Ahnapee & George Washington: The Connection

April 30 marks the 225th  anniversary of George Washington's election as first president of the United States. There was a time when each school classroom had a copy Peale's or Stuart's famous paintings of Washington, or perhaps a photograph or painting of Abraham Lincoln. Washington is one of the four presidents carved into Mt. Rushmore and he is remembered in the names of cities, townships, schools and streets. Wolf River/Ahnapee had a number of residents whose first and middle names reflected the famous man, however that is not where the connection ends.

As a young man in 1758, Washington was elected to Virginia's House of Burgesses. There he connected with Thomas Jefferson, Patrick Henry, Peyton Randolph and George Mason - men with whom he would be forever linked. At the time, the illustrious company didn't bask in the luster of American history.

It is said that as a young legislator Washington was not a leader offering innovative legislation. When he introduced his first bill in Burgesses, he had neither the experience nor the clout to push through a piece of legislation. Today one would think, "Why didn't it happen?" Maybe Washington's "betters" felt they'd teach the young upstart a thing or two. As it was, pigs were running at loose on the streets of Williamsburg. They were fouling the water and yet Washington's legislation to keep them off the streets failed on the first try.

A little over 100 years later, the new village of Ahnapee adopted Ordinance 4 without a hitch. What was it that Washington couldn't initially effect when it happened on July 12, 1873 at the first meeting of the Village of Ahnapee? Keeping pigs off the street because of the "fouling," which one would think would have been a no-brainer a century earlier.

At the time of Ahnapee's first village meeting, there were 100 registered voters. Druggist William N. Perry was unanimously elected president. Manufacturer Joseph Anderegg was elected clerk, and in the first historical business conducted three days later, Michael McDonald was elected marshal. It wasn't crime that took the Marshal McDonald's time initially. It was Ordinance 4 - keeping pigs off the streets of the village. A month after his election, McDonald declared war on swine! How successful McDonald was is anyone's guess, but the issue was addressed. A year later the Board passed an ordinance providing for slaughterhouses when it prohibited the dangerous and unhealthy practice of slaughtering animals at home. Ordinance 4 probably dried up a food source. No doubt the pigs at large made for pork chops and ham for those who couldn't tell one pig from another.

Cattle were running at large at the same time, however that was apparently regarded as a lessor issue. Three years later, the Record commented on "the nerve" of the village board in passing an ordinance restricting cattle from running on the street. The editorial comment was obviously in jest and McDonald was heard to say if people didn't take care of their own cows, they'd find them milked.

Whether there were ordinances or not, people had to use village streets to get their cows to a grazing area that is now Perry Field. In an interview with this blogger, historian Millie Rabas remembered driving cows from her grandparents' Kirchman Hotel* down Clark St. to the field. In the 1940s and early 1950s, there were times that Karl Lineau, Clarence Toebe and Adolph Feld, whose farms were within the south city limits, got early morning calls from the police letting them know their cows were downtown. At least they kept their pigs at home. Ironically Feld's future father-in-law was on the board that effected the ordinances.


Note: Virginia's House of Burgesses was the first representative government in "The Colonies." Its first meeting was at Jamestown on July 30, 1619.
* The Kirchman Hotel is now called the Steelhead Saloon and is at the northeast corner of 4th and Clark Streets. It was built just after the Civil War by the Bastars.

Sources: An-An-api-sebe: Where is the River?; Ahnapee Record, Algoma Record Herald; How a Bill Becomes a Law, Williamsburg, Virginia, and an interview with Millie Kirchman Rabas.

Algoma's Stockyard, Packing Houses and Butcher Shops

A little over 100 years ago several railroad companies purchased land in Chicago to build a stockyard that would become the hub of the country. What became known as the Union Stockyard brought packinghouses. Then came factories that dealt with by-products. Living conditions are a separate story.

Today few would think Algoma ever had a stockyard. It did. Whether one could say Algoma had packinghouses is a matter of perspective, but there were butcher shops that were true packinghouses, and Algoma had by-products that were dealt with elsewhere. However, that’s where any similarity to Chicago ends.

