The Legend of the Blue Light lives on in the St. Croix Valley

The Arcola High Bridge over the St. Croix River north of Stillwater.

Ripple in Stillwater investigation sheds new light on one of the area's most enduring ghost stories

By Karl Bremer

A couple of months ago, John Michaelson was heading back to his rural Somerset, WI,  home in the woods high above the St. Croix River a little over a mile north of the Arcola High Bridge. It was somewhere between midnight and 2 a.m. Michaelson, who has lived out there for 11 years, followed the dark county road west along the railroad tracks to where it veers north at the High Bridge and follows the bluffline.

“I came around the corner, and that’s where I saw him,” Michaelson recalls. “I noticed this guy walking along in a northerly direction on the left side of the road with a blue lantern in his hand. He had a blue denim jacket on—looked like an old railroad guy, maybe in his 60s, kind of heavy. I thought it was kind of odd that a guy would be walking down that road that late and carrying a blue lantern.”

Michaelson drove by the old man, a little bit freaked out, and never looked back.

“All of a sudden, it hit me,” Michaelson says. “I just saw the Blue Light.”

The Blue Light. Mention those three words to a St. Croix Valley native and you’re likely to get a wide-eyed reaction underscored by a knowing smile. The legendary local ghost story goes back to at least the 1960s, and probably much earlier.

The Blue Light's origins lie on Arcola Trail, a quiet little township road that loops off of MN 95 toward the St. Croix a mile north of Stillwater.  At about the midpoint of the loop, the road is bisected by the former Soo Line railroad, now owned by Canadian National Railway. After crossing over Arcola Trail, the tracks head eastward into Wisconsin and traverse the St. Croix at a dizzying height of over 200 feet on the magnificent ½-mile-long, five-arch Arcola High Bridge. It’s there, high above this jewel of a river, where most have dared to come in search of the Blue Light in the deep of the night.

Bridges long have been common sites for paranormal activity. They’re often in remote locations and the scene of accidents or other tragedies. Some believe there are spiritual reasons why so many bridges are haunted. The source of the Arcola High Bridge haunting varies from one version of the legend to the next, but in all cases, the Blue Light sightings have always been either on or near the Arcola High Bridge on either side of the river.

There are least a half-dozen variations on Arcola’s poltergeists. The tale I grew up with involved a farmer who lived near the bridge. He went mad, killed his wife and four children and then set fire to his house and hung himself. It was the lonely ghost of this crazed farmer who walked the bridge at night carrying a blue lantern in search of his family. To this day, the crumbling remains of an ancient limestone foundation lie in the woods atop the bluff south of the High Bridge, but there’s no evidence that it’s connected to a mass murder.

An old limestone foundation lies in the woods south of the Arcola High Bridge.

A variation on that story is in the book “Ghost Stories of Minnesota” by Gina Teel. That version has the farmer living below the bridge and working as a track-checker for the railroad. A shower of sparks from a passing train set his house afire and killed his wife and animals. The distraught farmer put a curse on the area and has haunted it ever since with a blue light that glows where the farmhouse once stood.

Michaelson used to come out to Arcola Road as a kid from Stillwater in the ‘70s. He recalls that it was a railroad worker who had been killed on the tracks many years ago, and his ghost continued to walk the tracks with his blue lantern. A 2002 Journal of Contemporary Ethnography article confirms his recollection:

During World War I, it (Arcola High Bridge) was used in transporting ammunition from the Twin Cities to out East somewhere. In case of sabotage (from whom I was never told) the railroad company that owned the bridge had a nightwatchman hired on with the task of keeping the bridge secure. During a dark and rainy night, in the middle of summer, the night watchman started his hourly inspection of the bridge. Upon reaching the middle of the span (between Minnesota and Wisconsin) he happened to get caught on the bridge while an ammunition train was crossing. In the ensuing ruckus that the train and the high winds made, the night watchman fell from the bridge to his death. The story goes on to say that the night watchman’s ghost walks across the bridge on the midsummer anniversary of his death. The ghost apparently carries a green lantern to light his way on his eternal trip across the bridge. Those unfortunate individuals who see this green light apparently end up dead the day after seeing it.

Still others say the ghost is that of a worker who was killed during construction of the bridge sometime between 1909 and 1911, or a farmer out searching for a lost cow with a blue lantern. Some say it’s the dead farmer’s wife—a lady in white—and not the farmer who walks the tracks.

We spent many nights in the ‘60s and ‘70s camped at the foot of the Arcola High Bridge on the Minnesota side of the river. Besides being a prime camping spot, it afforded a clear view of much of the bridge, and the allure of the Blue Light was an added attraction. We’d wait till after midnight to climb the embankment to the top and walk the tracks under the night sky. There was a narrow walkway along the south side of the bridge with a pipe railing. On the other side of the tracks, there was no railing.

The bridge then was operated and regularly used by the Soo Line, so if a train came when you were out in the middle, your choices were to run like hell to either side before the train got on the bridge, hold on tight to the railing or jump in one of the 55-gallon rain barrels placed at intervals along the ½-mile length and wait until it passed.

On one of many unfruitful visits over the years, we got back down to the riverside campsite from a late-night trip up to the bridge, looked back and saw a faint blue light passing over the bridge. No human figure was discernable, just a blue glow drifting slowly from the Minnesota side toward Wisconsin. And then it was gone.

John Koonce lives about a mile south of Michaelson in rural Somerset. You can see the High Bridge through the bare trees about a quarter-mile away from his home of 33 years. He’s heard about the legend of the Blue Light for about as long.

“It was supposed to have been some guy who lived over on the Minnesota side who got killed working on the tracks,” Koonce recalls. “He carried a blue railroad lantern across the bridge.”

Koonce was a cold-typesetter for the Minneapolis Tribune for many years and worked until after midnight. He saw the Blue Light on two or three occasions when he returned home between 1 a.m. and 3 a.m.

“It was a lantern-sized blue light, just crossing the railroad tracks,” he says with assurance. He saw no figure accompanying it, just the Blue Light glowing in the darkness.

The last time he saw the Blue Light was about 10 years ago.

Mary Smith lived on a farm near Withrow, west of Arcola Trail. She knew of the Blue Light legend, and even spent nights prowling around Arcola Trail looking for it, but she never put much stock in it.

“It was a good excuse to spend a night in the woods with friends trying to scare each other,” she laughed.

In later years, she volunteered with Arcola Mills, the 1847 Greek revival mansion built on the river by lumbermen John and Martin Mower off Arcola Road just north of the High Bridge. Dr. Henry and Katharine Van Meier later owned the estate and after their death, left it under the auspices of the Arcola Mills Foundation, which now operates the house and 50-acres as an historic site and retreat. Visitors to Arcola Mills occasionally would bring up the Blue Light, she says.

