Kewaunee County & The Flappers: A Women's Movement

Thinking about flappers today probably means you're on the way to the hardware store for the rubber disc - a flapper - that allows water out of the toilet tank and into the bowl after flushing. If flappers were on your mind during the 1920s, you'd be thinking of the young women known as "flappers," and they were far more interesting than a toilet component!

Flappers gave rise to the women's movements that came later, however it was the years between that gave others pause. And that's putting it mildly. With the '20s came young women who cut their hair and wore short skirts such as in this 1926 Bach-Dishmaker ad. Who knows what was more scandalous - hair cut short and close to the head, or showing knees? Bobbed hair was thought to be as liberating then as going braless during the 1960s.

Flappers were mostly middle-class young women who listened to jazz and disdained what was thought of as acceptable behavior, rejecting societal morals of temperance and chastity. The women were seen as rebellious. They were shoppers, materialistic, and they even drove cars and danced, however they weren't doing the more sedate dances their mothers did. Was it any wonder the women gave their mothers and grandmothers vapors, the long-time term for emotional agitation, fainting, "hysteria," and more? Wikipedia tells us having "a case of vapours" was later used for melodramatic or comedic effects.

Bobbed hair meant less work for the mothers with little girls such as Grandma with her brood of a dozen. By the time the last 3 girls were born, Grandma had to be exhausted and was no doubt smiling as she cut their hair to a manageable length just at the bottom of the ears. Although Grandma was comfortable with the decision, there was "hell to pay" when her girls got to school. Even at 9, Elaine said what was on her mind, and that was verboten. Hair was worse than an opinion, and Elaine "got it," which meant physical punishment that was far more than a slap on the hands with a ruler. With her dozen kids, Elaine's punishment was the only time Grandma ever "went to school." What happened to Elaine as a little girl illustrates the controversy of the era. The hair that caused punishment is at the left.

It was said flappers wore short skirts to show off their legs and ankles which had always been hidden from view. Short skirts allowed dancing, and the dance of the era was the Charleston, a dance craze that involved waving arms and fast-moving footwork. The dance had its roots in African American dances in the south and then in Harlem in New York. Although the dance gained its popularity almost overnight, it was banned in places due to a seemingly sexual nature and exposure of women's legs. However, some units of government banned the Charleston as a "safety concern." The fast-moving dance was made up of knees twisted in and out while the heels were sharply pointed outward in each step. Since banned for safety sounds better than banned for morals, the bans didn't have much impact on an office seeker (males) who said they were more concerned about breaking legs than showing them.

Until the turn of 1900, women's dresses were floor length, and limbs were generally covered, but it all changed as hemlines began to rise early in the 1900s. By 1910, dress lengths were over a woman's foot, and even that was scandalous to some.

Hemlines rose slowly, although by 1915 the ankle was exposed. Heaven forbid! Surely some wondered what would happen next. The adventuresome found the dress on the left on sale in 1919 at Washburn's in Sturgeon Bay. Who could keep up with a younger generation that didn't know it's place? Hemlines rose a bit higher in 1916, and as the U.S. entered World War l, hemlines were almost to mid-calf. Hems were up and down, but when the war was over and the U.S. entered the 1920s, the "roaring '20s," saw more changes. Although the 1920s brought women the right to vote, it was 1972 when singer Helen Reddy released, "I am Woman Hear Me Roar." 

According to Arena Stage, a center for American theater in Washington D.C., when the 19th Amendment was ratified, the life of a flapper sparked the new-found independence women received through the right to vote. The bobbed hair became a symbol of liberated women, Forty years later, bras were the new symbol of liberated women, and the brans were being burned on the streets of New York.

It was the day of the silent movie, and 1920's star Clara Bow was the woman young American women emulated. It was Bow who inspired much of what came next. Half a century later, her influence was still in what was called "feminism." "Chanel" brings thoughts of perfume, however Coco Chanel was a fashion designer using men's apparel in her clothing lines and in her own androgenous loo, Chanel introduced the :little black dress" and the classic Chanel suit. While Bow was a major influence of U.S. women, it was Chanel who influenced the western world. The old Virginia Slims cigarette ads contained the phrase, "You've come a long way, Baby." Women did by then, although there was a long way to go. As for the cigarettes, 50 years earlier, flappers smoked most often with cigarette holders. The Slims were not short, fat cigarettes.

