Classroom Magic: Wisconsin School of the Air

Static. Crackling. Whistling. The radio was on. Chairs were scraping as they were pulled across the floor. Kids sat straight with hands folded. And then - Professor Gordon's Journeys Through Musicland was on the air. It was almost magic.

To know what it was like, one had to be there, and all over Kewaunee County kids were. There are memories and more memories. In an era of instant communication, a time when cell phones record and play videos,Wisconsin School of the Air seems like a stretch. Or maybe a figment of one’s imagination. But it wasn’t.

We were in a split 3^rd – 4^th grade combination and were filled with expectation knowing Professor Gordon would be on in seconds. He was fun so it was hard to understand a few years later when we found out he was educational too. How could so much fun teach us something? To sing with Gordon’s Journeys Through Musicland was the best. Although we didn’t know it then, we were among the 90,000 kids singing with Gordon that year. We had the soft-cover songbooks, but who needed them? We knew so many songs by heart. “Oh Matelli, Oh Matelli, pray tell me where’s your home. My home it is in Switzerland, it’s made of wood and stone…..” Maybe it was, “Reuben, Reuben, I’ve been thinking what a strange world it would be, if the boys were all transported far beyond the Northern Sea………”  Could it get any better than that?  Not only was Professor Gordon popular with the kids, he was a highlight of a Door County Teachers Institute when he spoke in September 1946.

We city kids sat in our desks, however some kids from the rural schools talked about gathering around the radio and watching it with rapt attention, listening carefully, and then singing their hearts out with Professor Gordon. He was a voice inside radio, but what did he look like? The only male grade school teachers in Algoma then were Mr. Sibilsky at the public school and Mr. Kuether at the Lutheran school. The Catholic school only had nuns in those days. For those who never experienced a male teacher, what Gordon looked like was a big question. At 10 years old, the only male singers we knew were Gene Autry, Roy Rogers, Rex Allen and the other singing cowboys frequenting the Majestic’s movie screen on Friday nights. “I’m Back in the Saddle Again” was a far cry from “Ruben and Rachel.”

Back in the 1940’s and early ‘50s, a classroom radio was big.  School boards – especially rural – were loath to spend a dollar on the non-essential so it had to be the opportunities offered by School of the Air that prompted boards to purchase that little Philco or RCA.  A $50 radio ensured that Gordon taught us music while Mrs. Fannie Steves taught rhythms and games to the little kids. Professor Gordon’s Journeys had huge enrollments as did Mrs. Steves who broadcast for 35 years, about as long as many of the area teachers stayed in their classrooms.

The “remember whens” bring up Ranger Mac, a program the “country kids” knew most about. For some reason, he wasn't a part of our curriculum. Maybe because he would have brought us too much fun bringing his nature studies to city kids. He was held in awe by our rural cousins. After all, he was chief of the Junior Forest Rangers and how could you be a Junior Ranger without his program? We didn't know it then, but when we got televisions a few years later, we could write for a ring and become part of Rocky Jones Space Rangers rather than a Junior Forest Ranger. At least we could be rangers in something.

Let’s Draw was another of the programs. Art teacher James Schwalbach encouraged creativity, not that we knew what it was at the time. Our teachers showed us how to re-create what they were doing while we used hinged paper cut-outs for figure drawing. We imagined with Schwalbach because that’s all we could do “on the radio.”   Schwalbach’s “Let’s Draw” invited students to Madison each year. Children chosen were those who had done superior during the year; those chosen probably did not have to re-create their teachers’ work. In addition to the welcome and tours, the chosen students recorded a program with Schwalbach, a program that was broadcast the following week when the students with bragging rights would be basking in the glow in their own schools.

Fifteen years before we started singing with Pops Gordon, the Advocate told readership on September 26, 1935 that Wisconsin’s “major instructional programs by radio” were beginning the following week. Educational programming would include School of the Air and College of the Air via WHA, the state-owned radio station. Ten college programs were offered to those wishing to continue their education. Programs for grade school kids would supplement and assist curriculum.

When Hainsville School kids submitted their educational radio experiences to the Advocate in 1937, they told about enjoying School Time every morning. Every Monday they heard world news. On Tuesday it was music appreciation and then on to a factory on Wednesday. Thursday was a visit to another country and Friday brought lectures on issues such as character building. The wonders of radio!

In March 1960 Casco High School gym was one of the state's five sites hosting a "Let's Sing" and "Let's Draw" festival. About 1,700 kids from all over Northeast Wisconsin crammed into into the small school which was "rockin'" till it was over at 3. By 1960, Kewaunee County was no stranger to television. By then the paper's community correspondents weren't writing about the education filmstrips and movies that kids were "treated" to. Time - and technology - were marching on.

Though programs were carried on WHA, WMAM (Marinette and Menominee) and Sturgeon Bay’s WOKW were among the non-state owned stations to carry the programs according to the schedules listed in local papers. Programming went beyond the educational for youngsters and young adults. It included music, programs for farm families, “Chapter a Day,” weather and almost whatever one wanted.

Fast forwarding 50 or 60 years, Wisconsin Public Radio and Public TV are every bit as important to the grown-up kids as Professor Gordon was way back when. WPR sttod the test of time. It's 100 years old this year, but there is nothing old about it!

Sources: Algoma Record Herald, Door County Advocate; conversations and memories.

Memorial Day Tributes at Mt. Olive Cemetery, Southern Door County

Goetz Post at Mt. Olive Cemetery

It was called "the war to end all wars," but it wasn't. What came to be called World War l was followed by World War ll. Whether they were called wars, police actions, skirmishes or anything else, who can count the number of such actions since 1945? The Doomsday Clock is today at 2 1/2 minutes to midnight. One hundred years after the war to end all wars, the clock is ticking.

