The Day the Circus Set Up in Grandpa's Hay Field

A few generations ago there were 10 year old boys whose ambition it was to run away and join the circus. Mothers probably thought they were living in their own three-ring circus with those kids, but the mothers, just as the boys, found a sense of awe when circus came to town. The big-top, the elephants, the trapeze artists, bare-back riders, the tantalizing smells of roasted peanuts and cotton candy…..Could anyone stay away?

Most of Algoma was under the big-top when the Kelly-Miller Brothers’ circus played on Grandpa’s farm field. Today it is hard to believe that America’s second largest circus would appear in a community as small as Algoma. But, it was August 1948 and things were a little different. Besides that, the circus needed a place to stop to water and feed the animals. Algoma was convenient. Tents that were set up in the field that is now the home of the Piggly-Wiggly and Subway were the scene of an afternoon show, however the circus welcomed residents as early as 9 AM to watch the feeding.

1948

Kelly-Miller’s caravan included 35 double-length cars of equipment, 200 animals, 450 people and 9 acres of tents. The circus brought a hippopotamus and what was billed as a “herd of giraffes.”  It was noted that the giraffes were the first ever to appear in Kewaunee County and that few circuses traveled with them. The hippo was no doubt a first as well. The second largest herd of elephants in the U.S. remains etched in memory of those in attendance that day.

When Dad and I walked over early that Sunday morning, the elephants were already put to work raising the big-top. The memory of the elephants’ trunks curled around those huge tent poles lives on, as it does with the now-adult-neighbor-kids. The farm was along the lake and a wonderful place for cool breezes on a hot day. The lake offered a good place for a cool dip or perhaps a bath too for the sweaty circus workers on that hot day.  Grandpa’s cottages were rented and parents were frightened when those of strange ethnicities were running up and down the beach, basking in joy on beautiful Lake Michigan shore. It didn’t take long to know there was nothing to fear. People are people and those people had the most exciting jobs on earth. To a kid, at least.

With so many acts in all three rings in the big-top, it was impossible to watch everything at once. Was the man really lifted high above the crowd by his teeth? How could one stand up to ride a horse? Did you jump when the ringmaster cracked his whip? Did your parents buy you  some peanuts or cotton candy? Did you see it when that elephant did his business right in the tent? Did your mother yell when you were about to stick your finger in the lion’s cage? If you could be in that parade, what would you be?

The smaller tents had other remarkable shows including a magic show. The magician using a drop knife that split carrots asked for a volunteer brave enough to put his or her arm under the knife. Who was so brave? It turned out to be Peter Kashik who was a 4^th grader in our school. Perhaps he volunteered himself or perhaps he was given a push, but our hearts stopped. Peter’s arm was going to be cut off. The magician raised the bar. Kids who couldn’t bear to watch heard the slam. Peter wasn’t bleeding and crying, he was smiling. He had an arm! What happened? How did we ever get so lucky to have a circus right there in Grandpa’s field? The stop that refreshed the animals refreshed all of us.

Kelly-Miller was Algoma’s first circus stop in 17 years. Circuses played in the city over the years and there were indeed 10 year old boys who wanted to join the circus and did! One was the popular Andy McDonald, Ahnapee’s showman.  McDonald, who managed the Ahnapee Theatre, advanced stagecoach reservations for those planning to attend Barnum's Great Show during the summer of 1871. In March, McDonald left town to become assistant manager of Barnum and Costello's Great Combination Show. Although the circus was known to stop in Ahnapee, Barnum's  big-top did never did.

Algoma had another association with the circus, Ringling Bros., Barnum and Bailey. That was Herman Ashby whose stage name was George Wilson. Herman was the 2^nd of four children born in Ahnapee to Joel and Minnie Haucke Ashby. How he ever got to the circus is obscure but his super human strength is what provided his livelihood. At 4’ 10 ½”, Herman was another Atlas. The Advocate called him a “midget Sampson” when he put on a show in 1908. Some said the strength of his jaw and teeth were so extraordinary that he could bite a nail in half and hang on a high wire holding on only with his teeth. An 1899 Advocate reported on residents who saw Herman’s act in Chicago where he was billed as “the man with the iron jaw.” His muscular development was showcased in wrestling and weight lifting shows. Most astounding was that Herman only weighed 126 pounds at age 30. Herman’s wife Lizzie was an equestrian, riding bare-backed. She could also play guitar, and did. Whether she was one of the singers who augmented Herman’s program is unknown. Herman was raised in Sturgeon Bay and appeared on stage at a young age. He served as the advance man for the Bamboo Queen show troupe that regularly played in Sturgeon Bay.

After Lizzie died an early death. Herman’s sister and husband raised their only child. It was then that Herman left his touring performance life to spend more time in Sturgeon Bay where he organized a vaudeville troupe of eight, known as the Ashby Combine. Sturgeon Bay residents Emily Friend, Millie Colu and Clyde Stoneman joined Chicago professionals in Ashby's show. According to a 1906 Democrat, Ashby offered high-class vaudeville and circus acts that he planned to take on the road after the August 16^th Sturgeon Bay opening. The Advocate reported that Ashby’s show was one of the best of the season with his talented performers. It said prices were popular and that Ashby “spared no pains” to offer the best and, because he was a city resident, he deserved support.

1917

When the circuses such as Lemen Bros. did not meet expectations, the papers let the public know. Presenting shows at both Sturgeon Bay and Kewaunee in 1899, the Advocate told readership how disappointed attendees were. The “show was rank” and worse than some of the smaller shows on the road. Furthermore the crowd following it was made up of swindlers and robbers who used shell games and slot machines to separate “easy marks” from their money. That circus got what was due after it performed in Seymour where it left town in a “shower of eggs.”

Owned by Wisconsin Historical Society, Circus World at Baraboo is a Wisconsin treasure. Highlighting the history of the circus and the Ringling Bros. Circus itself, it offers a glimpse into the life of those such as locals Andy McDonald, Herman Ashby and into the memories of all those Algoma senior citizens who remember giraffes, a hippo, elephants, tents and clowns on the Sunday the circus came to Algoma and set up on Grandpa’s farm.

The Kelly-Miller Circus is in business and can be found by Googling,

Sources: Ahnapee Record, Algoma Record, Algoma Record Herald, Door County Advocate, The Democrat and family history.

From Normandy to Kewaunee: The Tug Ludington

Tug Ludington

When a man took a job during the Depression, what he expected to make was money, not history. And so it was with 23 year old Norman Johnson. Coming from a line of commercial fishermen, at 20 years old he had spent nearly that many years on the lake and bay, knowing the waters as well as anybody. Fifty years later he was still agile enough to jump on the roof of the wheelhouse of his own boat so he could turn the wheel with his big toe as he was setting the main. In between was when he served as captain of the tug that made history.

Norman was fortunate in 1932 when he got a job with the U.S. Corps of Engineers.He began shoveling coal, a menial job for an experienced seaman, but it meant a paycheck during the Great Depression. Fortune also smiled on him when, because of the Corps, he met his bride-to-be. On the water and away from home most of the time, he rose through the ranks, retiring in 1965 as Master, or Captain, of the sea-going Tug Ludington, pride of the Corps, and a vessel, with its complement, that was instrumental in the harbor building and reconstructions up and down Lake Michigan and in other Great Lakes’ ports as well. He was there from the tug’s beginning in 1946 when he and a few others were sent to Charleston to bring the World War ll vessel to Kewaunee.

