benny, Burns and Allen, plus many others graced Superior with their music, their comedy, and their talent in one of the city's many venues.

The majority of theaters were downtown.

The largest and most opulent was the Grand Opera House.

WOMAN: My favorite story about the opera house is that they brought in elephants, probably I believe on a train, and then they marched them down Tower Avenue.

And they were going to perform at the opera house.

And I've always tried to figure out where they kept them when they weren't performing and how did they get them in the opera house?

So there were things like that, a lot of plays, a lot of vaudeville shows.

And then finally motion pictures caught up with everybody and everything.

So it had served its purpose.

NARRATOR: Fire damaged the Grand Opera House in 1909 and again in 1911.

Both times it was suspected the fires started backstage.

The grand structure was rebuilt and reopened and the crowds returned.

My grandpa used to swing the doors open for all the patrons for the opera house.

NARRATOR: And then with the advent of motion pictures, the opera house closed its doors in 1924.

In 1939, another fire destroyed the once-luxurious building that had hosted so many first rate entertainers.

Movie houses were all the rage, and by the late 1920s, performers on film were given voice.

I remember the first time I went to the Savoy Theatre and saw Al Jolson.

NARRATOR: The Savoy on Tower Avenue premiered The Jazz Singer, the first of the talkies.

The Broadway on Broadway Street was designed by the famous architects George and Cornelius Rapp, who designed some of the most well-known theaters across the country.

And the Superior Theatre District is also the place where the parents of Judy Garland met.

Fran Gumm, he had a job at the Parlor, which was on the 11th block.

And they did get married here because her parents were here.

And they lived above the Parlor Theatre.

There was so many theaters on Tower Avenue.

I counted 27, there had to have been more than that.

It was the Bijou, the Lyric and Parlor and People's and so many.

NARRATOR: The east end did have the Superior Theatre.

The building is still standing, but now serves as a hardware store.

MAN: Today we saw the east end drug store going down and the office bar and another structure.

It's tough to take.

But I've been buffeted by this for so long that I've grown accustomed to it.

I think I was first bothered terribly in 1962, I think it was, when the movie house closed, the Superior Theatre.

Because that was a place of dreams for us to go on an afternoon, adult and child, or an evening, and see the world beyond these borders.

NARRATOR: While most of the theaters and vaudeville houses are long gone by way of the wrecking ball, the Palace Theatre met its demise in November of 2006.

WOMAN: The Palace was a movie house until I think the last film was shown in 1982.

It was Reds with Warren Beatty.

When I worked for the Historical Society, we did a building tour of the Palace twice.

The first time, everybody was so excited.

They were like, this is where I used to sit with my boyfriend!

And the desire to have it back again was so immense.

We tried to save it.

But it didn't happen.

I think historic preservation is extremely important.

These historic monuments or buildings or businesses, they give our town a fingerprint of who we are.

NARRATOR: There's no doubt downtown Superior was the place to be on Thursday night beginning in about the 1920s.

That evening was set aside for folks to make their way to what's now known as the central business district.

Dressed in their finest, they'd shop, have a bite to eat or a cocktail, or plan to see a movie at one of the many theaters.

Nearly every store had extended hours.

And Stacks one of the stores, and Ross Brothers, and Light Bodies, that was my favorite place for clothes.

WOMAN: Oh, it was marvelous.

It really was.

It was lovely down there.

The street lights were all on, and the people, even if they weren't shopping, they'd come downtown and walk.

And they'd walk up and down, because it was really nice.

You'd bump into people you knew and you'd visit on the street.

And then the stores were open.

It was always much more exciting at night.

They had Gonard's, and they made candy and they had wonderful, wonderful popcorn.

And you'd stop there and people were down at the movies.

There were three dime stores, Criskey's, Moverson, and Newbury's.

And lots of little lady shops.

Light Bodies was this, the oldest and the most elite.

I think it was only [inaudible] that I can remember.

Maybe Ross Brothers had it too.

But instead of the clerks making change, they had these little buckets that came on a wire.

And they put the money in that you gave them and it went up to the office and the [inaudible] girls in the office made the change and send it back down to them.

WOMAN: You went downtown on Thursday nights any way you could get there.

People would go to shop.

Eddie Gonard was next to the Beacon and he'd roll out his popcorn machine you can just imagine the smells and how it would take you over there.

It was a social event as well as taking care of your business.

NARRATOR: We continue our celebration of Superior history For thousands of years, the waters of the St. Louis River have made their way out into the Great Lake Superior at an opening between Wisconsin and Minnesota Point, and it is here that vessels made their way into the natural entry of Superior Bay.

It took a while for shipping to really get going at this end of Lake Superior.

There were a few boats before the sea locks opened in 1855.

There were some ships that came in here bringing settlers and supplies, but still limited.

SPEAKER 1: Shallow waters and shifting sandbars made for some challenging navigation.

The lighthouse on Minnesota Point, built in 1858, would be an early guide.

After a formal survey of the waterway in 1861, dredging got under way to clear the channel and stabilize the Superior entry.

