Kewaunee County: A Home for Amelia

Amelia had just turned three when her parents married. She was born out of wedlock. In the area of Saxonia in which she was born – as in other areas of Germany – fully 50% of the children born about that time period were to parents not yet married. Economic conditions were such that marriage was not sanctioned unless the couple had a place to live and see to their own livelihood, or were immigrating. Amelia’s parents were married just months before they left their homeland.

Arriving in New York in October 1853,* Amelia and her parents proceeded to Sheboygan where there were relatives and fellow countrymen. Not long after, Amelia’s father walked to the federal land office in Menasha to purchase land, sight unseen, in 2 year old Kewaunee County, on its line with Door Co. just north of the fledgling community of Wolf River. After spending weeks and weeks on an ocean-going vessel, then a canal boat, and then a schooner through the Great Lakes, in Spring 1854 the family was again on a schooner, this time from Sheboygan to Wolf River where they boarded yet another boat that would take them up the Wolf River to the county line. It was a time before the wide, deep Wolf was nearly denuded by logging, baking in the hot dry sun, no longer kept within its banks. To disembark and to follow the land cruiser to the purchased property over a mile from the river was no small feat. The cedars near the river were so tightly packed that one could barely push oneself through. Cedar branches slapping exposed skin left welts as itchy as the mosquito bites. To finally reach an area of hardwoods was to see no sun. Tree canopies formed a roof that left in little sunlight.

Alone in the wilderness, Amelia's parents began the arduous clearing the huge virgin timber. All they had was a saw and ax. Just as soon as there was a tiny patch of sunlight, her mother planted what she could. Amelia's family ate beets and potatoes in Germany, but it wasn't until they arrived in Sheboygan that they learned about squash and other vegetables that would keep well. They had to think of winter. Always winter. Birds were snared for meat. Finding pigeon eggs was like finding gold. There were deer, rabbits and squirrels, but what if traps failed or if deer were elusive? There were fish in the river, but that meant going through the thick woods.

Survival meant 24-7 work. Winter would come and Amelia's family would depend only on itself for subsistence. Never ending chopping down mammoth trees provided a sun-reached plot of land to, hopefully, ensure food crops. There were so many trees that building a shelter was no problem, but then where to go with all the branches when the trees were cut? Those trees offered enough wood to cover all their purposes over a lifetime. Or so they thought. By 1860 things were a little better. Land had been cleared and during the winter snow cover allowed the constant burning of the branches. There were times that the huge fires provided more warmth outdoors than the fireplace inside did. But then there were new worries.

Abraham Lincoln had been elected. Amelia’s father heard disturbing things the few times he walked to Marcus, now Forestville, or the community renamed Ahnepee from Wolf River. And when William Fagg brought the news about the firing at Fort Sumter and war between two parts of their new country, Amelia’s father knew it would not affect them. They were so far away in the wilds of Wisconsin. They were Germans. What did they have to do with it? From what he heard, he knew the liberty of people he did not understand was part of it. He did understand liberty though. Wasn’t that part of the reason he immigrated? He was 39 years old and too old to soldier. Conscription existed in Germany, not the United States. Not to worry.

Amelia’s father was wrong. On September 4, 1864, he was drafted.  He was placed on the roll of Co. E, 17th Wisconsin Volunteer Infantry with the remark that he was a conscript, temporarily assigned to the command from the 14th Wisconsin Volunteers.  His brother, younger by 7 years, was drafted at the same time.

Thousands of histories are written about the Civil War and its men. What of a family who’d eked out a living in the wilderness? What of the farm with no man? Taxes had to be paid. Women who did more than their share to settle the country could not vote. They stepped in for the men who left.  Fourteen year old Amelia was able to be of much help to her mother, who by then had a toddler. They made it through the 10 months that her father served. He got sick a few weeks after being drafted and before being mustered out in June 1865, much of his service time was spent in the hospital. Continued ill health forced the sale of the farm in 1868. Moving to Ahnepee in 1870, Amelia’s father opened a butcher shop. He had some experience as his father was a butcher in Saxony. Amelia married in 1871 and a few years later, her father and new husband began making soda pop, the first such business venture in the community. How much her father did physically is questionable because everything written about him from then until his death in 1889 indicates he was unfit for any kind of manual labor.

With her father's death, her mother owned the Steele Street butcher shop, however the estate was put in the hands of Amelia's husband. It was said her mother was incompetent. She wasn't incompetent by today's standards. She was a widow in her 60s and, of course, old ladies were indeed incompetent. How could a mere woman handle money or take care of herself? Amelia's husband sold the property to the Melchiors who in 1896 built a shoe, boot and gentleman's furnishings store on the southeast corner of 3rd and Steele. Another Melchior built a jewelry store across 3rd St. The shoe store is now Algoma Sew 'n Vac while the jewelry store is Steele Street Florists and time continues to march on.

