First Avenue offices photographed Tuesday by Daniel Corrigan

PART ONE: "WE WERE TOLD TO RUN TO THE BANK."

Seven people dressed up as "First Avenue" at Sunday night's Halloween party at First Avenue--and didn't win the costume contest. "That was a bad omen," says Ian Rans, who hosted as Max Headroom on what turned out to be the nightclub's final evening. The winners were a human Connect Four game, Jesus and the devil, and in third place... well, this requires more explanation: "Ever seen the graphic, 'Every time you masturbate, God kills a kitten?' And there are these two brown things chasing after a kitten? One of those brown things."

Granted, "First Avenue" were flipping everybody off that night, pushing other costumes around. "They weren't trying to be a crowd favorite," says Rans. But the paint job on the costumes was lovingly verisimilar, with each band name inside each little silver star corresponding to the same ones painted on the real walls outside.

Two nights later, the local gypsy punk band the Knottwells were performing in front of the stars outside First Avenue, on the sidewalk with a crowd of about 20 crusty punks. Their gig at the 7th St. Entry had been canceled earlier in the day, when it was announced that the club would be closed indefinitely starting at 1:30 p.m.

It was at that time that owner Allan Fingerhut, who founded the club 35 years ago, filed for Chapter 7 bankruptcy. The day before, he told employees to cash their paychecks rather than deposit them.

"We were told to run to the bank," said marketing assistant Mean Larry on Tuesday, when he called to tell me the news. "There are some paychecks here for people that aren't going to be paid. We didn't get paid for Halloween. Isn't that funny. One of the three longest days of the year for all of our staff, and the only payment they got was a couple cases of Bud at the end of the night."

"First Avenue" at First Avenue on Halloween, photographed by Lisa Venticinque

Employees weren't told to get everything of theirs out of the club until around noon on Tuesday. When I arrived at about 1:00 p.m., longtime sound engineer Randy Hawkins was hastily loading sound equipment, all of it leased by the club from Downtown Sound, into a U-Haul truck outside. He looked stricken.

The door to the Mainroom was open, and inside, employees were gathering their personal stuff, or just hanging out on the balcony near the office, saying goodbye to the room. Nathan Kranz and Sonia Grover, who booked the club, discussed where some of this week's shows might be relocated.

"Kerry better get elected or this is gonna be a really shitty day," said Kranz.

Rumors that the club would expire along with its liquor license on November 1 had been flying for days. On Friday, news came that Fingerhut would be evicted within a week, and former managers Steve McClellan and Jack Meyers would take over. Along with Byron Frank, Fingerhut's longtime business partner and childhood friend, McClellan and Meyers had become Fingerhut's landlords--but this was no secret.

"To tell you the truth, I kind of feel like we're in the middle of a divorce," said stage manager Conrad Sverkerson. "And it's like, 'Okay, do you want to stay with your mom or with your dad?' Those of us who've worked here a long time just want to kind of keep the family together. I think they're putting their interests above the interests of the people who work here and the community."

Back in 2000, Byron Frank had helped First Avenue buy its own building from Ted Mann's Hollywood Theatre Co., which had owned the property with an option to demolish it since Fingerhut converted the club from an old Greyhound Bus Station in 1969. The investment group Frank formed with Fingerhut, F-Troop, also included then-managers McClellan and Meyers. In exchange for putting up more money than the others, Frank got a share of the profits. How big a share became the focus of a contract dispute in 2003, when Fingerhut sued Frank in Hennepin County District Court.

The settlement seemed to settle things: Frank gave up his share of the Committee, Inc. (the business), and Fingerhut gave up his share of F-Troop (the building). Now Frank owns 60 percent of the property, while McClellan and Meyers each own ten percent. A trust set up by Fingerhut for members of his family owns the remaining 20 percent.

But in June of this year, Fingerhut suspended McClellan and Meyers, who had been running the business together since 1979. Fingerhut, had long since withdrawn to the art gallery business, and gave the hands-on position of operations manager to longtime employee Chris Olson.

"Kerry better get elected or this is gonna be a really shitty day."

My first question for Olson on Tuesday was: "Are you on good terms with Steve McClellan?"

"Yes," he said. "We want to continue having a music venue at this location. Ideally, we'll all get our jobs back. But when Steve and Jack left, we were all on good terms with them, everybody in the office, pretty much. So when they decide what they're going to do, hopefully they're going to let us know. They also might just put a big 'help wanted' sign outside and start from scratch."

As TV crews started showing up, and a crowd gathered, talk among the mourners grew looser. "It comes down to two rich guys who don't get along," said Louis Dunlap, a longtime employee who is the son of former First Avenue employees Slim Dunlap and Chrissie Dunlap.

Minutes later, Dunlap was doing wheelies on the club's wheel chair downstairs. "Who's going to take the wheelchair?" someone yelled.

"I'm taking it," Dunlap said.