During the 1920s and  '30s, women wore hem lengths from above shoe top like Grandma did to above the knees like Agnes did. The photo on the left was taken in 1931.

That women smoked or had alcoholic drinks should not have surprised anybody, but those who did such things in an earlier day, did it in privacy. Kewaunee County women were known to smoke cigars before the days of the cigarette. Hotels such as Boedeckers' on the southeast corner of 4th and Steele in Algoma offered "ladies' parlors" where women could privately enjoy a whiskey, beer or a good cigar. In the crossroads' communities such as Pilsen, Rosiere, and Lincoln, the church was often flanked by a tavern, mill and mercantile. Following Sunday services, the men stopped to wet their whistles while women stayed outside visiting. That didn't mean women were forbidden to drink, it was just that the interior of a tavern was for men who would bring out a drink for their ladies.

The '20s were different though. So-called unladylike flappers entered bars which earlier were a man's domain. It didn't take long for the ladies' parlors to go by the wayside.

Readership no doubt enjoyed Record Herald articles that made fun of flappers in summer 1921. At that point, the city was short on such women. Nevertheless, the paper reported the women necessitated rigid rules for the beach, regulating that they wear two-piece suits with skirts reaching to the knees. Also mandated were stockings and high-necked yokes for all females appearing to be older than 10. Algoma provided a bit of levity with other rules in jest. Women from 10-12 were to wear hoopskirts that came to 1 inch of the ground while those from 20 – 30 would wear regulation diving suits of solid rubber with steel helmets having glass-covered eyeholes. Women from 30-40 were to stay in the bathhouses. Pretty woman were to stay home and bathe under the garden hose. Men over 10 were allowed to bathe wearing a full-dress suit, monocle, silk hat and patent shoes from 11 P.M. to 5 A.M., but not during daylight.

But flappers? They would be arrested on sight with vamps, bathing beauties and beach shimmy dancers. Who knows what a beach shimmy dancer was then, but it is belly dancing in 2021. More than likely such a display would have been banned one hundred years ago even while the joking was going on.

The paper continued tongue-in-cheek saying a board fence 30’ high would be built 2 miles straight out into the lake. The ladies would bathe on one side and the gents on the other. Any person going around the end of the fence would be arrested. Apparently, the ridiculous was humorous. 

The papers jested about the women and their fashions, but the joking didn't seem to affect Bach-Dishmaker's advertising. It appeared that women were jumping on the fashion band wagon. Judging from the amount of advertising the company, and other stores did, women were jumping on the band wagon. 

Flappers raised eyebrows in the cities. Even in small town Algoma, they were ridiculed on the street and in the paper. How many flappers could there be in a small rural county? “Puerile Patter” was an Algoma Record Herald society column in the early 1920s. In September 1923 it ran an article about a directive issued by “General Gans Capelle, to All Member of the PeeWee Platoon.” Clarence “Gans” Capelle was a World War l veteran who said the Platoon was “directed to capture all the flappers in town, scrape the paint off their faces, photograph the captives and distribute the pictures so citizens would know what the other residents of the city looked like.” The paint in question was lipstick, rouge, powder, and other enhancing cosmetics.

Flappers even made the newspaper’s auto page in February 1924. The joke was that the new Fords had a bible turned upside down on the hood so if the owner ran out of swear words, he could read the bible backwards. The paper said it was a good invention to which would soon be added a scoop shovel attached to a long arm to be shoved outward to the sidewalk where it could be used to scoop up flappers thus avoiding unnecessary delays in stopping. Somebody must have enjoyed that bit of humor.

The Record Herald’s editors apparently spent some time in Milwaukee because comments were made on the faces of those women and questioning how there would be enough rouge left to “cover the maps of Algoma flappers.”

It was winter 1925 and Algoma was seeing snow. By the folks knew flappers could make it into any report when they made it into snowstorms, The paper was questioning winter sports in knickers, and how flappers could resist tobagganing or skiing. After all, the magazines showed models wearing beautiful clothing that wasn't "wowrth a whoop" in wind-swept country.

