Ahnapee Town & the Best Deer Hunting Ever

Today, more than 50 years after this photo was taken, deer hunters would be aghast at such a sight. This picture is impressive by any hunter’s standards. The men were all friends, relatives or those who lived in the neighborhood. Aunt Tillie clipped it from a newspaper – probably Algoma Record Herald* - possibly during the later 1950s. Tillie clipped everything of interest to her over a forty or so year period, but unfortunately she didn’t date or source much.

When 34 deer were harvested by 34 Kewaunee County men, the men felt they experienced the best hunting in Wisconsin. They probably did. Most impressive was that 21 of the deer were harvested on Thanksgiving afternoon on the Art Wilke farm north of Algoma on Highway S. Wilke’s farm was a normal sized farm for the period, not one of the mega farms one finds in the county today. How 21 deer were harvested in a few hours on 80 acres was the story that didn’t survive.

Though not all hunters are on the picture above and 13 of the deer were already butchered, the picture tells more than a thousand words. A close up reveals a few grins but most of the men are trying to look serious, rather than reveling in what should be bragging rights.  Standing are Art Wilke, Tom Perry, Wilfred Grundemann, Sylvester Uecker, Ed Fiala, Walter Kussow, B. Shaw, Pat Kirchman, Zeb Shaw, Dr. Rudolph Dobry, Albert Prust, Pete Perry, Argene Leischow, Henry Muench and Charles Prausa. Kneeling are Walter Wilke, Homan Shaw, Henry Diefenbach, Frank Kruswick and Lawrence Harmann.

A little over 50 years earlier, in 1901, The Algoma Record boasted the hunting prowess of Algoma men when it reported that Algoma was “never backward” and its men had nearly 1/5^th of the Kewaunee County hunting licenses. The article seemed to imply that County Clerk Valecka was a little bored filling out which must have gotten to be the same old, same old. Based on Algoma's population, those 75 licenses reflected in a significant percentage of eligible males hunting.

With so much activity within Kewaunee County, one wonders why residents even bothered to go “up north,” but they did. Early papers pointed to the numbers of deer in northern counties while also pointing to regulations and what would happen to one ignoring the laws that included number of deer to be taken, transportation of the deer and the use of dogs. While dogs were generally prohibited in the hunt, there were those advocating their use. Thoughts were that wounded deer often move on and weren’t found, only to die further into the woods. Using dogs would ensure wounded deer would indeed be found. When the law allowed only one deer, there were those who felt taking fawns met the letter of the law. That required a rewrite. Some were concerned that if does were taken, depletion in overall numbers would follow. Another rewrite advised not shooting unless antlers were clearly visible. Fruit growers objected to most of the harvesting regulations because the deer were killing their fruit trees and thus their livelihood. Between 1895 and at least 1913, the Legislature also provided for a spring deer hunt. Metal tags sky-rocketed to 10 cents in 1920. The papers told about unheard of numbers of deer in a section of Ontario, Canada, however those going to Canada were subject to greater restrictions.

Hunters found Canada attractive in 1920 because the state Conservation Commission was in favor of a closed November hunt. Kewaunee County reflected the state with nearly a 100% jump in requests for hunting licenses from 1918 to 1919. It is possible such a jump also reflected the meatless meals and the hunger for meat during World War l, when much of the supply went to the military. The Commission felt that a 1919 hunt would tragically affect Wisconsin’s deer populations and possibly wipe deer from the state. Mentioned were the appalling numbers of carcases at railroad stations in northern Wisconsin. Commission wardens estimated more than 25,000 deer were killed and that was unsustainable. It felt that those who delighted in hunting would see that chapter of life closed. Though over 65,000 licenses were sold in 1920, the Commission’s mandated a one buck law for 1920 resulted in a huge falling off in the numbers of deer harvested.

A few years earlier – in 1912 – Algoma Record reminisced that only a few years before the county’s deer were more plentiful than rabbits were that year and that deer had gone the way of the buffalo and pigeons. The paper predicted a time when hunting licenses would be mere memories. Today's hunters - thankful that the predictions of 100 years ago didn't come to pass - are gearing up for another season. Blaze orange clothing is airing on clotheslines and hunters are among the few waiting for snow.
 

Just as today, accidents and heart attacks killed hunters. In 1905 the Baltimore Sun appeared to be making sport of the 16 Wisconsin hunters who died in the woods while saying, “It looks as if the deer have the laugh on their pursuers.” That's something nobody is waiting for.

 

 *The clipping came from a newspaper and Algoma Record Herald seems most obvious because of the photo’s location. However the picture is not found in the newspaper’s files at Algoma Public Library. It is possible that the picture was taken by a family member and submitted to the paper.

Sources: Ahnapee Record, Algoma Record, Algoma Record Herald.

 

Algoma and the Telephone Party Lines

“1 2 1 2 F 1 3, Please.” That was Aunt Friday’s phone number in the day of party lines. The “please” was a courtesy to the operator who connected the proper wires. It was a time when neighbors knew that three longs and a short belonged to the family across the field and two shorts and two longs belonged to the family across the road. Everybody with a telephone shared a line with 8 or 12 other families. Each knew all the long and short rings and everybody knew who was getting a call. There was no such thing as metadata. There were neighbors keeping track of calls. If one long and one short had an illness in the family, those who heard the ring picked up to listen so they'd know what was going on. If food or assistance with milking would help, somebody came over, but not because they were told there was a need. If there was a death, family troubles or a scandal in a family, the grapevine passed it on posthaste. Listening in was not only a way to get the news, it was also a passtime.

It was a time when city lines were shared with 4 families. To make a call, one needed to pick up the receiver and listen a bit, ensuring that ringing the operator would not interrupt the call of another. That meant accidentally - or not - being privy to conversations. It also meant that kids wished they could understand German as the adults using the phone instantly switched language. Kids all knew the good stuff was discussed in German.