There were other lighthouses they were on the old pier itself, and they were destroyed at least-- well, the lighthouse and the fog signal building were both severely damaged in the 1905 storm and actually the lighthouse itself was toppled right into the channel.

So there needed to be a lighthouse over here and the new breakwater, that concept provided a chance for putting the lighthouse a little bit further out into the lake.

SPEAKER 1: With upgrades underway or in the works, Twin Ports commerce soared.

By the mid 1880s, the Twin Ports was established as one of the country's great grain harbors.

In 1886, the first grain elevator, the Great Northern rose up in Superior, one of the tallest in the world.

Just six years later, there were 10 grain elevators on Superior Bay and along the waterfront, and by 1895 Superior housed some eight flour mills.

Titans of industry at the time knew the ports at the head of the lake would also be essential to the iron ore industry.

SPEAKER 2: The Merritt brothers in their discovery of iron ore on the range and their connections allowed for that first ore to be produced.

And then to get it on a boat they had to come here to Superior to get it into the ore docks so they could load it on the ship.

SPEAKER 1: The very first shipment of the coveted soft hematite was loaded from a small ore dock at Aloise Bay in October of 1892.

Magnate James J. Hill owned the rail line and the docks, and by 1911 had completed a four dock complex on Aloise Bay for his Great Northern Railroad.

It was the world's largest gravity fed facility and could simultaneously handle 16 large lake freighters.

The [inaudible] Line and Northern Pacific also built ore docks on the Superior side.

Iron ore was moving out of the ports at record rates.

It wasn't only freight being carried across the waters.

Humans were transported as well, with passenger lines operating into the 1960s.

One of the really important trades or the kinds of vessels that were on Lake Superior was called a passenger package freighter.

And they handled anything you could wheel on, put in a barrel, a gunny sack, whatever, as far as freight.

But then up above, they had accommodations for passengers.

They lasted quite a while.

And then after the turn of the century, around maybe 1912, 1915, in that area, they started to develop more of the exclusive passenger vessels, really liners that were on pretty much a regular schedule.

SPEAKER 1: The port cities didn't just host vessels, they built them as well.

One of the most influential in shipping and shipbuilding here, Alexander McDougall built his first whaleback in Duluth, an innovative pig nosed boat with hatches that could be closed for waves to wash over.

But most of the rest of his fleet would be constructed in Superior.

SPEAKER 2: He wanted to expand the shipyard and he, for whatever reason, was not able to acquire the property around him.

And so basically he packed up the shipyard and just brought it over to the Superior side of the harbor where he could acquire the land.

And so shipbuilding really grew more on the Superior side.

And as a result, kind of that we ended up with the very last whaleback, "The "Meteor on this side of the harbor.

Then it was built back in 1896 as the "Frank Rockefeller".

SPEAKER 1: The industry peaked during the World Wars.

19 260 foot ocean freighters were built at the Globe Shipyards during World War I.

And in later years Globe launched several more frigates and tugs.

And the Walter Butler Yards made a splash heard around the world when they launched five ships on the same day during World War II.

The 8-year-old world famous Dion quintuplets of Ontario, Canada ventured from their home country for the first time ever, despite years of solicitations.

Eager to help in the war effort the family arrived by train at the Superior shipyard, and each of the quints individually, Annette, Cecile, Emily, Marie, and Yvonne, christened one of five N-3 cargo ships as it was side launched into the bay.

At least 15,000 people gather to witness the historic event on Mother's Day, 1943.

Alice Hagberg was one of them.

ALICE HAGBERG: We saw the quintuplets watch the boats there, right from the grain elevator.

That was a big memory for me.

SPEAKER 1: As World War II came to an end, so too did most of the ship building in Superior and the Twin Ports.

SPEAKER 3: Bishop [inaudible] wanted the orphans to have lots of guardian angels.

And no matter where you look, you'll see them.

SPEAKER 1: Of all the lost buildings in Superior, arguably one of the most ornate and beautifully crafted was the Catholic chapel created for children in need.

The St. Joseph Children's Home at 1200 East 15th Avenue was designed by Cleveland architect, Emil Ulrich.

It opened in 1917.

Two years later, a lavish upstairs worship space was built.

SPEAKER 4: Very unusual.

I mean people don't build churches that way anymore.

And it was really surprising that so much money was put into it.

It was really lovely and the Chapel of Angels, you know that appealed to everybody.

That was just great.

SPEAKER 1: Superior's bishop, Joseph Koudelka, a Bohemian immigrant, was said to use artisans from Italy and Czechoslovakia.

SPEAKER 5: It's an 18th century folk style Rococo or Baroque, which simply means that it's very informal, and they filled every available space with something.

And in this case I think it's quite tasteful and charming.

SPEAKER 1: Back in 1985, Betty [inaudible] headed a committee that offered tours of the chapel in an effort to help save it.

She was interviewed at the time by longtime Northland broadcaster, Glen Maxim.

GLEN MAXIM: This is the legacy of Bishop Joseph Koudelka, who personally raised the funds to build it.

Betty [inaudible] explained why he was so persistent in his effort.

SPEAKER 6: It's named after his patron saint, Joseph.

And there's a big statue of Joseph, St. Joseph in the belfry outside.