The issue, January 9, called attention to the Supreme Court ruling saying Chicago had to stop stealing “our lake water.” ARH said the ruling was a test case so there should not be much trouble keeping Sturgeon Bay flappers from “appropriating our so-called men.” What is “so-called?” In another dig, the paper continued saying if some of the flappers spent as much time using soap and water on the backs of their necks as they did with powder and lipstick on their faces, they’d be more attractive. Then the paper likened the women’s hair fashions to Mongolian tribesmen.

When the Farmers’ Cooperative Co. had their annual dance at Bruemmerville in July 1925, 276 men paid admission and brought with them “5 or 6 times as many gold-diggers, pseudo-flappers, plain housewives” and more. The paper described the kinds of dancing such as the latest wiggles which was stalling traffic. Capelle’s Pee-Wee’s Platoon was out in force when the paper continued the dancing descriptions. It said women were born to be steered, not to steer, and any woman raised havoc on a dance floor when she could neither pilot nor allow a partner to pilot. Once again in jest, the paper appealed to Assemblyman Anton Holly for a law to rotate clockwise on a dance floor and urged unattached women to attach themselves to chairs.

By 1927, folks were beginning to wonder what would happen when flappers married. Rolling socks, cigarettes, dollars, and dice was what flappers knew, but where grandmothers had a special day for washing, baking, and cleaning, the new generation flappers had days for golf, bridge, and motoring. Canned goods made market inroads and prepared foods were meeting demands. Prepared foods could be served at the flick of a wrist as ingenious flapper housewives found clever uses for canned goods. To serve a healthful frozen dessert, the shrewd woman opened a can of her favorite fruit - peaches, for instance – and set the can in a pail of ice and salt. Three hours later, dessert was ready to serve. That did require some planning because city housewives were dependent on the iceman.

Algoma – or at least part of it – was laughing late in 1928 when Ernest Haucke Post of the American Legion co-sponsored what was called the biggest social stunt of the season, a play titled “When Men Marry.” The production had a cast of 70 local men who were transformed with cosmetics and evening dresses into petite flappers, stately matrons, hot mamas, charming vamps, and "drug store shebas." The director of an Iowa theater company was in town teaching the men dainty steps, femininity and grace. The play was guaranteed to be a “scream.” But it was at the expense of the women ridiculed.

Even the prominent Mrs. Henry Ford was quoted in August 1931 when she commented on the knickers (short, loose pants gathered at the knee) and overalls worn by young women. That brought the little ditty, “I can show my shoulders, I can show my knees: I am a free-born American, I can show what I please.” Girls in Minneapolis had a football chant: “Root-a-tee-toot, Root-a-tee-toot, We’re the girls from the Institute. Although we freeze below the knees, We  still persist in BeeVeeDees.”

The Charleston caught on and dances began featuring contests such as the Charleston Contest and dance at William Paul’s Maplewood hall. That was followed in August 1926 when the six-piece Lyric Orchestra played for a dance at Bruemmerville. The dance featured a Charleston contest for which, proprietor W. Velicer said, there were prizes.

Arthur Murray was franchising dance studios as early as 1912. A March 1926 ad in Algoma Record Herald said one could learn the Charleston in as few as 6 lessons. Murray, who taught the Prince of Wales and 400,000 others, taught with clear and explicit instructions. In an article republished in the Record Herald, the Milwaukee Sentinel pointed out the 40 New York girls who became Charleston experts after watching the instructive movie reels. The Record Herald told readers  the series was shown in the best theaters and that one lesson a week would begin at the Majestic just after Easter. At the 7^th week, the Majestic would hold a local Charleston contest.

Algoma Record Herald commented in August 1933 on the dance marathons being reported by big city newspapers. The local paper told of the records being set by the “bob-haired flappers with rouged cheeks” who could dance all night and day without a pause. The paper felt some all but died of exhaustion. 

Then came an enterprising Illinois farmer who apparently felt mid-west girls weren’t interested in new-fangled flapper life while saying they could beat the world when it came to milking cows. In today’s world, one might feel he insulted mid-western women, but not so. His comment led to another kind of marathon when fourteen women and girls won their way into the milking finals.