Phone numbers in Algoma were much shorter than Aunt Friday’s though. Anybody wanting to call Katch’s Department Store would simply tell the operator,  ”26X, Please.” If the wires were accidentally crossed and 26R was plugged in, the caller would get Clarice and have to place the call again. 53M got Agnes and 53R got Annie. Agnes and Annie were on the same line. They often called each other, but the operator had to connect them. When it was time to ring off - because Agnes or Annie’s ringer was not on and other callers got a busy signal - the women hung up. Hanging up was replacing the ear piece receiver back on the main part of the phone so another call could be placed. If that receiver was just a tiny bit off, the phone would be off the hook and preventing calls from coming through. Nobody dreamed of voice mail and nothing short of death in the family meant calling outside of one's home area. 

All the aunts and uncles lived in rural areas and were fortunate that wires came down their roads. Uncle Charlie’s phone was the best. It was on the landing between the downstairs and upstairs. No 1^st and 2^nd floor in those days. The wide landing had a north facing window with a rocking chair, a huge Boston fern and the big wall telephone. One stood next to the phone holding the receiver while speaking clearly into the protruding mouthpiece. Anybody under  5’ tall needed a stool to reach the mouthpiece. Kids didn’t play with it, perhaps because younger children weren't tall enough even with the stool or lacked the strength to turn the crank that notified central, which was what the operator was called. That was in the 1940s, but telephones made their appearance in Ahnapee/Algoma decades earlier, before 1900, when residents wondered why most would ever need such a thing.

Communication with the outside world was definitely on the minds of Ahnapee’s early progressive citizens though. A July 1865 Enterprise reported the Atlantic cable was nearly laid. Tariffs were being estimated and stock was selling at a premium. In the early 1880s, the Record reprinted a story from the Sturgeon Bay Advocate describing the telephone lines going between Green Bay and Sturgeon Bay via Ahnapee and Casco. The community looked forward to a telephone connection with Kewaunee in late spring, but it took until May 1891 before a line to Alaska was finished. It was called "a great convenience to the public." A few years later, in October 1897, telephone company Manager G.W. Overbeck announced the addition of a small room adjoining the main telephone exchange office. It was fitted with a telephone for the use of patrons, enabling them to connect with telephone lines to the "outside world." Years later, those telephone rooms would be only large enough for one person and referred to as a phone booth, which, before the days of wireless, truly was a great convenience.

By 1903, Algoma had an impressive 64 telephones and the August 14, 1903 paper announced the first telephone books. One hundred years later, the proliferation of cell phones with instant access and storage of numbers brought the beginning of the demise of phone books.

DeWayne Stebbins was a man of stature in pre-1900 Algoma. A Civil War vet, bank cashier, postmaster, Ahnapee Record editor/publisher and finally Wisconsin Assemblyman, Stebbins' importance to the community was noted in a September 1883, news article pointing out the "telephone instrument" at the Bank of Ahnapee and that "now the Honorable D.W. Stebbins can communicate with the outside world without leaving his office."  “Big Steb” was on the cusp of change that years later brought the end of isolation to rural families such as Aunt Friday’s. That change caused a young man to quake in his boots making a call to see if a girl would go to the dance at Alaska, rather than depending on a post card. The changes enabled Agnes and Annie to phone Katch’s or the Farmers Co-op Store to send out a 100# bag of flour. The changes brought a new world to the handicapped. The changes brought the rescue squad and the fire department in an emergency. One hundred years ago parents were concerned about what young people were getting into when they wanted to use the phone. Some things never change and parents today still worry about what the young are getting into with cell phones.

When DeWayne Stebbins was making a call in 1883, he might have been overheard by someone in the immediate area, but having the only telephone in town, there was no party line and nobody to “listen in.” There was no metadata either. One hundred thirty years later, few can imagine the privacy and anonymity that Stebbins enjoyed. 

Information comes from An-An-api-sebe: Where is the River? c.2001 and Commercial History of Algoma, Wisconsin, Vol. 1, c. 2006. Photos are from the commercial history and used with permission.

Kewaunee County Poor Farm

Within six years of statehood, poor houses existed in 22 of Wisconsin’s (then) 58 counties. In 1854 filthy bedding and foul odors were common in such places. That was in addition to a lack of privacy and a lack of ventilation. Housed primarily were the aged, the mentally and physically handicapped, and mothers with children for whom they could not provide. Some lived there temporarily while others were there to die. Wolf River’s Matt Simon was there because of business reverses. Called the “Aristocrat of the North Side,” Simon was elected to Wisconsin’s Assembly in 1858. One would not expect a man of his stature to be in a poor house.

During its first few years, Kewaunee County had two houses for the poor, the first poor farm being in the original Town of Casco. A few years later, it was relocated to the site of the Rushford post office, now the location of Grace Lutheran Church at Alaska in Pierce Town, the location at which it remained until the doors closed over 100 years later.

Physical privacy was non-existent and nothing was confidential. Lists of those living at the poor farm, or receiving any kind of assistance, regularly appeared in the county’s papers and in the minutes of the county board. If testimony was necessary, it was common knowledge. Between 1878 and 1905 Kewaunee County Clerk’s Committee on the Poor kept records that remain today. In the 1870s that committee consisted of Patrick McConnell, George Bottkol and Vojta Mashek. Their charge was to “regulate the support of a family by accident or different circumstances” to be admitted. A family did not usually mean both parents and children, but did refer to a husband and wife or to a woman with children.

Postmarked 1915

When Anton Gauthier presented a committee report on September 30, 1877, he said the county was responsible for the insane and idiots - 1 and 9 respectively - and non-resident paupers, while pointing out that each town supported its own poor. The farm’s overseer was paid $550. While the salary might seem fair for the time, the overseer had to furnish a team and farm implements. Not only that, his wife’s work was included in his salary. The woman whose industry was regarded as of so little value was as important as her husband, and often more so, in insuring the success of the farm. At the time a hired man was being paid 20 a month while a hired girl got $1.75 a week. Additionally, Gauthier noted that the wood house could hold 20 cords. The farm had 120 acres, 70 of which were improved and it was said the place was worth $6,850. Land was valued at $4,500, the buildings at $2,000, furniture at $150 and livestock at $200. County Board proceedings listed all the bills, sundries, wood, animals, and everything else one could think of including the fish from commercial fisherman Peter LaFond. Included in the lengthy pages of inventory were such things as curtains, bowls and spoons.