This old gypsy wagon was one of several eclectic "cabins" on the Van Meier

estate on Arcola Trail near the High Bridge. It also had a reputation for being

haunted. The disheveled structure is still on the property, now called Arcola Mills.

“They would have different stories about not only the Blue Light but about other ghosts in the area.” However, Smith says, “I’ve only met a couple of people who swear they saw a blue light or greenish-blue light. One man said he absolutely saw a light, to the south of of the mansion.”

She remains a skeptic.

“There are some low areas down there,” she explains. “I think it was will o’ the wisp,” a colloquial term for a natural phenomenon caused by burning swamp gasses. Decaying organic matter in marshes and bogs produces phosphine and methane gases that spontaneously combust on contact with oxygen in the air. The reaction creates a ghostly glow with no apparent source.

“In my opinion, that’s what the light was,” Smith says with equal assurance of those who claim to have seen it.

DOES THAT EXPLAIN EVERYTHING?

The Blue Light wouldn’t be the first ghost story debunked by the explanation of will o’ the wisp. But how does that explain all those other accounts of unhinged farmers and dead railroad workers? Is there a kernel of truth in those tales somewhere?

Brent Peterson, executive director of the Washington County Historical Society, says visitors to the WCHS Museum also bring up the Blue Light legend from time to time. The version he was most familiar with was the murderous farmer who torched his house, but he says he has never seen any documentation of events that might have been the genesis of that legend or any of the other ones from Arcola Trail.

It is a fact, however, that on the railroad, a blue light or flag signaled to trains that there was work on the tracks ahead and to proceed with caution. So that aspect of the legend does have some basis in truth.

Buzz Kriesel, who lives in Somerset just south of the High Bridge, says that while he’s never seen anything unusual around there, he has heard an anecdote about a man being killed during construction of the High Bridge in the early 1900s.

Matt Peterson has lived on Arcola Trail close by the High Bridge his entire life. His family built a home on the site of an old farmhouse in 1962. He’s heard about the Blue Light for many years—but says “I’ve never seen anything weird out here.” On the other hand, a relative of his may have had something to do with some sightings.

In the early ‘70s, Peterson says, “I was about six years old when my cousin moved out here from Rice Street. He stayed with us for three years. He used to go down to the river and hang out. It was a big party area.”

Picking up on the local legend, Peterson confides that his cousin “painted a lantern blue and used to hang it off the bridge.”

Will o’ the wisp. Painted lanterns. Was that all it was? Perhaps. Or perhaps not.

BURNING DOWN THE HOUSE

Peterson says the version of the legend he’s heard over the years was of the farmer looking for his lost cow. When I told him about the crazy farmer who murdered his family and burned his house down, Peterson paused and then reflected on something else.

“The original farmhouse used to be across the tracks on the north side of the bridge and the barn was down here in our yard. They moved the house down here where our house is now when they put the railroad in. It split their property.”

His family’s house was built on the site of the old farmhouse, he continues. “When we did our remodel job awhile back and dug down into the old farmhouse foundation, we found that it was burned down.”

That’s not all.

Peterson says that 100 years or more ago, a fever swept through the St. Croix Valley and killed many people.

“The people in this farmhouse had four kids and they all died from the fever,” says Peterson. Just two weeks ago, he adds, “We were tearing apart the old foundation of the barn and some people pulled up who said their relatives used to own the old farmstead. They said there’s supposed to be four family members buried right there by the barn.”

So how did the house burn down? Did the farmer torch it? Sparks from the train? Did the separate stories of the fire and the four kids who died from the fever become embellished over the years and morph into a more grisly single tale of murder and mayhem?

Based on what Ripple in Stillwater has learned, it seems the events at the old farmstead on Peterson’s property may be at the heart of some of the Blue Light legends. But it still doesn’t elucidate sightings such as John Michaelson’s.

As long as there is a High Bridge at Arcola Trail, there will be a Legend of the Blue Light. Crazed murderer. Dead trackman. Grieving widow. Lost farmer. Whosever spirit it is that haunts the century-old bridge will endure—at least in the minds of the believers.

For the rest, there’s always the will o’ the wisp.

Arcola High Bridge is a rock star

The Arcola High Bridge on the St. Croix River north of Stillwater is world-renowned among bridge engineers and enthusiasts for its stunning five arches. A steel deck arch design, the Arcola High Bridge was built by the American Bridge Company of New York for the Wisconsin Central Railway between 1909 and 1911. Construction began on the Minnesota and Wisconsin sides of the river simultaneously and the two sides met in the middle. Fifty thousands tons of structural steel were used in its construction.

The Arcola High Bridge was designed by C.A.P. Turner, a structural engineer who also designed the Mendota Bridge across the Minnesota River between Ft. Snelling and Mendota, and the Aerial Lift Bridge in Duluth.

Total length of the bridge is 2,682 feet. Height of the lowest steel to the water at normal level is 184 feet.

The Arcola High Bridge was placed on the National Register of Historic Places in 1977. Arcola Trail resident Matt Peterson says they get people coming to the door all the time interested in the bridge. “One guy came all the way from Washington to see it this year,” he says.

“Experts have called this bridge the most spectacular multi-span steel arch bridge in the world,” writes bridge aficionado John A.Weeks III. “Others compare the magnificent steel work to that of Eiffel's creations in France.”

The Wisconsin Central merged with other railroads in 1961 to form the Soo Line, which owned and operated it until 1987, when the bridge and tracks became part of Wisconsin Central Ltd. Canadian National Railways (CN) acquired Wisconsin central Ltd. in 2001 and has operated the Arcola High Bridge since.

The Arcola High Bridge celebrated its 100^th birthday in June 2011.

The Arcola High Bridge was built to replace the original railroad

crossing about a half mile down river. The old pilings remain in the river.

All photos by Karl Bremer.

New historic Gateway Trail bridge over Washington County 15 gets a third lease on life

Not every Stillwater bridge is a boondoggle

By Karl Bremer

An historic Minnesota bridge has begun its third life in 134 years as part of the Gateway Trail between the city of Grant and Stillwater Township. The bridge will now serve bikers, hikers, rollerbladers and horseback riders crossing Washington County 15 (Manning Avenue) on the popular East Metro state trail.

This isn’t your run-of-the-mill span. This bridge has been around the state and has a few stories.