Built at Jacobson Shipyard in Oyster Bay, New York, the 115’ tug was fourth in a series of eight sea-going tugs constructed during World War ll specifically for the war effort. Completed in October, the keel for the $369,400 vessel was laid in February 1943. After passing sea trials, the tug was accepted and christened Major William F. Browder by the U.S. Army which designated the tug LT-4. Up to then, privately owned tugs were being commissioned and converted for wartime use. The new tug’s armament consisted of two 50 caliber machine guns mounted above the chart room and pilot house. The guns don’t sound like much but the fire power was mainly for protection from airplanes. Tugs were often strafed by enemy planes and threatened by submarines, however the tugs were too small a target to waste a torpedo on. In early 1944, the ocean-going tug and two sister ships were taken to Southampton, England to participate in D-Day, towing ammunition barges across the English Channel. Having seen service the tug at Normandy and more, the tug now known as the Ludington surely has stories to tell. Ironically, Kewaunee County men were at Normandy and other wartime places where the tug was served, but years later, most would never know the vessel in Kewaunee’s harbor had anything to do with them.

Great Britain, Cargo light, 1938

After D-Day the tug went to Cherbourg, France, to assist in harbor operations before going back to Plymouth until the war's end when it was returned to Norfolk, Virginia, for assignments on the Eastern Seaboard. In October 1946, a cadre consisting of Norman, Loren Vandenberg, Alton Roubal, Virgil Michaels, Kenneth Olson and Joseph Kusbasiewicz picked up the tug in Charleston, most likely at the Charleston Navy Yard in the Cooper River, not far up-river from Fort Sumter. The men brought the tug up the Atlantic coast, into the Gulf of St. Lawrence, into the St. Lawrence River, through the Great Lakes and finally, after 35 days, to Kewaunee where it would replace the Corps' 48 year old Tug Cumberland. The direct drive diesel Tug Browder was the first of its LTV class to be transferred for service in Lake Michigan. As many of the other tugs, it was named after a Great Lakes’ port city and called the Ludington. Operating out of Kewaunee, the tug had a storied 40-year history in the construction and maintenance of harbors and breakwaters on the Great Lakes. Norman was there for its first 20 years.

In March 1947, a few months after getting the tug to Kewaunee, the men returned to work (following a winter hiatus) to ready the Dredge Kewaunee for April’s work in the city’s harbor. After that it was on to other Lake Michigan ports, ending the season in Menominee, Michigan. The dredge was joined by a new tug, the Two Rivers, which was being fitted out for towing and working with the dredge. At the time Norman was serving on the Two Rivers as Capt. Palmer LaPlante’s first mate. Harvey E. Conroy, who would retire in February 1950, was named captain of the Ludington. Conroy had been with the Corps for 36 years, having been a crewman on the Cumberland when he was promoted to first mate. His captaincy followed the retirement of Capt. Algie Alexander. When the Cumberland was retired, Capt. Conroy was assigned to the Ludington and was succeeded by Capt. Norman Johnson.

Ludington & Dredge Haines

April 1950 saw the Dredge Kewaunee moved from its winter quarters to begin the annual dredging of Kewaunee harbor. After that it left for South Haven, Michigan, joining the Barge Milwaukee which was carrying the construction materials. The Ludington and the rest of the construction fleet was on its way. And so it continued for the remainder of the Ludington’s life.

In a day without Smart phones and email, the crew and their family members depended on mail or long distance phone calls, something few used without a dire emergency. Radio station WKOW's “Breakfast Party” was new in 1951. The program offered women whose husbands were aboard lake vessels a chance to be interviewed and then allowed to call and say a few words to their loved ones. Two such people were Mrs. Drew Hickey and her daughter Darlene who got to call Mr. Hickey aboard the Ludington which was in Milwaukee. During the same program Mrs. Edward Velequette connected with her husband who was in Canadian waters on a Roen vessel. Conversations were not private, but it was thrilling to “talk over the radio.”

Wives and parents were often unsure where their husbands and sons were. In some ways the tug personnel often had little information themselves. At times there would be a change of orders with a two-hour notice to, for instance, leave Escanaba and head for Grand Haven. Men who thought they’d get home could easily have found themselves bound for Cleveland.

Harbor work in Algoma

The men on the tugs worked together and lived together during their season. They also knew just about everyone else on Corps vessels. Correspondence came from any number of men who had served on the Ludington or elsewhere in the Corps. Harold Knutson left the tug in 1951, but he kept up with the news. William Weinert was returning to school in September 1951 when he left the Ludington in Milwaukee. Weinert missed the camaraderie when he wrote to thank the captain and crew for their kindnesses. In 1954 Vern wrote from Ashtabula, Ohio, to let the captain know Mr. Loemer had come over from the Tug Wilson. Joe W. Davies was on the Dredge Paraiso of Roosevelt, NY when he wrote to let the captain know about the Seaway Project. Edward Oertal had served and in 1963 he sent a Christmas card from his warmer “digs” in Bonita, Florida.

When Capt. Johnson retired in December 1964, Lt. General W.K. Wilson, Chief of Engineers at the Washington Headquarters of the Army noted a career of more than 33 years in federal service with the Corps of Engineers in the Milwaukee and Chicago Districts. Coincidentally, Elton Roubal retired at the same time. Roubal was on the Charleston trip and retired as dredge operator on the Dredge Kewaunee. A few other of the men who’d served in the Kewaunee Corps retired within a few months of each other. Ed Hohne was a dredge operator on the repair crew. Frank Kacerowsky was a former dredge operator on the Kewaunee and Buck Hessel had served as Master of the Two Rivers. The men had served from between 33 and nearly 39 years.

Though the Ludington’s work life is over, the tug with the proud past remains in Kewaunee’s harbor. For much of the year, the tug is an in-water museum available to be toured for a nominal fee. Touring Lake Michigan’s harbor cities is to know that the Ludington was there. Chicago and Milwaukee’s impressive harbors saw the Ludington and its complement do the work that gave rise to those harbors today. The tug began its life witnessing the pain of World War ll. It ended its life witnessing successes in the Great Lakes' harbors. If that boat could only talk. From Normandy, France to Kewaunee, Wisconsin, what a history!

Sources: On Land and Sea, c. 1995; Johnson family letters dating to 1932,  family scrapbooks and photos; paintings from NLJohnson Art.

Red River: What Happened to Bay View?

Bay View is another of the long-forgotten Kewaunee County hamlets. The crossroads community in the Town of Red River is where some would say, “on top of Dyckesville.” Others would say it was just over a mile southeast of Dyckesville. On a current plat map, the place would be located at the intersection of the SW corner of Section 17 and the NW corner of Section 20, an area originally populated by Belgians with names such as Boulanger, Wery, LaCourt and Van Dycke. Antoine Wery, however, was the first to patent land in 1858. Wery chose the SW ¼ SW ¼ of S 21 and a mere 20 years later was surrounded by other Belgian settlers and more Werys.

Belgian history in Door and Kewaunee Counties is recorded in volumes and, like anything else, it is the seemingly minor details that get lost. What preceded the coming of the Belgian settlers and the Indians who were there first is most interesting. Geologically, the town stands out. Before 1900 geologists knew there was a small strip of Cincinnati shale in the part of the town bordering the bay of Green Bay. In that the town differs from the remainder of Kewaunee County which is made up of Niagara limestone, though Casco and Montpelier have their own unique formations. More than 100 years ago scientists were aware of two small areas in both places made up of beds of pebbles left from a time when the rest of what is now Kewaunee Country was submerged by what became Lake Michigan.