In 1892 - five years before Ahnapee was renamed Algoma - the railroad came to both Algoma and Kewaunee, and, as in Chicago, it was the railroad that brought the stockyard. Algoma’s stockyard originally stood at the foot of Mill Street near the Veneer and Seating Company on the south side of the Ahnapee River. Yards were adjacent to Ahnapee and Western railroad tracks on the north side of the stock pens.  .

During June 1916, Mill Street residents living in the vicinity of the stockyard entered a grievance against the railroad, understandable because the yards were in a residential district. One can imagine the odors on a summer day and, recognizing the complaint as valid, the railroad moved the yard further west to just beyond Plumbers Woodwork. In some ways the railroad's cooperation was a surprise, but the new, more substantial yard was covered, a fact appreciated by shippers during the winter. Fifty years later, long after the stockyards were gone, older city residents referred to the area around Haney Avenue as “Pig Alley,” reflecting memories of an earlier time.

During the first 50 years of its existence, Ahnapee/Algoma had a remarkable number of butcher shops, or packinghouses, for the size of the population. Meat was shipped to city markets on railroad cars that, by then, were refrigerated. Animals were originally slaughtered in town, but as the place grew, slaughtering moved outside the city to places such as the Damas farm just north of St. Paul’s Cemetery.* William Damas was working with Frank Groessl at the time and then opened another market at what is approximately 521 4^th St. today. Sanborn fire maps indicate ice houses next to the butcher shops. In a day before refrigeration, the ice houses were a necessary step in preserving product. Algoma’s packinghouses had by-products – such as bones, hides and blood.

Bones created another income source when they were shipped to Green Bay Soap Products and other such concerns in Milwaukee for use in the manufacture of soap. There is even some humor in those bones. Peter Kashik made the Record in 1909 when he installed a grinder for use in pulverizing bones for chicken feed. "Chicken feed" also suggested the product's income level. Captain Herman Schuenemann, the Christmas tree ship captain who went down on the Rouse Simmons in November 1912, was born in Ahnapee. Ironically the Reindeer frequently made Algoma to pick up the bones to bound for Milwaukee. One wonders how many nine year old boys washed their faces because of the Reindeer, "Captain Santa" Schuenemann and thoughts of Christmas?

C.R. Bacon gave the city something to laugh about when he opened his 1883 butcher in Melchior and Reinhart’s basement. The firm was a shoe manufactory, known as Reinhart’s Shoes for the next 100 years. Bacon wasn’t the only business in that basement. He shared the quarters with a marble cutting company! Baloney Bill Krueger was another with an unusual business. After World War 1, Baloney Bill ran an ice cream parlor in connection with his Mill Street meat market.

Bacon’s wasn’t the only shop in an odd place. Frank Feuerstein’s 1859 shop was partly remodeled into the present Stebbins Hotel. When Frank Slaby remodeled the hotel to what it is today, he sold the west wing of his building, in which Feuerstein conducted his shop, to F. Schroeder who moved it to another section of the city for conversion as a dwelling. John Graf used the Fax building on the 1^st and Steele site that is now Von Stiehl’s warehouse as his packinghouse. Rudolph Pauly ensured speedy service using the delivery bike from his store on the site that is now Walters. J.J. Storzbach followed him. Ed Westfahl’s meat market was on the southeast corner of 4^th and Clark in 1900. He was succeeded by his son-in-law Joe Horak. Horak became Kewaunee County sheriff. Horak’s wife Helen was his partner in the store and followed him as sheriff.                                                                                                                                       

F.J. Jakubovsky’s meat market burned in the fire consuming the building on the southwest corner of 2^nd and Steele. There were many other butchers such as Charles Braemer, R. Haack, Wenzel Taicher, Henry and Ursala Zimmermann and Henry Baumann, but it is the Kashik family whose name is synonymous with meat markets in Algoma. The company was in business over a period of 70 years when Foxy and Kutz, the last of the Kashik line, closed the last of Algoma meat markets. With the closing went the aroma of smoked bacon and ham, wieners and all kinds of sausage, wonderful things mostly unknown to a younger generation.