He just felt that the orphans should have something of beauty in their lives.

Everyone should have something beautiful in their lives.

And he wanted it something that they would remember.

And the orphans have been coming back to tour this chapel and have remembered it, you know, and it was one of the high points of their lives when they lived in this orphanage.

SPEAKER 1: The chapel's oak pews were built small for the comfort of children, the altars and walls adorned with 196 angels.

Bishop Joseph Koudelka died in 1921.

But the orphanage, which could house up to 200 children at a time, operated until 1963.

Today, Betty says the campaign in the 1980s to see it redeveloped did open the doors of St. Joseph's to those who hadn't known of it or its great beauty.

SPEAKER 6: The people in Superior had never even seen it.

Most of our people who came to tour didn't realize what was in the building and how lovely the chapel was and that it was all worth saving.

It was well worth it.

At least people saw it before it was destroyed.

However, the artifacts were not destroyed.

They were sent [inaudible] Washington, to another chapel.

SPEAKER 1: Another children's home in Superior emerged from a Queen Anne Victorian house built in the 1890s by lumber and mining baron Martin Patteson.

When the Patteson family moved out of the historic house at Ninth and East Second Street, it was used to serve children from 1920 to 1962.

Most of them weren't technically orphans, but had only one parent or families in crisis.

I suppose, you know, it was that era's welfare system.

Families couldn't take care of their children and St. Joseph's was of course the Catholic orphanage in Farallon or the Superior Children's Home it was actually known as.

It was for the kids who weren't Catholic.

And the kids went to school with me.

And my mother was over there because she was on the board.

And so I spent a lot of time over there.

And I used to play with the gals that I knew in school.

And it was really kind of fun.

We'd go up in the attic and run around all over in the yard.

SPEAKER 1: It wasn't uncommon for big name celebrities to visit.

Bob Hope and Doris Day are seen here at St. Joseph's.

The Farallon Mansion remains today as a prominent museum.

A stroll down Superior's Tower Avenue during the early 1900s would have taken you beneath the curvature of a massive metal archway.

The arch was going to be built no matter what I mean they had the idea for many years that it was going to be a monument to welcome people to Superior and because the train depot was also on Broadway, down at the end of Broadway that it would be the perfect place to build it.

But then the Grand Army of the Republic decided to have their convention, the state convention here in Superior.

So they thought that would be a great time to build it.

It came from each corner of Broadway and tower up and then there was this like spike up there.

And they had a flag up there.

So by the time it got done, it was like 90 feet.

SPEAKER 1: At one time over 200 light bulbs illuminated the arch during the evening hours.

Duluth has the aerial lift bridge.

I think ours would be the arch.

In this photograph, the arch stands before a fire at the original Roth Department Store.

The celebrated structure has been fondly remembered for decades.

It's probably the iconic visual of Superior that I think that people would love to see replaced.

SPEAKER 1: But the Arch of the Grand Army of the Republic was prone to rust and dismantled in 1921.

There is much more to discover from a past rich with culture and history.

Also lost but not forgotten, a military stockade that stood on the Bay along what's now East Second Street.

It was built in response to the US Dakota War of 1862.

But fears of an attack from the native population were unfounded.

The stockade was never needed to house and protect Superior citizens and was dismantled.

Then in 1954, a replica of the fort was built at the same site for the Superior city's centennial.

But it was not a popular monument, and after years of neglect that too was torn down.

The Superior Hotel opened in 1889 once graced Tower Avenue and was described as a gem of the city.

It lodged attendees and performers to the opera house across the street.

There were rumors that patrons passed through an underground tunnel between the two in inclement weather.

But that tunnel actually housed utilities for the buildings.

The hotel was torn down in 1968, and the Superior Public Library now stands on the site.

The elegant Euclid Hotel located in the east end was an early lodging place for travelers.

Also built in 1889, it was destroyed by fire in 1966.

In 1892, the St. James hotel in South Superior overlooks the crowds gathered to celebrate the arrival of that neighborhood's first street car line.

The St. James was torn down in 1926.

Superior also had its own minor league baseball team.

The Superior Blues played from 1933 to 1943 and again from '46 to '55.

The team hosted games at Superior Municipal Stadium adjacent to the UWS campus.

The stadium was destroyed by fire in 1963.

Today's residents might still remember the last of the huge metal glass walls on the gas plant site near Connor's Point.

Used for 30 years to store manufactured gas, it sat unused for many more before being demolished in 1985.

The Northern Brewing Company's beginnings can be traced back to 1890.

It proved to be one of the city's most prosperous industries.

The brewery ceased operations in 1967, and while the brand was taken over by another brewery, it was discontinued in 1995.

The Webster Chair Factory in South Superior was renowned for its finely crafted furniture and advertised as the largest chair factory in the world.

Opened in 1891, it produced hundreds of styles of chairs and once employed 500 people.

The plant closed during the Great Depression and ultimately was destroyed by fire.

And boulevards were once common throughout much of the city.

Recently Tower Avenue received a face lift and a new boulevard now graces the current city's downtown.

All of the many people and places that are gone from Superior still endure as contributors to what is today a city that lives up to its name.