Sauk County Stories through the Years

As published in the Reedsburg Times

Reedsburg Independent

Baraboo News Republic

Written by Bill Schuette

For the

Sauk County Historical Society

2014 –2024

INTRODUCTION

A man named, Marcus Garvey once said, “A people without the knowledge of their past history, origin and culture is like a tree without roots.”

This compilation of historic articles from Sauk County’s past is my endeavor to grow, enlarge and disseminate the historic roots of the county in which we live.

Included in this publication, are Sauk County Historical Society historic articles which have appeared in the following newspapers: Baraboo News Republic, Reedsburg Times Press (RTP), and the Reedsburg Independent, written by William C. Schuette.

The articles have appeared monthly beginning regularly in 2014 in the Reedsburg Times and Baraboo News Republic. Also, in the Reedsburg Independent beginning in 2018. All articles have the month, year and the paper in which they were included, listed at the end of each article.

Pioneer Log Cabin, once located in Natural Bridge State Park. No longer standing.

Table of Contents

Article Title

Baraboo Pioneered Baseball in 1866 5, 6, 7

Ethel Nott, Reedsburg’s Swamp Angel 8

Won’t You Be My Valentine 9, 10

Sauk County Had Its Moon Shiners 11, 12

Sugar Camp 13, 14

Mission of Gratitude, Sgt. Harry Sansum 15,16, 17

Sauk County’s Free Shows 18, 19

A Glorious Fourth of July 20, 21

Our Telephone Heritage 22, 23, 24

The Ghoul of Parfrey’s Gorge 25, 26

A Hair Wreath of Memories 27

A Country School Christmas 28, 29

An Incident at Reedsburg 30, 31

Traveling Medicine Shows of Yesteryear 32, 33

Ready, Aim, Fire 34, 35

Horses Verses Autos 35, 36

Reedsburg’s Lost Founder Part 1 37, 38

Reedsburg’s Lost Founder Part 2 39, 40

Sauk County’s Early Past, Revealed 41, 42

Glidden Auto Tour of 1909 Part 1 43, 44

Glidden Auto Tour of 1909 Part 2 45, 46

Bogus Camp is for Real 47

Covered Bridges of Sauk County 48, 49

Christmas Days of Long Ago 50, 51

Baraboo’s Whiskey War 51, 52

Historic Edison Movie Projector Restored 52, 53

Those Were The Days 54

Television Comes to Baraboo 55, 56

Reedsburg Youth is Drummer Boy Part 1 57

Reedsburg Youth is Drummer Boy Part 2 58, 59

Reedsburg Brick Factory is Rediscovered 60

Copper Discovered at Reedsburg 61

Big Creek Memories of Early Years 62

One Haunted Eve in Loganville 63

For Whom The Bell Tolls 64

A Feather Tree For Christmas 65

Garvin Kowalke-Aviation Hero Part 1 66, 67

Garvin Kowalke-Aviation Hero Part 2 68, 69

Does the SCHS Own A Stratovarius? 70

Armchair Adventures of the Past 71

News of Lincoln’s Assassination 72

LaValle’s Own Drummer Boy Part 1 73, 74

LaValle’s Own Drummer Boy Part 2 75, 76

The Old Baraboo Racetrack 77

Maple Ridge Site Yields Ancient Artifacts 78, 79

Blue Wing’s Wedding 80

Doorbells & Intercoms

Reedsburg, The Early Years

Article Title

Table of Contents

Baraboo Man finds Treatment for Diabetes 141

Loganville’s Mechanical Genius 142, 143

February 1922 Ice Storm 144

Joy Caused Sorrow 145

Ho-Chunk Cradle Board 146

Ironton Iron Mine 147, 148, 149

Electric Cannon in Civil War 150, 151

Community Water Fights 152

Bee Hunting, A Sweet Journey 153

Airmail Service Arrives in Sauk County 154

Basket Socials 155

All That Glitters, Part 1 156

All That Glitters, Part 2 157, 158

Canfield’s Tree House 159, 160

Civil War Work of Wisconsin Women 161, 162

Cigar Making in Sauk Co. was Smoakin’ 163, 164

Nature’s Marbles 165

Baraboo’s Native American Heritage 166

A Journey into the Past 167

A Look at Early Glenville 168

Baraboo in the 1850s 169

Sauk County’s Napoleonic Connection 170, 171

Old Time Winter in Baraboo 172

Highwire Act Thrills Baraboo Spectators 173

Good Times in the Good Old Days 174, 175

Pioneer Days in Baraboo 176

Phony as a $3 Bill 177

Plenke’s Pond 178

Penny-Farthing Bicycle 179

Dial Me Up 180

S.C.’s Revolutionary War Veteran 181, 182

Old Reedsburg Fairground 183, 184

Steamboats On Devils Lake 185

Wing Walkers 186, 187

The Ice Man Cometh 188

The Last Covered Bridge in Sauk County 189, 190

Fire Grenades 191

Secrets of the Cistern 192, 193

Great Excelsior Show 194

Journeys in Music Land 195

Fake News

196

Pagoda-Style Service Stations 197

Baraboo Pioneered Baseball in 1866

“Play ball!” Those words may have first echoed across the Baraboo hills in the summer of 1866. According to archival records, the newly organized Baraboo Base Ball Club played its first games around that time.

Before 1857, the game of baseball had been exclusively played in the New York area. However, after the Civil War ended in 1865, the game had spread to the Midwest and the newly-defeated South, and into most of America’s largest cities. Troops returning from the war brought the game with them, having learned it from their comrades at arms to the East.

An article in the Baraboo Daily News dated June 25, 1925, tells the story of Baraboo’s first baseball team. The author of that piece had interviewed several of the early players.

A man named George Dodd organized this first team, having learned the game while living out east, and is credited with being the father of Baraboo’s first Base Ball team.

“The foremost idea with George,” noted the article “was to win the game. His playing was not particularly intended for the benefit of the grandstand, and the applause apparently meant nothing to him.” His primary satisfaction was to have the boys “get it right.”

The layout of the field was very similar to those of today, however a few changes to the game have taken place over the past century and a half, as noted in the article.

“The first change that was made allowed [the pitcher] to throw the ball, provided his hand did not pass above the knee, and this was known as underhand throwing.” Later he would be allowed the height of the hip, then the shoulder and finally to throw as he saw fit.

Early balls were made mostly of rubber which accounted for longer fly balls and more home-runs. Games would last many hours because scoring runs could escalate to 40 or 50. So in order to alleviate the problem, they eliminated most or all of the rubber.

That, however, left the outfielders with little to do, as the ball seldom made it that far. A compromise was reached where a little rubber was placed at the center of the ball, solving the problem.

There were no factory-made bats in those early days. The article goes on to say: “The bats were all home made, and were mostly turned out at the upper Baraboo mills….. Usually each individual had his own favorite bat, made according to his own specifications, and they all varied considerably in length, diameter, heft and material.”

Uniforms were scarce in the early days of baseball; however, the Baraboo team was fortunate and sported jerseys which were a patriotic red, white and blue.

Those early games were played on a diamond located west of the courthouse, about where the library stands today. Another field was located on the east end of town, between Mound and 2nd Streets, near Elizabeth. “No timber grew on it, but it was covered with a luxuriant growth of June grass which was always cropped short by the large heard of town cows, which at the time enjoyed free range,” noted the article.

Hot disputes, then, as today, often times interrupted the games. “These disputes usually waxed hot and eloquent, and sometimes even looked serious,” noted the writer. There were no umpires then to cool tempers, so it was usually up to the two captains and their teams to settle any disputes. “Even the spectators were at liberty to ‘butt in,’ and all this only added to the uproar and confusion.” After the “storm had spent its fury,” everyone returned to the field and the game resumed as though nothing had happened.

By 1876, teams from surrounding towns, such as Portage, Lodi, and Mauston, were playing in regional tournaments. Players had to get up early and travel the unimproved roads of the day. They would arrive on horseback, in buggies, and some even on the newly emerging railroad system.

Baraboo may have had one of the first integrated teams in the community. During one of the playoff games, it was noted that, “Mr. Noyes pitched both games very effectively and the catching was done by a colored Pullman porter named Johnson, who was surely an artist behind the bat.” Catchers, in those days, had little or no protection, so to keep from being hit they had to depend entirely on their agility to dodge the speeding ball.

At the completion of a game, it was customary to have both teams line up facing each other. When they were ready, the captain of the home team would step out and shout, “Three cheers for the visiting nine!” The opposing team would respond in like fashion. After many of the games, a dance was hosted by the home team.

While researching this article, it was discovered

that a baseball, jersey, cap, and possibly a bat, from this early 1866 team still exists, having been donated to the National Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, N.Y. in 1939. According to their archival records, these are the oldest items in their collection of this kind known to have survived from those early days of baseball.

“The uniforms are extremely fragile,” noted Peter Clark, registrar of the Hall. “The oldest uniform in the collection belonged to a member of the Baraboo Base Ball Club of Baraboo, Wis., and has held together since 1866.”

The game of baseball has gone on to become one of America’s favorite pastimes, and Baraboo can be proud of the fact that it was part of that adventure.

December 2013 Baraboo News Republic

This 1866 Baraboo Baseball jersey, cap, bat and ball the oldest such equipment still known to exist are located in Cooperstown, N.Y., at the National Baseball Hall of Fame.

Another Baraboo Baseball Team. Date and names are unknown.

Baraboo base ball team, 1874. L-R: M.E. Spring, Rube Baldwin, Sam Briscoe, Ira Harris, Grant Lippitt, Will Dodd. (Sauk County Historical Society photo)

Ethel Nott, Reedsburg's "SwampAngel"

When the new Reedsburg Library opened in 1998, many visitors were intrigued by the chalk drawings on display around the periphery of its interior.

These 4' 4" long by 8" wide renditions of scenes in nature were originally commissioned to hang above the fireplace in the old Carnegie Library across the street. Executed by Ethel Nott during the first half of the 20th century, they depict the changing seasons and were designed to be rotated during the year.

The collection consists of approximately 24 pastel drawings which have retained their muted colors through the past half century.

Ethel Allis Nott was born on a farm in Columbia County on June 19, 1890, and spent her childhood in Lodi. She was a student of commercial illustration at the Chicago Academy of Art and taught perspective and free hand drawing in Battle Creek, Michigan. She later took a course in photographic retouching in Chicago and worked in that trade in Illinois, Iowa, Michigan and finally in Reedsburg at the Gregory Photography Studios.

Miss Nott was also keenly interested in the beauty of nature and its feathered inhabitants that surrounded her. She served for many years as a voluntary observer for bird migration for the U.S. Bureau of Biological Survey, now known as the Fish & Wildlife Service. She was elected associate member of the American Ornithological Union and a member of the Wisconsin Society of Ornithology.

Ethel is remembered as a diminutive lady a spinster who lived with her old maid sister. She was a common, ordinary person who dressed several decades behind the styles of her day. Sporting a large flower-covered hat, she could often be seen around the city, sometimes carrying a pink frilly parasol, pursuing her passion with easel, chalk or watercolors.

"My father always called [Ethel] the 'Swamp Angel'," recalled Margaret Schierholtz in an interview

several years ago. "She would be down in South Park [near the river] painting birds and studying nature."

Gertrude Harper also recalled seeing the sisters walking the streets of Reedsburg in their long skirts. "They did their own sewing. I remember her sister [Jessie] had a little round hole in her front tooth. I think it came from all the sewing she did when she bit off the thread. I remember that used to fascinate me."

"Ethel was a nice appearing lady," recalled Hazel Struebing a neighbor of hers on Pine Street, "[She was] very neat and always wore a hat while walking wherever it was necessary to go." Hazel also remembered that Miss Nott wore her hair in large puffs over her ears, as was the style during the early part of the 20th century.

When Reedsburg celebrated the 75th anniversary of its founding in 1923, Miss Nott was asked to paint the scenery for pageants put on by the citizens and churches of the city. Rev. T.S. Beavins, pastor of the Methodist Church, wrote and conducted the programs. There was a different pageant each night for a week. "It was difficult for Ethel to get the [stage settings] finished in time," recalled Mrs. Struebing, "but she did."

Many of Ethel's pastels were done during the WPA years and were also for sale in the area during the 1920s. Emilia Huebing recalled that during the depression, Ethel also re-bound old books.

Ethel Nott was dedicated to her church, the First United Methodist, and taught Sunday school there for 27 years. She would often reward her students' accomplishments with small drawings she had created for the occasion. A large watercolor painting done by her, entitled "Brown Thrasher," hangs in the parlor of the church.

Mrs. Struebing lamented that it was too bad that Ethel "didn't live to see how much enjoyment her artistic ability brought to the community."

January 2014 RTP

Won’t You Be My Valentine

Every February 14th the thoughts of couples turn to the centuries old custom of sending a valentine to the one they love.

The legend of St. Valentine, a priest in Rome, dates back to the 4th century. Valentine was imprisoned for performing clandestine weddings for Roman soldiers who were forbidden to marry because the emperor thought single men made better soldiers.

While in prison, Valentine befriended his jailer, who had a blind daughter, Julia. Valentine is reported to have performed a miracle and healed Julia. Her forty-four member household was later baptized and became Christians.

In order to remind the soldiers, and other persecuted Christians of God’s love, Valentine made small parchment hearts for them to carry, the possible origin of the custom of giving heart-shaped cards on Valentine’s Day.

The night before Valentine was scheduled to be executed; he wrote a farewell letter to Julia, signing it “From Your Valentine”, perhaps associating this saint forever with love.

The first commercial valentines appeared around 1800 in England, and were not very ornate. A halfcentury later, they were transformed into works of art with the use of satin, ribbons and lace. Included were delicate verses along with pictures of turtledoves, bows and arrows, cupids and bleeding hearts.

During the Gay Nineties, valentine cards took on a more garish look, being festooned with spun glass, mother-of-pearl, imitation jewels and silk fringes.

A Mount Holyoke college student, Miss Esther Howland, created the first truly American valentines. Until that time most cards were imported from England. Around 1830 she used imported lace and fine papers to create her cards, eventually employing several assistants. Her entrepreneurship brought in a hundred thousand dollars annually over 1.5 million in today’s dollars!

Elderene (Halvensleben) Hasz taught at Hay Creek School from 1952-55. She recalled the Valentine's Day celebrations in a rural school.

"We would take a big box and decorate it with white paper and lots of Valentines. It had a slot in the top and everyone would put his or her Valentines in the box. On Valentine's Day it would be opened and they'd be passed out. I think back then, everybody gave a Valentine just to their favorite friends, possibly because people didn't have a lot of money. But everybody would get a Valentine, no one was left out."

The choosing of a mate has been a popular theme for romance novels, movies and television programs.

Sauk County too has had its share of star-crossed lovers throughout its history.

Reedsburg was just a small village situated on the muddy banks of the Baraboo River in 1848. Not all of the early settlers were lucky enough to have mates. One particularly unfortunate lass counted herself among this group of lonely hearts. Her story is recounted in “The American Sketchbook A history of Reedsburg, Wisconsin, 1875.”

She was an “old maid”, and as the story begins, we learn that she was not blessed with abundant beauty, and was therefore overlooked by the eligible gentlemen of the day. So she decided to resort to a devious strategy in hopes of snagging a suitable beau.

A dance was being held in Reedsburg and almost everyone from the community would be in attendance. However, our unfortunate maid had no invitation, but she devised a plan that might snag her a date for the evening. A young man by the name of Sprague was one of her boarders, but his intentions were to accompany another young lady to the evening’s festivities. “Upon the night in question,” notes the author, “he

went to the stable to harness a horse, and when he brought the animal to the place where the sleigh was, he found the seat occupied by this same old maid!”

He was at a loss and couldn’t decide what to do. “He was too much of a gentleman to order her out and did not want to take her with him. There seemed to be no help for the latter course, and he was obliged to submit.” It was not a happy evening for him, and to add insult to injury, he did not dance a single dance with her.

Inadequate postnatal care frequently resulted in the death of pioneer mothers shortly after childbirth, and that is apparently what happened to one family living on the prairie near Reedsburg around 1848.

Marriages were oftentimes a matter of convenience in those days, and one unfortunate settler had recently lost his wife in childbirth.

“The old chap was possessor of about a dozen children,” the author noted, “the younger being a babe two or three months old. There was trouble at the shanty. Somebody must take care of the children; and who besides a wife would do such a task? Emergencies however demanded immediate action…”

His search began in the surrounding countryside.

He was looking for a good woman who could “enjoy with him the comforts of his shanty, and the possession of a dozen youngsters.”

He stopped at each neighboring house with the question, “Is there any wimming here as wants to git married?” The response from within was not always comforting, for in one or two places he was answered by the sudden appearance of a broomstick.

Soon he had exhausted all the homesteads on the prairie and headed for Reedsburg. There, someone remembered the old maid and suggested he seek her out. As the narrator of our story continues, “He did not have to journey further. A match was immediately made, the marriage taking place scarcely a week later.

The farmer brought his blushing bride home with him and…..on the bed was a row of babies. A further observation was noted that, “the old maid is said to have made a first-rate wife and mother; her devotion to the children was great, and when people spoke if it, her reply was, ‘I can’t help but love the little darlings for I love their dear father so much.”

To paraphrase an old saying, “Beauty is in the heart of the beholder.”

February 2014 RTP

Sauk County Had Its Moonshiners

The National Prohibition Act, also known as the Volstead Act, was passed by Congress in 1919, to carry out the intent of the eighteenth amendment, thereby establishing the prohibition of the sale of liquor in the United States. It forbade the manufacture, sale and transportation of intoxicating liquors. But that did not stop enterprising bootleggers from making the stuff anyway, nor did it prevent taverns from selling it undercover.

Victor Rehr shared his recollection of those days, in a 1995 interview: "This is the area [Sauk County] most rich in the history of prohibition of anywhere around because it was one of the biggest suppliers of Chicago. There were two large operations which I was told by my dad who has been gone since 1935 of Al Capone's operation, which had a two-thousandgallon capacity per day. They rated a still by how much they could evaporate in 24 hours.” Rehr recalled that one of the operations was located on a farm south of the Reedsburg golf course on Hwy 33. Since the moonshiners needed to have a front to prevent detection these men told people they were running a dog farm and raising police dogs. Ray said that one night about 50 of the dogs got out and raided his father’s pig farm, killing all the hogs. He reported the incident to the sheriff and told him who he suspected. The sheriff told him “You can’t go over there or there’s going to be shooting. So, you have to figure out just how much they were worth. Tell them what you told me, that it had to be their dogs.” The sheriff told him where to drive in and not to try to pull anything on them and that he thought he’d get his money.

Victor continued. “So, my dad drove down in there with his old open touring car and he got down in there back across the 40 where the road turned to the south, and there sat a man with a heavy old mackinaw coat and a deer rifle across his lap. He was sitting on a nail keg. [The man] stopped him, and wanted to know what he wanted. My dad explained it to him. [The man asked] ‘Well are you sure it was our dogs?’ It was quite obvious they were. ‘Well how much were the pigs worth?’

This undated photo of a still was displayed in the law library at the Sauk County Courthouse. It may ultimately have been donated to the WWII scrap metal drive, as attempts to locate it have failed.

The man said very little, but he got out a big roll of currency from his shirt pocket. He wet his thumb and counted it off just what they were worth. Then he stopped, ‘is that right?’ he asked. I think my dad said that he gave him three extra twenty dollar bills. Then he took his rifle and motioned he should turn around and get the heck out of there.”

Rehr said that the liquor was shipped to Chicago in ten-gallon milk cans. There was a false bottom in the cans which held nine gallons of hooch and a gallon of milk on top.

The operation was terminated a year later when they were raided.

Moonshiners had some cute tricks too, said Rehr. “One guy worked the Sauk County Fair and that was about the only time he made a haul. He’d hang around the barns and he had a bottle of the stuff. He would get somebody off by himself people like that could smell each other out, I guess anyway they’d say, ‘I'd like a drink of cold tea.’ He'd give them a sample drink of his booze. ‘Can I get some of it from you?’ ‘Yeah, you come back and leave your dollar under a brick in the straw, and there’ll be quart of it there. But don't dig in there if there's anybody around. Also, don’t drink it until you get home.’ This guy sold a lot of it. Imagine the surprise of the buyer, when, on the way home he’d hoist the bottle for a swig, and what he tasted was really cold tea!”

“There was a church up in Westfield where Highways W and D divide there’s a little cemetery there yet. They had church in the afternoon and the minister would stop at our place on the way back. At least once a month or so we’d have a late afternoon lunch. In the beginning of the dust bowl days, it was extremely hot; nobody had refrigeration or packed any ice. But we were fortunate; we had a basement 14 feet deep for potato storage, with a clay floor. My dad would call the neighbors over and entertain them under the shade trees out by the road. Anyway, my dad sent me in to get a bottle of beer. Dad and the neighbor wore straw hats [because of the hot summer days] and the minister wore a felt hat. When I went down cellar and got the bottle of beer I dropped it at the top of the long stairs and it bounced all the way down. But it didn‘t break because it landed on the clay floor, and I took it to my dad standing out there in the open. He pulled the cap off that bottle and the beer shot out of there until the bottle was dry inside. The comical thing was to see my dad, along with our neighbor with their straw hats and the minister with his felt hat held by the rims trying to catch some of that beer on its way back down.”

There were several bands in the village of Loganville during the prohibition years. One of them was

the Village Marching Band. Their uniforms looked very much like the police uniform of the day. Bill Thies, an area farmer, recalled that one time the band went somewhere to march in a parade, and on the way back to Loganville, they became a bit thirsty, so they stopped at a place they knew to be a “speakeasy.”

The cars all stopped and the entire band got out still in their uniforms and walked to the door and knocked. After rapping several times, a voice finally called out, “Wait a minute.”

Soon they heard bottles breaking and the sound of liquid being poured down the drain.

Finally, the owner opened the door and the band walked in to be greeted by a stunned silence which soon turned to anger!

It seems the lookout had spotted their uniforms and mistook them to be the law, and sounded the alarm. The band decided they weren’t as thirsty as they thought and headed out the door as fast as they could.

Prohibition finally ended, after 13 years, when Congress repealed the Volstead Act in December, 1933.

March 2014 RTP

Sugar Camp

It is not known when Midwestern Native Americans first discovered the sweet taste of sap from the maple tree, but it is likely the discovery predates recorded history.

Maple sap is one of the first crops harvested after a long Wisconsin winter, and is typically extracted between mid-March and mid-April. Ideal conditions to flow sap are cool evenings with temperatures in the 20s with warm days over 40 degrees. There are 5 species of maple trees which produce sap; however, it’s the sugar maple (the Wisconsin state tree) that produces the most flavorful syrup. Groves of sugar maple trees were known as sugar bushes.

A tree should be at least 12 inches in diameter and about 40 years old for best production. Up to 3 taps can be placed on each tree, 2-4 feet above the ground. Each tap can produce 10 gallons of sap per season, with some premium trees putting out 50-plus gallons. The sap is dripped into covered buckets which are collected when full. It takes 40 gallons of raw sap to produce one gallon of maple syrup. The season ends when the trees begin to produce buds.

the sugar content up to 66%, which also causes a chemical process to darken the fluid and give it a maple flavor.

Pure maple syrup contains no preservatives and is typically used to enhance the flavor of pancakes, waffles, yogurt, hot cereals and ice cream.

A 1911 speech to the Sauk County Historical Society recounted the recollections of John Rooney and how he and his sisters tapped into “Nature’s Storehouse.”

“In the spring of 1858 myself and two sisters, Margaret and Annie, tapped a few maple trees on the north branch of Honey Creek.” He noted that in that area, there still remained tepee poles from an old Indian encampment.

“We caught the sap in tin pans and boiled it on the stove in our home. We got a fine quality of maple syrup that sold for $1.50 ($36 today) per gallon in Prairie du Sac.” They sold ten gallons and kept two for themselves. Their mother wanted to sell an additional gallon, but John writes that, “As my sisters were great lovers of sweet things I persuaded mother to keep the two gallons.”

One of the earliest records of the use of maple syrup and sugar dates to the mid 1600s from around the Great Lakes and along the St. Lawrence River where it was used for barter by Native Americans. Early settlers called it Indian Molasses. A druggist visiting the New England area from England wrote of a tree “whose juice weeps out of incisions and if permitted to exhale (evaporate) its superfluous moisture, will congeal into a sweet and saccharin substance.”

Maple sap is collected and taken to “sugar houses” where it is boiled down to remove the water and produce the pure syrup. Often times, at least in the past, these sugar houses were located in a valley, making it easier for horse-drawn sleds to transport the sap for rendering. The boiling process increases

The following spring, the family again sought out maple trees along the stream. “But it was too far to carry the sap,” noted Rooney, “So we made a small camp and borrowed a few stove kettles to boil in, my mother gathering the sap near our home.” He and his sisters took care of the outlying camp where they boiled down the sap. “Besides, school friends visited us and we got a good deal of amusement out of camp life.” Deer would often visit the stream, and seemed oblivious to the sugar camp also on the nearby banks. The spring harvest of maple sugar continued as John grew older; and in 1869, his methods had improved. “We caught the sap in troughs that held about 10 quarts, drew the sap in a barrel on a bobsleigh with one horse and boiled the sap in kettles. We had five of those kettles in an arch made of stone. Each kettle

Sugar Camp south of Baraboo, April, 1924. L-R: William Hazeltine, Eugene Heukr, Rev. E.C. Heukr.

held thirty gallons. We strained the sap through a cotton cloth to get the leaves out before boiling. When the sap was boiled to thin syrup we cleansed it with eggs and then strained it through a woolen cloth. "From 1870 I always made sugar with my father-inlaw, he doing the boiling while I gathered the sap,” wrote John. “We had a 14-foot pan and sometimes boiled constantly for 48 hours without letting the fire in the arch go out.” He also noted that the people in Prairie du Sac were mostly from the east and that they were all “Great lovers of maple sweet.” In 1870, he and his wife took 300 pounds of maple sugar to town and sold their entire load on the spot.

Another special treat for the young folk was what we today would call snow cones. “When the young people came in we always sugared off and if there was snow [we] had “wax” and warm sugar to eat. The wax was made by putting the warm sugar on the snow or on the ice.”

Mr. Rooney concluded his speech with the following observation, “Thus the early settlers were enabled to make a neat sum before spring work, besides having many social gatherings that few of the people of the present day [1911] get with our advanced form of civilization.”

April 2014 RTP

Sugar Camp in Baxter’s Hollow, 1926. Boiling maple syrup at Klondike or Sugar Bush. Mrs. Kindschi took charge of boiling of the sap.

Hazeltine Camp, south of Baraboo,1926. A hollowedout log serves as a catch basin for the raw sap.

Mission of Gratitude: Sgt. Harry R. Sansum

A Local WWII Hero Remembered

The Myasis Dragon began its bomb run over Merseburg, Germany, flying into heavy flack as it approached the designated target. The bomb bay doors were opened and Myasis Dragon was ready to drop its ordnance upon command. Visibility was excellent as the bombers lined up to release their payloads. A multitude of fires and explosions were visible below as each plane made its run.

Merseburg was the target of the day and 39 crews were dispatched to hit the Leuna Synthetic Oil Plant, an eight hour round trip. It was not a favorite target of combat crews because of the heavy artillery positioned around the plant. “Friendly fighter support was good,” noted a report at the post flight briefing. “Anti-aircraft fire was very intense and accurate probably the most ever encountered by 303rd BG(H) crewmen,” it continued.

The Myasis Dragon, a B-17G, was part of the 303rd Bombardment Group, known as the Hells Angels. During WWII, they were part of the 8th Air Force stationed in Molesworth, England from 1942 until 1945. Their motto was Might in Flight, and the title was surely earned during their record 364 combat missions.

Twenty-six year old Sergeant Harry R. Sansum, a native of Baraboo, Wisconsin, was a waist gunner on the Myasis Dragon. As the plane leveled off over the target, the crew could see anti-aircraft tracer fire coming at them from the ground below. As they closed in on the plant, the first of three shells hit the Myasis Dragon’ s number three engine blowing it apart. The second hit just below the radio compartment as T/Sgt. Girman, the radio operator and gunner, loosened his flak jacket and clipped on one of his parachute rings. The last burst entered the open

bomb bay door and exploded between two bomb racks. The plane was immediately engulfed in flames, disintegrating as it peeled off and went into a vertical dive. Sgt. Girman later described seeing the aircraft melting before his eyes. The explosion showered several nearby aircraft with burning metal.

As the Myasis Dragon descended to its inevitable fate, T/Sgt. Girman, and Sgt. Reid Bishop fell through the air entangled in a large section of aircraft debris. In a written report, they later recounted what happened during that fateful descent:

“One piece of the falling wreckage included the ball turret with Sgt. Reid Bishop inside. T/Sgt. Girman was unconscious. His foot was caught in the runner of the ball turret gunner’s hatch, trapping Sgt Bishop inside. Soon, however, T/Sgt. Girman fell free and Sgt. Bishop was able to open his hatch, grab his parachute, connect it and free himself from the wreckage. T/Sgt. Girman regained consciousness as he hit denser air, and remembers seeing Sgt. Bishop's chute open at almost the same time as his, maybe 1,500 feet above ground.”

They both landed near Torgau, about 30 miles east of Leipzig and were immediately captured and sent to a German prisoner of war camp for nine months. After his repatriation at war’s end, Sgt. Bishop reported having seen the body of Harry R. Sansum lying on the ground near where he (Bishop) had landed. Sansum was not wearing a parachute. The other six airmen on the plane also perished. The date was August 24, 1944.

For his service to his country, Sgt. Harry R. Sansum posthumously received the Air Medal and Purple Heart. Eugene Girman died in 2004, and Reid Bishop, a year later.

Fast forward seventy years to March, 2014. The Sauk County Historical Society received an e-mail from Martin Maijntz a resident of the Netherlands. He wrote that he is a member of the Fields of Honor database, a Dutch non-profit organization. “This foundation has set as its goal to honor American World War II servicemen who have fought and died for the freedom of others and have been buried in overseas American Cemeteries,” notes its mission statement. Their objective is to research each serviceman buried there and give a face and history to the names of those who perished in combat defending their freedom.

Martin Maijntz’s interest in WWII is not just curiosi-

ty, it is very personnel. He writes that, “My grandfather (from my mother’s side) got killed at the age of 34, by a grenade while he was picking apples for his hungry children, just a few days before the liberation of our hometown. This happened during a fight between the Germans, and the American liberators. Marie’s [Martin’s wife] dad joined the Dutch Resistance, was betrayed and put in a concentration camp in Germany. Luckily, he survived the ordeal.”

Martin continues, “My grandparents from my father’s side adopted Harry’s grave at Margraten War Cemetery many many years ago. When my grandfather died in 1962, my father resumed his responsibilities in taking care of Harry’s grave. When my father, an ex-marine, died in 2009 I adopted Harry’s grave and I’m now taking care of it.”

As part of his dedication to that mission, Maijntz began researching the history of Sgt. Sansum. His search eventually led him to contact the Sauk County Historical Society in Baraboo for more information. He was specifically looking for any surviving relatives.

Linda Levenhagen, Office and Research Manager, and Bob Doepke, research volunteer, began searching the Society’s archives for any information on Sgt. Sansum. They were able to locate 1944 newspaper items which chronicled the death of Sgt. Sansum. After finding the names of his siblings, a search of city directories and marriage records at the Register of Deeds office revealed a living relative, Patti Kay Beach, one of the great-nieces. Mrs. Beach is now in direct contact with Mr. Maijntz.

Martin Maijntz concludes his letter with, “All in all, we feel it is the least we can do for these heroes, who gave their lives to liberate our country!”

May 2014 RTP

Martin Maijntz

Adopted the grave of Harry Sansum.

Description for photo on page 13

JACK R. HILLARY CREW - 359th BS (crew assigned 359BS: 16 July 1944)

(Back L-R) 2Lt Jack R. Hillary (P-KIA); 2Lt William Robertson III (CP-KIA); 2Lt John E. Rice (N-KIA); 2Lt Rocco De Filippis (B-KIA)

(Front L-R) Sgt Neldon Reid Bishop (BTPOW)(1);

S/Sgt George E. Paul (E-KIA); Sgt Harry R. Sansum (WG-KIA)(2);

S/Sgt Eugene E. Girman (R-POW)(1); Sgt James R. Watson (TG-POW)

Photo courtesy of www.303rdBG.com.

Sauk County’s Free Shows

Before the advent of television in the 1950s, a form of entertainment that attracted many residents of rural Sauk County communities was attending outdoor movies. Families would journey to small towns and villages such as Ironton, LaValle, Plain, Loganville, Hillpoint, North Freedom and Cazenovia to take in a show.

These “free shows,” as most called them, began in the late 1920s and were offered once a week from June through Labor Day. Ironton held its shows on a natural slope in Liberty Square. Delbert Winn, in his book History of Ironton, notes that, “One night someone parked in the entrance to a private dwelling and after angry words on both sides, the owner went to the house and got his shotgun. The village president was called and he calmed them down and removed the gun.” One presumes that the show went on as usual without further incident.

would remain in town until 11 or 12 p.m. Dances were held in the local taverns and halls on show nights. He said the free shows would draw patrons from surrounding communities such as Rock Springs and from as far away as Baraboo.

Bob Ulrich, who grew up in North Freedom, recalled that as a small boy in the late 1920s, he'd watch the outdoor movies on a screen hung on the side of a building in a vacant lot located where the new bank building is located today. People sat on folding chairs, and enjoyed popcorn provided by a local entrepreneur who had a small stand nearby. He said that one movie in particular about a train robbery frightened him to the extent that he sought refuge in the security of his father's lap. It's possible that what young Ulrich viewed was a silent film called The Great Train Robbery, the first movie produced that had a real plot. The final scene depicted one of the cowboys drawing his pistol and firing directly at the audience.

Ulrich also remembered that after the movie, people

The village of Loganville also hosted the free shows. A projectionist would arrive at sunset and put up his equipment on Walnut Street.

Since the street was inclined, he located the projector about halfway up the hill and put the screen on a rope hung between two taverns. (In later years, the screen was attached to a pipe frame built onto a trailer.)

The downward slope provided a natural theater setting and people sat on raised planks or blankets and folding chairs. Many brought their own popcorn and other snacks. If patrons were lucky and arrived early, they could park on the upper part of the hill and watch the show from the comfort of their car. The crowds were usually large.

The evening's entertainment consisted of a short comedy or cartoon, another short subject, and finally the main feature. The movie started at dusk and ran for several hours with an intermission at the midpoint. Half the people would then make a mad dash for the restrooms or for a snack. Ice cream cones were a very popular treat with two dips costing a nickel.

David Burmester, who helped his father, Al, in the grocery store they ran in Loganville, recalled that when he was old enough to assist in the store he and his brother would often dip over 200 cones during an evening. He said, “We would work up to the start of the show, sneak up until intermission, then come

down and work and go back up for the rest of the movie.”

Farmers would come to town on show night to do their grocery shopping, so businessmen were therefore quite happy to support the shows. But as time went on, people did the majority of their weekly shopping in larger surrounding cities, and the village grocery stores ended up selling mostly ice cream and pop. “It was a lot of work with very little profit,” noted Burmester.

Village merchants each donated about $5 a week to help defray costs of the movie. In the spring, Burmester remembered, the first businessman contacted by the projectionist said that he would go along with the program if the others did. Then the projectionist would tell the rest of the merchants that the others had said yes, so the first ones agreed too. No one wanted to be left out when sponsors’ names were read over the loudspeakers at halftime.

Another method of revenue enhancement was to take up a collection at intermission. The projectionist would become quite distressed, however, when people would leave for refreshments just when he wanted to pass the hat. When that happened, he would restart the film to draw the crowd back, and then suddenly stop it to take up the collection. When stones began appear-

ing in the basket, a flashlight was carried to monitor what people were putting in.

Another problem patrons had to deal with on show night was apple bombs. A few of the village's more rambunctious youngsters thought they would create a little excitement by placing firecrackers inside apples from a nearby tree, and tossing them into the crowd. After a few minor injuries from flying applesauce, the projectionist threatened to terminate the movie if the mischief didn't stop.

The free shows continued through the mid-50s in Loganville, until the state of Wisconsin decided that the village could no longer use the street as a theater because it was too close to the state highway. Television was also beginning to draw many away from the shows and their time had come.

However, while they lasted, the free shows provided an evening of good family entertainment. Neighbors would get together and gossip, kids had a ball chasing each other up and down the hills and around the parks, and all had a thoroughly enjoyable outing. The films usually weren't much good but that didn't seem to matter. It was the atmosphere that is so fondly remembered by those who were fortunate enough to spend a night at the movies under the stars.

June 2014 RTP

Al Burmester dipping an ice cream cone.

Father of David Burmester.

The first Independence Day celebration that occurred in Reedsburg transpired barely a year after the founding of that village. It was 1849, and there were few materials with which residents could demonstrate their patriotic enthusiasm. They had no flag pole, and in fact, they lacked even a flag. What to do? Our pioneer forefathers being the industrious and innovative lot that they were weren’t going to let the jubilee of their glorious liberty pass by uncelebrated.

Their story is chronicled in The American Sketch Book, History of Reedsburg - 1875.

AGlorious 4th of July

Fourth of July parade wagon in Loganville in the late 1890s

As the men commenced to locate and raise a "liberty pole” from which to fly the stars and stripes, the women went about trying to locate enough cloth from which a flag could be constructed. Since most of the men wore blue denims, it was a possible source of raw materials. However, after much wear, the denims lacked the color with which they were originally endowed. Buckskin patches were commonly sewn to the seats and knees of the pantaloons as reinforcements. Seamstresses cut out the unfaded denim beneath these patches, and stars were formed from the bright blue fragments of cloth. The white stripes as well as a backing for the flag were made from the women’s undergarments. That left the red stripes. These were cut from the tails of the men’s shirts, shortening them a bit in the process.

All the ingredients were present and the sewing began. But soon the women ran into a problem, they did not know how to make a five-pointed star. So instead, all the stars on the flag had six points. "That won’t do," said Horace Croswell after viewing the completed flag. Horace, as the story continues, "Was the ladies’ man at that period, and general confidant. To him the women confided the secret, showing him the flag." He insisted that, "The national star has only

five points.” So, the six-pointed stars were removed, one point cut off and the remainder twisted into the proper shape. A young lady, Agnes McClung, embroidered the following couplet which was attached to the flag: "The star-spangled banner, long may it wave, o’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave."

It was customary for all to gather at a sumptuous repast to help celebrate the great day. But, since groceries were few and no one family had all the ingredients to make so much as a pie, all chipped together and a presentable dinner was arranged. In fact, it was more than presentable. The writer noted that, "The dinner, the like of which had never been tasted in this part of the world before, was highly enjoyed, and the remains of it were given to the Indians, that they might make merry too."

Rev. A. Locke gave the address for the day; however, he could not remember the date of the signing of the Declaration of Independence, but his listeners bade him "proceed and never mind it."

The celebration commenced in the new mill, which at that time did not have benefit of a roof or floor.