March 1878 brought need for a superintendent who, the board felt, must be a “heavy taxpayer of well known integrity and possess good business qualifications.” Two months later, May 1878, the Committee on the Poor furnished its report for clothing and keeping. There were 18 people, 5 of whom were under the age of 10. Planning for additional residents before winter, the board felt a two-story, 23’ x 30’ addition was required. The addition would be in front of the main building and cost about $500.

Doctors were paid for assessing residents’ physical and mental health. In March 1881, resident John Altan was judged insane and was taken to the state hospital near Oshkosh. Today medication and counseling would have been the first step in addressing his needs.  Altan’s name does not appear among Kewaunee County men serving in the Civil War though it is possible that he did indeed serve. In reading the old papers, there are a number of men – and women – who were sent to the Oshkosh asylum to deal with the blood, amputations, death and privations of the war. Some could not rid themselves of such demons. One hundred years later medical science treats those diagnosed with depression, bi-polar or another illness much differently.

John Spitka apparently had an amputation because when he was sent to Milwaukee for shoes, it was to the Manufacturer of Legs. Spitka’s conscientious was noted in the September 1887 proceedings when the Committee on the Poor consisted of Lorence Lutz, Fred Johannes and Dennis Sullivan. They attested to the number of times they visited the poor farm, consistently finding the place clean and well lit. In May they brought material for brooms that Spitka was making.  When they gave the September report, they had picked up the brooms that were sold for $7.41. It was then that improvements were mentioned – a new fence, addition to house yard and the need a new stove.

Others, other than poor farm staff and doctors, were compensated for care that extended beyond the farm. Red River’s chairman Joe Valcq was paid $120 in the matter of Mary Lancelle on March 21, 1882. Matter was not defined. Other residents were widows or widowers, often elderly,who were without families, a population which today has access to assisted living facilities or nursing homes. Minutes in December 1908 reported that members of the poor farm board had visited each person caring for an “insane or idiotic” person. It would appear many were paid for caring for their own family members, possibly aged parents. In 1908, the Committee recommended compensation to those caring for others at home. William Flaherty cared for Horace Flaherty and William Bacon kept Mathilda Bacon. Each received $100 a year for his efforts. Martin Wachal cared for Martin Wachal, Jr. and got $80. David Sconset kept Louisa Sconset for $75 and Catherine Colle was paid $54 to keep Mary Colle. Some were called feeble-minded.  It is quite possible those called insane, idiotic or feeble-minded were suffering from what in the 1950s was called hardening of the arteries. Sixty years later dementia and Alzheimer’s describe some of the same behaviors.

Residents lived at the poor home for a number of reasons. The prominent Matt Simon was a Catholic Wolf River resident who gave the land for that church. He didn’t forget his fellow Germans when he also donated land to the Lutheran congregation. Simon was a Wisconsin Assemblyman who, a few years later, lost his money because Milwaukee parties failed to pay him for substantial wood products’ sales. Family members were not paupers. Was a man who did so much for others, in essence, hung out to dry? It was really Simon himself, also in ill health, who asked to enter the institution in July 1884. In reading a number of histories and proceedings, Simon’s circumstances become even more curious.

Simon’s first wife bore 14 children before dying in 1871. While working in Madison in 1880 he remarried and fathered 4 more children.  A Record article on June 21, 1894 informed readers that the Simon’s four young children were taken from Ahnapee, inferring that they would be residing in orphanages . Father Adalbert Cipin took the two young daughters to a Catholic school in Green Bay and J. McDonald represented the Committee on the Poor when he took the two boys to the State School for Dependent Children at Sparta.  Simon was 88 when he died in 1914. Though his obit listed his survivors, it was noted that the whereabouts of children from the second marriage were unknown.

In a 2004 personal interview with Kewaunee’s much respected Dr. Reynold Nesemann, he said that the poor farm served a purpose that was (today) dealt with in medication. He talked about those who were alone and what happens without communication and a sense of being needed and belonging. He said that everyone at the poor farm had a job to do. Physical condition determined the kind of work. Whether one helped with milking, caring for animals or the land, or whether it was cooking, cleaning or washing, it was work that served the group. Each person had value and each was a cog in a wheel. One hundred years later, many of these same people would fall through the cracks and become homeless.

Then there were the children. They were there with mothers unable to provide for them. Today many would be homeless. While children are eligible for programs through the schools, homelessness is a stigma that the average teen keeps quiet. But, the number of children called “idiots” on the poor farm list, and thus listed in the U.S. census roles, is questionable. Why were they so identified? In today’s world, if someone is called an idiot, one ascribes another’s actions to something totally ridiculous, foolish or without any thought to ramifications. Time has changed the word’s implication.

For some years, the word “idiot” was regarded as pejorative. Psychology now uses the term “profound intellectual disability” when describing one with a mental age below three years and one generally unable to learn connected speech or guard against common dangers. Following a few children living at the poor farm and listed as idiots on the census indicates they grew to be successful adults. If such children were intellectually disabled to the point that circumstances of the day required such notation, how could those children have achieved the success they did?  Is it possible delayed speech or severe stuttering could have labeled them? Would a physical deformity bring such a label? Would young children be so painfully shy in such circumstances that they were so labeled?

In reading such reports, one must keep a historical perspective and an open mind. Things are not always what they seem to be at first glance.

Today’s definition of “idiot” comes from Dictionary.com and from Wikepedia.

Sources: Minutes of the County Board found at the ARC at UW-GB and Ahnapee Record. HIPPA laws prevent one from reading reading actual files poor farm files at the ARC, however, most of the same information can be gleaned from the Kewaunee County Board proceedings and in the county newspapers. The photo of Grace Lutheran was taken by the blogger and the Poor Farm postcard comes from the blogger's collection. Here Comes the Mail: Post Offices of Kewaunee County, c. 2010 Kannerwurf, Sharpe, Johnson.

Algoma & the Generals MacArthur

Kewaunee County played a significant role in World War ll, though as that generation passes away few realize how the Lake Michigan counties of Northeast Wisconsin were so wrapped up in defense.  Manitowoc, Kewaunee and Sturgeon Bay all built large vessels and by Mother’s Day 1944, Kewaunee Shipbuilding and Engineering had launched its 69^th ship, a 176’ cargo and transport vessel built for the Army. Algoma’s role was a bit different.  That role connects to General Douglas MacArthur, one of five World War ll generals to achieve the rank of 5-Star General.