Below is a section from the 1894 Sanborn Fire Map of Ahnapee, Wisconsin. It marks the Frank Groessl/Graessl meat market, which was the site of Kashik's for so many years. In looking at the map for what is approximately 218 Steele Street and the site of Harmann Studios today, Groessl's market is noted as being just west of a barbershop. Directly behind the shop is the kettle used for scalding pigs and so on. Behind the kettle is the ice house. The smoke house is in the back right corner of the property, Block 10, Lot 16, Youngs and Steele Plat of the, now, City of Algoma.

* In June 1874 John Kittinger approached the Ahnapee village board saying the dangerous, unhealthy methods of slaughtering animals at home had to be stopped, and an ordinance providing for slaughterhouses was passed.

Sources: An-An-api-sebe: Where is the River?, c. 2001; Commercial History of Algoma, Wisconsin, Vols. 1 & 2, c. 2006 & 2012, including graphics; Ahnapee Record, Algoma Record, Algoma Record Herald; blogger's postcard collection.

Ahnapee & Algoma: Drug Stores & Patent Medicines



Lydia E. Pinkham Co. was a patent medicine business at the turn of 1900. Advertised as medicines sure to take care of “women’s complaints,” Pinkham's kindly face appeared on labels and advertising indicated she would answer any letter to offer advice to the suffering. Those who wrote to her after May 1883 had no way of knowing she was dead and buried in Lynn, Massachusetts.

 

By 1900 patent advertising provided the largest sources of revenue for newspapers across the country. Clauses in lucrative advertising contracts cancelled those contracts if one negative word about the patent industry appeared. Then Colliers began running articles reporting fraudulent practices. Some medicines were harmless, some were harmful. Some contained alcohol, some contained narcotics. Some were addicting. In 1900 there was no regulation or oversight. Mrs. Pinkham was touting help for women and Isham’s Spring Water was said to cure rheumatism. Pink pills were there for paralysis, and ointments took care of cancer. Or, so the advertising said.

Since drug stores sold liquor for medicinal purposes, Temperance leaders could always drink for their health while they shook their fingers at those who had a non-medicinal glass of whiskey. Boedecker’s Drug Store, on the southeast corner of 4^th and Steele, announced on June 29, 1917 that it would no longer sell “intoxicating liquors of any kind.” Bulk liquor sales in drug stores was legal at the time and druggists considered such sales as a necessary part of pharmacy. The Boedecker brothers apparently had a change of thought and went on to advertise that their Rexall Drug Store “shall be Algoma’s Greatest Drug Store in fact as well as name.” On February 27, 1920 Algoma Record Herald pointed out whiskey consumption while reporting that none of the city druggists had made application for a whiskey seller’s permit. Physicians prescribing medicinal whiskey also needed permits. By then Prohibition was in force. Sales of more than a pint of liquor to any one person within a ten day period was prohibited, and the National Association of Retail Druggists advised its members against taking out the special license due to liability.

Drug stores were a big part of Ahnapee’s business community. The druggists prepared tinctures, ointments and other medications. Shelves were full of patent medicines advertised in the Ahnapee Record and, after 1897, the Algoma Record. Boedecker’s was convenient. Dr. Minahan’s* medical office was upstairs. Maybe more important was Boedecker’s “clock.” It was a type of slot machine into which one inserted a coin to get a trinket. The lucky rang the clock more than once to get an additional jackpot.

Across Steele to the north was a hot spot for drugstores beginning with James Dudley’s in 1864 and John McDonald a year later. Dudley even made fresh baking soda in his store. The building that is now Crow’s Nest was the site – though a different structure - of Dudley’s Standard Drug Store. Then came Vojta Kwapil and Jim Fluck. William Perry’s drug store was on the other side of the alley. Christian Roberts operated City Drug Store and Joseph Knipfer constructed his store on the northeast corner of 4^th and Steele in 1878. Mike Shiner was advertising in 1879, also on the corner of 4^th and Steele. Bates Drug Store opened in 1881 on the east side of what is now Clay on Steele, and by 1890 Silas Doyen had moved into the Baumann building, now the site of Algoma Sew 'n Vac. Doyen sold to Wilbur and Spiegelberg, however Spiegelberg soon went to 4^th and Steele, working in the space that also included jeweler Edward Koenig. Doyen took Merton McDonald as a partner and kept practicing. Johnson purchased Boedecker’s. Pharmacists and drug stores kept coming and going. 