A few boards were placed upon the ground and the first dance ever held in the village of Reedsburg lasted well into the night. Celebrants promenaded into the wee hours by the light of flickering tallow candles.

Baraboo pioneers also celebrated the birth of our nation, but in a unique and dangerous fashion. An article by R.T. Warner in 1910, describes the tradition:

“In those days [ca. 1852] we always had a big bonfire on the public square in the evening. But they did have a novel sort of fireworks in those days, the throwing of fire balls. They procured a large number of balls of candle wick which were soaked in turpentine and lighted and then all the boys and some of the men vied with one another in seeing how far and how high these blazing balls could be thrown,” wrote Warner. “It took an expert to pick up a ball and throw it quick enough, to avoid being burned and blistered by the blazing fire balls.

“At one time I remember the courthouse was set on fire, one of the burning balls having lodged on the roof, setting fire to the shingles. But the destruction

of the new courthouse, it was new then, was happily averted. Someone, I think it was Frank Graham, having procured a ladder, carried up a bucket of water and extinguished the flames.”

Native Americans were also eager participants in 4th of July celebrations in Sauk County, noted Warner. “There was one feature of these fourth of July celebrations of the early times that always interested the juvenile element which was the shooting of pennies by the young Indians from the Indian camps, who generally visited Baraboo on the Fourth. These were the kids of the Winnebago [now the Ho Chunk] tribe, from 5 to 15 years old, who were usually on hand with bows and arrows to shoot the old-fashioned copper cent.” A penny was placed atop a stick set in the ground with a slit cut in it to hold the coin. Participants were lined up behind the stake at a distance of ten paces, and required to “toe the mark!” At a signal from one of the adults, they commenced shooting.

Warner continues, “As soon as one of them got a penny he put it in his mouth and it did not take long for some of them to get a mouth full of pennies. This sport was continued as long as the stock of pennies held out.”

July 2014 RTP

Our Telephone Heritage

Today we have cellular and smart phones, private lines and touch tone telephones. We can communicate almost instantaneously with anyone in the world by simply pushing a few buttons.

But before Alexander Graham Bell's 1876 invention, the fastest means of communication was the telegraph, and the telegrapher still had to locate and hand-deliver the message to its recipient. Mr. Bell's device, however, allowed people to communicate one on one with no long delays between sending a message and receiving an answer.

In 1887, Dr. F. D. Hulburt installed the first telephone in the city of Reedsburg. Shortly thereafter, another 25 astute businessmen connected to the same phone line.

Dr. C. A. Rood, in 1896, had installed a line from his office to Mr. Young’s drug store. A news article of the day reported that “it talks like a thing of life!” Another item noted that through his perseverance, Dr. Rood was attempting to impress upon the citizens of Reedsburg, the benefits of a telephone exchange. A phone had been installed at the depot and the writer noted that “...the more [that] are put in the more demand for them...seems certain the switchboard will soon need to be enlarged, and then will come connection with Baraboo, Madison, and the rest of the world.”

As Reedsburg grew, more businessmen, and pri-

vate individuals too, came to realize the necessity of instantaneous communication, and the convenience it offered.

In June of 1896, a new hundred-drop switchboard was installed to accommodate the growing numbers of telephone subscribers. A toll line had recently been run from Baraboo, through North Freedom, Rock Springs and on to Reedsburg, to connect these outlying communities.

Ed and William Stolte installed a switchboard at their hotel in 1898 and formed the Reedsburg Telephone Company.

Before the 1920s, if you wanted to call someone else, you had to go through a switchboard and an “operator” would connect the call for you. Each party had a “jack” on the board, and when someone called the operator, a little metal flap dropped down above the jack. The operator would place a metal tipped cord into the jack and answer your call. She they were usually young ladies would then place another cord into the jack of the party you wished to call and ring them up. If they answered, the two jacks would be interconnected.

The telephone was still a luxury during the early 1900s and only large businesses and doctors could afford them.

As the century matured, lines were strung throughout the state and then into rural communities. The party line allowed more than one person to share a line thereby negating the necessity of stringing private lines to each residence.

However, by the early 1930s, the Depression undid much of the progress that had been made, as subscribers dropped their phone service. Less than a third of American homes had telephones by 1933.

It seems normal today, to initiate a phone conversation by saying, “Hello”. But in 1910, Bell’s Telephone Engineer magazine decried the use of that undignified greeting. The article went on to say, "Would you rush into an office or up to the door of a residence and blurt out ‘Hello! Hello! Who am I talking to?’ No, one should open conversations with phrases such as ‘Mr. Wood, of Curtis and Sons, wishes to talk with Mr. White...’ without any unnecessary and undignified ‘Hellos’”. The company ultimately relented and dubbed their operators “Hello Girls”.

Eventually, the telephone became a necessity, much as electricity did by the late1930s. Friends and neighbors could communicate by simply turning a little crank on the side of that marvelous wooden box, and speaking into the mouthpiece.

To call up another party on your line, you had to consult the phone book for their “ring”. A small crank was connected to a generator inside each phone box, and when turned, it sent out a low pulsating voltage which rang your party’s phone. Each subscriber had his/her own special “ring”. For instance, one party might be alerted by a long ring and two short rings. Or someone else might answer to three shorts and two longs. Of course, all phones on a party line six to eight rang when someone wanted to contact another party. It was not nice to listen in on

Neighbors not far from here, Put in telephones last year;

Farmers all "talked up" fine, And were heard along the line.

All you had to do was ring, Every bell went ting-a-ling;

One for Sampson, two for Boggs, Long and short call for old Scroggs.

Every neighbor has his call, Twist the crank and that was all.

Mighty nice when work was through, To gossip for an hour or two.

With your neighbors, one by one; Mighty nice but lots of fun. To hear some other two Telling what was not for you.

Every time the signal rang, To the phone each farmer sprang. Slyly grinned and softly took, The receiver from the hook.

Other people's secrets dear

Poured into his large red ear; Slapped his leg and said, "I swan, Telephonin's lots of fun."

the conversations of others, however it was a pastime which most could not resist. These listeners were dubbed “rubbernecks”, and it wasn't long before everyone knew everyone else's business. There were no secrets on party lines.

A poem, entitled “The Rural Telephone” published in the Reedsburg Free Press in 1903, elucidates some of the pitfalls that might arise when one lifted that receiver and dared to listen in.

August 2014 RTP

Somehow in a week or two, Troubles then began to brew; Farmer Jones got fighting hot, Heard Scroggs calling him a sot.

Farmer Scroggs got angry too, Heard Smith telling what he knew; Smith heard Johnson telling lies; Paid him off with two black eyes.

Johnson heard young Isaac Boggs, Underbid him on his hogs; Boggs overheard a sneaking churl; Talking love to his best girl.

Women, too, were in the muss, Every one from Scroggs to Jones. In glass houses throwing stones. Now the line has silent grown, Wires rusted, poles o'er thrown.

Twenty friends were deadly foes, Each one full of grief and woes.

Each too mad to speak a word, 'Cause of things they overheard.

Maverick

Photos from around Sauk County

THE GHOULOF PARFREY’S GORGE

The following story was presented before the 1914 Old Settler’s meeting by Marshall Thomas Martin, M.D. of Merrimac. Whether a true story or not is for you to decide.

I had been riding nearly all day in the burning sun. It was the Fourth of July. My celebration had been a ten-mile drive to operate on a little boy who had received a pistol-shot wound at the hands of a playmate.

The night was more oppressive than the day had been. A black bank of ominous clouds was slowly rising in the west, and soon obscured the red crescent of the moon only a few days old.

Everything was dull and lifeless. The air was thick and motionless. The crickets chirped lazily, as if it was an effort. The frogs in the fens croaked listlessly. The mosquitoes were dazed, and their usually intense falsetto was almost inaudible. There was an occasional lightning-flash, which was so distant that it seemed sluggish in its rippling course.

When about half way home, I passed near a most weird though picturesque glen. The proximity revived in my mind the many tales recounted regarding the uncanny though beautiful spot by ancient residents at their evening gatherings in old-fashioned log houses.

The glen is a rock-bound defile three quarters of a mile in extent, with precipitous sides rising sixty to one hundred feet above a small rivulet that winds and gurgles on the flinty floor of the ravine.

Instinctively, I touched the horse with the tassel on the end of my whip and hurried by the desolate and haunting locality.

Reaching home, without any untoward event, I lay down on a couch in the office to ponder over the labors of the day.

I had my gaze fixed on a human skull that graced the top of an oaken bookcase, when the office-door opened with a slight creak, and there entered a most beautiful girl, apparently about eighteen years old. It seemed that I was acquainted with my visitor, although it was some seconds before I could get matters arranged in my memory. It was little less that forty years since a face like that had come before my vision. The one who arose in my mind was a schoolmate a generation passed, and she had departed this life more than three decades before, when about the age of this young woman now sitting daintily in my waiting-room.

I attempted to rise; but, with a graceful gesture, she motioned to me to remain on the couch.

She was the first to speak, and, with a most mellif-

luous voice, she said: “I am Azubah. After your removal from Brookville, my parents sent me to the academy in Sunnyside. While there, the students became greatly interested in religious matters. My father and mother being firm believers in Spiritualism.

“In a sort of desperate endeavor to enliven the monotony of existence, I eloped with a journeyman printer entirely out of my social and intellectual sphere.

“During our weary honeymoon, we visited this gruesome gorge, the mouth of which you lately passed so near and so hurriedly. We clambered up the east bluff to look down into the darkling abyss. Having gone about half the length of the glen, we came to a large pine-tree growing on the brink of the precipice. It leaned far over so that its top was much beyond the edge of the opposite wall. A wild impulse seized me, and, reckless of the results, I rushed impetuously toward the tree, telling my husband that I would cross on it to the other side. I ran up the slanting and almost horizontal trunk until about the middle of the chasm, when my feet slipped, and I was dashed on the mossy crags fifty feet below.”

At this point in her recital, I made a herculean effort to rise, and managed to stagger to my feet. I walked unsteadily toward the lovely apparition. Before I reached her, she had gracefully left the cushioned chair, opened the creaking door, thrown me a kiss with her tapering fingers, and vanished as noiselessly as had been her advent into my presence.

A few moments later, as I was striving to collect my tumultuous thoughts, there came a resound knock at the street-door. I hastened to open it, and, in the darkness, saw a young woman on horseback. She had reached from her saddle and struck the door with butt of her riding-whip. The rider’s face looked strangely like the girl who had so lately occupied my attention; but I gave the resemblance no thought because of the imperative message that she bore. She said that I was wanted immediately up at the gorge, where a man had been injured by a fall among the rocks while out hunting.

As fast as possible, I hitched up a younger horse and started rapidly on the five-mile trip.

The storm was just commencing, a few stray drops of rain were striking my carriage-top like shot. The lightning was vivid and incessant, revealing a long line of fluffy clouds in advance of the jetty stratum betokening a strong wind.

I tied the horse to a tree, took my medicine-case, and went cautiously on among the rocks. As I neared the black and yawning portals of the gorge, the young woman who gave me the call suddenly ap-

peared, and taking my valise, requested me to follow.

The deluge was now nothing less that appalling. There came a dazzling flash, followed by a reverberating crash of thunder that shook the hills. During this blinding lightning, I caught a glimpse of a large pine-tree inclined almost horizontally across the chasm.

I looked for the young woman, but she had disappeared. I called wildly, but no answer came.

I heard a wail like the cry of a tortured child. It was repeated. I turned toward the sound, only to hear it once more. My blood ran cold; I could not move a muscle. A quick motion among the leaves, a wild shriek, a heavy body launched against me, a hot breath on my face, and I toppled over with the impact. There was a sense of falling, falling, falling, and then all consciousness was gone.

With the returning glimmer of sensation, I found, by the lightning, which still came in an occasional mellow glow, that I was lying on the ground in a watery place some distance out from the jaws of the gorge. I was stiff and sore; one arm and several ribs were broken. I managed to get to my horse, and rode slowly and painfully homeward.

The following morning, a report came to town that a gigantic wildcat was discovered dead, on the top of one of the gnarled boulders at the bottom of the gorge just above the seething, roaring waters of the swollen stream.

October 2014 RTP

Parfrey’s Glen is located on highway DL, south of Baraboo off Hwy 113.

The Hair Wreath of Memories

This is the time of year when many of us hang pine wreaths on our front doors to celebrate the holiday season. Over 150 years ago, wreaths of a different kind were created and displayed, but for an entirely different reason.

During the Victorian Era (1837-1901) European and North American women spent much of their day in the home. To pass the time, they indulged in “fancy work”, which they could display for their friends and neighbors and to decorate their otherwise mundane homes. One form of this fancy work consisted of making ornate creations from hair, similar to the older custom of placing a lock of hair of a loved one in a locket. Wreaths, lockets, bracelets, earrings and even toothpick holders would be fashioned out of hair. Women’s magazines depicted different patterns that could be used for these creations.

Back in the day, many women had long flowing hair, so there was a plentiful supply of raw material to work with. The tresses were woven around thin wire and formed into delicate designs of flowers, floral sprigs and leaves. Wooden or glass beads, buttons, and sometimes, seeds, were also included in the final product. Wreaths could be formed into horseshoe-shapes, a Victorian symbol of good luck, with the open end facing up to catch the luck. The resultant wreath was mounted on a silk or velvet background and placed in a fancy shadow box frame. Many of the wreaths extended to 18 inches or more in diameter.

Locks were commonly taken from family members or friends to be woven into the design, as a remembrance, since photographs were rare or nonexistent then. Horse hair was sometimes used to fill out a design. Women could also purchase strands of hair from catalogs or local stores. Locks of blond, black, brown or red hair would be carefully woven into the design. A sign or note was placed inside the frame to indicate the name or names of the persons being memorialized.

Hair receivers or keepers were fancy porcelain containers used to save the fallen or clipped locks of individuals and were usually identified as a jar with a hole in the cover to insert strands of hair.

Originally, hair wreaths were made from the hair of deceased loved ones as an honor and remembrance, and the strands placed at the center. As another family member died, their hair would be placed into the center, and the previous lock would be moved to the outside. Hair wreaths with the de-

ceased’s hair would usually be displayed with the open end up towards heaven. The usual mourning period would be one year. Smaller broach-sized wreaths were often woven from the deceased’s locks, and warn during the mourning period.

Eventually hair wreaths were created for sentimental reasons, and given as gifts to friends and loved ones as keepsakes.

Young girls made scrapbooks which included the locks of schoolmates. Valentines were also created with a few strands of the givers hair inside as a token of affection. Autograph books sometimes included a small wreath produced from the signer’s hair.

Queen Victoria presented her children and grandchildren with jewelry made from her hair and Napoleon had a watch chain made from his wife’s hair.

Even today, parents often save a lock of hair from their baby’s first haircut.

Hair wreaths can sell for hundreds or even thousands of dollars, depending upon how elaborate the design.

The Sauk County Historical Society has an intricate hair wreath, donated in 1950, on display in the museum’s Pioneer room. It was made by Modora Todd Premo around 1861. November 2014 RTP

ACountry School Christmas

As the warm, sunny days of autumn gave way to the cold, snowy days of winter, country school students adapted to the change and looked forward to outdoor games, which only a snowfall could facilitate. A favorite was Fox and Geese. A circle with spokes radiating to a hub, was tramped into the snow. A fox was chosen and would chase the geese around the circle. If caught, they would retreat to a holding “pen.” The last person caught would then become the fox, and the game would begin again.

Another favorite winter pastime was sledding on a nearby hill. Kids would bring their sleds to school, and at recess time, trek to the nearest slope. One, sometimes two, would mount the sled, push off and ride with the wind to the bottom. All too soon, the sound of a distant bell would call them back to the classroom. Mittens and socks would be placed near the tin-clad stove to dry until the next round of outdoor adventures. The smell of drying, woolen mittens is not something students from a rural school soon forgot.

The anticipation of the Christmas season in a country school was always a big event. Preparation for the holidays began in late November with the teacher suggesting gifts that the students could make for their parents. These gifts usually required some assembly, so work began and everyone pitched in to make that special creation.

Art classes were devoted specifically to the production of holiday decorations. Pictures of bells, holly, Santa’s and angels appeared on the windows of the schoolhouse. Paper garlands and snowflakes would add a festive air to the tree.

Pupils would place their names in a bucket, and then draw out the name of a classmate for whom they would get a special gift. Oh, how exciting it was if you drew the name of your best friend.

At recess, kids would secretly gather on the playground and discuss what they would get for their teacher. The decision being made, the cost would be shared among them all.

But, the most exciting part of the whole season was the Christmas program. The teacher would select a play and assign the parts. There would be numer-

ous practice sessions where lines would be recited until they were well rehearsed for the big night.

The school board would put up a stage and string a wire across the room to hold a curtain.

Props were gathered and costumes made. The lower grade students would have verses to recite and holiday songs to sing.

As the day approached, anticipation would become intense as kids practiced one last time.

On the night of the program, parents would gather at the school and squeeze into the desks arranged before the stage. Sometimes there would be standing room only. The tree was seen in all its splendor with the decorations so carefully crafted by the hands of students. In the days before electricity, candles were placed on the branches and lighted especially for the occasion. A careful eye was always on the lookout in case a candle burned down too far.

As the program progressed it didn’t always go as planned, but those incidents were a delight for the audience, and the kids usually took them in stride. And then, it was over.

From outside the school, came the sound of jingling bells, and a hearty “Ho, Ho, Ho.” How did that jolly old elf know when the program was over?

Santa visits Sunny Hill School, Greenfield Township, in 1959

No one ever knew, but he bounded into the room with a bag stuffed with surprises for everyone. Gifts were exchanged, a bag of candy was handed out to all the kids, and then Santa left as he had arrived, back into the dark, cold night from whence he came.

Parents and kids, brothers and sisters put on their

warm coats and woolen mittens and retreated to their cold cars for the trip home, tired and happy, with memories that would last them a lifetime.

December 2014 RTP

An Incident at Reedsburg

It was the day after Christmas in 1873 and the citizens of Reedsburg were not in a festive mood. A crowd of angry townspeople had gathered at the railroad depot to protest the forced deportation of a wellknown family from the area. The family consisted of the wife, children and grand-children of A-Ha-ChoKa, or Blue Wing, chief of the local Winnebago tribe (now known as the Ho-Chunk), who’s village was located near the town. A squad of U.S. soldiers, led by Captain Hunt, who had been sent down from Sparta, were attempting to carry out an order to relocate the Indians to a reservation in Nebraska. Things were not at all going well.

Two days before Christmas as dawn broke across the cold bleak landscape, Captain S.A. Hunt, an official Government agent charged with the task of removing the remainder of the Indians from Southern Wisconsin, and Sheriff Pool, crossed the Wisconsin River Bridge at Portage, leading a detachment of 51 U.S. troops. They were headed in the direction of the Baraboo River, near Crawford Bridge.

At about the same time, representatives of area Winnebago tribes had gathered in the hills near Portage and were in the midst of an annual pow-wow and celebration. A feast of dog meat and venison was prepared. Decked out in war paint and feathers, the Indian braves danced a dance of war. They were determined to resist yet another removal of their families from ancestral hunting grounds and homes. A council of war discussed how they might withstand this onslaught of the “pale-faced ambassadors.”

During the height of the Winnebago celebrations, soldiers descended from the hills and upon the unsuspecting Indians, taking them by complete surprise. The entire band of 100, along with their chief, was surrounded and taken captive. Suffice to say, the Indians refused to acquiesce and follow their predecessors to reservations out west. However, bowing to threats from the soldiers, they were lined up with their families and possessions, and marched to the Portage railroad depot. There they were loaded onto the cars, along with 42 ponies and adequate provisions for the journey and sent to Sparta, the gathering point for all Winnebago captured by Capt. Hunt.

The days that followed were fraught with gloom and sadness, as Sheriff Pool and his hired men gathered the wives and children of braves who had not attended the pow-wow. Several days later, two or three dozen departed for Sparta to join their husbands and fathers.

When the residents of Reedsburg found out what had happened, they were outraged. Blue Wing and his family had eagerly welcomed by early white settlers into Sauk County. His greatest qualities, according to his contemporaries, were his good nature, kindness and integrity. He always dealt fairly with his white neighbors, and was often invited to spend the night with settlers when he came to visit. He was a citizen of the United States and a landowner.

honorably discharged. That should have exempted him and his family from the forced exodus. Several citizens hurriedly fired off a letter to Capt. Hunt, imploring him to rectify the injustice, and immediately return Sunday Chief and his family to their home. At about that same time, soldiers were rounding up other Indian families in the Reedsburg area and placing them in confinement. Among them were Blue Wing’s wife, children and grandchildren.

An article in the Reedsburg Free Press, dated January 2, 1874, decried the outrage: “Our people were ‘mad’ when it was first known, and as the day progressed they got ‘madder and madder,’ and about six o’clock in the evening a writ of habeas corpus an order issued to release a party from unlawful restraint was sworn out before Esq. Hunt, Court Commissioner, and placed in the hands of Deputy Sheriff H.D. Buel, who proceeded to the Reedsburg depot, accompanied by quite a large number of our usually quiet but now thoroughly aroused citizens, determined to see the writ obeyed.”

The 100th anniversary booklet Reedsburg Remembers, written in 1948, recounts the day’s events as follows: “Horace J. Smith, who was a silent listener to the parley and touched by the streaming tears of

the Indian women, at once collected six or eight sturdy companions, and with them went to the depot, where the Indians were gathered in charge of the officers waiting for the train. Smith told the agents that he and his squad had come to see to it that the Indians were not put aboard the cars. Rolling up his shirt sleeves, he further stated that an outrage was being committed, and that if any further attempt was made to take the Indians there would be trouble galore in which he and his group would take an active part.”

Again from the Free Press we learn that, “At first the officer having the Indians in charge, declined to pay any attention to the writ, but seeing the determined front of the crowd, he thought better of it, and released the persons demanded, who were taken before Esq. Hunt, and after a fair hearing, they were discharged.”

The Free Press correspondent continues, “The officer proceeded west on the Saturday evening train, with his squad and the balance of his prisoners, telegraphing ahead that the citizens of Reedsburg had wrestled a number of them Indians from him by force of arms; which was a most untruthful and unjust report.”

The heroic actions of Reedsburg’s citizens that day helped, in part, to convince the U.S. Government to abandon its inhuman policy of Indian relocation.

One hundred and forty-plus years have come and gone since then. Memories of those heart-rending events have all but faded with the passage of time. However, it is important that we should remember those gallant Reedsburg pioneers, and the brave Native Americans who stood up for their American rights as citizens, and thwarted the illegal and illinformed actions of a few who were guided by unjust laws.

January 2015 RTP

A re-enactment at North Freedom, of the relocation event for the film, “Thunder in the Dells”

Traveling Medicine Shows of Yesteryear

Today many of our miseries and ailments can be alleviated by the simple act of swallowing a pill, but during the latter part of the 19th century, people were not so fortunate. Medicine was an emerging science which was on the brink of the wonderful discoveries which we take for granted today. Folk medicine was very popular then, and many homespun remedies were applied to the discomforts of the day. In this setting, it was easy for anyone claiming to have a miracle cure to sell his wares to an unsophisticated clientele. There were few laws to protect the public from false claims and harmful ingredients. Traveling medicine shows were a common sight to our great grandparents, who also attended the performances for the entertainment they provided.

The tent shows usually set up shop at the edge of town and invited all to come and participate. Local residents were coaxed up onto the stage to sing and dance. Winners were chosen by applause from the audience and rewarded with “valuable prizes” which usually consisted of the medicines, salves and ointments that the practitioners sold to the gullible. As P.T. Barnum once observed “There’s a sucker born every minute.” An item in the August, 1891 Reedsburg Free Press reported that the citizens of the village of Loganville were treated to the passage through town of one of these annually appearing medicine shows. “Loganville seems to have a great supply at present of the so called ‘doctors’. Whenever a fake appears in a locality there are always victims and the greater the fake the greater the mystery, but people like to be humbugged. There is no reason now for having rheumatism, fever sores, cold feet or liver complaint when you can get an ounce of chopped leaves, roots and gums for one dollar, that is said to cure you!” Another common ingredient in these elixirs of life was a large percentage of alcohol or whisky. It's no wonder people felt better after consuming a dose of this miracle medicine.

In September, our Loganville writer wearily notes that “The medicine show is still here conducted by the ‘super human’, entertaining a small crowd, largely children. But the wonderful cures fail to materialize except in the mind of the one who vainly attempts

to lecture. From appearances, wealth is not accumulating immensely,” noted the correspondent, “and the talk of going duck hunting seems more appropriate.”

A week later we learn that, “The glimmering medicine show has faded away, have folded their tents and have left for greener fields. No one mourns their departure except those who have paid their hard earned dollars for the three cents worth of physic.”

The science of medicine, in 1892, had progressed to the point where it could offer a cure for the oft’ manifested malady of over indulgence, and one of Loganville’s noted healers had a corner on the market. “Dr. Skiff has opened an office for the ‘Improved Gold Cure’ treatment, and is already giving patients ‘Gold Jabs’. The success of the Gold Cure for drunkenness is daily being manifested. Many a man is being saved a premature death, and many a home made happier,” claimed the good doctor.

Another report from Loganville in 1906, mentioned that there was a medicine troupe in town one day, “but they left on account of the good health of the people there.”

In the early 20th century, people were becoming more discerning and informed, and they relied less on the patent medicines and more on the advice of qualified physicians. Commercial pharmaceuticals were also being produced in large quantities and the home remedies peddled by the medicine shows were history. These shows then began relying more on entertainment to attract crowds.

In December of 1910 it was noted, “The Quaker Medicine Company, who had been giving free entertainment at Westedt’s (hall, Loganville) for the last two weeks, gave their last entertainment Monday evening. Many local contestants were awarded prizes: Mrs. Dr. Westedt received a silver sugar bowl in the ladies nail driving contest, Mr. and Mrs. Charles Fisher Sr. received the silver cracker jar being the oldest married couple to get upon the stage, Miss Ida Gall received the gold watch and chain given in the amateur contest and Anna Schrank received the silver water pitcher for being the most popular young lady.” Traveling medicine shows persisted in some form or another, up until the 1930s, when radio and motion pictures supplanted the entertainment aspect of the performances.

If people really believed that these concoctions cured them, perhaps they did have some beneficial effect. There’s scientific evidence concerning the healing properties of the mind, and if ailments weren’t too severe, perhaps people really did feel better after a few swallows of the wonderful concoctions peddled by these intrepid snake oil salesmen.

February 2015 RTP

Ready,Aim, Fire!

Wildlife was abundant when the first settlers arrived in the mid-1800s, and many owed their survival to the diversity of game that roamed the virgin forests and prairies of Sauk County.

Some wildlife, however, was not welcomed. From the Reedsburg Free Press of June, 1861, we learn that "A son of Dr. N.W. Sallade, of Loganville, was at work near the house, when he heard his dog barking in a grove, some 15 or 20 rods distant, and proceeded to the spot, where he found an enormous catamount (wildcat) up a tree. He called to someone to bring his gun, and taking good aim, he killed the varmint so dead that he had to climb the tree to get him down. It measured five feet from tip to tip! This is the second one he has killed this spring near the same spot. He has also killed a lynx.”

Today naturalists and environmentalists are active in protecting all manner of wildlife from destruction. But this concern is not a contemporary invention. In 1869 the Free Press reported a 19th century conflict between two opposing factions: “After a brief, but passage-at-arms between eminent rival naturalists on the question of the respective merits of birds, our thoughts naturally revert to birds of passage, to wit pigeons and to shotguns in connection with them."

The correspondent goes on to report that recently there had passed over the village of Loganville a flock of [passenger] pigeons estimated to be 10 miles long, and consisting of about three million birds! He calculated that if the flock would feed for a single day upon wheat alone “we shall find that it will acquire 5,67l bushels, worth, at the present [1869] market price, $5,671 [$97,825 today], making it rather expensive to entertain such visitors in a region where hops have (recently) failed. Should they nest in this vicinity, the farmers of this section will be apt to wage against them a vigorous warfare, notwithstanding the protest of eminent ‘naturalists’ against their destruction.”

Ultimately, the naturalists had it right. The last passenger pigeon died in a Cincinnati zoo in 1914. Once the most abundant bird in North America when European settlers arrived, it was estimated there were between 3 and 5 billion passenger pigeons! The Sauk County Historical Society has one on display.

Fox hunters, 1908

When Loganville’s hunters went out with their guns, one never knew for sure what they would bring home. Witness this account from July of 1888, as described for the Reedsburg Free Press by C.T. Bliven. “While Mr. W. Heffel was on his way home from Loganville, three miles south of the town and 40 rods west of Charley Bliven's house, he saw a large animal cross the road. From his description it was supposed to be a lynx. The alarm was given and three well-armed men with Mr. Heffel's dog started in pursuit. We had not gone far when W. Westenhaver said he believed the dog had got him in under a tree top, so we closed in with guns ready for instant use, but we were soon satisfied from the smell that the animal was of another kind, commonly called skunk. We left the dog to do the work and stood back and encouraged him till he brought out five of those animals.

“Then as the dog did not feel very well, he was taken home and Bliven’s bulldog, Jack, was given the track and soon left the hunters behind in the thick brush. But in the course of half an hour, he came back to the hunters with both eyes most torn out of his head and long gashes over his face, showing he had met with no coward of an animal whatever it was. The hunters were called together and a council held, the conclusion being to still pursue and capture the creature. So, we cautiously crept through the bushes for a long distance when E. Westenhaver said, ‘Boys, fall in right and left, we have got him surrounded.’ So we crawled in on him, with guns ready, till within 20 feet.

when to our surprise we saw a German man that could not speak a word of English not then anyway, whether he ever could before or not, we don't know. The German, together with five skunks, were captured, but the lynx is still at large.”

In April of 1893, a most unusual business was established in the growing village of Loganville, which had to be one of the most unusual in Sauk County. A business that, one might say, had that special air about it. An item in the Free Press noted that, “A full -fledged skunkery is a new enterprise in Westfield, and a stock of about 30 of the frisky little fellows, of

variegated colors, are all ready to be seen.” There was no explanation as to the purpose for raising the striped kitties. Perhaps it was for their pelts.

During the past century, some of the more exotic game, such as wildcats, have disappeared from this area. However, from time to time we still hear of sightings being made. Turkeys have been reintroduced into Sauk County and have fared well. Of course, we have the ever-present deer population, together with squirrels, fox, coyotes and rabbits for the current generation to practice their marksmanship skills upon.

Horses VersesAutos

Henry Ford revolutionized the transportation industry in the early part of the 20th century with the introduction of affordable automobiles for the masses. However, the transition between the oat burners and the gas burners was not a smooth one.

In 1914, there were only 765 automobiles registered in Sauk County. But barely five years later, garages and gasoline stations were rapidly supplanting the stables and harness shops which had reigned supreme until then.

Henry Ford led the way by producing a vehicle which a person with an average income could afford. "I will build a motor car for the great multitude...constructed of the best materials, by the best men to be hired, after the simplest designs that modern engineering can devise...so low in price that no man making a good salary will be unable to own one, and enjoy with his family the blessing of hours of pleasure in God's great open spaces," he is quoted as saying.

The horseless carriage was here to stay. That was an acknowledged fact as we entered the second decade of the 1900s. But there were those who were vehemently opposed to the infernal contraptions. As one might expect, this led to the inevitable confrontation between the horse-drawn and gas-powered carriages. In an attempt to clarify some of the rules of the road, a writer for the Reedsburg Times Press offered a few suggestions in a 1911 article entitled Driving Horses and Autos.

He wrote: “There seems to be a general feeling

throughout the country by drivers of horses that when an auto comes up behind them and begins to honk his horn, that the meaning is to have the man driving the horses get off the earth and do it quickly.

“In fact, the auto driver simply wishes to give the other warning that he is behind him and that he would like to pass him without frightening the team or in any way make him any trouble.

“If his team is afraid, he will usually look for the first good place to turn out and let the auto pass. But I find that it is often the case where, if a man is driving a team that he knows is not afraid of the auto, he will let the driver honk his horn to his heart's content and give not the least sign that he has heard it.”

A 1908 Michigan Auto, in the collection of the Sauk County Historical Society.

Most roads during the early part of the last century were not much more than dirt covered trails, which were filled with mud holes and ruts during inclement weather, making it difficult to pass another vehicle.

The admonition continues:

“There is another notion existing to the effect that, when a man has the right of way, and another comes up behind him going at a faster rate of speed, he must take his chances in getting by in the best way he can. In fact, the party coming up behind, if he gives the other notice of the fact that he wishes to go faster and wants to go by, it is the business of the first driver to get out of his way, either by driving faster or by turning out far enough to let the other pass in safety.

“If, as is often the case, the second man tries to drive by the first, the first will run his horses and not let him by.”

The correspondent, writing, perhaps from person-

al experience, makes another observation:

“Also, when he (the horseman) comes to a piece of road where the conditions are such that the second man cannot drive by him, then he will drive very slowly just to hinder the other and thereby show his cussedness.” Do the words, road rage ring a bell?

Finally, he notes that, “The auto is here, and it is here to stay, and the sooner that the drivers of horses and of autos come to understand each other, the better for all concerned.”

By 1913, the stretch of road between Loganville and Reedsburg was being macadamized one of the first such improvements in the state and road reconstruction throughout the county was spurred on by the advent of the automobile. Pleasure trips by car were becoming more frequent, with families driving longer distances on a Sunday outing than during the days of horse and buggy.

April 2015 RTP

Reedsburg’s Lost Founder — Part 1

GOLD! Gold discovered at Pike’s Peak in Western Kansas! Fortune seekers from across the nation head west! Those, and similar headlines reverberated across the nation in 1858.

Gold fever also ran rampant in Sauk County, and many restless enraptures packed up their belongings and headed to the gold fields. It had been only ten years since most pioneers settled in the Sauk County area, and now many were on the move again, to seek their fortunes over the western horizon. The allure of vast riches must have jaded the minds of many of these erstwhile travelers as they sought that which they had not found among the green hills of southcentral Wisconsin. The journey was long, hazardous, and fraught with unknowns.

In the April 7, 1859 issue of the Baraboo Republic, a letter from Reedsburg recounts the excitement and adventure which the travelers anticipated.

“A company of twelve have left here today for the gold fields of Western Kansas, among them David C. Reed Esq., the founder of the village, and James Coughran of the steam mill. Eight of our citizens left for the same destination several weeks since, and a few more are expected soon to follow. Some eight or ten are soon to leave the village of Ironton for the same object.

“Many of these are among our stable citizens and several of them farmers. They are not greatly elated

with imaginary visions of gold, but look at the matter in a serious and calculating mood. They are not expecting great wealth with a small outlay, but hope by patient toil and rigid economy, to obtain in the course of the coming year or two that which will enable them to place their families in circumstances of comfort, which they fear that they shall not be able to do otherwise. May their hopes be realized.”

David Caldwell Reed, pioneer settler and namesake of the city of Reedsburg, WI, came to Sauk County in 1847 and settled along the Baraboo River. He was born in New York around 1808. He married Loretta Dixon ca. 1830, and they had four sons, Levi S., George D., Harrison and Charles F. David’s wife had passed away in 1846 at 36 years of age, in Walworth County, where they originally settled before coming to what was to become Reedsburg.

The Pike’s Peakers traveled by water, via the Baraboo, Wisconsin, Mississippi and Missouri Rivers. Forty-eight men had left the area by the end of April, 1859.

But, alas, all was not as anticipated. By the end of May of that same year, another letter in the Baraboo Republic, from Henry Gitchell of Baraboo, who had just returned from his western trek, sadly bemoaned the fact that he had gone as far as Ft. Kearney, Nebraska, and became satisfied that the gold stories were a cruel hoax.

Reedsburg, ca. 1870

“He states that he has met the greater portion of those who started from this neighborhood, and that they are now on their way home, wiser and better men, though considerably reduced in purse. It is universally conceded that the Kansas gold mines are a humbug of the ‘first water.’ The St. Louis papers, which have, probably, more than all others combined, acted to deceive the public, though perhaps they were themselves the dupes of their correspondents, have at last acknowledged the mighty humbug.”

There was gold to be found at Pike’s Peak, and those who arrived early on, scooped up all the placer (surface) gold. After that played out, the exodus commenced. Those who remained, found the real riches when they dug deeper mines into the hillsides.

Another area paper reported that some twenty thousand “enraged and desperate miners” were on their way east, “…and being in a starving condition had attacked trains going west with food, in which skirmishes several lives had been lost.”

Another letter to the Elkhorn River, WI, newspaper from a man headed west, reported on what he called the “Tide of Eastern Emigration.” The writer noted that, “They came on foot, on horse-back, with oxen and horses, scattered along like sheep without a shepherd. The reports are almost all the same, ‘Pike’s Peak is an unmitigated humbug’. Everybody says it everybody hears it everybody knows it!”

He goes on to write, “Above me on the Platt [Platte River, Nebraska] all is commotion, and from there onward to the mines, revolvers and knives are used freely.”

Other reports from the “front” accused postmasters of altering letters home to indicate that the mines were lucrative, and telling friends and relatives to leave immediately for the gold fields. It apparently being a veiled attempt to attract more settlers to the western states.

The writer concludes his letter with these ominous words, “We hear nothing good on this side of the Missouri [River]. It is said that all are coming back [east] or going through to California.”

But what of Reedsburg’s namesake, David Reed? What became of him? Searches of Reedsburg and Baraboo newspapers of the 1860 era, produced nothing. Not a single word about the whereabouts of Mr. Reed, or what may have happened to him. Was he

The grave of David’s wife, Loretta nee Dixon, who passed away in 1846, before the family reached Reedsburg.

killed in one of the skirmishes previously mentioned? Or had he continued on further west as others had? Additional research was needed. Several historical societies in the Pike’s Peak region were contacted. Perhaps Reed had taken out a mining claim. No luck.

A check of the Colorado Voters for the 1861 Territorial Election for a delegate to the 37th Congress scored a hit D.C. Reed was listed. But was it our D.C. Reed? There was no way of knowing, so at this point the trail went cold.

Over half a century later, at a 1919 Reedsburg Old Settlers’ meeting, the secretary’s minute book reported that President John Stone gave a little sketch of the life of David Reed, and noted “…his sad death and unknown grave.” Unfortunately, that speech was never written down! So we are only left with the haunting statement, “His sad death and unknown grave.”

That’s not the end of the story, however. The long search for David Caldwell Reed will continue in next month’s column. May 2015 RTP

Reedsburg’s Lost Founder — Part 2

In last month’s column, David Caldwell Reed, the founder and namesake of Reedsburg, headed west to seek his fortune in the gold fields of Pike’s Peak, Kansas Territory. Along with about 48 other men from the Sauk County area, Reed left Wisconsin in 1859. The journey was treacherous, and the gold fields were even more so. Disputes over claims could lead to gunfights. And when the majority of fortune seekers found out that the easy gold had all played out, they returned home, disgruntled and angry. They were angry over what they thought had been false claims perpetrated by the western newspapers simply to entice more settlers into the new territory. At this point, David Reed’s trail appeared to have come to an end.

mitted Mr. Reed’s name and details. Every response resulted in either “no data” or the dates didn’t match our David Reed. But I persisted.

