KING SOLOMON’S MINES - Welcoming Black Audiences Downtown in the 60s
The following was excerpted from the liner notes of our Twin Cities Funk & Soul compilation. Writers: Will Gilbert, Eric D. Foss, Danny Sigelman.
Located on the first floor of the Foshay Tower, on the 9th Street side, King Solomon’s Mines had a short but enormous impact on the local R&B scene. Manny Desilva’s Five O’Clock Club changed to King Solomon’s Mines in the fall of 1966. Desilva’s had previously booked jazz suitable for dinner crowds, but new owner Dean Constantine began making changes.
Originally one of several investors, Constantine became the sole operator and began shifting the club’s direction. By the end of 1966, he had booked the Coleman Hector Afro-Cuban Sextet (Connie Hechter’s group) and began promoting dancing. By early 1967, he was experimenting with local rock groups on weekends and booking R&B acts including Dave Brady & The Stars, the Infinites, the Amazers, Maurice McKinnies and The Blazers, and the Exciters.
In October 1968, the club was raided and multiple minors were found inside. The following month, its liquor license was suspended, and the club never reopened. In a December 18, 1969 issue of The Minneapolis Spokesman, Dean Constantine discussed the circumstances surrounding the closure.
During its short run, King Solomon’s Mines hired Black rhythm-and-blues bands and attracted audiences that were roughly 90 percent Black. Constantine believed the closure was influenced by pressure from white tenants in the Foshay Tower and nearby buildings who did not want Black patrons in the area.
“The raid that found the minors there was just an excuse. We always had two people checking IDs, and we often turned away 30 or more people a night because we didn’t believe they were 21. We wanted an off-duty policeman to work at the door, but we couldn’t find one who was willing.”
At the same time, there were real issues with violence. Constantine recalls, “Once in a while big Cadillacs would pull up and the trunks would open, then out would come the baseball bats.”
One particularly tense moment occurred during closing: “A guy pulled a gun on my bartender and the place went silent. My bartender, who was a big guy that looked like Belafonte, started slowly walking toward him. The gunman told him to stop or he would shoot, but he kept walking. When he got to him, the gunman just handed over his gun.”
Critics at the time often blamed the club for problems associated with Black crowds downtown, but King Solomon’s Mines was the only venue in the area catering to the Black community. Because it was the only one, it attracted a wide cross-section of people. It is likely that if more such venues had existed, each would have experienced fewer issues.
When speaking with members of local R&B groups from the 1960s, King Solomon’s Mines and The Cozy Bar are mentioned more than any other venues. Donnell Woodson of the Exciters recalls, “King Solomon’s Mines was a new venue, a crossover for both Black and white audiences. Dean Constantine was the door opener.”
Herman Jones adds, “The first guy that gave us a break to play in Minneapolis among the white population was Dean Constantine. He went to the state capital to fight for us—that we should be able to play downtown and in the suburbs.”
Constantine became a highly respected figure among musicians. Ricky Washington recalls being arrested in a raid at age 16 while playing drums and being bailed out by Constantine. Ronnie Scott adds, “Dean Constantine had a thing for the help and the bands. If you did enough business, everybody got bonus checks, which was rare.”
Describing the club’s interior, Anthony Scott of Prophets of Peace remembers, “They used to have the room set up like you were in Africa. It looked like a jungle—it was real cool.”
The club’s influence extended beyond Minneapolis. When Jack Harris later moved to Omaha to work in radio, he opened a club with the same name, featuring similar decor. Constantine himself had previously worked as a dance instructor and continued that career after the club closed. His daughter Deanna continues the family’s dance tradition.