World War l led to the organization of the American Legion, a group serving veterans, those in service and communities. It was the Legion that encouraged patriotism, won benefits for veterans and supported then and their families. The Legion originated in Paris in 1919 with a few members of the American Expeditionary Force. Six months later it was chartered by Congress, and today the legion boasts between 2.4 and 2.5 million members in American Legion posts across the world. One of the thousands of posts is American Legion George Goetz Post 372 of Forestville.

Originally called Decoration Day, the traditions of decorating the graves of fallen soldiers that began with Southern women following the Civil War quickly spread to honoring all veterans. Ahnapee - now Algoma - residents celebrated early Decoration Days with ceremonies befitting the veterans both alive and dead. The celebration in 1871 was no exception when the graves of deceased soldiers were decorated with flowers and evergreens. About 200 people visited the cemeteries, a number limited only by the capacity of the conveyances. Chief Marshall Major William Henry was assisted by Michael McDonald. Both men had served in the 14th Wisconsin. Captain F.W. Borcherdt, 21st Wisconsin, commanded the firing party. Rev. Henry Overbeck gave a prayer and brief address at each grave. Flowers were scattered by 30 young ladies dressed in white, and Ahnapee's Liederkranz sang appropriate hymns. After it was all over, the Enterprise made the comment that "no village its size gave more to the soldiers than Ahnapee."

The following year was much the same. Major Henry again served as marshal but prayers and remarks were given in German only as Rev. S.H. Corich, who was to give prayers and remarks in English, was absent. Four hundred people and 37 teams were in the 1873 parade. At the services Michael McDonald commanded the column, J.H. Leonard was the Officer of the Day and Chauncey Thayer commanded the firing squad. Elder T. Wilson gave the address. Decoration Day continued and in 1884 Forestville’s Nelson Post took charge of the activities. Nelson Post 97 was established in Forestville during 1883, quickly growing in membership and sponsoring activities in Door and Kewaunee Counties.

As the Civil War faded into the past, so did the Nelson Post. Forestville today boasts the George W. Goetz Post 372, a group that works to ensure that the rest of us won’t forget. On Memorial Day the firing squad appeared at each of Southern Door County’s cemeteries. The gun salute followed the invocation. Taps was sounded and the echo was played. Most thought of those who served, those who were lost and the veterans buried at each cemetery.

Of the twenty-seven vets buried at Mt. Olive Lutheran Cemetery on Shiloh Rd. south of Sturgeon Bay, 16 served in World War 1 or ll.  

Mt. Olive Church & Cemetery

Sources: An-An-api-sebe: Where is the River? c. 2001; Ahnapee Record/Algoma Record Herald; Door County Advocate, Door County Democrat; Mt. Olive Cemetery.

Grandlez: An Early Kewaunee County Community

Grandlez/Lincoln, 2009 

Few have ever heard of Kewaunee County’s Grandlez. Even fewer know where it was.  A hamlet in Kewaunee County, Grandlez was a Belgian community once comprising the western part of the Town of Lincoln and the eastern part of Red River Town, the place now called Lincoln. All that is left of “downtown” Lincoln is St. Peter’s Church and Susie’s Place, however 100 years ago the thriving community boasted general stores and saloons, a blacksmith, cheese manufacturing, a post office and, surprisingly, a notary.

1876 map; Fetts Corners is now Gregorville & Bottkolville
was renamed Euren

Grandlez got its name from the place of origin of its first immigrant settlers, the Belgians who came to Kewaunee County between 1850 and 1860. Wikipedia describes today’s Grand-Leez, Belgium as a place in the town of Gembious in the Province of Namur.

The Belgians who named their new home Grandlez were like so many others of their immigrating countrymen: they were destitute, near starvation and in wont. As important as their Catholic faith was to them, in the efforts to keep themselves alive, it took until 1862 to organize their congregation and to build a church. They did, however, practice their faith.

Visiting priests and monks from Holy Cross at Bay Settlement attempted to meet the needs of the growing community, but there were no roads and travel was nearly impossible at times. It was in 1862 that what is now Robinsonville was assigned a priest, Father Wilkens, and it was he who came to Grandlez once each month. Two years later when Father Crud was assigned to Robinsonville, he was put in charge of the entire Belgian area in addition to the new Irish congregation at Casco. It was Crud who superintended building of churches at Rosiere, Walhain, Thiry Daems, Delwiche, Little Sturgeon Bay, Dyckesville and Marchand. Crud also oversaw the building of a convent near the chapel dedicated to the Blessed Virgin at Robinsonville.

Grandlez was in need of a larger church by 1865 and, again, a new church - 30’ x 50’ - was built. When statues of St. Peter, the Blessed Virgin Mary and a bell were purchased, the church was dedicated to St. Peter. The Belgians in the area were overwhelmingly Catholic, but there were a few apostates, or Evangelical Protestants, who wanted a protestant minister at Robinsonville. It was said these few apostates tried to attract the “faithful” though failed to do so. The group that became known as Presbyterians, or sometimes, Baptists or Millenarians, built a church at the corner of Townline and Martin Roads. Known as San Sauveur and Lincoln Presbyterian, it was also Plymouth Brethren Church. Wikipedia says the cemetery is called Gospel of Truth Church cemetery today.

