Kewaunee County and Cigars, Part 2

While it is known some of the pioneer women, such as Katherine Shaw, smoked pipes, cigarette smoking was catching on in the mid-1880s, replacing the cigars favored by women. A few years later, ladies parlors became fixtures in some hotels while there were railroad companies that set aside a “ladies carriage.” Both functioned as private smoking rooms for women. The hotel ladies’ parlors offered women the opportunity to also have an alcoholic beverage in private. Fashion of the day made a trip to the outhouse inconvenient and the ladies parlors also offered an opportunity to use an indoor facility with privacy. 

Smoking rooms insured discreetness when the Sturgeon Bay Democrat opined in late 1893 that it would not be many years before “it will be no more extraordinary to see a woman smoke than to see a woman play golf or tennis.” There were those who certainly shook their heads reading that column! 

When Boedecker Bros. was refurbishing its drug store at the southeast corner of 4th and Steele Streets, the firm was also refurbishing its hotel in the same location. At the time, the ladies parlor adjacent to the dining room on the first floor, was relocated to a large room on the second floor, thus enlarging the dining room. 

While William Karsten was planning for the rebuilding of his Kewaunee hotel in 1912, the Enterprise told readership that Karsten was over-looking nothing in the comfort and convenience of guests. No doubt women appreciated Karsten’s plans for a ladies’ parlor on both the ground and second floors.

Wisconsin women had the vote and at least some “rights,” however they still had a place in which to enjoy a smoke or drink. As late as May 1925, the Algoma Legion announced its plans for the refurbishing of the old Van Camp cannery into a Legion building now called the Dug-Out. When the Record Herald carried an article about plans for the building, it said that part of the remodeling included a 24’ x 15’ ladies’ parlor at the west side of the portico. It was backed by women’s toilet rooms. 

Although the Record’s tobacco news was primarily confined to area cigar makers, the Enterprise reported on tobacco issues of the day be they state, country or world-wide related. 

A late October 1891 Enterprise reported on the McKinley tariffs and the new cigar manufacturing boards that came about because of it. The duty on ordinary cigars was from 150-200%, however the duty on imported, expensive cigars was specific and, therefore, less. The paper said that domestic prices had risen, but they were still “below the top of the new tariff fence”. It further said that the situation tempted manufacturers who considered it “a disgrace to their calling to let such an opportunity go to waste.” 

A short time later, the Enterprise ran an article claiming big cigar manufacturers were taking advantage of the McKinley tariffs. The article said New York manufacturers were forming a 25-million-dollar trust to eliminate small manufacturers and labor unions while raising prices. 

Certainly affected in 1891 was L.C. Fensel whose Kewaunee store advertised maple syrup and such delicacies as piccalilli, chow chow and “my HIGH PROOF CIGAR, a fine” 5 cent Havana. How was Fensel able to sell a Cuban cigar for 5 cents? In 1898, Fensel was advertising his Globe Dollar cigar, that sold for 5 cents. 

Newspaper advertising on either side of 1900 suggests Kewaunee County residents favored the nickel or dime cigars, so it was big news in April 1907 when the Enterprise informed readers about $2.65 cigars. It was indeed pricey as in 2020 that cigar would cost over $65 dollars. Cigar makers of the era grossed about $700 a year according to Workers of the nation; an encyclopedia of the occupations ... v.2. digitized online, originally from the U of Michigan – Relative Pay of 100 Occupations Prices and Wages by Decade: 1900-1909. The sites says tinsmiths, boiler makers and cabinet makers earned a little less while merchants, dentists and hotel keepers earned a little more. 

What the Enterprise found so newsworthy was that for 30 years, Baron Rothschild presented England’s King Edward with a thousand $2.65 cigars each year. That prompted Aaron Hanover, the "mayor of Avenue C"* in New York, to tell the New York World that his cigars were much cheaper at two for a nickel. 

When the editor of Tobacco weighed in, he said $2.65 was not too much to pay for a cigar, however financier J. Pierpont Morgan’s cigars were less expensive at only $1.35. Morgan’s son had more expensive tastes than his father. The same editor said President Teddy Roosevelt smoked “a fierce black cigar, but when his fighting blood is up, he smokes a cigarette.” The editor apparently didn’t think much of Grover Cleveland as he said Cleveland smoked “expensive weed.” 

King Edward’s cigars continued to be the story when tobacco king James B. Duke talked about his $5 cigars and the choice Havana soil on which the tobacco was grown. Duke felt the King’s cigars were not expensive. The paper went on to inform readers about the largest and most expensive cigars ever manufactured, Lord Beaconsfield cigars. The manufacture, custom duties and expenses put the cost of those cigars at $34,723.29. Duke defended Rothschild’s gift to the king saying $2.65 was not a highly priced cigar. Duke said others must realize the specially raised tobacco and workmanship made the product expensive. The Tobacco Growers Society also weighed in saying the price of the king’s cigars “wasn’t any too high.” 

On November 26, 1909, the Enterprise carried a reprint from Harper’s Weekly. The article pointed out ignorance in ordinary smokers who felt dark looking cigars were stronger. Seeking to educate the smoking public, the article said wrappers did not make a difference, but the curing of tobacco did. Harper’s said that when one asked a dealer for a strong cigar, he would be given a dark one and his imagination would do the rest. 

Teen smoking was an issue as early as 1909 when the Wisconsin Legislature passed an anti-cigarette law forbidding the sales of cigarettes to those under 18, however the law was strengthened when it was ruled tobacco wrapped in tobacco was a cigarette, thus those under 18 were denied tobacco whether it was in the form of a cigar or cigarette. 

For well over 100 years, U.S. laws have regulated the tobacco industry. The CDC has documented proof regarding cigar smoking and increased oral cancers, gum disease and tooth loss. Heavy cigar smokers may be at increased risk for lung cancers and other lung diseases. In 2017 4.9% of American adults smoked cigars: 7.6% of those in grades 9-12 smoked cigars in 2019. During 1900, U.S. tobacco consumption was 7.5 pounds per adult. Of that, 2.0 of the 7.5 pounds was used in cigars, which was second to chewing tobacco at 3.5 pounds per adult. That is a lot of tobacco and illustrates the place in society for cigar makers in early Kewaunee County. 

* Avenue C, New York, is a north-south street in Alphabet City in the East Village of Manhatten.