Fourteen high-producing cows, beautified (cows are girls) for competition, were ready to milk. A few minutes after the ref gave the signal, Mrs. Hattie Garrelts bowed to the cheering crowd. She won a cash prize and a gold banner. As she accepted the honors, she told her audience that she  knew her Betty would win. As Mrs. Garrelts pointed out, Betty got proper rations, her stable was clean and, and regular intervals, her flanks and udders were clipped for better health, larger production and sanitation.” That prompted one farmer to wonder how much milk a cow would produce “for one of those bob-haired dancing flappers?” The farmers felt the milkers showed the world a real marathon even though milking didn’t make the front page.

In the early issues of Ahnapee Record, the 16- and 17-year-old editors, George Wing and Charles Borgman, advocated rights for women. That was 1873, but there were murmurings throughout U.S. history. Seneca Falls was a milestone. Women would not be denied and “it” started in the 1920s. In early 1942, women were expected to do their duty for the war effort. That meant many went into production jobs at places such as Algoma Plywood and the shipyards of Kewaunee and Sturgeon Bay.

Hemlines were calf level in the 1950s, but then came the 1960s with short shirts, the pill and bra-burning. Some schools checked the length of girls’ skirts. In some places the girls had to kneel on the floor. If the hem did not reach the floor, the girl was sent to the home ec room to let her hem down. The 1990s saw another woman’s movement and the baby steps taken toward equal pay for equal work while calling attention to those who were held in place by a glass ceiling. “Me Too” began a few years before 2020.

The flappers emerged as the world was coming out of the Pandemic of 1918-1919. They started a movement. Kewaunee County’s 1920 population was just over 16,000, and Kewaunee County was a part of that movement.

Note: Bach-Dishmaker, on the northwest corner of 4th and Steele, and Englebert's, which occupied the building occupied by Walters' Hardware today, advertised the latest fashions, which appeared to be more conservative than those hawked by stores in larger cities.

Sources: Algoma Record Herald, Kewaunee Enterprise, Sturgeon Bay Advocate, Wikipedia. The Last Collection by Jeanne Mackin, c. 2019, a World War ll era novel centering on the contentious relationship between Coco Chanel and Elsa Schiaparelli. It was the novel that piqued this blogger's curiosity about Algoma and the young women of the 1920s.

Graphics: Photos are the author's while the ads come from the newspapers noted.

Kewaunee County: 1920-1933 and 13 Years of Prohibition

 

Just a little over 100 years ago, President Woodrow Wilson vetoed the Volstead Act. It was the Volstead Act that provided for a special unit of the Treasury Department to enforce prohibition, the 18^th Amendment.  Wilson vetoed the act, but both branches of Congress over-rode it to make prohibition the law of the land.

In their younger years, those of a certain age were glued to TV programs about Al Capone, Elliot Ness and his federal agents, and more. Capone and John Dillinger were known to unwind in their Wisconsin hideouts, and for years there was scuttlebutt about Baby Face Nelson visiting his aunt and uncle’s farm west of Algoma. Although a connection has never been established, it’s a fun story that periodically resurfaces. Baby Face Nelson’s real name was Lester Gillis and Gillis is a name found in Kewaunee County. Lots of other places too.

During the 1940s, there were honeymooning Algoma couples – and surely others - who journeyed over gravel roads that caused multiple tire blowouts, to Three Lakes just to look at bullet holes from the famous Dillinger shoot-out. Check out Travel Wisconsin to find restaurants associated with gangster lore. They’ve even got links to gangster history.

While the Senate voted 3 – 1 against President Wilson, the American public was not entirely on board. That included Kewaunee County and its neighbors.

In July 1921, Ed Jacobs and John Schafer of Sawyer (Sturgeon Bay’s west side) were not as creative as the Virginia moonshiner who kept surplus product in a nearby cemetery. Warrants for their arrests came after their still was found in Jorgenson Swamp, also in Sawyer. Thirty witnesses appeared in 6 or 7 hearings but there were no arrests until nearly 20 gallons of moonshine were found. The finding was a total accident after several small jugs surfaced. A careful police search led to 16 gallon jugs and a small keg found in the underbrush. Jacobs and Schafer denied any knowledge when they were questioned at earlier hearings and filed charges of prejudice.

