Ahnapee, Algoma & Kewaune County: A Jail is a Jail

Kewaunee County Jail and Courthouse, 1914 postmark

Jail, lock-up, hoosegow, slammer, pokey, the clink, calaboose, the joint……… It’s all in a name. Kewaunee County has one. It had one since the 1850s, but not the kind of thing anybody would recognize a century and a half later. Ahnapee/Algoma had one too, but its last resident was sprung about 60 years ago.

During November 1876, Ahnapee Record’s editor DeWayne Stebbins described a trip to Kewaunee to his paper’s readership. The jaunt’s highlight appeared to be a tour given by John Janda, the contractor for the nearly-completed new jail. Stebbins said the facility’s outside was “very prepossessing” and was finished in “the best of style.” He felt the sheriff’s residence was one of the county’s most elegant. He thought the jail looked secure but was too small, a point he made earlier.  He wrote about the 6 cells with modern conveniences such as ventilation and locks. It was Editor Stebbins’ opinion that Janda did a good job. Mentioning a lock as a modern convenience in a jail sounds a bit strange, but there is more to that story. The Committee on the Sheriff’s Residence, Jail and Cistern agreed with Stebbins and in May 1877 Janda was paid for work completed per contract and according to designs.

The county had an even earlier lock-up though. In its first 20 years, there were few notable trials or hardened criminals. The first jail was in place by 1861 and held one accused of murder on the Wolf River docks. The defendant was found guilty – later pardoned by the governor – and held in the county jail until he could be taken to Waupun which, in days of primitive transportation and few roads, was a water route that began on Lake Michigan. While the murderer was waiting for transport, he was held with one serving a term for bastardy. Planning to escape, the men made a sketch of the key and then whittled it out of wood. One can only wonder why prisoners had a knife, but at the last minute it was just the man held for fathering a child who chose to escape. He was quickly apprehended and, realizing the error of his ways or what a jail term was, he decided to do his duty rather than return to the lock-up. The other remained and was eventually taken to Waupun.*

To meet the Legislature’s requirement, Ahnapee constructed a jail even before achieving village status. According to the Enterprise, Ahnapee was doing a brisk law business, however the lawyers were busy with land issues rather than the murders and hold-ups that would have necessitated a jail. To comply with the law, the town raised $100 for jail construction in April 1871. Even though it got little use, Peter Schiesser was paid $65 – roughly 2/3 the cost of the thing - to repair the facility four years later. By April 1885 the jail was in such poor shape that Council insisted the Marshall have the place cleaned and the bedding washed. Apparently the cleaning didn’t help much as barely a few months later, in June, Council felt a new jail was badly needed and opened bids. That came a little less than 10 years after the county built its new jail.

The jail is at the left of this 1936 Record Herald photo.

In early December the Record reported that the new city jail was completed and was nearly ready for holiday boarders. Iron cells would be installed as soon as the interior plastering and other work was finished. Tongue in cheek, the paper said I.W. Elliott, the man in charge, was an accommodating landlord should anyone wish to make a reservation. That jail was built on State Street east of and adjoining the engine house, the site on which the jail stayed until the current fire department building was constructed. Jag Haegele, in a 2006 interview, said that the jail entertained school boys who enjoyed walking past and jumping up to peer into the window.  They always knew who was sleeping it off. 

It appears the late 1880's building had its own problems from the beginning and that Council got tired of repairing it. When Wulf and Leiberg repaired the roof in July 1892, they were required to give a five-year written guarantee.

Whatever was wrong with the roof then, it was worse in 1922 when the city had a most creative jail break. It happened while a section hand from the Ahnapee and Western Railroad was cooling his heels. The fellow had been arrested on 2^nd Street about 11:30 one Saturday night. As so many others over the years, the man was drunk, disorderly, in jail and awaiting a police justice. On Sunday morning when Officer Gericke went to the jail, the prisoner was missing. There was no doubt he escaped through a hole in the roof. Gericke’s investigation revealed pry marks on the roof, indicating the opening was made by a pinch bar. Gericke knew there was outside assistance in the jail break and was certain he knew who aided and abetted. Whether or not the accomplice was taken into custody, he did know the fate that awaited him. As early as 1908, penalties for aiding and abetting, or providing prisoners with alcohol, were written into the law.

Years following Ahnapee’s first jail, use of the word was written into Chapter 1, Section ll of the 1890 Ordinances of the City of Ahnapee: “Whenever the words ‘lock up or city jail’ occurs in any ordinance of the City of Ahnapee, they shall be construed to mean the lockup of jail of said city or the county jail of Kewaunee County.” Ahnapee’s references to the village lockup and county jail in ordinances began with village status.

Slaughterhouses could land one in the tank. Slaughterhouses or buildings used for such purposes were not allowed in the village nor could they be located closer than 1/8^th mile from a dwelling or business. Resulting fines were set between 10 and 50 dollars plus costs. Default of payment meant jail. Ignorance of the law was no excuse, as fines and or jail time were clearly written into any number of ordinances.

Firemen were said to have the same training as policemen and during the 1930s they were empowered to ticket any vehicle on the street during a fire on the specific block. Mayor McGowan signed the law that set the fines from $1.00 to $100 with a jail time of up to six months.