 

During President Teddy Roosevelt’s administration, the 59^th Congress passed legislation that can only be called monumental. When significant steps were taken toward the labeling, inspection and regulation that became the Pure Food and Drug Act, patent medicines and their promises began going by the wayside, although not entirely. Over 100 years later, misleading statements continue to dot commercials, however legislation changed things in Algoma as it did all over the country.

Today's Fletcher's Castoria, Bayer Aspirin, Phillips Milk of Magnesia and Anacin - products that can be found all over -  had their beginnings in the patent medicines. Angostura bitters started out as something for stomach aches but nobody thinks of that when they are enjoying a cocktail. Neither do those who enjoy gin and tonic. Tonic was also once regarded as medicinal. As for those who look forward to an icy cold 7-Up, Cocoa Cola, Dr. Pepper or Pepsi Cola, they too were once marketed for their medicinal qualities.

And, Lydia Pinkham? She is still around.

Note: The Four Clips, a long-time barbershop quartet favorite of Wisconsin audiences, included a song about Lydia Pinkham in their vast repertoire. Years ago, lyrics of that catchy number prompted this blogger to learn about Pinkham and what "she" had to offer. Having done significant research on Ahnapee/Algoma drug stores and their owners, and Prohibition, all kinds of patent medicines surfaced. It was Bully Pulpit, (a must read) about Theodore Roosevelt and William Howard Taft that compelled me to put patent medicines, advertising, commerce and legislation into another perspective.

*Dr. John Minahan was the brother of Dr.  William  Minahan who went down on the Titanic. Their brother Hugh operated a store in Casco and the three brothers together owned a maple syrup camp near Scarboro.

Sources:  Ahnapee Record, Algoma Record, An-An-api-sebe: Where is the River? c.2001; Commercial History of Algoma, WI, Vols. 1 & 2, c. 2006 & 2012; Bully Pulpit by Doris Kearns Goodwin, c. 2013; and Wikipedia. Find further information on patent medicines simply by Googling.

 

 

Ahnapee & Algoma: A Sports Minded Community

Algoma High School’s girls’ basketball team stands out once again. The girls are a powerhouse in a long line of such athletic prowess. Algoma, and Ahnapee before it, is a small place proving that big things indeed come in small packages.

The community’s interest in sports goes back to its earliest days. German immigrants organized a sports and musically minded Turn Version Society in early summer 1866. When Wenzel Wenniger built his Wilhelmshoeh on Wenniger Heights – the hill on the north side of the river – he included both a bowling alley featuring iron balls and a

shooting gallery. Wenniger assumed management of the place being called Ahnepee* Gardens as early as 1871 and enhanced it. (Right)

The “baseball nine” was organized about 1870 when the city was playing teams from Clay Banks, Forestville and Sturgeon Bay. That team included pitcher William Henry, Mike McDonald, M.T. Parker and Mike Mullen. They played at Wenniger’s and they played on the clearing on the Knipfer farm just below the Lake Street hill near the south city limits. They had winning seasons.

Abisha Perry was Ahnapee’s finest baseball player and athlete of the day. Fifty years later George Wing was writing memoirs saying that the likes of Perry had still to be seen. The strong Perry had no trouble slugging a ball. His long legs ate up the bases and his lungs were so powerful he had no trouble running. DeWayne Stebbins played too, probably prompting a few cuss words from his team. Steb usually played left field and when the ball came his way, he was known to take his time getting it. If the fellows were playing in the empty space now occupied by the Dug-Out and the ball went over Mrs. Loval’s First Street barn and Steb found it, he was one to stop and discuss the politics of the day with her, rather than throwing the ball.

German immigrant George Sachtleben was a shoemaker who arrived in the 1850s. In May 1883, he contributed to a winning season with new blocks for the nines' shoes and boots. Ahnapee beat Kewaunee 28-9 in the very next game. While some were impressed, the Record felt Sachtleben’s blocks didn’t really help "because the Kewaunee boys didn’t practice much."