However, the story and search for David Reed did not end there. A letter home from a Wisconsin native indicated that some of the miners continued their journey west to California, perhaps determined to strike it rich in the gold fields of California as the forty-niners had.

The last mention of Reed was in a Baraboo Newspaper in a speech given at a 1919 Old Settlers’ meeting. The speaker left the reader with an undefined mystery of what happened to David Reed when he spoke of: “His sad death and unknown grave.”

The authors of the 1998 sesquicentennial publication, Reedsburg Remembers 150 Years, have been attempting to complete the Reed saga for the past 17 years.

There are now new venues through which a more detailed genealogical search may be conducted. Every year, additional census records are being posted on the Internet, along with birth, marriage and death records. Genealogical research organizations such as Ancestory.com, have aided countless family history buffs find long-lost ancestors and grow additional branches onto their family trees.

Whenever an opportunity arose, where I could enter a research query into one of these databases, I sub-

Recently I had a 14 day free trial through Ancestory.com, and posted David’s name again. But this time, I was the one who struck gold! About a dozen returns came up on the screen. As each was investigated, it appeared that I was on the right track. Perhaps he had not died in a skirmish in Kansas Territory, but had actually gone on to California.

The first record of a David C. Reed’s presence in that state, indicated that he had fallen on hard times. On January 5, 1865, he had been arrested and committed to an insane asylum in Stockton, CA.

The hospital committal record for that date stated David C. Reed: “Age about 52 years; native of New York; was last from Wisconsin; has been in this state about five years; occupation laborer. This patient was arrested by the city police and all the above information obtained from him. His general appearance and conversation indicates insanity. He is dangerous from irregular conduct and actions; class of insanity mania.”

The age was close, he was born around 1809, the birthplace, N.Y. was right, he had lived in Wisconsin, and he had been in California about 5 years by 1865 (he disappeared from Reedsburg around 1859).

Based upon the above information, it is quite logical to assume that this was the Reed who founded the city of Reedsburg, Wisconsin. One hundred and fifty years after his disappearance from Sauk County, David Caldwell Reed had been found!

Stockton State Hospital, California, where David Reed was found in 1865

The Stockton State Hospital was founded in 1851, to accommodate “…the large numbers of people who suffered from mental and emotional conditions as a result of the California Gold Rush.”

Insanity, mania is characterized by violent, abnormal or impulsive behavior, including delusion. From the admittance description of the condition of Mr. Reed, these symptoms may have been observed by the police, thereby resulting in his arrest and committal.

Whatever the cause for Reed’s tenure there, he must have been deemed better seven months later by August, 1865, because he was discharged at that time, to carry on with his life.

David must have been a very civic-minded citizen, as the next record from the 1868 Voter Register in Santa Cruz, CA, indicated: “Reed, David Caldwell, age 59, born in N.Y., occupation: Farmer.” Again, he turns up in the 1868 Sacramento County Directory: “Reed, David C., farmer, native, Couch’s Saloon Precinct.”

Every ten years a federal census is taken of U.S.

citizens. David C. Reed is found on the Santa Cruz Agriculture Schedule in 1870. Enumerators counted 2 horses, one cow, and 25 swine belonging to Reed. The value of all livestock owned by him was listed as $300 ($5,535 today).

In addition, the 1870 Federal Census also indicates that he was 61 years old, a gardener, born in N.Y., lived in Santa Cruz Township in Santa Cruz County, CA. The value of his personal estate was $200 ($3,690 today). His total net value at that time was $500, or $9,225 in today’s dollars. The average annual salary for a laborer in 1870 was about $130.

A year later, on August 14, 1871, David Caldwell Reed, age 59, born in N.Y., occupation farmer, living in Peach Tree, Monterey County, CA, 43 miles from Santa Cruz, again registered to vote. Also living in Peach Tree at that time were Peter David Reed, age 30, farmer, born in Missouri and Leonard Reed, age 59, farmer, born in IL. So far, we have no record of any family relationship between these men, however if true, it may be one reason why David moved once again.

June 2015 RTP

Sauk County’sAncient Past, Revealed

Five millennia ago, on a tall ridge in Freedom Township, a Native American flint knapper sat cross-legged, holding a stone which he was striking with the nub of a deer antler. As he hit the rock at just the right angle, thin chips split from the mother stone and landed on the ground around him. After much work, he completed the task, and displayed the artifact to his companions a perfect spear point.

Fast forward 5,000 years to that same hilltop, and George Christiansen’s class of students from the UW Baraboo/Sauk County, are marking meter square outlines on the ground. Carefully removing the topsoil, they begin to clear, slowly and meticulously, successive layers of dirt. Thin flakes of stone are sifted from the tailings on a screened shaker device. Suddenly, one of the students, Virginia Fetzer, spies a small, gray protruding object embedded in the side of the pit. With her workmate, Ashley Hennen, they carefully brush the surrounding soil aside revealing the true nature of their find. Another stone point has been unearthed. They are the first humans in 5 millennia to see and touch this rare artifact which had been created so long ago.

but it would be a distant relationship.”

The earliest ancestors of these people probably arrived in Wisconsin around 12,000 years ago, and would have been using thrusting spears and spear throwers to hunt game. The artifact that Virginia discovered could have originally been the tip of a dart used in a spear thrower. However, Christiansen postulated that due to its rounded tip, it may have been used as a knife. Often, when spear points became damaged or broken, they were reworked and repurposed for other uses.

Haley Kempf, Virginia Fetzer, and Ashley Hennen were spending six weeks this summer, learning about the science of archaeology. Their field work introduced them to the thrill of discovery as these historic artifacts came to light. They also learned how to catalogue and chart their location in the pit. Also assisting in the dig, were Harley Soerfass, Project Assistant, and volunteer Scott Weisman, a former 2014 student.

Christiansen spoke of those who might have lived there: “This was a long, long time ago,” he said, “and presumably, you would have some ancestral people here and you might be talking about the Ho Chunk,

Christiansen said that the stone point would have been attached to, “…what would look like a very long arrow, with a fairly wide diameter, and they’d use a spear thrower, which kind of looks like a crochet hook. They’d hold one end, put the end of the spear where the hook is, and you’d cast it like you’re casting a fly rod. Later on, starting about 1,300 years ago, is when the bow and arrow became more commonly used here.”

Large animals, such as mastodons and mammoths were long gone when these people lived here, however they would have had numerous white-tailed deer and maybe even elk to hunt.

Archaeological Dig Site on Freedom Ridge

And why did these early settlers place their camp so high on the hill? Christiansen speculated that, “It’s up out of the flood plain bottoms, so the bugs aren’t quite as bad. You have the resources of the [nearby] intermittent stream [and] there was kind of a flooded lowland down there, a portion of a Tamarac swamp.

So ecologically speaking, this is a great place to live. You’ve got great visibility, aquatic resources, and you’re in an upland area. Who wouldn’t want to live here?”

July 2015 RTP

Stone point found on the site.

Instructor, George Christiansen surveying the dig site.

Glidden Auto Tour of 1909 Visits Baraboo Part 1

The Glidden Auto Tour of 1909 was sponsored by the American Automobile Association and was billed as an Automotive Reliability Tour. It consisted of a cadre of intrepid daring young men of the Edwardian Era, who struck out on an automobile trip which would test the mettle of their endurance, as well as the durability and performance of their vehicles.

During the early part of the last century, automobiles were considered a plaything of the very rich. The tour was established to prove that this mode of travel was a viable form of cross-country transportation for anyone, and to help the country develop safe roads and highways.

Previous auto tours had been staged in the eastern part of the country, such as Pennsylvania and N.Y. The 1909 excursion was scheduled to tour the Midwest including forays into Wisconsin and a passage through Baraboo. “The Westerners were eager to prove they deserved the honor of hosting despite their suspect roads with a reputation for underdevelopment,” noted a press release.

Boston millionaire, Charles Glidden, put up the

first prize consisting of a huge silver trophy. Glidden was a pioneer in the telephone industry and a financier who supported the advancement of the automobile industry in the U.S. He and his wife, were the first to circle the globe in an automobile in 1902.

This was not a race, but rather, a test of the reliability of automobile transportation. There were few paved roads during the early 20th century, and even fewer signs or maps to guide travelers. So an adventure like this must have seemed daunting to early horseless carriage pioneers.

The sixth annual Glidden Tour of 2,600 miles, began its trek in Detroit on a sunny July morning in 1909. They hoped to end up in Kansas City, by way of Denver, barring any major breakdowns. Cars were expected to stop at checkpoints along the route to ensure that they were following the rules. Observers in each car recorded all aspects of the tour, including spare parts used, oil consumption, and the time it took to make repairs.

The Auto Tour Arrives in Baraboo in 1909

Several days into the tour, a newspaper reporter filed the following report: “Glancing at their cars you would never believe that just a few days ago they had been brand new. Or had ever been clean. What had once been gleaming paint with intricate Edwardian-era detail and miles of freshly polished chrome was now obscured beneath layers of mud. Tall, smooth fenders had given way to countless dents and dings from rocks and other flying debris. The cars’ thin tires and ornate wooden wheels had started the tour well, but were soon useless on the country roads, taking a toll from the mud and deep wagon ruts. The drivers matched their automobiles in this regard. With their cars’ open air designs they had been exposed to the elements and were caked in dust. Luckily their goggles were still holding up –but they still had another two weeks to go!”

Cites along the way welcomed the cars with celebrations and guided tours of their fair cities. Baraboo, too, hosted the entourage, which rolled through town and up to the square. The Baraboo Daily of July 14, noted that, “The Glidden automobile endurance tour passed through Baraboo this forenoon, and hundreds were out to see the autoists who are contesting for the Glidden The contestants only slowed down for the corners and crossings, but the press cars stopped and received refreshments, and judging from their dust covered appearance, refreshment of moistening nature would be very acceptable.” The press arrived several hours before the contestants and took breakfast at the Warren House.

The 1909 Glidden Auto Tour will be continued in next month’s issue.

August 2015 RTP

Studebaker autos ply the dusty roads of Sauk County

GliddenAuto Tour of 1909 Visits Baraboo Part 2

The Glidden Auto Tour of 1909, began in Detroit, and was scheduled to tour the Midwest and ultimately finish in Kansas City. It was a long and arduous trek with few improved roads and no maps to guide the travelers. This was not a race to see who could complete the course first; it was an endurance test to prove to the general public that the automobile was a viable mode of transportation, and not just a plaything for the wealthy.

The press for the tour had arrived in Baraboo several hours before the rest of the cavalcade and took a rest stop at the Warren House.

However, when the contestants finally arrived in Baraboo several hours later, one reporter noted that “…those in the contest wore an air of determination which could only see the road and hear the pulsation of their own engines.”

A Baraboo photographer, captured Mr.’s Moore

and Blackstone in their Lexington car, as a Studebaker press car lead the way.

Another report in the Baraboo Daily, noted, “So far but few accidents were reported, other than getting off the road and into ditches, which did not delay the unfortunate ones long.” One participant, Jack Shimp in a Jewell #111 car, had trouble navigating an unimproved road near Baraboo. A note on the photo indicated that Shimp had “gone wrong” and had to turn around.

“The one [car] many were looking for was the Brush single cylinder, which seemed to be making good,” noted the article. “One of these cars was running under a handicap because of a leaking tank, and it stopped at Prothero’s for gasoline.”

An important feature of the tour, was the art of driving a car. “The road was new to every driver and when they came up Second Avenue, it was pleasing to see them make the corner on Oak.

Moore and Blackstone in Baraboo

The only guide was bits of paper…which were sprinkled about ten rods from each turn in the road. In rounding these corners each one dropped down to a speed of four to six miles an hour. Anyone on the street with ordinary care, was safe.”

A reporter from the Baraboo News wrote, “The streets were lined with interested spectators and many checked the cars as they passed. Once or twice the streets were so crowded by teams that the ‘honk, honk’ vibrated viciously from the car of the impatient drivers.

“Farmers stopped their corn cultivators a moment to cheer the tourists on their way. The dishwashing at the farm houses after breakfast was left while the women folks rushed to the doors and into the yards to greet the flying squadron and hear the ‘Hello girls’ merrily shouted by the boys in the machine.” Several area folks were on the road when the tour passed them by. “J. Van Orden and party and John Terbilcox and party, with their autos, were on the West Sauk Road when the Gliddenites passed. The big machines dug up the macadam in a vicious manner. The observers state that when a level stretch was reached the drivers put on the full speed, or at any rate a very high speed, and the machines jumped like wild cats and flew like a cyclone.” Actually, the average speed of the participants was 20 to 25 miles per hour, but perhaps they gunned it to 40 on the straightaways.

As the mechanical cavalcade proceeded out of Baraboo on the North Freedom road, the next stop on the route was La Crosse.

After arriving in La Crosse, one observer said, “The machines were enshrouded in clouds of dust and the faces of the occupants were begrimed the

color of the road. The men appeared exhausted and staggered as they alighted from their machines.”

One reporter noted that the travel between Madison and La Crosse was “Low Gear Day." He went on to write, “Many times while trying to mount the steep, rock-bound hills, on roads that make the Adirondacks look like boulevards, the machines were stalled and had to be blocked with large rocks to keep them from runnin’ backward on the followers. It was a common sight to see three machines in a row, with occupants behind straining every muscle to help get the struggling motor in control of the situation The descents were more dangerous, as they abounded in high water breaks, large rocks and sharp turns. One never knew around what dustclouded curve one would find a competitor halted in the road with a stuck machine."

Once the travelers got into Minnesota, a local newspaper reported that, “The roads were a welcome relief from the recent Wisconsin stretch.” The tour continued westward to its final destination in Kansas City.

There would be only three more Glidden Auto tours 1910, 1911, 1913 as the acceptance of the automobile and sales thereof had become mainstream by then, and the need to demonstrate their durability had been proven to the public. Roads were being improved, and with the aid of the AAA, road maps were becoming more prevalent.

But, anyone visiting Baraboo the day of the1909 passage could only dream that someday they, too, might ride with the wind in their very own mechanical horseless carriage.

September 2015 RTP

Shimp

Jewell

Bogus Camp is for Real

C.W. Butterfield, in his History of Sauk County1880, relates a story about a couple of enterprising characters who found a better way to raise capital to fill their pockets. They literally made their own money….by counterfeiting it! It must have been quite an operation, as Wm Canfield included the location of their “Bogus Camp” on his 1859 map of Sauk County. A nearby stream was also named, “Bogus Camp Run.”

Counterfeiting has been around since the first coins were minted in 600 B.C in Greece. Some say it’s the world’s second oldest profession. Numerous methods were employed to disguise the fact that payment was being made with dubious forms of coinage or paper bills.

One method of obtaining the metal for counterfeit coins was to shave the edges of real coins and mix the shavings with cheaper base metals. Another method involved minting a coin using a cheap metal core and coating it with a small amount of silver or gold.

Butterfield writes, “While on the subject of counterfeits, it will be in place here to say something of another mysterious spot.” He describes it as being located in Bear Creek Township.

“In early times it was known as ‘Bogus Camp,’ and was thus described by a gentleman who visited it over twenty-one years ago [ca.1859]. It is situated in a sly-looking pocket of a natural formation in the rocks, overhung with high bluffs. In front is located a pretty grove of oaks and maples, and nearby a refreshing spring leaps from the hillside.”

Additional research into later Bear Creek township maps did not indicate the location of the camp mentioned by Butterfield. Nor was there a creek shown in the location as on the 1859 map. Perhaps the creek dried up and became overgrown, and the camp was long forgotten.

Butterfield continues, “When I visited the place in 1858, in accompany with several gentlemen, we found an old troth about 30 feet long, which conducted water into a log cabin which was then partially decayed.” Water was used to cool the metal coins after they came out of the die. “Within the cabin was

a dilapidated forge, and it is said, an old pistol and other trinkets had been found there before.” The metal was heated in the forge before being poured into the die. “Nearby was a powerful press which was constructed of trees. A rock maple 18 inches in diameter had been felled in front of a sturdy old oak. The maple, for a space of six feet opposite the oak, had been hewn down and in the flat surface was sunk a groove 2 inches wide, 3 inches deep, and about 6 feet long, intended, probably, to receive a bar containing counterfeit dies.” Liquid metal was poured into the die, which had impressions in the form of the coins. “In the standing oak had been mortised a hole, perhaps 6 inches square and deep enough to receive the end of a lever, and nearby we found a lever, red elm, 7 inches in diameter, and 17 feet long.” Another die would have been placed on top of the metal-filled first die, and the two would be pressed together to form the counterfeit coins.

Butterfield concludes by noting that, “Here doubtless, 50 years ago, a gang of outlaws carried on their nefarious work uninterrupted.”

A one cent coin in 1859 would be worth about 26 cents in today’s money. However, back then, that one cent coin would buy three pounds of sugar, or four pounds of rice, or 2 ½ pounds of roasting beef. So the work of these rogues would have been well worth the effort.

October 2015 RTP

Covered Bridges of Sauk County

Traveling the rustic dirt-covered roads of Sauk County during the latter half of the 19th century was a challenge for both teamster and team.

To early settlers, streams and rivers were an impasse which had to be breached one way or another. Usually the driver sought a shallow stone-covered bottom, at times traveling miles out of the way to locate a suitable crossing.

Primitive log bridges were later laid across narrow sections of streams, but floods and the ravages of weather either floated them away or rotted the wood, making the bridge unsafe for passage.

One solution to this problem was to cover bridges with roofs and sidewalls, thereby protecting the deck and preventing the timbers from deteriorating. The idea for the first covered bridges originated in Central Europe to protect wooden trusses and joints from the weather. The idea came to America in 1808. It was a natural transition to utilize similar designs for roadway bridges.

Local farmers who were responsible for building some of the early covered bridges patterned their construction after farm buildings and usually based the height and width of the opening on the size of a load of hay. The sides were covered with closely placed boards to protect the wooden structure from inclement weather and to keep teams of oxen or horses from getting spooked as they crossed the rushing water.

From 1873 to 1877, six Sauk County covered bridges were constructed by Jared “Jerry” Dodd and his crew:

Over the Baraboo River north of Able man (Rock Springs) on Highway 136 near Van Hise Rock, built in 1875, cost $1,482; torn down in 1924.

Over the Baraboo River near the railroad tracks in Ableman, gone before 1924.

Over Narrows Creek, one mile west of Ableman on Highway 154, collapsed in 1930 under the weight of a gravel truck.

Over the Baraboo River near the Island Woolen Mill built in 1873, cost $2,700; gone before 1924.

Over the Baraboo River connecting Ash and Walnut Streets in Baraboo, built in 1875, with causeways for foot travelers outside the enclosure, but under the roof overhang; used 83,000 feet of lumber, 54,000 shingles; gone before 1924.

Over the Baraboo River, junction of High way 33 and Highway T, known as the Butterfield Bridge built in 1877, 60 feet long; torn down in 1934.

Covered Bridge near Rock Springs

The Dodd family originated in New York, where Jerry built five bridges before coming to Sauk County. Many of these structures were narrow, and allowed passage in only one direction. With the advent of the automobile, they proved to be disconcerting if speeding vehicles from opposite directions wished to traverse the bridge simultaneously. If they met on the bridge, one would have to back up and let the other pass often times with the result of an exchange of unkind words between travelers.

Mrs. Andrew Radies of Baraboo recalled the old Butterfield Bridge in a 1994 News Republic article:

“The bridge used to look like a barn, or red building with up and down side boards.

“In later years after the autos came to be more numerous, the side boards were taken off to let the approaching car know if there was another one inside the bridge was a one-way bridge.”

John Geoghegan recalled hearing Arnie Wolf tell of an experience he had while crossing Rock Springs Highway 136 bridge: Wolf was traveling home one night with his team of horses and under the light of a bright full moon. Upon approaching the bridge, one of horses refused to cross A vertical board on the side of the bridge was missing and the moonlight was streaming in the slot, casting a rectangular patch of

pale light on the floor inside. Wolf finally able to coax his reluctant horse to cross the bridge by removing his coat and placing it over the horse’s eyes.

Geoghegan also recalled hearing that during the winter, snow was hauled into the covered bridges so that cutters and sleighs could more easily pass through. He said that the snow lasted well into the spring, due to the cool air circulating around the floorboards.

The Butterfield covered bridge, the last one in Sauk County, was replaced by a more modern iron truss bridge in 1934 when the highway was straightened. Previous to that, travelers approaching the old covered bridge had to negotiate a sharp curve just before entering, resulting in numerous accidents.

The bridges of Sauk County have evolved through the decades as technology improved and changing traffic demanded wider and sturdier river crossings. The memories of these old wood-covered bridges are fading, as those who traversed them in their youth are also fading from the scene. Fortunately, several black and white images of these quaint structures have been preserved by the Sauk County Historical Society so future generations can marvel at their uniqueness.

October 2015 RTP

Butterfield Bridge

Christmas Days LongAgo

For this month’s column, I would like to call upon Mrs. Maria S. Remington of Olympia, Wash., to relate her memories of an 1864 Pioneer Christmas in Baraboo. Her penned thoughts have been preserved forever in the Baraboo News, of Dec. 30, 1909. She noted that customs had changed since she was a little girl back in 1864, and that in 1909 Christmas was more of a celebration for the young. Bill Schuette

Grown up people then took more interest in the fun and frolic of Christmas time than they do now, when it is, by common consent, almost purely a children’s festival. Old and young crowded into bobsleds, covered themselves with buffalo robes, and to the merry tune of sleigh bells, went speeding along for miles over the creaking snow to attend the Christmas party at the church. At our first Christmas festivities, it was our custom to take all our gifts, not only for members of our own family, but for our friends as well, to the church, where a committee of ladies took them in charge to be arranged and hung on a Christmas tree. This trimming of the tree was a very jolly part of the celebration.

Christmas Tree in Court House

How well I remember one Christmas tree, the first I think, for our church, at the old Court House, at that time our place of worship, forty-five years or more ago. All day people kept coming with parcels, and the little ones used every pretext to stay and get glimpses of the dolls and toys already in place. This could not be allowed, for surprise then, as now, was to be an important feature of the evening’s entertain-

ment, and the children were speedily sent on their way.

In the evening there were songs, recitations and dialogues by the children, after which the tree was lighted up and all was joyous bustle and confusion. There were exclamations of delight as the children spied some longed for treasure half hidden among the green, and much eager conversation in the excitement of trying to decide which of the beautiful things could be “for me.” The tree was trimmed, not with the tinsel and gilded ornaments of the present day, but with strings of popcorn and cranberries, and old fashioned cornucopias and other home made articles. It was heavily loaded with gifts for old and young, toys, books and wearing apparel, bundles and packages of every description, some of which were anything but decorative, from an artistic point of view very different from the splendidly decorated trees of the present time. But the company was not critical, and the smell of the pine and the gleam of the lighted candles were a delight to the little ones and to many of the “children of a larger growth.”

Breathless Interest

There was a breathless interest as the master of ceremonies took charge and removed the presents, one by one, reading off the names with great eclate. The recipient would leave his place and go forward to claim his gift, and there was much good natured raillery in the remarks and comments of his friends as he took his seat, only to be called forward again and again, if his circle of friends was large. When the very last gift was removed and even the popcorn strings were taken down and thrown to the children, the company became an informal gathering of friends, with hearty greetings and good wishes and a merry social hour. At last the sleepy children were wrapped in warm cloaks, tightly hugging their new treasures, and the last good byes sounded through the frosty air, and the “Christmas Tree” was over.

December 2015 RTP

Baraboo’s Whiskey War

TREMENDOUS EXCITEMENT! TEMPERANCE DEMONSTRATION BY FIFTY LADIES OF BARABOO! LIQUOR DESTROYED!

So read the headline in the Baraboo News of May 24, 1854. Fifty of the city’s enraged ladies were out to stem what they perceived to be an escalating problem of over indulgence in their fair city.

“It seems that the liquor sellers had been dispensing their nauseous merchandise rather too freely to some men in town, who it is said, were in the habit of getting drunk, which resulted in the abuse of their families,” noted the reporter. “This aroused a feeling of indignation in the breasts of a number of ladies of this place, and in secret conclave assembled, they determined to destroy the liquor in the various taverns and saloons that they could peaceably lay their hands on.”

The impetus for the outrage resulted from the death of one of Baraboo’s citizens, who, when drunk, was abusive to his family, and finally succumbed to his over indulgence, leaving a wife and children to mourn.

The gang of 50 began their crusade at the Wisconsin House, also known as the Brick Tavern, which they unceremoniously entered accompanied by encouragements from the assembled crowd. “In a very short time after, a number of excited ladies were seen bringing forth barrels of beer, rum, brandy, etc., emptying it into the streets, amidst the hurrahs and shouts of a hundred spectators.”

“Hark! There’s a sound of devastation a sudden unloosing of liquid devils,” noted a reporter on the scene. “The bar room of the Brick Tavern is in the process of female invasion. Fumes of liquor infect the air. Rye, Bourbon, and Fine Old Tom, meet a common fate and are rapidly absorbed by the parched earth in front of the hotel.” Being encouraged by the lack of resistance, the ladies proceeded across the square to another saloon and emptied the ale and beer from that establishment “in double quick time!”

Next on the list was the saloon of French Pete, where they found the doors solidly locked. The owner’s wife informed the angry crowd that “a determined resistance would be offered, and that they would not be allowed to enter the house unmolested!”

The temperance warriors then met on the piazza to reevaluate their strategy, when suddenly “The muzzle of a gun was thrust through a light of glass and such a scattering as ‘you never did see,’” was the result, noted the writer.

Being rebuffed, the ladies decided to abandon their quest at that establishment. However, by then a few of the men in the crowd began egging them on, and urged them to “press forward and enter the house forcibly, if necessary.”

The Wisconsin House, or Brick Tavern, as it appeared in the early 1900s. It had been modified numerous times since 1854. The original structure is on the lower right. The Ringling Theatre now occupies the site.

Soon, an opposing faction in the crowd took sway, and “A strong body of resolute determined men stationed themselves at the door, and loudly proclaimed their intention to defend the house from any violence so far as the men were concerned.” A sudden rush toward the door was rebuffed, with the result being a few scratches and torn shirts. A witness noted that, “For a few minutes we thought our town would be disgraced by a general fight, and that blood would be poured out instead of whiskey.”

Finally, the sheriff appeared and read the riotact, which was received by shouts from nearly two-thirds of the agitated crowd.

Their passions exhausted, the crowd dispersed with an assurance that their grievances would be addressed by an appointed committee, which was to “take into consideration the best means to put an end to liquor traffic in our village.”

Sixteen of the instigators, on the other hand, were arrested and taken to Sauk City so that an impartial trial could be held. However, they were undaunted, and an observer noted the following: “As the story was told to me, the arrest and ride to Sauk was very much like a farce, for the women strong in their knowledge of a righteous cause, made merry all the way or, as I was told ‘had the jolliest ride that ever was.’”

“Upon arriving at Sauk the sheriff requested that the women get out of the wagon and enter the jail. But the ladies had enjoyed their jolting ride and preferred the wagon to the cell, so they refused to

budge,” noted the news article. The sheriff threatened to remove them forcibly, but they called his bluff. He then unhitched the team and let the wagon sit where it was. After the sheriff left, one of the “prisoners” got out of the wagon and procured lunch for everyone. Seeing that he had been out maneuvered, the sheriff gave in, and took the ladies back to Baraboo.

They were not put in jail, and it was not long after, that the excitement of the day passed; and according to one observer, “nothing more was done about the matter.”

January 2016 RTP

Historic Edison Movie Projector Restored

Thomas Edison received a patent in 1897 for the projecting kinetoscope, the forerunner of today’s motion-picture film projector. Edison and his assistant W.K.L. Dickson had begun work on the project in hopes of boosting sales of the phonograph, which Edison had invented in1877, by combining sound recordings with moving pictures. In 1888, Edison announced plans to create a device that would do “for the eye what the phonograph did for the ear.” His intention was to perfect a system that would allow audiences to “see and hear a whole opera as perfectly as if actually present”. Edison coined the word Kinetoscope derived from the Greek kineto (movement) and scopos (to view).

When Edison invented this projecting moving picture machine, he was offered a chance to patent the motion picture process in Great Britain. But he turned it down, because he said no one would sit in a dark room to watch pictures move on a screen. He thought the ultimate use of his kinetoscope would be in penny arcades, where men could deposit a penny, and watch Little Egypt doing her dance – or some such thing. A patron would deposit a coin in the machine, look into a viewing port, turn a crank and view a short movie.

Edison then decided to take the insides of a Kinetoscope, and mount it on an oak board. And at the back of the board he placed a lantern-slide projector, previously used to show slides in theaters. It provided a light source for the projecting Kinetoscope. This was the first movie projector manufactured in the U.S. to show professional movies there had been some “toys” before that which failed to excite the public. A projector identical to this was used at the Koser and Bial Music Hall in New York City to project the first motion pictures ever seen in the U.S. by a theater audience.

Edison finally introduced the Kinetophone in 1913, which used a cylinder phonograph in conjunction with his projecting Kinetoscope to enliven the audience’s viewing experience. The phonograph was connected to the projector with a fishing line-type belt and pulleys which ran from the projector, under the floor to the phonograph at the front of the room where a screen was set up. Unable to synchronize the two media, which also produced poor sound quality, the novelty soon faded.

Through the early 1900s, movie patrons continued to watch silent films, accompanied by a piano player, who tailored the music to the action on the screen. Movie palaces, such as the Ringling Theatre, installed large pipe organs to accompany the films. “Talkies” were not introduced to audiences until the late 1920s.

A restored version of an Edison 1903 Kinetoscope donated by the Ringling family can be seen at the Sauk County Historical Society museum this summer.

February 2016 RTP

Those Were the Days — ARomantic Retrospective

This month we shall take a trip back in time to the 1870s. A time when life was simpler or so it seemed and the Industrial Revolution had yet to thrust modern technology into our everyday lives.

Ruth M. Southard was a picturesque Baraboo writer in the late 1920s, and she penned numerous letters to the editor for the local newspaper. In this letter she recalls what the good life was like back when she was a young girl growing up in Baraboo.

“How well I remember when there were no street lamps in Baraboo. Looking backward it doesn’t seem so very long ago when pedestrians carried lanterns to light themselves about small fancy ones for women, sturdy, square or round, or three sided ones for men, lighted at first by tallow candles, later by kerosene oil. All along the road one could see these firefly lights carried by headless creatures, for the upper part of the body was in shadow. Like will o’ the wisps, lantern light bobbed here and there wherever there was work to do after dark it was rather weird and unreal. On winter nights when the road was the only thoroughfare, when the snow was drifted high over the fence tops, one trudged along behind the little beam of lantern light to church or to the neighbors.

Shoes were a luxury in the mid-19th century for kids growing up, especially in rural communities, so many did without.

“It was nothing in their young lives for boys and girls to go barefoot in summer time,” recalled Mrs. Southhard. “It was no hardship to walk, to one who had known no other way of locomotion except to ride Old Bill, or Tom, ‘bareback,’ and what farm boy or

girl had not aspired to this privilege.”

And yes, romance was more dear back in the day too, as young men and women spent those precious romantic interludes in the company of one another.

“It was not till courting time came that the single buggy with its trim whip, and gay laprobe became the outward evidence of all that was elegant, and the girl who was invited to share a seat with the owner was envied beyond words by her mates.

“Did romance vanish with the horse and buggy? Romance with a capital “R” wove its spell around those old buggy rides. It meant song of birds and brooks. It meant trees with the sunlight flickering through, green grass, and flowers close to the roadside. It meant sweet confidences and betrothal, and a marriage that held for 50 years or more. Simple pleasures, long looked forward to, and long remembered shone brighter for their rarity.”

But alas, Mrs. Southard bemoaned the fact that in the roaring twenties when she penned this retrospective, life had changed, and in her mind, not for the better.

“Today we go fast to catch our thrills,” she noted. “We pile the family into the car, and see places strange to us. We camp in a tourist camp with other tourists. We whizz along a concrete road we get there! we have wrecked cars, and wrecked lives. But romance is nowhere along the way.”

Have things really changed that much in the past century? I wonder.

March 2016 RTP

Television Comes to Baraboo

Filo T. Farnsworth, in 1927, was the inventor of the first fully functional all-electronic image pickup device (video camera tube), as well as the first fully functional and complete all-electronic television receiving system.

The advent of television progressed rapidly thereafter, with others adding to, and improving on, that original concept. In 1942 there were 5,000 television receiving sets in American homes. However, during the war years, the production of new radios, televisions and related devices, was suspended until 1945. By 1947, the number of sets had multiplied to 44,000. And by 1953, that number had swelled to over 20 million.

The time after WWII is considered the second birth of television. Families had accumulated money during the war years and were eager to spend it on homes, cars, and entertainment, which they had been denied during the conflict. Television sets were one of the items on their must-have list.

John Danube was an early retailer of radios in Baraboo, and later, when television came along, he sold the first sets in the area. His store was open six days a week. The 1948 Fada TV set that is now in the Sauk County Historical Society’s collection, is purported to have been the first set sold in Baraboo, according to the Danube Family donors.

John initially came to Baraboo to work at the power plant. Later, he worked for Mr. Kieffer in his electronics store. There was a little cubbyhole upstairs in the store where John repaired radios. He got his training in radio repair through a correspondence course from the National Radio Institute.

Dorothy, John’s wife, recalled in a 2010 interview that when the first television set a 1948 Fada brand was displayed in the window of their store, people stood outside and were fascinated by the fact that they could finally put faces to the actors who had entertained them for half a century on the radio. Although the picture was often snowy, it did not deter the crowd from coming. She said that when the picture faded away, the crowd would leave, only to return later to see if the reception had cleared up. They were probably watching WTMJ, channel 4, Milwaukee, which came on the air on Dec. 3, 1947. Some early television shows were Howdy Doody, Kraft Television Theater, and Kukla, Fran & Ollie

A 10-inch screen TV such as the Fada, would have cost about $325 in 1948 (around $3,200 in today’s dollars). Dorothy said that her family did not have a TV set in their own home until years later.

“I remember all our tube shelves, all those tubes we used to have, along with condensers and resisters,” recalled Dorothy. She would help out by checking tubes and doing the bookwork.

John put up a tall antenna on the shop to receive the distant stations which were, at the time, located in Milwaukee and Green Bay. One of his employees was Dan Rosenthal, who helped out repairing radios. Ted, John’s son, noted, “I used to climb towers. When I was 12 or 13, I went up on the Farm Kitchen’s 100 foot aerial. I loved climbing.”

Initially, towers in the Sauk County area had to be tall to receive stations from as far away as Milwaukee, La Crosse, and Green Bay. But in 1956, channel 3 in Madison came on the air. Their VHF signal traveled much further than its then competitor, WKOW, channel 27, which came on the air in 1953 as a UHF station. Southern Wisconsin was unique in the fact that there were more UHF channels than VHF, necessitating the requirement for two antenna arrays on a tower.

John Danube retired from the electronics business in 1975.

The 1948 Fada TV may be seen at the Sauk County Historical Society museum, 531 4th Ave., Baraboo. April 2016 RTP

Danube Store, above right, on 4th Ave. Above, Christmas storefront in 1954

Reedsburg Youth is Civil War Drummer Boy Part 1

During the Civil War, drummers and buglers were allowed to enlist in the army without meeting the 18year-old minimum age requirement for a combat soldier. Some estimates noted that 100,000 boys younger than 15 enlisted in the Union Army as musicians. Some 300 were even younger than 13.

It was the duty of the musicians to signal the soldiers when to eat, when to sleep and when to awaken. They also set the pace during marches. During a battle, they sounded out to let the soldiers know when to shoot and when to retreat, using their instruments. In the heat of battle, officers shouting orders could not be heard over the din, so the musicians’ louder bugles and drums were used as signal devices.

Many boys who became drummers, already knew how to play the drum before they entered service, as there were no formal schools to teach them. However, they were required to learn the many and varied drum beats needed to signal the troops. And they may have had access to The Drummers’ and Fifers’ Guide.

These young musicians were also required to help remove the wounded from the battlefield, and act as runners or curriers between outposts. They could be required to assist a surgeon in a field hospital holding down a soldier who was having a limb amputated, and then disposing of the severed member.

They were not, however, allowed to carry guns. Instead, they were issued a thin sword, which they wore proudly around their waist. There were occasions, however, when they might pick up a rifle to save their own life, or that of a fellow soldier.

One such youth from Reedsburg, Frank Pettis, was eleven years old when he enlisted in the Union Army as a drummer boy. His father, Amos, played the fife and also enlisted with his son. At the age of 12, Frank began his military service with his teacher, Captain A. P. Ellinwood, in Wisconsin’s 19th Infantry, Company A. He served from February 22, 1862 to August 9, 1865.

Pettis was present at every battle the 19th unit fought from Suffolk, VA, and New Berne, NC, to the sieges of Petersburg and Richmond, where the colors of his regiment were the first to fly from the Confederate capital building in Richmond, VA.

Despite the grueling schedule of drumming orders for the troops, and chores around camp, drummer boys did manage to have fun too. They played games with the other soldiers such as cards, dominoes, checkers, and even engaged in cockroach races. Additional entertainments consisted of baseball, foot races, and wrestling.

Some of the men were also musicians who played

banjoes or fiddles, and during down times along with the drummer, they would entertain the weary troops with music and songs.

Storytelling and writing letters home, were also an important part of a boy’s life.

After the war, Frank returned to Reedsburg and went to work in his father’s tailor shop. Several years later, at the age of 20, he became a miller and partner of A.P. Ellenwood, his former teacher and Civil War commander.

In 1870, Frank married Jane Pomeroy and they had four daughters and a son.

He was a life-long member of the Grand Army of the Republic (GAR) and the Reedsburg Drum Corps. He died in 1918, at the age of 68. At his funeral the Reedsburg Drum Corps, with muffled drums, preceded the hearse to Greenwood Cemetery where he is buried near his former teacher and Captain, A.P. Ellenwood. Frank Pettis left five grown children.

Young Frank Petties is depicted with his drum on Reedsburg’s military memorial in Nishan Park, on the “Courage” panel.

May 2016 RTP

Reedsburg Youth is Civil War Drummer Boy Part 2

Last month’s article highlighted Frank Pettis, the 11-year-old Reedsburg boy who joined the Civil War as a drummer. He enlisted with his father, Amos, who played the fife, and one of his teachers, A.P. Ellenwood. Additional information has come to light regarding Reedsburg’s little drummer boy.

Recently the Sauk County Historical Society received an e-mail from a gentleman in New Bern, North Carolina, who had seen a photo on our Society’s web site which matched one that he had in his collection. It depicted a blockhouse, which, during the Civil War, existed near where his home is located today. This blockhouse was a temporary location for Wisconsin’s Company A, 19th Infantry encampment during the war, the company in which Frank Pettis was serving. The photo shows soldiers lined up, possibly for an inspection, and right in the center, is a little drummer boy! None of the soldiers were identified, but it seems logical that the boy would have been Frank.

