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Vang: There’s no place like Minnesota
The recent auction of Dorothy’s ruby slippers made me think about the search for home, and how so many of us from around the world have found it here.
The Minnesota Star Tribune
December 28, 2024 at 11:31PM
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Dorothy’s ruby slippers from “The Wizard of Oz” weren’t about fashion, though let’s acknowledge that the sequined shoes were ahead of their time. They were about finding your way back to where you belonged. Home. A word so simple it feels as if we’ve always known it, and yet, for so many of us, it’s a concept we spend our lives chasing.
After being recovered from thieves who stole them from the Judy Garland Museum in 2005, a pair of Dorothy’s ruby slippers were auctioned earlier this month for $28 million, or the cost of several mansions on Lake Minnetonka. I have recently found myself thinking about what these shoes mean, not just as an iconic piece of Hollywood history, but as a cultural touchstone for Minnesotans. Judy Garland, who starred as Dorothy in the movie, was born as Frances Ethel Gumm on June 10, 1922, in Grand Rapids, Minn., where the Judy Garland Museum operates today to honor her legacy.
Garland’s being from Minnesota fills me with pride. I feel a connection to her as one of “my people.” And in many ways, Oz feels a lot like Minnesota, too.
Minnesota is no stranger to people searching for a place to call home. Immigrants and refugees — first Swedes and Norwegians, then Hmong and Somalis and now Ukrainians ― have flocked to Mní Sota for generations, enduring winters so brutal they must have thought they were being subject to some kind of cosmic hazing ritual. My family came to Minnesota as Hmong refugees, carrying with us little more than traumatic war memories and the hope that this strange new land of a thousand-plus lakes would offer stability, community and maybe a little sunshine.
The ruby slippers also resonate deeply with the immigrant experience. In the movie, Dorothy is dropped into a foreign land with unfamiliar rules and strange people. Sound familiar? Every immigrant has faced their own Yellow Brick Road: navigating new customs, language barriers and an endless stream of people asking, “What brings you to Minnesota?” (Answer: Not the lutefisk.)
When I first set out to become a Minnesotan, there were moments of culture shock so jarring I found myself longing for a troupe of Munchkins to pop out of nowhere belting “Ding dong! The witch is dead!” — anything to alleviate the stress of being the new person in a strange, snowy land.
But the ruby slippers aren’t just an immigrant story; they’re a universal one. Who among us hasn’t felt lost, longing to find our very own Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man?
The slippers speak to the human condition — the search for a place where we’re understood, valued and safe. If you think about it, Minnesotans have a unique relationship with this idea.
This state is both a destination and a departure point. Indigenous communities have called this land home for thousands of years, even as their stories have been erased or minimized. For them, the idea of “home” is not just physical; it’s spiritual, tied to the land in a way that sequined footwear could never encapsulate. The Dakota and Ojibwe people remind us that home is not merely where you hang your hat but where your roots run deep — roots that, unlike Dorothy’s, cannot be untangled with a click of the heels.
And then there are the transplants — young professionals, artists and dreamers — who move here for a job or a relationship, thinking they’ll leave once the honeymoon phase is over. (Spoiler: They usually stay. The lakes are too good.) For these folks, finding home in Minnesota often means embracing the quirks of the culture, like learning to make hotdish or understanding that “You betcha” is both a greeting and a philosophy.
My friend Juanita Vang came to Minnesota from Tulsa after spending some time traveling around the world. She rode trains throughout the majestic American West and savored ramen in Japan, but felt she could thrive in Minnesota among the lakes, parks and vibrant Twin Cities arts community.
“Anything is possible, and what I love most about Minnesota is having the creative support to actualize my dreams and purpose,” she said.
She is currently working for the New Native Theatre as a public relations/marketing community-outreach specialist and is now transitioning to be an artistic producer.
Lifelong Minnesotans also grapple with this idea of home. Winters here can make even the staunchest locals question their life choices. And yet, there’s a quiet magic to Minnesota — a sense of community, of resilience, of digging your heels into the snow and declaring, “This is where I belong,” as my husband, Brian, puts it. In the late 1980s, he spent a few years soaking up the Los Angeles sun while attending music school, dreaming of becoming the next Leonard Cohen. Eventually he returned to Bloomington, trading the glam of ‘80s big-hair bands on the Sunset Strip for the familiar hum of a snowblower revving in a neighbor’s driveway.
“No matter where you go, you carry pieces of Minnesota with you like breadcrumbs marking the way back home,” he likes to say.
As the actual ruby slippers change hands — likely ending up in the vault of someone who appreciates them more as an investment than as a symbol — I wonder what Judy Garland (or Dorothy) would have made of it all. Would she be horrified to learn that her shoes, once the ultimate tool for finding home, have become just another commodity? Or maybe she’d shrug and say, “We’re not in Kansas anymore.”
For the rest of us, the ruby slippers remain a reminder of what truly matters. Home is not the farm in Kansas or lakefront property in Brainerd. It’s the Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man we love, the traditions we keep, and the stories we pass on. It’s the resilience to run a lap around Bde Maka Ska when we are feeling blue or the courage to start a business on University Avenue, and the creativity to click our heels together when we’ve found our way.
For Minnesotans everywhere, whether you were born here, chose here or simply wound up here: There’s no place like home.
The recent auction of Dorothy’s ruby slippers made me think about the search for home, and how so many of us from around the world have found it here.