Sources: Ahnapee Record, Algoma Record, Algoma Record Herald, Kewaunee Enterprise. https://www.cdc.gov/tobacco/data_statistics/fact_sheets/tobacco_industry/cigars/index.htm; www,cdc,gov

Graphics: Katherine Shaw was found in Algoma Record Herald in June 1994; Boedecker Hotel was taken from the 1912 Kewaunee County Plat Map; Van Camp's Packing Co. post card postmarked 1910 in blogger's collection; Fensel ad from Kewaunee Co. Enterprise, 10/1891.

Kewaunee County: Cigar Makers

 Wisconsin Historical Marker - East Side of U.S. 51, just before the Rock River Bridge

Found online at http://www.schoepski.com/states/wisconsin/histmarker/tobacco_land/wisconsins_tobacco_land.htm

As the U.S. entered the 20^th century, surprising as it might seem, tobacco growing was one of the country’s largest cash crops. It is also surprising that around the same time, tobacco was also one of southern Wisconsin’s largest cash crops, a crop that had its origins with the Norwegian immigrants who came to the state around the outbreak of the Civil War. Tobacco grown in the Badger State was suitable for the manufacture of cigars, and cigars had been growing in popularity since the Civil War. By 1885 roughly 27,000 acres were devoted to the crop, and although Richland County was a minor tobacco-growing county, its farmers grossed  $40,000 – nearly 2 million dollars in 2020 -  when Kewaunee Enterprise said that figure showed just how important tobacco was to the state.

Again in 1924, tobacco was one of Wisconsin’s cash crops, however returns were disappointing. The growing season was cold and wet, thus affecting the yield and quality of most the crops. Peas were the single money-making cash crop exception that year.

In September 1934, Algoma Record Herald told its readers that in 1929, ’30 and ’31, Wisconsin produced about 60 million pounds of tobacco, however in 1934, the crop shrunk to about 13 million pounds. Surpluses brought price declines, although Mother Nature also played a part. Droughts and early frosts prompted farmers to turn to more profitable crops. Tobacco loses were significant in Vernon and other northern counties, but southern Wisconsin was also affected. Stories that there were, few could beat that of a Montpelier farmer.

Hard as it is to believe, one Town of Montpelier farmer traded twin calves for a cigar. Proud papas often gave out cigars at the birth of a baby, however Ellisville farmer Fred Post was given a cigar following the birth of twin calves. As a January 1933 Enterprise reported the unusual story, farmers were realizing $6-$8 from the sale of a good cow. It was during the depths of the Depression and when a Green Bay butcher offered Post one cigar for the two calves, Post took it.

When the calves were born, Post felt calves were so cheap that it wouldn’t pay to raise them. Furthermore, if he kept the calves, he’d lose the cow’s milk. The butcher who looked at the calves felt the cost of one cigar was all he could pay. Mr. Post said the cigar was a new brand and at least he enjoyed the smoke.

As late as 1954, the Enterprise still wrote about tobacco, saying then that Wisconsin tobacco was primarily used for cigar manufacturing, for chewing and for smoking products, however tobacco stocks were decreasing. Quality was low and the market was saturated. Still, there was a need for good grades of binder leaf tobacco for cigar manufacturing.

If Kewaunee County farmers were growing tobacco, it wasn’t in such numbers that brought newspapers to report on it. The men – and some women – of Kewaunee County enjoyed their cigars and the cigar makers of Kewaunee County made sure the county was well supplied.

As early as June 1879, L.F. Pouse was advertising his new Ahnapee cigar factory. Pouse manufactured cigars from both foreign and domestic tobacco in the Knipfer building at the corner of Steele and 4^th Streets. Because local businessmen were a source of Pouse’s distribution, he welcomed them to examine his stock. A short time later, Pouse was bought out by Frank Neuzil

Numbers of cigars smoked in Ahnapee were felt to be overwhelming by the editors of the Sturgeon Bay Advocate. Readership was told in September 1884 that 3,500 cigars had been consumed in Ahnapee during the previous week. Anyone who thought about it would have realized the article was dumbfounding. When City Clerk J.L. McDonald finished the July 1885 city census, he said its population stood at 1063 residents, 545 of whom were males, which included male children. Did each male in town – infants to the elderly – average 7 cigars a week? 

The Record mentioned cigar maker Frank Neuzil in May 1888. At issue was Neuzil’s health when his friends were so concerned that Neuzil was brought before the board of examiners for an assessment. It is unclear what happened next. Peter Hagman moved into the 3^rd St. Melchoir building on April 1902, moving to the Bastar Hotel building on 4^th in October. John Boehm also manufactured cigars in Ahnapee prior to 1900, although he opened his new Algoma cigar factory in April 1907 after filing an application for the certificate authorizing him to open his business in his grocery store building at what became 520 Mill Street. Boehm’s business appears to have been in the same building that his father, Frank Boehm, purchased as a dwelling in 1895. The older Boehm converted part of the dwelling – now 520 Mill Street -to a new grocery business a short time later. That property was part of the Detloff estate, which has its own significant history.

Joseph Urban was another early Kewaunee County cigar manufacturer. When he died in June 1884, the Record mentioned his lingering illness and the high esteem in which he was held. In May 1884, Kewaunee's William Kacerovsky told Enterprise readers that although he had recently opened his cigar manufactory, he guaranteed satisfaction and was ready to fill all orders on short notice. Kacerovsky charged 5 or 10 cents for his fine Havana cigars. In November 1896, the popular William Drahouzal was advertising his Rose Bud cigars, a fine, easy smoking cigar made with the choicest tobacco. As late as 1914, the Record  was also mentioning Drahouzal’s Kewaunee-made cigars.

Well-known Fred Boesenberg manufactured cigars in Ahnapee in the early 1890s, and when he transacted business in Kewaunee, it made the news. Boesenberg was still manufacturing in Ahnapee in June 1894 when he seemed to just disappear. What happened to him? In October that year, the Boesenbergs moved to California because of Mrs. Boesenberg’s health. Boesenberg (sometimes written as Rosenberg) conducted his business in the small addition William Bastar added to his hotel, exclusively for Boesenberg’s manufactory. Boesenberg’s departure left Ahnapee without a cigar maker and when Jacob Schmetzer came from Escanaba in April 1895 to manufacture and sell cigars, the Record looked forward to his establishment. The area claimed a large market, but there was no such manufacturer in town. Schmetzer rented manufacturing space on the second floor of George Blaha’s 2^nd Street saloon, the second door south of State Street. 