Additional information on the 19th Wisconsin Infantry, was located in Merton Krug’s 1929, History of Reedsburg and the Upper Baraboo Valley. Krug wrote that at the confluence of the Neuse and Trent rivers near New Bern, on Brice Creek a location that the rebels considered an important outpost and which they had strongly fortified had been “wrested from their hands by the bravery of the Union troops.”

It was here that Wisconsin’s 19th Regiment was assigned to provide picket duty at Evan’s Mill on Brice Creek. It was a swampy area with only one accessible route. “At that place was a saw and flourmill and a large plantation which had belonged to General Evans of the rebel army,” wrote Krug. Officers were quartered in the mansion, with the soldiers residing in a barracks built for the purpose. A photo in the

Reedsburg Old Settlers’ collection, depicts a man on the porch, with a boy seated on his lap. Upon closer inspection, the boy is wearing a uniform exactly like the one in a tintype of young Frank Pettis! Since Frank’s uniform is unique, it has to be him.

“At the time of the attack upon Newburn (sic) on February 1, 1864, Company A was also attacked by a brigade of rebel cavalry and a battery of artillery. They sent to New Bern for reinforcements and received three companies of cavalry and a twelvepound howitzer with men to man it.” noted Krug. They were able to hold out for three days.

Orders were then received from headquarters at New Bern, for the 19th to fall back to that city. The rebels had found a way around the swamp and were about to recapture the place where Pettis and his unit were camped. This forewarning saved the regiment from ultimate capture. Shortly thereafter, the rebels abandoned the location and the 19th regained the position. They rebuilt what the rebels had burned, and remained there until April, 1864 when orders arrived which sent them to Yorktown. Later, Company A’s regimental colors were the first to float from the confederate capitol in Richmond, VA.

Further research into the photo archives of the Old Settlers’ Association housed at the Reedsburg Library revealed two tintype photos of young Frankie Pettis. One was taken around age 11, the other, a few years later.

The Wisconsin 19th, Company A, went on to fight many other battles with bravery and fortitude. When Frank Pettis enlistment was up after 3 years, he could have called it quits and returned home. However, at the age of 14 he reenlisted as a regular soldier and stayed the course of the war. He, his father, Amos, and teacher, Ellenwood, all returned home safely.

The blockhouse in New Bern, N.C. where the 19th Infantry camped. Colorized in 2017 by John Klecker,

The 19th Wisconsin suffered 2 officers and 41 enlisted men killed in action or who later died of their wounds, plus another 3 officers and 115 enlisted men who died of disease, for a total of 161 fatalities.

An ancient inscription in King Tut’s tomb reads, “To speak the name of the dead is to make them live again…” In a small way, this research into the life of Frankie Pettis, has reawakened his memory and life

story in those of us who have learned of his courage and dedication during the Civil War over 150 years ago. This past Memorial Day, a wreath was placed on his grave in Greenwood Cemetery, in memory of Reedsburg’s brave little drummer boy.

June 2016 RTP

Wisconsin 19th, Company A, headquarters at New Bern, N.C. in 1864. Photo colorized by John Klecker of New Bern, NC in 2017.

Frank Pettis seated on the lap of fellow soldier, Lewis H. Cahoon. Enlargement of the above photo. They are on the left side of the front porch.

Reedsburg Brick Factory Rediscovered

Manufactured bricks have been in use for over 5,000 years, first made in the Middle East in what is now Iraq. With a lack of stone to build, they used what was most abundant. Dirt and clay was mixed with water and sunbaked. However, they could only be used inside, as the elements would degrade the bricks rapidly.

Next came the Babylonians, who were the first to fire the bricks in rude kilns. Eventually, these improved techniques made their way to Europe and then to the Americas in the sixteenth century.

In the latter part of the nineteenth century, Reedsburg, along with many area communities in Sauk County, had a brick yard, the location of which, until recently, remained unknown.

Carol (Meyer), Mrs. George Tibbitts once lived in the red brick house on Granite Ave. which recently received a Historic Preservation award. Carol’s grandfather, Fredrich Bergmann (1839-1916) owned and operated a brick yard located nearby (NW corner of Granite Ave. & K Street). The house, built by Bergmann, was made of bricks from his brick yard and replaced a frame house which burned around 1897.

Clay, sand and water were mixed in the pit shown in the center of this 1890s photo. Sometimes sawdust was also added to reduce cracking during firing. Horsepower was used to pull the large beam

in a circle. The beam was attached to an upright pole which, in turn, was attached to paddles at the bottom of a three foot deep pit. As the horse circled the pit, it pulled the beam, turning the pole and mixing the clay. Water was obtained from an artesian well located nearby.

After the mixture had reached the correct consistency, it was formed into bricks. The slurry was put into rectangular forms without a top or bottom. They were then stacked on wooden planks to dry slowly. Bricks from this kiln were reddish in color which was a result of the type of clay used.

The final step involved placing the dry bricks into the kiln where they were fired. The kiln on the left side of the photo has large planks standing against the roof. These were placed tightly around the kiln when it was in operation to keep the heat from escaping. Close inspection reveals a pile of wood in the background (under the right side of the large crossbeam). A factory such as this could produce 6,000 bricks a day.

The finished bricks (located in the background behind the man in the wagon) are stacked on the ground awaiting shipment.

Many of Reedsburg’s homes and business buildings were constructed using bricks from this factory.

July 2016 RTP

Bricks drying on racks in the background. Brick forms being held by the men.

Copper Discovered at Reedsburg

During the mid-1800s, pioneers from the East were moving west in search of new lands to populate and raise their children. Some were also looking for a new adventure, and still others were seeking the wealth of the western lands.

One of those wealth-seekers was Don Carlos Barry, who came to the Baraboo area with Henry Perry in 1844. They were looking to start a lumber business and erected a saw mill there. Lumber forests were located to the north, and so Barry and Perry headed in that direction to investigate a potential location on Big Creek. Upon their return, they stopped at Reedsburg. Hearing of the possibility that copper had been found there, Barry noted that, “On our return, I discovered, where water had washed away the earth, what I supposed to be copper ore.”

They immediately changed their plans and filed a claim in Section 1 in the Town of Reedsburg. Henry Perry died shortly thereafter and the next spring Barry returned to the area, along with two partners he had recruited who had been miners at Mineral Point, “…to assist me in opening our copper mine,” noted Barry.

“We raised about two tons without much expense, it being the deepest about four feet from the surface,” he said. That load gave out when they hit sand rock.

But they were not deterred, because they continued to dig a deeper shaft that summer. Barry found two seams of ore in crevices as he dug down. Rumor was that a Mr. Kendall, who owned a copper mine and smelting business at Mineral Point, offered Barry $1,500 for the mine, which he refused.

After having dug around 32 feet following the deposit down a seam which eventually petered out they abandoned the mine due to water seepage and a lack of funds to continue.

Barry had the two tons of ore hauled to Mineral Point to sell, getting ninety dollars a ton. That would be approximately $2,300 in today’s dollars, for a total of $4,600. A typical laborer of that era earned about $5 per week.

In August of 1845, a rumor spread throughout Sauk County that another large load of copper ore had been discovered about ten to twenty feet below the surface, and it was of sufficient richness to make it worth digging for. William Canfield, in his Outline Sketches of Sauk County, wrote that, “Upon a certain day all of Sauk County, with mining tools, was astir for the copper diggings, each person trying to get there before the other. The next day proved it a hallucination, and the copper fever soon abated.”

This photo of Reedsburg’s iron mine was included in Merton Krug’s 1929 book, Reedsburg and the Upper Baraboo Valley.

However, that was not the end of the mining era in Sauk County. Other settlers, including David Reed, heard that there was iron to be found in the county, and that was one of the primary attractions that persuaded them to relocate here. That mine was, of course, located at Ironton

Today, Copper Creek, east of Reedsburg, is the only remaining remnant of the copper diggings which caused so much excitement in the mid-1800s in Reedsburg and the Sauk County area.

August 2016 RTP

The Reedsburg Copper Mine was located in the upper right of this 1872 map of Reedsburg Township.

Big Creek Memories of Early Days

Many early settlers, as they got on in years, were eager to share their stories and experiences from their arrival in Sauk County in the mid-1800s. One venue for doing this was to write a letter to the editor of their local newspaper. Another was the Old Settlers’ Association, which met each February.

Though life was hard and pleasurers were few, they made the most of what they had and celebrated the accomplishments that sustained them through those early years.

This account was written by Henry C. Palmer for the September, 1907 LaValle Leader. The work of clearing land, raising a cabin, and planting lifesustaining crops was one of the primary occupations upon first settling the land to which so many had traveled so far.

“During the spring of 1855, a small party consisting of the writer, his father-in-law, Daniel Sanborn, John Sanborn, Morgan Jones, all from near Baraboo made a trip into the northwestern part of Sauk county into what was known as the Big Creek region, [northeastern LaValle Township] for the purpose of locating some government land of which several sections remained unclaimed.

“The country at that time was a vast forest, extending north ten or twelve miles, and east and west from twenty-five to thirty miles. That width, with but few exceptions, was yet untouched by the woodmen’s axe.

“Along Big Creek some lumber camps had been erected by parties who had cut the pine timber and ran it down the river to their saw mills at Baraboo, and occasionally a group of wigwams of the Winnebago Indians who regarded with suspicion the encroachment of the whites upon their old hunting grounds, and as we picked our way across its marshy surface we little thought the time would come when it would be the most valuable land for pasture.

“We succeeded in locating some land on sections 1 and 2, [in LaValle Township] and shortly after, a few more settlers arrived, but the civil war put a check on emigration and there was but little improvement until after its close, when the land was rapidly taken up by a good class of settlers, mostly from New York and Ohio, and the frequent house-raisings and log rollings soon brought about that social intercourse that laid the foundation of those friendly ties that bind so closely together the early settlers of a new country.

“The land when brought under cultivation was found to be of excellent quality and crops of all kinds gave good yields, and those insect pests so destructive at the present day were unknown. Vegetables

and small fruits were easily raised.

“With a couple of weeks work among the maples in the early spring one could usually get a good supply of maple sugar, and two or three days bee hunting during the Indian summer would often reward the hunters with a quantity of fine honey.

“Cattle found free pasturage in the woods until snow fell and hogs did their own fattening upon the crop of acorns.

“But in order to raise money for taxes and other expenses it was necessary to haul ties to Mauston, that being the nearest railway points, a distance of about sixteen miles, and as the usual mode of transportation was by the ox team express company, it was necessary to start by four o’clock, reaching Mauston about ten, with the thermometer several degrees below zero, it was no wonder that some ears and noses were frost bitten. But this, and similar experiences gave them something to talk about in an evening’s visit ‘round the glowing maple fire, and good health and good appetites gave a relish to life that is seldom enjoyed in these days of la grippe and kindred illness.

“And after fifty years have rolled away, as the old settler chances to look once more upon one of the old style log houses with its big stone chimney silent memorials of the days of long ago. What memories of the past come crowding into his mind, some pleasant ones and some sad ones. He thinks that the busy hands that erected them, have finished their work and are resting from their labors, and the cheerful voices that always bade him welcome are heard no more.”

“Those dear old friends have passed away, Their voices now are still;

The white stones mark their last resting place, On yonder forest hill.” September 2016 RTP

One Haunted Eve in Loganville

As the leaves of summer begin their annual transformation to the golden hues of autumn, the cool winds of October signal the seasonal changes of a time of harvest and preparation for the long winter nights to come. Stories of goblins and ghosts abound as Halloween approaches on its annual trek through the cornfields and graveyards in Sauk County. Such was also the case in the little village of Loganville during the early part of the last century.

As the old-timers gathered around the potbellied stove at Burmester’s Grocery, someone was sure to bring up the story of one of Loganville’s colorful characters, Old Bill W., and the large dog, Bismarck, which was owned by Mr. Westedt, the proprietor of a local fermented beverage establishment.

When a noted citizen of the village passed to his reward one autumn, the digger of the graves at the time was Old Bill. He, upon being informed of the passing, was duly dispatched by the elders of St. Peter’s Lutheran Church to prepare a suitable resting place for the dearly departed. It was late in the fall; and as the sun sank early in the west, the black bedecked hearse of undertaker Adam Lecher, with the pallbearers seated high up on the black leather seats, slowly ascended the south hill on its journey to the cemetery. The feathery dark plumes attached to the sides of the horse-drawn carriage fluttered softly as the cool breeze of autumn floated gently through the quiet valley. They soon arrived at the cemetery gate and shortly thereafter had placed the deceased in his final abode just as looming shadows of dusk crept slowly up the hill.

The wind was colder now and seemed to whisper a somber note as it filtered through the barren trees and around the gray tombstones. A chill engulfed the men as they quickly remounted the empty hearse for the return trip to town. Bill asked where they were going in such a hurry. When they informed him of their plans, Bill said, rather emphatically, that he wasn't going to stay in any graveyard alone at night! They told him that it was his job to remain and fill in the grave.

Well, needless to say, Old Bill wasn't about to be diggin' around there after dark, so he quickly scrambled up onto the front seat, leaving his shovel and the uncompleted task until a more illuminated time.

The small group of men wasted little time on the return trip to Loganville, as somewhere off in the distance the mournful howl of a baying hound made the damp air creep even deeper into their bones. So they decided to stop for some liquid refreshment at Westedt's, something to take the chill off, they said. After having thoroughly removed the chill, Bill fi-

nally decided to head for home. But the rest of the guys weren't ready to leave just yet and as he left, they called after him, “You better take care, ‘cause the recently departed might be roamin' around out there since you didn't cover him up!"

As the laughter drifted back to him, Bill headed quickly up the south hill, straining to see the ruts in the darkened street, least he stumble. All at once he thought he heard something up ahead. He paused, holding his breath. Hearing only the sound of his own heart pounding, he continued cautiously on his way. He hadn't gone ten paces when he stopped dead in his tracks and peered straight ahead. For there in the road directly ahead was a dark form; and as he watched, it began to move slowly towards him. He called out hesitantly, his voice barely audible. No answer. He called out a second time, this time louder. Still no answer. Suddenly, there was the sound of footsteps in the dry leaves. But as he turned, something leapt onto his back and grabbed his neck. Well, Old Bill nearly passed to his own reward right there on the spot!

After a few minutes, he came to his senses again and saw Bismarck standing near him, and ahead in the road were several cows, out for a night's stroll. He slowly realized that Bismarck had been chasing the cows and when he had called out, Bismarck recognized his voice and came up to greet him. Ever since that experience, whenever the name of Bill W. comes up in the conversation among the old-timers, you can be sure to hear someone say, "didja hear about the time Old Bill.......".

October 2016 RTP

This hearse may have been similar to the one used in Loganville

For Whom the Bell Tolls

This large, brass-colored bell was used for many years as a signal that tolled for the ferryman to indicate someone wanted to cross the Wisconsin River at Merrimac or Okee. The bell, and one like it, were located on either side of the river. When a traveler wished to make a crossing and the ferry was on the opposite shore, the bell would be sounded to alert the pilot.

Ferry service across the Wisconsin River has existed near the same spot since 1844, when Chester Mattson, the second settler in Merrimac, obtained a charter to operate the service. He charged each passenger five cents ($1.25 today) to ride the ferry, as well as 25 cents for each horse and 40 cents for a team of oxen. An overhead cable was used, with river currents propelling the craft, in addition to human muscle. A team of horses was later harnessed to a scow to pull them across. Subsequent owners attached the ferry to an anchored cable which ran from shore to shore. W.P. Flanders took over the operation in 1849 and paid $700 ($20,000 today) for the privilege. From 1877 to 1883, the ferry service was abandoned, after which John Brownregg began it anew. Around 1914 a gasoline engine was added to the barge, and crossings were more reliable.

Before the power dam at Prairie du Sac was built in 1914, the Wisconsin River was somewhat narrower. Today it is almost 1,730 feet from shore to shore at Merrimac. In 1924, Columbia and Sauk counties purchased the route and operated the ferry, naming it Colsac (a combination of the two county names). Riders were charged 35 cents per car, 5 cents for pedestrians and 75 cents for trucks. It operated as a toll ferry until 1933 when the old State Highway Commission purchased it and began operating the service free to the traveling public. The first Colsac, a wooden ferry in use at that time, had a capacity of eight cars. It was replaced by the Colsac II in 1963, which could carry twelve cars.

Many times during the past century, government officials have attempted to convince the residents of Merrimac that a bridge should replace this antiquated system of transportation, however, each time the project has been soundly defeated.

During WWII, the U.S. Government offered to pay half the cost to build a bridge across the river to facilitate the transportation of workers to the Badger Army Ammunition Plant. However, the governor vetoed the idea, claiming that the government should pay the entire cost.

As recently as 1991, the Department of Transportation concluded that a bridge across the river would

be “…more justifiable than continuing to operate the ferry which runs for eight months a year between Merrimac and Okee,” noted an article in the Baraboo News Republic.

Today’s Colsac III is winched across the river on three submerged cables, and can hold up to 15 cars, along with pedestrians and bicycles. It was launched in 2003, and cost $2.2 million. During the busy season, the ferry can transport up to 1,200 vehicles a day.

This free ferry, which serves as an extension of Highway 113 across the Wisconsin River, runs 24 hours a day between landings in Columbia County’s town of West Point and Sauk County’s village of Merrimac, every seven minutes or so, during the icefree season. According to the Wisconsin Department of Transportation, the Colsac III made 54,411 crossings and carried 302,915 vehicles in 2015. The ferry is owned by the state, but operated by the Columbia County Highway Department.

The Merrimac Ferry remains the only free ferry left in Wisconsin, and is listed on the state and national registers of historic places.

When the bells were retired from service, they were given to two brothers who operated the ferry for many years. One was destroyed when it was being used to drive fence posts. The other bell is at the Sauk County Historical Society’s museum at Baraboo.

November 2016 RTP

This bell was used in the late 1800s, to signal the ferryman that someone wanted to cross the Wisconsin River

AFeather Tree for Christmas

Feathered Christmas trees were first created in Germany in the late 1800s. These trees are considered to be one of the first artificial Christmas trees. The custom in Germany during the 19th century was to chop off the tops of fir trees during the holiday season. However, the practice prevented the tree from growing taller and making it useless to the lumber industry. This deforestation tradition was eventually halted by laws which regulated the cutting of live trees.

The solution to the problem was an ingenious use of goose feathers which were abundant during that period. A cottage industry soon arose, with the production of these simulated holiday trees. Feather trees were created by first dyeing goose, turkey, chicken or swan feathers green, to simulate pine needles, and attaching them with metal wires or sticks to form the branches. A wooden dowel was used for the trunk.

Space was left between the branches to accommodate candles which would illuminate the trees on Christmas Eve. This helped prevent fires, and allowed more space for ornaments. Artificial berries were sometimes attached to the ends of the branches. German immigrants brought the tradition to the United States, and feather trees became popular during the 1920s, being sold by department stores.

Another advantage of these artificial trees was that one didn’t have to trek into a snowy woods to chop down a real tree, and they would not shed needles at the end of the season.

However, during the 1930s, feather trees fell out of fashion, due to an abundance of real trees in the United States. In an attempt to reinvigorate the market, Germany began selling a wider variety of feather trees through Montgomery Ward. Various colors were introduced and new styles were created. After WWII, feather trees lost their prominence, and in the 1950s, aluminum trees became all the rage.

Each year, during the Sauk County Historical Society’s Edwardian Christmas event, an antique feather tree has been on display, currently owned by Mona Larsen. This ornate tree was originally owned by

Mona’s grandparents, William and Mary Waters Boettcher, who lived in Baraboo.

When she was a little girl, Mona recalled that the feather tree was always displayed on the library table during the Christmas season. Mary never took the ornaments off, she just put the tree away in the attic. The tree still has its original ornaments and an aluminum foil garland.

Today, along with genuine trees, artificial trees have again become popular some so realistic that it’s hard to tell the difference.

December 2016 RTP

Garvin Kowalke – WWIIAviation Hero

Garvin Kowalke was born in North Freedom in 1922 and raised on the family farm. He attended Green Valley country school, “Which was about a three-mile walk, I should say run, because I usually did it that way,” he noted.

After graduating from the eighth grade, Garvin started high school in North Freedom. After his freshman year, WWII broke out and Kowalke wanted to do his patriotic duty, so he presented himself to the enlistment board.

“I had a real desire to be a pilot,” said Kowalke, “Planes were flying over from the Dells, they came over the farm, and I just loved airplanes. For some reason, I said, I think I’ll go and be a pilot. So, I went to Madison and took the exam for pilot school. After I got through with the exam, there was a big master sergeant and he looked at my score and he said ‘I’ll see you in about a year.’ I said ‘Huh?’ Of course, being only a freshman, I didn’t even know what the word geometry meant. So, I completely failed the algebra, the mathematics part of that exam.”

Being the independent individual, he was, Garvin said he walked out the door and went next door and enlisted in the Army Air Corps as a private. After attending boot camp in New Orleans, his dreams were still to be a pilot; but his aptitude tests indicated that he would make a good mechanic, so he was sent to California to train as a crew chief on P38 airplanes. That was close enough.

“When we hit Glendale, CA, I started school as a P38 crew chief,” said Kowalke. If he passed the final exam, he would qualify for pilot school.

Fortunately, Garvin had a buddy who was a college graduate, and since he needed tutoring in math, his buddy agreed to teach him what he needed to pass the test. “So I spent that year working on the P38s, and every night he and I sat down and we went through the books and I studied math,” said Kowalke.

One night Garvin and his buddy decided to enjoy the night life in town. Having enjoyed it a bit too much, they returned to base, barely able to navigate, and crawled into the sack. At 6 o’clock the next morning, a runner woke Kowalke up and told him that he was expected to be at headquarters at 8

1

o’clock to retake the exam. “The guys there, they pulled me out of the sack took me to the shower, cooled me off and got me dressed and everything; and at 8 o’clock I headed in there for the exam.

“My mental condition: I had no worries, nothing concerned me, I was able to concentrate, so I took the exam. I never went back to redo a question, I just went one, two, three, and I went through that exam in 3 hours, and that was a 4-hour exam. I took it back to the commander and gave it to him, and he said, ‘I don’t think I’ll see you in another year, you’re going to be in Africa.’”

Several hours later, the runner from headquarters returned and said, “Hey, Kowalke, you got 95 on your exams, and in one week you’re heading for your camp for air cadets.”

After attending pilot school in Waco, TX, Kowalke passed his final exam with flying colors. In July of 1943, he said, “Hey, I’m a second lieutenant, and I’m a pilot!”

While he was an instructor pilot in Waco, TX, Garvin noticed a brand-new B-29 at a nearby air show, and fell in love with the airplane. “There she sat! They had a B-29, and that was the most beautiful piece of machinery that I had ever seen. This is it, I want to be a B-29 pilot, and I want to fly this girl.” So, when he got back to Waco, he put in an application to transfer.

After more training, in early 1944, Kowalke was sent to Kansas, where he was assigned to a combat B29 crew. He said, “Now, the B-29 is an atomic weapons delivery system, and that was the training we were taking. In fact, we’d spend our weekends in the

hanger going over a training session with the atomic bomb itself. They had the models there and we’d go through everything about it, its mounting and the delivery system, how it’s all wired, everything.”

His first assignment was to Guam, where his crew flew over Japan from Nagasaki up to Hokkaido on night firebombing missions. Kowalke was co-pilot of the lead crew.

“Our fifth mission, which was a dandy,” said Kowalke, “and I think that was the only mission where a B-29 had ever been looped!”

“We came in to hit Tokyo, and we were about in the middle of the formations. The other formations had dropped their fire bombs out here and you keep dropping back. Well, when we came up to the target, the cloud from the bomb drops and the fire were already at 20,000 feet. We were flying at 11 and 12 thousand feet, just high enough to be above the ground fire, and low enough and fast enough so that the ground fire wouldn’t hit us.”

January 2017 RTP

: The City of Baraboo B-29 crew including (from left, kneeling) Sgt. Ronald Durbal and Sgt. Clarence Holman; (standing) Sgt. John Tynan, Corporal Eugene Dondero, Sgt. Brooks Harris, Sgt. Marion Conley, First Lt. Edward Bates, First Lt. Earnest Smith Jr., Lt. George Bucher, Lt. David Agner and First Lt. Garvin Kowalke, who was about 23 at the time.

Garvin Kowalke – WWIIAviation Hero

Garvin Kowalke, from Baraboo, was flying as copilot on a B-29 airplane in WWII. The mission was to firebomb Tokyo.

Kowalke’s plane was getting ready to drop its bombs at around 11 thousand feet, and it was suddenly hit by searchlights. The Japanese fighter pilots could then fly up the beams and attack the B-29s.

“We hung tight and dropped the bombs,” said Kowalke, “But then instead of pulling out and headin’ home, he takes a look at [the rising smoke] and the command pilot, he says, ‘Hey, we’re going to duck those guys.’ So, he’s going to turn into the smoke that’s built up from the fire and then they [the Japanese Zeros] can’t see him. So he did. And we got the wildest damn ride I’ve ever had in a bomber like that. Well, what happened, is there’s this smoke rolling up and the air is coming down to feed it and whoosh, like that, it’s just suckin’ in. Well, that’s what we hit, that air that’s being sucked in. So down we go. I pulled back all I could to pull the nose back up, taken’ the power up, because we went to maximum speed and nose down. We got down to where you could see the flames and everything and now the wind was being built up from the fire and we hit that.”

Kowalke said that that’s when the B-29 went right over. It flipped! “We went right straight up and we went right on over, and we just kept her steady and came out 2,500 feet over Tokyo. We just hung loose there, and climbed out a little bit and headed right straight for Tokyo Bay to get the hell out of there.” That unorthodox maneuver so surprised the Japanese gunners that they were hardly shot at from there on out.

On his 10th mission over Tokyo, the ground fire was intense, and one of the four engines of the B-29 was knocked out. Protocol dictated that they head for Iwo Jima for an emergency landing, but the pilot decided he could make it back to the Guam and continued on. Two hundred fifty miles north of Guam, a second engine failed! A B-29 would have a great deal of difficulty flying on two engines, so the decision was to ditch in the ocean.

“Buck [the pilot] kinda lost it then. He jammed

2

those two throttles forward and we were descending towards the ocean, and he puts on the power like that and he pulls her up and she starts to shudder and roll and he’s just sittin’ there. I took the airplane away from him and I pulled the power back, got her straightened out and I alerted the crew that we’re going to have to ditch this bugger.”

In order to lighten the aircraft, the pilot had opened the bomb bay doors to jettison the extra fuel tanks, and one of the doors didn’t close again.

“I took over and set her up for ditching,” said Kowalke, “I picked me out a nice big wave, and sat her on top of it. That’s when she crapped out. Because the bomb bay doors were open, that made the airplane break in half, right at the edge of the bomb bay doors so the tail section sinks and the other section just sits there, because the wing tanks are open.”

The nose was sinking, and Kowalke opened his side window, and swam out. He had on a life preserver, but was submerged and didn’t know if he’d make it up alive. He thought, drowning is an easy way to die, your lungs just fill up and there’s no pain.

“I’m at that stage where, am I going to make it or not?” And suddenly he had a vision of his wife, “I can see her, and she’s calling my name. And all of a sudden, I had all the strength in the world!”

After checking on his crew eleven of the twelve, make it out OK. “We were just paddling around looking, and as we turned, there was a body in the ocean and I paddled over to that and got ahold of it, and it was that squadron navigator. No dingy, and his Mae West [life preserver] was not even inflated, so he

didn’t have a chance. So, I checked his pulse, yeah, he was gone, so I removed his dog tags and put them in my pocket so they would go to his family, and then said the prayers and punctured the other dingy and punctured the Mae West, and buried him right there.” The next morning, they were rescued and returned to their base. The pilot was dismissed for not using better judgement when he neglected to land at Iwo Jima. Kowalke captained his own B-29 after that, and named it The City of Baraboo, and his crew decided to stay with him.

Two of the missions he flew were weather reconnaissance flights the days before the Hiroshima atomic bombing, to find out what the weather was like. They wanted to know, “Is it storming over Hiroshima?”

“The day after [the bomb was dropped], we got a radiologist and got all the radiation detection equipment and hung it from the airplane, we looked like a porcupine. Then we took off and went right over Hiroshima, changed altitude and made sure what the [radiation] levels were there, so if it was necessary to put anybody in there, they would know what was going on. I took pictures of the bombing drop, and of the damage and all that.”

Shortly thereafter, Japan surrendered, and WWII

was over.

Kowalke went on to serve in the Korean War, and in Viet Nam, and earned the Distinguished Flying Cross, four Air Medals and the Purple Heart. He retired in 1970 as a Lieutenant Colonel, and moved back to Baraboo, where he lived until his death in 2011.

February 2017 RTP

Does the SCHS own a Stradivarius?

Placed unassumingly on a parlor table at the Sauk County Historical Society museum is an old violin. In an attempt to determine its age, I used a flashlight to look inside one of the f-holes. Much to my surprise, I was shocked to see the following inscription: “Antonius Stradivarius Cremonensis Faciebat Anno 1719”! Could it be? What are the odds? Could some benefactor have donated a violin to the society without knowing its true origin? An original Stradivarius violin would be priceless!

Antonio Stradivari was born in 1644 and ran an instrument-making shop in the village of Cremona, Italy. There he produced some of the world’s most perfect violins, which are, to this day, still sought after by professionals more than 250 years after their debut. It is said that the “magical” sound produced by a Stradivarius is a product of the type of wood used in construction, the varnish applied to the instrument, and the talented hands of a master carver.

Further research indicated that not all instruments with a Stradivarius label inside were produced in the 15th Century. According to the Smithsonian web site, thousands of copies were produced in the 19th and 20th centuries, imitating the great masters of Italy. It was not uncommon for these cheap reproductions to include a label inside which indicated that it was modeled on the design of a Stradivarius. It was a tribute to the great master and not meant to deceive. Purchasers of these instruments knew exactly what they were buying. But the Smithsonian article also indicated that such a label might be authentic. Only an expert examination could determine its true provenance.

In an attempt to learn more, I e-mailed an expert instrument dealer in Milwaukee–a man recommended in the Smithsonian article. I sent a description of the violin, and the words of the inscription along with a photo, and anxiously awaited an answer. It was not long in coming.

The expert advised that, “...your violin appears to be a common factory, commercial German instrument from circa 1900.” He went on to write, “They are found in Sears & Roebuck and Montgomery Ward’s mail order catalogs from that era, costing $1.50 to $5.00.”

These “Stradivarius” instruments were made of precut, mass-produced parts by snowbound cottage workers during the long middle European winters.

They were available in two different models, the cheaper one cost $2.45 ($71 today), and came with strings, a bow, and instruction booklet. The deluxe model came with a silver-trimmed bow, rosin, a hard case and instructions, all for $7.85 ($229 today).

So, don’t expect to find a real Stradivarius violin at a garage sale or second hand store. Of the over 1,000 “Strad’s” made by the master, all of them have been accounted for.

My foray into the world of musical instruments ended in disappointment. Oh, well, the Society was rich for a day. I thought that we owned a priceless Stradivarius violin, but it simply turned out to be a common fiddle.

There was a small silver lining however. Our violin has an estimated value of between $300 and $500. Even at that, it’s quite an appreciation over the past century.

March 2017 RTP

ArmchairAdventurers of the Past

During the late eighteen hundreds and early nineteen hundreds, the Stereoscope, also known as a stereopticon or stereo viewer, was a popular way to travel beyond one’s home without leaving the comfort of the parlor. A “traveler” would simply slip a stereo card into the viewer and the entire world would be at their beckoned call.

A stereoscope is a simple device with a handle, a card holder which can be slid forward and backward to focus the scene, and a housing containing two lenses that the viewer looks through. Each scene consists of two photographs, taken from slightly different angles, which corresponds to the spacing between the eyes. The photographer would set up a special stereo camera with two lenses and take a photograph. The two images would then be printed side by side, on a heavy card. When viewed together, the photos are merged in the brain, to form a realistic 3-D image.

The first stereoscope was patented by Sir Charles Wheatstone in 1838, but it was a cumbersome contraption. It wasn’t until photography came on the scene shortly thereafter that the two inventions combined to provide startlingly realistic images for the viewer. Oliver Wendell Holmes improved upon the viewer, and for Americans this form of entertainment remained popular from 1881 until the late 1930s, when its impact was supplanted by the movies.

The stereoscope was commonly found in middle-

and upper-class parlors, and was a popular way to entertain friends on a Sunday afternoon.

Stereo slides were available depicting scenes from all corners of the earth. The pyramids of Egypt were popular, as were breathtaking scenes from Yellowstone Park. Viewers could travel to Chicago, New York, or San Francisco by simply slipping another card into the viewer. The Chicago World’s Fair in 1892 was a popular topic as was the St. Louis fair of 1904. Humorous slides were also staged depicting puns and mildly risqué scenes.

As the technique was improved, local small-town photographers began producing slides for tourists of area attractions. Hundreds of images were captured of the famous Wisconsin Dells, and Devil’s Lake was also included in the collections. Stereo images were produced and distributed by railroad companies to induce vacationers to take a train to view the real thing. Families could also hire a photographer to make a stereo slide of their family, farm or home.

The stereoscope was a forerunner of the Viewmaster with its circular disks, which was popular during the 1950s and ‘60s.

The Sauk County Historical Society has a number of stereopticon viewers, along with several hundred slides, depicting many area attractions.

April 2017 RTP

A young viewer takes a vicarious journey using a vintage stereo viewer.

News of Lincoln’sAssassination Reaches Baraboo

The Civil War had been raging for almost five years. The toll of lives, both north and south, had been astronomical. On April 3rd, 1865, General Grant’s army reached Richmond, the capital of the Southern Confederacy, and the stars and stripes were again flying there. General Lee surrendered to General Grant on the 9th at Appomattox, and peace, which had been so elusive, was finally in sight.

A 1909 article in the Baraboo News, written by Miss Eliza Chapman, tells the story of those fateful days. She wrote that, “Victory crowned all our banners, and peace was assured. The north was wild with joy!”

Less than a week later, that joy turned to sorrow as the news of the assassination of President Abraham Lincoln raced across the country. While relaxing and watching a play at Ford’s Theater in Washington, D.C., the life of the man who had led the Union through one of its saddest and most turbulent times was ended by the gun of John Wilkes Booth.

Booth and his conspirators southern sympathizers were attempting to take the lives of the president, vice president, General Grant, and all members of the cabinet. They succeed only in taking the life of the president.

News traveled slowly then, the telegraph at Kilbourn (now Lake Delton), was the nearest resource by which citizens in the local community would receive the tragic news.

Miss Chapman continues, “A man from Kilbourn first brought word of the assassination on the afternoon of the 15th and doubtless first told it in Dr. Mills’ drug store, which stood where now the Corner drug store stands (then on the corner of Oak & 2nd Streets).” Dr. Mills and Professor Hutchins had just been talking about the days’ events, the war and of the president, when the news reached the store. “Many of our citizens hardly took in the situation until the danger was past,” she noted. “Among those who did, consternation gave way to horror. Men meeting on the street clasped hands and gazed at each other in the agony of mute despair, while tears fell like rain.”

The Liberty Pole, on the northeast corner of the

courthouse square, held Old Glory at half-mast and was mournfully wrapped in black crepe, “while church bells tolled dismally,” noted the author. She continued, “In the midst of our triumph the God of battles had given us over to our foes. Before the north could organize, those southern hordes, fired with hatred and revenge, would be upon us.”

As more telegraph messages flooded the community, it was learned that Vice-president Johnson had been spared, and had taken the oath of office. Secretary Seward, who had been stabbed, would live.

“Again our good old ship of state was safe. But Lincoln, the venerated of every loyal citizen, who ever had malice for none and charity for all, was gone forever from us,” concluded Miss Chapman.

A memorial service for the fallen leader, was held in the Sauk County courthouse May 2017 RTP

LaValle’s Own Drummer Boy – Part 1

In 1928, Merton Edwin Krug, author of History of Reedsburg and the Upper Baraboo Valley, also researched and wrote a story about a young drummer boy from LaValle. This short story was published in the Reedsburg Free Press, August 30, 1928, and also in the Milwaukee Journal.

Krug visited the home of George Inman and his wife, Mary, who were living in LaValle. George was 82 at the time, and the Civil War, in which he served, had been relegated to history books for over 70 years. During the interview, many interesting stories were related to Krug by Mr. Inman. He indicated that he had been with Sherman on his famous “March to the Sea.” “They always called me the youngest man in Sherman’s entire army! I was a drummer,” said George.

George Inman, a native of England, was born in 1846, and came to America with his parents and 16 siblings in 1858 at the age of 12. They settled in Ironton Township.

Krug noted in his article, “But they came at a time when the outbreak of the Civil War was imminent; and it was destiny that placed them in the land in time to fight for the nation’s unity. Mr. Inman remembers those days, and he cannot but feel proud of the part he played in the war.”

It was during the warm autumn days of September, 1861, that George Stevens, of Reedsburg, began recruiting a company of volunteers from the northwestern parts of Sauk County. “George Inman was but a boy of fifteen but he set his heart on going with the company,” wrote Krug.

George was permitted to accompany the new recruits to Madison, but was not allowed to go any further, primarily because of his age. To join the Union Army, a soldier had to be at least 18.

Col. Bryant of the 12th Regiment, told Inman to go back home and “Wait a while.” Krug noted that, “The spirit, which can never be killed, and very seldom suppressed, was in his heart, the Union was calling him.” A trait which seemed all too common among the youth who wanted to join up and help their countrymen, “beat those Rebs.”

But George Inman would not be dissuaded, even

George Inman and his father, Jack Inman, as they appeared in uniform just before leaving Camp Randall.

though his parents attempted to convince him to remain at home until he was older.

So, when he decided he could wait no longer, he formulated a plan with a neighbor boy his own age to run away and join the army.

That day finally arrived in late December of 1861. One night he went to bed as usual, and waited until his parents were fast asleep. Getting up at 11:30 p.m., George slipped out of his upstairs bedroom window and, along with his friend, took off for Madison to join the Union Army. The weather was undoubtedly cold, and we can assume that they probably walked all the way, hitching buggy rides as the opportunity arose.

Finally, they reached Camp Randall where new recruits were encamped. They were allowed to train with the troops, however after three days had passed, George’s father showed up to try to induce him to return home. It was noted that his father was, “heartbroken and his mother was heartbroken,” but the pleas went unheeded. George would not be dissuaded; he was going to join the army.

Krug wrote, “Then, decided Jack Inman, if the boy must go, he would go to look after him. Accordingly, word reached Martha Inman that both her husband and her boy were in the army.”

After Jack Inman had been mustered into the army, he received word that 15-year-old George, had been rejected. “In his desperation, George went to the Col. Bryant, and told him of his plight, saying that because his father was now in the ranks, it would not be fair to reject him. Accordingly, the Colonel took the matter under advisement. ‘We’ll fix that!’ he told George, ‘we’ll make you a drummer.’”