During the war Algoma Plywood and Veneer was manufacturing plywood and building plywood hulls, airplane wings and noses that went elsewhere for finishing.  Some of that plywood is associated with General Douglas MacArthur’s 1942 escape from Bataan. It was Algoma plywood that was used in the PT motor torpedo boat that rescued MacArthur, his wife, their son Arthur and his Chinese nurse, and other military personnel, taking them to Mindanao. From there they went to Australia. Ironically, MacArthur’s father, General Arthur MacArthur, Jr., was also on Luzon, but that was in August 1899, more than 40 years before  when President McKinley sent him there as field commander.

In his 1942 They Were Expendable,* author-historian William L. White described the plywood boats saying,  “An MTB is a plywood speedboat about 70’ long and 30 wide, powered by three Packard marine motors which can send her roaring over the water about as fast as an auto can go over land. So fast, in fact, that the motors should be changed every few hundred hours.”

White continues, “Each boat is armed with four torpedo tubes and four 50-caliber machine guns. There isn’t an ounce of protective armor on them. They’re little eggshells, designed to roar in, let fly a Sunday punch, then speed out, zigzagging to dodge the shells.” Men on PT boats were cited for bravery in the rescue of MacArthur who said, upon landing at Mindanao, that he was giving Silver Stars of Gallantry to every officer and man there.

MacArthur’s first connection with Algoma came over 40 years earlier when he was a student at West Point where he assisted in the design of Algoma’s north pier. The pier has been rebuilt in the last 100 years, but if anyone with MacArthur’s prominence was associated with it, it has been forgotten.

World War l Camp MacArthur at Waco, Texas was named for General Arthur MacArthur, Jr., the General’s father and the man for whom the General’s son was named. Algoma men were among the 1,200 from Wisconsin who trained there, but little did they know that they would have a connection to the name in years that followed. Carl (Josh) Lidral wrote home about the 16 weeks of training the men would have at Camp MacArthur before going off to lick the Kaiser. Ernest Haucke, the first Algoma man killed in action on August 20, 1918 trained at the camp. So did Ralph Perry who later died of wounds suffered in the Argonne Forest. Algoma’s  VFW Post was named for Haucke, and Perry’s family memorialized Ralph in the presentation of Perry Field to the city. John Culligan, Jerry Jerabek and Augie Wasserbach also were at the camp. The men were well-respected leaders just as the MacArthurs were, however the MacArthurs were on a world stage.

History tells us the Generals MacArthur were the country’s only father-son combination awarded Medals of Honor. MacArthur, Jr.’s father was Arthur, Sr. who has the distinction of being Wisconsin’s shortest serving governor due to an election scandal. His 4 or 5 day term as the state’s 4^th governor started and ended in March 1856. Arthur, Jr. entered the Civil War at age 17 and served with the 24^th Wisconsin. So many Kewaunee County men fought in units with his at Chicamaugua, Stones River, Missionary Ridge and Chattanooga. He is credited with planting the flag and shouting “On Wisconsin.” It is likely that some of the men in the Texas camp were sons of those who were in those same Tennessee campaigns.  Whether or not any Algoma connection can be made with Douglas MacArthur’s son Arthur, it is up for grabs. To escape the limelight, it is said he changed his name.

Though the MacArthur connection hardly makes Algoma prominent, the shipbuilding and defense work among the lake shore communities played a part in World War ll. History gets lost as the days turn into years and years turn into decades.

Note: William L. White’s 1942 book was a best seller that is available on Amazon. A few years after publication, it was made into a movie starring John Wayne as Lt. Rusty Ryan. It also starred Robert Montgomery and Donna Reed. The movie ran on cable's TNT and was possibly shown at the Majestic sometime after its 1945 release.  It was essential personnel who were to be evacuated by the torpedo boats. So many men were left. It was that evacuation when MacArthur said, I will return,” a quote that has lived on.

Sources: An-An-api-sebe: Where is the River?, c. 2001 Johnson; The Commercial History of Development in Youngs and Steele Plat and Other Selected Properties, c. 2006 Johnson, Nell, Wolske; They Were Expendable, c. 1942 White; Women of the Plywood: The War Years, c. 1998 Johnson. The Plywood postcard is in the blogger's collection. The photo was taken from the bend in the Ahnapee River where the South Branch leaves the main channel. The view is of the lumber piles behind the plant and along the river. Buildings, roof tops and stacks are in the background. A copy is available for purchase from Algoma Public Library.

 Information about Arthur MacArthur, Jr. & Sr. is online, where there is much more available.

The First Miss Wisconsin: Mabel Dupont from Pierce Town

Northeast Wisconsin history was made in 1973 when DePere’s Terry Ann Meeuswen was crowned Miss America after capturing the Miss Wisconsin title a year earlier.  It happened because of women such as Kewaunee County’s Mabel Dupont paved the way. Her obituary says she was the very first Miss Wisconsin in 1930, chosen in a still somewhat new competition.

An online check has such Badger State beauty pageants dating to 1924, but a few of the earlier years show little in a recorded history. Mabel doesn’t show up in 1930, but neither does anybody else.

Sixteen year old Margaret Gorman of Washington, D.C. was the first Miss America on September 7, 1921. Now called Miss America, the 1921 beauty competition began in Atlantic City, New Jersey as the Inner-City Contest, an effort to pump up business for the forthcoming Labor Day. Eight young women vied for honors in an event which, over the years, had its ups and downs before being what it is today. Margaret won only to return to high school. A girl entering her junior year of high school would not be a viable candidate today, however Margaret was said to resemble Mary Pickford, sweetheart of America’s films (silent), and who could beat that?  Margaret Gorman was said to measure 30-25-32 and was 4” shorter than Mabel. Unusual measurements today, but Margaret was a teenager.

American Federation of Labor's Samuel Gompers was in his 70s and a judge in the contest. He saw the 16 year old child as representing American womanhood, strong and able to shoulder motherhood and homemaking. He felt the country rested on "women" like Margaret. That was in a day when women had few rights. It was only the year before that the 19^th Amendment was passed.