William Boldt opened his factory in 1896 and built such a large trade that he and his skilled workmen could not manufacture cigars fast enough. By August 1897, Boldt’s factory was manufacturing more cigars per capita than any other cigar maker on the peninsula. Boldt’s well patronized business extended north to Sturgeon Bay, Baileys Harbor and beyond, prompting him to introduce new brands as other manufacturers were trying to imitate his popular older brands,  including cigars with such names as Lake Shore League, Air Ship, Boldt’s Plantation and The North Star, known as “the great wonder.”

As fast as Boldt was manufacturing, he felt if he could find a competent cigar maker, he could travel to take orders. As it was, in 1897 when David Youngs ll went to Iron River, Michigan, he carried Boldt’s samples with him. When, at the same time, Boldt received a $47 order from a dealer, the paper mentioned it. Even at a dime a piece, that's a lot of cigars! Boldt’s employees included at least one woman. When Sarah Mickelson returned to Boldt’s employ in January 1915, the Record said she was no novice and had worked in Boldt’s factory for several years previously.

Boldt’s cigar factory operated in one of Algoma’s storied locations. In 1903 Algoma boasted the opening of the new Steam Laundry in a structure known as the White Front building on the south side of the Ahnapee River in Block 1 of the Youngs & Steele Plat. The brick building once held Rod Berrio’s, John Barrand’s and Jim McCulfor’s saloons, Cameron and Nelson’s marble shop, John Charles’ blacksmith shop and Boldt’s cigar factory. In more recent generations, the building was Ralph Hubbard’s welding shop. Hubbard was followed by Kurt Braun.

It probably did not surprise anybody in September 1897, when a new cigar factory opened in Algoma, the new name for the City of Ahnapee. Since William Boldt could scarcely keep up with demand, the Record thought the company would be prosperous. John Benoit of Menominee had just married city resident Julia Charles and it was Benoit who opened the new factory at 150 Steele Street, in a room in the Swaty building that was formerly Jeff Teweles’ office. Benoit’s factory was kitty-corner across the street from Boldt’s. Recommended as a first-class cigar maker, Benoit let it be known he would provide a 5-cent cigar that would compete with anything on the market.

Benoit was joined by his brother John, however the men did not stay in business long. In mid-December 1898, William Boldt bought boxes and other material from the Benoit Brothers, including their Cadet Brand cigar which Boldt took over. Boldt manufactured until 1928 when he retired and moved to Racine where he died at 80 years old in July 1948. Boldt served Algoma longer than any other cigar maker and is buried in the Evergreens.

Boldt had the market covered, however Sawyer’s (now the west side of Sturgeon Bay) H.H. Kelley & Company salesman Fred Warner’s route took him through Algoma during the World War l era. One might have thought that company would have had trouble penetrating Boldt’s market, but Warner had relatives in Algoma and knew people. No doubt, Warner did sell some cigars in town.

Just after Benoits opened, J.H. Hagman of Iron Mountain rented the small building on 3rd, just behind Mike Melchior's store, for use as his cigar factory and residence. Hagman's tobacco was known to be purchased in Milwaukee.

Found in the Cox-Nell House Histories at Algoma Public Library are curious records. In 1921-22, William Boldt was the owner of a dwelling worth $350 on the West 74’ of Lots 15 and 15, at the southeast corner of 5^th and Steele Streets, a property that had been part of the Paarman estate. Frank Boehm bought the home in 1923 and owned it for about 5 years. In 1928, John Boehm became the new owner. He sold a year later. Was there a connection other than cigars between Boldt and Boehm?

During September 1900,  Algoma Press called attention to Luxemburg cigar manufacturers Martin Kumbera and Jacob Ribly who were in Algoma calling on customers. A few years later, the Record told readership how the men in the Luxemburg area enjoyed J.B. Balza’s cigars. Balza located in a section of the Famaree block (building) in January 1908 and had no trouble selling the popular product.

Part 2 follows in a separate post..

 

Sources: Ahnapee Record, Algoma Record, Algoma Record Herald, An-An-api sebe: Where is the River?; Commercial History of Algoma, Wisconsin, Vols. 1 & 2;  Kewaunee Enterprise; Cox Nell House Histories; Kewaunee Enterprise; Sturgeon Bay Advocate

https://www.cdc.gov/tobacco/data_statistics/fact_sheets/tobacco_industry/cigars/index.htm

 

 

Kermis and the Pandemics: 100 Years

 

Harvests, fall colors, festivals, football, and homecomings. COVID-19 squelched most of it.

COVID-19 was unable to cancel the beautiful fall colors this year, but it cancelled just about everything else. Kids start a new school year in fall. Fall is harvest dinners and festivals, football from the pee-wee leagues to the Packers, school homecomings, Egg Harbor’s Pumpkin Patch, Sister Bay’s Fall Fest and more. Since the late 1850s, fall has meant kermis in the Belgian communities of Kewaunee and Door Counties.

One hundred years later, even Bohemian communities such as Pilsen and Stangelville had a kermis.

August 25, 1922 news article

Kermis has been changing over the last 50 years, however during this C-19 year, what is left was cancelled like everything else. The  Belgian Heritage Center at Namur celebrated Kermis in mid-August 2020, but it was a drive-thru, which is also like just about everything else this year.

So, what is a kermis? Miriam-Webster Dictionary says the word kermis comes from the Middle Dutch word kercmisse, meaning "church mass." It is important to know that because there is no written Belgian language. Dutch is the language used predominantly in the northern part of Belgium and, in 2020, is used as the written language for a little over half its population. Those in the Flemish part of Belgium speak mostly French or German. Each Belgium state has its own official language, Dutch, French, or German. The three languages are used because of proximity to those countries.

Kermis was a part of Belgian history, After harvesting was completed in their native country, the Belgians attended mass to thank God for the bountiful harvest. That was followed by a three-day celebration of dancing and feasting.

The immigrating Belgians arrived on Wisconsin's peninsula in the early part of the 1850s and by 1859, they were homesick and lonesome. They worked hard amid poverty and privation and spirits were low when one Amia Champaign suggested a kermis. Others agreed: they had a good harvest and needed to thank God for the good things He had given them. Days were spent in food preparation. Trunks were searched to see if there was anything to be used for sprucing up clothing. Leather shoes were reoiled and made flexible, fresh evergreens were brought in to refill mattresses and earthen floors were cleaned. There were trips to Dyckesville and Green Bay for food items, and then baking began.