The fascinating period of glaciations left the highest elevation in Kewaunee County in Red River. Bordering the Town of Luxemburg to the south and Lincoln to the east, Red River’s Section 36 is a point 285’ above “oceanic” Lake Michigan. In the 1870s, the county averaged from 60’ to 200’ above the lake, but only Red River's Section 36 was described as having chalybeate springs, water that was said to have health-giving qualities. The sulphur-smelling springs were supposed to be about 45 degrees and flow moderately. Perhaps there were area residents who bathed in the springs, but the waters were never known widely enough to bring health-seeking tourists.

Land speculator James Duane Doty was one of the first to patent land in the town in 1838, not long after the original survey. Doty was elected as the Wisconsin Territory's congressional delegate the same year and from 1841 to 1844 served as Territorial Governor. Doty’s investment covering Section 33 surely was because of the timber which had not yet been logged off by the time Slausson and Grimmer held title to much of the land over 30 years later. However, the thickly forested land had seen a sawmill by the time the Belgians began arriving.

Keenly aware of the potential, surveyor Sylvester Sibley patented Sections 5, 6 and 8. Recorded history says Guerdon Hubbard and James A. Armstrong patented the land with Sibley near the mouth of the Red River (Rouge Riviere), intending to build a sawmill, however legal documents show Sibley as a single owner who registered his land in 1837 during the territorial days of Wisconsin.  Apparently the sawmill did go forth. By 1840, General A.C. Ellis, whom some sources give as Wisconsin’s first newspaper publisher, Green Bay’s Daniel Whitney and Senator Timothy Howe were involved in the mill, but about 1850 Armstrong and Hubbard abandoned their interests. Eventually the mill site became Thomas Spear’s. It was destroyed by fire in 1864 and rebuilt, though by indications, it was smaller than the first.  A few years later, Charles Scofield bought the mill and Scofield's ownership remains the most documented.

It was to this region that Wery and the others came. Anton Delimont was one of the lesser known early residents, although the surname could be found on plat maps years later.

When Delimont arrived in the area, he came to a still virtually uninhabited place around what became Bay View. He said that in cutting down the immense trees to form a clearing, he was able to build a log home and a farm building. Delimont continued to clear land during the winter in order to have fields to plant come spring, but by spring he was discouraged and moved on, locating in Nebraska. Just over 40 years later, Delimont returned to his old Red River farmstead and found civilization. He also found the remnants of his log home and that prompted an interview. At his first  arrival in Red River, Delimont found the thrifty Belgians building a new Catholic church to serve at least 100 families. At its construction in 1876, the church was said to be one of the finest buildings in the county. If Delimont stayed in the area only a year, it would have been a few years after the great Fire of 1871. The devastation of Red River makes it seem unlikely that he was cutting such immense trees although there are buildings remaining today that were constructed with charred logs from trees not completely burned. One wonders why just one winter proved discouraging. Delimont was not alone in relocating to Nebraska nor was he alone living near what became Bay View . Old maps indicate others with his surname so he obviously had relatives in the area.

But leave, Delimont did, eventually to return to find the farm on which he pioneered both modern and prosperous. Delimont was told that Red River farmers were among the most prominent in Kewaunee County and often had pure bred cattle, but he countered that Nebraska’s weather was better and farms were much larger. He found the village of Bay View with a large cheese factory that was the jewel of the area. Bay View had a general store, a blacksmith shop, a new school – District #3 in the Town of Red River – and the town hall in the heart of the tiny village. Eugene Daoust built the store late in 1902. In 1909 Louis Smeesters, who made cheese with Toebe and Liebl in Luxemburg, accepted a position with Daoust who was also running the cheese factory. How long Smeesters made cheese is not clear, but he was drafted into what became World War l. He was serving the community 5 years later and  was the church treasurer. Bay View Farmers Coop operated the cheese factory for a number of years and Marvin Malcore bought Smeesters’ store. Malcore sold in 1948 to John Creviere and the DeBakers bought it from him.

The place Delimont left had three school rural school buildings by the time it was a two-room school absorbed into the Luxemburg-Casco school district. History says the first school was frame. Built in 1869, the sawn boards no doubt came from the Scofield mill. The second school was built a few rods south of the first and was another frame school.

Though Bay View continued to fade away as an enterprising hamlet, it sported a baseball team in the old Cherry League for years. The Bay View teams offered a chance for the community's residents to socialize and be entertained by teams that always made them proud. 1934’s powerhouse team was a stand out. Showcasing such men as Debaker and Moens on the mound with Junion, DeMoulin, Guillette, Gillis, DuChateau, Bader and Sell on the field, the teams eventually faded too. If Delimont could return today, he’d see cornfields and wonder where it all went. Bay View passed into history joining Zavis, Darbellay, Pierce, Casco Pier and more, some of which no longer exist even in memories.

Sources: Ahnapee Record/Algoma Record Herald; Door County Advocate; Here Comes the Mail: Post Offices of Kewaunee County, c. 2010; On Land and Sea c. 1997 (a family history); Wikipedia.

Casco Cheese and a State-of-the-Art Plant

Casco Cheese Company, 1941

In early April 1948 the Casco Cheese Company invited the public to tour its new addition. The company was among the scores of cheese companies known to have operated in Kewaunee County, however with its new 52 x 118’ addition it was state-of-the-art. The brick and concrete block exterior housed an interior built with tile walls and floors. That was in addition to new equipment including stainless steel vats, filters and presses. There was a new can washer, pasteurizer, scales and more. Conveyors took the manufactured cheese to cutting, to storage and then to the railroad cars. The building’s basement held storage, space for processing natural cheese, and packing cheese into consumer-sized packaging. Casco had everything.

Fred Plinke was making cheese in Rankin in 1898

Wisconsin cheese was becoming popular in the first part of the 1900s and the Casco cheese was known far beyond Casco. Sold by First National, the New England grocery chain was affiliated with Evangeline Milk which was also connected to Casco Cheese. Though the cheese was shipped east, the cheese from Casco was popular in Wisconsin markets as well, a fact not lost on the approximately 60 cheese factories operating in the county in the years surrounding 1910.

Cheese making was important to Kewaunee County and quality cheese making even more so. Cheese
makers knew quality increased demand and demands caused prices to increase, something pointed out in 1907 by state inspector E.L. Aderhold. Aderhold said that the average consumption was 4 pounds per person annually while European countries averaged between 11 and 26 pounds yearly. Aderhold felt Wisconsin’s problem was under-consumption. He said creating an appeal to the palette would make the difference. Aderhold was back in 1926 pleading with farmers to cooperate with cheese makers. He advocated testing milk and said low grades of cheese were frequently caused by excess water. It was only a few years earlier when Casco’s manager John Fameree discussed the company’s new well. Good flowing water was found at 41’. Cheese makers surely listened to Aderhold because Wisconsin cheese is legendary.

During 1941, a few years before Casco’s upgrades, Kewaunee Co. cheese makers sponsored a dance as part of the campaign to increase cheese consumption. Profits from the dance at the Rondezvous in Neuren went to advertising the county’s most famous product. By then cheese makers knew they had to popularize their product at home before they could reach other markets. Cheese was a healthful product for the public. The economy offered by sales was good for both the cheese factories and the stores that sold it.

Founded 1876 and closed 1965, the Casco cheese factory had an impressive 90 year story. Albert Dworzak/Dworak was its first cheese maker. By 1882, a Mr. Filz owned the place.  As early as the 1860s, Joe Filz was engaged in cheese making at Frieman’s Corners, now South Luxemburg. Joe Filz had a store, was the postmaster and involved of numerous endeavors, but it is unclear if Joe was the “Mr.” at Casco.