Mabel Dupont, the 24 year old daughter of a Rostok*couple, was living and working in Milwaukee during the 1920s. At just a little over 5’5”, the blue-eyed brunette Kewaunee High School graduate entered Milwaukee Elk’s Club bathing beauty contest and was chosen as Miss Milwaukee. In early March 1930 it was announced that Mabel would represent Wisconsin competing for America’s Sweetheart at the Miami National Beauty Contest.  

A Milwaukee Journal article said Mabel's curves mattered and that her bust and hips were 34 and 36” respectively. Although the article left out her waist measurement, it provided her shoulder, ankle and calf dimensions. A photo of Mabel well covered in an alluring swimsuit of the day also made note of her exact address on South 8^th Street. That swimming suit was as controversial then as it was in contests a few years ago. The promoters were attempting to offer a clean, wholesome image while offering the spectacle of a bathing suit in the hopes of attracting a greater audience. Just a few years earlier, women could be arrested on the beach for daring to roll down their socks and exposing their knees!

Four years after the contest, April 1934, Mabel married Milwaukee resident John Warras at a ceremony held at Holy Rosary Church in Kewaunee. She was 81 when she died at Algoma in 1987. Though both her wedding article and her obit made mention of the beauty contest, there nothing more. Mabel made history yet stands alone. She is the first and last Kewaunee County girl to be chosen Miss Wisconsin.

Note:*Rostok is in Pierce Town, about midway between Alaska and Kewaunee.

An online check reveals that scandal and the Depression shut down Atlantic City’s Miss America pageants between 1928 and 1932. In 1930 the contest was moved to Miami and billed as “Miami National Beauty Contest.” The winner was to be called America’s Sweetheart but the press continued to refer to her as Miss America.

The newspaper clipping was neither dated nor sourced but almost certainly comes from a Milwaukee Journal printed sometime in March 1930. The photo was taken by Kohler Studios. As Mabel was living in Milwaukee, the studio was no doubt there. An Ancestry  check found a studio with that name at 125 E. Wells in 1916. A Google search found 725 W. Water within a 10 year time period.

Algoma & Cowboy Wheeler: "How about 'dem' Green Bay Packers?"

There are Algoma residents who almost sleep, breathe and eat Green Bay Packers. There is one who actually did.  Who knows how many Algoma residents ever attended Packer games in the early 1920s when Cowboy Wheeler was playing? It was a time long  before fans were dancing to the Packer Polka or singing “How about dem Green Bay Packers?”  For an Algoma resident wanting to stand around watching a game, the best way to get there then was via the Ahnapee & Western Railroad. The tracks were only a few blocks north of Hagermeister Park where Cowboy and the Packers were playing. Though the Packers did not command a spot in the daily lives of Northeast Wisconsin folk nearly 100 years ago when Wheeler was playing end, he lives on in the minds of the Algoma oldsters who still refer to the building at 527 4th St. as Wheelers. Though the tavern, restaurant and bowling alleys have had numerous owners since Cowboy's widow Thora sold it a year or so after his death, the place too lives on in memories.

Vincent Lyle Wheeler was born in 1898 at Stiles, near Oconto Falls, and died in Algoma of a heart attack 41 years later. Just after 1900 his family relocated to Green Bay where the boy went to St. Patrick’s Grade School. From there Wheeler went to West High School where he was an athletic standout.  After playing football at West for three years, he went on to play at Ripon College. 

Wheeler played his first game with the Packers on September 15, 1919, a day when the Packers played Menomonie North End and won big. Cowboy made himself proud that day as one of the touchdowns  in the 53-0 slaughter was his. Looking at his online stats, it seems as if Wheeler only made one touchdown in three years with the Packers, but the years reflect only those in which there was a formal organization.  Cowboy’s obituary says he played for 7 years. Today’s players at Algoma, Kewaunee or Luxemburg high schools would be most surprised to learn that Wheeler played pro ball at 5’9” and 180 pounds, a size easily matched by many on their teams.  When Cowboy played with Curly Lambeau, the man who would be coach and the man for whom Lambeau Field is named, Curly was just one of the boys.

Wheeler’s athleticism and interests in sports extended well beyond football. During the 1920s he played basketball and was on the Northern Paper Mills team, a team thought to be one of Wisconsin’s finest. He played baseball too , pitching for both Casco and Forestville during the summers before the Packers’ seasons started, and played on Algoma teams after moving to the city.

Cowboy married Thora Rasmussen before beginning his 3^rd franchised season with the Packers and came to Algoma, buying the old Stradling Pool Hall on Steele St. That space in the Busch building was best known as  Weise’s Clothiers to the next generation. The Wheelers were there for a few years and as the country was emerging from Prohibition, Cowboy and Thora began construction of the Wheeler building on 4^th. The dark, red brick structure included a restaurant, tavern  and the bowling alley that was Cowboy’s pride and joy.  It has been said that it was Cowboy Wheeler who made bowling the prominent Algoma sport that it was for so long. Drawing at least 100 teams, his annual bowling tournaments were unprecedented in places as small as Algoma. With his across-the-board interest in sports, it was inevitable that Cowboy was instrumental in the founding of Algoma Hunting and Fishing Club, an organization that remains

Wheeler’s stats with the Packers are posted for 1921, ’22 and ’23. 1921 was the year the Acme Packers of Green Bay were awarded a franchise in the year old American Professional Football Association. Acme was based in Chicago and had bought Green Bay’s Indian Packing Co. a short time before. A year later, the Association became known as the National Football League and eventually the Acme was dropped. Because their buddy was in business in Algoma, other Packers dropped by at his Wheeler's Recreational Parlors.

In pre-World War ll days, the Packers were catching on in Algoma. Maybe those who frequented Wheelers hung on to Cowboy’s stories and wanted to see the likes of Cece Isabelle, Don Hutson and Clarke Hinkle.  Before his death in 1939, the country was coming out of the Depression and gas and tires had yet to be rationed. A young man could take his best girl to the big city and rent a pop case for 5 cents. And why would one rent a pop case?  It was cheaper to stand on a pop case and look over the fence than pay admission at City Stadium, marveling “how about ‘dem’ Green Bay Packers!”