When a “sponge” squad of the state enforcement officers visited saloons in the southern and western parts of Kewaunee County in October 1921, little incriminating evidence was found among the 15 or 16 establishments, however Otto Hrabik of Krok and John Hruska of Neuren were found to have moonshine in their residences. Complaints were filed with District Attorney Leo Bruemmer who would be the prosecutor.

James Wishka’s Carlton farm was raided at the same time. A still and mash were found. The inventive Mr. Wishka had hidden his still in the treetops after manufacturing. How was it found? A tell-tale odor? Inventive also were the crooks masquerading as authorities in the western part of the county. A short time before the officers raided, several men representing themselves as dry officers “raided” and helped themselves to money in the cash registers.

Following the arrest of Hruska, Hrabik and Wishka, they pleaded guilty, Wishka to a charge of manufacturing and distilling without a permit and the other two who said they privately distilled liquor at their saloons. The men were released after paying their fines and a cost of $10 each. Hrabik paid $120, more, while Hruska was fined $175 and Wishka, $400. 

Believe it or not, Kewaunee County had its own federal agent by 1922. Agent Thomas Martin was doubtless one of the least popular men in the county, but anybody reading the papers knew he worked diligently. He found a jug of moonshine at the Hassel home in Kewaunee and used it as evidence of a purchase and transportation to a country dance at William Bohne’s saloon. The Hassels and Mr. Bohne were arrested and bound over under bonds of $500 each. Then Martin went on to raid other places in Kewaunee, Algoma and Casco, however nobody in those places was found to possess liquor. But he hit the jackpot in October 1922 when he nabbed Joseph Tebon and Erasmus Brans of Algoma. The men pleaded guilty to the manufacture of liquors, but not just then.

Tebon said the gallon and a half confiscated at his house was the first he manufactured. He had a wife and 6 kids to support. He didn’t own property and worked as a day laborer. According to the paper, the Tebons lived in Algoma’s 2^nd ward. During the raid, Martin found a 6-gallon still in the attic and 3 gallons hidden behind a dresser in the bedroom.

Farmer Erasmus Brans. who lived west of Algoma out near the railroad crossing, was raided an hour after Tebon. He also had a 6-gallon still, but had 7 gallons in his home. Both men were warned of a jail sentence for a 2^nd offense. The Record Herald told readership that together Tebon and Brans had enough moonshine to wreck the very in-ards of a garbage-fed goat and “thus it is that Algoma’s fraternity of moonshiners and bootleggers is now adorned with the names of Tebon and Brans as well as DeBauche.”

The paper went on to say bootlegging got some free advertising out of the busts although somebody would pay for it in the end. One of the federal agents raiding Tebon and Brans said he’d not feed the moonshine to a hog he cared for although the “mothers of the boys, the makers of the poison and insanity” thought it was no doubt good enough for sons and daughters of others.

Algoma Record Herald reported that the confiscated stills and liquors were being held at Algoma. The paper didn’t say what happened to the evidence, but it did say the raiding agents, Asthmuth, Sullivan and Laabs, gave grossly exaggerated reports to the newspapers.

The way the agents told it, the story could have come out of the sensationalized TV news of today! They told of the shacks hidden in the hills west of Algoma and said they were operated by two men whose occupation was running a real Kentucky still that was the chief source of moonshine on the peninsula. The agents said Tebon’s place was a 50-gallon still that had 1,500 gallons of mash and 42 gallons of shine. The agents said Brans’ shack and his 60-gallon still was two miles west of Tebon’s. Agents claimed Brans had 1,200 gallons of mash and 83 gallons of moonshine.

Readership across the state learned what a hotbed of illicit activity took place in small Kewaunee County. No doubt the righteous were thankful agents were in place to stop it. However, Kewaunee County was not what the agents made the place out to be. It appears that agents borrowed some of their story from other places, including a Door County raid conducted by the Sturgeon Bay district attorney, chief of police and sheriff. When the three local officials swooped down a few miles south of Sturgeon Bay, they found a 20-gallon still and 12 barrels of mash belonging to the Millers. The son pleaded guilty while the elder Miller pleaded not guilty. Both were bound over.

