Kewaunee County and the Spanish Flu: 1918

Flu makes headlines. TV newscasts and newspapers are rife with stories each fall. Notices of flu and pneumonia shots appear on nearly every drug store marquee in town while even grocery stores offer shot clinics as public health agencies and clinics run PSAs. That all comes after the CDC weighs in on what strain of flu is probable, and the manufacturers make a shot or spray best addressing what is coming. Flu is dreaded. In 1918 it was dreadful. It was called a pandemic, which to this day remains one of the greatest natural disasters the world has ever seen.

Sources of the 1918 flu were not isolated, and it was the war eventually called World War l that spread the flu all across the planet. Throughout the world, uncommon and distinctive measures were being taken to deal with the influenza and stem its spread. Leading the U.S., Wisconsin was the only state adopting public health measures that the public actually accepted, perhaps because its citizens were somewhat educated. By then, Wisconsin had been working for about 40 years to improve public health and fight infectious diseases.

In December of 1918, Wisconsin’s State Board of Health said the flu will “forever be remembered as the most disastrous calamity that has ever been visited on Wisconsin or any of the other states.” Between September and December, influenza and pneumonia killed 8,459 Wisconsin residents and debilitated over 100 thousand residents. To put that in another perspective, more Wisconsinites died during 6 months of flu than in World War l, Korea and Vietnam combined. And yet Wisconsin was lucky with a death rate of 2.9 per thousand. Nationally the rate stood at 4.39 per thousand. At a time when the newspapers carried so much war news, there was little room for anything else but the overwhelming numbers of obituaries. World-wide, over 50 million died.* Just as flu today, it was spread by coughing, sneezing and human contact, though, at the time, those causes were not always understood.

Those between ages 25 and 40 were most susceptible to Spanish flu, brought from Europe by returning service men. There was no gradual onset, ensuring that some were so quickly stricken that often death came within hours. Twenty percent of the infected got pneumonia. Half of that number was dead 48 hours later.

In the beginning teachers immediately sent students home when they reported not feeling well, but then schools were closed. It wasn’t long before all public gatherings and events such as movies were shut down. Public funerals and visitations in the homes of those who died from the flu were curtailed, though church funerals could be held with a minimum number of people in attendance. Marriages were also allowed to go forward but, as with funerals, few were allowed to attend. There were warnings against public coughing. Spitting in public was against the law and was said to be enforced. Even kissing was discouraged. Church leaders balked when it was suggested churches close. The flu was political.

In Milwaukee, where it was said that 20% of the population had the flu, newspapers tried to be positive by abandoning stories that would trigger fear in favor of those providing education and information. Stories from Europe said little about flu in war-torn countries, but much was written about it in neutral Spain, prompting the disease to be named Spanish Flu.

Residents of Kewaunee County died in their beds. Kewaunee County servicemen died in Europe and they died in the U.S. William Pfluger was at Camp McClellan when he died of pneumonia and bronchitis. Edward Mach was at Camp Custer, Michigan when he died of pneumonia. Private Koukalik died of Spanish Influenza at Fort McHenry, Georgia. Adding to the family’s grief was the shock of Koukalik’s eight year old nephew dropping dead upon viewing the remains. Frank Jirtle died of pneumonia in March. The Coast Guard and Sons of Veterans fired a salute over his grave. Henry E. Holtdorp (Holdorf) battled pneumonia for a week before he died in France in September. A small white cross marks his grave there. Louis Bull was stricken with pneumonia while he was working in a gas shell manufacturing plant in spring 1917. He wanted to be a soldier and never made it into uniform.

It wasn’t only service men. The flu didn’t forget anybody. Even doctors died. In some places bodies weren’t immediately buried because the grave diggers were also stricken. Anna Kochmich left teaching for nursing, entering the Reserve Corp of Nurses at Fort Oglethorpe in December 1918. She contracted influenza and died of pneumonia on January 19.

Kewaunee County registered 3,283 men, ages 18-45, in four drafts. Four hundred fourteen were inducted though there were exemptions. The number of servicemen who contracted the flu and lived is not documented. And, as in the Civil War, disease was a greater enemy than bullets.

*Depending on when articles and books were written, sources give a death counts from over 20 million to as much as 100 million. A consensus of authorities appears to be 50 million deaths, roughly 5% of the world’s population at the time.

Sources include the Algoma Record Herald, Kewaunee Enterprise, Door County Advocate, Kewaunee County Honor Roll, 1917-1919 and Wisconsin Women by Genevieve McBride, c. 2005.

Nostalgia: Jello and A Covered Dish

 

Jello in setting in the refrigerator during the 1940s meant one thing: company. Meals didn’t come from store-bought packaged food. During the summer, food came from the garden. During the winter it came from the home-canned summer’s bounty or the frozen food in the rental freezer locker at the Farmer’s  Co-op store. Milk and eggs came from Grandpa’s farm. Nobody had a lot of money after the war, and money wasn’t going to be spent in a store unless it was necessary.

Jello was usually orange, strawberry or cherry flavored with banana slices added, unless some fresh or canned fruit was put in. Jello was usually put in a ring mold from which the Jello was released when the mold was very briefly set in water. The mold would be turned over on a plate and there the jiggly wonder was. Molds got fancy. They were shaped like stars, lobsters, fish, or were bowl-like with little shapes in the sides.  Shapes added to the company-set table, but the shapes didn’t matter to kids.

More and more Jello became a staple at ladies’ luncheons, potlucks and funeral dinners. It was a store-bought product that made an impression. By then, there were flavors such as lemon and lime that kids thought were really messed up when yukky coleslaw, celery, carrots and walnuts were added. Whatever happened is anybody’s guess, but by the mid-1960s Jello started fading from potluck scene. It was strongly suggested at the planning meeting for a women’s salad luncheon that Jello was not a salad and should not be an offering, except the little old ladies with the blue hair continued to bring such favorites as green peppers in lime Jello slathered with Dream Whip. After that it seemed as if Jello went by the wayside, only to be brought back in one recent instance by the pastor who looked at the food at a church potluck and asked where the Jello was. The church ladies thought he was quite cosmopolitan, coming from the East Coast where people must still consider Jello a delicacy.

It was indeed a surprise to see Jello served as the dessert at our building’s Friday dessert and coffee for those teachers not on playground duty. The dessert was called Broken Glass, which reminded the teacher who made it of stained glass church windows. Since it was the last day before the Christmas break, the dessert was quite fitting. Made with a graham cracker crust, firm orange, lime and cherry gelatin was cut into small pieces and then dropped into whipped Dream Whip and lemon Jello before being poured over the crust, then sprinkled with graham cracker crumbs, and allowed to set. Servings of the Broken Glass were pretty, even prettier when made in an angel food pan. Broken Glass made it to the Christmas table that year. Though it had to be calorie laden, the seemingly light dessert was fitting on that Christmas table. It also made a new bride look good.