Amelia was born in Germany and died in Algoma, Wisconsin. The circumstances of Amelia's birth, and indeed her entire life, provides a reflection on social mores. Eleven years following her husband's death, hastened by Civil War injuries, the 19th Amendment was passed. Amelia voted. The Progressive Era brought some awareness. Nobody called Amelia incompetent just because she was a woman.


Amelia is the blogger's great-grandmother. There are discrepancies. Civil War Pension Files indicate Amelia's parents were married in December 1853 in their native land, while her father's Declaration of Intent indicates he arrived in October 1853. It is most probable that her parents were married in 1852 and an error was made in the pension records. 

 

 

Luxemburg & Belgium: No Postal Mix-Up

It's a good story, and one that's been around for a long time. It is humorous, and even plausible, but it never happened. Or at least it didn't happen with the naming of Luxemburg, Wisconsin.

From time to time the story about the Wisconsin villages of Luxemburg and Belgium surfaces. Some wags contend they were misnamed in a postal mix-up by the Post Office Department in Washington D.C. back in the 1800s. When Peter Hanbrich* requested  a post office for the area in Northeast Wisconsin in 1880, he requested the name Luxembourg. Of that, there is no doubt. A portion of his approved site location request is at left. At the time, today's Town of Luxemburg didn't exist. It was mostly carved out of Casco Town by action of the County Board during a late night session in March 1883, three years after the naming of the post office.

It was the Belgians who populated the Towns of Red River and Lincoln, and there are Belgians living through out Kewaunee County, but it was Luxembourgers who settled what is now Luxemburg.  One who had a notable impact on the area was Nick Kaut, born in Luxembourg, Europe in 1847. He was 8 when he came with his parents John and Katherine Kaut to the Wisconsin wilderness. While initially living in a brush hut, the family began clearing land and building a new life. It was Nick who was later called "The Father of Luxemburg." His land purchases included four 40-acre plots along what today is the west side of Luxemburg's Main Street. In 1891 he began selling parcels and building homes, a grist mill and a hotel.

There were other Luxembourgers such as Nicholas Merens who were also were forces in the area.  When Michael Arndt filed his Naturalization documents, he said he was born in Luxemburg, however his brother Peter noted Saxonburg, Germany on his documents. Peter Mittler was Naturalized in 1914, saying he was born in Luxemburg. A look at Naturalizations in Kewaunee County reveals family members being born in the same place but noting a different country. It is especially true with those from southwest of Pilsen in today's Czech Republic who identified themselves as German, Austrian or Bohemian.

Luxembourg's post office was established at Freiman's Place in the Town of Casco, which was just about a mile south from today's location.*  Freiman was the operator of a saloon and store at the NE 1/4 of the NE 1/4 in Section 28, but it was Peter Hanbrich who filed the application. On his application, Hanbrich noted the closest post office was at Peot, about a mile directly east of his, and the post office at Ellisville, a few miles south on the same road as his. Hanbrich said the Kewaunee River was the closest river and that School Creek was the nearest creek. Hanbrich indicated he would be serving about 350 families, but that line was crossed off. A note at the bottom said the post office "would serve 10-15 families, if that." It appears that Walhain postmaster J. B. Puissant added the notation.

The Enterprise felt Hanbrich would provide excellent service and that the office would be a great convenience to the populous neighborhood, which would be supplied with mail three times weekly from Walhain by the Green Bay carrier. Walhain was a commercial center that had one of Kewaunee County's earliest post offices. Of the three postal communities listed on the site request, Walhain and Ellisville each today have a crossroads' business while Peot is made up of farmers' fields. On the other hand, late-comer Luxemburg is Kewaunee County's most vibrant and fastest growing community.

Luxembourg's post office operated from April 21, 1880 and, for some reason, discontinued on October 12, 1882. The office remained at Freiman's Place at Joseph Filz' appointment when service was reestablished on January 17, 1895. Albert Liebl was postmaster on October 1, 1924 when the official name of the office was changed from Luxembourg to Luxemburg. Note: Luxembourg postmark.

So, where did the story of the postal mix-up come from? The following is from Belgium, Wisconsin's website, http://www.village.belgium.wi.us/ : "Belgic Luxembourgers - from the part of old Luxembourg annexed by Belgium - settled in the area of the present Township and Village of Belgium, Wisconsin, in the middle of the 19th century. Descendants of the original families still live in the area today, and preserve their heritage. While the first immigrants came from Luxembourg, neighboring settlers referred to this as "the Belgium area" because at that time much of Luxembourg was ruled by Belgium."