Baseball continued and there were leagues. The Spaulding Co. promised to give the Lakeshore League a silk banner with the teams’ names on it if it would adopt its ball. There was money in baseball even then. Baseball provided a social life for the villagers who were joined by the band crowding on to the Goodrich steamers to go to such places as Kewaunee, Sturgeon Bay or even Marinette. Looking at the lakeshore today, it is hard to imagine a steamer carrying 700-900 people stopping at most of the ports.

It wasn’t only baseball. Ahnapee even had a prizefighter. Johnny Mulligan had his headquarters and boxing school in Ahnepee in 1869. Less than 10 years later the Daily News announced the billiard table in Charley Anderegg’s Steele Street barbershop. Whether “right here in River City” it contributed to the corruption of the city’s boys as Meredith Wilson’s Music Man would suggest nearly 100 years later is anyone’s guess, but 5 or 6 years later the village thought it had to do something about the boys bathing in the river behind the brewery. They were there where they could be seen, not wearing a stitch of clothing.

March 1885 saw a public roller rink open on the second floor of Swaty’s Store in the triangle of Lot 6, across from what is now Von Stiehl Winery. Afternoon admissions cost 5 cents and skates rented for 10. Evening prices were a nickel more. John McDonald’s 3^rd Street rink was 50 x 115’ with a gallery large enough to hold 250-300 spectators when it opened in June. Two roller rinks at the same time in Ahnapee? There was a third about which little is known. It stood on Steele in a frame building replaced by the 1906 Busch building, which stands today.

Molle’s Bike Shop was another popular spot. Today the site of Community Improvement Association, Molle’s was the home of Ahnapee’s champion bicycle rider. Bicycling was the rage that roller skating was, however there were races as distant as Marinette and sometimes beyond. Hotly contested races assured spectators plenty of entertainment. When women eventually began cycling, some regarded it as scandalous to see women on such contraptions, chasing after men. Besides that, it was downright dangerous.

During the winter, young and old enjoyed ice skating on the river above the bridge. With its location on Lake Michigan, Ahnapee was a place for surf bathing. Women’s bathing costumes didn’t allow swimming as we know it today. Men were not so encumbered and were able to show their skills. And physiques.

Basketball and football were associated with the high school but that was a few years after graduating its first classes which were predominantly women. High school teams by then included baseball and Algoma went on to win and to lose. Records were made to be broken. Trophies were won. 1972 brought Title 9 which gave rise to sports' equality within the schools. A mere 10 years later the Algoma girls rode into town on a fire truck, followed by a parade of cars in a din of honking horns. Coach Bob Hafemann and the girls had just won the state high school girls' basketball tournament. It didn't stop with that first state appearance.

When that early “baseball nine” was playing, the team was made up of adult men. Civil War vets and a newspaper editor.  Abisha Perry and DeWayne Stebbins were younger. George Wing probably played too if health allowed. If he didn't, he was a supporter. Algoma today has programs for kindergarteners and residents of all ages. On a cold winter day, one can walk the track at the Dug-Out thinking of the baseball once played on the site, knowing that spring will come. Eventually.

*Ahnepee became Ahnapee in 1873 in somewhat of a "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em" kind of thing as the name was consistently spelled incorrectly on maps and so on.

Sources: An-An-api-sebe: Where is the River?, c. 2001; Ahnapee Record, Algoma Record; picture postcards from the blogger's collection.

Kewaunee in Flames: The Fire of 1898

It was Kewaunee Lifesaving Station's hand fire engine holding the flames in check, thus saving both the Bank of Kewaunee building and the Erichsen Hotel before the fire department's big pumper could get to that end of the fire. The fire swept the area from Erichsen's barn on Main Street to the Hranach home on Kilbourn and the Jadin residence on Milwaukee Street. L.C. Fensel, Charles Metzner, J.J. Stangel, Wenzel Seyk, George Grimmer, Joseph Paulu, Charles Pavlik and more suffered losses as the fire moved through the business district.  And when a fire engine summoned from Green Bay pulled in at 5:00 A.M. on a special train, it was too late. Though the bank building and hotel weren't burned to the ground, loss was significant. Much of Kewaunee's business district was destroyed in that devastating fire in May 1898. Kewaunee's fire house is the subject of this postcard mailed in 1919.