The historic 378-foot Silverdale Bridge was born in Sauk Centre in 1877. It was constructed as a wood-deck, wrought iron truss bridge across Main Street in Sauk Centre. In 1937, it was dismantled and moved up north to serve as a Minnesota Highway 65 crossing over the Little Fork River in southeastern Koochiching County near the town of Silverdale. Traffic loads that included heavy logging trucks eventually became too much for the old bridge and it was replaced and dismantled once more in 2009.

The Silverdale Bridge spanned the Little Fork River in Koochiching County.

Like the historic Stillwater lift bridge, the Silverdale Bridge is on the National Register of Historic Places. It was listed there in 1998, and is one of 24 bridges on the Minnesota Department of Transportation’s (MnDOT) list of historic bridges to preserve. Also, like the more famous lift bridge over the St. Croix River, the Silverdale Bridge is what is known as a “camelback-through-truss” design. Its wrought-iron construction is much less susceptible to rusting than steel, which explains its longevity.

Louie Zeleznikar of Silverdale, MN

Officially called Bridge No. 5721 in MnDOT parlance, the Silverdale Bridge also has been called the Zeleznikar Bridge, named for local Silverdale resident Louis Zeleznikar, who lived on the Little Fork River and died in 2007.

The Silverdale Bridge was scanned using laser survey equipment to measure the geometric properties of each member (check out this cool video) and moved to Maplewood, where it remained in storage until this year.

MnDOT began construction of earthen ramps on either side of Washington County 15 north of MN 96 in August 2009. Old Bridge No. 5721 was rehabilitated, reconstructed on-site and set on concrete abutments built into the berms on May 20. A new concrete deck was poured in June. Washington County paid $100,000 of the approximately $2.8 million cost for relocating the bridge.

Bikers, hikers and horseback riders no longer have to risk life and limb crossing Washington County 15, which some motorists apparently mistake for I-35.

The bridge was opened to nonmotorized, pedestrian and equestrian traffic in September. Its 18-foot width easily accommodates three lanes of “traffic” high above the speeding motorists on County 15 below.

ANOTHER RAIL-TO-TRAIL

That’s not the only good news for Washington County bikers and hikers. Work is beginning on the Brown’s Creek State Trail, which will connect the Gateway Trail at its junction with MN 96 to the St. Croix National Scenic Riverway in Stillwater. The 6.5-mile section will use the old Zephyr dinner train railroad right-of-way. Washington County kicked in $1 million toward the $4.2 million right-of-way purchase price. The state will pay for the remainder, including the cost of removing the old ties and rails, which will begin this fall. Funding for the project was in the 2011 bonding bill.

The trail may be open for walking later this fall. The Department of Natural Resources will pave 2 miles of the trail next summer and the remainder as additional funds are secured. Another bridge over Manning Avenue eventually will be built for the Brown’s Creek Trail.

The DNR will hold a public meeting and open house on the Brown’s Creek trail at the Stillwater Public Library October 19 from 4:30 p.m. to 7:30 p.m.

New bridge photos by Karl Bremer
Historic bridge photo courtesy of gatewaytrailmn.org.

Stillwater votes to challenge State Auditor ruling on $80,000 TIF donation to bridge lobbyists

City Attorney creates novel definition of 'lobbyist' to prove he's right and State Auditor is wrong


Stillwater City Attorney Dave Magnuson

By Karl Bremer

The Stillwater City Council, relying once again on City Attorney Dave Magnuson’s legal and verbal gymnastics, voted 4-1 tonight to challenge the State Auditor’s contention that it cannot spend $80,000 in Tax Increment Financing (TIF) funds on a lobbyist for the proposed Boondoggle Bridge across the St. Croix River.

If that turns out to be a losing argument again, Stillwater Mayor Ken Harycki indicated that he would seek the money from another city fund.

Responding to complaints from myself and Stillwater historian Don Empson, the Office of State Auditor (OSA) last month determined that the City’s donation of $80,000 to the Coalition for the St. Croix RiverCrossing, a lobbying group that Harycki co-chairs, was illegal and recommended that the City get the money back.

The Coalition returned the money to the city today, but the Council found out in the past week that under state statutes governing the use of TIF funds, a large portion of the money would be diverted to the county and school district rather than back to the City’s TIF fund as a penalty for the City’s misappropriation of them. No one seemed certain how much the City would lose. Figures ranging from $40,000 to $60,000 were thrown around during the discussion.

At a special meeting of the City Council today, Magnuson still insisted he was right and the State Auditor was wrong in its determination that using TIF funds to hire a lobbyist is illegal.

“I think it’s worthwhile for the City to respond to the auditor,” Magnuson said. “I think they didn’t get it right.” If the City can convince the OSA that its use of TIF funds was in compliance with the law and simply draw up a contract for their services, Magnuson reasoned, the City would get to keep the entire $80,000 instead of losing a portion of it to the school district and county.

PRETZEL LOGIC

Magnuson’s argument hinges on yet another creative definition of “lobbyist” as determined by the City. It goes something like this, according to his draft response to the auditor that the Council tentatively approved:

The old bridge is in the City’s TIF District No. 1. State law grants to the City within the TIF district the power to “promote developments aimed at improving the physical facilities, quality of life and quality of transportation.”

Building a new bridge and taking the old one out of service would do all these things, Magnuson proposes, but a new bridge cannot be built without an exemption from the Wild and Scenic Rivers Act, and that takes an Act of Congress. “Acts of Congress require the aid and skill of professional lobbyists to assist in the promotion of the new bridge project” so, Magnuson reasons, a promoter is needed.

Turning to his trusty Black’s Law Dictionary, 4^th Addition (sic), Magnuson finds that “a promoter is practically synonymous with a lobbyist,” and cites a couple of legal definitions from his dictionary to prove it. Ergo, a lobbyist under Magnuson’s definition now becomes a promoter.

“Under those circumstances,” Magnuson concludes in his draft response, “the use of TIF funds from District No. 1 may be lawfully paid to lobbyists hired to promote the construction of a new bridge and the closing of the historic bridge to vehicular traffic.”

“The TIF allowed us to promote,” Magnuson told the Council, so the City can “hire a promoter.” At least twice during the discussion, Harycki suggested changing the term “lobbyist” to “promoter.”

Councilmember Doug Menikheim questioned whether it was wise to continue arguing with the State Auditor and risk “compounding the problem. If the auditor disapproves of us again, then what do we do—keep playing the game over and over again?” he asked.

Magnuson replied that the auditor’s final ruling after the City responds will be sent to the county attorney to either be resolved or pursued. At that point, the City would have to decide whether to give it up or go to court.