Catholicism in what is now Northeast Wisconsin dates to at least 1634 and the coming of Jean Nicolet and Father Marquette. In essence that was the beginning of the Diocese of Green Bay which came about when it was created by Pope Pius lX in the spring of 1868. Joseph Melchers was appointed bishop. The new diocese and Bishop Melchers affected Grandlez and the entire Belgian area.

Father Crud’s writings speak of Belgian farmers “addicted” to the faith of their fathers and the “fashions” of their homeland. By the 1870s a German community developed between Lincoln and Ahnapee in the area now referred to as Euren and Gregorville, and the long-forgotten Boleslav. Some of the Germans, and Bohemians who also lived in the area, supported the church at Grandlez and even learned the Belgian language. In deference to the Germans, preaching was periodically offered in that language, sometimes with assistance from the priest at Ahnapee. Although Grandlez lacked a Catholic school, Crud said the pastor exercised control over a Catholic education for the children and also instructed them in music. As soon as a convent could be built, Crud knew a Catholic school would be a reality. In 1878 he reported a congregation of 107 families, most of which were young. Crud reported 40 baptisms but only 4 marriages. There were 16 funerals that year.  Births far outnumbered deaths in the growing Catholic community..

Father Mickers was another of the priests who, in 1896, wrote a history of his work in the area. Mickers told about his journey from Hoboken to Chicago and finally to Green Bay where he had dinner with the bishop. Then it was on to Martinville and finally Rosiere. Father Mickers lamented the mud and the rain, but he spoke warmly of the men from the area parishes and arriving at Rosiere where the bells were rung to herald his arrival. He talked about American liberty, equality and fraternity among what became his flock.

Mickers described his house, which was quite substantial. The 2^nd floor even had a balcony. There was a horse barn, a chicken house and a woodshed. Mickers was impressed to find so much of comfort in the area that was still a wilderness. Rosiere had a post office and there was even stage coach service a few times a week. Mickers was also impressed with his brick church, its 75 pews and its side altars, but he planned to build a sacristy. The church lacked a baptismal font and a place to keep the holy oils, but it did have an abundance of chasubles in various colors.

When Mickers celebrated his first mass at Rosiere, a number of folks came from nearby Misiere, another parish in which he periodically celebrated mass. Mickers’ biggest problem initially was with language. He did not speak English fluently nor did he understand his housekeeper’s Flemish, although she understood his Dutch. The housekeeper also understood French but could not speak it. When it came to speaking Belgian, Mickers wrote that he did “not understand what here they call Belgian.”

Without the strong faith and the indomitable spirit that is so uniquely Belgian, many would have never survived. During their first 50 years, the destitute and insular Belgian immigrants dealt with disease, death, abject poverty and discrimination. Somehow they dealt with the incomprehensible, devastating Great Fire of 1871. They persevered and prospered to the point at which Mickers found them just before 1900.

As several other early Kewaunee County communities, though the name "Grandlez" has faded far into the past, the community remains.

Stones in St. Peter’s cemetery tell stories of its people, and if walls could talk, there would be more. Letters, such as this one from Father A. Belle to The Rt. Rev. S.J. Messmer, 4th Bishop of the Green Bay Diocese, was postmarked in April 1904, tell more of the story. The letter was posted 7 months before the Lincoln post office was with the advent of RFD in Kewaunee County on November 30, 1904.

Note: The Door County community today called Namur was renamed to honor the Belgians who came from that area. Once known as Fairland, in addition to other names, Namur was another formerly thriving, viable community. The recently opened Belgian Heritage Museum at Namur brings a new prominence to the community. The Peninsula Belgian meeting house and St. Peregrine’s roadside chapel are also on the property. 

For over 50 years the Peninsula Belgian Genealogy Society has kept the Belgian culture and history alive. Its tremendous website is a boon to Belgian genealogical research. Checking the local history and genealogical resources on the Sturgeon Bay Public Library leads to more. Door County and Algoma newspapers have been digitized and are free to users. Google or check either library’s website.  The papers are key-word searchable.

A trip to the museum and the area's roadside chapels, followed by a stop for burgers and a beverage at any of the local watering holes is sure to provide an enjoyable day trip.

Sources: Ahnapee Record, Algoma Record, Algoma Record Herald, Door County Advocate, Here Comes the Mail: Post Offices of Kewaunee County, c. 2010; Yours Truly from Kewaunee County, c. 2013;Belgian  files in the Area Research Center at UW-Green Bay; Wikipedia.  The photograph and the postal cover are  the blogger's files. Lincoln Town was taken from the 1876 Kewaunee County map.

Outhouses & Bathrooms: Cesspools, Septics and Sewer Systems

Outhouse at Crossroads Village, Sturgeon Bay

"Enjoy the go." Charmin's TV commercial toilet-paper-selling-bears suggest that will happen for those using the product. Whatever would the folks of yesteryear - those who used facilities such as those on the left - have thought?

As recently as the 1940s – and even into the ‘50s - living in rural Kewaunee and Door Counties often meant having an outhouse. Country kids went to a most up-to-date rural school if they had indoor chemical toilets, but most had outhouses. Kids “held it” on freezing cold days just as they did in pouring rain. Algoma's sewer piping was in place early in the 1900s thus making indoor toilets and running water available to those who hooked up, however it took most of the next 50 years for rural populations to have such conveniences.

Some folks had cesspools that came first. Cesspools were in-ground containers into which waste water was pumped, although it was more often a hole in the ground rather than a container that held the decomposing waste. For those on a hill, that waste ran down into a pasture or wooded land. Some of that waste water found its way to the lake. Today it is seen as a travesty when a city’s overflow seeps into Lake Michigan, however diverting waste water into the lake was common for municipalities of yesteryear.