Taking the place of a man from Boscobel who had been drafted, George received a bounty of $300 cash ($8,200 today) for enlisting and was allowed to join

his home company.

Company B of the Twelfth Regiment of Wisconsin was duly mustered into the Union Army on January 11, 1862, and left Camp Randall for Ft. Leavenworth, Kansas. Right up front leading the way was George Inman, beating out the marching cadence with his drum for the troops as they went off to war.

During the spring of 1862, they were stationed in Missouri, Kansas, and Kentucky. That summer, George was employed as a skirmisher soldiers who proceed or rear guarded the troops against the advance of the enemy. In the fall, he was in actual battle, led by some of the Union’s most notable generals. In November, he, along with his company, and doing his duty as a drummer, headed south with the Army of the Mississippi, under General Grant. George also served under General McPherson, whom he idolized and said was, “the best general in the whole Union Army at the time of his death.”

The Civil War adventures of LaValle’s Drummer Boy will be continued next month.

June 2017 RTP

Mary Ann and George Inman

LaValle’s Own Drummer Boy –

George Inman, a 15-year old from LaValle, ran away from home to join the Union Army during the Civil War. He was the Drummer Boy in the 12th Infantry, Company B. His story continues George and his unit also participated in the fall of Vicksburg and the Battle of Kennesaw Mountain. During this last battle, he recounted an interesting anecdote.

Krug wrote, “The rebel Army was stationed high up on the mountainside, and the mountain was so straight up and down that they were unable to hit the Union troops close to the mountain below, in consequence of which fact the Rebels lighted the [cannon] balls and rolled them down the side of the mountain. Mr. Inman says that to prevent them from going off he and the others ran after them and pulled the fuses out. In this battle, Mr. Inman was wounded. It was only a slight flesh wound, but for a time he was unconscious. When he regained consciousness, he was on a stretcher, being rushed to the rear. He made inquiry as to whither he was being taken, and, upon being informed, sprang from the stretcher, and returned to the field of battle.”

George and his unit moved on to Atlanta and remained through the entire campaign, acting in his capacity as a drummer and skirmisher. He also assisted the Ambulance Brigade during and after the battles.

There were times when the food supplies ran low, and the men were sent on foraging expeditions. Inman describes one those expeditions to Krug: “In one particular instance he and another fellow were out alone having been given permission to do so, but instructed to return in a short time, by his commander. Night fell upon the headquarters; dawn came again; then another day passed; another night, and so on until four days had passed. Then late in the afternoon, the two returned. When word reached the Commander that the young foragers had returned, he gave orders that they appear in audience, and decreed that they be court-martialed. Young George begged that they be allowed to explain and the Commander went to see the two lads and what they had foraged. He was greatly amazed when he saw four wagonloads of foraged foodstuffs and a retinue of 300 Negroes who

George Inman in his 60s

had followed the two youths in from the country through which they had foraged.”

George was also a favorite among the soldiers and had many personal discourses with Generals Grant and Sherman. “Many times, did they share their tents and grub with the youngest drummer boy in the whole vast army,” wrote Krug.

“On the 24th of November, 1865, from Atlanta, began Sherman’s Grand March to the Sea. The call of the bugle, the tap of the drums, the stirring of such glorious songs as Tramp, Tramp, Tramp and Marching Through Georgia, how well does George Inman remember them till this day! With his drum and taps, beside the fife, miles and miles did he march, leading his company in the greatest march in American History, Sherman’s March to the Sea,” noted Krug.

And then, the war of the Rebellion was over. The Union had been preserved, and the citizens of the reunited states celebrated that occasion in Washington D.C. in May, 1865. And George Inman’s unit was marching with thousands of other soldiers, in the Grand Review.

The Review was still fresh in George’s mind when Krug interviewed him in 1928. “A parade from morning till night, tens of thousands marching on the streets. There had been a band stand erected at a good point of advantage, where a large number of musicians were assembled, among whom was a lad of scarce 19, who had entered the conflict in ’61 at the age of 15 and who now sat in the band stand, playing his drum for the endless train of humanity that filed by on that day of the Grand Review,” wrote Krug.

After the events in Washington, Inman left with his company for Louisville, KY, where they were all mustered out on July 16, 1865. Since Company B was mostly from the Sauk County area, they returned to Madison where the unit was disbanded on August 9th, and the weary soldiers, including LaValle’s

drummer boy, returned to their homes and families.

“Mr. Inman finished his story with a feeling of gladness, for the joy of living those days that, when being lived, had not been quite so joyous, was a pleasure he had not had in years. He is very proud of his record (of which he has a right to be) and has never regretted having entered the army against the will of his parents,” wrote Krug.

George Inman married in 1868, and to him and his wife, Mary, were born seven children. The family lived on a farm near Ironton for several years. They also resided in Iowa, and in Chicago, where George was the chief engineer for the pumping station. They returned to the farm and in 1912 came to LaValle to reside. Inman died in 1932, and is buried in the LaValle Cemetery.

The Reviewing Stand near the White House. George Inman may have played his drum nearby during the Grand Review in Washington DC after the war.

The Old Baraboo Race Track

Back in the late 1860s, before the eve of the baseball era had arrived, one of the significant forms of entertainment in Sauk County was horse racing. Other amusements at the time were skating and dancing, but they catered primarily to the young. Horse racing was a sport which attracted all ages and classes.

In a paper read at the 1924 Old Settlers’ meeting, Harry Slye recalled some of the memories of his youth regarding the sport. He recalled that “The old and the young, the well-to-do and the poor, the good and the bad, all mingled and jostled their way together in a rather rough but good natured crowd and all for the time being at least were on a common level.” Up until then, races were held in various locations, none really suited for the occasion. One year it might be in a farmer’s meadow, the next year on a county highway. Village streets and even the frozen surface of Devils Lake were venues for the event.

Some of the prominent horse-men of Baraboo decided they needed a more suitable and permanent location for these races, and place it on a level where it would be self-supporting. A 160 acre site was located on the east side of town, between Elizabeth and Camp Streets, bordered by 4th and 8th Streets, and was described as being a wild land, covered with underbrush and small trees. It also included a small pond, where stagnant water stood year ‘round. The land was cleared and graded and a half mile oval racetrack was constructed which was enclosed with a high board fence.

A main gate, grand stand and judge’s stand were erected, and it was noted that, “many dollars changed hands in those old days, not from the gate receipts alone, but mostly the money lost and won on the races.”

Slye wrote, “The scenes at those old time races were in a class all by themselves. The talk was generally boisterous, boastful and often accompanied by profanity, yet nobody ever took any offense at it, but seemed to accept it as part of the game.” He noted that public betting was the primary reason for the races, and that men would be seen mingling among the crowd, “shaking a fist full of bills in their faces, and offering bets of all the way from even money to odds of ten to one on their favorite horse.”

The men who participated in the races, either as horse owners, drivers or attendants, were some of the most popular and respected people in the city for their importance. Slye noted that, “To us small boys especially, their importance was marvelous, and our admiration for them knew no limits. In our comparison to them, all the leaders of the late Civil War would have attracted no more of our attention.”

Even though many of the horses with names like Old Harry, Red Rover, and Icicle looked similar in size and color, die hard racing fans seemed to be able to identify their favorite which they would cheer on. Of course the fact that they may have placed a bet on the outcome, probably encouraged much of their enthusiasm.

“These men thoroughly understood horse nature, and how to handle and take care of them, and apparently they thought as much of a horse as they did of themselves. While at times they would seemingly crowd a horse to the limit of his speed, still they were careful not to abuse one,” wrote Slye.

By the 1870s, the old Baraboo racetrack had become outdated. The Sauk County Agricultural Society had established the current fairgrounds, which also had a racetrack, and the former was dismantled and abandoned.

August 2017 RTP

This racetrack was located at the Fairgrounds in Baraboo.

Maple Ridge Site YieldsAncientArtifacts

This summer, George Christiansen’s Archaeology class spent several weeks on Maple Ridge in Freedom Township, digging into the past a past from thousands of years ago. Christiansen is an instructor at the U.W. Baraboo, and led this year’s students in a search for artifacts which would indicate the presence of Native Americans on the site over a millennium ago.

He also led a dig several years ago and discovered numerous spear and arrow points at the same site, indicating that ancient peoples had occupied that location. Christiansen said that, “We are expanding on excavations that we did two years ago that revealed a very large, what we would call a ‘feature’ that seems to have stone and charcoal related to it, and so we are exploring habitation from that time period, about a thousand years ago.”

During the excavations, several pits about a meter deep were meticulously dug by the students, who documented every step of the process by measuring the exact location of each artifact recovered. Many of the artifacts were located near the surface, owing to the fact that the area of the site had never been plowed. Christiansen continued, “As soon as we started removing the sod, we started to find the remains of stone toolmaking and very shortly thereafter we started to recover these ceramic pieces as well. It’s the first time we found ceramics at this site, anything we found prior was stone, and we thought [the site] was much older, so now we’re finding out that this site has both an old component that’s probably 3,000 to 5,000 years old, and now we have this newer component that’s probably a thousand to thirteen hundred years old. So, people started coming back to this site over time.”

The type of ceramic pottery discovered was not the shiny glazed kiln-fired ceramics we are more familiar with, but the reddish clay type that was processed in an open pit fire.

The ceramic pots were used to store things and to prevent rodents from getting into them. Christiansen also noted that they would have been used for collecting seeds, nuts and berries. “They are low-fired terracotta, so they would never get hot enough to fuse or turn into glass like porcelain, so the truth is that they don’t hold water very well, they tend to leak a bit, and it tends to seep through the walls. I do think that people were cooking in them, but that would have been a very difficult task to accomplish,” concluded George.

Since the ceramic components were dated at around 1,000 years old, the Native Americans who created them would have been living and working on the ridge around the same time that the effigy mounds in Sauk County were built. Mounds like the Man Mound near Baraboo, which was a burial site, as compared to the Ridge site, which was a habitation site.

Christiansen went on to speculate that based upon charcoal evidence that was discovered during the previous excavation, the people who camped on the ridge were probably hunting and processing meat on the site. “In this case they were sort of drying it, rendering it to make it usable for stews and even jerky and things like that,” he said. He noted that additional evidence would be required to draw a more definitive conclusion as to exactly what was happening there. : Important finds during the excavation on Maple Ridge are this 1,000-year-old ceramic piece, left, and this approximately 3,000-year-old atlatl spear point, right.

The native peoples who occupied the Maple Ridge were probably the Ho Chunk, however there were other tribes in the area during its history, including the Fox and Sauk. Christiansen concluded that, “The Ho Chunk have been here for a very long time, certainly before the European contact and it’s very likely, that’s the case.”

Besides the ceramic materials found during the dig, a point was also excavated by one of the students. Christiansen said that, “The point that was found, dates to about 2,500 to 3,500 years ago and was made by the local people here.” He noted that the type of material in the point is native to the western part of Wisconsin including the western part of Sauk County and is called Prairie du Chien chert.

“There are 3 different ways people delivered projectiles: The earliest is a thrusting spear, which usually requires a fairly big spear point and a pretty big shaft as you’re thrusting with it. The second evolution was the use of a spear thrower. Sometimes you’ll see them called an atlatl. Atlatls allow the person to take a smaller point on a thinner shaft and hurl it for distance and accuracy. That’s probably what this is. The third evolution is the bow and arrow,” said Christiansen.

To more fully understand the significance of the finds that occurred during this year’s dig on Maple Ridge, Christiansen indicated that more research will be needed, along with additional excavations.

September 2017 RTP

Archaeological dig at Maple Ridge

Blue Wing’s Wedding

Mrs. Almira (Brown) Johnson was born in 1847 near Janesville, her family having moved there from Vermont in 1845. They again moved to a farm in New Buffalo, now Delton Township, in 1849. The farm was located about three miles from the 40 acres east of Co. Tr. A which had been awarded to Chief Yellow Thunder.

When Almira was ten years old, her father learned that there was to be an Indian wedding at Yellow Thunder’s, and that he would be attending, along with his two older daughters and a son. The Browns were good friends of the Native American family. Almira was too young, so she remained at home with the promise that they would tell her all about the wedding.

When they arrived, there were about a hundred Indians and a dozen white men, all seated outside. Yellow Thunder was seated on the ground with his back to a post, and had ordered two gallons of whisky for the guests. Each person took a drink from the bottle and passed it on to the next. When Yellow Thunder’s wife took a drink, she immediately covered her face with a blanket. Wondering what she was doing, Mr. Brown moved closer to her and observed that after she took her drink, she would spit it into an empty bottle she had hidden in the blanket. He later suggested that Mrs. Yellow Thunder was a true “pioneer temperance woman.”

Blue Wing was the niece of Mrs. Yellow Thunder, and was adorned in traditional Native American wedding attire which Brown went on to describe.

“Her hair was parted in the middle and her smooth black locks shone like the wing of a blackbird. In the back it was caught together and wound with beads, which were so strung that they formed a showy pattern when wound close together about her hair.”

Brown also reported that, “Her waist was close fitting crimson broadcloth; the round neck was finished with two deep berthas [collars], one overlapping the other. Both were finished about the edge with clasped steel hooks and eyes sewed closely together with the hooks down. From the bottom of each hook hung a string of steel beads over an inch long with a silver dime as a pendant. Forty dollars in ten cent pieces hung from her berthas, making a pleasant tinkling as she moved about. Her straight closefitting skirt was of heavy black broadcloth. It was about ten inches from the ground and was trimmed with a four-inch band of the same. On this were neatly sewed various designs cut from colored cloth.”

The bride’s dress sported small yellow moons, white stars, red peace pipes, tan bows and arrows. The sides and back were adorned with a blue bird in flight, most likely a representation of her namesake. “The whole design was symmetrical and very pleasing,” concluded Brown.

She wore closefitting leggings which were made of crimson cloth, and moccasins with elaborately beaded trim. Around her waist she wore a beaded belt, bracelets on her arms, and many necklaces which completed the outfit.

The sewing for the costume was done by the bride with help from an aunt. They used “fine strong fibers drawn from the sinew of the hind leg of a deer,” noted Brown.

He reported that the groom wore, “a new buckskin suit, the shirt and trousers were well fringed along the seams. About his waist was a handsome beaded belt in which were a hunting knife and a tomahawk. On his feet were beaded moccasins, and in his hair two eagle feathers.”

After several hours had passed Brown asked one of the men, when the wedding would take place, and was answered with, “White man no see them married, they married before white man come.”

This article was based upon a speech given to the Sauk County Historical Society in 1926, by Mary English, who noted in her introduction that Mrs. Almira Johnson, “has been totally blind for the past eight years. She says no other living white person knows this story.”

October 2017 RTP

Yellow Thunder. Blue Wing was the niece of Mrs. Yellow Thunder.

Doorbells and Intercoms at the Van Orden Mansion

Back in pioneer days, a knock at the door meant a friend or neighbor was coming to visit. In the late 1800s with the advent of electricity, new electric doorbells were increasingly used to signal when someone was at the door.

In 1903, the Van Orden mansion was built with a state-of-the-art automatic announcer consisting of a wooden “call box” with small arrows behind a glass plate. Each arrow was labeled to correspond with a section of the house or an external door. A bell was also part of the system. When someone pressed one of the buttons beside an entry door or inside the house, it would send a signal to the announcer, ringing the bell. The corresponding arrow would turn from horizontal to vertical to show which button had been pushed and where a staff person was needed. There was a pushbutton on the floor, under the dining room table, which rang the bell and moved the arrow in the kitchen, signaling the maids that the next course should be served.

These systems were usually located in the kitchen so that house maids could be summoned to answer a door or assist a family member.

Another convenience built into the Van Orden mansion was speaking tubes, an early form of intercom. These tubes were placed in the walls during construction with openings in the kitchen, maid’s bedroom and upstairs hall. They consisted of pipes which connected the various locations. The speaking tubes facilitated conversation between floors of the house. To signal that you wished to talk to someone, a button was located near the speaking tube, which rang a bell at another location.

The 1903 Van Orden Mansion had other “modern” conveniences, such as a thermostat for the furnace which had a clock timer attached. The kitchen sink had faucets with hot and cold running water, and a third faucet which supplied cistern water. Also, many of the lights were a combination of electric and gas. These devices were not only convenient for the Van Orden’s needs, but also great show-pieces for guests who came to visit.

November 2017 RTP

The original call box is still in place in the kitchen at the Van Orden mansion. Two of the arrows were for exterior doors and the other three were for rooms in the mansion including the front hall, dining room and “N. E. Chamber” which was the master bedroom.

Christmas Long Ago

Around the turn of the last century during the Edwardian Era, many holiday traditions we take for granted today were first celebrated.

Christmas trees had been in vogue in the United States since the early 1800s, having been introduced by German immigrants. Electric lights were still in the future in the early 1900s, so to brighten the branches of the evergreen trees, families placed lighted candles on the boughs. The flickering light of dozens of flames cast a warming glow throughout the festively decorated parlor. Because of the danger of an open flame, the candles were only lit when the family was present.

Decorations were often hand made. They included paper chains, strands of popcorn and greenery laced with red ribbons. Hand-blown balls of silver or gold, completed the ensemble.

The rest of the house would be decorated with ivy and laurel from the garden. Holly, with its bright red berries, also brightened the festive occasion. Of course no home would be complete without the traditional mistletoe a symbol of renewal and fertility.

Stockings would be hung by the chimney with care. An old sock, carefully mended, would be attached to the fireplace by young children with the hope that St. Nick would leave them a special treat. Stockings could also have been hand sewn from red cloth by the lady of the house, as there were few stores which carried these kinds of decorations.

Often, “clementines,” or little tangerine oranges, would be placed at the bottom of the stocking as a special surprise. They were grown in California and matured around November. However, they were very expensive and were considered a special treat for those who could afford them.

Christmas morning found the children of the household anxiously creeping down the staircase, sneaking a peak into the parlor to see if the bearded gentleman had paid them a visit during the night. In the Edwardian Era most children received only one gift, even in well-to-do homes. Gifts were usually hand made and included embroidered handkerchiefs, samplers, home-made peppermints or sugared almonds wrapped in fancy hand-decorated paper. The children of families lucky enough to be able to afford them, dolls, doll houses and teddy bears were favorites of many children.

The Christmas dinner was always a favorite of everyone, even as it is today. However, back then there were no shopping centers or malls for one-stop shopping. The Edwardian housewife would have to visit multiple stores to accumulate the various fixings for dinner. On the list stops were butchers, spice merchants, bakers and grocers. Delicacies might include a boar’s head or sheep tongues. A Christmas goose would receive the place of honor in the center of the table. The bird which was plucked by the kitchen staff, or the householder would be stuffed with chestnuts, pork and apples, then sprinkled with fat and salt, and served with gooseberry and bread sauces. For dessert, there were Christmas cakes, candy cane sticks, plum pudding and molasses tarts.

After the feast, families would often gather outdoors and go caroling. During the long gloomy days of winter, the spirits of holiday celebrants could be lifted with the rendition of favorite Christmas songs. December 2017 RTP

Somewhere in Sauk County

“Glen and Christmas Tree”

Reedsburg The Early Years

David C. Reed, an early settler of what was to become the city of Reedsburg, arrived in the territory in 1847 and began buying land along the Baraboo River near a crossing which had been used by the Ho -Chunk people. Other settlers arrived during the ensuing years, and the little settlement began to grow.

In order to establish a new settlement and organize a thriving, self-sustaining community, it was imperative to attract newcomers to your village.

Horace Croswell and Joseph Green were appointed to a “Welcome” committee, and it was their job to evaluate new arrivals and point them in the proper direction. Each stranger was asked if he or she was married, had children, or was single. Married couples with children were offered property within the village. Childless couples were placed a mile or two outside the village limits and single men were told there was no property available within 5 or 6 miles. The citizens were determined to build up the village, and would take no one that could not help populate the village with more than himself and his wife.

David C. Reed and George H. Irwin (husband of Eliza nee Reed, a first cousin of David) owned most of the land north and south of Main Street. The village of Reedsburg was laid out in 1852, however, the village charter was not obtained until April, 1868.

E.G. Wheeler and his family arrived in Reedsburg in 1850. Bella French’s American Sketchbook, 1875, recounts their first impression of the village. “Mr. Wheeler found in a few hours after his coming that most, if not all, of the men indulged in the use of ardent spirits, and he declared emphatically, in the evening of that day, that he never felt more like delivering a temperance lecture in his life, and wished that he had a place to deliver one. The people took him at his word, and in less than a half hour, Shanty No. 2 had been put in order, and nearly every man, woman and child in the neighborhood had seated themselves therein, in readiness to hear the lecture. Mr. Wheeler was taken a little aback, when he learned that he was really expected to lecture, but he did not ask to be excused. He took up the temperance question and handled it so ably, that all were pleased beyond measure.”

Many settlers went barefoot during the warm summer months and donned moccasins in the winter. Women wore hoops and shawls when it was cold, sunbonnets and "Shakers" in the summer. They were stiff and white, shaped like the top of a covered wagon, with a small cape sewn around the bottom. “When a ribbon was added and drawn across the middle with a square bow aloft, they were considered quite ‘dressy’ noted Ruth M. Southard in a letter to the Old Settlers in 1927.

Elizabeth (Cole) Smith passed through Reedsburg with her mother and father, Alworth Smith, early in 1851. She recounted those days in a 1901 letter to the Old Settlers: “Main Street lead directly over ground which could only then be crossed by an agile footman leaping from bog to bog. The mill which was at the foot of Main Street, was reached by driving on the ridge between the sloughs.”

Early pioneers were frugal by necessity, as goods and livestock were not readily available on the frontier. One settler used his ingenuity to fill a doctor’s prescription. “Some of his family were ill and mutton soup had been ordered by the doctor. He had several sheep, but he did not like to kill them, merely for a little soup, so he hit upon a plan by which he hoped to retain all the sheep and have the soup as well. He cut off the tails of the animals, and thus manufactured the needed article without slaughtering any of them.”

Another strange malady suffered by early villagers was the “Prairie Itch.” It is said that the symptoms were alleviated by conducting “scratching bees.”

Even though the early pioneers who settled the village of Reedsburg met with hard times during those early years, they were a hearty bunch who persevered. January 2018 RTP

Baraboo The Early Years

This month we shall travel back in time, when life was simpler, times were tougher, and early pioneers had to make due with what they had or what they could make from the land which they hoped to conquer. This was Baraboo and the area surrounding the newly settled village on the banks of the Baraboo River.

Abe Wood, in 1839, is said to have built the first occupied log cabin in what was to become Baraboo. He lived there with his Native American wife, Sarah. He, along with Wallace Rowman, built the first dam on the oxbow in the Baraboo River.

The city of Baraboo is said to have been named after an early French Indian trader named Baribeau. In those early days, the area around Devil’s Lake or Spirit Lake as it was known by the Native Americans was a favorite spot for the Ho Chunk to visit and make camp. And it was also the place where George Brown decided to make his claim.

In a 1906 history of the area, E.D. Jackson noted that “George Brown whose gentle disposition and sterling character stands out in strong relief against the somber background of those crude and turbulent times. He came single handed and alone in 1842, swimming the Wisconsin river before the day of ferries and bridges.”

After having filed his claim in Whitewater, Brown returned to Baraboo with several men who helped him construct one of the first log cabins to be built in the village.

Ezra Chapman recalled those early days of the late 1850s in a paper written in 1908.

“Baraboo then, with its little knolls and funnily twisted scrub oaks, was much prettier than it is now [1908]. The buildings along Fourth street between Ash and east streets, are not to be compared to the flowers that blossomed in Judge Camp’s garden,” wrote Chapman. “Back of that garden was a strawberry patch, whose luscious fruit Mrs. Camp would manipulate into a short cake, layer upon layer crowned with cream from their own pasture; this was enough to make old Epicurus himself smack his lips.”

Animals of many kinds could be seen wandering the streets of Baraboo. Cattle and horses were common

sights, grazing along the streets. “…nor was a big, fat porker an unfamiliar figure,” noted Chapman. Oxen were the primary motive force used for transportation and tilling the soil. “Consequently [the farmers] often came to town with them and to see oxen hitched along our streets was as common as to see horses now.” Recalled Chapman.

Often seen were remnants of abandoned Ho Chunk settlements along the river, one of which was the skeleton of an old Indian council house. It was described as circular in form and constructed of poles which had been driven into the ground and bent over and fastened at the top. A small patch of bark remained attached to one of the sides. A Ho Chunk cornfield once existed nearby, where the corn had been planted in little hillocks.

Native Americans would often come to Baraboo to sell and trade their goods. While in town, they would camp on the public square for a week or more and serenade the townspeople with powwows and dancing, sometimes long into the wee hours. “Their only music was a little rude kind of a drum that they held in one hand and beat with the other” wrote Chapman. “Chief Dekorah, was a fine specimen of manhood, tall, broad shouldered and straight as an arrow, and of frank and open continence…”

Chapman described one establishment in the early village which had a bit of a sordid reputation. “But there is one building that seems to bid defiance to all the elements. It stands at the foot of Ash street, just

The cabin of Abe Wood, the first to be built in what was to become the village of Baraboo.

across from the Thompson house. The Hile brothers, George and Sam, did business there, and it was whispered that some very dark deeds and crooked deals were enacted within its walls. It always was and is still a forbidding looking place, and even at this late day I always feel a creepy sensation in passing it.”

This was the scene that early settlers looked upon when they arrived in Sauk County. Most decided to stay, clear the land, build a settlement and begin a new life, far away from the Eastern comforts which they had left behind. They were, indeed, pioneers in all that that entails. They tamed the land and made it habitable for themselves and for those who followed them.

Baraboo pioneer, Abe Wood

This marks the location of the Abe Wood cabin, the first one in Baraboo. Located in Ochsner Park.

Pioneer Love Lost, and Found

During the early days of pioneer settlements, few people could to be found within a reasonable traveling distance of each other. Not all of the early settlers were fortunate enough to have mates and some had to resort to “strategy” to accomplish that end. One particularly unfortunate lass counted herself among this group of lonely hearts. Her story is recounted by Bella French in her 1875 Reedsburg edition of the American Sketchbook.

She was a single lady, and as the story begins, we learn that “This old maid was not blessed with abundant beauty, for which reason the men did not wait upon her as often as was desired; hence, being determined to be in society, she sometimes had to resort to strategy in order to secure a companion," wrote French.

A dance was being held in Reedsburg, and almost everyone from the community would be there. However, our unfortunate maid had no invitation, but she did have a secret plan. A young man by the name of Sprague was one of her boarders, but his intentions were to accompany another young lady to the evening’s festivities.

"Upon the night in question. He went to the stable to harness a horse, and when he brought the animal to the place where the sleigh was, he found the seat occupied by this same old maid.

"He was too much of a gentleman to order her out, and did not want to take her with him. There seemed to be no help for the latter course, and he was obliged to submit.” It was not a happy evening for him, as he became very angry and it was reported that he “did not dance with her a single time during the whole night.”

But her chance would come when another unfortunate pioneer lost his wife and the mother of his children.

Inadequate prenatal care and infection frequently resulted in the death of pioneer mothers shortly after childbirth, and that is apparently what happened to one family living on the prairie near Reedsburg. Bella French, writes of one such tragedy.

A farmer had recently lost his wife, and the mother of his many children. Marriages were often-times

a matter of convenience in those days since settlers were few and the pickings were slim, so the surviving spouse was desperate. “The old chap was the possessor of about a dozen children, the younger being a babe two or three months old,” wrote French. “There was trouble at the shanty. Somebody must take care of the children; and who beside a wife would do such a task? Then where was a wife even to be found? Emergencies, however, demanded immediate action.”

His search began in the surrounding countryside. He was looking for a good woman who would enjoy with him the comforts of his shanty, and the possession of the dozen youngsters. He stopped at each house with the question, "Is there any wimming here as wants to git married?”

The response from within was not always what he expected, "for in one or two places he was answered by the sudden appearance of a broomstick.”

Soon he had exhausted all the homesteads on the prairie and headed for the recently settled village of Reedsburg. There someone remembered the “old maid” who desperately wanted a family to love, and suggested he seek her out. As Bella French, the narrator of our story continues “He did not have to journey farther. A match was immediately made, the marriage taking place scarcely a week later.” It was noted that his proposal went something like this, “Dear, if you love me as much as I do you, come and sit on my lap.” She did, and that was that.

The farmer brought his blushing bride home with him and "they found the house filled with women, and on the bed, was a row of babies, from which the bride was laughingly told to choose her own.” A further observation was put forward that “the old maid is said to have made a first-rate wife and mother; her devotion to the children was great, and when people spoke of it, her reply was: ‘I can't help but love the little darlings, for I love their dear father so much.’”

Bella French concludes with “Widowers should take note and not pass the old maids by when in search of wives.”

February 2018 RTP

AShivaree Tradition

I’m sure that many recall attending a shivaree during the 1930s and ‘40s.

A shivaree, or charivari, is a French folk custom, dating back to the Middle Ages, meaning "A noisy mock serenade for newlyweds,” taken from a Latin word for “headache.”

The custom may also have originated with primitive peoples who would make a loud racket to keep evil spirits away from newlyweds.

In some mid-western regions, it is also called a belling or horning. Traditionally on the wedding night, the newlyweds were awakened by friends and relatives banging on pots and pans, saw blades, and other metal objects all of which was designed to created a raucous noise. In some areas, the participants were also dressed in disguise. The shivaree was popular in the U.S. until WWII, when its practice went out of fashion. Today there seems to be a resurgence of the custom and the practice has changed to include anniversaries as well as weddings.

After a wedding, relatives of the newlyweds would gather at their home to keep them busy while friends and neighbors secretly and quietly, gathered nearby, festooned with noise-makers of a diverse variety. At a given signal, the crowd would approach the house and begin hammering on the metal objects; each trying to outdo the other. A cacophony of deafening sound arose across the neighborhood, which, I’m sure, aroused sleepers for miles around.

Bob Dewel, retired Baraboo dentist, recalled the following: “Washboards rubbed with most anything was a good source of sound, as was a tub turned upside down and rubbed or beaten with sticks. When I was hardly 10, my brother was shivareed somewhat diffidently. On all roads entering the town, arrows were tacked on trees or posts without explanation, all leading eventually to his house; so many people appeared over the weeks out of curiosity. There were large signs on the house, some of which my mother refused to explain to me, with the muted innuendos of the day.”

The din would continue unabated, until the bewildered couple appeared at the door, which would only encourage the crowd to redouble their efforts to “wake the dead” with their pounding.

Finally, the couple would invite the revelers inside for a repast of sandwiches, cake, and liquid libations. Often times, a game of cards would round out the evening.

Rural Loganville resident, Laverne Kruse, recalls that the night he and his bride were shivareed, one of the merry-makers put a slab of limburger cheese on

the manifold of his car. Fortunately for him, it dislodged before heating up. Others have reported incidents of limburger being placed on their engine. Sometimes the couple got word of the impending visit, and they made sure they were elsewhere when the crowd arrived.

Other noisemakers utilized were: cowbells, large saw blades, or any piece of farm machinery that made a loud sound when struck with a hammer.

March 2018 RTP

Let There Be Light

Early pioneers who arrived to settle Reedsburg in the 1840s, brought their illumination with them. They used tallow candles to light their homes after dark, however, most early residents went to bed when the sun set, so artificial light was not an issue. Kerosene lanterns were a great improvement as they provided more light and could extend the days’ activities well into the evening. These lanterns were also attached to buggies and buckboards to guide travelers safely home after dark.

Reedsburg did have primitive street lighting in the 1880s and the lamps were described as, “Throwing a feeble yellow light from its shiny chimney through the four glass sides of its cupola-shaped frame.” Street lamps were placed on poles at various locations in the city and ran the length of Main Street. Local residents would bid for the right to be “lamp tenders” and the job was let for $100 per year. A 1941 Reedsburg Times-Press article described the duties of a “tender”. “The men with their small step ladders, oil can and cleaning rags, made the rounds of the lamps and kept them in efficient working order." These lamps furnished illumination for the streets of Reedsburg until the mid-1880s.

In 1886, E.F. Barker, owner of a furniture store, campaigned to electrify the city’s commercial establishments. J.G. Heaton, owner of the grist mill, installed a dynamo, water powered by the nearby dam, and sold electricity to local businesses only.

The following year, Heaton began installing power poles on the north side of Main street. He was ordered to stop when the city decided to enter the same business. When the time expired for Heaton to remove his poles, they were still firmly in place. C.A. Clark. a city worker, was ordered to remove them. “With a crowd of men, he went about and chopped the offending poles down,” noted a 1941 Times Press article.

The Baraboo Electric Light Company was hired to install the electric plant, which was located south of the railroad tracks, on the south end of Webb Avenue. The coal-powered steam generator was located near the rail line to facilitate easy access for shipments of coal.

Poles and wires were strung along the streets and alleys of Reedsburg’s business district during the spring and summer of 1895. The first electricity flowed that same year.

Initially, the power was turned on only during the daytime. Between the hours of 8 and 10 P.M. the superintendent would cycle the main switch at the powerhouse several times, warning patrons that the power would soon be shut down for the evening.

As the citizens of Reedsburg entered the new century, more electrical appliances became available to customers, the washing machine being one of them. On Mondays and Tuesdays, the power plant increased its production so that housewives could do the laundry with their new motorized washers. Other electrical appliances making their appearance were toasters. irons and stoves.

An ordinance was passed by the City Council in February of 1900 which stated, “Any person who shall hitch any horse, mule, or neat animal to any hydrant, electric light pole or telephone pole in any of the streets, alleys or public grounds of the city without the consent of the owner, shall upon conviction, be fined not less than one dollar nor more than ten dollars for each such offense.”

April 2018 RTP

Early power plant in Reedsburg

Native American Fun and Games

The game of Chunkey Stones was a game created by Native Americans around 600 AD, in the Cahokia region near what is now St. Louis, Missouri. The game was played using polished stone disks with concave sides, two to six inches in diameter, and one and one-half inches wide, and a slender, spear-like hickory pole about eight feet long, sometimes covered with bear grease. The stone was rolled over bare ground, or over ice in the winter, on a field about 100 feet long, and 12 feet wide. The object of the game was to throw the pole and try to come closest to the point where the players thought the stone would stop. If the stone was hit, no points were scored. Two men would enter the game, one rolling the stone, and both playing. There was great competition between players, and wagers on the outcome abounded among spectators, and players alike, some betting everything they owned. The games lasted most of the day and

ended only when the players became too exhausted to continue. One translation of “Chunkey” was “running hard labor.”

These games were played between neighboring villages and tribes and offered a time for great gatherings in the community. There would be singing and requests for spiritual guidance among the spectators.

A Chunkey Stone was made from a very hard material, such as quartz, which was difficult to carve, and was considered quite valuable. The stone was owned by the whole tribe rather than by any one individual.

This game was being played when the first European explorers arrived in the Midwest, around 1500. It continued to be played throughout North America long after that.

These Chunky stones are on display at the Sauk County Historical Society Museum.

A Pioneer 4th in Sauk County

Since the first revolutionaries signed the Declaration of Independence in 1776, the 4th of July has been celebrated as a milestone for the freedom of all Americans. Early Sauk County pioneers were no exception, and they marked the day of Independence with celebrations, dances and games.

In a speech to Sauk County Historical Society members, R.T. Warner, an early settler, recounted his experiences during some memorable 19th century 4th of July celebrations in Baraboo:

“...In those days we always had a big bonfire on the public square in the evening. But they did have a novel sort of fireworks in those days, vis: the throwing of fireballs.”

In preparation, celebrants wadded up balls of waxed candle wicks, soaked them in turpentine and ignited them.

“All of the boys,” continued Warner, “and some of the men vied with one another in seeing how far and how high these blazing balls could be thrown. Many hands were burned [as] it took an expert to pick up a ball and throw it quick enough to avoid being burned and blistered by the blazing balls.”

Warner also recalled that on one such occasion, an errant fireball was lobbed onto the roof of the courthouse igniting the wooden shingles. An onlooker quickly located a ladder and doused the fire with a bucket of water.

Another interesting activity which was eagerly awaited by the “juvenile element” of Baraboo, noted Warner, was the shooting of pennies by young Indians from nearby encampments.

“These were the kids of the Winnebago tribe, from 5 to 15 years old, who were usually on hand with bows and arrows, to shoot the old-fashioned copper cent.”

A stake was placed in the ground with a slot on the top into which was placed a penny. The shooters were set ten paces back from the stake, and upon a signal, commenced shooting.

“As soon as one of them got a penny, he put it into his mouth, and it did not take long for some of them to get a mouthful of pennies.”

The 4th was also a glorious occasion for celebration in the little village of Loganville.

“The day was ushered in by booming of cannons, ringing of bells and the blowing of steam whistles,” noted an 1896 news article. A parade was formed, headed up by local officials and the Reedsburg Drum Corps. “The enthusiasm, like the procession seemed to have no limit. No one could tell how long the procession was, for no one could see both

ends of it at the same time.”

Among those proceeding down main street were the “Goddess of Liberty on a spirited steed, 45 girls gaily dressed carrying banners to represent the States of the Union.” Next came young boys “...uniformed in sashes and military hats.” An entourage of the “regular rank and file” followed the parade to a “lavishly decorated speaker’s stand.” Children partook of free lemonade and other goodies. Those assembled concluded the day of celebration with a dance and fireworks.

The first 4th of July celebrated in Reedsburg took place barely a year after the tiny village was settled in 1848. The early pioneers had little with which to construct a national flag, so using their ingenuity, they set about creating the symbol of their independence. Men’s trousers were the right blue color, but wear and washing had taken its toll, resulting in a much-faded color. However, to reinforce the seats and knees of their trousers, buckskin patches were often sewn on. Beneath these patches the bright denim color had survived and the ladies commenced to remove same.

For the white stripes, women’s under garments were pressed into service.

Men’s red shirts were the right color for more stripes, so shirttails were sacrificed for the greater cause. That first rag-tag flag was proudly hoisted up the Liberty Pole for all to see.

A day of feasting and speeches was capped with a dance in the mill, which had yet to receive its roof and floor. Loose planks were assembled and revilers danced into the night by the light of flickering tallow candles.

June 2018 RTP

A 4th of July parade wagon in Loganville during the late 1890s.

Yellow Thunder Monument Mystery

Where is the Ho Chunk Chief, Yellow Thunder, buried?

If you’ve driven County Trunk A, you have undoubtedly seen a small monument off to the side of the road. This stone memorial was erected by the Sauk County Historical Society and the Twentieth Century Club of Baraboo in 1909 to honor the Chief. And therein lies the mystery. Was Yellow Thunder really buried inside or beneath this monument, or do his remains lie elsewhere in an unmarked grave, as some have contended.

Yellow Thunder was born in 1774. He was described by a contemporary as a, “tall, stately man of much dignity, respected by all, a zealous Catholic and a generous friend. Brave, honest, faithful, though unlettered, he was one of Nature’s noblemen.”