MORE AUDIT PROBLEMS


Councilmember Micky Cook

Regarding another problem the OSA found, Magnuson said the City’s contract with The Conach Group, a “legislative consultant” hired by the City, is being re-drawn to comply with the auditor’s recommendations. The auditor had noted that “The Conach Group’s attorney has admitted that the contract between the City and the consultant is ‘poorly drafted and significantly misrepresents the scope of what The Conach Group did and is doing for the City.’” It recommended that the contract be re-written “to clearly define the roles, responsibilities, and performance expectations of The Conach Group and City staff.”

Upon questioning from Councilmember Micky Cook, Magnuson and Harycki assured the Council that Stillwater City Hall’s address would no longer be used as the registered address for the bridge Coalition.

The Council also voted 5-0 on a motion by Cook to revoke an earlier action authorizing the City to pay membership dues to the Coalition—another violation the auditor found—even though no one on the Council could recall voting on the matter last November.

A $70 filing fee the City paid for the Coalition’s registration with the Secretary of State also was found to be in violation of state law by the auditor. That was refunded by the Coalition today along with the $80,000 donation.

Finally, Cook, who cast the lone dissenting vote today and on the donation to the Coalition when it was first approved, wanted assurance that “We’re not going to try to find another $80,000.”

Harycki responded: “Not today.”

When Is a Lobbyist a Lobbyist?

City of Stillwater paying $1,500 a month for "legislative consultant" who isn't a legally registered lobbyist. Does it pass the smell test?

By Karl Bremer

Since April, the City of Stillwater has been paying $1,500 a month to what appears by any definition to be a lobbyist to secure state and federal funding and approval for the Bachmann Boondoggle Bridge and other projects. But neither the lobbyist, Mike Campbell, nor anyone else with his firm, the Conach Group, are registered with the Minnesota Campaign Finance and Public Disclosure Board (CFB).  In fact, there are no lobbyists representing the City of Stillwater registered with the state at this time.

On April 19, Stillwater entered into an agreement with Michael Campbell of the Conach Group in Stillwater for “Legislative support for the St Croix River Crossing extension of the State Trail system, support for the New Armory Project and Phase III of the Levee Wall project.”

IF IT WALKS LIKE A DUCK

According to the contract with the City, the Conach Group is “To secure the required support of the Federal Government State of Minnesota and any administrative Department of either entity for the approval and funding of the pending St. Croix River Crossing at Stillwater” and “To secure Minnesota Legislative funding for the State purchase of the MN Zephyr Railroad Right of Way as an extension of the State Trail system, support for the New Armory Project and Phase III of the Levy Wall Project." According to the contract, “Consultant services will be rendered largely at the Consultant office and the State of Minnesota Capitol.” 

That sounds a lot like lobbying.

According to the CFB’s Lobbyist Handbook, “You must register as a lobbyist within five days after you … are engaged for pay or other consideration and receive more than $3,000 from all sources in any year, for the purpose of attempting to influence legislative or administrative action or the official action of a metropolitan governmental unit by communicating or urging others to communicate with public officials or local officials in a metropolitan governmental unit.”

A penalty of up to $1,000 can be assessed for failure to file lobbyist registration.

The City of Stillwater has paid Campbell and his group $6,000 to date. 

However, according to the novel assessment of Stillwater Mayor Ken Harycki, Campbell isn’t a lobbyist at all, but a “legislative consultant.” There is a “fine line” between lobbying and legislative consulting, Harycki told the Stillwater Gazette. 

“Campbell is a well-connected person and has helped get two bills passed at the legislature, he is getting results,” Harycki says.

That sounds an awful lot like lobbying, too.

Campbell is a former director of intergovernmental affairs for the City of St. Paul, a job also once held by Michael Wilhelmi, co-chair and registered lobbyist for the Coalition for St. Croix River Crossing. Campbell was appointed to that position by Mayor Norm Coleman, He was director of governmental relations (lobbyist) for the Davis Family Holdings, and is former executive director of the Senate Republican Caucus.

According to Stillwater City Councilor Micky Cook, Campbell “advised” Harycki on his mayoral race and has “advised” other members of the council as well.

Harycki has been trying to get Campbell and his group on the city payroll since at least 2007. At Harycki’s request, according to City Council minutes, Campbell pitched the City of Stillwater on a lobbying proposal in February 2007, but the City balked at taking on a new lobbyist at the start of the legislative session.

Stillwater had contracted with local lobbyist Ed Cain in 2006 at a rate of $75/hour, to a maximum of $46,000 a year. Cain, who was also a lobbyist for the fraudster known as "Bobby Thompson,"  had been paid tens of thousands of dollars over the years to lobby on the city’s behalf, mostly for the Stillwater bridge. However, the city appears to have gotten little for Cain’s efforts. Cain last contracted with the City of Stillwater in 2008, according to CFB records.

Michele Bachmann and Stillwater lobbyist Ed Cain

Campbell’s 2007 proposal to the City for “State and Federal legislative services” stated they would “meet with all levels of elected officials their staffs and governmental officials to advocate for the listed and approved legislative agenda,” which included funding for the Stillwater bridge.

That also sounds a lot like a lobbyist.

In his 2007 proposal for “State and Federal legislative services,” Campbell lists himself, former state representative Tom Osthoff and former General Mills and Gelco executive Jack Bell as principals in the Conach group. However, there are no records of state lobbyist registrations for any of them on file with the CFB as far back as 2005. 

COOK GRILLS HARYCKI AND HANSEN

Campbell’s hiring didn’t come without considerable discussion, raised chiefly by Cook, the City Council’s lone Bachmann Boondoggle critic.

Cook questioned the qualifications of the group and suggested that due diligence be done before hiring them. But City Administrator Larry Hansen and Mayor Harycki rose to Campbell’s defense, citing Campbell’s past volunteer work on the Brown’s Creek project and the fact that Campbell has “lots of connections.”

Cook questioned the lack of competitive bidding for the position and, according to minutes from the April 19 Council meeting, Hansen “noted that the City did go through the interview and RFP process for lobbying services a number of years ago and he was not very impressed with many of the candidates and the costs considerably higher.”

Cook also challenged the transparency of the process and the position. She argued that the contract language describing the time devoted to work was vague and ambiguous and suggested that Campbell provide the City with monthly reports on what the group was working on. Cook was concerned that the bulk of the work would be done on the Bachmann Boondoggle at the expense of the armory, Zephyr trail and levee projects, which she supported.

But according to Council minutes, “Mayor Harycki suggested that any published reporting may impede some of the ongoing discussions,” so that was rejected. The contract states only that “The City will rely upon the Consultant to put forth such effort as is reasonably necessary to fulfill the spirit and purpose of the Contract” and that “the nature of the work done by consultant will be reviewed at least quarterly to determine whether work should be deleted or added based upon changed circumstances.”