In the years to come, area papers began reporting on the kermis. A 1905 Record article pointed out that the custom came from Belgium where harvest festivals "are universal, similar to all the pastoral regions of the Old World." The paper said the festivities lasted for some days, or until the rounds were made and "the owner of each hall having an inning as it were." Only the most necessary work - caring for livestock - was accomplished during kermis.

To say the menu at the 1858 kermis was the same as in 1958 would be conjecture. In 1958, women baked for days, sometimes as many as 100 Belgian pies, dough spread over with prunes or apples and topped with dry curd cottage cheese. That was a change from 1900 when women used their own home made cottage cheese for topping the pies. In 1858, the exceptional Belgian bakers made bread light as a feather even though grains were coarse. The 1958 dinners included chicken booyah, tripe whch was a kind of pork sausage with cooked cabbage in it, and jut, a dish made with masked potatoes, cooked cabbage, butter and cream. As late as into the 1970s, Saxe's Arcade in Brussels - and Coun's after - was the site of wedding, anniversary and reunion dinners, and kermis dinners in the fall. Kermis dinners featured the wonderful ethnic dishes, and if those sponsoring other dinner events wanted the ethnic foods, Saxe's did that too.

On the 3rd Sunday in September 1858, Rosiere was the site of the first Belgian kermis in America. The date was chosen since on that day, the Belgians would have been at their kermis in Rosiere, Belgium. Father Edouard Daems came from Bay Settlement to Rosiere to offer mass in the language of the people. After mass, congregants were led by a band to a hall, such as it was. Folks danced in the dust in the road on their way to the hall where dancing waltzes. two-steps and others continued long into the night. (Rosiere in the early 1900s is the subject of this postcard.)

Merrymaking included plenty of home made beer, however if a woman wanted to quench her thirst, she was not allowed to enter a saloon to get it; her dancing partner  got the beer and took it outside for her to drink. Years later - and documented in Algoma up until World War l - there were ladies' parlors in hotels. If women wished an alcoholic drink, or smoke, it was in the ladies' parlor, the entrance to which was separate from other hotel entrances. Drinks would be brought to her.

Kermis was not all dancing and feasting. In years to come, there were games of skill, greased pig contests, races and more. A game that did not last long was the decapitation of a goose. A blindfolded man was given a scythe to use as he attempted to whack off the goose's head, much in the manner of blindfolded children trying to whack open a pinata to get the candy and trinkets inside.

In later years, one could purchase snacks such as bologna and crackers, booyah and more. And of the 100s of pies the ladies baked? Some were sold to saloons where there were always free slices offered at kermis. By the 1950s, Rosiere kermis was like a carnival with its small Ferris wheel for the kids. Adults and kids alike dressed in their Sunday best as they danced and enjoyed the games and activities kermis offered.

Each of the Belgian communities of northern Kewaunee and southern Door Counties had its own kermis on its own weekend. Although the communities followed in order, not all celebrations were the same. Kermis is no longer a three-day festival, but rather mostly a Sunday event with friends and family coming for dinner. In more recent years, dances were few, church attendance was lower, and Sunday-best might be a designer t-shirt and jeans with fashionable holes surrounded by rhinestones.

COVID-19 even changed things for the Belgian Heritage Center at Namur where kermis was celebrated with drive-thru pick up for booyah, Belgian pie, trippe, jut, and even hamburgers. Booyah purchases were limited to two gallons per customer, paid for in advance electronically on Paypal.

The Pandemic of 1918 – known as the Spanish influenza – also saw school closings and, according to the Kewaunee Enterprise, churches and saloons were closed in Brussels during October. As a result, the residents of Misiere could not celebrate their kermis even though there were no cases of the disease in the area. Brussels reported a few. Algoma’s public and parochial schools were closed during the 1918 kermis season as the Spanish Influenza was breaking out and authorities were determined to stop the spread of the disease any way possible. In September, however, the Record reported the number of Algoma people who enjoyed an exceptionally good time while attending the Rosiere kermis

1917 was different from 1918 when the influenza was beginning to spread. Kermis in 1917 started out normally and Forestville went on with a three-day event. September 1 was the start of the Door County Town of Union’s three-day kermis at Martin’s hall. People from miles around were expected to participate while preparations were made for a big time. Luxemburg Piano orchestra was on tap for dancing which would begin on Monday from 10:30 AM till 3:00 PM, and then continue through the night. Tuesday’s schedule was the same. The Record told readership that the Union kermis would be followed by similar events in other places. If the dancing hours seem strange, the break between 3:00 and the evening gave attendees time to care for their animals without missing festivities.

At the time of the 1918 Pandemic, kermises were found in predominantly Belgian communities, however even Ellisville had one in early September. Called a threshing kermis, the event held at John Kalcik’s said to be a success. Music was by Schleis, Reckelberg and Kalcik members of the Flat Z Band assisted by the Columbia Orchestra. One of the members said there should be a kermis once a month.

In mid-September 1918, the Enterprise said a kermis was held on Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday, and although there was a great gathering of friends and relatives from the Kewaunee area, there were not as many people as normal. The paper did not mention the Pandemic, but it did say that there were fewer people in attendance because the country was at war with many of the boys on the battle fields and in training camps.

The Record told readers about Oscar Christenson and a kermis. Christenson ran his car into the ditch near Arnie Tronson’s place in the Town of Ahnapee. Oscar was coming from a kermis and had five passengers in his big Mitchell car. Luckily, none was hurt.

Diane Neinas was the “Brussels News” correspondent for the Door County Advocate in 1956. In early September, Ms. Neinas wrote that September 2 marked Brussels’ annual kermis. The harvest was in and freezers were filled with Belgian pies for dessert. She said the celebration would start Sunday morning when Rev. Milo Smits officiated at services at St. Francis Xavier. Then came the kermis dinner featuring any kind of meat, garden vegetables, cake, and Belgian pies. Visiting with friends and relatives, while eating more Belgian pie, filled the afternoon. Then came supper – if one could stuff themselves with more – and a dance.

In an August 1960 Advocate, the reporter did a kermis story reflecting what women did to ready themselves for it. The article mentioned a woman named Maxine who was working in the cherry plant to earn money for kermis clothes. Maxine went on to explain that it was an old custom for every family to have new clothing for kermis.