Before the days of unions, district teachers got together for in-service and in social groups. Ours was Teachers’ Council which met after school once a month. Each school, on a rotating basis, was responsible for refreshments, which in those days meant coffee and dessert. Always coffee. Never tea. The district reflected a Scandinavian background, and those who drank tea in Northeast Wisconsin in those days were considered “affected.” Our building’s chair instructed us to bring bar cookies and then asked if there were questions. At 26 and the youngest teacher by 25 years, I was surely not known for culinary delights. I had a question. What was a bar cookie? When it was explained in the midst of eye rolling, it turned out to be brownies, lemon bars, peanut squares and so on. Who ever heard of a bar cookie? Nobody where I grew up. We called the desserts what they were and we knew what we were eating. 

After admitting I didn’t know what bar cookies were, I didn’t want to admit much else. I was engaged and didn’t want to look any worse. Then we had a day of meetings for which each school was assigned a specific potluck food. When we were told to bring a covered dish, I was afraid to ask what was supposed to be in it. A woman who had befriended me wasn’t going to roll her eyes, so I asked, only to learn that a covered dish was simply a casserole. We called casseroles what they were, although there were some who called them hot dishes. I made some pretty good casseroles, so when I brought my covered dish, I didn’t tell anybody that my tasty contribution was really a casserole.

Casseroles have gone by the wayside to be replaced by Hamburger Helper, Mac and Cheese and a great many more things on the grocer’s shelf. Adding water to a box of Jello makes it one of the easiest things to make, however now it is a convenience food sold in the deli department or even comes in little sealed plastic cups on the grocers’ shelves. Somehow it is not surprising because one can buy frozen baked potatoes that only need to be popped into the over for 30 minutes, thus shaving the other 30 minutes off dinner prep. And those deli hard boiled eggs? It takes longer to get to the store than it does to boil them. Of course, when one gets busy and the water boils away, washing the eggs off the ceiling takes much longer than going to the store.

Many years later covered dishes and church basement ladies started resurfacing. About 15 or so years ago, two women from Hastings, Minnesota wrote a hilarious book reflecting the ladies, the covered dishes and more in a time that was. Today seems like a good to get out an old mold, make some Jello and invite company for dinner. Maybe a covered dish would be a perfect compliment. Add a glass of wine and let the memories flow.

 

Algoma's Steam Laundry

eHow tells us steam washers operate as do traditional washers, however employ the added benefits of steam. When steam is injected into the water washing, there is additional cleaning power. With that comes refreshing, sanitizing, and odor and  wrinkle removal. Did Algoma’s steam laundry operate in such a fashion? Though its steam facilities were not the same as those featured on TV commercials today, it was certainly state-of-the-art for the time, and its services were in high demand one hundred years ago.

In 1903 Algoma boasted the opening of the new Steam Laundry in the structure along the south side of the Ahnapee River, previously called the White Front building. In an earlier time the brick building was the site of Rod Berrio's, John Barrand’s and Jim McCulfor’s saloons, Cameron and Nelson’s marble shop, John Charles' blacksmith shop and  William Boldt’s cigar factory. A younger generation remembers Ralph Hubbard’s welding shop and then Kurt Baum.

The building at 93 Steele Streets no longer exists. Neither do the docks which once serviced it and the community. When Joe Drobnik opened his Steam Laundry at what some might call the northeast corner of First and Steele, the laundry was the first stop for visiting ships’ crewmen. Not only was it a chance to get their clothes washed, but the men could clean up themselves as well. The facility offered showers for the crew and for town bachelors living in hotels or rented rooms. As late as the 1950s, Timble’s barbershop, the site of today’s Community Improvement Association, sported a little sign on the window indicating “shower baths” were available. The need was still there.

It was in 1902 that Martin Bretl bought the White Front building for use as a steam laundry. A year later he sold to Joseph Drobnik of Milwaukee who actually opened the laundry. At Drobnik’s grand opening a few days before Halloween, the city’s ladies were presented with carnations as they inspected the new machinery, which was said to be the best available. The laundry was met with more interest than anticipated, and it was felt it would be a huge success. Drobnik thought his facilities were of the latest design and that his work could not be equaled by anywhere along the lakeshore.

Drobnik prospered and continued to make news in 1907 when he installed a two-ton machine in which he could wash an astounding 300 shirts at once. So popular was his service that his plant was crowded to capacity as customers came in droves from surrounding towns. By 1916 he bought a Ford delivery truck and built a garage behind the laundry. Drobnik remained in business for 25 years before others took it over. Conrad Menne was leasing the laundry in 1930 when he added dry cleaning and pressing equipment.

Trucks and the railroad had taken over freight transportation so significantly that by the late 1920s the Steam Laundry was no longer feasible, and a 1931 sheriff’s sale closed of the business. Perhaps the Depression forced people to care for their own clothing or perhaps it was competition. Algoma had another laundry operating at the same time. It was thought to be somewhat of a novelty as it was a “real” Chinese laundry. Wah Lee, a "Chinaman," rented Martin Bretl's 4th Street building to open a laundry in 1922, however it was not in business long and its history is not known. Those who wanted baths could go to Timble’s Barbershop. Lee was not the lone Chinese in Kewaunee County. Charlie Toy operated his laundry on northeast corner of Dodge and Harrison Streets years earlier.

Platted as Lots 5 and 6 of Block 1 of Youngs and Steele Plat, the property has had somewhat of a storied past. Early resident David Youngs – one of the men who platted most of what became downtown Algoma and one for whom the Youngs and Steele is named - built his home there in 1854. His store was just to the east. Caroline Witte was 12 when she arrived in Wolf River (now Algoma) in1856 with her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Frederick Berndt. In a 1925 interview she remembered the Young buildings being of slab construction and told about slabs found along the beach being stood on end to provide temporary shelters. Before Youngs’ untimely death in 1873, he was a prominent business force in both Kewaunee and Door Counties.

Time marches on, and today there is no evidence of the steam laundry or David Youngs’ in Algoma. Youngs’ descendants can be found from San Antonio to Washington. Depending on the size of a community, there might be coin operated laundromats and, perhaps, even a dry cleaners. Gone from Algoma are the mangles and other huge presses. A younger generation has no idea what an iron is, let alone a mangle. Easy care fabrics and dryers with sensors have eliminated most ironing. And steam washers? Today they would be sold in appliance stores, but they wouldn't weigh two tons.

 Photographs are taken from Commercial History of Algoma, WI, Vol. 1, c. 2006, and Vol. 2 c. 2012, and are used with permission. Information comes from Algoma Record Herald.