The door with the window is the outhouse.

Cesspools were up-to-date must-haves in the early 1900s and Kewaunee County jail was on the cutting edge. However, the things were known to overflow and needed attention. Such was the case in 1911 when the County Board Committee on Public Property, a committee consisting of William Nesemann, Michael Arendt, and J.J. Kulhanek, let a cleaning contract to Bohumil Pavlat. For such work, he was paid $20.00, which sounds like nothing today but was something in 1911. The jail cesspool couldn’t have been quite so bad in 1915 because Math Petrie was paid only $12.25 to do the same job. The jail was in a residential area, only steps from where it is today. It is not hard to understand what might have been happening in the neighborhood!

Even though Algoma had a city sewer system, some residents wondered why they should spend the money hooking up when they had their own means of sewerage disposal? Sometimes citizens were almost forced into hooking up as Fred Leischow was in 1916. After the city health office condemned his cesspool, he requested an extension of the 2^nd Street sewer. Others offered a petition requesting the same, but Mayor Shilbauer said there would be no consideration of extension unless the majority of property owners signed the petition. The decision put Leischow between a rock and a hard place. It happened again in 1942 when Otto Hafeman was warned by Health Officer Dan Corry. It seemed Hafeman’s 7^th Street neighbors complained about his outhouse. Hooking on to sanitary sewers were the answer to the nuisance and the answer to Hafeman’s problems.

Sturgeon Bay had similar problems even though that city also offered running water and sewers. It was June 1924 when the American House said it had to continue using the outhouse as city water was not available to the hotel. When the situation was brought to Council’s attention, it was referred to the Board of Health which was to report at the next meeting. Council apparently didn’t see the issue as requiring immediate action.

As today, school boards had any number of issues to deal with, but today outhouse cleaning is not one of them. When Lincoln Graded school board let jobs for bid in 1940, cutting grass and washing the school house were bid at $3.00 and were accepted. Norman DeVillers bid $1.60 for cleaning the outhouse and got the job. One wonders what it was exactly that merited so little.

Outhouses contained all kinds of things. Pits are surveyed by archeologists looking for pieces of pottery, tinware, seeds and more, all telling a story of previous generations. Outhouses told other stories as well. A young Manitowoc woman was arrested and jailed for infanticide. The family employing her knew she had given birth, but there was no child in evidence. A police investigation found the new-born in the outhouse pit, dead of strangulation. Some outhouses had other stories such as in 1877 Orleans, France when a drugstore clerk was presented with a gold medal for showing up for work daily for 50 years. Regarded as most significant was that the period included German occupation when, for 22 days, the man lived in an outhouse!

Although Algoma and Kewaunee had sewer service before World War l, other county communities didn’t. Casco made news in 1920 when the plumbers from August Bohne’s Kewaunee company were digging a cesspool at the bank. Then farmers got on board. Frank Miesler of Luxemburg and Steve Swekar of Carlton were putting in septic tanks during August 1929. The entire cost was about $25 for materials since County Agent Lathrope had the forms for concrete, thus significantly cutting expenses. 

Septic systems were a new idea in offering rural residents what their city counterparts had. Septic systems differed from cesspools in that they were not open, preventing bacteria from easily slipping into the surrounding soil. County Agent Lathrope felt that outhouses themselves did not offer the contamination that the cesspools did. Miesler and Swekar brought the number of farmers with septic tanks to 10 prompting Lathrope’s speculation that with the number of farms in the county, installing septic tanks would enhance farm living conditions in addition to making the farm a safer place.

County Agent Lathrope and Prof. E.R. Jones, chair of the University of Wisconsin Agriculture Engineering Department, were at Miesler’s to assist the day his septic tank went in.  They said every kitchen sink and laundry in the county needed a drain to carry the waste water away. Living would be far more convenient and far safer. They said indoor toilets needed a system to break up solids into soluble matter to be carried away, and that anybody with an outdoor toilet needed an enclosed, solid container under it. They talked about water systems and the convenience of not having to carry water to the house. Lathrope mentioned the county woman whom the previous week carried 25 pails of water the distance of a city block. A safe water system meant residents did not have to leave the house in inclement weather and it meant water did not have to be carried away. It was a win-win for rural residents.

Algoma Health Officer Corry investigated an outhouse in the downtown area as late as 1933. There were complaints. The nuisance was eliminated and indoor toilets were installed, a move putting smiles on faces in the neighborhood. During the demolition of the old school in 1935, Algoma residents were surprised to learn the old school had a cesspool. Piping, radiators, bricks, windows and frames had been taken away (and reused in other places) but as much of the junk as possible went into filling the cesspool.

During the late 1930s, WPA – Works Progress Administration – had relief workers build new toilets in the backyards of people who desired them. All home owners had to do was purchase the required lumber. Old pits were filled and families were good to go. Schools with funding were also serviced. The 1938 models approved by the state had longer slabs with risers set straight to allow more room inside the structure. The State Health Board said they were fly proof. Farrell Lumber Co. in Algoma and Casco, Luxemburg Mfg. Co. and Kewaunee’s Albrecht Mfg. had the approved plans which would work for anyone lacking public sewers.

It must have worked because in 1939 Mr. Moudry had a double outhouse up for sale. Ten years later Alvin Tlachac had a Fairbanks Morse shallow well pressure system for sale. He was selling an outdoor toilet at the same time, saying both were in excellent condition. Outhouses began new lives as garden sheds and animal shelters. One Southern Door County farmer took them off homeowners’ hands to use them as housing for his pigs. Those pigs had high classed digs. When the last, and least worn, of the stys came down in the 1990s, the property owner was surprised to find a maple tongue and grooved floor and wainscotting.

