By Steve Paquin
If you scan a map of Minneapolis neighborhoods and schools, you’ll notice an unsurprising pattern: the names skew heavily toward men. Mostly white men. Presidents, senators, historians, industrialists, they’re the usual suspects of 19th- and 20th century civic naming conventions. Most of these gentlemen were perfectly respectable. Others were more problematic, like John C. Calhoun, the pro-slavery vice president, who had a lake named after him for nearly two centuries before Minneapolis restored its Dakota name, Bde Maka Ska. But here in Southwest Minneapolis, something different happened. Three of our schools were named after remarkable women, and two of those names, Kenny and Armatage, also define entire neighborhoods. That’s worth pausing on, because it didn’t have to go that way.
Sister Elizabeth Kenny was an Australian nurse who arrived in Minneapolis in 1940 with an unconventional idea about how to treat polio, the disease terrorizing families across the country. The medical establishment’s approach at the time involved immobilizing patients with splints and casts. Kenny insisted on the opposite: movement and muscle re-education. Doctors were skeptical, sometimes openly hostile. She didn’t care. Her methods worked, getting paralyzed patients up and walking when conventional treatment left them in braces. By 1952, a Gallup poll named her the most admired woman in America, edging out Eleanor Roosevelt. She was bold, tireless, and by all accounts up at ungodly hours calling people before dawn. A neighborhood, a school, and a hospital rehabilitation center bear her name.
Maude Armatage, born in 1870, became the first woman elected to a Minneapolis municipal office when she won a seat on the Park Board in 1921. She served for 30 consecutive years, the longest continuous tenure in the board’s history. During those three decades, she was instrumental in building Minneapolis’ park system into one of the finest in the country. She championed joint use of school and park facilities, fought for recreation programs for children and adults, and was unanimously elected vice president of the board in 1924. Today her name graces a neighborhood, a school, a park, and the now-closed but fondly remembered Café Maude on Penn Avenue.
Clara Barton needs less introduction. The founder of the American Red Cross, she spent decades as a battlefield nurse, relief worker, and advocate. She started caring for the sick as a young girl tending to her injured brother, and she never really stopped. Barton Community School on Colfax Avenue carries her name as inspiration for students, a reminder that courage and compassion aren’t abstract concepts.
Three schools. Three women who healed, built, and served. In a city where the naming honors went overwhelmingly to politicians and businessmen of varying moral quality, Southwest Minneapolis got it right. The next time you drive past Kenny, Armatage, or Barton, consider that these names represent something unique in our neighborhoods.