There were laws providing sentences for those who supplied alcohol to minors. When laws pertained to juveniles, it is doubtful the young paid attention. Ahnapee Mayor M.T. Parker signed laws in 1893 dealing with those under 21 who were not permitted to jump on or climb on a train or engine as it moved through town. It was also unlawful for such persons to uncouple cars. Such behavior merited from 3 to 30 days in either the city or county jails. Of course if one under 21 was employed by the railroad, such activities were legal. It appears that it was acceptable for older adults to jump on to moving trains. Those under 21 were also forbidden “to loiter, to lounge or to idle” anywhere around the depot, tracks or side tracks in the city. Some violations carried a separate fine or incarceration for each day that it happened. Mayor Ihlenfeld signed the Halloween laws when parents were told to keep a strict watch on their children. Tipping outhouses, property damage and even soaping windows would result in arrest and being confined to the city jail.

Men far outnumbered women among those held for being drunk or exhibiting disorderly behavior in either the city and the county. During summer 1879 a young fellow named Adolph was locked up, having been picked up in a drunken condition by the Marshal.  Adolph denied the charge and after being released the following morning, he failed to pay his fine and costs. He was again arrested and taken before Justice McDonald who allowed Constable Cooper to take young Adolph to find his father in order to raise the money. The father, however, was at work in his hay field, and chose not to give his son the money. Cooper attempted to escort the young man back, but the fellow wouldn’t budge and his father wanted him home. Cooper called for assistance and Adolph was taken to the Justice McDonald’s office where he was fined one dollar and costs which had to be paid in 10 days. Failing that, Adolph would be sentenced to the Kewaunee big-house.

Ellsworth Smith found himself in the city jail following a ball game. For some unknown reason E.C. Cameron slapped Smith, however others intervened and it seemed as if the trouble was nipped in the bud. But not so. After the game, Cameron was sitting in front of the Hotel Martin when Smith approached and whacked him on the head with a beer bottle, inflicting a slight scalp wound. Smith spent the night in the slammer and was released the next morning.

Early in 1907 an Algoma man was charged with assault and battery on his wife. The paper reported “he had made it unpleasant for his wife" on previous occasions, but the matter had been leniently allowed to pass.  That time Justice McGowan sentenced him to 15 days in the city jail. A 1915 case of drunkenness and disorderly conduct on the streets of Kewaunee brought to light a story of privation, want and abuse.  The city jail stayed empty following a robbery attempt during 1921. Being daylight, the event was witnessed. A prominent businessman slipped through the sidewalk in front of Thiard’s Steele Street store. It was during the days of the Volstad Act - also called Prohibition - that an outlawed beverage was cached beneath the sidewalk. Apparently the man couldn’t wait until the dark of night when the street was empty and thus the alarm was spread.

Illegal hunting was surely against the law, however when businessmen George and Michael Bohman, Mike Kohlbeck and W. H. Machia were jailed in 1903, it was due to what appeared to have been a rumor. Game Warden Overbeck traced the story to a man from Ellison Bay. When the man was asked about it, he claimed he heard it from someone else. A few years later a man was locked up for not answering questions. He was a stranger in town and when Sheriff Rudolph Dobry asked his name, he gave it. When asked where he came from, if he was a boat crew member, his job and other such questions, he clammed up. Since he didn’t divulge personal information other than his name, he was felt to be mentally deranged. The man had committed no crime but lack of satisfactory answers merited jail. After all, in 1915 the sheriff was being paid $143 and some change yearly to commit the insane.

Strangers always caused suspicion. A fellow from Charlevoix, Michigan was held in jail during 1911. It was said he was tramping through the country. After spending the night, he was ordered out of town the following day and was seen heading toward Kewaunee. Not long after, two 15 year old Kenosha boys were held in the Algoma jail. The charges? They ran away from home.

Watching the old Mayberry R.F.D. reruns is to know Otis spends Saturday nights in jail of his own volition. It happened in Algoma too when a hobo blew into town and asked to spend the 1911 night in the city jail. He was obliged, but the next morning he was ordered out of town and hit the road for Bruemmerville.

It wasn’t only Ahnapee/Algoma that was leery of strangers. It made Algoma news in 1927 when five boys were taken into custody in Sturgeon Bay. The young men were strangers who said their homes were in Chicago. It was said they created a disturbance near the Green home in Sawyer and had been the logical suspects in stealing some slot machines. After being held for 2 days, there was no evidence and they were let go.

Sheriff Dobry was known to do more than investigate, incarcerate and run the jail. Charles Rogers and Joseph Kacerovsky were paid $5.00 and $4.40, respectively, for painting the jail in 1915 but it was Dobry who had to scrub the place. For that, and some handcuffs, he was paid $10.65. It was about the same time that the county board set 50 cents as the fixed daily amount for the boarding of prisoners.