In the end, the only change to Campbell’s contract was to adjust the time required to terminate the contract from 90 days to 60 days—a move that Harycki initially resisted. The contract sailed through the Council with Cook casting the only dissenting vote.

THE SMELL TEST

With no accountability or transparency, it’s difficult to determine exactly what Stillwater is getting for its $1,500 a month in “legislative support.” It’s even more difficult to figure out how one works “to secure the required support of the Federal Government, State of Minnesota and any administrative Department of either entity for the approval and funding of the pending St. Croix River Crossing at Stillwater” without lobbying.

Mayor Harycki says there is a “fine line” between lobbying and legislative consulting. It will be interesting to see what the Campaign Finance and Public Disclosure Board makes of Harycki’s balancing act.

Something smells rotten in Stillwater, and it ain’t dead sheepshead on the beach.

UPDATE, JULY 27, 2011:

Ripple in Stillwater author Karl Bremer has filed a formal complaint with the Minnesota Campaign Finance and Public Disclosure Board (CFB) over the alleged lobbying of unregistered lobbyist Mike Campbell on behalf of the City of Stillwater. After reviewing the complaint, the CFB will determine whether to proceed with an investigation of the matter. According to the CFB, within 30 days, the board will make a public finding of whether or not there is probable cause to believe a violation has occurred.

Also, a check of federal lobbyist records shows no record of lobbyist registration for Mike Campbell or The Conach Group at either the U.S. Senate or U.S. House of Representatives.

Top photo: Stillwater Mayor Ken Harycki, right, walks lockstep with Gov. Mark Dayton, Michele Bachmann, and husband and political strategist Marcus Bachmann on a tour of the Stillwater Lift Bridge.

Is Stillwater the next Wasilla?

By Karl Bremer

With Michele Bachmann’s entry into the 2012 presidential race, is her hometown of Stillwater, Minnesota, about to suffer the fate of Sarah Palin’s Wasilla, Alaska? If media response in my inbox is any indication, the answer is yes.

Just in the days since Bachmann cleverly hijacked the first GOP debate of the 2012 campaign with the hardly surprising news that she had filed papers to be a candidate, I’ve been contacted by no less than four members of the national and international press about Bachmann’s background. Several already have visited Stillwater and more are on their way. The question on all of their minds is: What on earth kind of people elected Michele Bachmann?

In defense of my own hometown of Stillwater, I have to inform them that if they are looking for the typical Bachmann Teabagger voter, they are more likely to find them elsewhere in the 6th District, since Bachmann has failed to carry Stillwater in any of her three congressional races. In fact, it wasn’t until she moved to ultraconservative West Lakeland Township, which went for Tom Emmer over Mark Dayton by a margin of more than 2:1 in 2010, that Bachmann ever managed to even carry her own precinct.

So I steer them to Wright County on the west side of the district, home of Bachmann’s hateful anti-gay “minister” pal “Bradlee Dean” and failed gubernatorial candidate Tom Emmer, where Bachmann won handily in virtually every precinct. Nonetheless, the parade of media to the Birthplace of Minnesota on the St. Croix is likely to continue.

Guess which pom-pom girl is running for president.

Perhaps they would be better off going to Anoka, where Bachmann went to high school (and was a cheerleader). The Anoka-Hennepin District is fast gaining a reputation as one of the most hostile school districts in the state to gay students, so that might be a good place to start if they’re looking for what shaped Bachmann’s virulent homophobia.

Reporters also might want to look up Stillwater lobbyist and Bachmann pal Ed Cain while they’re in town. He and Michele have been tight for years, and he probably introduced her to some of her fat-cat donors, like his lobbying client “Bobby Thompson.” They might ask Ed if he’s seen his pal “Bobby” as some other folks are looking for him, too.

Bachmann can run but she cannot hide from the harsh scrutiny of the national and international media that have begun to take notice of her. She’s now having to face questions about some of the issues the local media have conveniently given her a pass on for years.

Some reporters have begun challenging Bachmann’s oft-repeated claim of having “raised” 23 foster children. Others are nosing around husband and chief political strategist Marcus Bachmann's Christian counseling clinic, long rumored to be a practitioner of “curing” gays. Still others are amazed at the paucity of legislative accomplishments Bachmann has had as a state senator or congresswoman as they search for evidence of her qualifications to be president.

We can only hope that Stillwater will fare somewhat better under the glare of the media spotlight than the backwater Alaskan town of Wasilla. Democratic operative and good ol’ boy James Carville in 2008 famously compared Palin’s Wasilla City Hall to a south Louisiana bait shop in the video below (go to 6:00).

Becoming known as the hometown of a divisive and extremist politician like Michele Bachmann isn’t likely to endear Stillwater to anyone but her theocratic, homophobic base. Fortunately, they won’t find the welcome mat rolled out for them here. Stillwater is better than that.

Maybe we should be happy that Bachmann has been trying to make over her past for political expediency. Let her proudly proclaim that she’s an Iowan and be thankful she’s kicking off her campaign in Waterloo and not Stillwater.

Otherwise, it won’t be long before we’re competing for deck space at the Dock Café with the likes of John Oliver and Samantha Bee.


Cheerleader photo from 1974 Anoka High Schook yearbook.

Stillwater's Caton Felix murder: Unsolved after 30 years

Neighborhood grocer was stabbed to death in the back of his Greeley Street store in October 1980, but no one has ever been charged in the crime.

By Karl Bremer

The blood of Caton Felix has long been scrubbed from the floor in the back of the old Stillwater neighborhood grocery and radio/tv repair shop that bore his name. Pre-schoolers romp today where the crumpled body of the 79-year-old storekeeper lay on that October night in 1980, dead from a single stab wound in the back that pierced his heart.

Three decades later, Felix’s killer still walks the streets, and the murder that robbed Stillwater of a little of its innocence remains unsolved—or at least unproven.

It’s not for lack of suspects or leads. There have been plenty over the years: a jailhouse confession overheard; a 17-year-old suicide victim; neighborhood youths who hung around Felix’s shop on South Greeley Street; a convicted murderer in another Stillwater homicide that took place less than a year later.

In some cases, even though the alibis for their whereabouts during the time the murder occurred just didn’t add up, there wasn’t enough physical evidence to conclusively tie them to the crime. In others, the source for the lead was not trustworthy or the motivation for offering it was suspect.

What’s lacking in every lead or person of interest is a clear motive. If it was robbery, the perpetrator almost certainly got less than $150. If not, well, there are theories about that too.