George Grimmer, Citizen and Businessman

If there are any Grimmers left in Kewaunee, the name does not appear in the White Pages. Mentioned 100 years ago, the name was one everybody knew. George Grimmer was a highly respected, prominent resident of the City of Kewaunee and the county beyond. As one whose formal education ended at age 14, he was a successful businessman, served as postmaster of Kewaunee, served as Director of the State Bank of Kewaunee, and served on both the town and county board. The public spirited Grimmer served as a state senator, representing Wisconsin’s First Senatorial District, which covered most of Northeast Wisconsin, and took an active part in Kewaunee’s educational system.

Grimmer’s lumbering interests are well documented in Kewaunee County, and elsewhere. Detailed records indicate that he dealt mostly in oak that came from beyond Kewaunee County. Though he was associated with mining in Colorado, it was the lumbering interests that made him wealthy. To read his accounts is to question if Mr. Grimmer ever had time to sleep. The seemingly Type-A personality never became ruthless and was always held in the highest esteem. Grimmer associated with Racine’s Murray and Kelley, and then Kelly and Weeks. Murray eventually joined Grimmer’s one-time business partner George Slausson in a Two Rivers lumber venture. When D. Smith of Oconto Co. had 12 million board feet of pine on the Peshtigo and Oconto Rivers to sell, he contacted Grimmer.  Slausson and Grimmer discontinued their Kewaunee business in 1877 when their source of pine was exhausted. Their mill was along the north side of the Kewaunee River, about where the Life Saving Station would later be, just a bit east of the old ferry dock.

Correspondence indicates that Grimmer was the go-to person in Kewaunee, for both business endeavors and personal reasons. When George Slausson needed a good pair of oxen in July 1881, he wrote to Grimmer telling, not asking, him to find a good pair, as he (Slausson) was traveling from Racine and expected a good pair “right off” when he left the boat. In At about the same time Chris Gaynor wanted to buy land near the Scarboro River and wanted Grimmer’s help, but not for the land purchase. Gaynor had land to sell near Brookfield in Waukesha Co. because he wanted to “move back to Kewaunee Co. where the land was cheaper.”

As a state senator, Grimmer seemed to be associated with the thick of things, possibly because he held so many mortgages. Correspondence with DeWayne Stebbins indicated a mortgage relationship with Philitus Sawyer, the U.S. Senator, and lumberman, from Oshkosh. There were other things. Charles Fellows and Franz Swaty owned the pier at Foscoro. Tufts and Paarman wanted to length their Clay Banks pier, something Swaty was against. He wrote to Grimmer asking help in securing a denial for Tufts. Apparently that didn’t work because a few weeks later Swaty again wrote. This time he was looking for a good, sturdy man to run a pile driver like Grimmer’s because his company was doing “Tufts and Paarmann’s Pierage.” Charles Fellows applied to Grimmer for a position as a fish warden saying he had fished for years and knew all about it. He also said he could use the salary.

Grimmer and his family kept abreast of current affairs receiving newspapers from Milwaukee, Madison, Green Bay, Two Rivers, Sturgeon Bay, Marinette and, of course, the county papers. His mind was always working and he built his own snowplow for opening roads and walks around his property. He felt good schools were a must and took an active part in ensuring that Kewaunee schools were. Business associates from well beyond Kewaunee sent recommendations for teachers seeking employment, including one for John O’Hara that was written on U.S. Internal Revenue stationery. O’Hara had applied for the position of principal.

Grimmer lavishly spent money on his family for purchases of the highest quality. When he built his Queen Anne style home at the northwest corner of Rose and Dodge Streets in the 1890s, his furniture and china, and the marble for his fireplace mantle were the best Wisconsin had to offer. A blue china set for the bedroom was purchased from Therras & Massey Importers. Tapestries, or window treatments today, were as much as $35 each and came from Stark Bros. of Milwaukee. Twenty-one dollars for a mattress from Matthews Bros. in Milwaukee seems high when the chandelier from Blair and Andree Co., also of Milwaukee, cost $16. In November 1884, Milwaukee painter W. VerBryck was engaged to paint a portrait of Grimmer’s daughter Laura. The price tag was $95. After Grimmer sent Laura’s picture, VerBryck said it was too pretty and without wrinkles or lines. How could he paint what he did not see? VerBryck wrote that he was happy to report two Manitowoc ladies happened into his shop and immediately recognized the painting, saying it was an excellent likeness and how much Laura looked like her mother. It seems the artist knew where his bread was buttered!

While Mr. Grimmer was so involved, the country witnessed the second of its four presidential assassinations. Ironically, two future assassinated presidents - James Garfield and William McKinley - served in the Civil War while Abraham Lincoln was president. President James Garfield was shot on July 2, 1881, a mere 16 years after the assassination of Lincoln. Garfield was in office for only 200 days when he died on September 19, 1881. Though he was shot, it was infection, blood poisoning and pneumonia that caused his death. Probing for the bullet in his body, doctors repeatedly used their unwashed, dirty fingers and instruments. In today’s world, Garfield would have lived, but in 1881, his doctors didn’t know about and/or accept sterilization or just cleanliness. It was his doctors who hastened his death.

By late November 1881, Chester A. Arthur was president and the country was planning a monument to the late Garfield. It was then that the go-to Grimmer was contacted by William E. Smith on stationery inscripted “Executive Department of the State of Wisconsin.” Smith wrote that he was requested by the committee in charge of erecting a monument to Garfield to collect funds. Smith said it was necessary to fix an amount for each county and “to ask someone personally to see that it is raised” to ensure that Wisconsin met its contribution assessment. Kewaunee County’s portion was $50, with the City of Kewaunee responsible for $25.

Smith attached a small subscription book so names, amounts and post offices would be accurately listed. Donors received a personal certificate with pictures of the late president, his wife and his mother. Grimmer immediately dealt with the responsibility and a month after he was asked to help, Smith wrote again. But this time it was to acknowledge the contribution and to comment on its promptness.

Smith’s comments on Grimmer’s promptness was, in part, a summation of his life. If there were complaints about Mr. Grimmer, nobody bothered to record them. It appears that George Grimmer never raised too many eyebrows. A generation or two ago, the adage was, "Don't let grass grow under your feet." Grimmer must have lived by those words.

Note: Candice Millard’s 2012 Destiny of the Republic: A Tale of Madness, Medicine and the Murder of a President deals with Garfield’s death. Her remarkable story provides insights into the short presidency of one who many felt had the potential to be one of the greats. How medical treatment of the day caused the president’s death leaves readers aghast.