Tebon and Brans pleaded before Judge W.A. Cowell whose contemporary, Judge Grass, said, “I am not a prohibitionist; I am a temperance man.” Grass was quoted saying if he stopped at a home where he was offered wine, he’d have some. Grass felt the Volstead Act was unjust in that it enabled a rich man to have alcohol, but stopped a poor man and farmers.

Grass said his father kept a saloon so he knew what strong drink does, the sorrow and  shame of women whose husbands and sons appeared in his court, and the downfall of professional men such as doctors and lawyers. Grass felt careful thought should be given to restoring strong drink. Moonshine, he said, was deadly. Wives whose husbands drank said moonshine made them crazy. Then there were the school boys and girls drinking moonshine at dances.

Dance halls figured into the liquor laws. A dance was an easy place to find moonshine. The savvy, such as newspaper editors, felt dance hall proprietors should do more to stop the sale of moonshine before moonshine stopped the dance halls. Closing dance halls was a social and economic issue. Some felt every quart of moonshine drove in one more nail in a dance hall. Others said moonshine was a deadly poison and one as fatal as opium or morphine. The righteous saw dance halls as dens of iniquity.

In February 1923, Joseph Hlinak, owner of the Valley Inn at Bruemmerville, complained about drunk men and women from Algoma pounding on his doors while carrying bottles of moonshine. Mr. Hlinak said the folks brought their moonshine from Algoma because it could not be gotten from him. Algoma’s Mayor McGowan blamed Valley Inn when he complained about the “pickled” young couples who ride around the Algoma after dances. In a war of words, Hlinak told the mayor to clean up his back yard first. Hlinak said his dances were as respectable as any in Wisconsin and what happened in Algoma was not his concern. It doesn’t appear that McGowan followed up on Hlinak’s suggestion.

Revenue Agents raided Algoma establishments in February 1923 and found moonshine in Soucek’s saloon, and drug store whiskey at Damman’s. Several other places were raided but agents failed to find evidence. It was rumored that the pop man tipped off others about the revenuers. That prompted the paper to question the pop man about being a party to an offense, thus he would be morally guilty. The paper opined the man running a clean saloon was placed at a disadvantage by the bootleggers and deserved protection.

Caroline Soucek continued to operate the saloon after the death of her husband about three years earlier. Dammen operated his saloon in Fred Kirchman’s hotel building on the northeast corner of 4^th and Clark. In a certain sense, Mrs. Soucek and Dammen made Algoma history. They were found out in the first raid in Algoma and made the 13^th and 14^th persons to be arrested on liquor charges in Kewaunee County.

Mrs. Soucek and Henry Damman were taken into custody by federal agent Thomas Martin. Soucek had a bottle of moonshine and Damman had had a pint bottle half full of prescription whiskey. Both plead guilty to charges of intoxicants on the premises. The appearance before Judge Cowell in county court took place about 10 days before they had to appear for sentencing. Those found guilty for a second offense would be jailed for not less than 30 days and a $200 fine.

Folks were surely laughing while reading the papers in February 1923. Two Kewaunee men – Ben Olszwski and Roy Borkovitz – stole moonshine from a Green Bay bootlegger’s sleigh and were bound over on a charge of possession of intoxicants. They might never have been caught had they not been so free with the product. As it was, they sold to a 15-year-old boy who was found drunk on the streets of Kewaunee. When he revealed his moonshine source, the jig was up. While the bootlegger left his sleigh unguarded, each stole a jug. They also managed to get some shine a few weeks earlier when the bootlegger made his rounds in the county. The two men were arrested and bound over to circuit court.

A sink stopper was all it took for Agent Martin to nab John Rentmeister in Forestville in July 1923. When Martin began his inspection, Rentmeister broke a filled container in his sink. The stopper was in place and thus the evidence and container pieces were right there. The next place raided appeared to be tipped off. Places in Brussels were searched but there was nothing. Raids in northern Kewaunee County, however, yielded the best results.

Martin was back at it when he and Sheriff Webb found one of the largest stills to be found in Kewaunee County. Barney Wahl’s Kewaunee saloon yielded 2 quarts of moonshine. At Gust Rohr’s residence, the men found a still and mash.  Joseph Koralewsky’s home, also in Kewaunee, produced a still, mash and 15 gallons of fresh corn. When the men raided Montpelier and Luxemburg the following day, they hit the jackpot. Bernard Duescher was arrested at his Luxemburg farm, and his large still was taken. Duescher was under a $500 bond and did something unusual: he took his own still to Kewaunee. Duescher’s still was said to be a large box-like copper tank with about a barrel capacity. Coils of pipe ran through it, prompting those who saw it to call it unique.