The murder weapon was never found. The case was further hampered by sloppy handling of what little physical evidence there was. The few fingerprints that were lifted from the crime scene were accidentally destroyed while in the hands of the St. Paul Police Department and had to be re-taken years later. And in at least one instance, a key report from a nearby neighbor appears to have been dismissed as inconsequential.

The reopening of the case in 1996 came to a standstill at one point when the lead investigator on it was thrown off the police force due to an unrelated matter. It has remained open in Washington County ever since. The state Bureau of Criminal Apprehension’s (BCA) Cold Case Unit has officially closed the case.

While the investigation has taken several twists and turns and meandered down a few dead ends along the way, there’s one theory on which everyone agrees: Felix’s killer was someone he knew in this small town.

YUKON TERRITORY TO STILLWATER
Caton H. Felix was born Dec. 12, 1900, in Dawson City in Alaska’s Yukon Territory. His father was a gold prospector. Their family lived in a log cabin and traveled by dog sled.

After Caton’s mother died when he was six, he and a sister took a boat down the Yukon River to the Pacific Ocean and then down the coast to Seattle. An uncle met them there and sent Caton on to Stillwater to live with another uncle.

Caton grew up working on a farm there and at 19, he left Stillwater and returned to Alaska to work for the railroad. After two years, he returned to Minnesota a skilled mechanic.

Felix continued working as a mechanic and eventually married his wife, Catherine Rettinger. In the late 1930s, they bought the tiny grocery store on South Greeley in Stillwater. Caton went to night school to learn radio and tv repair and, as with his auto repair business, soon gained a reputation for quality work.

Felix Grocery and Radio Repair—known at one time as Black Cat Grocery after the famous cartoon feline—grew into a Stillwater institution. Like many of Stillwater’s neighborhood groceries, Felix stocked a tantalizing array of candy—gooey marshmallow-chocolate Valomilk cups, chewy-caramel Slo-Poke suckers, splintery peanut-butter logs—and a galaxy of gumballs—turquoise licorice Sputniks, lip-puckering Sour Apples and tart-sweet Sour Grapes.

Felix kept a dog close by, either in the store or chained to the sink in back. He had at least three over the years. They were always black, always named “Smokey,” and all knew the same tricks. Like retrieving pennies off the floor and placing them on the counter, then waiting patiently until Felix tossed them a malted milk ball. Or growling a gruff “Hi ya” at Felix’s command.

Underage smokers came to know Felix’s as an easy place to buy cigarettes, or a Schmidt Select “near beer.” Countless hours were spent sitting on one of the old pop crates in back reserved for visitors, smoking and howling with laughter as Felix held court and issued his ribald take on the news of the day, spun tales of Alaskan mining towns or heaped abuse on some unsuspecting rube who walked through the door. A kid could get quite an education in the back of that old store—and often did in place of Sunday School.

A favorite target for Felix’s rancor was his nemesis the Hooleys, whose family owned two of the town’s large grocery stores and later went on to found megagrocers Cub Foods in 1974.

“All those sons o’ whores down at St. Mike’s on Sunday, you think they’re saying ‘Holy, holy, holy’ when they bow down and pray? Hell, no!” the pint-size Felix would bark, his voice rising as he paced the floor. “They’re saying ‘Hooley, Hooley, Hooley!’”

One day, a poor lost soul wandered in looking for directions to the local hospital a few blocks away.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Felix snapped. “Do you see a sign on the door that says ‘Free Information’? I don’t make anything off free information, for Christ’s sake!” When the man offered to buy a pack of cigarettes, Felix retorted that he didn’t make much off cigarettes, either, and sent him out the door with neither directions nor smokes.

Paul Junker, a candy wholesaler who called on Felix for about 10 years, remembered an elderly woman who came in looking for some canning lids in a year when they were in short supply. Like most everyone else, Felix was out of them and couldn’t make a sale, so he gave the old woman a piece of his mind instead.

“You’ve never been in this gawddamn store before, and you’ll probably never come in here again,” he railed. “I had a whole basement full of lids last year. Where the hell were ya then?”

The woman turned on her heels and left without saying a word, Junker chuckled.

“He really intimidated me the first time I stopped there,” Junker said, “until finally I just hollered back at him. He grinned ear to ear. The more you hollered at him, the better he liked it.”

When a customer came in for something out of the slant-faced glass dairy cooler, Felix would slide open the back door to retrieve it, send a blast of cigar smoke into the cooler from the smoldering stub between his lips, and slam the door shut. Some swore it was the only place in town where you could get cigar-flavored milk.

To get an item off the high shelves, he’d enlist the aid of a ladder or a visitor. After pulling it down, Felix would subtly turn his back to the customer as he wiped a layer of dust off the item with his sleeve. It wouldn’t have mattered to most of them anyway. They were just glad Felix had that extra can of green beans they needed for their casserole that night.


OCTOBER 1980
Caton Felix was one of the last of a vanishing breed of neighborhood grocers in Stillwater. At one time, no matter where you lived in town, you could find one of a half-dozen or more within easy walking distance. But by 1980, most had succumbed to the growing Hooley-Cub empire.

Felix had all but shut down the grocery end of his business since 1978, stocking only enough candy, cigarettes and other essentials to keep the occasional customer coming by. Slowed by arthritis, he used a walker to get around. He still did some radio and stereo repairs from his white-frame combination business and residence. And for the fortunate few who still dropped in the last couple of years hungry for a helping of Felix’s salty philosophy, he kept a stash of pop and beer in a cooler by the back door.

On Wednesday, October 22, a 28-year-old friend who did odd jobs for Caton stopped by the store around 11 a.m. with a piece of apple pie for him. The large young man was a regular visitor.
Jack, Felix’s son, spoke to Caton around 6 p.m. Later that evening, Felix called Paul Junker’s wife and asked her to have Paul stop by the store the next day for a candy order.

Around 7:30, another young male friend of Felix’s—a 20-year-old who also did some work for him from time to time—stopped by to pay Caton $70 down on a stereo he was buying from him and stayed for about an hour. He was the last person known to have seen and talked with Felix in person, and would become a person of interest in the killing.

At 9:50 p.m., Caton’s pie-bearing friend from that morning called and the two chatted for a little over a half hour. At 10:28 p.m., Caton’s friend told him he had just two minutes to do what he needed to do before Johnny Carson was on. He was the last person known to have talked to Felix, and also remained a person of interest for many years.