Kewaunee County and Its Ancient Shorelines

It was during the periods of glaciations and melting that the Great Lakes were born. Not as we know them, however. During glaciations, re-advances of shifting ice altered configurations to give us the lakes we know today. That story is told all along Lake Michigan where shorelines hold records of extinct high level lakes called Nipissing, Algonquin and Chicago. The complicated history of these lakes – especially Nipissing and Algonquin – affects most of what we know as the Great Lakes today.

Natural processes marred and even destroyed those records over millions of years, but there was still much of Lake Michigan's western shore left to investigate during a U.S. geological study in 1907. Changes have been significant in the last 100 years too, but now many of the changes can also be attributed to population growth along the lake.

Those living along the lake shore today recognize changes he or she has experienced within their own lifetime. Cycles are said to be about 50 years, however there are shorter cycles within the longer term. Were Kewaunee County residents of 1850s to return, they’d wonder what happened to the steep banks along Lake Michigan. Most of Kewaunee County is situated above the lake bluffs, just as it always was. It’s just that those bluffs have been so worn down. The bluffs of 1850 or 1900 didn’t compare with those in the narrations of ridges and terrains compiled nearly 200 years earlier by explorers such as Samuel de’ Champlain, Jean Nicolet and Claude Allouez, or even by the captains of sloops Archangel, Welcome and Felicity patrolling Lake Michigan during the War of 1812, less than 50 years before first settlement.

In 1900, the clay bluffs that rose from 20 to 40 feet above the shore in the southern part of Kewaunee County became as high as 80’ near the City of Kewaunee. By 1900, the shorelines detailed in 1834 by surveyors Joshua Hathaway and Sylvester Sibley had disappeared. Those living in Kewaunee County during its first 50 years witnessed that disappearance, probably not thinking much about it in their effort to tame a wilderness and get on with a new life. In fact, the coordinates on the site document request for the post office known as Sandy Bay ll suggest the post office would be in Lake Michigan today. At the time of the 1907 survey, an ancient forest bed was found in the lake near the Manitowoc-Kewaunee County line. Walking the shore today, one can discern trees and stumps in the till. Stream terraces give scientists an indication of lake levels in time gone by, and the creek called Mashek’s near Rostok in the Town of Pierce suggests the lake was at one time 35’ higher than it was during the 1907 U.S. Geological Survey. From what was the community of Alaska Pier, at about the site of the 1870 Alaska post office (now Three Mile Creek), one could look south toward the Rostok shore and see the step-like profile of the old creek.

Before Kewaunee’s first long pier was built in the 1850s, the bluffs were receding. As the piers were built, sand and gravel pushed in thus developing new, flatter areas along the shore. Acres of water and dry land were changing there, a change that became apparent along many places in Kewaunee County’s lake shore. This early 1900s postcard gives an indication of Kewaunee's lake bluffs of the time.

From the southeast corner of Section 9 in Pierce to Algoma, the bluff continues. There were dunes to the north of Pierce’s Section 9 and in Section 3. The shore road, on the bluff, followed a ridge of gravel, illustrated in the photo below.

Most of Algoma is built on a terrace created from lake deposits of gravel and stratified sand, the old delta of the Ahnapee River in a much earlier stage. Steep bluffs enclosed the sand flats north and south of the river, and wave action destroyed the headlands just north of today’s north pier. Bluffs north of Algoma surpassed those to its south.

Moving north toward today’s Door County Town of Clay Banks, the old bluff was 80 to 100’ with a 50 degree slope at the time of the 1907 survey. As the survey points out, there is nowhere in Eastern Wisconsin where there are bluffs to compare with those in Clay Banks. Near the east-west road in Section 6 of the Town of Ahnapee, the shore road descended from the bluff to the sandy terrain at the base. At Foscoro post office ½ mile farther north, a large creek with a broad flood plain entered the lake through a large gap in the bluffs. The village of Foscoro, on the Door-Kewaunee County line, was then on a 70’ bluff.

In so many places gaps in the bluff indicate creek terraces. Those creeks were lost as the bluffs were eaten back. Recorded history tells us about the early Bohemian settlers arriving at Mashek’s Creek in the 1850s. History tells us about the two Carlton settlements called Sandy Bay, one being renamed Carlton.  Casco Pier, now called Three Mile Creek, Silver Creek and Foscoro, now Stony Creek, are other examples of major creeks remaining in 1900. Just as the postal communities at those sites disappeared with the advent of RFD in 1904, by 2014 the creeks have almost disappeared.

The Kewaunee and Ahnapee Rivers are the county’s major rivers. They are nothing like they were in 1900, or when the earliest settlers began arriving in 1851. By settlement the rivers had changed from fewer than 20 years before when the area was being surveyed. As for a suspected old river of my youth – I know where it is, but few others could find it today.

This blogger has been studying Algoma’s lakefront and the Ahnapee River for more than 40 years and Kewaunee’s flats more recently. It was a picture of family land found in the 1907 survey that prompted thinking about the old shorelines. I grew up playing on that land, which had been virtually unmarred over all those years. How could I be so sure it was the same area? One recognizes the place in which one spends most of life. Then too, there were the house and farm buildings, identical to family photos. The house that was recently torn down had not changed since the survey picture was taken just after 1900. As an adult I felt that which we called the cattle pass – the huge culvert under the highway allowing cows to go from the lake side to the west side of the highway – was an old river. Imagine my surprise to learn via the accidental discovery of the geologic study that it actually was. Though there have been numerous geological studies, it was the accidental finding of the photo that intrigued me.

For a more detailed description of Foscoro, see the blog "Foscoro: A Village that Was."

Sources: An-An-api-sebe: Where is the River?, c. 2001; Commercial History of Algoma, Wisconsin Vol. 1, c. 2006;  Here Comes the Mail: Post Offices of Kewaunee County c. 2001; The Abandoned Shore Lines of Eastern Wisconsin, c. 1907; postcards and Hathaway’s correspondence in the blogger’s collection.

 

Funeral Jewelry: Keeping a Loved One Close

Morbid, morose, gloomy, or even macabre, is how some would describe it. Several years ago a major news magazine carried an article about a new process turning cremation ashes into diamonds, pointing out such diamonds are considered to be real. A Google search brings up firms producing rings, crosses and other jewelry made using ashes. The idea is to keep one’s loved one close to one’s heart, however such thoughts also prompt some humor.  As one woman said, “He’s been telling me what to do for 50 years, so why would I want him in an earring?”

Before 1900, it was the deceased’s hair that went into the funeral jewelry and, for a time, it was quite fashionable. In addition to jewelry are shadow box-like deep picture frames containing flowers made from women’s long, thick hair. Often, the flowers surround a 4 x 6” funeral card with the woman’s name and a brief bible passage. As the custodian of Great-grandpa’s 8” watch fob, finding pictures of him wearing it was a surprise. Ii was funeral jewelry. As the story was handed down, it was his. It wasn’t possible. More hair was made into a ring for Grandma. Whose hair is it? It was not uncommon to save a lock of the deceased’s hair. Could it have belonged to Great-grandpa’s mother?