Sources: Family interviews; Wheeler's obit; Commercial Development of Algoma, Wisconsin, c. 2006; postcard in the blogger's collection.

 

Kewaunee County & Pre-World War ll Conscription

Memories of World War l were fresh in the minds of Kewaunee County residents when less than 20 years later conscription started all over again. In 1939 there were quotas to be met, quotas set in Washington D.C. There were some who enlisted, but most were drafted during a time when the U.S. was gearing up for war that had not been declared.

Then came December 7, 1941 and the attack at Pearl Harbor, followed by President Franklin D. Roosevelt's Declaration of War on Japan. Two days later Germany and Italy declared war on the U.S., a declaration met with Roosevelt's own the next day.

In the years following the first World War, residents knew how much Kewaunee County had sacrificed, maybe more than many others. During World War l, county men were exceptionally physically fit, but in less than 20 years that changed. When drafting started in 1939, many were rejected as unfit. No doubt changes in vision, hearing and other standards made part of the difference. 

Men throughout the country were issued numbers, and numbers drawn in Washington indicated the order in which men would be called. Number 258 was the number everybody was glad they didn't have. It was still fresh in memory from the last war. Drawings in Washington for 21 year olds meant that Vernon Hearley and Francis Makovec were Kewaunee County's first 21 year old draftees. Ironically, while the men were being drafted in 1939, county men who served in World War l were being awarded their Purple Hearts. Those from Algoma included Louis Kirchman, C.A. Lidral, C.W. Zastrow, Urban Kashik, Quiren Groessl, Clarence Capelle, Joseph Guillette, Frank Havel, Auggie Wasserbach, Anton Weisner, Fred Zastrow and George Jorgenson.

Algoma Record Herald office was a designated U.S. Navy "sub-station." It had the necessary information which also pointed out that education, all food and lodging, a set of clothing, and free sports and entertainment that included new movies were provided to those who joined the Navy. All that plus free travel. According to the information supplied, the Navy was "better than civilian life."

The U.S. didn't have much of a military when things exploded in Europe in 1914. When it entered the war in 1917, there still wasn't much of a military and men were sent to the battlefields of Europe with very little training. That was changing even before Pearl Harbor.

As Kewaunee County men were inducted, there was usually a little send-off at the courthouse. When Algoma attorney J.H. McGowan spoke to the departing men, he must have been thinking about Abraham Lincoln's words, "We cannot escape history." McGowan told the men that "perhaps" within their lifetime, there would be a time when they would not see soldiers marching off. And that was 75 years ago! McGowan said that he wasn't one of those afraid that "Hitler is coming over here" and went on to say that preparedness would have saved the U.S. from "trouble" in the last war. He told the inductees how he saw local men, including his own son, leave totally untrained. He told them that unlike the last war they were enroute to training and schooling. He told them that European allies agreed that Americans paid such a high price in World War l because there was such lack of proper training. He went on to say that future regular military training was probably going to be  "part and parcel" of necessity. McGowan probably would not have agreed with General George Patton who said, "War is the only place where a man truly lives."

The public spirited James McGowan was an Algoma attorney who also served as mayor. McGowan had interesting beginnings as a rural school teacher at Ryan, at the age of 17. He entered law in Green Bay in 1892 and was admitted to the bar in 1894. As Algoma's Ward l supervisor to the county board, McGowan was elected for his first term as chairman in 1912. He continued to serve on a number of committees at the local and county level and served as Food Administrator during World War l. McGowan died in 1942 and never lived to see his vision of the day when young men were no longer marching off to war.

Sources: Information comes from Algoma Herald and Algoma Record, Kewaunee County Board files found at the ARC at UW-GB, and Commercial History of Algoma, WI c. 2006. The World War l soldier photo is one from the blogger's family..

Kewaunee County Dance Halls and the 1924 Regulations

Until the last generation, the hard-working folks of Kewaunee County were mostly farmers. As farming began changing, many began “working out” in addition to running the farm, and lives became much different than parents, grandparents and immigrant ancestors had known. Germans, Bohemians and Belgians began flocking to the new county over 100 years earlier. They eked out a living – sometimes meagerly – to provide a new life. They had immigrated for opportunity. They wanted land. They wanted to have a choice in determining the course of life. They wanted to be free of conscription and they wanted to worship as they chose.

The immigrants brought with them their language, their customs and their culture. Each group brought their beer and their dances. Beer and dancing went together. Most major intersecting roads had a church and a saloon and hall. Sometimes there were schools and blacksmith shops. Then came the cheese factories, often a store and perhaps a hotel. Until Rural Free Delivery came to Kewaunee County in 1904, one of the businessmen was generally the postmaster..

Carnot Band, 1910

It was then that communities such as Zavis in Carlton and Darbellay in Red River began their demise. But, Stangelville, Ellisville, Dyckesville, Neuren, Lincoln, and so many other places with taverns and halls remained. Kewaunee County had almost as many dance bands as there were halls. The places were the scenes of countless wedding dances featuring such orchestras as Blahnik, Nejedlo, Yindra, Schlies, Duescher, Stahl, Froelich, Petrosky, Mahlik, Sazama, Johanek, Walecka, Hunsader, Feld and more.

The hard-working folk could dance and drink the night away and then, after a few hours sleep, get up to milk and put in a day’s work. In many communities, if the dance followed a Saturday Catholic wedding, the pastor would admonish the bridal couple saying the dance had to end at midnight so attendees would not miss their Sunday obligation, which was attendance at Mass. Bohemian historian R. Selner recalled that the success of a dance was measured in a good fight.

In 1922 somebody in government realized that dance halls across Wisconsin were not regulated as so many other things were. There were rules of conduct for conducting such places in larger cities, but certainly not in places such as Rosiere or Tonet. Then came the rules for dance hall regulation from the Municipal Information Bureau of the University of Wisconsin Extension. The brochure pointed out what cities in other states had done and went on to tell about stringent ordinances in places such as Milwaukee and LaCrosse. But only two counties outside the big cities were regulated at the time. And times were about to change.

