It's Day 457...It's also August 5th 2020...and we are in Fargo North Dakota

It's Day 457...It's also August 5th 2020...and we are in Fargo North Dakota

Arriving in Fargo was not what I had expected. First, it is WAY bigger....than I had ever imagined. Even though I read the population numbers before arriving…it still felt bigger. The town of 50,000 that my parents left in 1964 is now well over 100,000 and the Fargo/Moorehead Metro area is home to nearly a quarter of a million people…certainly not the town my folks had left all those years ago.

If you stand in the middle of Fargo today, surrounded by its downtown revival, busy streets....a little quieter at the moment...you know...pandemic and all...and that skyline scraping its way towards the future.

It’s hard to imagine that this place—this very ground—was once the edge of the known world. A place where the prairie stretched on forever, silence...broken only the sounds of bison herds, the whisper of tall grass, and the slow, patient carving of the Red River of the North.

Fargo was never meant to be a city. It was a stop, a crossing, a waypoint on the way to somewhere else. But, as is often the case with history, fate had other plans.

A Town that would be built by Iron and Ice

The story of Fargo, North Dakota, begins with two forces: the railroad and the river.

Before the first rail was laid, before the first structure was built, this land was home to the Dakota, Lakota, and Anishinaabe people—tribes who understood the power of the unforgiving prairie and the sacred water that wound its way through it. But in the late 1800s, everything changed.

The Northern Pacific Railroad came pushing westward, a steel artery cutting across the land, bringing with it settlers, merchants, and the unrelenting march... of change.

In 1871, a group of railroad workers camped near the river, at a spot that would soon become Central Avenue. They called it “Centralia” at first, but soon after, it was renamed Fargo, after William Fargo, An executive with the Northern Pacific Railroad...and co-founder of Wells Fargo. The name was meant to inspire big dreams—money, movement, and progress.

Fargo grew fast and rough. Saloons and brothels lined the streets, catering to the railroad men, cowboys, and traders passing through.

Fires ripped through the town more than once, reducing its early buildings to ash. But every time, Fargo rebuilt itself—bigger, stronger, and even more determined than before.

By the early 1900s, Fargo had transformed into a major agricultural hub. Farmers flooded into the region, drawn by the promise of rich soil and endless opportunity. The railroad made it possible to ship grain, cattle, and goods across the country, cementing Fargo’s position....as literally....the heart of North Dakota’s economy.

But history has never been kind to those who grow too comfortable. And Fargo was about to learn that lesson the hard way.

The Great Fargo Fire of 1893

If you had been standing in downtown Fargo on June 7, 1893, you would have seen it begin with something small—a flicker, a wisp of smoke, curling up from the Stebbins & Post Hardware store on Front Street.

And then—chaos.

The fire tore through Fargo with terrifying speed, swallowing up wooden buildings like dry kindling. Within hours, nearly the entire business district was gone—over 160 acres reduced to smoldering rubble. Hundreds were left homeless. The city, once thriving, now looked like a graveyard of charred remains.

But here’s what makes Fargo, Fargo.

They didn’t leave. They didn’t give up. They rebuilt.

Brick replaced wood. Fire codes were written. And out of the ashes, a new Fargo rose—stronger, smarter, and again... more determined than ever before.

By the 1920s, Fargo had grown into a city of opportunity—and crime.

One of the most shocking moments in its history came on a cold day in 1933. It was the height of the Great Depression, and across the country, desperation was turning into lawlessness.

Enter Charles Bannon, a farmhand from outside of Fargo, who would go on to be one of North Dakota’s most infamous murderers. The case? The Schafer family murders.

Bannon had been hired to work on the Schafer farm but had sinister intentions. One by one, he killed the entire family—father, mother, and four children—disposing of their bodies in a shocking display of brutality. When word spread of his arrest, vigilantes stormed the jail, dragging him into the freezing night. Justice, in their eyes, wasn’t going to wait for a courtroom.

Bannon was hanged by that mob in the dead of winter—the last lynching in North Dakota history. It remains one of the most chilling stories ever tied to the Fargo area, a grim reminder of the desperate and lawless times that once gripped the region.