Herman Sibilsky on his way to Swamp Creek cheese factory     H. Nell photo

Ten years after Filz’ ownership, John Carl built a new factory and hired Herman Witte of Ahnapee as the cheese maker. If the Witte name sounds familiar, it could be because Emil Witte was making brick with Frederick Storm in Ahnapee.  At the time of Frank Haack’s marriage to Mathilda Radue in October 1907, Frank owned the cheese factory and creamery. The paper seemed to opine that Mathilda was marrying well when it said Frank was honest and industrious. Frank doesn’t appear to have kept the factory for long because in April 1909 it was announced that the Casco factory opened with M.J. Koss as cheese maker. Although Joseph Koss and M. Burke owned the factory, Burke was renting his share to Koss at the time. Koss had attended dairy school in Madison and it was known he’d do a first rate job. During 1914, when John Koss married Mollie Kutzra, the wedding article said he was proprietor of the company.

Casco Cheese Co. had a long history. It frequently made the newspapers and it was very big news when the factory shut down for three weeks during August 1922. It is hard to imagine an idle cheese factory during the summer, but it happened when a lack of coal shut down the factory. While the time was used equipment repairs before wood became the fuel source, at least one truck load of milk was sent to the Sturgeon Bay condensery each day.

Over the years, the factory was relocated before it sat on its longtime location on the river, and on the southwest corner of the Highway 54 Bridge as one entered Casco from the east. The plant became one of the nine Van Camp’s operated in the Midwest in 1927 and a Lake-to-Lake cheddar producing facility in 1964 until it was repurposed in 1975 as a cold-storage building only. That lasted until 1983 when Bill Hanmann began using the factory for milling animal food.

Nearly 70 years after its open house, the building remains. If walls could talk, they would have much to say.

Sources: Ahnapee Record/Algoma Record Herald; Commercial History of Algoma, Wisconsin Vol 2, c. 2012; Here Comes the Mail: Post Offices of Kewaunee County, c. 2010; H. Nell interview. 

Easter Finery, the Easter Bunny, Eggs and Ahnapee/Algoma

www.hollywoodsgoldenage.com

As early as 1870, there were Easter parades in New York City, the most famous of which is remembered yearly in the 1948 film by the same name. Judy Garland was beaming, wearing her Easter bonnet, strolling down New York’s 5^th Avenue with Fred Astaire, smiling and ready to be photographed for the rotogravure. The Record/Record Herald never had a rotogravure, but it doesn’t mean the city was lacking Easter bonnets. Papers before 1900 advertised spring bonnets while Kohlbeck’s was advertising Easter finery – spring suits and Stetson hats - for men.

Well before World War l, Algoma youngsters looked forward to the Easter Rabbit and Easter candy. Children in the primary grades usually found candy in a nest at school. Often there were egg hunts and contests – such flash card math drills – for candy and egg prizes. The papers admonished boys and girls to get their nests ready. Nests? One hundred years ago, Algoma boys and girls left nests to be filled, not a basket.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pysanka

Where did it all come from? History tells us Easter eggs date to the early Christians in Mesopotamia who used eggs to symbolize the empty tomb. The early eggs were dyed red, signifying the blood of Christ at the crucifixion. The custom spread into Russia through the Orthodox Church and later through Europe. Pysanka  (the Ukrainian wax batik)  Easter eggs are the subject of classes. Faberge’s jeweled eggs created for the Russian tsars are known to most only because of photos.  The church – Pope Paul V - adopted the egg custom as an emblem of the resurrection in 1610.

Mardi Gras, Fat Tuesday, Pancake Day, Shrove Tuesday are names for the day before Ash Wednesday and and the beginning of Lent. It was a time to clean up all the eggs which, in the early church, were forbidden during Lent. However there was no way from stopping hens from laying and at the end of the 40 days, there was a huge supply of eggs. Early Christian traditions celebrating the resurrection were no doubt connected with the Lenten regulations. Symbolism remains and many of today’s Christian churches have Easter egg hunts for the children, reminding them of the empty tomb.

Early Christians didnt' have a rabbit delivering eggs, but rabbits are known for their fertility and eventually Peter Cottontail found his way into Easter. The website www.compelling truth.com says, "As hares and rabbits are extremely fertile, it's easy to see why they would become symbols of the season. But the Roman Catholic Church may have had another motive. Ancient legend claimed that hares are so fertile they can propagate asexually. The idea of an entire species that is prone to virgin births would be intriguing, and carvings of hares on various Catholic cathedrals led to speculation that the rabbit was a symbol of the Virgin Mary". Googling the hares indicates they are not only used in carvings on Catholic churches, and the formation of the ears of three hares in a circle can actually represent the Trinity.

History tell us that just as the Germans gave us Christmas trees, it was probably the Germans who brought their egg-laying rabbit called "Osterhase" to America. Their children made nests in which the animal could lay its colored eggs. Discovery.com tells us, "The first Easter Bunny legend was documented in the 1500s. By 1680, the first story about a rabbit laying eggs and hiding them in a garden was published. These legends were brought to the United States in the 1700s, when German immigrants settled in Pennsylvania Dutch country, according to the Center for Children's Literature and Culture. The tradition of making nests for the rabbit to lay its eggs in soon followed. Eventually, nests became decorated baskets and colorful eggs were swapped for candy, treats and other small gifts."

Blessings of Easter baskets is found in early church hisotry. Polish Catholics in Pulaski keep the Holy Saturday custom of their ancestors when they bring decorative baskets containing eggs and food to church. The blessed food is part of the Easter Sunday dinner. No doubt the parishioners at St. Hedwig's at Krok also took part in the time-honored tradition.

Brightly colored baskets have replaced nests made by children generations ago, but today’s children still wait for the Easter Bunny and the candy and eggs he will bring. If the kids – or even the adults - see the egg representing Jesus’ tomb, it could be because of the eggs the pastor brought for the children’s sermon.

Ahnapee/Algoma stores as Katches, Gamble Store, Joanne’s, Wiese, Lucille’s Danek, Brey-Leischow. Brey-Zander, Bach-Dishmaker and more joined Kohlbeck’s in offering Easter finery. For over 100 years Rineharts had the shoes to go with the new outfits. Milliners such as Melchior, Barnes, the Hunsader sisters and  others were there to design the new hats. Some years folks wore their new clothes to the Easter balls. Holub’s Band played at Ed Mauer’s Bruemmerville hall for a 1908 Easter dance. Mauer even offered free transportation between the city (Algoma) and his establishment. Frelich’s Band played at Leonard Meunier’s Alaska House the same year, but Meunier did not offer transportation.

 In a time when folks kept chickens in town, having enough eggs was not a problem, and there were always the grocery stores to provide them. F & A Market had them. So did Katches, the Farmer Store, Cashway, Foteys, Arndts and the Piggly Wiggly. The grocery stores sold candy that could also be found at confectioneries such as Warners, Tietz, Ponaths and more. Only the Piggly-Wiggly remains.

Looking around at Easter this year, one realizes it is a time when the more things change, the more they stay the same. 

Sources: Rev. L. Swenson's Easter sermon; Ahnapee Record/Algoma Record Herald; Black, Vicki K. Welcome to the Church Year: An Introduction to the Seasons of the Episcopal Church, July 2004; Commercial History of Algoma, Wisconsin, Vol 2, c. 2012. Three Hares as a Representation of the Trinity, Threeharesblogspot.com, Aug. 2010.