Dunlap was pessimistic about the landlords' plans to revive the club under a new name. "Rumor is it's going to be a House of Blues," he said. "But Byron Frank's going to fucking sell the place to the city or whatever. That's such a right-wing press coup: They put it in the paper, 'Yeah, Steve and Jack, we're going to put it back to its rightful owners, and we're going to open up this dynamite new club, and it's going to be prettier and better, and it's going to be filled with fucking people.'

"Do you really fucking think so? We haven't turned a profit in four years. No nightclub in the nation has. There either has to be some outside money coming in or it's a scam. Byron's using Steve and Jack's good name to evict when it's hot so he can eventually fuck them over."

The issue was a personal one for Dunlap. "I spent almost every day of my life down here since I was three, four years old. What the hell am I supposed to do?"

He had been a young witness to First Avenue's storied '80s, when his mom was a manager and his dad was a janitor. "I remember meeting Prince right there when I was ten years old, and being taller than him," he said. "I remember seeing Prince wipe out on his motorcycle when they were filming Purple Rain right there. I played pinball here most of my childhood, and watched my dad buff this floor here.

"Byron's using Steve and Jack's good name to evict when it's hot so he can eventually fuck them over."

Like most fans of the club, he considered it a concession worth tolerating if the building remains a music venue of any kind, but becomes less cool. "Three months ago we were worried that Byron was going to sell the place and turn it into a fucking parking lot," he said. "The city should be ashamed of itself. Minneapolis doesn't realize what they have here. There's only a few cool independent rock clubs left in the entire nation. It's the sight lines."

He pointed up to the balcony.

Within a few minutes, Olson announced that everyone had to get out. We all walked out into the sunlight, with Ian Rans videotaping the proceedings on his digital camera. I grabbed my own souvenirs: some posters off the wall for shows that will never happen at the club--Jonathan Richman and Robyn Hitchcock relocated to the Cedar tonight; Jon Spencer's Blues Explosion moved to the 400 Bar on Thursday, Matthew Sweet moved to the Cabooze on Friday, before the 'Venus of Mars' afterparty, Le Tigre moved to the Quest's Ascot Room on Saturday.

Outside, several of those present had begun tearing up. Olson, the last one out, locked the door behind him, and employee Carolyn Hansen said, "I think a round of applause is, uh..." And there was some clapping. But mostly it was a quiet end.

"Hey, lets everybody back up," said Ian Rans. "Once more with more feeling"

As Hansen and Olson hugged, they cried a little. Others embraced, or shouted goodbyes to friends passing in cars. If this was a temporary closing, it sure didn't feel like it.

"Let's all go to the Quest and have a beer," Nate Kranz said. There was some laughter. The Quest, with its booking by Clear Channel Entertainment, had provided First Avenue its fiercest competition. With the bar across the street not open yet, the group went to Eli's, then ended up at the Triple Rock. Later that night, I got a flavor for what the conversations must have been like (see below).

from the Minnesota Historical Society

PART TWO: "IT'S KILLING ME. IT'S BREAKING MY HEART."

(Q&A with Allan Fingerhut Tuesday afternoon)

How are you?

Well, we had to file today at 1:30 for bankruptcy, so it's over. They wouldn't accept our proposal [Jack, Byron, and Steve] to continue, so it's pretty much over.

No matter what they say, they were tripling the rent. The eviction came from the non-paid real estate taxes owed from the year 2002, according to the lease contract only. In other words, it didn't come from Hollywood Theaters. It didn't come from the county or the city. It only came from the lease between the Committee, Inc. and F Troop.

F-Troop has a CD [contract for deed] with Hollywood Theaters, and they're paying off on the building right now. They're paying off on the building until they own it. So they're considered the owners of the building, but Hollywood Theaters is holding the contract for deed. I don't understand that part of it. Maybe somebody else does. So Hollywood Theaters, who owns the contract for deed, wasn't complaining. Nor was the county or the city complaining. It was only in the lease that the eviction was coming from, between F Troop and the Committee, Inc. So that was in the lease that they can do that, but those are the only people who are causing the eviction.

At the same time, there are four lawsuits amounting to nearly $1,000,000, which would cost us, the Committee, Inc., about $200,000 to defend. These are fairly new lawsuits. I don't want to say to much about it. They're on the record. These are four lawsuits that have been brought to us that have just ground me down. Right now, no matter what they say as far as numbers are concerned, right now we're paying about $7, 200 a month in rent. And their offer is, the bottom line is $20,000 a month, even though we lost $360,000 in the first seven months of 2004, prior to my taking over again. Now since I took it over, I turned it around into profitability. But since this eviction and lawsuits came, I don't have enough time now to pay off old debts that have accrued, and fight the lawsuits. So I have been forced to file for bankruptcy.

"Right now we're paying about $7, 200 a month in rent. And their offer is, the bottom line is $20,000 a month."

Why did you fire Jack Meyers and Steve McClellan? What happened there, exactly?

I never fired them. I don't want to get into that. I just don't want to get into that. I never fired them, to answer your question.

Well you can see how this is confusing to people on the outside.