Great-grandpa was born in 1845 the small village of Allendorf in Schwarzburg, Rudolstadt, Thuringia. He was almost nine when he boarded the Helene at Bremen to sail to the U.S. with his parents and sisters, aged 9 and 11. An ocean voyage is always especially memorable, but there was more for that little boy. His mother died at sea. However, she wasn’t buried at sea. Being just a day or two out of New York, her body was towed in to be buried in the U.S. Where she was buried, nobody really knew years later. Maybe that was due to shock, turmoil and language in 1854.

Great-grandpa’s father married a widow within months of landing. She needed a man to provide for her and her children. He needed a woman to do for him and his children. They had four more children and then she died. Great-grandpa’s sisters were there to care for the new, younger family. Great-grandpa’s father married another widow, but things didn’t go well and she left him. By then, Great-grandpa had married and had his own family, which also included his father who was in ill health. He died in 1891.

And the funeral jewelry? It is probable, that in 1854, Great-grandpa’s father and sisters would have taken locks of hair from their dearly loved wife and mother. It is not unrealistic to believe that the hair in the watch fob was his mother’s. Pictures of Great-grandpa show him wearing the watch fob well before the death of his father. The ring? It was made for someone with a slim finger. Eventually Grandma wore it. In wearing the watch fob, Great-grandpa did indeed keep his mother close to his heart. Grandma never knew that grandmother, but she held her close of all the days of her life.

 

Joshua L. Johns & Kewaunee County Liberty Loan Drive

During the days of print media, prominence was often judged by the “ink” one got. Joshua Johns got so much ink that he could have gone swimming in it!

Joshua Leroy Johns was a small town boy who was born in Richland Center, Wisconsin and never forgot his roots. Perhaps it was those roots that propelled him toward a life of community service. Perhaps it was those roots that propelled him politically towards the progressive movement.

As Wisconsin's 8^th District Congressman in the late 1930s and early ‘40s, Johns’ stance on neutrality was nationally known. That almost seemed like a contradiction. Earlier, during World War l, he led the Victory Liberty Loan efforts in Kewaunee County. It was his leadership that put the county first in Wisconsin to “go over the top” and exceed quotas. While Kewaunee County achieved 101% of its quota, Sauk County was the nearest to it, achieving 73.36% Dane and Milwaukee were numbers 14 and 15, with 5.11% and 4.85% respectively.

Johns’ bond, or loan drive, was carefully orchestrated. In April 1919, a War Train came from Green Bay to Kewaunee and then Algoma before going north to Sturgeon Bay. Hundreds – some accounts estimate 3,500 – came out at Kewaunee to view the three black, green and yellow camouflaged flat cars containing war equipment and the two Pullman sleepers for speakers, soldiers and sailors. The flat cars were filled with captured German military equipment. The point was made that the equipment was captured while those in attendance maintained their relatively comfortable lives at home. Gas masks and revolvers were one thing, but there were machine guns and German canons. A Fokker type airplane was a hit. The most interesting was a whippet baby tank that traveled around the city at speeds of 20 miles an hour. Besides its speed, the 6-ton tank was easily maneuvered. Covered with 5/8” thick steel armor, it had a 62 hp motor and two 37 millimeter guns. The tank made a big impression in Kewaunee.  

Severely wounded soldiers and sailors riding in the Pullmans were placed on the platform for effect. Algoma’s Quiren Groessl was one of them. When he wrote his memoirs years later, he told of being “used.”  Of course a band was also aboard the Pullmans, and stirring, patriotic music was a part of the event.

During the stop at Kewaunee, there were speeches at the Sokol Hall (left) which was filled to overflowing.

As effective as the stop was, there was more. Lt. Charles R. Wing and Lt. Ray P. Birdsall were two of six Wisconsin flyers who’d graduated as expert instructors at the military flying school in Texas. Johns had put in a request to have them fly in Kewaunee County, but the military had other plans for them. Johns did manage to secure a seaplane, which surely caused excitement in 1919. School children all over the county had the day off so they too could witness the events. Duty had been impressed upon the kids as well and they were to understand their part.

Still, there was more. “Lest We Forget” was a play presented all over the county, providing easy attendance. Leading citizens and returning service men took parts at Nickolai’s in Duvall, Kraynik’s at Bolt, Ratajczak’s in West Kewaunee, Entringer & Hucek’s in Lincoln, Folks’ in Carlton, Okrush’s in Luxemburg and in tens of other halls and schools around the county.

Johns was always most public spirited. From Richland Center High School, he went on to Yale and then Grant (which was renamed Chattanooga) College in Chattanooga to earn his law degree. That was only the beginning.

Sources: Kewaunee Enterprise and Johns' papers; Quiren Groessl's Big Boy; postmarked 1916, the postcard is in the blogger's collection.

 

 

Kewaunee County: Co. K, 21st Wisconsin at Chickamauga

Edward Salomon became Wisconsin’s Civil War governor in 1862 upon the accidental drowning of his predecessor Lewis Harvey. Almost immediately, responding to a federal request, Salomon called for more volunteers and set up a draft. His plan included dividing the state into five recruiting sections and putting Col. B.J. Sweet in charge of District 4, which included Kewaunee County.

Sweet was a cousin and law partner of Ahnapee’s Rufus Wing, a man who, with other members of his family, rose to prominence in Kewaunee County. Wing continued his law practice in Ahnapee, but it was in Chilton, Wisconsin where he had lived and practiced with Sweet.

Sweet was commissioned to raise a company at about the same time Kewaunee merchant Charles Cunningham was organizing Co. A, 27^th.  Though it was said Sweet was an honorable, high-minded, qualified man whose regiment would be a good one in which to enlist, Sweet was not successful recruiting, raising only 14 Ahnapee men. His efforts were joined by Cousin Wing who had also received a recruiting commission. On August 14, 1862, the men left Ahnapee for Oshkosh where they became part of Co. K, 21st Wisconsin Infantry.  A week after mustering into federal service, the 21st left for Cincinnati and on October 8 fought in the Battle of Perryville, only to loose heavily. One newspaper article reported Sweet faring better than most, even though he was kicked by a horse, but the report didn’t have all the information. As it was, Sweet, who had contracted malaria, led his men into battle. A ball to the right arm ended that part of his military career. Though his arm was paralyzed for life, it didn't prevent him from a political life and remaining in the employ of the federal government. Following his recuperation, Sweet was put in charge of Camp Douglas in Chicago. History tells us he foiled a Confederate prison breakout designed to attack Chicago just before the 1864 presidential election. Ironically, Col. Harrison Hobart, Sweet’s successor in the 21^st , had a prison break of his own.        