About 11 p.m., a boy next door came home and saw Caton inside sitting in his chair. His dog was still chained outside and very docile, which seemed unusual to the boy. Another witness said Felix always put his dog out at 9:30 in the morning and 9:30 in the evening, and agreed that it was odd to find it still outside at 11 p.m. Still another witness claimed he walked by Felix’s about 11:30 p.m. that night and saw no dog outside. And a man who returned from the 11 p.m. shift at Andersen Windows drove by Felix’s around 11:15 and saw a pickup truck parked outside.

One witness reported that Caton came into St. Croix Rexall Drug downtown Stillwater “after dark” that night accompanied by a male wearing a plaid “Pendleton” shirt.

The next day, October 23, Paul Junker stopped by Felix’s store around 11 a.m. He knocked at the side door and got no response. The doors and windows were all locked, so he peered in the window on the south side of the house and saw Caton lying on the floor “toes down.”

Recalled Junker in a 1982 interview: “I knew he didn’t pray, so he wasn’t kneeling.”

Junker called Stillwater Police at 11:19 a.m., and they broke a window to get inside. Felix’s dog was chained to the sink, where he usually put her to keep her out of the store in front. Caton was lying on the floor of the living room in a large pool of dried blood, his bloody left hand still gripping his walker.

The television set was on and tuned to Channel 11 (NBC). The heat was turned up to 80 degrees.
Felix was dressed in his usual attire: white shirt, black pants and belt, long underwear, wool socks and bedroom slippers. The Ramsey County Medical Examiners report noted a single stab wound just to the left of the spine 8 inches below the nape of his neck, 2/3 inch wide and 2.5 inches deep. The wound angled downward, and blood splatters on the floor and chair indicated that Felix was either sitting or getting out of his rocker when he was stabbed. Felix’s injuries were not life-threatening, the report stated, and he may have laid there for a period before dying.

Nothing in the house or store appeared to be disturbed, other than a tin cash box containing $16 in one-dollar bills and change. It was found sitting on the counter next to the cash register in the store. Caton always kept it under the counter to make change from so he didn’t have to use the clunky old cash register.

The only thing missing—besides the murder weapon—appeared to be Felix’s tri-fold wallet, which he always carried in his left rear pocket with no more than $50-$70 in it.

An ash tray with a Benson & Hedges cigarette butt was found on the counter by the cash register. A cigarette pack and an empty Tiparillo cigar box were also found in the store. Fingerprints were lifted from the cash box and cigarette pack in 1980; a fingerprint from one "person of interest" was lifted from the Tiparillo box in 1997.

Two knives—a Rapala filet knife and a kitchen knife with a red substance on the blade—were taken for evidence but both tested negative for blood.

Two days later, a woman on W. Myrtle Street a few blocks away reported that she found a 4-5/8-inch Regent Swords brand knife in the rose bushes in front of her house. That, too, eventually tested negative for blood.

One report of suspicious activity in the neighborhood the night Felix was murdered was seemingly dismissed by police.

A 75-year-old woman who lived on Owens Street 1.5 blocks south of Felix’s store called police after she heard about the murder to pass on what she thought was valuable information. Around 3:50 a.m. on Oct. 23—the night of the murder—she and her husband awoke to voices outside their bedroom window on the north side. Both sounded like they were in their late teens—one male and one female.

The female’s voice “had an urgent tone to it,” she reported, and it sounded like they were “planning something” or “hiding from someone.” At one point, the woman reported, the girl said “This is the last time we’re going over this.” Her husband went outside to look around but saw nothing. When he returned, she told him “not to be surprised if we had a burglary or robbery in the neighborhood the next day.”

Surprisingly, she told investigators in a 1996 interview, the police officer at the time “seemed unconcerned” but agreed to take her statement anyway. “He asked no questions,” she said.

WRONG FUNERAL, WRONG NAME?
Caton H. Felix was buried in Stillwater’s Fairview Cemetery on October 28, five days after he died at the hands of a friendly assailant who remains unknown 30 years later.

Barbara Felix, married to Caton’s other son, Chris, described her father-in-law’s funeral in a eulogy written shortly after his death.

“The reverend who delivered the address spoke of angels winging skyward and the soul’s eternal resting place. Many thought his works were inspired; others thought he’d mistakenly come to the wrong funeral.”

In an oddly prescient interview with St. Paul Pioneer Press-Dispatch columnist Don Del Fiacco in 1978, Felix reflected on his life:

“Life hasn’t been easy. But I don’t have a hell of a lot to complain about. Why do I stay in business? I’ll be damned if I know. I don’t know what else I’d do. I suppose I’ll go until I drop. Some day I’ll just be layin’ there on the floor and the dog won’t have anybody to feed her.”

When Felix’s death was reported in the local Stillwater Gazette, the paper misspelled his first name as “Cayton.” Misspellings of his name so irritated Felix that he eventually began going by “C.H. Felix” to avoid the whole issue.

“They’ll probably spell my name wrong on my gawddamn tombstone when I die,” Jack remembered his father saying once.

Caton would have flashed that impish grin of his knowing he was right again. The first tombstone for his grave had to be returned to the monument maker. It was engraved “Cayton H. Felix.”

WHODUNNIT?
The early investigation into Caton Felix’s murder was beset by dropped clues and mishandled evidence. Witness reports were ignored or forgotten about. The original fingerprints were destroyed while in the possession of the St. Paul Police Department. A knife confiscated from a young suspect in another incident was destroyed while in the possession of the Stillwater Police Department. Even the Medical Examiner’s report had the wrong date on it.

“Between the city and the county, they really botched that investigation,” Jack Felix asserts. “They went around in circles.”

Law enforcement agencies and Crimestoppers have received dozens of leads and names of suggested suspects over the years. Four suspects percolated to the top of the list, but the investigation ultimately has come down to one.

The individual who had the last known contact with Caton Felix remains the primary person of interest in this small-town murder mystery. His stories of where he was the night of the murder shifted from one version to another, and he could never fully account for about an hour and a half during the time the murder is believed to have taken place.

The 20-year-old male was a regular visitor to Felix’s. He lived about three blocks away from the store and did occasional odd jobs for him. He even accompanied Felix in his Thunderbird on trips to Lerk’s Bar in Afton.

Two to three days after the murder, the young man came to the door of Felix’s son, Jack, next door to Caton’s. His eyes were puffy like he’d been crying and he pleaded that he had nothing to do with Felix’s murder. Jack found that odd, because at that time, he hadn’t discussed that at all with the young man.

On Oct. 22 around 7:30 p.m., the young man told police that he put $70 down on a $150 stereo Felix had for sale, with the balance to be paid when Felix replaced the turntable needle. He laid the money on a desk next to Felix’s rocker in the three-room apartment behind the store and bought three packs of Tiparillos and a bottle of pop.

