If you go to Craigville today, however, everybody won’t know your name. It would take an army to break up the Craigville party scene in its prime, and no army would take the time. If there was any trouble, and there would be, people would scatter into the night swamps or downriver, stealing away in the wide wilderness of Northern Minnesota. If you like to imagine things, imagine what it would have been to paddle down the Bigfork River on a Saturday night, guided to your destination by the raucous sounds of paychecks being blown to smithereens. The truth, most likely, lies somewhere between the legend and later efforts to bolster the town’s reputation. “Minnesota was not pioneered and developed by thieves and drunks,” the old-timer made clear. Stories of ruthless timber operators and brawling lumberjacks always made Mr. Reid said, with a sorrowful shake of his head. It was useless to argue with a brain like that,” Mr. “One of the freaks actually told me that he knew a number of dead bodies the were dropped through a hole in the Bigfork ice. The next day they would tell their chums what a wild time they had in Craig and of the dead bodies they saw lying around. “They could howl to their hearts’ content in competition with the coyotes. “They would choose Craig where there were no police or other authority and where the home folks had little chance of detection. “Groups of men and women - including an occasional historian from Effie, Deer River, Bigfork and Grand Rapids - would decide to get out and have a fling,” Mr. Reid said people who came to Craigville for trouble liked to embellish their stories when they got back to the bigger towns further south.
Only 100 people lived there year-round, he said, and they all held steady jobs. He told the late Grand Rapids Herald-Review columnist Ken Hickman in 1960 that the town was run by upstanding men who worked hard and built a community. What’s interesting is that the town’s founder, James Reid, went to his grave angry over the tarnishing of Craigville’s reputation. Considerable amounts of depression-era moonshine passed through Craigville. I remember an old timer telling me about Craigville, saying that the place was practically daring for a raid, but was protected by the surrounding wilderness. Perched on the Itasca and Koochiching border, its isolation made little allowance for law enforcement. At least one of the saloons became one of Northern Minnesota’s best known brothels.Ĭraigville was considered a great party town because its remote location six miles north of Effie. Craigville kept a post office from 1915 until 1952, and supported several hotels and saloons, one of which is seen in the photo. I live closer to Craigville than I do IRRRB headquarters in Eveleth.Īccording to legend, Craigville was a rootin,’ tootin’ lumber town that would swell to about 5,000 people during its peak season. In further surprise, I learned that Craigville, by my calculations, sits just 42 miles from MinnesotaBrown World Headquarters here in Itasca County. I recognized the image amid a pile of research about nefarious back woods hideaways in Northern Minnesota, which is what I was actually looking for. Ratzenberger played the annoying but lovable mailman Cliff Clavin.īut what I didn’t know is that Lee took this picture in Craigville, Minnesota, in 1937.
If it looks familiar it’s because it’s the picture they show on the opening sequence of “Cheers” as John Ratzenberger’s name appears on the screen. This photograph was taken by Russell Lee for the U.S.
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