Some older readers – hi, Aunt Shirley! — may have childhood memories of Longfellow Gardens, a zoo adjacent to Minnehaha Falls. It opened in 1907 and attracted thousands of visitors each year before closing in 1934.

At its peak the Minneapolis zoo boasted a variety of animals: hippos, zebras, camels, elephants and, of course, lions and tigers and bears. Most were kept in small pens, pits or cages, but deer, elk, flamingos and sea lions were allowed to roam the grounds, at least in the early years.

In 1907, one sea lion decided he’d had enough of the place and found a way out. The Tribune took a fanciful approach to Paupukeewis’ escape, with reports suggesting that the animal “flip-flopped” over Minnehaha Falls and made his way down the Mississippi River, stopping briefly at a houseboat in “Lillydale” on his way south in search of “sunny climes.”

In this initial report, the Tribune informed readers that the escapee “wore a plain suit of shiny black” and answered readily to the name of Paupukeewis. The clever mammal proved elusive. Despite numerous sightings in the days that followed, Paupukeewis was never recaptured.

Roaring Sea Lion
Is Rolling Along
to Sunny Climes

Paupukeewis, the sea lion which R.F. Jones thought was tame enough to stand without being hitched, has neglected to wire its master since it left its beautiful suburban home in Longfellow Gardens and went splashing down the Mississippi. Thinking it might have decided to spend a few days at that delightful down-the-river bathing place, Harriet Island, Mr. Jones has forwarded its description that it may be apprehended, but thus far no one seems to have seen the animal there.

Mr. Jones is afraid Paupukeewis is intending to make his way to the gulf and then wait around until the completion of the Panama canal, when it will cross to the Pacific to visit relatives at its former home, Santa Barbara, Cal.

The sea lion is said to have made a friendly overture to one John Knutson, a sorter on the St. Paul boom, to the extent of biting a piece out of his trousers and to have paddled away with the sample. Another report of the missing animal described him loitering lazily at the mouth of the Minnesota river, but plain-clothes men sent out from Longfellow Gardens failed to locate Paupukeewis.

Mr. Jones is afraid the animal will be the target of some sportsman who will mistake him for a great river monster, and to hasten the return of the pet he has offered rewards.

When it left home the sea lion wore a plain suit of shiny black, and it answers readily to the name of Paupukeewis.

Wearing his trademark top hat, zoo founder and owner Robert (Fish) Jones fed some of the sea lions that still roamed the grounds in about 1910. Click here for more photos of the zoo. (Photo courtesy mnhs.org)

In June 1934, Adolf Hitler broke onto the dark comedy scene with this howler: “At the risk of appearing to talk nonsense I tell you that the Nazi movement will go on for 1,000 years! … Don’t forget how people laughed at me 15 years ago when I declared that one day I would govern Germany. They laugh now, just as foolishly, when I declare that I shall remain in power!”

Six months later, the Minneapolis Star published an editorial that took the Nazis to task for failing to see a joke at their expense. Was anyone still laughing at der Führer by then?

Those Humorless Nazis

	A dead-serious War Production Board poster from 1942. (Image courtesy mnhs.org)

People whose position of power is none too stable are notoriously unable to see a joke at their expense. The man with a loud but flimsy argument is generally poorly armed against fun aimed at himself.

Similarly, the Nazis of Germany, in high and mighty dudgeon, are going to banish from Germany forever (or at least until the Nazis are thrown out) a naturalized American girl who had the temerity to laugh at Nazi storm troop uniforms.

The poor girl probably couldn’t help herself, and forgot that in Germany you can’t do what in America is perfectly natural and also constitutional — laugh when the impulse strikes you to laugh. The inability of the Nazis to see a joke on themselves may help, eventually, to topple them. A sense of humor is a vital ingredient of stability. How else could the American democratic form of government have endured so long?

The Minnesota State Fair has featured many unusual attractions in its 150-year history: death-defying aerial acts, colliding locomotives, freak shows, live animal births, the Minnesota Iceman and premature babies in incubators. Wait … what? The Minneapolis Morning Tribune was there:

Tiny Baby Is Fair Marvel

Midget 11 Inches in Length, One
of Five Infants in
Incubator

Five premature babies, “all of good birth,” as the lecturer assures his audiences, are already in the infant incubators of the state fair, and as a feature of universal human interest the incubator holds its own, for from the moment the doors of the cottage where the babies are housed opened to the public a goodly crowd of spectators has been maintained.

Eleven inches in length and weighing one and a half pounds sizes up the smallest infant, which is kept in the end incubator and gives the impression of a much larger creature, by reason of its wrappings. A large pink satin bow is tied conspicuously below its armpits, and matches with remarkable accuracy its tiny face and hands.

The children are fed by wet nurses by means of a tube. Special scales, special self-rocking baskets are among the newest scientific devices for saving the tots, and padded dressing tables make easy, for the nurses, the task of handling and clothing the under-sized babies. They are kept in high temperature and their baths, which are daily, are 96 degrees Fahrenheit. Gradually the temperature and feeding is brought to the normal.

These resourceful lads found a way to get into a sideshow at the fair in about 1910. (Photo courtesy mnhs.org)