Lucy Andre, then a Rosiere area senior citizen, was interviewed in the same article. Mrs. Andre said the Belgian fall faestival was typified by prune and cheese Belgian pie, a polka band, family reunions and whiskey sours. She said the new clothing was not so closely followed in 1956 and that in the “kermis area,” real home made Belgian pies were served, not the kind that bakeries were making. She told the reporter that Belgians made some of the best bread made by any national group and that baking bread was like sewing or playing the piano: the more one did it, the better the product. Mrs. Andre called baking an art and said it is practice and a craft that separates the women from the girls.

Helen Tlachac, also from Rosiere, was interviewed about her mouth-watering bread horns which were slathered in butter and her own homeground poppyseed. When gardeners grew their own poppyseed, the poppyseed pies were especially delicious.

The Advocate’s reporter went on to mention the closely knit Rosiere community and how strange it was for an “outsider” to hear the women refer to customs of families living 5 or 7 miles north of them as being different. The farm families around Rosiere seemed to feel Brussels’ people were more citified.

Algoma tavern owner Al Vandertie was known for his renditions of Belgian folk songs, and during the Wisconsin Centennial in 1948, Al was asked to record Walloon and Flemish folk songs for the University of Wisconsin and the National Library of Congress. Recording such songs “I Went to Market,” “An Invitation to the Kermis,” and more. Al said the songs give Belgians hope for family reunions, good weather and one that says coffee makes ladies chatter. Al would not explain the last one. Al sang on the radio and recorded his own albums in addition to entertaining the folks at his bar. Sung in the original lyrical language, Al’s songs were beautiful whether sung at kermises or not. When English translations were put to the beautiful melodies, they brought laughter, which is probably why Al would not fully explain the coffee song to the reporter!

Kermis has changed in its 162 years in Kewaunee and Door Counties, but who could have ever guessed virtual activities, drive-thrus and Paypal would be a part of it?

Sources: Ahnapee Record, Algoma Record, Algoma Record Herald, Door County Advocate, Kewaunee Enterprise; Miriam-Webster Dictionary, Wikipedia.

Graphics: Blogger's postcards, Belgian Heritage Kermis poster found online, newspaper article.

 

Town of Carlton, World War l. and Student Nurse Anna Mae Kocmich

At 21 years old, Anna Mae Kocmich made history in Kewaunee County. That was over 100 years ago. Although  her life was so short, she made an impact, doing what no other County woman did. Until that time.

It was World War l, a time when the Spanish Influenza was encircling the globe as is COVID 19 just over 100 years later. When Anna Mae died at Camp Greenleaf at Fort Oglethorpe, Georgia, on January 19, 1919, she died of that flu, Kewaunee County’s lone woman giving her life for the War effort. At the time, Anna Mae was the county’s only woman to enter government service, a mere eight weeks before her death.

During September 1918, articles outlining the need for more nurses appeared in the newspapers. The requested applicants weren’t young single women, but rather the wives of soldiers who had been sent abroad. Accepted women were required to be  between 21 and 40, of good moral character and in good physical condition. Open to the women was serving as a hospital assistant, aiding nurses in work that did not require training beyond a six-week course in first aid, hygiene, and dietetics if the woman had not earlier completed Red Cross courses.

The hospital assistants were sent to military hospitals where time between convalescence and recovery was expected to be lengthy. It was said that every invalid soldier would be given full share of the attention necessary to meet his needs. Single women were considered as assistants only if they were under 35. It was felt women whose husbands were overseas were “free” to give such service. 

Between 1917 and 1919, the Red Cross recruited about 22,000 nurses, 10,000 of whom served on the Western Front. Initially, those in authority wanted to keep women away from the Front, but when it was realized how many more men could be saved with nursing, that changed, and the Student Nurse Reserve Corps was born. In late November 1918, the U.S. was looking for applications to the new Student Nurse Reserve.

At the Armistice, it was felt the women nurses would no longer be needed, but as the wounded returned and the pandemic had not abated, the women nurses remained in demand. At the call for Student Nurses, Anna Mae Kocmich wanted to serve and volunteered. Six other county women volunteered, however Anna Mae was the first to be called.

By August 10^th, the county had enrolled 6 of the 10 of the quota to be met on August 11. Kewaunee’s Vera Lockwood, in September 1918, was the first County resident to enroll as an Army nurse. Vera had graduated from Two Rivers high school and was employed by Dr. W.M. Wochos in Kewaunee. She was followed by Hannah Cadigan* of Casco, Clara Koller and Anna Mae Kocmich of Carlton and Lucille Wodsedalek** of Algoma. After Mary Shestock’s enrollment was accepted, there were no more eligible volunteers. It was said that exacting standards made finding qualified women difficult. It was further said that women saw Army hospitals as being more honorable places to serve. That too affected recruitment.

There was a quota system, and only half – 723 - of Wisconsin’s original 1,500-quota had been met. One problem was the high educational standards met by only three states. Applicants were expected to have at least 2 years of high school and could choose between civilian and Army training. If women  nursing programs operated by religious groups, that preference was considered. Women accepted to a program were promised government-paid transportation and when she was ordered to report, she was sent orders and a Pullman car ticket. Expenses enroute were refunded to her.

Anna Mae Kocmich was born in the Town of West Kewaunee on June 2, 1897 and grew up in Carlton. After attending rural school in Carlton and graduating from Kewaunee High School in 1915, Anna Mae attended Oshkosh Normal School for a year and began to teach at Wayside School, District #4 in Carlton. The Enterprise said she was an excellent teacher whose services were in demand.

At her death, a military escort was provided to act as an honor guard, and following Anna Mae’s funeral  at her parents’ Carlton home, internment was in Forest Hill Cemetery. The esteem in which Anna Mae was held was evident in the number of those whose friendship she made at Oshkosh Normal School. The women came from around Wisconsin. Her high school classmates told of her high qualities, strong character and the happy disposition that was most endearing. A week after Anna Mae’s funeral, the paper said the greater part of the pupils in the school district in Carlton attended the funeral, contributing flowers as an outpouring of sympathy.

During the following August, the Enterprise ran a list of Kewaunee County servicemen who gave their lives. Some were killed on the battlefield while others died of the pandemic either abroad or in camp. The very bottom of the article says, “and Anna Mae Kocmich, Army Nurse.” County Clerk Joseph G. Lazansky said in each case a 10-karat star Honor Medal would be awarded to the next of kin.