Up to that point, Wisconsin had not seen fit to regulate the dance halls, but there were those social agencies and individuals – surely the most righteous - clamoring for such laws. Some states prohibited what some felt was immoral dancing and prohibited admittance to those of known “low character.” Who determined immoral dancing and low character wasn’t spelled out. There were rules regarding the admittance of minors to dance halls.

When the 1922 brochure was put out, it included Madison’s new rules. It was said that was included  in the brochure because the rules were  so new and complete following “an extensive study of the subject.” It included a bibliography noting the problems involved in such places. Maybe the cities had greater problems with such dens of iniquity as regulations were being enacted as autos began replacing the horse and buggy. Prohibition was part of the issue and the new laws brought “road houses” outside the more metropolitan areas.

Dance hall regulation was much discussed throughout Kewaunee County in the early 1920s and the Normal School’s E.F. Faith wrote a letter to the Algoma Record Herald in October 1923. Feeling that the county’s innocent youth was being enticed into less than noble activities, Faith made the case for regulations.

Finally the County Board unanimously passed a dance hall ordinance that took effect in March 1924. A County Board authorized dance committee appointed inspectors for each town and owners of each of the 52 dance halls were required to buy a one year permit for $10. A dance permit, signed by the county clerk, had to be applied for 3 days before each dance. A week following the dance, the attending inspector, who received $5 for each dance, was required to give a written report concerning  the general conduct at the dance and to attest there were no violations to the law. Sunday dances became a thing of the past and those originating on Saturday had to end by 1 AM on Sunday. Hall owners could get a special permit allowing a dance after 1 AM, but only once a year. Persons under 16 were allowed admittance only when in the company of a parent or guardian. Identified ”idlers and loafers” were prohibited by law, as was the possession of alcohol. Prohibition was in effect, but alcohol was always around. Halls were to be well lit so any unchaste dancing would be quickly spotted. Any infringement of the ordinances could result in a shut down by either the County Board or the sheriff.  Each community was free to draft laws more stringent than those at the county level.  Falsifying information on permit application could bring jail.

Rhythm Boys, 1950s

Though public halls were licensed and controlled, wedding dances continued and nobody missed an opportunity to enjoy the best polka music around. Whether the regulations had any effect on the numbers of bloodied or broken noses in parking lots, who knows? Those who left the dance were forbidden to re-enter unless that re-entry was approved by the inspector. Even during the 1930s, 40s and 50s, having a few too many and looking at a fella’s girl in the wrong way, laid out more than a few with a well placed punch to the chops. As long as it was outside, the inspector probably didn't see it and, as R. Selner said, the dance was a success.

Photos are from the blogger's collection.

 

Kewaunee County, Nancy Higgins & the 19th Amendment

August 18 marks the 94^th anniversary of the 19^th Amendment, the right to vote without regard to gender.  It is an understatement to say it was a long time in coming. Nationally, as early as June 1848, the Liberty Party made women’s suffrage a plank in its presidential campaign. To put that in perspective, Wisconsin achieved statehood a month earlier and what is now Kewaunee County would not exist for another 4 years. Suffrage kept surfacing across the country and on June 10, 1919, Wisconsin led the nation as the first state to ratify the 19^th amendment, which Congress submitted for ratification just 6 days earlier, on June 4^th. Thirty-six states were required to ratify and Tennessee rounded out that number, thus completing ratification in 1 year, 2 months and 14 days.

Questions of women’s rights in Kewaunee County were there nearly as long as the county, however it was the 1873 advent of the Ahnapee Record that moved discussion to the fore. The paper’s two founding editors, 16 year old George Wing and Charles Borgman, 17, were very young by anyone’s standards, however the two were well ahead of their time when they editorialized calling for good schools, environmental protection – although those words were never used – beautification, and women’s rights.  

Most Judeo-Christians accepted the inferiority of women. After all, Eve was responsible for “the fall” of Adam. Both Greek and Roman law regarded women as inferior, and Roman law saw a woman subject to her lord and master: her husband. Roman law was the basis for church law.  In 1873 Wing and Borgman were surely raising more than eyebrows. Following their first edition, the Kewaunee Enterprise approved of the new paper saying it included “women’s rights.” The Green Bay Advocate opined that if subsequent editions were as good as the first, the paper would be successful. The Door County Advocate didn’t agree. It said the paper was only good for “swatting flies.”

While Wing and Borgman advanced women’s rights, the Enterprise had a history of uncertainty. In May 1869, that paper complained about the equal rights convention in New York. Earlier that spring, Ahnapee’s Mrs. Nancy Almira Higgins wrote a letter concerning women’s rights and wanted it published, but in March 1869 the Enterprise was her only option. At first the letter wasn’t printed because “old Higgins was a reliable subscriber” and it was felt he would be upset enough to discontinue his subscription. When Mrs. Higgins said such treatment was an “abridgement of her rights,” the editor said he would “cheerfully” give her space in the paper.

Nancy Higgins wrote that “female men” in Chicago were lecturing about poor, weak women being robbed of their rights and being slaves to the miserable men they called husbands. Mrs. Higgins felt women didn’t have rights because they did not fight for them. As for married women voting, Mrs. Higgins felt their husbands would vote as they were told. She said she would “like to see Jeremiah Higgins vote for something I didn’t want him to.” It was Mrs. Higgins’ beliefs that women should fight more and talk less so there wouldn’t be so much “babbling” about women’s rights.

Ten years later, the Advocate had its own ideas about the women of Ahnapee. It said Ahnapee women were “jolly” because they put on men’s trousers to visit each other. It went on to say that Sturgeon Bay girls “don’t put on trousers until after marriage, but they make up for lost time.”

Women’s suffrage came in 1920. President Lyndon Johnson signed the Civil Rights Act on July 2, 1964. Women had the vote, but voting did not ensure equal rights. Jeannette Rankin was the first woman ever elected to the House of Representatives. While living in Washington State, Rankin worked tirelessly to pass the vote for women. It happened in 1911. She went on to push for the right in Montana and the vote was granted there in 1914. Congresswoman Rankin was elected in Montana in 1916 and helped push the 19^th Amendment.