Both Luxemburg and Belgium have fascinating histories. Much is available on Northeast Wisconsin's Luxemburg in Kewaunee and Brown County libraries and in the Archives at UW-Green Bay. More about the Belgic Luxembourgers and the rich heritage of all Luxembourgers can be found by visiting the cultural center museum at Belgium or by going to its website: http://www.luxamculturalsociety.org/directions.html.



* In 1903 the Post Office Department ordered the office to move north into the village.

Peter Hanbrich signed the request with that spelling of his name. The approved document was sent to Peter Hanbrecht in care of the Walhain postmaster because it was the postmaster of a federally recognized post office that, in effect, vouched for the new office.

Information is taken from Here Comes the Mail: The Post Offices of Kewaunee County, c. 2010. Photos and documents are from the blogger's collection.

   

Algoma-Ahnapee House Histories: Cox & Nell

Here and there home owners are interested in the history of their residences. Construction methods of the periods, woods, craftsmanship and more tell stories of  homes. If homes were built or lived in by the prominent or famous, there is more of a story. If George Washington slept there, the house could star in a movie.

Nearly 10 years ago, Wes Cox, Sr. learned he was living in a funeral home. What happened next is mind-boggling. It culminated on April 26, 2014 with Wisconsin’s Historic Preservation Excellence Award being presented to Cox and Harold (Hans) Nell. Born in Northeast Wisconsin, Nell has always been interested in local architecture. As an employee of the City of Algoma, he had a view that very few do. Cox is a transplant from Missouri who relocated to the city about 10 or so years ago. His natural curiosity set the stage for what came next.

The Weisner and Massart families began their undertaking services in Casco before 1900. When the company opened a second location, it was in the old Wunderlich home on Algoma's Fremont Street, a classy area being known as "Residence Street" around 1900. Cox learned a great deal and eventually compiled a history of the Weisner-Massart Funeral Home which included the family histories and genealogies of those connected with it. He learned Charles Nelson, foster son of State Senator DeWayne Stebbins - after whom the Stebbins Hotel is named - lived next door and started in on that. Five McDonald families lived on Fremont at the same time, and Cox kept right on going. By then he had 3 substantial binders. Enter Nell. After men finished Residence Street, Cox said they'd do the whole city. Being as tenacious, focused and hard-working as they are, they did. But, there was a lot more.....

Cox and Nell chronicled each of Algoma’s more than 1,300 homes, going block by block while scouring the microfilmed newspapers from Ahnapee/Algoma, and those of Kewaunee which originated 14 years earlier. They used available records in Algoma’s City Hall, tax and land records available in Kewaunee Co. Court House, records available in the Area Research Center at UW-Green Bay and records on Ancestry. They combed through histories of the area, commemorative biographies, plat maps, Sanborn fire maps and birdseye views dating to 1883. Research didn’t stop with those 1,300 plus homes. The men went back to research the homes that no longer exist in the City of Algoma and then compiled the history of each home in the Town of Ahnapee. Their index is cross-referenced by surname and address.

The Algoma compilation alone fills 19 binders in Algoma Public Library, where the donated collection of almost 8,000 pages is being scanned for safe-keeping, and key-worded for instant access.

Cox and Nell's house histories are an on-going project that is constantly being updated. A project of this kind and magnitude is unprecedented. It is a remarkable addition to Algoma Library’s local history and genealogy collection and a source of community pride. Use of their copyright has been assigned to Algoma Library, to which the entire compilation has been donated.

Historical preservation of the community, its people and its architecture is impressive. But there are other factors. Most of the information would have never surfaced without the research methods employed. It is not only the location and construction of the homes: local history and genealogy are huge parts of these homes. The work provides a social commentary that would possibly have never come to light. Cox is a civil engineer who was able to use that education in looking at trends over 150 years and explaining them. Nell, as a popular city resident, was given access and information that few others would. The two men point to the abilities of the other and say it would have never happened without the partnership. If there were questions or disagreements about a particular property, it was not added to the collection until all the evidence pointed to certainty.

Hans Nell and Wes Cox, Sr. have made a significant, and on-going, contribution to the City of Algoma, and to Wisconsin as a whole. While their preservation is in print form, rather than hands and bricks and mortar, they were certainly most worthy of Wisconsin’s Historic Preservation Excellence Award and serve as role models for others.

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.