The morning after the fire, the almost non-believing, bleary-eyed Kewaunee folk looked through still rising smoke at a loss that was beginning to set in. Occasional fragments of brick walls or a chimney still standing here and there made up the business district that had been so vibrant two days earlier. Streets were littered with debris from homes and stores; furnishings and goods either destroyed by blazing embers or perhaps destroyed by water. Fifteen substantial commercial buildings and at least that many barns went up in flames. Wooden sheds and outhouses were just added kindling. “Kewaunee of yesterday is no more,” was a comment echoed by men and women, who, in a few tragic hours, had seen their lives go up in flames.

By noon the next day some merchants had set up temporary stands and were talking of a new, more substantial and fireproof Kewaunee, one that would rise from the ashes. Looking back at the conflagration, city officials and leading citizens swore that never again would frame barns, sheds and lean-tos be permitted in the downtown area.

Kewaunee was a bustling town for several weeks after the big fire. Insurance representatives came into town to witness the losses, hear claims and make payments. Trains enabled visits  from newspaper reporters and those who could only be called gawkers from Green Bay, Algoma and Two Rivers. After all, such a fire was really something to see. Two Rivers Mayor Peter Gagnon headed a delegation  which offered any aid necessary in the emergency.

There were huge loses to buildings, fixtures, stock and so on. George Wing and John Wattawa lost their law library valued at $4,000, $1,000 of which was covered by insurance. Such a library was nearly impossible to rebuild. There were minor loses, too. John Rooney lost a sewing machine and $23 in cash. He didn't have insurance. Dr. O.H. Martin’s fixtures and books were ruined to the extent of $400 and John Erichsen collected $9 for damage to paint and windows on the Hotel Erichsen. Erichsen was the first to begin rebuilding and refurbishing.

Kewaunee's loss amounted to $68,875 of which $49,968.41was covered by insurance. Neighboring newspapers were commenting a month later that most insured parties had received their money and that building in Kewaunee would be brisk. Immediately following the fire, the Enterprise estimated loses would run between 80 and 90 thousand. Today Kewaunee's average home costs more than the fire of 1898. That puts inflation into perspective.

When everything was settled and rebuilding had started, the town resumed a normal way of life. There were rumors. The best was that the Volunteer Fire Department had, in the excitement, thrown the nozzle of the fire hose into the river and tried to hook the suction end into the pumper, but that was denied. The City Council passed an ordinance mandating brick construction in specific areas, and all others in downtown Kewaunee were required to be brick veneered or iron sheathed, with fireproof roofs. Fire hydrants were installed when the city laid a 4” pipe down the center of Milwaukee Street from the river to Ellis Street to take the place of the fire hose.

Ironically, it was just a few months earlier - February - when the Advocate noted the editors had received an invitation to travel to Kewaunee to witness the test of that city's new fire steamer. Green Bay Fire Chief William Kennedy was to lead a parade through the streets of Kewaunee during the auspicious event. Three bands were going to be playing at the affair which would conclude with a grand ball celebrating the reorganization of the fire department.

 Enterprise Editor Voshardt said, “While the fire will prove to be a serious blow to our fair city for sometime, who knows that it might turn out to be a blessing in disguise. Finer and more substantial buildings will take the place of those that were destroyed.”

The above postcard was mailed in 1906. In her brief message, the correspondent described the fire pumper, however whether or not it was the marvel of 1898 is not clear. Following the fire, though Kewaunee's Council decided against frame buildings in the downtown area, the Ellis Street postcard, mailed in 1912, suggests otherwise.

Sources: All postcards are from the blogger's collection. Information comes from the , Algoma Record, Kewaunee Enterprise and Sturgeon Bay Advocate.

Kewaunee County and the Spanish Flu: 1918

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nostalgia: Jello and A Covered Dish

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Algoma's Steam Laundry

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

George Grimmer, Citizen and Businessman

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kewaunee County and Its Ancient Shorelines

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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