During the summer of 1950, Council ordered the removal within 60 days of all outhouses in places where residents could hook up to city services. About 6 months later, Council revisited the action, reducing the removal time to 30 days. Violating property owners were to be served with a copy of the ordinance. Perhaps the action lacked teeth because Ahnapee Town Hall was among the places that continued outhouse use. Located in Algoma’s Third Ward, it had access to sewers but was still served by an outhouse as late as 1951 when the health officer was directed to remove the thing following complaints of residents. It was a few months earlier, in February, that a Record Herald editorial brought up the sewer ordinances. City residents had continued to use cesspools and outhouses thus prompting the paper to say that the city was spending thousands on such systems and yet some chose to ignore the facilities. It was the paper’s opinion that “housekeeping” was part of a city’s responsibilities and proper sanitation was an important factor.

Council kept on dealing with sanitation, which to residents meant foul odors, flies, visible sewerage and health. Earlier generations were unaware of the correlation between epidemics and wells sunk adjacent to outhouses, however by the 1930s, Texaco and Phillips 66 saw potential in using bathrooms as a marketing opportunity.

Seventy years ago, the average gas station bathroom was such a breeding ground for disease that it was used only by the desperate. What a stroke of PR genius it was when oil companies decided to ensure the traveling public where they could expect to find a clean bathroom. Texaco, and then Phillips 66, certified bathrooms at stations meeting company expectations and then allowed those stations to advertise “clean bathrooms.”

Women were driving during the 1930s and bathrooms became a selling point. Texaco beat the others in 1938 it established the White Patrol, inspectors who traveled the country in white coupes monitoring bathrooms at stations affiliated with them. A year later Phillips 66 hired nurses who went to “restroom cleaning school” before going out onto the highways to ensure that restrooms would be as clean as hospitals. Called Highway Hostesses, the nurses went out teaching owners. Texaco and Phillips were well aware that most women knew little about gas, but that they did know clean bathrooms. Clean bathrooms translated into money. It is unclear how many Kewaunee County stations were certified, however Leo Seiler’s Algoma Texaco station appears to have been one of them.

Between 1910 and 1925, Wisconsin Board of Health saw deaths from typhoid plummet. In  1935 the Board said constant attention to water purity and sewer sanitation had eliminated health hazards as even private wells were being protected.

And, if you've ever wondered why the old outhouses had either a moon or star on the door, it was just the same as MEN or WOMEN today. In Colonial America where many couldn't read, the crescent moon denoted the women's necessary while stars meant the facility was for men. Both buildings were usually about 3 x 4' square and about 7' high. New England was the home of two-story outhouses, the 2nd story servicing the 2nd floor of the home by way of a walk-way.. Set back a bit, waste dropped behind the wall of the 1st floor outhouse.

Thought the day of the residential outhouse has passed, anyone desiring the experience can use a pit toilet at a state park of the fiberglass outhouses brought in to serve the public during big events. City sewerage systems are not the first thing one thinks of each morning - unless something isn't working.

Note: The outhouse picture comes from Crossroads Village, a delightful recreated historic village at the southeast corner of Highway 42/57 & Michigan Ave. in Sturgeon Bay. Vignes School, Green's Store, a church, working blacksmith shop, homes, a tool museum, garden and more. Crossroads is a great place to spend an afternoon touring the buildings, attending historical programs or hiking the trails.

Sources: Ahnapee Record, Algoma Record Herald, Commercial History of Algoma, WI, Vols. 1 & 2, c. 2006 & 2012; Cox-Nell Algoma House Histories, c. 2014; Door County Advocate; Ads are from ARH and photos are the bloggers.

Algoma

and
Gold Bond 

Stamps

                                       


Cash back credit cards. Frequent flyer miles. Kohl’s Cash. They're market rewards for brand loyalty. But, how many have heard heard of Gold Bond Stamps or S & H Green Stamps? Grandma prized those good-as-gold little strips of adhesive paper and knew just what she would do when she had her book pasted full.

Gold Bond’s 3 ½ x 5 ½ books had 60 pages, each page having enough space for 30 single stamps or 3 Golden 10 stamps. When the book was filled with the stamps, Grandma collected $3 cash or could use the stamps for purchasing. At introduction in 1938, three bucks was serious money. It was still money in 1960. There are stories of folks who saved enough stamps –with the help of others – to buy a refrigerator.

History tells us such stamps got their start in 1891 at Milwaukee’s Schuster’s Department Store when the earning power of stamps was the reward for not buying on credit. There were no credit cards in those days but merchants kept careful records of what was owed. It was not always “Cash and Carry.” Discouraging credit then was no different than receiving a discount of 4 cents per gallon of gas paid in cash today.

Algoma businessmen introduced the stamps in the April 16, 1948 Record Herald. Merchants banded together to run a full page spread offering the cash dividend stamps as a special discount when purchases were paid in cash, or if accounts were entirely paid off. Stamps were given for any purchase of 10 cents or more and, sweetening the introduction was the 25 free stamps to jump start customers into the program. The stamps said, “Thank you for your patronage.” Not taking advantage of the program was almost like looking a gift horse in the mouth.

Ed Blahnik, whose market,was on  Steele Street two doors west of Hotel Stebbins, was one who offered extra stamps as an inducement to buy sale items that were paid in full. S & H Green Stamps came along in 1896, after Schuster’s started the ball rolling. Blue Chip Stamps, Top Value Stamps, Plaid Stamps and others competed, but all rewarded customer loyalty. Gold Bond Stamps appeared first but it was the Green Stamps that beat Gold Bond to Algoma.