Anna Mae was survived by her brothers who apparently named their daughters after their sister. The name Anna Mae Kocmich shows up in Kewaunee County for many years following her death.

*Cadigan, as Anna Mae, attended Door-Kewaunee County Training School in Algoma. The school became Door-Kewaunee County Teachers’ College which closed in 1970. The City of Algoma purchased the buildings which now served as Algoma Public Library and the municipal offices.

**Wodsedalek volunteered to nurse Influenza patients and continued nursing after the war.

Sources: Algoma Record Herald; Kewaunee Enterprise; An Honor Roll: Containing a Pictorial  Record of the Gallant and Courageous. Photos: Find a Grave, nurse poster is online.

Everything Old is New Again: Grocery Delivery

The words in Peter Allen’s song title Everything Old is New Again tells it like it is. In his Colorado Kid, author Stephen King used the same line when he wrote, ”Sooner or later, everything old is new again.” The song and the book have nothing to do with each other, except that Allen and King are right. Over time, much comes full circle, prompting some to shrug and say the wheel continues to be reinvented. Again. And again.

It’s even true with something as innocuous grocery delivery, which is coming back into vogue. Here and there in recent years, big city grocery stores offered grocery delivery, however it was COVID 19 that brought those stores to light. The idea spread. Arranging for someone else to do the shopping is easy for those online. One simply submits a grocery list, credit card information for payment, adds delivery instructions, and then selects a date and time for delivery. Voila! The groceries show up. Or, one can find products on Amazon, and have them delivered by mail.

Algoma grocery deliveries can be documented to just after 1900 when merchant Rudolph Pauly ran the meat market on the southeast corner of 4^th and Clark. It was before World War l when Pauly made big news ordering a tricycle. A tricycle? Pauly didn’t have a toy section in his market, and although it might be hard to believe, the tricycle was for business purposes. During May 1902, Algoma’s bicycle dealer, Julius Meyer, ordered a trike for Pauly who planned to use it for meat deliveries. The tricycle was said to be strong, but simple, having a box between the rear wheels. It was said the bicycle could be powered by a small boy even though the box was built to hold at least 150 pounds. The machine ran as light as a bicycle, prompting the Record to say if the machine proved as satisfactory as Pauly thought, more of the businessmen might use them. Businessmen did. One hundred years later such tricycles are used by the ice cream vendors in cities.

RFD mail carrier leaving Ellisville about 1910

At the end of November 1904, Kewaunee County was fully served by Rural Free Delivery, RFD. It meant mail was delivered to rural areas finally offering country folk access to what their city cousins enjoyed. RFD brought catalogues such as Sears-Roebuck, Speigle, and Montgomery Ward, whetting appetites beyond what was satisfied by area merchants. Whatever folks wanted to order -  whether a bride’s trousseau or baby chicks - the mail carrier made sure it was delivered.

By 1908, Congress was in the midst of establishing rural parcel post offering special postage rates for food stuffs, dry goods, drugs, books and other merchandise. Postage began at 5 cents for the first pound and 2 cents for each additional pound.

On the cusp of U.S. entry into World War l, Milwaukee Daily News, in February 1917, ran an article about grocery delivery and the costs the American housewife failed to appreciate when she called to have a 5-cent cake of year delivered. The News pointed out the costs in maintaining delivery horses or the motor trucks, and the costs of paying deliverymen. The paper estimated that the cost of delivery was 8% of the price of the item, which meant that a grocer who didn’t deliver could sell the same goods for 8% lower than the grocer who had equipment to maintain.

Milwaukee Daily News went on to say that delivery was high class service that resulted in higher living costs. A woman who picked out her own groceries got better quality and saved money by paying cash. The paper advocated “cash and carry” to help eliminate some of the high costs of living. By 1923 Wisconsin Department of Markets was investigating cash and carry versus delivery stores.

Bach Mercantile, on the northwest corner of 4^th and Steele, advertised itself as a cash and carry store in the late 1930s. A few years earlier, Bach touted delivery and charging groceries to one’s account. In 1949, the new Fotey store on the northwest corner of Division and Jefferson offered cash and carry prices, and as late as 1956, Algoma’s Gamble Store was advertising Philco radios at the cash and carry price of $14.00. Gamble’s carried groceries earlier.

In a move to meet competition from chain stores, merchants in some areas organized to place their businesses on a strictly cash basis.  Stores had carried customers “on account.” Periodically, the charged accounts were settled. The Depression, however, put a huge burden on the shoulders of merchants often unable to collect on the accounts for those they generously floated. Deliveries kept on.

1933 Record Herald ad

In 1934 newspaper ads, P.J. Dart, manager of Algoma’s branch of Wisconsin Telephone Co. pointed toward emergencies a reason for telephone service, but added food for thought: it would lighten the housewife’s role if she just had a phone for ordering her groceries. As access to telephones grew in Algoma, grocery stores offered delivery service.

By World War ll, just about every store in town had a delivery vehicle. It was a time when gas was rationed and women were joining the paid workforce, taking the places of men who were drafted. These women worked for hire while juggling  families, meals. gardens and all the things it took to run a 1940s household when there were few labor-saving devices.

Barely a month following U.s entry to World War ll, grocery delivery became a “defense need.” Foretold was how local housewives could call a store at any time during the day and expect groceries within a few hours. Recognizing the need for conservation of resources, all 10 of Algoma’s grocers and meat markets met to organize. Cooperating in the delivery effort were Ahrndt Food Market, Algoma Farmer’s Co-op, Cashway, Earl’s I.G.A., Horak’s, Katch’s, Kashik’s, Nell’s Schaida’s and Sedivy’s. It was decided two deliveries would be made each morning. Within time, the schedule was reduced. There were inconveniences but such things were contributions to the war effort. 

There was no online capability in 1942 when grocery orders were phoned in to the store. A clerk put the order together, noted the total on the purchaser’s account, and the delivery boy got the groceries out as quickly as he could. Grocery delivery made a difference.

Katch's 1953, Record Herald photo

Katch’s delivered around town even into the 1960s when this blogger was a teen-ager with a part-time weekend checkout job. Hoogie and Jerry were the popular “delivery boys” who took the van out to deliver as little as a pound of butter or a bottle of vanilla. Although there was no charge for the delivery, on a good day the boys might luck out with a 10 cent tip!  By then, delivery in Algoma had been taking place for at least 60 years.