And then....Fargo’s Flood Fights

Fargo, for all its growth and resilience, has always had one natural enemy: the Red River of the North.

Unlike most rivers, the Red River flows north, which means that when the snow melts, floodwaters have nowhere to go—and Fargo sits right in the path.

The Great Flood of 1997 was a disaster of epic proportions. The river swelled to nearly 40 feet, swallowing homes and businesses, forcing thousands to evacuate.

National news cameras captured the images of people fighting to save their city with sandbags and sheer determination.

Then, in 2009, it happened again.

The river crested at an unbelievable 40.8 feet, the highest in recorded history. But Fargo did what Fargo always does—it fought. Residents worked around the clock, filling over 3.5 million sandbags, building dikes, doing anything they could to hold back the water.

And somehow, they won. The city survived.

Today, massive flood protection projects are in place, but the people of Fargo know better than to underestimate the river. The fight is never truly over

Fargo is not just a city of survival—it’s a city of reinvention.

Once thought of as just another stop on the map, Fargo has become one of the Midwest’s most surprising cultural hotspots. Downtown has transformed with art galleries, craft breweries, and a thriving music scene. North Dakota State University fuels the city with energy, research, and, of course, Bison football dominance.

And then there’s the Coen Brothers’ 1996 film, “Fargo”, which, despite being filmed nowhere near the city, cemented its name in pop culture forever. The woodchipper scene? Fargo will never live that one down.

But beneath all of that—beneath the modern buildings, the university life, the festivals, and the revitalized streets—the old Fargo still lingers.

It’s in the resilience of the people, the way they come together when the floodwaters rise, the way they rebuild after the fires, the way they embrace the cold winters and the challenges that come with it.

Fargo is, and always has been, a place of survival. A place where people dig in their heels and refuse to be pushed aside.

It’s not just a city.

It’s a testament to the spirit of the North.

Forward thinking in other ways as well...as the area continued to thrive....Fargo would institute refugee re-settlement programs during the 1980's... Programs administered largely by the areas Lutheran churches....and as a result... Today the area draws folks from not only around the country…but around the globe to find success in everything from education and tech, to food processing, manufacturing, and health care. The area consistently reports amongst the lowest unemployment rates in the nation as well as some of the most affordable housing.

As if it did not have enough going for it…Money Magazine has named Fargo the best place in America to start a business.... several times. Who knew?

As for me, Fargo was a few days camped on the banks of the Red River, enjoying walks to the library, and driving through the old neighborhoods, I imagined what Fargo must have looked like when my parents were young—when my father walked these very streets on his way to school. Did he ever wonder if the city...or anyone..... would remember him?

I had learned so much.....standing on the side of a mountain in Craig Montana.....and in a library in Cascade Montana....the past....the ancestry....it had weight there.....and it's what brought me here....

Because....there was still something missing......The other side of the family....

Something I thought I could find in the city where generations of my family had lived, worked, and built their lives.

Yet, It seems....in all that history...just fragments.....fragments forgotten....or simply never told...on purpose maybe.

Before I knew it.... it felt like I was looking for something I couldn’t even quite name.

I followed the past where it led me—like the building that once housed Teamsters Local 116, the place my grandfather had called work for years. But when I got there....there was nothing left...nothing of past....a building still stood in the parking lot....contractors renovating for another business to move in.....no one knew anything of the name Teamsters....One of the contractors said the building had been many things over the years....but he had no recollection of anything Teamsters related. Another example....of a thing that had vanished with time.

Standing in that parking lot, trying to connect with something that no longer existed, I realized something:

It's almost as if some pieces of the past aren’t meant to be found.

I had come to Fargo hoping to uncover something tangible—something I could hold onto. Instead, I left with something far less certain.

I left with a sense of absence, an understanding that history is often more about what’s missing than what remains.

I may have left Fargo with little more that a visual....a high school yearbook photo.... of what my young father looked like…and a sense of the city the family once called home…

but I also left understanding the importance of knowing the difference between what you want to know…and what you need to know…and learning to being ok with the fact that there are somethings you will never know...