Fresh Fish: We Didn't Know Algoma was a Gourmet Paradise

Algoma's Fishing Fleet on the Ahnapee River: A Time that Was

Beautifully presented trout, perch and whitefish in glass display cases is mouth-watering. Fish like that brings distant but still fond memories of Toot, Cliff, Art, Joe, Shorty, Barry, Kelly and Frank,  the Bohmans, LaFonds, Pagels, Andersons and more. Buying fish from any one of Algoma’s commercial fishermen meant only the best and the freshest. It was gourmet before we knew what gourmet was.

Trout boil

Algoma kids grew up with the best, and those kids-turned-adults know what the best stores have to offer today generally isn’t good enough. There are lots of places passing themselves off as fish markets and apparently folks are happy with them, but those folks didn't grow up on Lake Michigan. If only the likes of Toot or George Bohman could come back to teach a thing or two about fresh fish. More than a few kids who grew up in Algoma tell about their store-bought, smelly fish going right to the garbage, although digging a hole next to the roses and rhubarb offers gardeners a far better choice.

Kids walking across the bridge to and from St. Mary’s School during the 1940s and ‘50s, and even later, knew what was happening at the shanties. Although the kids were usually too late to see the fish tugs going out, the tugs were coming in as the kids were walking home. There wasn't a kid who didn't know what a net drying rack was and they all knew the fish were cleaned immediately. They knew the seagulls plaguing them were looking for a delicious dinner of slimy fish guts. They also knew to watch it. As hundreds and hundreds of seagulls flew around the bridge, there was surely at least one that dropped “it” on one of the kids. Then there was always the 4^th grade boy who picked up a decaying fish from the bridge deck and started chasing the girls, particularly the one he said the really didn’t like.  Fourth graders boys didn't have it figured out in those days.

Nets drying on racks

Beginning on the few and far between shirtsleeve days of April and into October, the kids would see artists with their oils and canvas set up on the south side of the bridge. The south side offered a vantage point as most of the shanties lined the north side of the river. Kelly and Joe were tied up almost adjacent to the south side of the bridge and Shorty took his tug just beyond it. It was a scene the kids saw daily during their 8 years of school. Painting wasn’t part of the school art classes and surely anyone who would paint fish boats and tugs was from Chicago, somebody with money and nothing to do. The kids looked for fancy cars with Illinois plates. Chicago people didn’t know how to drive their big cars. They drove fast and passed on the right side of the road, so it wasn’t any wonder they’d be painting pictures of old sheds and tugs. But, because big shipments of fish were sent to Chicago markets, maybe some of those Chicago people wanted to prove they knew where the best fish were caught.

When the kids saw the pound (pond) nets off the Campsite, they knew it was mostly herring, and maybe a few perch, being caught. The gill netters went out far enough to net trout and chubs. In the late 1940s, a catch of 200# was big, prompting Goosey to tell stories of lifts of over 1,500# in his dad’s day.

Before World War ll there were over 20 men going out of Algoma, rain or shine, hot or cold. Sometimes it was a deep freeze or pea-soup fog that kept them in the harbor, but mostly the engines were chugging as early as first light to begin a day that was long. The tugs needed to get at least a few miles out before Lake Michigan was deep enough. Each boat had its own grounds and one did not encroach on another.

Then things began to change. World War ll meant a big need at the shipyards and some of the men left for the yards, leaving tugs short staffed. A few years later laws began changing and catches were limited. There were new smoking regulations that left the once deliciously moist smoked chubs dry. As lamprey eels began causing a steep decline in the numbers of big fish, commercial fishermen found few trout that didn’t show a mark from an eel attack. Eventually there were eel traps that began killing them. That prompted a new industry – fish fertilizer. As the DNR started encouraging more and more private fishing, it wasn’t just pan fishing in the state's rivers.  Swaty Creek was developed as a holding pond for the fingerling salmon that were eventually released into the lake. Almost overnight Algoma became a mecca for sports’ fishermen who easily got their limits. Charter fishing sprung up, attracting people from all over the mid-west. Commercial fishing waned and as the men retired, nobody took their places.

Net needles

It took the kids 40 or 50 years to know what they had and what it represented. They tell their kids and grandkids – who really don’t want to listen anyway – what it was like. Most of those 60, 70 and 80 year old kids don’t know what it was like in Ahnapee when the mackinaws were sailing or being rowed out in 1880, well before the coming of the Kahlenburg engine that made for the shape of the fish tugs today.  They forget about the boats stuck in the river ice, or the returning freezing fishermen with icicles dangling from their caps. But if they see a net needle, they’ll know what it is.

When Andy LaFond left the harbor in 2008, an entire industry went with him. Leelanau, Michigan has kept its tar paper sheds and its shanty village is a tourist attraction that speaks of a time that was. The fish tug exhibited at Rogers Street Fishing Village in Two Rivers offers visitors an opportunity to easily learn how such vessels did their job. Art Dettman’s shanty is on the historic register and remains on the north bank of the Ahnapee River. As for the rest, it exists in the memories of those of a certain age and in the paintings of those who didn’t know how to drive, but sure knew what they were looking at!

To learn about commercial fishing from Washington Island to Kewaunee,  find  Trygvie Jensen’s Through Waves and Gales Come Fishermen’s Tales, c. 2009, and Wooden Boats and Iron Men, c. 2007. To learn about Algoma's commercial fishing history, historian Wendell Wilkie has written The Real Shanty Days, a three volume series.

Algoma & the World War ll Victory Houses

As the country was digging its way out of the Great  Depression, housing was one of its great pent-up demands. Marriages had been delayed and many who did marry lived with family members or rented a spare room in the home of a stranger. As for Algoma, it looked as if things would improve when an April 1936 building boom brought expectations of ten or more homes to be built. In addition to reducing the shortages, home building would provide needed jobs.

Alleviating shortages was on the minds of many, and some of the suggestions were most creative. In 1916, even before the U.S. entry into what became World War l, there were thoughts of turning the old Goodrich side-wheel steamer Chicago into a floating boarding house. It was felt that if the boat was piped and heated with steam, its 100 staterooms could provide accommodations for 100-200 shipyard workers during the winter. Expense would be minimal. At least it was an idea that would upgrade one human habitation to another. Some of the upgrades began with what had begun as animal quarters.

Political strife in Europe - that which led to World War ll - also made for jobs, many created by Lend Lease. Then came the Day of Infamy. Countless numbers of couples married before the new husband was drafted, or before he was shipped out. The housing shortage continued.

Shortages had been in the news for years and by 1946 one staggering factoid made newspaper readers aware that the number of big trees destroyed by fire each year could have supplied enough lumber for building 215,000 five-room homes. By then, housing was being addressed, however in August 1948 Wisconsin’s health officer Dr. Carl Neupert expressed his concerns saying shortages were still felt beyond returning veterans. Neupert called attention to the health issues facing doubled up households or families living in makeshift structures. 

As World War ll era production workers relocated to such places as Algoma and Kewaunee, the already acute housing shortage was made worse. New building had been curtailed by the War Production Board, but then came Victory Houses, a square or rectangular no frills home. Depending on where they were built, they were mostly one-story structures of either wood or brick. 

During a 2004 interview, historian Millie Rabas told this blogger and two others how Plywood employees from Birchwood lived in her Kirchman hotel, doubling up in rooms and sharing beds. Sometimes the bed mates had never before met.  Algoma’s already critical housing shortage got even worse when Algoma Plywood announced intentions to transfer its veneer cutting operations from Birchwood.  The city council knew if there was any hope of meeting housing needs, Algoma had to be declared a critical defense area by the War Production Board. The city engineer was instructed to go forward in seeking such approval.