Deliveries didn’t stop with the grocery stores. During World War ll and for at least 15 years later, Mrs. Silver, a Green Bay fashion saleswoman, stopped at farms across the county with samples of the latest in dresses and hats. Women could try on the merchandise and order in a size to fit them. Garments would be delivered and paid for on a subsequent visit. When in October 1936, Algoma Hospital let it be known that it needed a sewing machine, it was Mrs. Silver who donated one. In the mid-1950s when so many residents were getting tv sets, the Red Buttons’ show was a favorite among Silver’s customers. Her son Joe was associated with the program and New York tv. Heady stuff in a small town.

Record Herald ad, 1938

There were other product deliveries. Watkins’ merchandise was in demand and Kewaunee’s Mr. Sevcik had a route as did the Fuller Brush man who brought cleaning items. A little later, the Avon lady made appearances and brought beauty products to the privacy of one’s home. Mauer’s Grocery encouraged residents to phone in their beer requests. Such deliveries also offered a little privacy for those whose habits were judged by others

A computer crash, or hack, means no ordering today, sending the blood pressure up for those who never thought of Plan B. It happened with telephones too but nobody became “unglued.” There were strikes after World War ll, one of which was a nation-wide walk out by telephone workers in April 1947. Grocery delivery was still on the Wednesday-and-Saturday-only wartime basis, but Algoma area women knew exactly what to do. As the Record Herald pointed out, area women learned long ago how to shop and when the phones were down, there was no sudden congestion in stores or at meat counters. Algoma women were prepared.

Everything old is new again, including groceries deliveries.

Sources: Algoma Record Herald. The painting is from NLJohnson Art. Other graphics are from Algoma Record Herald.

Cream Separators: Not for Family Farms Anymore

Wisconsin State Fair means cream puffs, and COVID 19 quarantining means more than a few are becoming pros at making their own delights. When  you need cream for your own cream puffs, you jot “cream” on your grocery list and pick it up when you get groceries. If you need it immediately, you might make a special trip to the market or have it delivered. If you were making cream puffs for Mother’s Day in 1920, for instance, you’d be out of luck unless you just milked the cows and had a cream separator. 

What’s a cream separator? It’s a machine for separating and removing cream from whole milk. Butterfat particles are held in suspension in milk and when milk is allowed to sit, the heavier particles sink to the bottom of the container while the lighter butterfat particles rise to the top. One of the earliest methods of removing cream was pouring milk into shallow pans and allowing it to sit for at least a day and a half. The cream rose to the top and was “skimmed” off. While the method worked for small amounts of milk, it was not efficient. And, as today, improperly stored milk sours.

As farms grew and farmers moved from a cow or two to 10, or even 12, milk needed to be dealt with quickly. Often, it was put in tall cans that were set in troughs of cold water, or perhaps in an artesian well. Gravity took its toll and the heavy particles sank while the lighter butterfat rose to the top. Cream was taken off the top of the can. Some cans had bottom drains thus enabling skimmed milk to be drained off, leaving the cream in the can. By the late 1890s, Sears & Roebuck catalog sold such cans for 55 cents. In addition to the drains, some of those cans had a small glass window allowing the farmer’s wife to check on the process. By the late 1890s, Sears & Roebuck catalog sold such cans for 55 cents. In addition to the drains, some of those cans had a small glass window allowing the farmer’s wife to check on the process.

Montgomery Ward & Co. catalog was also selling such items, and at the start of Kewaunee County’s new Rural Free Delivery (RFD) on November 30, 1904, the mailmen were delivering cream separators to county residents. Even before R.F.D., Davis Separators were making inroads. The company in 1895 said that purchased separators would be sent free from Chicago. Davis said separators met a farmer’s needs if he had one cow or as many as 1,000. Boastful advertising it was. Who ever heard of a 1900 dairy farmer having 1,000 cows?

Sometime during the mid-1800s, a German fellow developed a system applying centrifugal force to separate the cream, however history tells us that the ancient Chinese had developed it years before. Another German introduced his separating machine at an 1874 dairy exposition. He separated an astounding 200# of milk in about 30 minutes, but history also tells us that it took another 30 or so minutes for his separation drum to stop its rotation, during which time the skimmed milk was drained off. The German, Wilhelm Lefeldt, applied for a patent and got it in 1877. Then came the Swedish Carl Gustav de Laval who improved the design and whose name is nearly synonymous with dairy equipment.

Although cream separators meant farmers could make some money if they had more cows, there was one more problem: butterfat content. In 1890, University of Wisconsin Dr. Stephen Babcock developed a test measuring, accurately, the amount of butterfat in milk. 

Babcock lives on. Babcock Hall on the campus of UW-Madison is a great place to go for ice cream. There is never a dull day with plain old chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry, On the right day, one can bask in such flavors as Barry Alvarez and On Wisconsin while enjoying history with the ice cream in the “grand old Badger state….....”

Babcock’s tests were important in the testing of milk that might have skimmed or watered down before being sold. There were those who tried to beat the system 100 years ago too. Farmers were making  a little money but there was still the cream that housewives needed for cooking and baking.

Ahnapee Record, and later the Algoma newspapers, carried ads for cream separators. When in 1895 Laval advertised theirs, the company said such a purchase would pay for itself in less than a year. Ten years later, Montgomery Ward & Co. sold Hawthorn separators from 36 to 51 dollars.  Price difference reflected in the amount of milk processed per hour.

Although the separators were touted as money makers, the Farm Sentinel* seemed to feel farmers were dragging their feet in such purchasing. The publication mentioned the “lord of the household” saying he’d never put $75 or 100 into a separator. Then the Sentinel brought up self-binders that cost at least $125 and were used only 3-4 days a year while a separator would be used all 365 days. Farm Sentinel encouraged being progressive and said farmers needed new methods.

By 1906, Wisconsin Dairy Farms Co. was telling farmers to save all their cream. The company said cream meant cash, and said their product was easy to use because all working parts were enclosed. Separators became so lucrative that small town Algoma had its own agent, D.H. Beckwith, a fellow who also procured cream for the Sturgeon Bay creamery.

Their separator, they said, got more cream than any other separator and thus was a big money maker.