Of the 14 men leaving Ahnapee that day, some saw plenty of action in Tennessee. Others died before they got there. Joseph Bowden was killed in action at Chaplin Hills, also known as Perryville, Kentucky, Manual Londo died on October 29, 1863 from wounds suffered there. William Perry was taken prisoner there and discharged for disability in March 1863. Peter Simon was also taken prisoner. He got back to his regiment and was mustered out in 1863.  John Sartell also died before arriving in Tennessee. He died of disease at Bowling Green in January 1863.

After arriving in Nashville in June 1863, the 21^st was assigned guard duty. A month later, they were sent to Chattanooga. The Tennessee River winds itself around Chattanooga - going from Tennessee, into Georgia, back into Tennessee and  on to Alabama - being fed by numerous Tennessee and Georgia creeks surrounded by valleys and mountainous ridges. Chickamauga Creek, including East and West Chickamauga Creeks and the main branch, was where the Ahnapee men of Co. K. saw action. The men were near a gap at Missionary Ridge in front of one of the Chickamauga fords during much of the battle. For both the North and the South, the battle was one of confusion. History points to turmoil and uncertainty among the leadership, with much of the muddling due to the jealousies of those in command. Nobody was sure of where the next unit was and there was “friendly fire.” History tells us the part of the line held by the 21^st never faltered and when the retreat order was given, the 21^st never got it. By the time they realized other units were falling back, they were being surrounded by Confederate soldiers. Hobart and 70 officers and men were captured.

That was not the last of Harrison Hobart. How many of the 70 were sent to Libby Prison, a Richmond hell hole, is unclear, but Hobart was indeed there. Libby was thought to be a fortress. An old warehouse in downtown Richmond, the prisoners were kept on the 2^nd and 3^rd floors. There were escapes here and there, and men were shot for just looking out the windows. There are stories about the prisoners who got into the basement and began digging a tunnel. The time came when 100 men escaped through the tunnel. Hobart led them.

Wisconsin saw its 1^st, 10^th, 15^th, 21^st and 24^th Infantries and 1^st Cavalry, and 3^rd, 5^th and 8^th Light Cavalries at Chickamauga, but the men from Kewaunee County were primarily those from Ahnapee. Others had been in some of the other units but had transferred out or had not made it that far.

Of those serving on that battlefront, Homer Bacon was badly wounded at Chickamauga and crippled for life. John Goettinger, George W. Warner and Thomas Allen were in bad health. Though he wasn’t in the 21^st, Ahnapee’s John McDonald said he lost his good right arm at Missionary Ridge, part of the same campaign. A Civil War list says it happened at Stones River. Charles Ross, who was serving with an Illinois unit, also lost an arm at Missionary Ridge. Spencer Dunham, George Foss, Benjamin Fowles and Pierce’s Hubert Lauscher remained healthy. If they shared the horrors of Chickamauga, it was not chronicled.

When the 21^st was mustered out on June 17, 1865, it had  lost 305 men. More than – 183 – died of disease. At Chickamauga itself, the Union loses were 16,351 killed, wounded or missing. The action was said to be a narrow Confederate victory, although their loss stood at 18,999.

Note: It was Spymistress by Madison author Jennifer Chiaverini that aroused an interest in Libby Prison. I wondered if any Kewaunee County men had endured its horrors and might have escaped with Hobart. It is fascinating that when Hobart was called from Mississippi to take the place of the wounded Sweet, he was taking the place of one he knew from the very small community of Chilton, Wisconsin. Then there is Rufus Wing’s tie-in. Certainly there remains an additional story. Wing’s son George later prepared the list of those serving from Kewaunee County and without him much would be lost. It is said Wing prepared the military list from his memory and that of others. Anyone using it would also be well advised to check other resources, especially where there are notes indicating desertion. There are errors.

Sources: An-An-api-sebe: Where is the River, c. 2001; George Wing’s list of the men of Kewaunee County and their units, compiled by this blogger; Chickamagua’s Park Rangers; E.B. Quiner, Military History of Wisconsin: A Record of the Civil and Military Patriotism of the State in the War for the Union, c. 1866; William De Loss Love, Wisconsin in the War of Rebellion, Vol. 2, c. 1866; Steven E. Woodworth, Six Armies in Tennessee, c. 1998; Jennifer Chiaverini, Spymistress, c. 2014.

The Painting - Longwood Plantation at Natchez, the ironclad USS Cairo, blockade runners, soldiers, offices, guns and death are part of a Civil War oil painting collage used with permission of the artist at NLJArt.

 

 

 

Father Joseph Rene Vilatte and the Peninsula's Old Catholic Movement

If there was ever a Wisconsin clergyman about whom volumes have been written, it was Joseph Rene Vilatte, simply known as Father Vilatte. Father Vilatte was leading the Old Catholic Belgian congregations in the late 1800s, but the February 19, 1898 edition of Catholic Citizen noted that the “Old Catholic Archbishop was left flockless.” Vilatte obviously didn’t agree because on June 20, 1905, he signed his name as “Archbishop Vilatte, Metropolitan of America.”

The Old Catholic order came about around 1870 following the First Vatican Council and the Decree of Papal Infallibility. It was a time when Napoleon was trying to make the church subservient to himself while the Germans were trying to empower the bishops at the expense of the pope. Germany and France were at war, bringing an anti-Christian commune to France and an empire to Germany. A German sect opposing papal authority, called Old Catholic, had its origins years before, but it became increasingly more protestant. There were issues with transmitting Episcopal powers and the Bishop of Deventer was one who did just that. Old Catholics were primarily German, but as the movement spread to other countries as well, it was the beginning of the movement in the Belgian settlement.

Arguments concerning locations of new churches split congregations. It happened with the Belgian Catholics of Rosiere and Misiere, it happened with the German Lutherans of Forestville and Kolberg and it happened with others. Within the Belgian settlement, the most prominent reason  for one split – and probably the most detrimental – was the recovery of Mrs. John Everts, wife of a tavern keeper. After feeling she was cured by a spiritualist, she pressured her husband saying he too could heal if he only stopped selling rum. When John Everts began holding séances with the dead, the area priest, Reverend Stevnard, said if he was there, nobody could talk with the dead. Stevnard failed to show up when a Mr. Duchateau bet $1,000, however he denounced the heretic (Everts) who, by then, led 40 families to start a church. Enter Vilatte.