Algoma Plywood announced in August 1942 that it also was attempting to address the housing issue. The Federal Housing Authority eased up on restrictions and it looked as if the city would see as many as 20 new homes. The Plywood kept applications and offered employees information through General Manager G.H. Hunt. The homes were to be built for or by Algoma Plywood and Veneer or its employees only, or could be rented by Plywood employees for the duration of the war. The entire home cost was limited to $6,000 tops. There was also an effort to find buildings that could be converted to housing. There are some today who would be most surprised to learn their home had once served as a stable or barn. A month later the city council approved a plat for a Victory housing addition to the city, and Algoma Fuel Co. began erecting 7 homes for either rental or sale to defense workers.

By October, seven homes were going up in the old city gravel pit property along Division St., Four were being built on the west end of Steele and four more on Church St. The Fuel Company’s Frank Lohrey felt the home on the northwest corner of Division and Washington would be done about the 1^st of December with the other homes being completed at the rate of one a week. It was big news at Valentine’s Day 1943 when the Record Herald told readers that Mr. and Mrs. Hubert Knapmiller and daughter Margaret had just moved from Birchwood to live in one of the Division St. houses. At the same time the Wenniger apartments, across Church

St. from St. Mary’s School, were nearing completion. Six families would find housing in the modern building.

Then there was a new problem. In January 1943 Fire Chief A.F. Meyer discussed Algoma’s 1942 fire calls. There were 14 within the city limits. Damage amounted to just over $215,000, but an even bigger issue was better fire protection, particularly at a time when the city couldn’t meet its housing needs. Growing demands within the city meant a greater emphasis on equipment expansion and  equipment maintenance. Planning was of the utmost importance.

During May 1943 Otto Krueger started the basements for two homes at the bottom of the Church St. hill. One was on the northeast corner of Church and North Water while the other would be across Water St. That one faced north. The houses filled up as soon as they were ready, but still the need existed. Louis Welk was discharged from the Navy in February 1945 and had to remain in Dearborn, Michigan. Although Welk and his wife had planned to return to Algoma, the housing shortage kept him in Dearborn.

In August 1946 Ted Gartzke was named depot agent at Algoma. He was bringing his family, which included four children, from Winona, Minnesota, but there was no place for them to live. The move was delayed. The family did find a home on the Bucholtz farm and was eventually fortunate enough to secure one of the Division Street homes, but by then the war was over. The following August, it was the new football coach, Harry Schwartz, who had a rough time finding a home. Schwartz surely had too much school in his life. The only available place was the Third Ward school, also known as the Irving Demonstration School. When the Schwartz family arrived, the school had been cleaned and made as livable as possible. As so many others, the Schwartz family "made do." When the Louis Leischow family moved into their newly built Kodan farm home, their old home was moved to Algoma to provide living quarters.

Algoma Record Herald editor Harry Heidmann hoped to see the shortage alleviated in 1947. At the time Kewaunee was planning to build 25 new homes to solve its housing crisis. The editor wondered how it would go because all over Algoma there were basements dug, and here and there were foundations. Progress was slow, however, and little was going forward because essential materials were unavailable. Kewaunee had local financing and expectations were that wood could be cut from area woodlots and dried in kilns at local lumber yards. There were assurances that critical materials would be salvaged from government owned projects. But when?

April 1949 brought a new question. Liquor sales brought extra taxes designated for housing projects. Public policy was to stimulate construction where it was most critical. Editor Heidmann was ahead of his time when he opined the best way to build was to give the veteran a house payment from the special fund and allow him to build his house where and when he wanted to. Ten years later, in 1959, housing shortages still came to mind when Record Herald columnist Lois Pflughoeft quipped about the number of housing inquiries the paper got. She said she fully expected to see somebody living in the telephone booth at 4^th and Steele.

Housing and affordable housing opportunities are questions today, however the issues are far different than they were between 1930 and 1950.

Sources: Algoma Record Herald, Algoma's commercial histories Vol. 1 & 2; Cox-Nell House Histories found at Algoma Public Library; Wikipedia; Women of the Plywood, the War Years.

Kewaunee County Recycling: Wool Clips, Binder Twine, Lipstick and Toothpaste Tubes

Buy Local. Re-purpose. Reuse. Recycle. Individual recycling containers go out to the curb along with the garbage cans, and HGTV offers programs using inventive and creative ways to use what some would throw away. Recycling and buying local is anything but a new idea. As for buying locally, before the advances in transportation during the last 40 years, local was the most logical and sometimes the only way to go.

Throughout history, people made do with what was around them. The World War l effort brought such recycling to another dimension while efforts during World War ll are beyond what many would believe today, 70 years after its end.

World War ll came as the world was tunneling itself out of its worst economic depression ever. That followed World War l. As  U.S. residents were finding jobs and digging themselves out of want, the new war brought new restrictions and regulations. There was rationing, and ration books allowed just how much gasoline, meat, sugar, shoes and more could be purchased if it was  available.

Algoma Record Herald, Luxemburg News and Kewaunee Enterprise editorials continually urged county residents to do their part and their duty. Seventy years later, such urgings would fall on deaf ears. Sugar was the first commodity severely rationed. Coffee came from Brazil and that meant preyed-upon shipments by German U-boats. Among the other rationed items were cheese, butter, oil, shortening, dried fruit, canned milk, appliances and more. Rationing helped supply the troops, however such rationing actually helped retailers experiencing shortages. Sometimes the shortages were due to rumors and panics, such as the run on flashlights and batteries immediately following the attack at Pearl Harbor.

The draft picked up even before the attack on Pearl Harbor on December 1, 1941. Production had also picked up, in part due to Lend Lease. Then Pearl Harbor changed the lives of most.

Three months after Pearl Harbor, the War Production Board issued an order curtailing the telephone industry from using “scarce and critical materials.” That meant lead, copper, iron and steel, zinc and more. Algoma’s Phil Dart, manager for Wisconsin Telephone Co. stressed that telephone conservation – which was really curtailing expansion - was most important to the war effort. A few weeks after that, new residential construction was forbidden. Maintenance and repair costing more than $500 was banned. Though agriculture was important, agricultural related construction costing more than $1,000 was also prohibited. Any public or privately financed construction with a price tag of over $5,000 was not approved. It didn’t matter if it was for highways, utilities or institutional buildings. New electrical lines were strung only if it was proven that they were necessary to the war effort. A federal agency was the authority.

By March 1942, selling canned dog food was against regulations thus prompting manufacturers to begin making dehydrated products. It might be hard to believe today but the purchase of a new tube of tooth paste was denied unless the previously used metal tube was turned in. Many combined baking soda and salt to make their own toothpaste. It saved money and by-passed the tubes.

New regulations seemed to come daily. Families hardly had time to deal with being told their new house was on hold or that the dream of having a telephone wasn’t coming before they had to start thinking about something so seemingly insignificant as scrap paper. “Scrap for Victory” began in the schools. Boys in rural schools collected scrap paper while helping farmers collect and pile scrap metal for pickup and sale. Rural school students made surveys of waste materials around the county so the information was readily available when needed. It was a time when the clothing division of the War Production Board set up a wool clip collection. And what was that? Fashionable men and boys wore cuffs on their trousers at the time and the “clips” became available when cuffs were prohibited. The Red Cross collected the clips cut from pants at stores throughout the country.