A Luxemburg fellow was being held at the county jail, awaiting his trial for murder when he hung himself in the wee hours of a Sunday morning. It was an ugly surprise for the family of Sheriff Kulhanek to find the man who was then left hanging until Sunday afternoon when a Luxemburg undertaker came to take him down and care for the body. Also bizarre was an incident occurring during the court house remodeling in 1902. As workmen were excavating they unearthed a skeleton thought to be inmate Joseph Busche who set fire to the jail and was burned in it nearly 40 years earlier.

As Joe Shilbauer and Sam Newman were driving through the Black Ash during summer 1907, they spotted a man who dodged into the swamp and hid as they passed. Returning to town they told Marshall Birdsall about the man whose description matched one Birdsall had received in the day’s mail. Birdsall set out looking for the chap, found him in the Black Hills and brought him back to the city jail to await a positive identification. The paper reported that although the man looked suspicious, he swore to his innocence. There was a $600 reward out for a murderer who looked like the man who made his way through the county selling shoestrings!

Then there was the humorous. The Record carried an article about Sturgeon Bay during the late 1870s. It seems the local sheriff put up posts marked “Jail Limits” on the town’s principal roads, about a mile from the jail. The sign posts were erected by law so those “arrested on civil warrants give bail, to enjoy jail liberties.” About 20 years later, a Sturgeon Bay man was jailed for not paying dog license. Whether he made good on his threat to sue the city is anyone’s guess. Who today could possibly believe that interfering with radio reception could land one in jail?  September 1930 saw the passing of an ordinance forbidding the operating of anything that interfered with radio frequencies between 7 AM and midnight. X-ray and treatment equipment was to be used to avoid unnecessary and unreasonable interference to reception. Those who passed that law probably didn't think much about it until they themselves needed medical care.

Doughnuts brought out the arm of the law in August 1931. It’s hard to believe doughnut salesmen were jailed for selling product, however it was selling without a license. Two Green Bay men were in the pokey for their second offense and unable to pay the fine. Fearing their doughnuts would go stale while they were in the hoosegow, the men put in a call to Green Bay asking someone to come for the “sinkers,” doughnuts requiring too much dunking to revive the flavor. At their first offense, Judge Kasal had warned the men to keep out of the county unless they secured a license. Since they were also selling potato chips without a license, one wag felt that stale potato chips and sinkers should be jailhouse fare.

Another of the strange events occurred just before Christmas in 1936. One Mr. Schaefer was apparently traveling one freezing Friday when he was given shelter at the home of Fred Lassine in the Town of Ahnapee. Schaefer stayed the entire weekend and when he left, Lassine’s mittens were gone. Lassine alerted Marshal Birdsall who found Schaefer at Joseph Pauly’s saloon. When Schaefer was searched, it was felt he was in the habit of stealing things of value. He had 25 keys on his person.

Jails are serious business. Whether it was the city or the county, there were always problems to be solved. One occurred in 1898: the disposition of jailed women. J. Kuehl, J. Walecka and J. Ouradnik comprised the Committee on Public Works, and that included the jail. When the men reported to the Board of Supervisors, they said they had visited the jail and made recommendations for separation of the sexes. They felt it was necessary to divide the jail’s hall with a brick and lime partition while putting an extra door into the hall from the sheriff’s office.

Today the Huber Law is in effect. Some serving time spend the night at the jail and the day at their job. Prisoners around the turn of 1900 sometimes were put to work. Schatleben’s Algoma tannery was near the corner of 4^th and Navarino, in the area of the present Bearcat’s. Some men who were jailed are listed with apprentices who worked at Schatleben’s.

State Department of Public Welfare in 1940 gave the county jail, and a few others in Northeast Wisconsin, poor marks. Women were not kept separate from men. The jail was dark and ventilation was poor. Cells were too small, new plumbing was needed as was general remodeling. There was a bright spot though. The report said Sheriff and Mrs. Tom O’Konski did their best to keep the old fashioned, 67 year old structure clean. Following its 1873 construction, the building was painted but there had been no other modernization. A sheriff in a nearby county felt his jail was so bad that he allowed prisoners to leave for a time. He was cited by the State.

Kewaunee County still maintains a jail complex but Algoma’s is long gone. The county’s old jail remains on courthouse square, just east of the present jail. The view from the courthouse and the old jail present a breath-taking view of Lake Michigan. The old jail is open during the summer, functioning as the historical society’s museum. To find out what time in the slammer was like, spend some time in one of the cells.

While the city and the county thought about jails, the Record Herald noted the first in Wisconsin. This log jail was built at Mineral Point before 1836 when Wisconsin achieved Territorial status. What looks to be a gun barrel is actually a ventilation pipe.





* Wisconsin Department of Corrections website says: 1851 - A three member commission sites a prison in Waupun because of its proximity to transportation and the readily available building materials in the area. A temporary 40-bed building is constructed.

Sources: Ahnapee Record, Algoma Record, Algoma Record Herald; An-An-api-sebe: Where is the River?, c. 2001; The Commercial History of Development of Youngs and Steele Plat and Other Selected Plats of Algoma, Wisconsin,Vol 1, c. 2006; Commercial History in Algoma, Wisconsin: Vol ll, The Continuing Story, c. 2012. Jag Haegele interview, 2005.

Photo sources: Blogger's postcard collection; Commercial; History, Vols. 1 & 2; Record Herald.

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