Old Catholics in America tells us Vilatte was born in Paris on January 24, 1854. The son of a butcher, he was raised in an orphanage and went from being confirmed at Notre Daem to Methodist and Presbyterian practices. It was a time of much anti-Catholic writing. One who left the priesthood – Charles Chiniquy – was one Vilatte met. Chiniquy was raising havoc as early as the 1850s writing about clergy drunkenness, the horrors of confession and more. He even blamed the Jesuits for the assassination of Abraham Lincoln. Vilatte befriended him and a bit later became a Presbyterian minister in Green Bay.  Vilatte seemed to be almost constantly traveling and about 1884 befriended the renowned Paris Carmelite Father Hyacinthe Loyson. Loyson was "streamling" Catholic doctrine and was asked to modify his language, which he would not. Hatred of authority prompted his leaving the church.

When Vilatte met Loyson, Loyson encouraged Vilatte to contact the nearest Episcopal bishop, which was Hobart Brown in Fond du Lac. Vilatte did that and then went to Switzerland for ordination, returning to Fond du Lac, where, on June 5, 1885, he was ordained as a missionary. Beginning work among the Belgians, he established Precious Blood congregation in Gardner, so named because he felt communion should be received under two species. Vilatte’s assistant there, John Gauthier, later became pastor of Blessed Sacrament in Green Bay.

By then Vilatte was presiding over three small congregations. He felt the Belgians needed a bishop, but the Episcopal bishop didn’t share the opinion. That opened the door for advice from both Old Catholic orders. In 1891 then Episcopal Bishop Grafton tried to remove Vilatte who said that since he had always been Catholic, Grafton was powerless to remove him.

It seems as if trouble was every place Vilatte was. His ordinations and consecrations are hard to follow around the world. They took place not only in Europe, but in places such as Ceylon and India. Vilatte was not a man of wealth, but somehow there was always travel money.

Vilatte established his St. Louis Cathedral in Green Bay, St. Joseph at Walhain and St. Mary’s, Duvall. In 1898 he had to get rid of St. Louis for lack of money and lost St. Mary’s at the same time. He lost funds through Episcopal missionary aid to the Gardner church. St. Mary’s was organized in 1888 as an “unorganized” mission of the Episcopal Church. St. Joseph’s was short-lived, being established in 1893, but the property was actually Vilatte’s.

Vilatte tried to “look Catholic" while keeping the title of an Old Catholic. He published catechisms and wrote numerous articles – some for the Green Bay papers – questioning papal authority. While the Old Catholic movement never made huge inroads within the Belgian community, those who left were welcomed back to the faith by the Premonstratensians (often called White Fathers) and Father Pennings who established a church at Namur. Pennings and the others preached in French, the peoples' language, and did not attack Vilatte.

Wisconsin’s Polish were often classed as German, Austrian or Russian and by the 1870s, there were religious rifts among the Polish people. Vilatte was there. He ordained, but at a price. He kept the entanglements while he kept watching Europe and ordaining in many other countries. In 1890, Vilatte said he’d return to the Roman Catholic Church if he was met halfway. Green Bay Bishop Frederick Katzer (3^rd Bishop of Green Bay 1886-1891) began investigating, though what is written offers confusion for the next few years. One thing is certain: in 1894 the people of Duvall wrote to Bishop Sebastian Messmer (4^th Bishop of Green Bay 1892-1903) about their good priest while also letting the bishop know they hated the Vatican.

The Church's part of "halfway" was telling Vilatte he had to study in France. Vilatte questioned sincerity and refused to go, feeling he’d be barred from reentering the U.S. He wanted Rome to evaluate his orders. Rome would not. Within the mountains of papers dealing with Vilatte, there are letters to the newspapers, one of which was signed by the Trustees of the Church at Dyckesville. It was written to the Green Bay Daily State Gazette, dated November 11, 1890. The lengthy letter characterized the pious, zealous Vilatte, however on examination* of the letter, it was decided that none of the Dyckesville trustees was capable of writing such a letter. There were other letters, including one in the Cleveland Plain Dealer, piles of letters from church leaders and others, some indicating secret meetings. There are articles describing Christmas masses at St. Joseph and St. Mary’s. St. Joseph’s had a high altar and two side altars, one to Our Lady and one to St. Joseph. The church had its first resident pastor in 1898, but the church did not last long. Father Basil, whose given name was George Reader, was from England and ordained by Vilatte to be Walhain’s rector. St. Mary’s Christmas services were also described in 1897. Vilatte called himself Archbishop and the messages he sent both churches in 1897 were not unlike a pastoral letter from the bishop today. Duvall’s congregation numbered 316 while Walhain’s was 84. It was not clear if the number was of families or individuals, which would make a huge difference. There are articles in the Door County Advocate and The Independent, another Door County newspaper, about Vilatte’s intentions for building a seminary in Sturgeon Bay. For which order is not clear. Later editions reported that plans changed as the timing was not right because of Vilatte’s perception of ill feelings. That prompted The Independent to examine the issue of bigotry in Sturgeon Bay. When Vilatte wrote to the Daily Advocate of Green Bay asking forgiveness for his enemies, he signed the letter as J.R. Vilatte, Orthodox Old Catholic Archbishop. Bishop Vilatte, Metropolitan of America was the signature used on a June 20, 1905 letter.

As for the Polish in Kewaunee County, it was Rev. Joseph Rous who was instructed by Bishop Fox to unite the three parishes in Montpelier. Fox wanted to drop the three names and call the merger St. Joseph. That church remains in Pilsen, though it is part of St. Therese parish. The last mass at St. Anne, Montpelier was said on June 26, 1911, however the membership opposed the closing and called themselves Old Catholic. They were led by Rev. Miller, Rev. Tichy and Rev. Gauthier who served at several times. The last pastor was Rev. Gross, a married man. Gross and most members went on to join St. Joseph, and St. Anne - often called St. Anna - eventually closed.

Since Vilatte's death in 1928, volumes have been written about him. With advances in technology much more is surfacing. This article does not begin to even scratch the surface of the life of the clergyman who assumed more church authority than any other in Northeast Wisconsin.

*It is not clear who examined the letter for authenticity.

Information for this article comes from the ARC at UW-Green Bay and the newspapers mentioned.

Ahnapee Harbor and Johnny Doak - Straight Out of the Movies

A walk along Lake Michigan on Algoma's boardwalk on a warm summer's eve is a walk out of a romance novel. Add the glow of the lamps - reminiscent of the gas lights of an era long gone - casting reflections on the shimmering water of a moon lit night and the twinkling lights of returning fishing boats on the horizon, and the walk seems straight out of a movie.