Binder twine isn’t something most guard preciously, but 1942 farmers certainly did when twine was controlled. It was only available for growing, harvesting or handling farm products, and for sewing grain bags shut. A year later, in 1943, farmers were allowed to purchase as many burlap bags for potatoes as they did in 1941.

The War Board’s survey as late as spring 1944 revealed that only 2 in 4 knew how important waste paper collections were, and that only 1 home in 4 saved the waste paper. In a day when few had file cabinets, documents, letters and so on were stored in attics. Town officers stored the old records in their attics. Where else could they put them? The immense paper drives of World War ll cleaned out the attics, ridding families and townships of their history. Schools began being the pick-up points for the 1940s paper drives and Boy Scouts continued the efforts. The county’s newspapers were affected when the War Production Board cut newspaper consumption by 10%. At the same time Algoma Record Herald told readership that the paper “had gone to war” and would be available by prepaid subscription only. It guaranteed that the paper would not use one more sheet of newsprint than absolutely necessary.

A month after Pearl Harbor Wisconsin industry was said to be converting quickly and efficiently from peace-time to war-time manufacturing while hiring additional employees. Unemployment was decreasing while the cost of unemployment was also going down. Algoma Plywood was building airplane wings and noses in addition to boat hulls, including the hull that evacuated General Douglas Mac Arthur from the Philippines. Kewaunee’s new shipyard turned out boats at an astonishing speed. One of the ships eventually became the U.S.S. Pueblo, well-known as the ship captured by North Korea in January 1968.

Family welfare agencies of the time were directed to do all they could to keep families together. Fighting men had to be freed from family worries and those who were working had to be most efficient. Agencies were to focus on character building in their work with children, thus preparing them for their part in the war effort. Those working with the aged and handicapped were to lead the way in rehabilitating as many as possible for useful war production.

Materials' collections and restrictions brought innovation. With silk supplies being cut off and the silk there was going into parachute manufacture, silk stockings were in extremely short supply. One parachute required the same amount of silk as 2,300 stockings. The stockings of the 1940s had seams in the back and creative women used eyebrow pencils to draw seams on their bare legs. Cotton socks were in short supply and it was known some continued a Depression era ruse and dipped their feet in white paint rather than admit they didn’t have them. Under coveralls or pants, who knew? Then nylon was invented and used for parachutes. It went into women’s stockings which became known as “nylons.”

When President Franklin D. Roosevelt declared war following the Day of Infamy, the army had more horses than tanks. The U.S. Army ranked 18^th in the world, just behind Romania. There was a long way to go but it happened at breakneck speed. Mothers and grandmothers saved tin cans and took them to the pick-up centers. They made kids’ snowsuits and coats from old, worn men’s suits and topcoats. Usable men’s shirts were used to make dresses and shirts for smaller tykes. They saved meat bones to be used in soap making. Fat from meat was saved as a key ingredient of glycerine. It took a pound of fat to make 1/3 pound of gunpowder. Thirty lipstick tubes produced 2 cartridges, but it took 30,000 razor blades to make from fifty 30-calibre machine guns.

World War ll affected each family and most had a family member or close friend who paid the ultimate price. Technological innovations went far beyond nylon. Seventy years later many drive Jeeps and use high octane gas. Epoxy is used in construction and beyond. So is Styrofoam. Synthetic cortisone is a pharmaceutical, and Teflon is so widely used that it is found in humans and in growing things all over the earth. The electron microscope is a boon to the scientific world and where would we be without a bowl full of M & Ms? Or penicillin?

It was a time when Buy Local, Re-purpose, Reuse, Recycle went beyond caring for the environment. A few years after the war, if there was anything citizenry did not feel like doing, it was buying local, re-purposing, reusing and recycling. Nearly 40 years of scrimping and saving brought pent-up demands and for awhile  buying local and recycling faded away. Today it is "in" to buy locally and just about every city mandates recycling containers at each residence. The more things change, the more they remain the same. It's just the reasons that are different.

Sources: Algoma Record Herald, Kewaunee Enterprise, Luxemburg News, blogger's family history files

Kewaunee County & the 40 Hour Work Week

Unimaginable unemployment, cuts in hours and pay, and increasingly worsening working conditions for those who did have jobs, were only a part of what became the Great Depression. Today we read about other countries that have less than a 40 hour work week and wish. Few remember the time in our history when government was advocating a shorter work week. One of 30 hours. It happened during the 1930s and in the depths of the Great Depression. The issue of hours affected Kewaunee County as it did the rest of the country.

History tells us that around 1800, men, women and children in the manufacturing workforce put in 14 hour work days. The country was seeing an industrial revolution. Martin Van Buren was president in 1840 when he issued an executive order limiting the manufacturing work day to 10 hours. At the end of World War l in 1919, an 8-9 hour day was advocated and hours were maximized at 48 a week. It happened because of an international labor group. No sooner was it accomplished than the country was in the Depression. President Herbert Hoover proposed limiting the work week to 30 hours. It passed the Senate but didn’t fly in the House. Then Franklin Roosevelt, elected in 1932 on a platform that differed little from 1924 and 1928, enacted more social legislation than most can wrap their heads around today. By the early to mid-1930s, lack of jobs, foreclosures, soup lines and even starvation brought the issue of work hours and that began to get confusing.

The April 15, 1933 issue of Newsweek - one of the first issues in the magazine’s history - headlined a startling article about the U.S. work week being cut to 5 days and 30 hours. There were severe penalties for overtime work, prompting Kewaunee County merchants to quickly announce new hours. The bill was passed as a means to increase employment during the Depression, the worst economic catastrophe known to the U.S.

News articles indicate Kewaunee County employers were worried about compliance with federal regulations. Government’s idea was that more people with jobs meant increased buying power thus helping the country get out of the Depression. At the same time, the state was trying to win federal funds for public works, work that would also help prime business. Where would money come from to hire more people? Kewaunee County folk did not think it was as simple as it sounded.

Six months before the Newsweek article, author Joe Mitchell Chappel was urging protective tariffs as a way of guarding the American worker from the sweat and peasant labor of other lands. Chappel talked of a shorter work week and a work day, saying it was sound.

By late January 1934 federally funded CWA (Civil Works Administration) workers in rural areas and cities with populations less than 2,500 learned that because of dwindling funds, they would be limited to 15 hours a week of work until the end of the CWA period in February. It was felt that living costs were higher in larger areas so those workers would get 24 hours of work a week. Wikipedia tells us that spending about 200 million a month and temporarily employing about 4 million construction workers, CWA functioned during the winter of 1933-34, ending on March 1, 1934. The Record Herald pointed out that 197 Kewaunee County men had been part of the program but the county’s number was being cut to 166. In late March 1934 the paper said a mid-March pay roll was $1,305.20 for 112 men in the county quota. To put that in another perspective, the men received about $11.65 for 60 hours of work, or roughly 18 cents an hour. At the time 25 cents bought a man’s admission to a dance. Ladies paid 10 cents, a used tire could be bought for one dollar, an adult haircut at Timble’s was 40 cents, 4# of navy beans went for 19 cents, a dozen oranges sold for 25 cents and hamburger was 10 cent a pound. Eighteen cents won’t even buy a quarter hour at a parking meter today.