When Agent Thomas Martin paid an unexpected visit to Charles Hopp’s Kewaunee saloon in September 1923, he arrested Hopp for having a liquid over 1 ½% alcohol back of his bar. Martin visited other “thirst parlors” but came up empty handed until he found the real stuff when he descended on William Haack’s farm a mile and a half north of Rio Creek. Haack had a 10-gallon still, a barrel of mash and several gallons of shine. Both men were placed under $500 bonds.

During February 1924, bootleggers of all stripes were learning about the hearings on penalties for offenders of the prohibition laws. Even the smallest bootlegger could see fines of $3,500 plus $6.40 for each gallon of liquor. Then there would be income tax assessed on the earnings as well as penalties for negligence in paying the taxes.

The August 28, 1925 Algoma Record Herald suggested energies should be directed toward getting beer. It said moonshine got away from the beer goal which was really what county populace wanted. The thing about the moonshine, though, was that it was so profitable and yielded such big returns that its traders were beginning to think they were above the law. The paper went on to say the “traders” cracked their whips, expecting the law to cringe and apologize for that law. The paper further said the situation was intolerable, however it “no doubt” grew out of “fuddled, misplaced sympathy.”

In another edition, the paper called attention to the substantial investments in the illegitimate businesses that law enforcement had to deal with. It said that “to pinch a man’s profits” means even well-meaning persons become “tools of interests they do not know.” It was the paper’s opinion that Kewaunee County was at a point were most citizens were ashamed to denounce moonshining as illegitimate traffic.

Respectable citizens by the thousands felt prohibition deprived them of liberty. But, said the paper, selling moonshine, etherized beer and “yeast-belching home beer” for more than 5 cents a glass was undisguised banditry. Besides that, moonshiners were at their trade for 5 or 6 years and never improved the quality of the product. No moonshiner wanted beer to break into the profits. The paper felt saloon men were leading the populace which was aiding and abetting them.

Moonshiners applauded by the fed? Henry Stelzer of Mishicot was. After raiding Stelzer’s in November 1928, agents praised his operation, saying it was the cleanest, most sanitary still that was ever operated in Wisconsin. They continued their praise saying Stelzer took pride in his work which had neatly arranged barrels of moonshine arranged with date of manufacture, condition of color, taste, and quality. Unfortunately, Stelzer was arrested and his outstanding whisky was destroyed. Barta Shefchek was arrested after his still and moonshine were destroyed in Franklin. Shefchek claimed he had no knowledge of his house and its contents thus declined to give any information.

When agents were unable to find evidence in the other 8 places, they felt the operators closed knowing they were being watched. Perhaps federal court in Milwaukee was not as busy as the agents would have liked.

Pastors generally had something to say, and in February 1929 Rev. N.L. Bess of the Methodist Episcopal Church said it and left Algoma agog. Bess used his sermon to attack city and school leaders and the American Legion. Could Rev. Bess go any higher than that? The sermon was one his flock remembered after they left services and before the day was out, the harangue made it to just about everyone in town. The reverend targeted moonshine traffic and said every person with “the smell of liquor on his breath” was a criminal deserving of jail.

According to Rev. Bess,  about 50 thousand dollars were spent promoting education and religion yearly in Algoma. He thought the amount testified to what the community felt was essential, but said the community lost its values in a single night when the Band Mothers and Fireman co-sponsored a dance at the Dug-Out. It was not clear where Rev. Bess got his information, but he told his congregation that there was “a dreadful amount of drunkenness” among dance goers which included teenagers. He continued saying that in a recent civics class, most students said moonshine and lack of parental authority were great societal dangers.

Bess condemned Dug-Out management saying members of the Ernest Haucke Post were responsible. But that wasn’t all. Bess directed his attack toward the police department while charging city officials with drunkenness. School leaders were attacked because of the Junior prom, a profitable activity that brought in money for other school activities. Rev. Bess felt that for earnings of $100, or even $500, Algoma was taking its youth to the Dug-Out to be ruined in one night. If Algoma’s young people had such serious drinking issues, it does not seem to have been recorded in any other issue. Was Rev. Bess overzealous?