He wed the daughter of a neighboring Menominee leader around 1827, and they made their home near the Wisconsin River in Delton Township.

More pioneers arrived and land became increasingly scarce, depriving the Ho Chunk (then known as Winnebago) of their hunting grounds. In 1829, and again in 1832, the Ho Chunk were compelled to sell large amounts of land in Southern and central Wisconsin.

Delegations of armed soldiers were dispatched and in 1840 the Indians were rounded up and unceremoniously shipped off to a reservation in Iowa. Yellow Thunder and his tribe were among the displaced. Many, however, became homesick for their native homelands, so the following year, Yellow Thunder, his family and others, returned to Sauk County.

After having been removed again in 1848, Yellow Thunder decided that he might be able to prevent another forced exodus by becoming a landowner, because taxpayers could not be forcibly removed from their land. In 1849 he went to the Mineral Point land office and claimed a 40-acre homestead in Delton Township (Section 39) where he lived with his wife for a number of years.

Yellow Thunder’s wife died during the winter of 1868 in their wigwam. “She was removed from the tent on a sled and laid beside the grave in her blanket,” wrote a witness. “She was then placed in the grave in a sitting posture, with her blanket wrapped around her and her face to the west. Then the Indians danced around the grave chanting their death song according to custom.”

In 1874, Yellow Thunder moved back to his

home near the Wisconsin River where he resided in a tent. He died shortly thereafter having contracted blood poisoning from a knee injury. His final request was that he be buried in a wooden box, and that his body be taken back to his home and remain there for three days. After the third day, his spirit would ascend to the “Happy Hunting Ground”. His wishes were carried out and he was interred alongside his wife.

The site of the burial was about a half mile from the main road on his property, making it difficult to visit the site. Unfortunately, it was not far enough off the beaten path to prevent relic hunters from desecrating the grave

In 1893, William Calvert visited the site, and found bones strewn about the ground. He re-buried them and there the Yellow Thunders rested in peace until 1909.

July 2018 RTP

The burial site of Chief Yellow Thunder and his wife on Highway A.

Why are Barns Red?

Driving through Sauk County you will see many of the old barns painted red. Why is that? Why not green or blue? There are numerous traditional reasons, or myths, for use of the red ocher color. One reason put forth was so that cows could more easily find their way back to the barn. However, cows cannot see the color red.

Another reason was Scandinavian farmers used red to make it look like the barns were made of brick, a sign of wealth. It was noted that, “In Pennsylvania, the Dutch settlements latched on to the custom of red bricks, red barns, red geraniums, even reddish-brown cows.”

However, early barns in New England, were not painted at all, because farmers didn’t have the money for such an extravagance, and they would have been considered vulgar and showy. Many barns back then, were the natural color of aged wood.

Lewis Evans wrote in 1753, “It is pretty to behold our back settlements where barns are as large as palaces, while owners live in log huts, a sign of thrifty farming.” In Europe, where many Sauk County farmers originated, barns were small and were often part of the living quarters. As they immigrated to America, they sought larger farms, and therefore the need for larger barns became a necessity.

By the 1800s, farmers sought out ways to more readily protect their farm buildings from the ravages of weather. In addition to positioning the barn to best accommodate the sunshine and winter storms and to best preserve the wooden timbers, they also began experimenting with a mixture of skimmed milk, lime, linseed oil, and red iron oxide better known as rust. The iron oxide was obtained from locally available red clay, and linseed oil a natural wood preservative was obtained from the flax plant. The concoction dried quickly, was cheap, and it lasted for years. Iron oxide, or rust, was plentiful on farms and in paint it also acted as a natural poison to fungi and prevented the growth of mold and moss on the wood. The fungi trapped moisture in the wood and promoted decay. Farmers also learned that during the winter, red paint absorbed more sunshine and kept the interior of the barn warmer.

In the spring and summer, the red barns lend a vivid contrast to the green of the countryside, and in the winter, they provide an accent of crimson to winter’s white blanket.

Red barns have become a tradition in the Midwest through the years, and still remain a colorful decorative addition to the community.

August 2018 RTP

George Washington Iron Man

Early pioneer homes in America were heated with an open fire in a hearth or fireplace. By the mid-18th century, coal had supplanted wood as a heat source, and technology had advanced to the point where the well-to-do were heating rooms in their homes with cast iron stoves, known as Parlor Stoves. Being able to display such an elegant piece of hardware indicated that its owner was able to afford an ornamental, as well as an educational radiator, prized by the upper classes.

Large diameter pipes channeled the smoke from the stove to a nearby chimney. However, along with the smoke, much of the heat also went up the chimney. To alleviate this loss, inventors developed ingenious methods of capturing this wasted energy.

The first effort to capture some of the wasted heat, was to pass the smoke through a square cast iron box before it exited the home. These boxes were embellished with patriotic symbols such as eagles.

In 1843, Alonzo Blanchard of Albany, N.Y., patented a stove design he called the “Washington.” Constructed of cast iron, this hollow enclosure was formed in the image of our first president. It stood about 49 inches tall and was15 inches wide. The statue stood on a square metal box which featured input and output openings. The radiator was placed on top of a small stove and the smoke directed through the lower opening. The smoke heated the cast iron statue before exiting through the chimney, thereby radiating its heat into the room.

These kinds of radiators were known as “Dumb Stoves” or hot air circulators. This was not an indication of the intelligence of the stove, but because it was less noisy when in operation.

“Imagine basking in the warmth of the ‘Father of Our Country,’ stoically dominating your parlor on a winter night around the time of the Civil War,” noted one owner.

Some of these Washington statues were also sold as lawn ornaments. Victorian parlors provided a showcase for these treasured artifacts, which would be a focal point in the room.

The cast iron George Washington statue in the Sauk County Historical Society’s collection was once

used by Col. Ableman, to heat his home in Rock Springs. Later it was placed on display in front of the Cliff House at Devil’s Lake, where it resided for many years.

The George Washington statue is depicted wearing a toga draped over one side, and a uniform on the other, a somewhat controversial adornment when our founding father was first sculpted in such attire.

Baraboo News Republic September 2018

The Great War on the Home Front

World War I, or the “Great War" as it was known then, began in 1914 in Europe; and the U. S. entered the conflict in 1917. When America finally did declare its intentions, the lives of many men and boys across the nation would be changed forever. The citizens of Reedsburg were no exception.

On July 15, Reedsburg’s Company A, 1st Wisconsin Infantry, was called to duty, and at 9:30 a.m. on August 2, 170 men left for Camp Douglas. A farewell ball was given at the Armory the previous evening. An article in the Reedsburg Free Press describes the departure: “The city awoke bright and early this morning and crowds of people were waiting around long before it was time for the train, to give them a rousing send off.” The reporter also wrote of their parents’ dread of the things that were to come.

After a short training period at Camp Douglas, the troops left for Camp McArthur, Waco, Texas. Here the Wisconsin and Michigan companies were reorganized into the 32nd Division.

The company left for France on March 4, 1917. On May 1, the soldiers were sent to the trenches a few miles from the Swiss border. Reedsburg’s men were among the first troops to occupy German soil.

The great conflict that embroiled Europe and thrust most of the world into war, was felt on the home front too. The separation of families and loved ones was one of the greatest hardships endured, but none the less, all worked together to help win the war.

One of the first drives the citizens of Reedsburg were asked to participate in was to gather reading

Part 1

material for the troops. “They need books and current magazines for study, recreation and diversion in lonely moments,” noted an item in the August 16th Free Press. “DO YOUR DUTY by immediately bringing to the Public Library such books as you wish to donate.”

Sauk County female German aliens reported for registration in June to have their fingerprints and photos taken. Male Germans had been registered earlier.

By September, 1918, supplies of gasoline were being rationed. The people of Reedsburg, and all those east of the Mississippi, were asked to observe “Gasoline less Sundays” as a “necessary and practical act of patriotism.” All classes of automobiles, motor boats and motor cycles were to remain stationary on Sundays until further notice. Emergency and freight vehicles were exempt.

The Red Cross was active in the city too; and in September a street dance was organized to help raise funds for the war effort, with the Reedsburg High School band providing music. “Although the night was a little cold, it was bright moonlight and people stood around and listened to the music or enjoyed the novelty of dancing on the brick pavement until nearly midnight when they dispersed for their homes,” noted the Free Press. Two hundred dollars was raised.

The war raged on for five long years, and the citizens of Reedsburg continued to provide aid for the conflict and the soldiers who were fighting for their freedom.

September 2018 RTP

Reedsburg’s 32nd Division preparing to leave for WW1 in 1917.

The Great War on the Home Front – Part 2

“PEACE IS COMING – THE WAR IS OVER, OVER THERE - EVERYBODY HAPPY,” headlined the Reedsburg Free Press of November 17, 1918! “Every town celebrates. Reedsburg goes over the top. It combined Fourth of July and Circus day. It was better than both and then some.”

The news was received by a local citizen in a cablegram from London. At first they didn’t know whether or not to believe the glorious words, but as the news spread, spontaneous celebrations broke out everywhere. Whistles blew, bells rang, “…and they kept up the din for hours. Everyone left their work and many of the women with their work aprons on and bare heads rushed down to Main Street. The school [children] marched from their various school buildings and an impromptu parade was formed out of the chaos on the street,” noted the Free Press

Some were weeping for joy at the knowledge that the troops would soon be home and some wept for those who would never return.

“Every old horn, new horn, whistle tin pan, drum and scrap of old iron that had any reverberation within it was brought into loud requisition,” noted the Times-Press writer.

The din continued unabated for over two hours. “...that big sound gave ill expression to the joy felt in the hearts of people. The war was ended; it was ended our way; it was ended sooner than we had hoped for Why not do something?” It was the American way.

The parade wended its way through downtown Reedsburg with citizens dressed in their finest. Hastily constructed floats accompanied the revelers depicting the “poor old demented Kaiser” as being hanged and drawn & quartered. After the parade, he was hung in effigy from the light wires on the corner of Main and Walnut Streets.

The troop’s long journey home began on April 19, 1919, when the 32nd Division sailed from Brest, France to New York City. They went to Camp Grant, IL and were discharged on May 19. Bands played and speakers spoke. The prime thrust for the occasion was a final effort to raise funds for the war loan. The celebration ended with music and singing. “Soldier Boys, Welcome Home!” read the

banner in the May 23rd issue of the Times Press. They were finally home and Reedsburg welcomed them with open arms and with the now customary din of whistles and horns.

When the signal was sounded at 7:30 a.m., thousands of well-wishers flocked to the depot, along with old soldiers, a drum corps, the high school brass band, the mayor and city fathers.

“The city was decorated with flags and placards. Very conspicuous among it all was the insignia of the Thirty-Second Division of the American army in France an arrow piercing the line,” observed the Times writer. “When the train pulled in bedlam broke loose.” The band was doing its best, but as the boys’ faces appeared at the doors, the cheers sent up by the crowd, all but drowned out the patriotic strains. Sixteen members of Company A retuned that day, “Each man a picture of health, some carrying souvenirs in the shape of steel helmets and all distinctly embarrassed by the reception.”

A commemorative icon was dedicated during the 1922 Memorial Day ceremonies. An army field piece was placed at the west end of the boulevard on Main Street, with the barrel pointing west. A granite boulder was placed in front of the gun with a bronze plaque containing the inscription: “In Memoriam, World War, Charles P. Fuhrman, Post 350, American Legion, Reedsburg, Wis.” (During WWII, this gun would be scrapped to provide metal for yet another world conflict.) October 2018 RTP

:The celebration in Reedsburg at the end of WWI was deemed even better than the “Fourth of July and Circus day.”

The Railroad Comes to Reedsburg

Often settlements depended upon a means of transporting crops and produce to the markets of larger cities. Transportation of household goods and farm machinery to the frontier was also a major consideration. The covered wagon and buckboard pulled by a team of oxen could carry only a limited weight and many trips were required to convey the needed amount of goods. It is therefore understandable why early outlying settlements desired the services of a railroad.

The Baraboo Valley, and surrounding communities, were being bypassed by early pioneers who settled where the railroads provided easy access. A line from Milwaukee to St. Paul was proposed in 1850 and settlers contemplated its passage through Sauk County. However, it took a more northerly route and bypassed this area completely. Col. S. Ableman, who had settled in the Narrows near what is now Rock Springs, chose that site because he felt it would be an ideal route for the railroad. Having been disappointed by the Milwaukee line, he looked to Chicago as another possible railhead. He corresponded copiously with “capitalists” on this potential route to encourage them to petition for a new line through their territory. He also organized local citizens in the fall and winter of 1869, rousing them with the prospect that they might be able to “lasso the first locomotive that turned westward from Chicago.” The Colonel was appointed to a committee of local citizens, which also included Colonel Strong and Joseph Mackey of Reedsburg. Their mission was to draft and obtain a charter for the Baraboo Air Line Railroad.

The Madison Division of the Chicago and Northwestern eventually extended its line through Reedsburg and the first iron horse reached the city on New Year’s Day of 1872. There was no celebration because of the “unfavorable season for outdoor celebrations.”

Bella French, in her 1875 American Sketch Book, noted that the line that passes through Reedsburg, “is noted for the grandeur of scenery that greets the vision of the travelers. The railroad winds along the river bottom [through the Narrows from Rock Springs], with

the beautiful Baraboo River, which it crosses and recrosses, making a graceful curve between the parts of what appears to have been a line of high bluffs, or miniature mountains parted in

The center by some great convulsion of nature, the inner sides rising almost perpendicularly in ragged, rocky walls, to the height of two hundred feet or more.” Observing the trains from high above, she wrote that, “the railroad track becomes only a thread and the train of cars seems to be a mere toy.”

A frame depot was built on the south edge of town and the area soon developed into a commercial district.

By 1906, passenger and freight business had increased to the point where a new depot was urgently needed. To that end, a $30,000 brick depot was constructed, 119 feet long, and “entirely in keeping with the other modem buildings and progressive spirit of the town,” noted the Reedsburg Free Press. The old, frame depot was moved east by eight men with jackscrews, and converted into a freight depot.

The new brick depot contained a ticket office, waiting room, smoking room, rest rooms and a baggage room. Comments in the paper upon its opening in January, 1906, noted that “everyone pronounces it too low and remarks on the ‘squatty’ appearance, but this is all forgotten when once inside.”

Reedsburg Depot. Early 1900s

Ruth Burmester recalled that in the old days “The depot was a beehive of activity at train time, people coming and going, standing around, sitting, baggage master rushing, mail cart being rattled along the bricks of the siding, ticket agent busy giving information, the steady click-click-click of the telegraph in the background. The ticket agent sometimes called out for northbound passengers to board the train on the side of the tracks. LaValle, Ironton, Wonewoc, Elroy, Duluth, Minnesota. Or ‘Southbound passengers cross over!’ The whistle blew with startling clearness as the incoming train approached the crossings. The sound was carried over the city. When you heard the train whistle, it gave you the feeling of being connected with far-away places.”

Ruth wrote that even though some of life’s daily routines were boring and monotonous, “when you

heard that whistle of the locomotive, so piercing in its blast. and undulating, whipping across the swamp lands along the river, you straightened up your back, and paused a moment, listening. You could catch a fleeting thought, could dream of something different, somewhere away that was connected to you by those ribbons of track over which the train went pounding.”

The number of trains going through Reedsburg gradually decreased, and by the l950s there were only two passenger trains running through. By the 1960s there remained but a single track on the railroad bed, weeds creeping close to the rails and in between the ties. The last train to haul passengers through the city was the Dakota 400 which was cut in July, 1963, and the depot finally closed in 1971.

The First Christmas Card

The practice of sending holiday greeting cards goes back to 1843, when an Englishman named Sir Henry Cole, was overwhelmed by having too many friends. In England at the time, it was traditional to send written Christmas and New Year’s greetings to one’s friends. With a recent upgrade of the English postal system, a letter or card could be mailed anywhere in the country for one cent. The expansion of the railway system, allowed for a quicker and cheaper way to collect and distribute the mail. Cole was a busy man, and didn’t have time to answer all his holiday greetings. It was considered very impolite in Victorian England, not to answer your mail in a timely manner. So, Cole hit upon an ingenious way to respond to the letters. He asked an artist friend, J.C. Horsley, to design a greeting card which would embody the spirit of the holiday. He then had the results printed on 5x3 inch pieces of heavy paper. The greeting card depicted a family around the Christmas table, and included scenes of people helping the poor. The card also included the salutations, “TO” and “FROM”.

Seeing that this was a much easier way to send holiday greetings, many of Cole’s friends also began sending cards to their friends. Cole and Horsley saw an opportunity and began selling replicas of their cards for the equivalent of 8 cents. It took several decades for the practice to catch on in England and the United States.

The first Christmas card to be printed in the U. S. was created by a Prussian immigrant, Louis Prang, in

1875, who had a print shop in Boston. It consisted of a simple and inexpensive card which depicted a flower with the simple greeting, “Merry Christmas”. These early cards usually highlighted animal, snow or nature scenes and were beautifully colored illustrations.

As the practice of sending greeting cards expanded during the late 1800s, card companies offered cash prizes for the best designs from the public. People began collecting Christmas cards, much as stamps and coins are collected today, and the anticipation of getting a newly designed batch of cards each year, became an obsession.

Personalized Christmas cards were created and sent in 1891 by Annie Oakley, the famous sharpshooter. She was in Scotland at Christmas time, and had a printer create a card featuring her portrait, which she sent to her friends in the U.S.

In 1915, the Hall family of Kansas City, a postcard printing company, decided to get into the Christmas card business. They standardized the size of cards to 4X6 inches, folded once. A decade later, the company changed its name to “Hallmark”.

By the 1930s, colorful Christmas cards depicting Santa Clauses, Bethlehem, angels and stars, became the standard.

Today, “You have elaborate pop up cards, video cards, audio cards, and cards segmented to various audiences,” noted the executive director of the Greeting Card Association, Peter Doherty.” December 2018 RTP

The first Christmas card was created in England in 1843 by Sir Henry Cole.

Lightning Protection in the Last Century

If you built a barn or home during the past century, you were sure to include lightning rods on the roof as part of the structure. This simple method of protecting your property from a bolt of fire from the sky was considered good insurance. It is estimated by the National Lightning Safety Institute that one in 200 homes will be hit by lightning per year. Weather Stem reports that “About 100 lightning bolts strike the Earth's surface every second. That's about 8 million per day and 3 billion each year!”

It wasn’t so long ago that the character of a lightning bolt was unknown until Benjamin Franklin proved that lightning was a form of electrical energy with his kite and key experiment. He observed that lightning was “Similar to electricity by the color of the light, its crooked direction, and the crackling noise it made.”

He went on to note "May not the knowledge of this power of points be of use to mankind, in preserving houses, churches, ships, etc., from the stroke of lightning, by directing us to fix, on the highest parts of those edifices, upright rods of iron made sharp as a needle. Would not these pointed rods probably draw the electrical fire silently out of a cloud before it came nigh enough to strike, and thereby secure us from that most sudden and terrible mischief!"

Franklin proposed the principle for the use of lightning rods in 1749, but it wasn’t until 1760 that his discoveries were manifested in the protection of homes and other buildings in a practical way.

A lightning rod also known as lightning conductors, finials, air terminals or strike termination devices is usually made of conducting materials such as aluminum or copper; copper being the most commonly used conductor of electricity. If a thunderstorm was in the area, the pointed rod would, in theory, discharge some of the electrons in the clouds above, conducting them to the ground through a copper wire, thereby preventing a strike through the building, causing a fire or personal harm. Also, if a strike should occur, the rod would be hit first, and again, conduct the electrical charge harmlessly into the earth. A lightning bolt can heat the surrounding air to over 50,000 degrees five times hotter than the surface of the sun! And, yes, lightning can strike the same place more than once. The Empire State Building gets hit by lightning 25 to 100 times annually.

During the 20th century, lightning rods became a decorative item, being embellished with ornamental glass balls of variegated colors. The primary purpose of these balls was as an indicator that the rod had been hit if it was discovered that the ball was shattered or missing. The property owner would then inspect the structure to make sure that nothing had been damaged.

Also known as a lightning attractor or Franklin Rod, they were a common sight in Sauk County. Metal roofs provide the same protection as a copper rod, and when homes were re-roofed, the metal is grounded. January 2019 RTP

The Edison Phonograph

Prior to Thomas Edison’s invention of the phonograph in 1877, the world had no means of recording the human voice; and the enjoyment of prerecorded music was limited to the player piano.

Edison was born in Alva, Ohio in 1847. He established a laboratory in Menlo Park which eventually employed a staff of 100. During the 7 ½ years of its existence, he and his staff accumulated 400 patents for their inventions.

One of Edison’s favorite creations, and the one he was the proudest of, was the phonograph. While tinkering with one of his inventions a device to record telegraph messages onto a paper tape he accidentally played the tape at a high rate of speed and noticed that the sound coming from the machine sounded like spoken words. Being fascinated by the possibilities, he experimented using a needle attached to a telephone receiver diaphragm. Edison drew up plans for the device and gave them to his mechanic, John Kruesi, who completed the machine in 30 hours. Utilizing paraffin-coated paper on a cylinder as the recording medium, he placed the needle on the paper and cranked the cylinder. As he spoke into the mouthpiece, the vibrating needle moved up and down, creating indentations in the paper as an up and down groove pattern. When he played it back, he was astonished to hear his own voice speaking back to him from the machine. Those now famous words were, “Mary had a little lamb.....”, the first recording ever made. He later used tin foil as the recording medium as it was more durable.

Mr. Edison took his speaking machine to the New York City offices of Scientific American in 1877, and demonstrated it for the staff. In their December issue they reported that “Mr. Thomas A. Edison recently

came into this office, placed a little machine on our desk, turned a crank, and the machine inquired as to our health, asked how we liked the phonograph, informed us that it was very well, and bid us a cordial good night.” Edison’s fame spread throughout the world.

Thomas Edison established the Edison Speaking Phonograph Company in 1878 and began the construction of his recording machines, primarily for the commercial and business world. The machine was a novelty and Edison exploited its features by demonstrating it wherever he could. But it was difficult to operate and required an expert. Also, the metal foil could only be played a few times before deteriorating.

Some of the uses that he envisioned were: dictation, phonographic books for the blind, music boxes, clocks that announce the time, recording family member’s voices, and as a device to record telephone conversations. Early machines retailed for around $150 ($3,000 in today’s dollars).

The National Phonographic Company began manufacturing phonographs for the home in 1896, and it was the first instrument to carry the Edison trademark design. Prices had come down to as low as $7.50 ($150 in today’s dollars), for a machine called the “Gem,” which debuted in 1899.

The Edison phonograph in the collection of the Sauk County Historical Society is a model C, built around 1908 and at the time, retailed for $35 ($700 in today’s dollars). The large morning glory horn amplified the sound so that everyone in the room could enjoy the music. The Society’s machine has been made functional and now works as it did over 100 years ago. February 2019 RTP

This Edison phonograph, housed at the SCHS museum, was built in 1908 and retailed for the equivalent of $700 in today’s dollars.

It’sAbout Time

On October 14, 1963, a marker was dedicated to designate Reedsburg’s unique position in the state. The city is located directly on the 90th meridian, which means that clocks there are exactly in sync with the sun overhead.

The time, as reckoned by the sun, varies to the east and west of Reedsburg by one minute for every 13 miles of distance. If Wisconsin did not have central standard time, each town and village going westward or eastward could theoretically set their clocks to a different time. Local time would be based on the moment the sun was straight overhead at high noon. For example, if it was twelve noon in Reedsburg, thirteen miles east in Baraboo as the crow flies, the actual sun time would be 12:01. And this would continue as one traveled further east for every 13 miles. Until 1883, the above scenario was indeed, fact. Railroads used their own method of reckoning time, and it seldom corresponded with the clocks in the towns on their routes. Passengers often missed their connections because of this disparity in time. As travelers and railroad trains proceeded westward, they would have to constantly readjust their timepieces to correspond with the times in the towns through which they passed. A most inconvenient process.

As the nation became more sophisticated and mobile, the powers in Washington decided it was time to untangle this mess. An intonational conference was called and it was decided that since for every 15 degrees the sun travels west, there is exactly one hour’s difference in time, the world would be divided into time zones each one hour wide. That is why we have four time zones in the continental United States. These zones fall on the 75th, 90th, and 120th meridians of longitude east.

There are actually nine time zones in the United States and its territories. From east to west they are Atlantic Standard Time (AST), Eastern Standard Time (EST), Central Standard Time (CST), Mountain Standard Time (MST), Pacific Standard Time (PST), Alaskan Standard Time (AKST), HawaiiAleutian Standard Time (HST), Samoa standard time (UTC-11) and Chamorro Standard Time, which includes Guam (UTC+10).

Russia, at one time, had eleven time zones extend-

ing across the country. However, in 2010 it reduced that to nine zones, “to better coordinate their business and political activities with the rest of the country,” noted one Russian official.

Daylight Savings time was initially established in the U.S. in 1918, in an effort to conserve energy, as was the stated reason for doing so at the time. But that was repealed two years later over the veto of President Woodrow Wilson, but remained optional for any states or municipalities which voted to continue resetting their time pieces.

During WWII, President Roosevelt again instituted year-round daylight-savings time then known as War Time for the duration of the war, to help conserve fuel for the war effort.

Finally, in 1966, the Uniform Time Act was passed, which created a national daylight-savings standard from April to November. States could opt out if they so desired. Arizona, Hawaii, Porto Rico, Virgin Islands, Guam and American Samoa chose to do so.

Seventy-eight other countries in the world also readjust their clocks. Arizona and Hawaii are the exceptions and do not observe daylight savings.

The pink quartzite marker on the east Main Street boulevard reads: “325 FEET EAST OF THIS POINT LIES THE 90th MERIDIAN.” The marker was donated by Whitney Memorials and erected by the Kiwanis.

So, if you are in Reedsburg and standing near the quartzite rock which marks the 90th meridian, when the clock strikes high noon, you can be assured that it is exactly twelve o’clock. March 2019 RTP

Man Mound Park

Long before white settlers came to the Midwest, indeed, long before Columbus discovered America, Effigy Mound Builders were creating their ceremonial and burial mounds in southern Wisconsin and nearby states. At one time over 900 mounds existed in Sauk County alone. Over 75% of them have subsequently been plowed under, erased by floods and destroyed by construction or looters. One early Honey Creek farmer noted that, “We were rather irked by the large number of Indian mounds we had to plow down. There must have been at least 25 on our land Some were shaped like animals and some like birds, and all were from three to five feet high...I suppose we should not have destroyed them. But they were then regarded merely as obstacles to cultivation, and everybody plowed them down.”

The Effigy Mound Builders began plying their skills as early as 300 AD and continued the practice until around 1400 AD when they either abandoned the practice or were assimilated into other Native American cultures.

William H. Canfield first surveyed the Man Mound in 1859. At the time, it was one of only two known man-shaped mounds in the state, the other being located near LaValle.

In 1905, H.E. Cole, local historian and photographer, and A.B. Stout, science teacher at Baraboo High School, were conducting an archeological survey of area mounds and of the Man Mound in particular. They soon learned that the owner of the property was about to commit the property to the plow! The two men launched an immediate appeal to the Wisconsin Archaeological Society and the Sauk County Historical Society in an effort to obtain the grounds upon which the mound was situated. A committee was formed and a movement organized to raise $225 to purchase the property. Among those on the committee were H.E. Cole and Jacob Van Orden.

Donations of small amounts–between $1 and $15 –were suggested so that many more people could participate in the acquisition. The Wisconsin Federation of Women’s Clubs and the Wisconsin Archeological Society also helped procure funds. By the end of 1907, the money had been raised and the property purchased.

Cole immediately began clearing the land of vines and brush, seeding grass, setting boundaries and installing hitching posts. Jacob Van Orden donated a plaque commemorating the mound’s discovery and preservation.

On August 8, 1908, a group of 200 assembled at the Warren Hotel and proceeded to the site of Man Mound Park to dedicate the land and the marker. “...vehicles of every description being in waiting and

the trip through the picturesque county began,” noted a reporter. A cloud of choking dust enveloped the queue of travelers as they traveled to the site over the dirt roads in their open-air autos and horse-drawn carriages.

John M. True, of Baraboo, spoke to those assembled. “We are pleased to note the increasing interest that is being manifested in the discovery and preservation of this class of relics of a people long since forgotten, of which the Man Mound is considered of the greatest interest and importance of all of Wisconsin’s celebrated emblematic earthworks.”

Man Mound was partially destroyed in the early part of the last century when the lower parts of its legs were excised during road construction.

The Sauk County Historical Society is the current guardian of Man Mound Park and the County maintains the property. May 2019 Reedsburg Times

The Man Mound as it looks today

Radio Takes to the Air

The dream of sending a human voice through the air originated soon after Alexander Graham Bell patented the first practical telephone in 1876. Several men have been credited with discovering that radio waves could carry information. Nikola Tesla demonstrated that fact in 1893. Marconi, an Italian inventor, also discovered the feasibility of transmitting electrical waves in 1895.

However, it wasn’t until the early 20th century that experimental radio broadcasts were being transmitted over the air. The first broadcast of voice and music to the public was demonstrated around 1905. But it wasn’t until 1920 that true commercial broadcasts were being heard in the U.S. KDKA in Pittsburg is credited with being the first station to provide such broadcasts. It began as the amateur station 8KX in 1916 but was forced to discontinue operation at the beginning of WWI, when the military took over the broadcast band.

After the war, KDKA again began broadcasting to the public on November 2, 1920. It was historically credited with being the first outlet to provide regular broadcasts in the U.S. However, few heard these first programs due to the fact that there were few receivers at the time. These broadcasts were considered by the government, the public and producers of radios, as a public service. Commercial applications of broadcasts for entertainment, would come later.

The first electronic radio sets were quite expensive, costing between $75 and $150 ($700 and $1,500 in today’s currency). The average salary in 1920 was

$3,200. This was, of course, beyond the means of most Americans.

Realizing the need for a less expensive radio, Charles Freshman began producing a radio for $60 ($600 today), called the Freshman Masterpiece. It was still costly at the time, but affordable by the upper class. Freshman also offered the radio in kit form for $17.50 ($175 today), which could be assembled by a middle class do-it-yourselfer.

These first radios were powered by batteries, usually three an A, B, and C battery which provided the various voltages required by the radio tubes. Today, we still use the terms, A and C batteries.

To produce his affordable radios, Freshman cut corners wherever he could, sometimes dealing with substandard parts suppliers when he could get away with it. However, this practice backfired when numerous parts of the radio failed, requiring Freshman to repair the radio sets under warranty.

His radios relied on simple circuit design for the five-tube units. The Masterpiece was not the best design, but it satisfied most of his customers. Despite the average performance, hundreds of thousands were sold because they were affordable.

By the end of the 1920s, the technology had advanced to the point that there were over 100 million radios in use throughout America.

The Sauk County Historical Society has one of these restored Freshman radio sets shown here on display at the Van Orden mansion in Baraboo. June 2019 Reedsburg Times

This 1920s “Freshman” radio sold for the equivalent of $600 today.

Woolly Mammoths Once Roamed Baraboo

Ask most people who live in and around Baraboo about the largest animal they’ve ever seen walking the streets of the city, and they will most likely answer “The Circus World Museum elephants!”

Today that answer is accurate. However, 5,000 years ago, anyone living in southern Wisconsin might have witnessed the meanderings of one of the largest behemoths to ever inhabit the Sauk County area.

The woolly mammoth was approximately 13 feet tall at the shoulder and weighed three tons, slightly larger than today’s elephants.

These plant-eaters had long black and brown hair similar to today’s muskoxen a soft undercoat that protected them from the cold, and tusks which were up to 14 feet long. They were used to forage in the deep snow and protect themselves from other mammoths. Both males and females sported the curved tusks.

The woolly mammoth was not directly related to modern elephants, having diverged from a common ancestor some 5 million years past. Its ancestors from Europe crossed the land bridge that existed between Siberia and Alaska around 1.7 million years ago. Mummified, frozen carcasses have been unearthed in Siberia and Alaska in recent years, allowing scientists to study their physiology.

We know these woolly mammoths once existed in what was to become Baraboo, because in 1844 an early settler, George W. Brown, his brother-in-law,

Marvin Blake, and George Grant, along with several workmen, uncovered the burial site of one of these giant mammoths. They were excavating along the Baraboo River near the old Oak Street dam, intending to put up a saw mill. Upon digging about eight feet down, they discovered the bones of an animal thirtysix feet long, according to an article in Butterfield’s 1880 History of Sauk County. “The bones, though apparently well-kept, on being taken from their resting place, gradually air-slacked and became dust,” noted the article.

The huge length was probably due to the bones having been scattered over the millennia. Its fate may have been sealed when it fell through the ice and could not escape. Or it may have been killed by early Paleo-Indians during a hunting foray.

Why do we not see living remnants of these huge animals today? Some scientists speculate they may have succumbed at the end of the last Ice Age some 4,000 years ago, when the dry vegetation they ate decreased in nutritional quality and they starved to death. Others think they may have been hunted to extinction by the ever-increasing population of humans, who moved north when the climate warmed.

As far as we know, the remains found at the Oak Street site no longer exist. Perhaps at some time in the future, when excavation again commences along the Baraboo River, someone will shout, “Hey, look what I found!”

July 2019 Reedsburg Times

Pape’s Tops in Pops —

In 1904, Ernest F. Pape bought out two existing bottling works in Reedsburg and combined the operation into one business. The bottling works operated from the basement of what is today Lorraine’s Gift Shop. The sweet flavored liquid was delivered by horse-drawn wagons during the early days. But in 1907, Pape (pronounced Poppy) bought an International two-speed truck, probably the first motorized truck in Sauk County. It could carry 15 to 20 cases.

A new two story building, 35’ x 35’, was built at 400 Vine Street in 1915 to accommodate the burgeoning business. Pape added the second story so that if the pop business failed, he could convert it into a livery stable. “He didn’t think the 1907 bottling business would be around for more than a couple of years, but figured that the livery business would go on forever,” recalled Bill Pape, Ernest’s son, in a 1975 Reedsburg Times Press interview. William G. Pape joined his father in the Reedsburg Bottling Works in 1929 and took it over when his father retired around 1954.

During the 1920s and ‘30s, Pape got a contract to ship pop to Camp McCoy for the soldiers. He’d deliver it to the C& NW Depot in Reedsburg and load it onto the train where it would be hauled to the Camp. The return trip brought back empty bottles.

Pape’s Pop came in three different sized bottles: seven, twelve and thirty-two ounce. The original bottles were made of hand-blown glass, later they were machine-made. Embossed in the glass were the words, “Pape`s Tops in Pops.” In the 1970s the bottles contained painted yellow labels with the letters in blue.

The pop came in 12 different flavors: orange, root beer, grape, strawberry, crème soda, raspberry, cherry, lemon-lime, ginger ale, punch and cola. Punch was also mixed and often sold in gallon containers for picnics, family gatherings and weddings. Pape never used substitutes or cheap flavorings in his drinks, always striving for a high quality product.

William Pape Jr. recalled, in a 1998 interview, that when he was employed by his grandfather in the early 1950s, he was put to work washing bottles for 35¢ a day. “Finally,” said Bill, “my mother got so upset about this that she went down and had quite a discussion with [my grandfather] and I got a raise from 35¢ a day to 50¢ an hour! My grandfather couldn`t believe what had happened to the economy and that anybody could be worth 50¢ an hour.” During the 1950s a seven ounce bottle sold for 5¢, but was eventually raised to 7¢. Pape also bottled Squirt and was a jobber for Pepsi-Cola until 1969. Continued next month. August 2019 Reedsburg Times

1907 International delivery truck, Ernest Pape at the wheel

Pape’s Tops in Pops

As we learned in last month’s article, in 1904, Ernest F. Pape bought out two existing bottling works in Reedsburg and combined the operation into one business.

According to Bill Pape Jr., in a 1998 interview, the original pop factory used huge wheels on shafts from which belts were strung to each machine. When he worked there in the early 1950s, only the carbonation machine used the belt system.

The bottling machine could fill 30 bottles a minute and was hand operated. Three bottles were filled at one time, inspected for foreign objects, a crown put on and the bottle placed in a case. Bill said each bottle was also inspected for cracks, “It wasn’t too bad with the 8 oz. bottles [if they exploded], but with the 32 oz. bottles, occasionally when they’d explode it would be like a hand grenade going off! Anyone, including myself, would occasionally go home wounded from an exploding bottle.” He said that if purple hearts were given out for wounds, he would have had a whole wall full of them, and his dad would have had a house full!

Pape recalled that during WWII, since the power plant was in full operation and the country had just come out of the Depression, people had more money to buy luxuries like pop, and business was booming. However, with the war on and the shortage of sugar, Pape invented a sugarless pop. “It was the most terrible tasting pop in the world,” recalled Bill Jr., “but everybody else was making terrible tasting pop too, because they couldn`t get sugar either.”

Pape also recalled the fun of delivering pop to grocery stores and taverns. “When we’d go down into the basements there would be rats running around the walls and floors. I’m not talking little ones, I’m talking rats that could pick you up and carry you away if they wanted. So we’d sit there and throw empty pop bottles at them. Of course the bottles would break, so my dad told us we’d have to use Coke bottles they were our biggest competitor! I’m sure that when the Coke drivers went down there, they threw our bottles at the rats.”

One way Bill Jr. and his friends made a few extra bucks during the summer in the late 1940s and ‘50s,

Bill Pape making the rounds in his Mack delivery truck.

was by selling pop to spectators at the local baseball games. “We would take down big tubs filled with ice and bottles. Then we’d go up through the stands and sell pop. After the game was over, we’d have to collect the empties. We made some pretty good money when a popular team played.”

When the House of David team came, that old ball park was just jammed. “I doubt that I ever got above the 4th row,” said Bill. “We sold out the truck twice and could have sold more. We each ended up clearing $30 or $40, which was a fortune at the time.”

Bill Jr. said that mom & pop soda factories were abundant in the area in those years. There were factories at Baraboo, Portage, Mauston, Richland Center and New Lisbon. As new technology allowed the production of cheap, throw-away aluminum cans, the small factories couldn’t afford to upgrade and most went out of business.

Bill Pape retired in 1974, due, in part, to the fact that competition and pricing were eclipsing his production. “A company can ship its product all over the country and not have to worry about how they are going to get the bottles back for re-filling,” said Pape. “People would rather throw the cans away than return empty bottles.”

September 2019 Reedsburg Times

The Railroad Comes to Reedsburg

Waiting for the train at the old Reedsburg depot around 1900

Often the success of early settlements depended upon a means of transporting crops and produce to markets in larger cities. Transportation of household goods and farm machinery to the frontier was also a major consideration. The covered wagon and buckboard pulled by a team of oxen could carry only a limited weight, and many trips were required to convey the needed amount of goods. It is therefore understandable why early outlying settlements desired the services of a railroad.

Col. S. Ableman, who had settled in the Narrows near what is now Rock Springs, chose that site because he felt it would be an ideal route for the railroad. He succeeded in his mission to attract the railroad to Sauk County, and in 1870 it became a reality.