A November Record Herald editorial couldn’t see how limiting labor could go forward without a worsening of the economy. It said if limiting hours to 30 would put more men to work, would limiting hours to 20 or even 5 create more work? The paper couldn’t figure out how families other than the “idle rich” could get what they needed with reduced work and increased idleness. The limited hours would not affect agriculture, though it was pointed out that in Kewaunee County farmers worked 6 hours before dinner and another 6 after, however farmers knew they put in far more. The editorial said that any store open 8 or 9 hours a day placed a physical toll on employees. It also opined that it was really factories that proponents wanted to limit, and yet that wouldn’t work either because production costs would increase prices to a point of unaffordablity.

Farmers were against the advocated 30 hour work week and higher wages for non-farm labor. In October 1937, farmers felt it meant higher costs for them. They felt non-farmers working fewer hours wouldn’t be able to buy their products. It was pointed out that higher standards of living would come with lower production costs and higher wages. It was further said higher production costs and higher wages would bring down the standard of living because food and clothing were basic necessities.

About 6 months later there were other issues. Farm cooperatives also had to face labor issues and if farm products had to be produced in 40, or even 50, hours a week, a lot of farmers were going to find it impossible to exist at “present levels” or at levels in excess. That would put city dwellers in a more difficult economic position.

Hours continued to be a hot topic. A December 1938 Record Herald article  pointed out that in 1849, American industrial workers began work at sunrise, got 40 minutes for breakfast and lunch and then went on to work till 7 PM. In 1938 the average work week was less than 40 hours. Then there was the blame game. Merchants weren’t getting rich on sales in the days of high taxes and wage and hour restrictions.

President Franklin Roosevelt and Labor Secretary Frances Perkins initially endorsed the idea of shorter hours and work week, but buckling under opposition from the National Association of Manufacturers, FDR dropped his support for the bill, which in turn was defeated. It wasn’t long before Roosevelt advocated the job-creating New Deal spending and a forty-hour work week limit, passed into law on October 24, 1938 as part of the Fair Labor Standards Act. Again, it wasn’t long before there was another change.  World War ll production saw those in defense manufacturing positions working at least 45 hours a week.

Women’s hours seemed to be a separate issue and beat the 1938 40-hour week. In May 1937 the House passed a bill on to the Senate setting hours at 8 hours per day and no more than 44 hours a week, however in an emergency a 9 hour day and 50 hour week would be accepted. By August news articles discussed machines bringing shorter hours and shorter work weeks thus offering more leisure time.  A Record Herald editorial questioned why leisure was necessary because there were those that had nothing but leisure. It went on to say that it took a better man to stand up under all that leisure and make something of himself, more than it did for one who was always on the go.

The paper went on to opine that economic forces were bewildering. Swings too far either way always caused hardship to somebody. Seventy-five years ago the paper said, “Too bad there isn’t some way of determining the happy medium.”  The 40 hour work week has long been a staple in the U.S. Countless articles on its history can be found simply by Googling. One of the most interesting articles appeared in a Jayson DeMers article in Forbes on May 15, 2015. DeMers feels the 40 hour work week is dead for a number of reasons. As Abraham Lincoln said, "We cannot escape history."

Sources: Algoma Record Herald, Jayson DeMers in Forbes 5/15/2015 online; Google; National Park Service guide at Lindenwalk, Kinderhook, NY; Newsweek 4/15/1933; Wikipedia.

A Ground Hog's Place in Algoma's History

According to CNN, Punxsutawney Phil didn’t see his shadow. If Phil is right, we’ll have an early spring.  Shubenacadie Sam in Shubenacadie, Nova Scotia agrees with Phil, but Dunkirk Dave in Dunkirk, New York saw the sun, and that means more winter. Then there is Jimmy the Groundhog here in Wisconsin who agrees wholeheartedly with Phil and Sam. If they are right, it means the oak leaves will be the size of a mouse’s ear much earlier than Wisconsin farmers generally plant their corn.

Wikipedia tells us the Ground Hog Day was adopted in the U.S. in 1887. Wikipedia also tells us, "The celebration began as a Pennsylvania German custom in southwestern and central Pennsylvania in the 18th and 19th centuries. It has its origins in ancient weather lore where a badger or sacred bear is the prognosticator, as opposed to a groundhog." February 2 is also Candlemas Day, a day celebrating the presentation of Jesus, the light of the world. Candlemas comes midway between the first day of winter and the first day of spring. So does Ground Hog's Day. Googling both, a number of sites point out that both bear similarities to the Pagan festival of Imbolec - the seasonal turning point of the Celtic calendar which is celebrated on February 2 and also involves weather prognostication - and to St. Swithum's Day on July 15. St. Swithum is regarded as the saint to whom one prays in the event of droughts.    

1924 Record Herald

A search of old Ahnapee/Algoma newspapers reveals a ground hog’s prediction was something everybody had fun with. Farmers generally don’t  generally like things, but the ground hog sightings helped beat the winter doldrums and brought thoughts of the seed catalogues that would soon start arriving. During World War l and the Great Depression, highlighting the day meant frivolity in austere times. Then came the 1993 film Ground Hog Day which really “kicked it up a notch.” Star Bill Murray called it some of the best work he ever did. Festivals and celebrations begin in the early morning, and early morning TV shows are there to let viewers in on just what they need to know to go forward. Most often it is that viewers need to hunker down for another six weeks.

One hundred years ago Ahnapee Record told readership that the ground hog was to emerge from his hole and size up weather on Candlemas Day. If he didn’t see his shadow, he’d emerge for good and thus break winter’s backbone. Since the ground hogs eat clover, cabbage, young beans and more, the paper opined that if the ground hog didn’t see his shadow and stayed out, he’d starve. What happened in 1915 when it was reported that the ground hog was at large? His favorite foods weren’t there. Over the years the paper advised area populace to watch their resident ground hogs. It always seemed as if the local 4-legged creatures had the edge on smarts.

In 1914 the paper reported that on Candlemas Day Immaculate Conception Church would bless the candles used in church and in homes. The second part of the article said it was also the day on which the “proverbial” ground hog would make an appearance. A year later Ground Hogs’ Day set the stage for some fierce competition in Algoma. Bowling. The Glue Eaters – white collar personal at Algoma Panel - were taking on the Printers at the Majestic Bowling Alley. The Glue Eaters were afraid the Printers – the Printers’ Devils from “Ink Alley”  (Algoma Record) - would emulate the ground hogs and return to their holes. The Glue Eaters were afraid there was a chance the Printers would rally and carry their black ground hog-like colors into the deciding three games. But, at least Ground Hogs’ Day was sure to establish Algoma’s worst bowlers!

In 1935 people had more winter than they needed and thought it was time to foil the ground hog. Swiping his alarm clock was one idea. Or, passing a law requiring ground hogs to wear sun glasses. Maybe he needed a trapdoor blocking his burrow. Depression era ground hogs seemed to be taking on human characteristics, but it was a time to enjoy some merriment even if it was ridiculous.

By 1950, Ground Hogs’ Day was sunshine following a January that the paper said was monotonous, but monotonous it was not. It was much like this one. January 1950 saw all kinds of weather, including a day when Algoma’s temperature hit a balmy 50 degrees. Another day saw a minus 13 degrees. There was rain, freezing drizzle and ice. There were high winds and there was thunder. January 1950 certainly wasn’t boring and offered plenty of conversation. January 1950 went out with sub-zero temperatures prompting the paper to say and who beside a ground hog would want to stick their neck out?

Just as all of Kewaunee County, Algoma is packed with history though ground hogs aren’t usually considered a part of that history, but did you hear the one about Montpelier’s ground hog………..

Sources: Ahnapee Record, Algoma Record, Algoma Record Herald, Google, Wikipedia. Clip Art in Windows.