If a movie had been made from scenes recreated from 130 -140 years ago , the view would have been equally breathtaking. There was no boardwalk then and gas lights had not yet been introduced in Ahnapee. The river's entrance was almost at the foot of Michigan Street from which it meandered in somewhat of an S curve to join the main channel. Before the U.S. Engineers straightened the channel and added the piers, a sand bar almost always caused problems for the boats trying to enter the river. But what a scene it must have been to stand on the lake bank seeing 15, 20 or even 25 sailing vessels  riding at anchor at once. It was the days of steam ferries and wind ships. There were piers, but not as they are known today.

Captain Frederick Pabst worked for Manitowoc's Goodrich company, ferrying passengers aboard such ships as the Cleveland and Comet, in the early days. The Enterprise mentioned Pabst being a favorite of the traveling public. It was always said Pabst made such good time as he was courting the daughter of Milwaukee brewer Jacob Best. He eventually married Miss Best and headed the brewery that won the blue ribbon at the World's Fair - Pabst Blue Ribbon.

Ahnapee was a popular port full of sailing vessels loading shingles, ties, posts, wood products, grain and more. As soon as stores were offloaded at one port, stores destined for another were loaded back on. Hard as it is to believe today, the sailing vessels were known to save the lives of ship-wrecked men whom they had found while criss-crossing Lake Michigan. That says something about the lake's commercial traffic.

One-armed John McDonald was one of those captains. He might have lost his good right arm at Missionary Ridge, but he continued sailing and doing the work of men with two arms. Captain William Henry's Lady Ellen lies today in her watery grave just west of the 2nd Street bridge. William Armstrong's Wren or John W. Wright, Mark Wenniger's William Finch, Capt. James Tuft's Mary Mills and Albert Sibilsky's Hinsdale were only a few of the local boats in port. Captains Zeb Shaw and Charlie Fellows captained numerous vessels, just as the others did. All the above have recognizable names in today's Algoma. Though his name faded from the community, it was Capt. Johnny Doak who was by far Ahnapee's most colorful captain. His boat, the Ella Doak, was frequently referred to as "the queen of the beach." That's where she often was! Whether or not Doak was as dashing as old movie heart throb Errol Flynn, Flynn could have done credit to Doak's exploits.

To read newspaper accounts and other histories, it would appear that perhaps Johnny Doak was the most foolhardy of captains, however that depended on one's perspective: Johnny was either a good one or a bad one. To read between the lines, it appears that Doak was more comfortable and more at home on the Great Lakes than anywhere. Add his favorite crew - his brother Alec, Sea Star Sibilsky, whose baptismal name was Albert, and Orange Conger - and there wasn't much the men didn't tackle.

Capt. Doak was something of a Robin Hood who made money in what only could be called salvage. He claimed rights to foundered ships that sometimes had saleable cargoes such as iron. Other times it was wet grain that was salvaged. Capt. Doak was not adverse to selling damaged goods, but was generally long gone before the buyers knew what they had. Author Fred Neuschel quoted an article from an early 1870s Racine Weekly saying that  to the Ella Doak all seasons were alike and that she "never furls her wings." While other captains spent the winter on land, Doak continued sailing, even when the rigging and sails froze. There were times when the vessel was frozen in the ice for days. Doak's ability was put to the test during the terrible winter of 1871-72 when he and his three-man crew carried hay, seeds, tools and other supplies to Peshtigo fire victims. As Neuschel points out, it was Doak's finest hour. One hundred and forty years later, there are those who are here today only because of Capt. John Doak's efforts in keeping their Red River and Lincoln Town ancestors alive.

During the summer of 1872, the Ella Doak was carrying a load of lumber for Hall's Mill when she sprung a leak. The lumber was thrown overboard. Sometime later, when loaded with brick, the Ella hit a sandbar near Port Washington. In October she was loading wood at Ahnapee and went ashore. A few days later she dragged anchor and went ashore again. Just a few days after that, still loaded, she hit Hitchcock and Mashek's pier in Kewaunee when winds blew her ashore. The mizzen mast was lost and the boat was hung up offshore. The tug Hagerman towed the boat to Milwaukee where damage was put at 600-700 dollars. Damage to the pier was about the same.

Ella Doak was in a collision in the Chicago River in fall and then a month later was aground at South Manitou Island. A year later she was approaching Sheboygan in a storm and hit the pier. It was in August 1875 that the boat met its demise. There were those who felt she'd come back so many times that she would then too. But it was not to be.

It was Capt. Johnny Doak who proved something to the residents of Ahnapee, something the optimistic had known all along. Residents knew the Ahnapee harbor was one of the finest on the western shore of Lake Michigan, but the sand bar at the mouth of the river was always a problem, hampering vessels from entering the river. In July 1873 those near the harbor could see a boat coming toward the harbor "hell bent for election." It was the Ella Doak coming in, jumping the sandbar and mooring near the brewery dock. Johnny brought the boat in for repair and painting. The point brought home was that if ships could enter the river, they didn't have to dock at the piers extending into the lake. If they didn't have to use those piers, they didn't have to pay exorbitant prices changed by the likes of  Charles Boalt, Ed Decker and their ilk. As it happened, harbor construction as we know it today began in 1873. Doak had another first that year. His boat was the first to over winter in the river since Capt. John McDonald's Amelia in 1856.

Doak's feat made the fledgling Ahnapee Record when it happened in July, however nearly 50 years later when George Wing, who wrote the first article, wrote his history, he told the story a little differently. He told about the terribly cold Christmas Day in 1873 and how the Doak came riding the crest of a wave to jump the bar of the Wolf. Wing told of using his marine glasses to watch the men in the cockpit, the icicles on the beards on the faces of the men set in pure determination as the boat was almost propelled toward the river. People talked about it as the Christmas miracle. It's a good story, but it really happened in July. George Wing said Johnny was trying to make it home for Christmas dinner, but reality is that when he tied up near the brewery, it was for repainting and repair.

The Record said Johnny Doak furnished more news than any other captain. He survived the wreck of the Ella Doak by 9 years, dying at Ahnapee on February 25, 1885 at age 45. At the announcement of his death, harbor flags were lowered to half-mast. The Doak brothers were all sea-related. The Ella, Lizzie Doak and Kate Doak were owned by the family. One of the boats was built by them. Alexander Doak captained the Evening Star and was a long-time lake captain. George sailed for years before dying of alcoholism. Robert drowned near Sheboygan.

Walking on the boardwalk on a summer evening is what dreams are made of. The dreams were just a little different in 1880. Move over Errol Flynn - Johnny Doak played Robin Hood first.

Sources: Viewed from starboard in the picture above, it appears Capt. William Armstrong's Wren is loaded with posts or ties.  The photo is a family picture, used with permission, from the files of Amstrong's great grandchild N.J. Harvey, Information comes from  An-An-api-sebe: Where is the River? c. 2001 and microfilmed copies of Ahnapee Record and Door County Advocate.