The Madison Division of the Chicago and North Western extended its line through Reedsburg and the first iron horse reached the city on New Year’s Day of 1872. Bella French, in her American Sketch Book, 1875, noted that the line that passes through Reedsburg “is noted for the grandeur of scenery that greets

the vision of the travelers. The railroad winds along the river bottom [through the Narrows from Rock Springs], with the beautiful Baraboo River, which it crosses and re-crosses, making a graceful curve between the parts of what appears to have been a line of high bluffs, or miniature mountains parted in the center by some great convulsion of nature, the inner sides rising almost perpendicularly in ragged, rocky walls, to the height of two hundred feet or more.”

A frame depot was built on the south edge of town and the area soon developed into a commercial district.

The 1902 Reedsburg Directory advertised Reedsburg as "…situated on the Chicago and North Western Railroad, midway between Chicago and St. Paul. It affords most excellent opportunities both for shipping and receiving goods and nine passenger trains daily besides two freight trains.”

By 1906, passenger and freight business had increased to the point where a new depot was urgently needed. To that end, a $30,000 brick depot was

constructed, 119 feet long, and “entirely in keeping with the other modem buildings and progressive spirit of the town,” noted the Reedsburg Free Press.

The new depot contained a ticket office, waiting room, smoking room, restrooms and a baggage room. Comments in the paper upon its opening in January, 1906, noted that "Everyone pronounces it too low and remarks on the ‘squatty' appearance, but this is all forgotten when once inside.”

Ruth Burmester recalled, in her story Reminiscences of the Railroad, the days when there were twelve passenger trains passing through Reedsburg daily, with three telegraph workers and seven men on duty at train times. She recalled that in the old days “The depot was a beehive of activity at train time, people coming and going, standing around, sitting, baggage master rushing, mail cart being rattled along the bricks of the siding, the ticket agent busy giving information, and the steady click-click-click of the telegraph in the background.

“The ticket agent sometimes called out for northbound passengers to board the train on the side of the tracks. LaValle, Ironton, Wonewoc, Elroy, Duluth, Minnesota. The whistle blew with startling clearness as the incoming train approached the crossings. The sound was carried over the city. When you heard the train whistle, it gave you the feeling of being connected with far-away places.” Ruth wrote that even though some of life’s daily routines were boring and monotonous, “...when you heard that whistle of the locomotive, so piercing in its blast, and undulating,

whipping across the swamplands along the river, you straightened up your back, and paused a moment listening. You could catch a fleeting thought, could dream of something different, somewhere away that was connected to you by those ribbons of track over which the train went pounding.”

The number of trains going through Reedsburg gradually decreased, and by the l950s there were only two passenger trains running. By the 1960s there remained but a single track on the railroad bed, weeds creeping close to the rails and in between the ties.

Passenger service had been abandoned in 1963 and the depot finally closed in 1971. By 1979, the once modern red brick structure was showing its age.

In January of 1994, the old depot got a new lease on life when the Reedsburg Chamber of Commerce moved in. It also became the headquarters for the 400 Trail and a location to sell passes for the trail.

As for the rail line passing through Reedsburg, in 1996 it also received a new lease. The Union Pacific Railroad (which purchased the line from the Chicago and North Western in 1995) leased 74 miles of track between Janesville and Reedsburg to the Wisconsin & Southern Railroad, a short line headquartered in Milwaukee.

Not so many years ago, some thought the railroads were dead. However, they continue to provide services to local communities and businesses, even in the city of Reedsburg.

May 2018 Reedsburg Independent

Laying 2nd railroad track over Baraboo River, 1890

Movies Under the Stars

A unique form of entertainment made its debut in Reedsburg in 1952 when an outdoor drive-in-theater opened on farmland located about a mile east of the then city limits. It was owned by the Kelly family, who also owned the Badger Theater in town.

Park-In Theaters, as they were known originally, were developed by Richard Hollingshead, a movie fan who was the sales manager of his father’s company, Whiz Auto Products in Camden, N.J. In 1933, with an initial investment of $33,000, he began his first movie theater under the stars. He advertised his theater as being one where “The whole family is welcome, regardless of how noisy the children are.” He charged 25 cents per person, and 25 cents per car. The concept caught on and drive-ins began appearing all over the country in the early 1950s.

The grand opening of the Reedsburg drive-in theater was held on August 23, with two shows nightly adults 60 cents, under l2, free.

Dick Gant, in a 1997 interview, said that he worked at the Badger Theater while attending high school, and with his friend, Mike Gschwind, helped with construction of Reedsburg’s outdoor theater. Dick ran the projector at both theaters and did odd jobs.

The screen, which faced south towards highway 23/33, measured 37 feet by 50 feet and was 62 feet high. The theater could accommodate 320 cars. Most drive-in theaters showed older or “B” movies, however the uniqueness of watching a show from inside your car made up for the lesser quality of the films. You didn’t have to dress up and come-as-youare had its appeal. People brought their own snacks and the kids watched from the back seat. Baby bottle warmers were available at the snack bar.

Teenagers were always one step ahead of the ticket sellers when they would pack several of their buddies in the trunk of the car to sneak them in without paying. Some theaters began asking movie-goers to open their trunk at the gate.

The cars were lined up side by side, with the front wheels resting on a slight rise to elevate the windshield for better viewing. To the side of each car, was a post with two speakers attached one for each patron next to it. The driver, or passenger, would lift

the speaker from its mount and bring it inside the vehicle. Each speaker box had a volume control which adjusted the sound for best listening. Woe to the car owner who forgot to return it to its hanger when the show was over and the car began to leave.

On warm evenings, patrons would often forsake their auto, and watch the show from a lawn chair which they had brought along. Some drive-ins featured playground equipment for youngsters, which encouraged families to arrive early before the show began. No need to hire a baby sitter if you wanted to see a movie. It also meant more business for the snack bar.

Popcorn, hotdogs, hamburgers, ice-cold soft drinks, chips and other goodies were available from the snack bar, which was usually located in the projector building.

The popularity of drive-in theaters reached its peak after WWII in the 1950s and early 1960s, with some 5,000 theaters across the country. They were a typical destination not just for families but also ideal for teenagers on a first date. More people attended outdoor theaters in the 1950s, than indoor theaters.

The Reedsburg outdoor theater was never a big financial success and lasted less than ten years. Television was becoming more popular in the early 1960s with more families purchasing their first set, and movie going declined during those times. Airconditioned walk-in theaters were also becoming more numerous, and the public’s comfort became more of a primary concern.

The screen was damaged in a windstorm and not rebuilt. The theater closed in the early 1960s and a Go-Kart track was constructed on the site. It was short-lived too, as people living near the track complained of the noise, and the fad soon passed.

In 1964 Henry and Eunice Brenner started the Highway 33 Trailer Park & Laundromat on the site, which still exists.

Today there are fewer than 500 outdoor theaters left in the country. However, there’s one nearby that still shows films during the summer months: The Big Sky Drive-In, near Wisconsin Dells. Boasting two screens, and two nightly feature films, it provides a nostalgic trip back in time for those wishing to relive their youth, and for current generation families who are seeking a new adventure under the stars.

June 2018 Reedsburg Independent

The Big Sky Drive-In, near Wisconsin Dells, still shows films during the summer.

Penny-farthing Bicycle

This unusual high-wheeled bicycle is on display at the Sauk County Historical Society Museum. Known as the “ordinary” it was more commonly called the penny-farthing.

During the mid-19th century, bicycles were usually made of wood. Riders straddled the frame and propelled themselves by pushing with their feet. By 1870, metals became strong enough and began to be used in these two-wheeled conveyances. The pedals were attached directly to the front wheel, the chain drive having not yet been invented. The tires were of solid rubber, and the front wheel had long spokes, providing a smoother ride than previous bikes.

By increasing the diameter of the front wheel, (ranging up to 60 inches) makers realized that the bicycle could travel further with one rotation of the pedals. This machine was the first one to be called a bicycle (two-wheeled). These first bicycles were playthings of the rich, as they cost an average worker six month’s pay.

The penny-farthing was produced primarily in England and the United States, their hey-day being the 1880s. The name was derived from two English coins, the penny and the farthing, the former being large in size, and the latter of a smaller diameter, thus mimicking the proportional sizes of the bicycle wheels.

The handlebars are mustache-shaped, with a spoon brake towards the top which was operated by a lever on one of the handlebars.

One such rider wrote of his experiences in mounting a bicycle: Mark Twain wrote, “When you have reached the point in bicycling where you can balance the machine tolerably fairly and propel it and steer it, then comes your next task how to mount it. You do it in this way: you hop along behind it on your right foot, resting the other on the mounting-peg, and grasping the tiller with your hands. At the word, you rise on the peg, stiffen your left leg, hang your other one around in the air in a general and indefinite way, lean your stomach against the rear of the saddle, and then fall off, maybe on one side, maybe on the other; but you fall off. You get up and do it again; and once more; and then several times.” This procedure effectively excluded women from riding because of their long dresses at the time.

From accounts of the day, the penny-farthing was notoriously accident prone. If the rider encountered a rut or large stone in the road, an attempt would be made to hit the break and peddle backwards, slowing the vehicle. If that failed, the rider, who was high above the center of mass, would be propelled over

the front wheel, landing on his head or “taking a header”. When descending a hill, the rider was advised to place his legs above the handlebars, so that if the bike stopped suddenly, thrusting its passenger forward, the rider had a better chance of landing on his feet.

The Society’s bicycle is unusual in that the small wheel is in the front, which, it was claimed, gave the rider better balance. This version of the pennyfarthing was manufactured by the Eagle Bicycle Company in Stanford, CT, for four years beginning in 1883. The company’s founder, Leonard B. Gaylor, patented this unique design.

By the early 1900’s, the penny-farthing had seen its day. With the invention of the chain drive and gear ratios, the wheel size was reduced. The rider sat lower, and the ride was much safer.

Today these high riders may still be seen in parades, and celebrations.

July 2018 Reedsburg Independent

Flying Machines Debut at Reedsburg Airport

The fascination with leaving the earth and soaring among the clouds has been the dream of mankind since the dawn of time. Hot air balloons brought that dream to a reality in 1783 when the French Montgolfier Brothers demonstrated the feasibility of manned flight. The Wright Brothers furthered that dream when, in 1903, they proved that heavier-than-air self-propelled machines could accomplish the same feat.

World War One was a prime impetus for the advancement of aviation, and it produced many qualified pilots who, after the war, continued and improved their flying skills by carrying the mail, barnstorming and giving rides to daring civilians.

Many of our Reedsburg’s early pilots got their inspiration from aviators such as Charles Lindbergh, Eddie Rickenbacker, Wiley Post and Amelia Earhart. Surplus planes became available after WWI and were purchased, stripped, and rebuilt.

During those early days, landing fields in small towns consisted of nothing more than open grassy fields. If a pilot was lucky, he avoided the gopher holes and landed safely. If not, he might have to right the plane and perform some impromptu maintenance. A flyer had to be his own mechanic too.

Reedsburg had no need for an airfield until one of its citizens purchased a plane in 1928 and needed a place from which to operate. Cecil Hess became the

city’s first aviator when he purchased a Waco Teri Biplane that year.

That same year, the Chamber of Commerce rented the vacant 80-acre Seamandel farm east of the city as a landing field and built a hanger. It boasted a 1,000-foot runway, “sufficient in most cases for airplane purposes." A year later, the city purchased the property.

After WWII, many G.I.s took flying lessons from Lloyd Bell or Mac McBoyle under the GI Bill. It took 8 hours of instruction to solo, 15 hours more to take a test to become a certified pilot and 40 more hours to get an unrestricted license.

Cy Dickerman, who flew his own plane out of Reedsburg for many years, related in an interview that “It’s a good idea to have a cat along while flying in the fog. If the cat’s feet are on the ceiling of the plane, the pilot knows he’s upside down.”

Lowren Douglas was operator of the Reedsburg airport from 1958-59 and he recalls that one day a man landed with a bear propped up in the back seat, causing much curiosity. It turned out the pilot had shot it up north and was forced to land in Reedsburg because of fog.

A unique feature at the airport was a water runway, installed in the 1960s by N.E. Isaacson, who used it to land pontoon planes. He built recreational artificial lakes and needed the facility when his planes flew in from northern lakes projects. After he

The area’s first aviator, Cecil Hess, flew his biplane, Miss Fortune, out of the Reedsburg Airport

left Reedsburg, the long waterway was abandoned and eventually filled in.

In 1962, twenty lights were installed along the 2,400-foot runway, facilitating night landings. The local Civil Air Patrol helped install the wiring and lights. A glide or approach light was placed at the south end of the runway which told pilots if they were too high or low. The tip of the light was amber

and warned flyers they were too high; the center light was green and designated a normal approach; and the lower light was red. “A pilot seeing red knows he’d better pull up fast or end up in the [city] dump," noted a Times Press article of the day.

The Reedsburg Municipal Airport caters to commercial aircraft as well as private pilots. Many businesses have their own corporate jets which also use the facility.

N.E. Isaacson’s water runway for pontoon planes.

Market Day of Yesteryear

Predating Reedsburg’s Ridiculous Day by over half a century, the first Market Day in June, 1923 was quite the event at the time. Auctioneers were on hand to sell items on Main Street, and the highlight of the day was the raffle of a Ford car. A Reedsburg Times-Press article noted the reason for the affair: “It adds prestige to a community as a trade center, and brings people together in the spirit of buyer and seller, besides promoting a friendly relation between dwellers of the city and of the country.”

The day was overcast with threatening weather, however, between six and eight thousand people showed up for the event! The high school band entertained shoppers during the day and into the evening.

Items assembled on the auctioneer’s stand in-

cluded unused baby buggies, carpets, bedsteads, furniture, long disused surreys, buggies, harnesses, cream separators, wheelbarrows, dresses, and used automobiles. A few head of livestock also made the sale.

However, most had come for the raffle as noted in the Times- Press article. “By mid-afternoon Main Street for two blocks was thronged with people and when the time came to award the Ford car it was plainly evident that this feature had been the paramount attraction.” Chances for the car were sold for $25 ($266 in today’s dollars), and the tickets were placed into a large barrel. Fifteen numbers were drawn out and placed into another receptacle. From there one ticket was drawn and the lucky winner of the Ford automobile was Mrs. E.C. Miller of East Main Street

October 2018 Reedsburg Independent

1941 Corn Husking Contest at Reedsburg

The early 1940s saw the phasing out of much horse-powered farm machinery and the dawn of gasoline self-propelled tractors. However, many farmers still utilized the oat burners to plant and harvest their crops.

An event of the day, which attracted thousands of Sauk County farmers and their families, was an oldfashioned corn husking contest, held near Reedsburg.

“A large field of hybrid corn to provide the setting for the husking contest,” noted an article in the October 2, 1941 Reedsburg Times Press. In addition to the corn husking contest, a horse and colt show was also staged.

The object of the contest was to see which team could husk the most corn in 80 minutes. Each entry consisted of a farmer, a wagon and a team of horses. The best ten teams of horses in Sauk County were chosen to participate by a special Team Committee. The contest was held on the Gerhart G. Schuette farm, 2 ½ miles east of Reedsburg on Highway 154.

Schuette prepared his cornfield by opening lanes through the field leaving four rows of corn, each 80 rods long, for each husker.

Judging was done by a man from the College of Agriculture in Madison. The huskers competed for the title of Sauk County Champion Corn Husker. Other attractions at the event were a horse and colt show, gate prizes, refreshments and lunch stands which were managed by the Reedsburg FFA and the Lime Ridge 4-H Club. The Reedsburg High School Band was there to entertain the crowds.

Also present was a mechanical corn picking machine which demonstrated the “modern” way of harvesting corn.

“The sun shown brilliantly and the strong winds blew across the wide fields to make an ideal fall day for the second annual Corn Husking contest for Sauk County,” noted the October 16th Times Press article. The sharp, dry stalks often cut contestant's hands and face, leaving them bleeding,” noted the reporter.

The contest was won by Marvin Nolden from Sauk City, who picked 1,282 pounds during the 80 minutes. Although he had not picked the most corn, he won by default. Two other contestants had picked more, but they were disqualified and demoted to fourth and tenth place. The Times Press reporter noted that “The two contestants were picking fast and furiously and their wagons were far in the lead of the others.” Their deductions were made for corn left un-

picked in the rows and for husks left on the corn.

Mr. Nolden, Sauk County’s Champion Corn Husker for the year 1941, went on to compete with other winners from throughout Wisconsin.

Today the National Cornhusking Association sponsors a contest the third weekend in October to determine who is the best. Nine midwestern states still hold these annual events.

November 2018 Reedsburg Independent

Game Hunters in Sauk County

Wildlife was abundant when the first settlers arrived in the mid-1800s, and many owed their survival to the diversity of game that roamed the virgin forests and prairies of Sauk County.

Today naturalists and environmentalists are active in protecting all manner of wildlife from extinction. But this concern is not a contemporary idea. In 1869 the Reedsburg Free Press reported a 19th century conflict between two opposing factions: “After a brief, but passage-at-arms between eminent rival naturalists on the question of the respective merits of birds, our thoughts naturally revert to birds of passage, to wit pigeons and to shotguns in connection with them."

The correspondent goes on to report that recently there had passed over the village of Loganville a flock of [passenger] pigeons estimated to be 10 miles long, and consisting of about three million birds! He calculated that if the flock would feed for a single day upon wheat alone, “we shall find that it will acquire 5,671 bushels, worth, at the present [1869] market price, $5,671 ($97,000 today), making it rather expensive to entertain such visitors in a region where hops have [recently] failed. Should they nest in this vicinity, the farmers of this section will be apt to wage against them a vigorous warfare, notwithstanding the protest of eminent ‘naturalists’ against their destruction.”

Ultimately, the naturalists had it right. The last passenger pigeon died in a Cincinnati zoo in 1914. Once the most abundant bird in North America when European settlers arrived, it was estimated there were between 3 and 5 billion passenger pigeons!

When Loganville’s hunters went out with their guns, one never knew for sure what they would bring home. Witness this account from July of 1888, as described for the Reedsburg Free Press by C.T. Bliven. “While Mr. W. Heffel was on his way home from Loganville, three miles south of the town and 40 rods west of Charley Bliven's house, he saw a large animal cross the road. From his description it was supposed to be a lynx. The alarm was given and three well-armed men with Mr. Heffel's dog started in pursuit. We had not gone far when W. Westenhaver said

he believed the dog had got him in under a tree top, so we closed in with guns ready for instant use, but we were soon satisfied from the smell that the animal was of another kind, commonly called skunk. We left the dog to do the work and stood back and encouraged him till he brought out five of those animals.

Heffel’s dog did not fare well after the encounter, and was taken home. Bliven’s bulldog, Jack, was then given the trail and was soon in hot pursuit. But, a half hour later, Jack returned with, “both eyes most torn out of his head, and long gashes over his face.” He had met his match and came out the loser of that game.

“The hunters were called together and a council held, the conclusion being to still pursue and capture the creature. So, we cautiously crept through the bushes for a long distance when E. Westenhaver said, ‘Boys, fall in right and left, we have got him surrounded.’” The hunters cautiously crept up on the prey with guns ready. Then, “within 20 feet of the supposed lynx, when to our surprise we saw a German man that could not speak a word of English not then anyway, whether he ever could before or not, we don't know. The German, together with five skunks, were captured, but the lynx is still at large.”

During the past century more exotic game, such as wildcats, have disappeared from this area. However, from time to time we still hear of sightings being made. Wild turkeys have been reintroduced into Sauk County and have fared well. Of course we have the ever-present deer population, together with squirrels, fox, coyotes and rabbits for the current generation to practice their marksmanship skills upon.

March 2019 Reedsburg Independent Passenger pigeon, now extinct. This one is on display at the Sauk County Historical Society Museum.

WWI Homecoming Celebrated in Reedsburg

“Soldier Boys, Welcome Home!” read the banner in the 1919 May 23rd issue of the Times- Press. They were finally home, and Reedsburg welcomed them with open arms and with the din of factory whistles and automobile horns. When the signal was sounded at 7:30 AM, thousands of well-wishers flocked to the railroad depot, along with old soldiers, a drum corps, the high school brass band, and the mayor followed by the city fathers.

“The city was decorated with flags and placards. Very conspicuous among it all was the insignia of the Thirty-Second Division of the American army in France an arrow piercing the line,” observed the Times writer. “When the train pulled in bedlam broke loose.” The band was doing its best, but as the boys’ faces appeared at the doors, the cheers sent up by the crowd all but drowned out the patriotic strains. Sixteen members of Co. A returned that day, “Each man a picture of health, some carrying souvenirs in the shape of steel helmets and all distinctly embarrassed by the reception.”

As family members embraced their sons and husbands, grateful that they had returned alive, four who did not return were also remembered. Other wounded soldiers who had returned earlier were honored too. That Memorial Day was given a day of special tribute to the nation’s and the city’s heroes.

A procession marched to City Park where prayers were offered, the honor roll was read, speeches were given and Lincoln’s Gettysburg address was presented. The high school band, drum corps and male quartet offered patriotic selections to entertain the enthusiastic crowds.

Finally, those gathered proceeded to the cemetery, headed by the veterans in blue and the drum corps, followed by the firemen, Eagles, High School Band and finally, the “World War boys marching in matchless fashion,” noted the Times-Press correspondent. They were followed by school children with bouquets of flowers and bringing up the rear, were “countless automobiles.” A special cross had been placed in the cemetery and upon that cross was laid the floral tributes. “The bouquets brought by children were handed to the boys in khaki who sought the graves of Civil War Veterans, and their own sacrificed comrades, and, after the taps were sounded they reverently and solemnly laid their tokens of respect upon the flag marked mounds.”

The Times-Press writer noted that the numbers of Civil War Veterans had dwindled, “but their loyalty and devotion to the U.S.A. will always be honored and sung by the now young veterans of the World War and by all posterity.”

Another memorial was dedicated during the 1922 Memorial Day ceremonies. An army field piece was placed at the west end of the boulevard on Main Street, with the barrel pointing west. A granite boulder was placed in front of the gun with a bronze plaque containing the inscription: “In Memoriam, World War, Charles P. Fuhrman, Post 350, American Legion, Reedsburg, Wis.” During the next great conflict, as WWII raged in Europe, this gun would be scrapped to provide metal for yet another war effort.

May 2019 Reedsburg Independent

Decoration Day, 1919. L-R: George Bowman, Dan Howland, Pete Schroeder, Harold Kleeber, Harry Buelow.

Memories of a Country School

As the first pioneers arrived on the frontier of Sauk County in the 1850s, they had little with which to build except the axes, hammers, saws and chisels they brought with them. The first dwellings were sod huts which served as shelter until more substantial dwellings could be hewn from the abundant timber which covered the hills. Log cabins sprang up on the prairies and hillsides as settlers tamed the land and cleared the forests.

After having established their homesteads and planted crops to sustain them, the next priority was the education of their children. Each community saw to it that a portion of land was set aside upon which a schoolhouse would be built. In keeping with the only construction method most knew, those first houses of learning were also hewn from logs. One of these first buildings, erected around 1854, was described by an early settler.

and received salaries of around $10 per month, along with room and board at one of the district homes. By 1900 the average wage had increased to $25 per month, and by 1917 that figure had doubled.

“The building was made of logs and the roof covered with shakes. There were three half windows and one door which hung upon creaking wooden hinges. The floor was of split logs laid side by side with the flat side up. The seats were slab benches with pegs for legs. The desks of the same were held in place around the sides of the room by pegs driven into the logs of the wall. Thus the scholars faced the wall in a long row around the room.”

Another settler noted that, “These benches had no backs and when the boys stood up on them they could reach the ceiling in any part of the room. The ceiling was made of rough boards. On the south side was a blackboard and at various places wooden pegs were driven into the logs where scholars hung up their hats and caps.”

The teacher's desk and seat were similarly constructed and located in one corner. Cracks between the walls were chinked with scraps of wood and plastered with mud. Some scholars walked as far as seven miles to school.

Sauk County teachers began teaching in the 1860s

During the summer months the older children were expected to help on the farm, and there was no time for book learnin’. School began again in the fall, after the crops were in.

There was a ceramic water jar in the hall with a spigot or bubbler that satisfied one’s thirst after a strenuous recess. In the early days a common dipper and pail were used, being filled with water that was carried from a nearby farm in a bucket, or summoned from a long-armed squeaky pump on the front porch. Remember the "outhouses,” and how we had to battle the wasps on hot spring days, and the cold frosty seats in the winter? Many schools did not have indoor plumbing until the 1950s, if ever.

These old schoolhouses have nurtured many generations of adolescents and eased their journey into adulthood. They sit abandoned and empty now, slowly crumbling into history. In another half century, all who remember the country schools will be gone, and those memories will reside only in words and pictures recorded in history books. It was a time when the world seemed a simpler place.

July 2019 Reedsburg Independent

Lower Wilson Creek School in Troy Township

Reedsburg’s Fox Farm

J. Collins was a young veterinary surgeon who lived in Reedsburg during the early 1900s. Having learned that there was money to be made in real estate in Saskatchewan, Canada, he left the area in pursuit of his fortune.

While there, several men asked him to examine three young foxes and determine their health. At first Collins thought it was a joke, but did the examination anyway. He was then asked to sign a certificate of health for the foxes. Before he left, the owners showed him an insurance policy which covered each fox in the amount of $4,000! Still disbelieving their intentions, he pocketed the $15 fee and told them, “Now gentlemen, what’s the game? How soon do the foxes die?”

The men were surprised and horrified at this statement and told him that the animals would live for many more years if they had anything to do with it. Collins was mystified and said that “if those animals were his and carried perfectly good life insurance of $12,000, they would not live ten days!”

He became concerned that he might have been involved in a scam to defraud an insurance company and during the next few weeks he watched the papers for evidence that the men had been arrested.

As more fox farmers sought his services, he learned about the care and value of raising foxes in captivity for their fur.

During the early 20th Century, the demand by the fashionable elite for warm furs was outpacing the supply available at the time. Traditionally, foxes had been trapped in the wild by hunters.

After returning to Reedsburg around 1915, Col-

lins purchased several pair of foxes, organized a stock company, and set up a fox farm. The business was a great success and at the 1917 annual shareholders meeting, a dividend of 18 percent per share was realized.

Apparently the raising of foxes in this country was unusual at the time, so Paramount Pictures sent a photographer to Reedsburg in October 1917 to immortalize the little critters on film. The movie was later shown at the Orpheum Theater in town and the large crowds who viewed the show pronounced it “Just splendid!” Mr. Collins, by then known as “The Fox Man”, purchased copies of the Film to circulate at different theaters to educate and inform viewers about raising the furry little animals for profit.

The April 26, 1917 issue of the Reedsburg Free Press headlined an article which states, “More Fox Business.” Another fox farm was going into business with a capital of $20,000. Pens for ten pairs of animals were built on the Adams farm, east of Reedsburg. The reporter writes that “This will in no way interfere with the other ranches already established near the city, in fact the more ranches near Reedsburg the more interest will be aroused in the business and the more importance to Reedsburg which is already pretty well known throughout the country as the center of the silver black fox industry.”

Fox farming persisted until WWII when demand for the fur diminished. The hard work required in raising the animals exhausted many. Prices for pelts had also dropped drastically, and the economics of further production was no longer viable.

August 2019 Reedsburg Independent

What’s Brewing in Reedsburg

With the influx of German immigrants during the mid1800s, many of them brought their brewing skills with them and established breweries across Wisconsin.

Sauk County was the hop center of the Midwest during the l860s, with growers getting rich while the boom lasted. It was no surprise then that two of Reedsburg`s citizens would build a factory to process the golden brew. Frank and Florin Meckler built the first brewery at 401 N. Walnut Street around l872. For unknown reasons, the building was later destroyed by fire. The business was rebuilt on the same site by Frank Meckler and Fred Schroeder who operated the brewery from l872-1879. Another series of fires challenged the entrepreneurs, and they succumbed to financial difficulties and sold out around 1879. John Hagenah and Henry Geffen bought the business next, taking on additional partners, William Dierks and Peter Hagenah in 1880. At that time the business was known as the Reedsburg Brewing Company and was producing about 350 barrels of beer a year.

Albert Fuhrman bought the brewery around 1895 and ran it successfully until Prohibition put a stop to all production of alcohol in 1919.

Fuhrman, who had been a brewer in Germany, immigrated to America in 1882, settled in Oshkosh and became foreman of the Oshkosh Brewing Company from 18921898. He bought the Reedsburg Brewery shortly thereafter.

Fuhrman’s son, Otto, became the master brewer at the Reedsburg plant, and under Fuhrman, plant production was increased from 3,000 barrels per year in 1900 to 5,000 barrels by 1912. The company advertised their beer as being a pure and non-chemical lager beer for medicinal purposes. They opened a sample room on Main Street abound 1902.

After a fire in 1904, a new three-story brick structure was built. Steel beams were utilized throughout, with concrete arches and cement floors. Water connections were available on each floor in case of fire. The approximate cost of the structure was $24,000 ($500,000 today). Production began in March of 1905.

The 90-foot-long, three-story structure consisted of an office, bottling plant, brew house, ice house, three-story cold storage, one-story wash house and malt kiln. The first floor held the engine and boiler rooms. The brewing kettle extended to the second story. Hops were stored on the second story near the mash machinery and fermenting vats. The third story held a 150-barrel water tank, above which malt was kept. In 1912 the malt operation was moved into

a brick building near the railroad.

When Prohibition ended in 1933, the brewery was reopened by Hans B. Johnson.

P.H. Schweke bought it in the late 1930s and ran it until 1947, when it closed.

L.C. Dobbert and K.P. Graber gave it one more try when they re-opened the brewery in 1949. At its peak in years past the brewery had produced 6,000 barrels. However, when production dipped to 1,000 barrels and sales lagged, the business closed permanently in 1950.

The Reedsburg Brewery produced Old Gold, Badger Brew, Blue Wing and Champion beers, with 35% to 44% of that being bottled, and the rest going into kegs. The brewery building sat vacant for many years, occasionally being used for storage.

In 1987 the old building received a new lease on life when Tom Elliott remodeled it into apartments. In an August, 1989 article in the Wisconsin State Journal, Elliott said, “We tried to leave as much alone as we could, so there is a unit with a high, vaulted ceiling and exposed steel beams, and another with a sunken living room. One room has ornate wrought-iron scrollwork.”

The building was placed on the National Register of Historic Places in 1984, so the outside of the building was not changed during reconstruction, and remains today as it looked after its construction.

September 2019 Reedsburg Independent

The Reedsburg Brewery was built in 1904 at a cost of $24,000 . Water tower on the left.

It Came from Outer Space – Or Did It?

The Henry Thiemann family had just finished laying a new lawn and been driven inside by a summer thunderstorm. The year was about 1916, recalled Mrs. Thiemann, and there was a blinding flash of what they thought was lightning. But strangely, there was no accompanying thunderclap.

After the storm had subsided, they went outside to investigate, and discovered a mysterious hole in their new lawn. The hole was six to nine inches across and very deep. “It looked as though something had been pushed into it,” recalled Mrs. Thiemann 20 years later. She noted that the family often spoke of the incident, but they never investigated further.

Two decades were to pass before this occurrence again came to light. A headline in the October 23, 1936, Reedsburg Times Press asked the question: “Page Mr. Barnum, here is a ‘What Is It and Where Did It Come From?’” The story went on to report that, “A peculiar mass of metal was unearthed several feet under the surface of the ground at the new filling station on the corner of Locust and Main streets. The unidentified object was brought to the Big Store by Ruben Schweke, owner of the property.

“This mass looks as though at some time it had been molten and spattered with great force against the earth,” noted the article. It appeared to consist of copper or an alloy thereof and was six to nine inches long and about four inches deep. It weighed in at 2 ½ pounds.

The surface had a mottled green patina which had been dulled by oxidation. However, if the surface was scraped, “the metal shown bright and lustrous,” noted the article.

The metallic lump was taken to Mr. Loofbor, at the Reedsburg High school, who was to make a metallurgical examination and report its composition in a subsequent issue of the paper. No further report of the mysterious object was ever mentioned in the paper.

Mrs. Henry Thiemann, who had owned the property twenty years before, then recalled the strange happening that day so many years previous.

The metallic object was apparently later identified as a meteorite, as several people recall that it was dis

This copper nugget is from the collection of the Sauk County Historical Society. Reedsburg’s mysterious artifact may have looked similar to this one.

played as such in a store window during Reedsburg’s centennial in 1948.

All efforts to locate the strange object have gone unrewarded to date.

A descendent of Mr. Loofboro was contacted and his family was unable to provide any further information.

The astronomy and mineralogy departments at the University of Wisconsin were contacted and they knew nothing of a Reedsburg meteorite.

A scientist at Arizona State University (known for its extensive meteorite collection) wrote that they also had no record of our supposed meteorite. He also noted that meteorites are never made of copper, but they consist primarily of iron, nickel or stone. It appears that the object was indeed, a lump of copper. That conclusion being drawn because the newspaper report noted that the “…surface had a mottled green patina.” Copper, when exposed to water and air, oxidizes to a greenish color.

Since there was at one time, a copper mine located northwest of where the Reedsburg Country Club is today, it is entirely possible that a large nugget of copper could have somehow wound up on the Thiemann’s lawn where it was eventually found in 1936.

So, was it a visitor from outer space, or simply a misplaced copper nugget? Until this enigmatic object is located and examined, the answer shall remain a mystery.

March 2018 Reedsburg Independent

Post OfficeArt

If you’ve ever had an occasion to visit the Reedsburg Post Office, you might have noticed the mural of a farm scene on one of the upper walls. The painting depicts a farmer next to a barn, loading cans of milk into a pickup truck with a team of horses standing nearby. Also shown are several typical farm animals.

These murals were produced across America from 1934 to 1943 from the Procurement Division of the U.S. Department of the Treasury under the newly created Section of Painting and Sculpture. The primary reason for the project was to “Secure artwork that met high artistic standards for public buildings, where it was accessible to all people.”

40,426 sketches in 190 competitions. Almost 850 artists were selected from those who responded to paint 1,371 murals. Among those painters were 162 women and three African Americans.

The paintings were to be 12 x 5 feet, of oil on canvas, and be placed in newly constructed post offices across the nation.

The artists were requested to “Paint in an American scene style, depicting ordinary citizens in a realistic manner.” No modern art would be allowed. Each artist needed to present a design sketch to the government for approval before the work could begin. Artists were encouraged to visit the town where their paintings would be displayed. Submis-

President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s New Deal program set the pace for this project. The paintings were to help boost the moral of people who were suffering from the effects of the poor economy during the Great Depression. They were to “Represent beacons of hope during a time of economic and emotional despair.”

“The subjects of the artwork were to be uplifting for those who viewed them, and depicting subjects the people were familiar with and appropriate to the communities in which they were located.” The farm scene at the Reedsburg Post Office certainly qualified.

The murals were commissioned through open competition to all artists in the United States. Over the course of nine years, 15,426 artists submitted

sions were judged by art critics, fellow artists and architects. They were scrutinized for style and content, and the artists were paid in installments upon the completion of each step of the process. The paintings were then completed in the artist’s studio, and later hung in the post offices. Generally, the artist was paid $10 per square foot of canvas.

Reedsburg’s “Dairy Farming” mural was painted by aspiring artist Richard Jansen in 1940. It was a time when farming with horses was on the decline, and gasoline-powered vehicles were supplanting the oat burners of the past. That transition is represented in this painting. Jansen also painted a mural in Lincolnton, NC, called “Threshing Grain.” There are 42 post office murals in Wisconsin.

November 2019 Reedsburg Independent

WWII Prisoner of War Camp in Reedsburg

German prisoners of war, to the number of 137, will be located here [in Reedsburg] to help with the canning of peas in this region,” announced an article in the June 28, 1945 issue of the Times-Press. The POW camp was located at the north end of Webb Ave, where the swimming pool is today, and consisted of several large tents and a few portable buildings. Reedsburg Foods Corporation contracted their help and paid 60 cents per hour. Prisoners were also trucked to the North Freedom and Baraboo canning factories. Workers received 80 cents per day for “canteen money,” and put in a 12-hour day, six days a week.

Workers were badly needed to bring in the harvest as local men were serving in the armed forces. Whenever civilian labor became available, prisoners were removed from the fields.

The prisoners received no cigarettes, candy or beer and their daily ration was set at 35 cents per man per day. The menu consisted largely of carp and pickled herring, along with beef hearts and liver. They also received margarine, sugar and fresh vegetables.

Local citizens were warned to stay away from the camp. “These men are prisoners of war, and are of no concern to the public,” said Frank Camp, police

chief. “They are under the direct supervision of the army, and citizens of this city and community should ignore them.”

Twenty guards veterans of the South Pacific and two officers were in charge of the camp. Reedsburg citizens were asked to open their homes to these veterans while they were in the city.

“Is Nazi POW labor preferred over local labor?” wrote an angry citizen to the Times-Press that July.

“Are not these POWs the same Nazis that have violated every law of God or man? Are not these the same Nazis who took helpless men, women and children and members of the Allied armed forces and cremated them in fiery furnaces?”

The writer complained that WWI veterans and servicemen on furlough had been refused work at the factories. He said that the jobs, “rightfully belonged to the deserving men and women of our community." He wanted to know who on the city council and at the factory had been responsible for bringing the Nazis to the city. “Have the men and women of our armed forces who died on foreign battle fields, made the supreme sacrifice to bring something like this about? Have the Gold Star mothers of our community made this great sacrifice, giving of their own flesh and blood to bring something like this about?”

The POW camp was located on Webb Ave., near where the swimming pool sits today. Tents can be seen in the background, with a Victory Garden in the foreground.

A few weeks later, another letter to the editor, written by Sherry Korth, responded to the angry writer, she surmised the writer had been refused a job and decided to blame it on the POWs. “Those POW are plain German men, who were forced to fight under leadership of the Nazi party. Are they to blame for the horrible atrocities which were given our American soldiers in Germany?” she asked. The Nazis were getting their just due for the crimes committed on humanity. “We are an understanding nation. Justice is done where need be, in some form or another,” she wrote.

“This nation has a very heavy responsibility. We must make these POW, as well as the rest of the German country, realize the destruction and disquietude of war and at the same time we must teach them the method of democratic living. Of living in peace and serenity.”

After having visited several prisoner of war camps in the states, Korth noted the “terrifying sights" she had seen, which brought tears to her eyes. They were religious men, reading their Bibles and singing hymns in the medical wards. “They are finding life again...we are giving them the advantage of an education. Upon their return to their country they will have to start life anew in very destructed and torn surroundings.” She wrote that they should be shown compassion and understanding.

Ms. Korth concluded her letter by saying, “No, ‘Local Reader’ these are not the same Nazis that have violated every law of God and man. They were victims of a man called Hitler, who must have been hit by the devil himself.”

November 2019 Reedsburg Times

WWII prisoners of war also worked on the Herman Thieding farm near Loganville. Herman and his family could speak German, so it helped with directing the workers. Some of these prisoners returned to the area to live, after the war.