On Halloween 1931, the paper carried an ad introducing the Green Stamps. The ad indicated that Green Stamps were a way of letting one’s money work for oneself so one could “Save as you spend – by saving.” It was touted as a “generous discount gladly given” for patronage. A book of the green stamps brought $2.00. The ad went on to say that the green stamps were a real economy and one could think of the stamps as one did the change for a purchase.

Wikipedia says that by 1957, there were about 200 trading stamp companies operating in the U.S. The site further says such stamps grew in the early 1900s with the growth of gas stations. Grocers and other merchandisers followed suit. Trading stamps began fading in the 1970s when credit card and other reward programs came into being. Wikipedia also says that in 2008 the last trading stamp company, Eagle Stamps, went out of business.

How long the stamps continued in Algoma is anyone’s guess. It was estimated in 1947 that 2/3 of American households collected the trading stamps. No doubt Algoma did too.



Sources: Algoma Record Herald; Co, Commercial History of Algoma, Wisconsin, Vol. 1, c. 2006; Wikipedia.

Ad photos from Algoma Record Herald; Gold Bond Stamp book is the blogger's.

Ahnapee, Algoma & Kewaune County: A Jail is a Jail

Kewaunee County Jail and Courthouse, 1914 postmark

Jail, lock-up, hoosegow, slammer, pokey, the clink, calaboose, the joint……… It’s all in a name. Kewaunee County has one. It had one since the 1850s, but not the kind of thing anybody would recognize a century and a half later. Ahnapee/Algoma had one too, but its last resident was sprung about 60 years ago.

During November 1876, Ahnapee Record’s editor DeWayne Stebbins described a trip to Kewaunee to his paper’s readership. The jaunt’s highlight appeared to be a tour given by John Janda, the contractor for the nearly-completed new jail. Stebbins said the facility’s outside was “very prepossessing” and was finished in “the best of style.” He felt the sheriff’s residence was one of the county’s most elegant. He thought the jail looked secure but was too small, a point he made earlier.  He wrote about the 6 cells with modern conveniences such as ventilation and locks. It was Editor Stebbins’ opinion that Janda did a good job. Mentioning a lock as a modern convenience in a jail sounds a bit strange, but there is more to that story. The Committee on the Sheriff’s Residence, Jail and Cistern agreed with Stebbins and in May 1877 Janda was paid for work completed per contract and according to designs.

The county had an even earlier lock-up though. In its first 20 years, there were few notable trials or hardened criminals. The first jail was in place by 1861 and held one accused of murder on the Wolf River docks. The defendant was found guilty – later pardoned by the governor – and held in the county jail until he could be taken to Waupun which, in days of primitive transportation and few roads, was a water route that began on Lake Michigan. While the murderer was waiting for transport, he was held with one serving a term for bastardy. Planning to escape, the men made a sketch of the key and then whittled it out of wood. One can only wonder why prisoners had a knife, but at the last minute it was just the man held for fathering a child who chose to escape. He was quickly apprehended and, realizing the error of his ways or what a jail term was, he decided to do his duty rather than return to the lock-up. The other remained and was eventually taken to Waupun.*

To meet the Legislature’s requirement, Ahnapee constructed a jail even before achieving village status. According to the Enterprise, Ahnapee was doing a brisk law business, however the lawyers were busy with land issues rather than the murders and hold-ups that would have necessitated a jail. To comply with the law, the town raised $100 for jail construction in April 1871. Even though it got little use, Peter Schiesser was paid $65 – roughly 2/3 the cost of the thing - to repair the facility four years later. By April 1885 the jail was in such poor shape that Council insisted the Marshall have the place cleaned and the bedding washed. Apparently the cleaning didn’t help much as barely a few months later, in June, Council felt a new jail was badly needed and opened bids. That came a little less than 10 years after the county built its new jail.

The jail is at the left of this 1936 Record Herald photo.

In early December the Record reported that the new city jail was completed and was nearly ready for holiday boarders. Iron cells would be installed as soon as the interior plastering and other work was finished. Tongue in cheek, the paper said I.W. Elliott, the man in charge, was an accommodating landlord should anyone wish to make a reservation. That jail was built on State Street east of and adjoining the engine house, the site on which the jail stayed until the current fire department building was constructed. Jag Haegele, in a 2006 interview, said that the jail entertained school boys who enjoyed walking past and jumping up to peer into the window.  They always knew who was sleeping it off. 

It appears the late 1880's building had its own problems from the beginning and that Council got tired of repairing it. When Wulf and Leiberg repaired the roof in July 1892, they were required to give a five-year written guarantee.

Whatever was wrong with the roof then, it was worse in 1922 when the city had a most creative jail break. It happened while a section hand from the Ahnapee and Western Railroad was cooling his heels. The fellow had been arrested on 2^nd Street about 11:30 one Saturday night. As so many others over the years, the man was drunk, disorderly, in jail and awaiting a police justice. On Sunday morning when Officer Gericke went to the jail, the prisoner was missing. There was no doubt he escaped through a hole in the roof. Gericke’s investigation revealed pry marks on the roof, indicating the opening was made by a pinch bar. Gericke knew there was outside assistance in the jail break and was certain he knew who aided and abetted. Whether or not the accomplice was taken into custody, he did know the fate that awaited him. As early as 1908, penalties for aiding and abetting, or providing prisoners with alcohol, were written into the law.