Remarkably, in July 1920 when Algoma Record Herald printed an article about women voting in the up-coming election, it was not with a screaming headline. The paragraphs stuck on an inside page merely pointed out that women would be voting for the first time and were eligible if they met the age, citizenship and residence requirements. The short article defined citizenship for a woman. If her husband was a citizen, so was she. If he was not, she was not. If unmarried, a woman's status reflected her father's, However, if a single woman was born in the U.S. of an alien father, she was considered Naturalized.

Nancy Higgins was in the prime of life long before Jeanette Rankin was effecting legislation and Mrs. Higgins was not the first woman to express her views in Kewaunee County. While others are written about, Mrs. Higgins was vocal and did her own writing.

If Mrs. Higgins could only return to tell another generation what it was like! Every kid graduating from Algoma High School in two, and maybe even three, generations took American and World History classes from Nancy Higgins granddaughter Alice. In another day, Nancy would surely have been listening to commercials and telling Alice, “You’ve come a long way, Baby!”

Sources: An-An-api-sebe: Where is the River? c. 2001; the photo of the Rankin statue was taken by the blogger in the Montana capitol building.
For more about the 19th Amendment, just Google.
 

A Joint Honeymoon and a 75th Anniversary

After perusing three large card stores, it was obvious that a 75^th anniversary card was not to be found. Thinking about it, the market for such cards must be quite small as only two other 75th anniversaries are within memory. In a world where it is easy for a marriage to end in divorce before the thank you notes are written,  making 75 years takes more than good genes.

Ruth and Ray are celebrating a remarkable life together. They were born less than 10 miles apart just after the U.S. made its entry into World War l.  They were children during the Depression. They were in high school during the depths of it and were married as the country was coming out of it, only to be gearing up for a new war.

They participated in the same church and yet went to high schools 20 miles apart. There were no school buses in the 1930s and Ray lived with his aunt and uncle during the week, returning to his farm home 8 miles away on the weekend. Sharing a room with his cousin of the same age, the two were as close as brothers. On the first day of high school, Ruth met the junior with the locker next to hers. The upper classman was friendly to the freshman, a quiet country girl from a rural school. The girls were friendly but not part of the same crowd. Clarice was boarding while serving as a mother’s helper and domestic. She lived almost 20 miles from school and it was only her service that allowed her to go to high school during the Depression.

For the two girls and the two boys, high school was a time of scholastic awards, music awards, being prom royalty, participating in plays and school clubs. The Depression meant there was little money for anything other than necessities, however the boys had a little money and were known to chew gum. They were able to offer a piece to others. As simple as gum is, it wasn’t a thing most could not afford. The boys could even take the car to Kewaunee. It was a time when those who had cars didn’t use them because gas cost money that most did not have.

Clarice graduated first, not because she was the eldest, but because there was an error in her birth registration. Being second youngest in a large family, the year was forgotten and she entered first grade a year early. The mistake was found when her baptismal records were needed for Confirmation. She turned 17 just before high school graduation. Finding another boarding-domestic arrangement with a high school principal’s family, she was able to attend Door-Kewaunee County College. She was there when she met the boys at the high school just down the block. She and Maynard were married 6 years later.

The Depression was easing when Clarice and Maynard double-dated with Ray and his girlfriend. Imagine the surprise on the faces of the two women when they realized they’d gotten to know each other during the two years they had adjacent lockers. From then on the two couples were almost inseparable. Maynard often commented that Ray and Ruth were the “salt of the earth,” people who never gossiped or “kicked a man who was down.” After Maynard’s death, they were always there for Clarice and meant the world for her children.

In today's world nobody would think of honeymooning with another couple. But that’s just what the two couples did. Ruth and Ray married during threshing. That was not the time for a farmer to honeymoon.  Clarice and Maynard married the following June, just before haying. Pooling their meager funds, the foursome planned a trip to "The Soo" to see the locks.

Weddings were different in 1940. Breakfasts and dinners were generally at the bride’s home. An evening dance often capped off the day. Maynard had responsibilities on his parents’ farm while also being employed at Algoma Plywood. The plant was geared up for war production and getting a day off was almost unheard of, wedding or not. Maynard got his day and the couples wanted to leave immediately after the wedding dinner. Tires had inner tubes and highways were paved with gravel that was more like stones when compared to today’s graveled roads. Estimating time on the road always had to include tire changing. With three days for the trip, time was precious. Maynard’s father didn’t make things any easier as he owned a dairy and insisted on a dance for his customers.  Friends and relatives too, of course.

Finally the couples got on their way in the wee hours of the morning. The first stop was at a tourist cabin in Manitowish Waters near the site of Little Bohemia, the place made famous by the 1934 FBI-John Dillinger gang shootout.

Thoughts of the beautiful northern Wisconsin vacation spot brings uproarious laughter in our families, but that has nothing to do with Dillinger. The financially strapped, honeymooning couples rented a cabin with two beds, not two bedrooms. To offer some privacy, they strung a cord from one wall to the other and hung a blanket. At Ray and Ruth’s 70^th anniversary celebration, Clarice told stories of that trip, stories the young people found hard to believe. Sharing the room on a honeymoon brought looks of disbelief and then peals of laughter. Tire blowouts, the inner tubes, the graveled highways, and a groom who was lucky to get a day off work for his wedding – all unheard of today. And, to look at the pictures…..the well-dressed men wore suits, hats and Spectator shoes. Unseen garters held their socks up.  The women wore hats and dresses and held up their silk stockings with garter belts. The silk stockings had seams in the back and every self-respecting woman checked those seams often. They had to be straight. To be traveling in less casual attire was also unheard of.

To be married for 75 years is to have seen continually changing social mores. It is more than a look at history through books and videos. It is living. Experiencing joint honeymoons and blankets affording privacy because there was no other way was part of it. All four were born during World War 1. They were children and young adults during the Depression. They married on the cusp of World War ll and lived through that. They lived through the Cold War, the Korean War, Vietnam, two Gulf wars and now Afghanistan.

Ray and Ruth have seen everything and yet are not jaded.  They have always worked hard. They are positive and optimistic. They give to God, family and community. In that order. They are truly an inspiration. And, to quote an area TV commercial, “You can’t do better than that now, can you?”