Downtowns were gutted by the pandemic, as office workers stayed home and the economy that served them withered. But Minneapolis and St. Paul, where miles of second-story skyways connect downtown’s towers and malls, confronted an additional dimension to the problem.
“You can see out here this hallway is lit largely by the lights that come from these offices,” says Melvin Carter, mayor of St. Paul, sitting in an undecorated suite in a skyway near City Hall. Along with other members of his executive team, he’s moved into empty offices in the skyways as an example for other downtown office workers.
“When these offices are empty, this hallway is dark,” says Carter. “We’re here doing our jobs in a way that lights this space, that activates it, that puts eyes on the hallway.”
Minneapolis inaugurated the skyway era in 1962 and eventually built out a system with 9.5 contiguous miles of second-story connections between office buildings, hotels and housing towers. St. Paul soon followed, and has five miles of its own. The idea was to compete with suburban office parks and shopping malls, giving aged downtowns an edge — especially in the winter months.
From the beginning, skyways were controversial. Critics feared they would imperil existing sidewalk-facing businesses. Today, the streetscape of the two cities is remarkably quiet. With consumer dollars focused on the second floor, street-level stores and restaurants suffer. (It’s worth noting that downtowns as varied as Baltimore and Los Angeles manage a similar deadening effect without skyways.)
“When I first came here, I was skeptical of skyways,” says Tom Fisher, professor of design at the University of Minnesota. “I bought the idea they divide the city, they kill the street life. I still think that’s true. The street level in Minneapolis isn’t a very appealing space, with some exceptions.”
These critiques have been increasing in recent years, as Minneapolis has seen its downtown population grow. Skyways “pull the life and energy off the street level, leaving sidewalks barren and storefronts empty,” reads a 2011 report about the future of Minneapolis’ downtown. Sidewalk advocates created a Skyway Avoidance Society to steer more officer workers and downtown residents on to the streets. Tourists are reliably baffled by the skyway system, so presumably did not need the prompting.
“Our downtown spaces from parks, streets, skyways are all meant to be filled with people, that’s how they function best,” says Joe Spencer, president of the St. Paul Downtown Alliance. “In April of 2020 everything felt like it was broken with no people in it. That was especially true of the skyways.”
Minneapolis and St. Paul instituted a variety of policy changes to address the issues. Hours were pared back. The connections between buildings were sealed around dinnertime as opposed to late night. In Minneapolis, where most of the skyways are privately owned, some property managers began simply shuttering them.
As it became clear that infection from COVID-19 was far more likely in enclosed spaces, the system became even less alluring.
“In the first year of the pandemic, if it wasn't really hostile weather outside, I didn't see many people in the skyways,” says Spencer. “Most people were choosing to go outside because they felt more comfortable taking their mask off out there.”
According to Fisher, of the University of Minnesota, the usual retail order was flipped on its head during the pandemic: Customers felt more comfortable shopping and dining (or at least getting takeout) in ground-floor stores. Street-level sales were healthier than their skyway counterparts during the worst of COVID-19.
At this point, however, the skyways feel more lived in, especially on a chilly day. Spencer estimates that roughly 10 percent of downtown businesses closed during the pandemic (skyway versus sidewalk numbers are not broken out) and their absence can still be felt. The ghostly shell of a skyway’s Arby’s features a placard promising customers of other potential lunch spots — Subway, Caribou Coffee (now closed) — just around the corner.
On a March afternoon, only occasionally did St. Paul’s system feel disquietingly empty. Police officers and other security guards were occasionally seen patrolling or standing sentry. The streets below were largely barren though, downtown’s life sealed comfortably indoors.
While policymakers have long acknowledged the drawbacks of the skyways, their latest setbacks seem unlikely to change their fortunes. The 2011 report put together by downtown business leaders never went anywhere. Former Minneapolis Mayor R. T. Rybak denounced them, to no avail.
“When you live here and experience this climate, there are times of the year you are really glad there’s a skyway system,” says Fisher, who notes that its snowing right now in mid-April, and with the wind chill, its in the single digits.
Instead, their future will depend on whether people return downtown. In February 2020, Minneapolis saw an all-time high of 218,000 workers downtown (up from 161,000 in 2009). St. Paul hosted 50,000. The latest numbers show over half have returned. Full recovery is still a long way off.
For Mayor Carter, making people feel comfortable in the skyways again is important. But he would also, in future, like to de-emphasize them a bit. He’d rather highlight having four seasons worth of recreation, a locale where you can sail and cross country ski, and perhaps do a bit of winter tailgating at a hockey game.
“For a really long time our value proposition has been ‘it gets cold here, but it's not as bad as you think because we have the skyways,’” laughs Carter. “Skyways are weirdly an opportunity and threat to some of the things we want. Long story short, ‘it’s not so bad’ is a poor marketing pitch. I don’t want us to shy away from our identity as a winter city.”