Years following Ahnapee’s first jail, use of the word was written into Chapter 1, Section ll of the 1890 Ordinances of the City of Ahnapee: “Whenever the words ‘lock up or city jail’ occurs in any ordinance of the City of Ahnapee, they shall be construed to mean the lockup of jail of said city or the county jail of Kewaunee County.” Ahnapee’s references to the village lockup and county jail in ordinances began with village status.

Slaughterhouses could land one in the tank. Slaughterhouses or buildings used for such purposes were not allowed in the village nor could they be located closer than 1/8^th mile from a dwelling or business. Resulting fines were set between 10 and 50 dollars plus costs. Default of payment meant jail. Ignorance of the law was no excuse, as fines and or jail time were clearly written into any number of ordinances.

Firemen were said to have the same training as policemen and during the 1930s they were empowered to ticket any vehicle on the street during a fire on the specific block. Mayor McGowan signed the law that set the fines from $1.00 to $100 with a jail time of up to six months.

There were laws providing sentences for those who supplied alcohol to minors. When laws pertained to juveniles, it is doubtful the young paid attention. Ahnapee Mayor M.T. Parker signed laws in 1893 dealing with those under 21 who were not permitted to jump on or climb on a train or engine as it moved through town. It was also unlawful for such persons to uncouple cars. Such behavior merited from 3 to 30 days in either the city or county jails. Of course if one under 21 was employed by the railroad, such activities were legal. It appears that it was acceptable for older adults to jump on to moving trains. Those under 21 were also forbidden “to loiter, to lounge or to idle” anywhere around the depot, tracks or side tracks in the city. Some violations carried a separate fine or incarceration for each day that it happened. Mayor Ihlenfeld signed the Halloween laws when parents were told to keep a strict watch on their children. Tipping outhouses, property damage and even soaping windows would result in arrest and being confined to the city jail.

Men far outnumbered women among those held for being drunk or exhibiting disorderly behavior in either the city and the county. During summer 1879 a young fellow named Adolph was locked up, having been picked up in a drunken condition by the Marshal.  Adolph denied the charge and after being released the following morning, he failed to pay his fine and costs. He was again arrested and taken before Justice McDonald who allowed Constable Cooper to take young Adolph to find his father in order to raise the money. The father, however, was at work in his hay field, and chose not to give his son the money. Cooper attempted to escort the young man back, but the fellow wouldn’t budge and his father wanted him home. Cooper called for assistance and Adolph was taken to the Justice McDonald’s office where he was fined one dollar and costs which had to be paid in 10 days. Failing that, Adolph would be sentenced to the Kewaunee big-house.

Ellsworth Smith found himself in the city jail following a ball game. For some unknown reason E.C. Cameron slapped Smith, however others intervened and it seemed as if the trouble was nipped in the bud. But not so. After the game, Cameron was sitting in front of the Hotel Martin when Smith approached and whacked him on the head with a beer bottle, inflicting a slight scalp wound. Smith spent the night in the slammer and was released the next morning.

Early in 1907 an Algoma man was charged with assault and battery on his wife. The paper reported “he had made it unpleasant for his wife" on previous occasions, but the matter had been leniently allowed to pass.  That time Justice McGowan sentenced him to 15 days in the city jail. A 1915 case of drunkenness and disorderly conduct on the streets of Kewaunee brought to light a story of privation, want and abuse.  The city jail stayed empty following a robbery attempt during 1921. Being daylight, the event was witnessed. A prominent businessman slipped through the sidewalk in front of Thiard’s Steele Street store. It was during the days of the Volstad Act - also called Prohibition - that an outlawed beverage was cached beneath the sidewalk. Apparently the man couldn’t wait until the dark of night when the street was empty and thus the alarm was spread.

Illegal hunting was surely against the law, however when businessmen George and Michael Bohman, Mike Kohlbeck and W. H. Machia were jailed in 1903, it was due to what appeared to have been a rumor. Game Warden Overbeck traced the story to a man from Ellison Bay. When the man was asked about it, he claimed he heard it from someone else. A few years later a man was locked up for not answering questions. He was a stranger in town and when Sheriff Rudolph Dobry asked his name, he gave it. When asked where he came from, if he was a boat crew member, his job and other such questions, he clammed up. Since he didn’t divulge personal information other than his name, he was felt to be mentally deranged. The man had committed no crime but lack of satisfactory answers merited jail. After all, in 1915 the sheriff was being paid $143 and some change yearly to commit the insane.

Strangers always caused suspicion. A fellow from Charlevoix, Michigan was held in jail during 1911. It was said he was tramping through the country. After spending the night, he was ordered out of town the following day and was seen heading toward Kewaunee. Not long after, two 15 year old Kenosha boys were held in the Algoma jail. The charges? They ran away from home.

Watching the old Mayberry R.F.D. reruns is to know Otis spends Saturday nights in jail of his own volition. It happened in Algoma too when a hobo blew into town and asked to spend the 1911 night in the city jail. He was obliged, but the next morning he was ordered out of town and hit the road for Bruemmerville.

It wasn’t only Ahnapee/Algoma that was leery of strangers. It made Algoma news in 1927 when five boys were taken into custody in Sturgeon Bay. The young men were strangers who said their homes were in Chicago. It was said they created a disturbance near the Green home in Sawyer and had been the logical suspects in stealing some slot machines. After being held for 2 days, there was no evidence and they were let go.

Sheriff Dobry was known to do more than investigate, incarcerate and run the jail. Charles Rogers and Joseph Kacerovsky were paid $5.00 and $4.40, respectively, for painting the jail in 1915 but it was Dobry who had to scrub the place. For that, and some handcuffs, he was paid $10.65. It was about the same time that the county board set 50 cents as the fixed daily amount for the boarding of prisoners.