Well that's because of politics. The only thing I can talk about right now is that at 1:30 today I had to file for bankruptcy, and those were the causes.

I was just down at First Avenue today, and there's a lot of people there who are upset that their paycheck is frozen...

Their paycheck was not frozen. They were told pick up and cash their pay check yesterday. And if they didn't follow through, there was absolutely nothing I could do about that. Who told you that? It is not frozen. It was made clear to management and to everybody else. They were told to pick up their checks and go to the bank and cash it. I don't want to discuss that in this article because of the bankruptcy. It was part of the ongoing negotiations... I can't say anything because they'll turn around and sue me. At the last minute we were forced to file for bankruptcy.

One thing that confused me about this is that I thought this all started with you suing Byron Frank.

That's old news, and we don't want to go through that.

But that was settled, I thought, successfully.

It was settled.

But all the suits right now are against the Committee, Inc.?

That's correct. And one against me personally.

And you don't want to discuss any of those?

I really can't. All I know is, like I said, we were ground down. We were put in a position financially where we couldn't afford to fight those lawsuits.

Can you speculate, without commenting on the specifics, on the general motive behind the suits?

I think people should connect the dots.

Do you think that the place will be an independently owned club in a few months?

It's now in the hands of Byron Frank.

Are you in contact with him directly at all? When was the last time you talked to him?

I can't remember. I think at the time we were settling on the building, when I lost my 20 percent, when I lost my ownership in 2003.

First Avenue bookers Nathan Kranz and Sonia Grover (as JLo) on Halloween, the club's last night, photographed by Lisa Venticinque

Have you communicated with Steve and Jack directly at all?

No.

So you've been communicating through lawyers?

Just between the lawyers, yeah.

It seemed as recently as today that people were holding out for some kind of solution. What was that about? Were you negotiating with the lawyers? Were there different proposals that you guys were looking at?

Well, one proposal was that I just walk away. That's their proposal. F Troop will dismiss its claims, I have it here, "Number one: F Troop will dismiss its claims against TCI and Allan in exchange for TCI's assets on hand at the close of business on October 31, 2004. If any assets have been removed..." Well, that's not necessary. So in other words, they will drop their law suits against the Committee, Inc., which owns First Avenue, and Allan will walk away.

"Number two: 2M," which is Steve and Jack, "will dismiss its claim against the Committee, Inc., in exchange for all rights to the name First Avenue. Number three: TCI," the Committee, Inc., "will execute assignment of the sublease over to F Troop," then, "2M," which is Steve and Jack, "will manage TCI under TCI's liquor license until January 1," in other words I would turn over the liquor license to them and they'll drop their lawsuit against me. And they take over all of the concerts that I've already booked, which is about 50 concerts.

And in effect, with the lawsuits that they have brought to me, Byron Frank has vetoed management [and sided with] Steve and Jack. They will drop these lawsuits if I just turn over First Avenue, its name, its liquor license, to them. If I turn over everything to them, they'll drop their lawsuits. Then they won't have to evict me. So you connect the dots.

My counteroffer was that I am now paying interest on the taxes, which is okay with the city, and that I would have a lease that is equal to what I have been paying on my ten-year lease--that I would continue to pay $7,200 a month rather than $20,000 a month.

"If I turn over everything to them, they'll drop their lawsuits. Then they won't have to evict me. So you connect the dots."

It's over. It doesn't make any difference. It's only in the lease, that they are terminating the lease. In other words, it's only in the lease that they're evicting us. The city had no cause to, nor did Hollywood Theaters have cause to.

Just so I'm clear, once you declare bankruptcy, who owns the business now?

The bankruptcy court. I no longer own my club after 35 years.

What does that feel like?

It's killing me. It's breaking my heart. And it's killing me as far as my employees are concerned, too.

When they were asked to leave and grab all their personal stuff that doesn't belong to the business, was that so the bank could assess how much the business was worth?

I don't understand it, myself. I don't own my club anymore. Everybody's a loser.

Is the bank also the owner of the First Avenue name?

It's not the bank, it's the bankruptcy court. Again, it's very complicated. It's a situation I've never been in before in my life. This is the toughest thing I've ever gone through, obviously besides the loss of my father. And I don't understand it. The only thing I understand is my employees lost jobs, and I lost my club. The rest of it is all legal.

Is there any chance that you could buy the club back?

I don't want to be in that space with those landlords, with that landlord. I don't think I'd want to be treated the way I was treated by that landlord again.

Byron Frank is a childhood friend of yours. Have you ever tried to reach out personally to him?

I don't know whether he ever was a friend of mine. And I don't want to discuss him.

Well, thank you for talking to me. Maybe we can talk again when it's not so fresh.

I don't think I ever want to discuss it again. I don't want to discuss Byron Frank. My heart goes out to my employees. That's the only way I want to end this whole conversation. That's why I got very angry when you heard that someone said something wrong. I did everything I could to protect my employees.

Are you going to stay in town for a little while?

For a couple more days.

Well, hey, thank you.

Okay. Bye.