Debates continued and as late as 1916, farm publications were still touting the money making-money saving cream separators that would save $5-10 a cow per year while decreasing labor in a herd numbering 5 or 6 cows. Best of all, proper care meant a separator would last at least 10 years.

Algoma housewives were targeted in Algoma Produce ads when the company touted its easy clean bowls with pictures of the little woman easily taking care of work once called a “woman killer.” Advertising was directed toward the farmer because men controlled the purse, however women were depicted in the ads because it was generally women who did the milking.**

When the new cheese factory was built at Alaska in 1925, the Record Herald carried an article describing the modern, new plant. A cream separator had a place in the 42 x 33’ cheese making room which also held three vats, two large double presses and churn.

The bulk of cream separating ads appeared regularly for about 25 years as technology continued to evolve. By the 1940s, there were still ads mentioning separators, but some of the ads were for auction sales.

As the county and the country moved away from small family dairy farms and the cheese factories that once dotted the landscape, mega dairy farms appeared. Today's U.S. cheese factories are owned by fewer than a dozen corporate entities. Modern technology enables greater butterfat control via high speed centrifuges. As for DeLaval, it has been well over 100 years since Carl Gustave de Laval introduced his separator. The company remains as a leader.

You can duplicate those State Fair cream puffs. It isn't as hard as you might think. You've got the flour, butter and eggs. All it takes is cream. Forget the cream separator: the cream is in a carton in the diary case at your favorite grocery store. You can make a batch of cream puffs faster than grandma could separate the cream!

*Farmers’ Sentinel was a small Milwaukee-based newspaper geared toward the farming community. During 1906, the paper was offering a trial 6-month subscription for 25 cents (for the total period).

**Most of Kewaunee County’s immigrant cultures saw milking cows as a woman’s job, one that was beneath the dignity of a man.

Sources: Ahnapee Record, Algoma Record, Algma Herald, Algoma Record Herald, Here Comes the Mail: Post Offices of Kewaunee County, Kewaunee County Century Farms.

Kewaunee County & Dandelions: Salads, Hot Bacon Dressing, Wine & More

Homeowners and landscape services alike are busy eradicating what the southern cousins call “little yellow flowers.” It isn’t the yellow flowering dandelions that are so bad, it’s when they go to seed. The whitish puffs make lawns look unkept and unruly, which means extra mowing. And when the seeds blow hither and yon, the process repeats itself.

Dandelions are pesky, right? Well, our grandparents and great-grandparents didn’t think so. As the snow melted to show signs of dandelions, Grandma began to salivate. Things are far different today and with all the chemical sprays, eating dandelions would be foolhardy.

Before - and for a long time after - 1900, there was no central heating as we know today. Cast iron wood stoves kept homes heated in winter. In an effort to insulate and keep floors warmer, our ancestors banked hay along the home’s foundation and then held the hay in place with boards. At winter’s end, the most tender dandelion shoots began  poking out from beneath the boards. Rather than deep green, the leaves were pale, often bordering on white. Grandma’s family eagerly awaited the delicious spring salads, wilted with scrumptious hot bacon dressing.

Kewaunee County seniors remember the old Machuts’, which became Gib’s on the Lake south of Kewaunee, Happy’s, which became The Cork in Kewaunee, the Stebbins’ Hotel, Alaska Golf Course dining room and Northbrook as a few of the restaurants serving the popular home-made hot bacon dressing. Although the ingredients were about the same, that dressing was different than Great-grandma’s. Her bacon came from a real pig, a fat porker – an old-fashioned pig. Today’s pigs are bred to be taller, slimmer, and leaner, without the high fat content of 100 years ago. Today’s pork is far healthier than pigs Great-grandpa raised, but Grandpa always remembered eating pork when “pork was pork.”

Tender dandelion greens were saved for salad, while the less tender were used for healthful spring teas. Even the roots were roasted and used for body-cleansing teas. Roasted root teas were “coffeeish” in color and sometimes used as coffee substitutes.

Then there was Great-grandpa’s dandelion wine. It took about a gallon of big, beautiful dandelion flowers to make about a gallon of wine, which had little alcohol in it. The sweet wine was much like today’s white wines and quite popular with women, many of whom thought the wine had its own properties as a tonic.

It wasn’t only dandelions that brought a gleam to our ancestors’ eyes. So did wild caraway later in the summer. Caraway was a basis for kimmel/kummel, something kids were not allowed to taste even though it looked like fun. We knew kimmel made Grandpa and the uncles move around like they were playing too much Ring-Around-the Rosie, a children’s game that actually  was a reference to the black plague.

Dandelion wine must have been in short supply when Algoma Record editor Elliott wrote in October 1907  that his paper could not survive on “wind, pudding and dandelion wine.” At issue was advertising that had seemingly dropped off. Elliott felt that a city of about 2,500 should not have to look elsewhere to fill its ad space. A few years later Algoma Record Herald suggested dandelion wine and kimmel as Christmas gifts, and in December 1957, Algoma Public Library was touting Ray Bradbury’s new book, Dandelion Wine, a novel set in the summer of 1928 and based on Bradbury’s youth in Waukegan, Illinois

Kewaunee County Agent Maurice Hoveland had a little fun in June 1954 when he wrote a Letter to the Editor to Harry Heidmann of Algoma Record Herald. Hoveland wrote following Heidmann’s editorial concerning dandelions, which, Hoveland felt, Heidmann failed to appreciate. Hoveland said the little yellow flowers were spring’s first. He said dandelions’ color beautifies the lawn while delaying the grass, thus putting off mowing for a few weeks. He went on to say that children had such fun pulling out matured dandelion heads and blowing seeds to the winds, thus ensuring more dandelions in years to come. Hoveland said he felt Heidmann never experienced the mellow flavor of dandelion wine and that he should remember such points in 1954 when he began to blame dandelions for coming on to the lawns.

A few years later, the Record Herald’s humorist harkened back to the days when those little yellow flowers were not looked at as pesky, but rather the most important ingredient in a keg of dandelion wine. By 1959, it was only the elders who longed for the first greens of the season dressed with real hot bacon dressing that came from pigs that were real pigs!

Homeowners and lawn services continue to get rid of those pesky little yellow flowers just in time for Mother’s Day, a day when so many moms remember the joy in the faces of the little ones giving her a dandelion bouquet, smiling and happily saying, “Happy Mother’s Day.”

Sources: Algoma Record, Algoma Record Herald.