A Luxemburg fellow was being held at the county jail, awaiting his trial for murder when he hung himself in the wee hours of a Sunday morning. It was an ugly surprise for the family of Sheriff Kulhanek to find the man who was then left hanging until Sunday afternoon when a Luxemburg undertaker came to take him down and care for the body. Also bizarre was an incident occurring during the court house remodeling in 1902. As workmen were excavating they unearthed a skeleton thought to be inmate Joseph Busche who set fire to the jail and was burned in it nearly 40 years earlier.

As Joe Shilbauer and Sam Newman were driving through the Black Ash during summer 1907, they spotted a man who dodged into the swamp and hid as they passed. Returning to town they told Marshall Birdsall about the man whose description matched one Birdsall had received in the day’s mail. Birdsall set out looking for the chap, found him in the Black Hills and brought him back to the city jail to await a positive identification. The paper reported that although the man looked suspicious, he swore to his innocence. There was a $600 reward out for a murderer who looked like the man who made his way through the county selling shoestrings!

Then there was the humorous. The Record carried an article about Sturgeon Bay during the late 1870s. It seems the local sheriff put up posts marked “Jail Limits” on the town’s principal roads, about a mile from the jail. The sign posts were erected by law so those “arrested on civil warrants give bail, to enjoy jail liberties.” About 20 years later, a Sturgeon Bay man was jailed for not paying dog license. Whether he made good on his threat to sue the city is anyone’s guess. Who today could possibly believe that interfering with radio reception could land one in jail?  September 1930 saw the passing of an ordinance forbidding the operating of anything that interfered with radio frequencies between 7 AM and midnight. X-ray and treatment equipment was to be used to avoid unnecessary and unreasonable interference to reception. Those who passed that law probably didn't think much about it until they themselves needed medical care.

Doughnuts brought out the arm of the law in August 1931. It’s hard to believe doughnut salesmen were jailed for selling product, however it was selling without a license. Two Green Bay men were in the pokey for their second offense and unable to pay the fine. Fearing their doughnuts would go stale while they were in the hoosegow, the men put in a call to Green Bay asking someone to come for the “sinkers,” doughnuts requiring too much dunking to revive the flavor. At their first offense, Judge Kasal had warned the men to keep out of the county unless they secured a license. Since they were also selling potato chips without a license, one wag felt that stale potato chips and sinkers should be jailhouse fare.

Another of the strange events occurred just before Christmas in 1936. One Mr. Schaefer was apparently traveling one freezing Friday when he was given shelter at the home of Fred Lassine in the Town of Ahnapee. Schaefer stayed the entire weekend and when he left, Lassine’s mittens were gone. Lassine alerted Marshal Birdsall who found Schaefer at Joseph Pauly’s saloon. When Schaefer was searched, it was felt he was in the habit of stealing things of value. He had 25 keys on his person.

Jails are serious business. Whether it was the city or the county, there were always problems to be solved. One occurred in 1898: the disposition of jailed women. J. Kuehl, J. Walecka and J. Ouradnik comprised the Committee on Public Works, and that included the jail. When the men reported to the Board of Supervisors, they said they had visited the jail and made recommendations for separation of the sexes. They felt it was necessary to divide the jail’s hall with a brick and lime partition while putting an extra door into the hall from the sheriff’s office.

Today the Huber Law is in effect. Some serving time spend the night at the jail and the day at their job. Prisoners around the turn of 1900 sometimes were put to work. Schatleben’s Algoma tannery was near the corner of 4^th and Navarino, in the area of the present Bearcat’s. Some men who were jailed are listed with apprentices who worked at Schatleben’s.

State Department of Public Welfare in 1940 gave the county jail, and a few others in Northeast Wisconsin, poor marks. Women were not kept separate from men. The jail was dark and ventilation was poor. Cells were too small, new plumbing was needed as was general remodeling. There was a bright spot though. The report said Sheriff and Mrs. Tom O’Konski did their best to keep the old fashioned, 67 year old structure clean. Following its 1873 construction, the building was painted but there had been no other modernization. A sheriff in a nearby county felt his jail was so bad that he allowed prisoners to leave for a time. He was cited by the State.

Kewaunee County still maintains a jail complex but Algoma’s is long gone. The county’s old jail remains on courthouse square, just east of the present jail. The view from the courthouse and the old jail present a breath-taking view of Lake Michigan. The old jail is open during the summer, functioning as the historical society’s museum. To find out what time in the slammer was like, spend some time in one of the cells.

While the city and the county thought about jails, the Record Herald noted the first in Wisconsin. This log jail was built at Mineral Point before 1836 when Wisconsin achieved Territorial status. What looks to be a gun barrel is actually a ventilation pipe.





* Wisconsin Department of Corrections website says: 1851 - A three member commission sites a prison in Waupun because of its proximity to transportation and the readily available building materials in the area. A temporary 40-bed building is constructed.

Sources: Ahnapee Record, Algoma Record, Algoma Record Herald; An-An-api-sebe: Where is the River?, c. 2001; The Commercial History of Development of Youngs and Steele Plat and Other Selected Plats of Algoma, Wisconsin,Vol 1, c. 2006; Commercial History in Algoma, Wisconsin: Vol ll, The Continuing Story, c. 2012. Jag Haegele interview, 2005.

Photo sources: Blogger's postcard collection; Commercial; History, Vols. 1 & 2; Record Herald.

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