Editor Heidmann had a note at the end of the paper’s coverage. He said two requests had been made for the paper to run a complete text of Bess’ sermon, however that would not happen because there were statements bordering on libel.

In the nearly 13 years Prohibition was in existence, there was always news, some serious, some that raised eyebrows, and some that was hilarious. When the shoe was on the other foot, J. Edgar Hoover’s G-men were sued. 

To read the papers early in 1932, animals were victims in the production of moonshine. Kewaunee Enterprise in January 1932 reported about a St. Croix County farmer suing a federal agent because of moonshine. The farmer lost 5 cows after they ate the mash that the agent dumped on the ground following a bust. It wasn’t the first time. Cows entered the moonshine world during March 1921 when a “jag” caused the death of several head of cattle in DePere. As the DePere Journal-Democrat reported the story, a farmer engaged in moonshine manufacturing when prohibition went into effect. Being tipped off that he’d be raided, he destroyed the still and fed the fermented mash to his stock. The mash didn’t agree with several animals.

There was another connection with animals – race horses to be specific. Ten years earlier in August 1922, even the Kewaunee County fair sported moonshine. Ironically, the fair article was headlined with the number of children who were in attendance. But the moonshine in the article referenced  “Moonshine Gano,” a horse owned by Louis Saams of DePere. The four-legged Moonshine was a pacer that came in 3^rd.

Louis Opicka’s $1,000 bond was one of the largest in the county for violating the prohibition laws. He was running Bill’s Inn at Casco when he was raided in August 1932. Waiving his preliminary hearing at Green Bay, he was bound over to federal court in Milwaukee.

On February 24, 1933, the paper reported Henry Zahn and Arnold Wagner of Maplewood being bound over in a curious twist of events. Their bond cost them $1,000 each, but for what? Federal Agent Paul Golz had visited Wagner’s place a week earlier to see Zahn acting as a bartender. A dance was in progress and the agent returned a few days later to make the arrest. It was reported that some beer was found in the basement, however there was no brewery in operation. The defense attorney said Wagner should be released since there was no proof if illegal activity. The commissioner did not agree.

Temperance movements began well before 1900 in efforts to regulate alcoholic beverages  and their adverse effects, however Prohibition didn’t work.  Too many Americans preferred some alcohol. There were not enough officers to enforce the law and law enforcement was often corrupted by organized crime. Law enforcement had its hands full trying to prevent the manufacture and sale of alcoholic beverages, and organized crime flourished.  

Most of Kewaunee County and the country had it with Prohibition when President Franklin D. Roosevelt issued Proclamation 2065 in early December 1933. The 18^th Amendment was repealed with ratification by 36 or the 48 states the same year.

Prohibition was both a social and political failure. It was an unenforceable policy that led to an increase in violence as criminals took advantage of a large black market. Thousands died because of Prohibition, some because of violence and some because of unregulated booze. Prohibition failed to reduce drinking. Wikipedia says alcohol consumption fell to about 30% of pre-Prohibition, but then it began rising to a level of 60-70% of the pre-Prohibition levels within a few years.     

Prohibition’s consequences included a rise in organized crime associated with the production and sale of alcohol. It also led to speakeasies, smuggling increases, and a drop in tax revenue, although people had a little more money to spend on consumer goods. Unintended consequences put Al Capone, Baby Face Nelson, John Dillinger, and others in the history books, and glorified in TV, movies, and theater. First performed in June 1975, the musical theater production Chicago – a story of the era - remains among Broadway’s longest running productions. The musical puts glamour into the Depression which brought to so much tragedy.

It has been said that if the U.S. kept alcohol legal and raises taxes, at least 10,000 deaths would have been prevented and the country would have taken in more tax money. Prohibition was a 13 year long attempt at social engineering that didn’t work.

Sources: Algoma Record Herald, Kewaunee Enterprise, Wikipedia.

Graphic sources: The poster comes from a picture I took at the Hoover Presidential Library in West Branch, Iowa, while the still equipment picture was taken in at Washington Island Farm Museum.