After leaving Felix’s, he told police he made the rounds of a couple of local bars and a friend’s house for a few beers, stopped at Ember’s to eat for an hour and a half, and went home about 11 p.m. In an interview three weeks later, he said he ate at Burger King the night of the murder, not Ember’s. His girl friend placed his time of arrival at home at around 12:30 a.m.

The young man’s girl friend left work early that night because she said she had to meet her boyfriend at the apartment as he had the only key. She punched out at 10:05 p.m.

In a 1997 interview, the person of interest gave still another version of events from that night. He said he went straight home after going to the bars. His girlfriend wasn’t home yet, so he stopped by her work, watched her leave and then followed her home. He claimed that he got home about five minutes before her, around 11 p.m.

The whereabouts of the couple for the remainder of that night before and after midnight remain murky. So does the explanation for the story the person of interest’s girlfriend gave to her boss for not coming to work the next day. She phoned in and claimed she and her boyfriend had gone to pay back her boyfriend’s grandfather some money they owed him and found him stabbed to death at his home after he didn’t answer the door. However, there was no relationship between Felix and either of the two. She told a co-worker when she returned to work the following day that they were suspects in the stabbing death of her boyfriend’s grandfather.

The 20-year-old male was re-interviewed at the crime scene a week later, and a Washington County deputy wrote that he “shivered and shook and acted like he was going to give it up, but he never did.” He refused to submit to a polygraph test, initially agreed to a stress test, and then abruptly cancelled an appointment for one.

He has since “lawyered up” and quit talking, investigators say.

The murder weapon was never recovered. Always assumed to be a small knife between 4" and 5" long, one witness’s statement suggested another possibility.

The witness, a longtime friend of Felix’s who still did his bookkeeping, told police that Caton always kept a letter opener on a desk next to his pipe stand. However, there is no letter opener in any of the photographs taken of the crime scene, including the desk with the pipe stand. One investigator confirmed that based on the size of Felix’s wound, the letter-opener could have been the murder weapon.

In June 1997, police got a tip from a man in prison serving a life sentence for another murder in Stillwater that occurred nine months after Felix’s. The convicted murderer, who was a person of interest in the Felix case himself at one time, claimed he knew who killed Felix and where the murder weapon was buried. If the cops looked in the ravine on the west side of Everett Street on Stillwater’s North Hill, he said, they’d find a one-sided, 4.5- to 5-inch folding Buck-type knife with a broken tip and the initials “H.B.” on it. The Medical Examiner said a knife of that description could have been the murder weapon.

Investigators excavated a 4,000- to 5,000-square-foot area in the ravine but found nothing.

He continued to feed investigators tips about the case, but none ever bore fruit.

When the case was reopened, investigators obtained court orders to attach a “pen register” to the phones of some suspects before they were re-interviewed. The device records the phone numbers of all outgoing calls from a telephone line. However, there is nothing in the record that indicates that exercise produced any useful information either.

A number of theories about Felix’s killer and the motive for his murder have been advanced. Robbery was one of the first.

Although it was rumored that Felix had a couple hundred thousand dollars squirreled away, Jack told police that was “laughable.” His father didn’t make $200,000 in his lifetime, let along have enough to stash, Jack said in a 1982 interview.

Police estimate Felix had no more than $150 in his wallet when he was killed—the $70 or so that he normally carried, plus the $70 he got as down payment on the stereo that night. Nothing else in the house appeared to be disturbed or missing. That lead investigators to believe that a planned robbery may not have been the primary motive for the murder, and that the theft of Felix’s wallet was merely incidental to the deed.

There was no sign of forced entry, and Jack said no one besides Caton, himself and possibly Jack’s brother, Chris, had keys to the place. Felix’s assailant almost surely knew him, and probably very well, for him to unlock the door and let him in late at night. Felix’s dog wouldn’t have let just anyone bring her in either.

Knowledge of the cash box under the counter also suggests someone who was familiar with the store. Felix never would have left it out, says Jack. “He wasn’t going to go in that house and leave that tin box out on the counter. He was a creature of habit.”

Junker agreed. During the initial investigation, he told police, “If Felix did something a certain way today, he had done it the same way for 10 years and would do it the same way for 10 years into the future.”

Washington County Sheriff Deputy Ike Risenhoover noted in the initial investigation that the knife didn’t “bottom out” in Felix’s body. That suggests that the killer acted impulsively—not with pre-meditation—and when he realized what he had done, tried to retract the knife before it went all the way in.

That fits the scenario of what likely happened that October night as put forth by one Washington County Sheriff deputy during the original investigation:

The primary person of interest used his and his girlfriend’s rent money to buy a stereo from Felix. When his girlfriend found out, he returned to Felix’s that night to get his money back. An argument ensued, and Felix either caught him trying to steal money from his cash box or tried to get him to leave. As Caton got out of his rocker, he headed for the dresser where he kept a .38 Smith & Wesson revolver when his assailant stabbed him in the back with a knife or his own letter-opener.

“He died right there in front of the dresser where he kept the gun,” says Jack.

The Caton Felix murder case is officially closed at the Bureau of Criminal Apprehension, says Special Agent Gary Swanson. “When we’ve exhausted all leads and have no more evidence to examine, it’s closed.”

Swanson says they were stymied by the fact that police didn’t have the technology back then to examine what little evidence they collected. And, he notes, “There’s evidence that is missing in this case. I don’t know if some of it was ever taken.”

He knows fingernail scrapings were collected from Felix, but they were never found in the evidence when the case was reopened. Felix’s pants, too, could have contained important clues. With today’s DNA collection methods, they might be able to gather evidence from the pocket from which Felix’s wallet was taken. But Swanson assumes the pants were destroyed. With three different law enforcement agencies and four different labs handling evidence, it wasn’t the best of situations.

Swanson was a Washington County Sheriff deputy when Felix was murdered but wasn’t involved in the initial investigation. When he came to the BCA, one of the first things he did was review the entire case.

“I did the few things I thought we could do,” Swanson concluded. “This is one I really wanted to solve. I grew up on Pine Street about three blocks away and went in that store as a kid all the time … You and I know who did it. We just can’t prove it.”

Anyone with information related to the Caton Felix murder should contact Special Agent Gary Swanson at the Minnesota Bureau of Criminal Apprehension at 651.793.7000.

Top photo: Caton Felix, 1979. Courtesy of Washington County Historical Society
Felix portrait: Courtesy of Jack Felix
Felix Radio sign: Courtesy of Mike Hurley
Photo above: A pre-school occupies the former Felix's Grocery today.