A satirical weekly article highlighting fictious moments in Midwestern history
By Silas P. Whitmore, Minneapolis, Minnesota, March, 14 1878
There are many ways a man might expect to meet his untimely end in the Upper Midwest—freezing solid in a January blizzard, being trampled by an overzealous ox, or succumbing to the uniquely Midwestern condition of “too polite to call for help.” But on this fine spring evening, the noble men of the Washburn A Mill in Minneapolis discovered a fate far stranger: death by flour.
It began, as most disasters do, with an air of routine. Workers milled about (as one does in a mill), grinding away at their usual tasks, blissfully unaware that an invisible cloud of fine flour dust had gathered in the air like a vengeful spirit. You see, flour is not just the lifeblood of bakers and pie enthusiasts—it is also, under the right conditions, an explosive force rivaling a Civil War cannon. All it took was a single spark, perhaps from an overworked machine or the universe’s twisted sense of humor, and in an instant, the entire mill detonated in a magnificent white inferno, launching debris, flour sacks, and presumably a few very surprised pigeons high into the night sky.
The explosion set off a chain reaction, obliterating several neighboring mills and ensuring that for one shining moment, Minneapolis was home to the largest cloud of airborne pastry ingredients in history. Shocked onlookers, once they finished brushing the fine dusting of future biscuits from their shoulders, could only gape at the spectacle—one man, likely a German immigrant with a deep love of baked goods, was overheard muttering, “Ach, so much strudel wasted.”
While the tragedy claimed eighteen lives and laid waste to one of the largest flour-milling operations in the country, the city learned a valuable lesson that day: flour, while useful for bread, should not be stored in quantities better suited for a military-grade powder keg. From the ashes (and the impromptu pie crust that was likely forming on the ruined streets), safety regulations were eventually improved, and the Washburn A Mill was rebuilt bigger, stronger, and, presumably, a bit more explosion-resistant.
And so, dear reader, if you find yourself in Minneapolis this fine week, take a moment to tip your hat to the city’s flour-dusted past. And should you ever feel the urge to light a match in a bakery, well…perhaps consider a different career.