The Hop Boom in Sauk County

Much of the prosperity in Sauk County and Reedsburg of the 1860s is owed to the “Hop Boom” which occurred at the time. It was not uncommon to see a farmer come into a store and toss a one-thousanddollar bill on the counter and ask for change. But how did Central Wisconsin, and Sauk County in particular, become known as the Great Hop Center of the West?

Jesse Cottington, who lived three miles north of Reedsburg, introduced hop roots into the area in 1852. He emigrated to Sauk County from England where he had grown up among the hop gardens near London. Cottington brought the hop roots from Milwaukee by team and wagon and harvested his first crop in 1853. They turned out to be a better quality than hops being produced in Europe or New York, then the major hop centers of the world.

Soon Cottington’s neighbors noted his financial success, and they too gave up the traditional crops and planted their fields with the brewer’s root. When the hop crops in New York failed several years running due to the hop louse, it drove the prices in Sauk County even higher. The “boom” years were 1866 - 1867. Farmers borrowed heavily to buy new farms and plant more hops. New homes were built and everyone was parading around in fancy clothes and driving expensive carriages. Many individual farmers cleared between three and four thousand dollars in 1867 ($52,000 and $70,000 today). The average income for a farmer before that time had been $750 per year. Two million dollars was netted by growers that year. One county newspaper advertisement noted, “A hop yard is more profitable than a gold mine!”

Reedsburg merchants prospered too. “I’ll pay when I sell my hops,” was a sufficient guarantee for almost unlimited credit. A hop grower seldom haggled over price, paying whatever the merchant asked and putting it on his tab. Farmers bought land on credit, planted hops and in the fall when the harvest came in, they paid off the mortgage and the merchants, and had a thousand dollars left over. Everyone expected the “boom” to continue indefinite-

ly, but the winds of disaster were blowing across Sauk County by 1868. The hop louse was making itself felt in the area and New York crops were on the increase. With almost every acre of land producing the same commodity, an overabundance of hops soon drove prices down. The inevitable “Hop Crash” of 1868 drove almost all of the farmers in the county bankrupt and placed many merchants at the brink of financial disaster. Between two and three million dollars was lost by Sauk County farmers that year. Hops that had been bringing 56 cents a pound the previous year were selling for 5 cents in 1868!

The hop business was not totally abandoned as a cash crop, however. In 1872 with the arrival of the railroad in the area, hop farmers had a direct route to the major markets in Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, Minnesota, Michigan, New York and even London. A new early variety of hops was being raised in 1875-76 and they brought between 40 and 58 cents a pound.

But never again would Sauk County and the surrounding communities see the glory days of the midl860s. December 2019 Reedsburg Times

This Sauk County hop yard is typical of those found across the area during the Hop Boom.

Parachute Jump Ends in Tragedy

Airplanes were still relatively unique during the late 1920s and people jumping out of them was even more unusual. Therefore, when a flying circus was hired to entertain the Reedsburg community for the Fourth of July celebration in 1930, one of the prime attractions was parachute jumps. The Mid West Airways troop, from Rockford, IL, put on stunt flying demonstrations for thousands of awe-struck spectators below the largest crowd to attend such activities in anyone’s memory.

During the second day of the celebration, the climax of the show was to be a parachute jump by Evelyn Holman. After circling the field for several minutes, the plane suddenly landed. Holman got out, handed her ‘chute to nineteen-year-old Mae Rox, whose professional name was Peaches LaMar, and said, “You take my place, I’m scared.” Miss Rox had jumped the day before, but strapped on the equipment anyway and was soon on her way to 1,500 feet. The crowd buzzed with excitement as the plane again circled the field. “There she goes,” shouted a spectator as Rox appeared below the plane.

A woman shrieked. The silence became a bedlam of screams and shouts. The crowd broke across the airport with a rush, but police were first and barred the way.”

As the pilot circled over the spot, flying circus personnel leaped into their cars and headed to the site of the tragedy. The pilot returned to the airfield, almost cracking up his plane, and joined the race to the girl. She was found buried 18 inches in the soft soil. Her ‘chute was determined to be in good working order upon examination.

Miss Rox has been jumping for the flying circus since that past August and had made over 100 jumps previously. It was speculated that she had fainted upon exiting the airplane, failed to pull her ripcord and never knew what happened.

January 2020 Reedsburg Times

An article in the Times-Press picks up the story: “Down, down she fell. And then silence settled over the crowd as realization seemed to come to everyone at once that something was wrong. Down, straight down, seemingly without a struggle, fell Miss Rox and vanished behind a fringe of trees beyond the cornfield, into the marshland southwest of the airport.

Mae Rox (a.k.a Peaches LaMar) depicted here, and the plane purportedly flown by Reedsburg’s Cecil Hess that day.

Why Are Some Barns Round?

The construction of round barns in America date to the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. Some of the first-round barns in Sauk County were also constructed between 1880 and 1920. Round barns weren’t always round, however. They could be octagonal, polygonal, or circular in design. Some dairy barns had eight, twelve, or sixteen sides. Agricultural colleges, such as the Agricultural College of Illinois, began pushing this design in northern Illinois and southern Wisconsin because it was more efficient than the traditional square or rectangular structures. A round building has a greater volume-to-surface ratio. In other words, they could enclose a greater space with less lumber, which also made them cheaper to construct. Students at the college determined that “The rectangular form requires twenty-two percent more wall and foundation to enclose the same space; and that the cost of material is from thirty-four to fiftyeight per cent more for the rectangular building.”

Another advantage was that farmers didn’t have to dodge the supporting pillars which were present in traditional barns. Hay and grain could be stored in the center of the barn or in the mow above, making it easier to feed the cows which were stalled in wedge-

shaped pens around a central hub. Some of these barns also supported a silo at the center.

These barns were also more structurally sound, according to some, and could withstand wind and storms better than the traditional rectangular enclosures. Others claimed that they were warmer in the winter and cooler in summer.

Round barns were also easier to build. “The interior layout of round barns was promoted as more efficient, since farmers could work in a continuous direction. In the days before mechanization, labor-saving features were a big selling point,” wrote Auer, Michael J. in his publication, The Preservation of Historic Barns.

However, these types of dairy barns never really caught on with the average Midwestern farmers. Their primary claim had been efficiency, but with rural electrification in the 1920s, and more efficient and modern machinery, the need to construct these types of structures had faded.

There are still eleven polygonal barns located in Sauk County, according to a 2019 Wisconsin Round Barns List, compiled by Dale Travis, out of a total of at least 18 which once stood in the area.

February 2020 Reedsburg Times

One such 10-sided barn, shown here, is located east of Baraboo off US 12 on Rocky Point Road, has been nominated for the National Register of Historic Places.

Windmills of Sauk County

As one drives the highways and byways of Sauk County today, periodically the sight of a windmill can be seen on the horizon. Today, these denizens of the sky, are connected to electrical generators which supplement power for homes and the grid.

However, in the mid-19th and early 20th centuries, wind power was mechanically harnessed to turn the fan blades of windmills to pump water from deep wells on America’s dairy farms. The use of windmills was brought to America by European immigrants and first used on the Great Plains to pump water for cattle and irrigation. These early windmills used redwood towers and blades combined with cast iron and steel mechanical parts, to pump water into wooden tanks. Railroads also used these mills to provide water for the engines as they wound their way across the country.

Eventually, this method of pumping water, became a fixture throughout rural America. In time, steel towers and blades supplanted the wooden construction of the past. According to an article in the journal Wind Energy, more than one million such windmills had been erected across the United States starting in the mid-19th century.

In A Field Guide to American Windmills, the historian T. Lindsey Baker writes that “the first commercially successful self-governing [or self-regulating]

American windmill was developed in New England in the mid-1850s, by a salesman named John Burnham and a machinist named Daniel Halladay. Unlike more traditional European-style windmills, The Halladay Windmill Company’s product was nimble; it could swivel to face the changing wind and angle its blades to adjust speed and avoid cracking in powerful gusts.”

The wind pumps used a submerged underground cylinder which had a piston inside. As the plunger rose and fell, water entered the cylinder on the downward motion, a cowhide leather valve closed, and when the plunger rose, another valve opened which forced the water up a pipe to the surface.

The Aermotor company of Chicago, was considered the Cadillac of windmills. They eventually moved to Texas, and are the only company still producing water pump mills.

These ubiquitous wind-generated pumps persisted until after WWI and through the Great Depression, when rural electrification invaded the country and electric motors took over the task of pumping water. Gasoline engines were also in use at the time to supplant the wind power.

The towers of many old-time windmills may still be seen in rural Sauk County, having been converted to support TV antennas.

March 2020 Reedsburg Times

Shown is an early, wooden windmill, formerly located on the Roick farm in Sauk County.

Reedsburg Teens are Civil War Heroes

The Civil War, which began in 1861, still had another year to go in the summer of 1864. The Union army was nearing Petersburg, Virginia, which began a year-long siege of the southern city. It was trying to keep supplies from reaching the nearby Confederate capital of Richmond, the capture of which would put an end to the conflagration which had wracked the nation for almost five years.

Thousands of Wisconsin soldiers were involved in the effort to surround the city and bring the South to its knees. Wisconsin’s 19th Regiment, Company A, was one of those units which was called upon to help route the Rebels. Company A of the 19th was made up primarily of men and boys from and around Sauk County, who had heeded the call in February of 1862, and joined up to help save the Union.

In June of 1864, General Grant tasked Company A with the job of tearing up the Petersburg railroad tracks which carried food and equipment to General Robert E. Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia, in preparation for the siege of Petersburg. This railroad, called “Lee’s Lifeline,” carried supplies, and sometimes Union prisoners, south, so it was vital to the Confederate Army in its ability to sustain its war efforts. The troops of Company A had been transported up the Blackwater River on three gunboats and were waiting to return to their headquarters after having completed the job of crippling the Rebel rail lines. On June 15, 1864, they were camped on a point of the river to await the return of the gunboats for their trip back to their camp.

Unfortunately, Confederate General Longstreet and

his troops had “taken up position on one side of river and had stationed sharpshooters on a point projecting into the river to pick off pilots of the gunboats if they tried to stream down the river.” The point was covered with tall marsh grass which protected the sharpshooters, and the boats were stranded upstream.

The colonel of Company A called for two volunteers to swim across the river and set the marsh on fire to “route the Rebs from their position.”

Two teenage boys, both from Reedsburg, stepped forward and volunteered to do the job. They were Nelson Gardner and Ephraim Haines, both 17 years old.

Their heroic story was recounted later, during a reunion of Wisconsin’s 19th Regiment, Company A. “They tied matches wrapped in oilcloth in their hair, and under the cover of heavy fire dove into the river. By swimming under water most of the way they reached the other side safely and set fire to the marsh.

“Although hundreds of shots were fired at them, they escaped unharmed and returned to their own lines.”

The Rebels realized they had been defeated and retreated from their position along the river, which allowed the gunboats to safely steam down the river and retrieve the troops of Company A.

The boy’s stories do not end there. Tragically, Haines was picked off three weeks later, on July 5, 1864, while standing in a Union trench, and Gardner was captured during the Battle of Fair Oaks during which several of Company A’s soldiers were either killed or captured in October, 1864. Gardner was later exchanged for a Confederate soldier, and survived the war. He was awarded a medal for his bravery.

April 2020 Reedsburg Times

Seventeen-year-old Reedsburg soldiers Nelson Gardner, left, and Ephraim Haines helped save their unit during the Civil War.

Shot Tower

The shot tower is located near Spring Green in Tower Hill State Park. It consists of a 120-foot vertical shaft down which molten lead was poured to produce shot pellets. A 90-foot horizontal tunnel leads from the base of the shaft to the banks of the Wisconsin River.

Before the nineteenth century, the production of lead shot for muskets was not an exact science. The balls often came out in odd shapes and pockmarked, thereby making them useless for accurate marksmanship.

The hill upon which the tower exists, was ancient when the first white explorers arrived in the area in 1673. Pere Jacques Marquette and Louis Joliet first saw the towering rocks while exploring the Wisconsin River.

the base of the tower. Shaunce determined where to begin the horizontal tunnel by using his rifle from across the river, to sight directly below the top. Using a row of wooden stakes, he was able to dig into the face of the cliff and hit the vertical shaft with great accuracy. When he finally broke through, a gust of air knocked him unconscious and collapsed one of his lungs, something that plagued him the rest of his life.

In 1873, Danial Whitney, of Green Bay, noticed the sharply rising bluff on a trip down the river and speculated that it might make an ideal location for a shot tower for the production of pellets for shotguns. There being numerous lead mines in the region, his idea had a lot of merit.

Whitney formed the Wisconsin Shot Company with several other investors, and hired Thomas Bolton Shaunce, a lead miner from Galena, Illinois, to dig a shaft from the top of the bluff to the level of the river below. Shaunce began digging the vertical shaft in 1831. Working mostly alone, with the help of one other man, it took them 187 days over a period of two years to complete the 120-foot shaft and 90-foot tunnel through the sandstone bluff. They used pick axes, chisels, and gunpowder to break up the harder rock at

A lead smelting house was added at the top of the shaft, and a finishing building was placed at the bottom.

The raw lead was brought from Mineral Point in 75-pound bars called “pigs.” The bars were melted in large pots, arsenic was added to make the lead more brittle which aided in forming the droplets. The liquid was then poured down the shaft through a ladle with holes in it. The droplets formed into balls as they dropped, cooling on the way down and ending up in a pool of water to complete the cooling process. From there, they were gathered and sent to the finishing house to be graded and polished, then shipped down the river to Milwaukee, and then to Eastern markets.

The operation required a crew of six who dropped up to 5,000 pounds of lead each day. Of this, only about 600 to 800 pounds was usable as shot. The remnants were hauled back to the top of the bluff to be reprocessed.

This production lasted about 30 years. By 1836, more than half of the residents who lived in Wisconsin were living in the lead mining regions, and by 1840 more than half of the lead produced in the United States came from southwest Wisconsin.

In 1889, a prominent local Unitarian minister, Jenkin Lloyd Jones, a member of a well-known WelshAmerican family in the region, purchased the site of the old shot tower for $60 and converted the property into an educational and recreational retreat. It included 25 cabins, tennis courts, dining hall, and other facilities for outdoor events, lectures and musical presentations.

After the death of Jones in 1918, his wife donated the land to the state, and Tower Hill State Park became a reality in 1922. In the early 1970s, the smelting house and shaft were rebuilt by the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources and the Wisconsin Historical Society.

May 2020 Reedsburg Times

View from above

View of the bottom,

Reedsburg Bridges the Baraboo River

Some form of transportation brings us nearly everything we eat, wear and use in our daily lives. It also provides us with a means to conveniently move from place to place. Today we have a choice of the automobile, bus, train, ship or airplane to fulfill these needs. When pioneers headed west during the mid-1800s their options were limited. The first settlers arrived in Reedsburg on foot or in wagons utilizing oxen and horse power. There were no marked roads or paved thoroughfares. Indian trails were followed by the first settlers, who also traveled along streams and rivers to the frontier. To traverse a waterway, travelers usually sought out a shallow point or built rafts to ferry their possessions across. One of the reasons Reedsburg came to be built where it is was because the Baraboo River was shallow there and the bottom was stonelined for easy fording. Babb’s Ford, as it came to be known, was an Indian crossing; and early pioneers followed in their footsteps.

The first attempt to bridge the stream was accomplished in the spring of 1849 through the efforts of David C. Reed (Reedsburg’s founder) with the help of the townspeople. It must have been a crude affair because in 1853 C. Spaulding and James Goodwin were contracted to improve the span. The new bridge was made of wood, with the posts and piers being

driven into the bottom through the ice during the winter. It cost $300 ($7,500 today). A third bridge, replacing the previous one, was built in 1860 and ‘61 by John H. Rork at a cost of $1,200, and was financed by the town. This structure collapsed in 1867 and was replaced by another one by John Kellogg and C. M. Gaylord.

The village was growing rapidly and the old wooden bridge could not support the heavy traffic that traversed it daily. A new, high truss, two-span iron bridge was placed across the river by the Milwaukee Bridge and Ironworks Company in 1885. Each iron span was 94 feet long. The piers and abutments were of stone and the roadway was 17 feet wide. This bridge served the community for almost a half century and was replaced in 1925 by a cement structure, 192 feet long, with a 32-foot drive way and sidewalks along both sides. The bridge was constructed by the city with financial aid from the county and state. By the 1980s, this bridge too had outlived its usefulness and was deteriorating to the point that it might become dangerous. It was completely demolished and replaced by a new structure. To accommodate traffic during construction after much deliberation and controversy a second bridge was built to the south, on South Webb Avenue. The present Main Street bridge was completed in 1985.

June 2020 Reedsburg Times

This two-span iron bridge was built in 1885. The sign above the bridge reads, “$10 fine for riding or driving on this bridge faster than a walk.” Stairs on the left led to a small pier where rowboats were tied.

Reedsburg’s Cannons Helped Win Wars

The 105-millimeter howitzer, which occupies a place of honor on the west side of Webb Avenue, was placed there by Reedsburg’s American Legion Post 350 in 1958 as a memorial to all area veterans. Efforts to obtain a memorial cannon began in 1954 when Rueben Gade was commander of the Fuhrman-Finnegan Legion Post. Letters were written and phone calls made, but government bureaucracy thwarted all efforts. Finally, in July of 1956, Leonard Hainstock, commander of the Legion post in 1941, wrote a notarized letter to the government stating that in May of 1942 the Post had donated a 4000-pound WWI memorial cannon “free of charge" for scrap iron to help win the war.

That effort eventually paid off. In September 1958 Rueben Gade and Mayor Hilbert Kleeber drove to Madison, Indiana and picked up the decommissioned cannon.

The artillery piece was dedicated on Veterans Day, November 11, 1958. The Webb High School band

along with the National Guard Honor Squad accompanied the ceremonies; Legion Post Commander, Marvin White and Rev. Jay Miller were the main speakers. In the early 1980s the VFW and Legion posts joined forces and placed a flagpole with permanently lit flag on the site.

In 1892 a memorial soldier’s monument was erected in Greenwood Cemetery to honor the men who had given their lives during another great conflict - the Civil War. Part of that memorial consisted of a cannon and cannon balls. Scrap metal was being gathered to help win WWII, and on December 8, 1942 the old cannon was sacrificed to that end. It was shipped to a Gary, Indiana steel mill, according to Gus Sweeney, local scrap dealer, to be rendered into raw iron. Sweeney tracked the 8,540-pound cannon and reported that in less than a month it had been melted down to manufacture 20th Century war equipment. “The speed with which it was swallowed up has proved the urgent need for scrap,” noted a “TimesPress” account of the donation.

July 2020 Reedsburg Times

The WWII 105mm cannon in Webb Park was dedicated in 1958

Pioneer Cabin Foundation located in Ochsner Park

During WWII, a method of detecting approaching aircraft was developed. It was called Radar. Since then, radar beams have been utilized by the Navy to locate ships, by police to locate speeders, and in microwave ovens to cook food. Long range radar has even scanned the surface of Mars, and detected approaching asteroids. Since then, radar beams have also been pointed downward to locate ancient buried buildings and artifacts. Known as Ground Penetrating Radar (GPR), it is being used by archaeologists to help locate the outlines of long-lost structures buried a dozen or more feet underground.

The Sauk County Historical Society recently utilized a GPR system in an attempt to find the exact location of the Abe Wood cabin, in Ochsner Park, Baraboo. Wood was the first pioneer to build a log cabin high on a bluff along the Baraboo River in the area where the park is now located. In 1926, the Sauk County Historical Society erected a brass plaque which indicated the approximately location of the cabin. Wanting to be sure of the exact spot, it was decided to try

and verify the location more precisely.

Dan Joyce, Director of the Kenosha Museums, which owns the GPR equipment, was invited to scan the area of the suspected cabin location. The radar unit situated in a square box under a tricycle-like push vehicle is used to locate such underground artifacts.

“What I will do, is set up a line at the end [of the area being scanned], put alternating color pin flags every half a meter, and then I’ll do the same at the other end, and I’ll just run the machine in a zig zag fashion, collecting data in each transit,” explained Joyce.

He also noted that, “The operation is really pretty simple. It actually shoots electrical magnetic pulses into the ground hundreds of times a minute. The electrical magnetic pulses penetrate [the ground] and bounce back from different materials depending upon their density. So, if you have something that has a different density from the soil, you can see it. The great thing about these [machines is] that they are wonderful for picking up man-made structures. Right angles are great. You can recognize right angles right away.”

The Abe Wood cabin footprint is the long rectangular dark area between the two white diagonal markers. From the GPR printout.

Joyce guided the GPR device back and forth inside the marked area, until he had covered every inch of the grid. A small computer-like-device recorded the returned signals. A line of irregular waves appeared on his screen as he traversed the ground. “They don’t mean a lot,” he said. “Then I will take it back to my computer, process the data, taking the noise out of it and see if we can see anything.”

Several months later, the results were in, and indeed, there was a disturbed soil stratum detected, which showed where the original Abe Wood cabin had stood. It was located beneath and around the granite marker stone which had been placed in the park in 1926. The exact location of the Wood cabin had been confirmed.

August 2020 Reedsburg Times

Dan Joyce, Director of the Kenosha Museums, guides a Ground Penetrating Radar over grass near the Abe Wood cabin marker in Ochsner Park.

The Hulburt Creek Garden Beds, near Wisconsin Dells off Highway H, were created by the indigenous people of the area over a thousand years ago, and what’s more amazing is that they still exist. These beds are the oldest radiocarbon dated ridged fields in the Upper Midwest or western Great Lakes, according to Dr. William Gartner of the Department of Geography, UW Madison. A portion of the Hulburt Creek Garden Beds were donated to the Sauk County Historical Society in 2008 by Bill and Phyllis Pierce.

The beds consist of long raised ridges where the crops were planted, surrounded by irrigation ditches which drained the crop surfaces and stored water when it rained. These structures were used to enhance soil fertility, control moisture and improve cultivation conditions. Indigenous people planted various crops in these beds, including corn, beans and squash, known as the “Three Sisters.” These crops formed a symbiotic relationship with each other. The stalks of corn served as poles for beans, and interplanting this with squash kept down invasive weeds.

Recently, Derrick Kapayou, a member of the Meskwaki Tribe, located near Tama, Iowa and a graduate of Iowa State University who is studying for a MS degree in Sustainable Agriculture and an MA degree in Anthropology, was granted access to the garden beds to further his studies. Kapayou took soil samples from the raised beds in an attempt to “compare them to uncultivated but similar soil types to look for areas of statistically significant difference in the data they produce.” During a recent visit, Kapayou stated,

Beds Still Exist

“My hypothesis is that there is a ‘legacy effect’ from the interaction between the Native American gardeners and the soil, and this effect is still detectable even though hundreds of years have passed since the gardens have been abandoned.”

Kapayou will have the samples analyzed by the McDaniel Soil Science Lab at Iowa State University. The material will be subjected to various tests which break apart the cells in the soil to determine the amount of carbon and nitrogen that is released. By comparing the samples with samples taken outside the beds, he hopes to prove that the raised beds are healthier for the production of crops than soil not utilized for agriculture a thousand years ago. He said that, “My initial observations about ridges is that despite being constructed [a thousand] years ago, the soils were very light and fluffy, and would have allowed for optimum root growth for a gardener.”

After several months, some of the analysis of the soil’s ability to retain water in different locations inside and outside the garden beds has been finalized. Kapayou reported that, “There was a significant difference between the off-ridge and on-ridge samples, with the off-ridge samples being able to hold much more water within their pores than the on-ridge samples.” He also said that the Native Americans’ manipulation of the soil in the ridges would have benefited the plants and prevented the roots from becoming waterlogged. “However, in a long drought, the ridges may have worked in the opposite direction and forced the grower to water the crops tirelessly,” he noted. Fortunately for the gardeners, Hulburt Creek was not too far away.

October 2020 Reedsburg Times

Here Derrick Kapayou procures a thousand-year-old soil sample from the Hulburt Creek Garden Beds, to be analyzed later in the lab.

These Garden Beds are not a burial site.

Pioneer Chewing Gum

Before the availability of commercial chewing gum, early pioneers in the area, and elsewhere in the country, would scrape the hardened sap from spruce trees, place it in their mouth, and chew away. It took a while to soften up, and it didn’t have a sweet taste, but kids loved it.

The sap comes primarily from northern black and white spruce trees and appears when a limb is broken off, the tree is damaged in some way, or is felled by lightning. The breach then oozes a sticky sap which hardens into crystalized gum when exposed to air. This chewy substance was hugely popular in the mid1800s. The habit of chewing spruce gum originated with Native Americans and was passed on to early settlers in northern states where spruce trees were abundant.

In the spring, and also at other times when the weather was warm, gatherers or “pickers” would scour the woods for signs of a large tree which had wept some of its life sustaining fluid. Collectors would chip off the semi-hardened sap and separate out the darker “bark gum,” as that had more impurities in it and wasn’t as tasty. The clearer grades could fetch up to $5 a pound as opposed to the darker grades which went for twenty-five cents a pound.

The raw gum would be placed in a strainer, steamed until the bits of bark were separated out and then poured into a mold. After it hardened, it was cut into chewable pieces, wrapped in wax paper and sold as penny candy.

Kids loved this chewy treat and would often bring it to school, much to the teacher’s displeasure. The story is told by one Sauk County old-timer, N.G. Abbott, of an incident that happened in 1917 when he was attending a one-room school. One of his classmates, Elihu, was known to partake of the chew during classes. The teacher, of course, didn’t approve of the smacking sound which he made. Abbott recalls that, “the teacher would consign each ‘cud’ to the old box stove on discovery.” So, Elihu decided to have a little fun. “Elihu one day rolled a 22 cartridge in his ‘cud’ and proceeded to ostentatiously chew it.” The teacher was con-

ducting a reading class, and upon hearing the smacking of Elihu’s lips, knew exactly what was going on. “Without taking his eyes from his book, held out his hand for the gum, and dropped it as usual in the old box stove.” Abbott recalled that, “Soon there was an explosion that blew the lid of the stove to the ceiling, which awakened the teacher and wheeling around, he thundered, ‘What was that you gave me, sir?’” Elihu, without batting an eye, said “gum.” Since his first name was “George,” the teacher did not dispute his claim. As we all know, there was once another famous American named George who “could not tell a lie.”

Eventually, the Spruce Gum industry died out when manufacturers began using sweetened paraffin to supply the gum-chewing needs of kids and adults alike.

November 2020 Baraboo News

Baraboo Man Develops Treatment for Diabetes

Today, there are 7.4 million Americans who rely on insulin to sustain their lives. Before 1922, individuals with that deficiency, did not survive.

In 1921, several researchers working in a laboratory at the University of Toronto, Canada, were the first to isolate insulin from a dog pancreas. Further research in the field, resulted in the formulation of artificial insulin, which ultimately would save the lives of millions of people.

One man who led the research to produce this wonder drug, was Dr. William D. Sansum. He was born in Baraboo, Wisconsin in 1880, and grew up on a 30-acre dairy farm near the Baraboo River. Sansum attended Lyons Common School, graduated from Baraboo High School in 1900, graduated from the Wisconsin State Normal School, the UW-Madison and Rush Medical College.

Sansum moved to Santa Barbara, CA in 1920, to serve as head of the Potter Metabolic Clinic, which was organized to serve patients with diabetes, nephritis and gout. Upon his arrival at the clinic, Sansum told his new staff, “The outlook for medical research is brighter than at any time in history.” He specialized in diabetes, which was a fatal disease at the time. Diabetes had been the subject of his doctoral thesis, along with over twenty additional papers.

Dr. Sansum communicated with the researchers in Canada, and they collaborated on a process to improve the process of extracting and refining the insulin.

In May 1922, Dr. Sansum and his researchers were the first to develop and administer the initial doses of insulin produced in the United States. Their patient was a fiftyone-year-old man who was terminally ill with diabetes. Sansum “painstakingly produced [the insulin] in his laboratory.” On the third day of doses, the man tested sugarfree, regained his health, and lived to be ninety with the new insulin injections.

His successes in the treatment of this once-fatal disease, was published in medical journals all around the world, and Sansum was heralded as a leader in the field.

With this success, a grant of $15,000 aided in the continued improvement of his discoveries. Sansum also created diet-related regimens to aid diabetic patients, and he developed methods to obtain a higher yield of insulin from the raw materials.

By 1923, insulin began to appear in drug stores across America. One article noted that, “Hundreds of thousands of patients near death from diabetes, like the first U.S.

Dr. Sansum in his laboratory in Santa Barbara, CA. where the first treatments for diabetes were developed.

patient in Santa Barbara, subsequently recovered relatively rapidly with the insulin treatment.”

In 1928, Dr. Sansum established the Sansum Medical Clinic in Santa Barbara, to treat patients with diabetic health problems. The clinic focused on treatment and research for individuals with special needs.

In July, 1930, a headline in the Baraboo paper noted, “Medical Men of Locality Pay Respects to Former Baraboo Boy.” The gathering was held at the Del-View Hotel, and was sponsored by the staff of St. Mary’s Ringling Hospital. Dr. Sansum gave a two-hour talk on his diabetes research and high blood pressure, noted the article. He said that during the past 40 years, his research has increased the lifespan of patients about 23 years. “He has carried his research chiefly along the lines of diet,” noted the article.

Dr. Sansum died in 1948, at the age of 67. He is buried in Santa Barbara, CA.

This year, the Sansum Diabetes Research Institute, celebrated the 100th anniversary of Sansum’s arrival there.

December 2020 Baraboo News Republic

Fred Kohlmeyer—Loganville’s Mechanical Genius

During the early part of the 1900s, one of Loganville's most prominent citizens was Fred Kohlmeyer. He was a mechanical genius who contributed much to the betterment of the machinery and farm equipment of his day. He was an innovator and a tinkerer and took the devices that others had created and improved upon their design so that they would perform better and last longer.

The Kohlmeyers lived on the west side of Loganville on Walnut Street. Fred was born in 1859 and came to America with his parents when he was four years old. As a young man he attended school in Loganville, and after he was married, he lived 2 miles northeast of the village. He worked as a laborer around town and was always interested in mechanical things.

Around 1911, Kohlmeyer built his first pickup truck. It was a converted car with right-hand drive, an open cab, and a box on the back. This truck was used mainly for hauling supplies and tools when repairs had to be made to their equipment away from home. In 1915, the first Klondike truck was built by Kohlmeyer. It had right-hand drive, solid rubber

wheels and a square cab with side curtains to keep out the wind. Later versions were converted to lefthand drive.

There were no commercially-made campers or motor homes available during the early 1900s, but many entrepreneurs built their own from existing auto or truck bodies. It was reported that in 1910, the first motor home was built from a three-ton Packard truck. It slept 11 people, was 28 by 13 feet and sported an ice box and toilet.

It was around 1917 when Fred Kohlmeyer got the bug to hit the road in a similar fashion, and he built his first camper vehicle which took him and his family on a trip to Yellowstone National Park. Upon their return, he tore it completely apart and rebuilt it, this time on a Klondike chassis which was much heavier.

Kohlmeyer’s “house on wheels” would support his family on the trip out west no need to pay the outrageous rents requested by tourist stops along the way. Upon arriving in California for the winter, it would also serve as their home while there.

Somewhere in Yellowstone National Park in 1917

The vehicle was 28 feet long, 8 feet wide and 7 feet high. It was built of beaver board, and painted on the outside. The inside boasted a chemical toilet, pressure water system, electric lights, a kitchen and sleeping quarters. Local visitors to his shop wondered how it would be able to navigate the twisting mountain roads and sharp corners which would be encountered in route. But Fred Kohlmeyer was up to the task, having built many heavy-duty cars and trucks in the past.

After completing this machine in 1921, the family left Loganville for the long trip, and headed west into the sunset. Fred’s family followed in a Cadillac touring car, as riding in the motor home would be rough considering the lack of adequate roads at the time.

The family spent that winter living in their camper in Long Beach, California, rent free, and returned in May, 1922, reporting, “A successful trip without an accident.”

Soon it became apparent that they could not compete against the large auto and truck makers, so when Mr. Fred Kohlmeyer retired, the Klondike era vanished. Fred’s son, Ed continued for a while doing shop work and selling farm tractors and machinery.

In Loganville today the name "Klondike" still lingers in the memory of those who knew of Fred Kohlmeyer as a mechanical genius of his time.

January 2021 Baraboo News Republic

This 28-foot-long home-built “ camper” took Loganville’s Fred Kohlmeyer and his family to California and

February Ice Storm of 1922 Worst in History

One of the worst storms to hit Wisconsin, occurred on February 22, 1922. The freezing rain, hail and sleet, accompanied by lightning, and 30 mile per hour winds, coated trees and took down power and phone lines. The tops of trees were bent over, broken limbs covered the ground, and electricity was out over much of the state for several days to a week. Ice accumulations of 1-3 inches were common, with some reports of 4-inch-thick coatings. In Wisconsin alone, the storm brought down between 15 and 20 thousand communication poles. Property damage in the state amounted to a staggering $10 million dollars (in 1922 dollars).

An ice storm can happen when rain forms in a layer of warm air but then falls through a thin layer of belowfreezing air right near the surface of the earth. Ice accumulates when super-cold rain freezes on contact with physical surfaces that are below the freezing point.

Countless numbers of fruit, shade, and timber trees were damaged or toppled by the ice-laden branches. The storm also accounted for ten train wrecks where engines and cars slid off the tracks.

Sauk County was not left untouched by the storm, with tremendous damage throughout. Loganville was in the dark for over a week because the newly installed power lines from Reedsburg were all down. The wires were broken in so many places, according to local resident, Al Luehrsen, that they could not be reused on the main line. The broken wire was salvaged though. It was spliced together again and used to connect up many of the farms east of town. Al remembered that, “when the lights were turned back on, it was like the sun commin’ over the hill.”

During the night of the storm, Bill Thies, a local farmer, remembered that he could hear the trees in the woods popping and cracking as their branches became coated with the heavy ice and broke off. “The next morning the countryside was a sight to behold,” he recalled. The landscape was glazed with a sparkling sheet of ice. Trees were bent low with their heavy bur-

den and countless scores of limbs would never rise again.

The Baraboo Weekly News reported that, “The most severe storm in years the like of which many of the oldest residents of Baraboo never experienced before, visited Baraboo and vicinity Tuesday night and continued its reign of slaughter to trees and electric wires through Wednesday and Thursday.”

The article noted that most streets were in total darkness, and folks were using lanterns and flashlights to find their way. Movie theaters had to close for lack of power to run the projectors. A few fortunate enough to still have gas lights in their homes, made good use of them.

In the country, it was reported that telephone poles were falling like dominoes.

The article went on to say that, “On Wednesday night the town sounded as if it were being bombarded in time of war. Trees were cracking and breaking on every hand. It was dangerous to be on the streets.” No rural telephone line entering Baraboo was working. Another article stated, “No Juice, No Paper.” Other items in the same paper reported that, “So many splashes of rain froze on the face of the town clock the hands stopped.” And again, “There was a great rush to have axes sharpened.”

The articles concluded with, “When the sun broke on the landscape, a myriad of glistening gems gleamed along every street and on the wooded slopes.” February, 2021, Baraboo News Republic

Joy Caused Sorrow

Back in the mid-1800s, school teachers especially male teachers ruled their classrooms with an iron hand, or in one case, with a leather whip. Charles Wing, who attended a three-room school on Baraboo’s First Street in the 1850s, spoke of his experience as a young student there at a 1908 Old Settlers meeting.

He recalled that the school room was located on the top floor and was taught by a man named William Joy. “He was not much of a ‘joy’ to us boys. He ought to have been named Sorrow instead of Joy,” noted Wing. He said that the teacher had a crossed eye and the kids could never tell for sure when he was looking directly at them.

Joy was a stern, no nonsense instructor whose word was law. He kept a riding whip locked up in his desk drawer which was brought out when one of his students mostly boys misbehaved. When it was needed, the perpetrator was asked to get the whip and bring it to Joy, and of course, the boy then knew that he was to be punished.

Henry Turney, and a third one whom I don’t remember rode downhill a little too long [while sledding]. They were at the bottom of the Noyes hill when the bell rang and could not get to the school house in time, so were late.” Mr. Joy then called them up and whipped them on the hands with that rawhide strap. However, he could not make Hat cry which seemed to make Joy madder than ever.

“When the rawhide came down Hat would turn his hand so the whip would fly back and cut Joy’s fingers. It cut them so he wound paper around his fingers,” said Wing. “Mr. Joy flogged his pupils without any mercy.”

Mr. Wing also said that many teachers did the same thing in those days. He, himself, recalled that he also felt the sting of the whip, and that most who also felt it, usually deserved some kind of punishment.

Charles Wing is referring to Baraboo's Union Schoolhouse which was built about 1850 and was located somewhere on the block where the Civic Center is today. It was replaced by the 1869 brick schoolhouse that burned in 1906.

Wing continued, “One noon the boys broke open the desk and burned the whip. Then Mr. Joy procured a small rawhide whip that he could curl up and carry in his coat tail pocket.” This whip had a handle about eight inches long, with long braded rawhide strips attached, which would leave a deep cut on its victim.

“He would curl it up and throw it at an offending boy. On account of his cross eye, we did not know when it was coming,” recalled Wing.

Wing continues, “One noon three boys, Hat Case,

March 2021, Baraboo News Republic

HOOCAK HOXJI

Ho-Chunk cradleboards, or baby carriers, like the one shown from the Sauk County Historical Society collection, are unique to Native American tribes in the Midwest. Measuring eleven by fifteen inches, these baby carriers were usually made of basswood, cedar or white pine. Buckskin laces would be used to tie the various elements together. In earlier times, they would be lined with sphagnum moss or cattail down. During cold weather, the child’s feet would be wrapped with rabbit or mink fur, with the soft side facing inward.

A protective curved arch, or wooden bow, made of hickory or ash, was fastened to the upper portion of the board like a roll bar, to protect the child from bumps, should the cradle board tip over. It would also serve as a brace when a protective covering was placed over the cradle to shield the baby from the sun or inclement weather.

The baby would be tightly wrapped in a small blanket and strapped to the cradle board. This would be soothing to the baby similar to being held in its mother’s arms. As the infant grew older, its hands and arms would be allowed out of the blanket so that it could play with objects hung from the upper bow.

Holes were placed in the top portion of the bow, and various items would be attached to entertain the child. Things such as small toys, feathers, dream catchers, and amulets, which would be changed out periodically to keep the child’s interest.

Some cradle boards would have a birch bark tray lining over the moss, which could be easily removed for cleaning. These linings would keep the child warm and act as a sterile absorbent.

A thin five-inch wooden strip was wrapped around the outside of the base board to keep the baby centered and to prevent it from sliding downward. Holes were placed around the perimeter for straps used to keep the infant in place.

Cradle boards were a convenient way to transport a baby or young child up until the time they could sit up or crawl. These boards could be carried in the mother’s arms, propped up against a tree or large stone

-Chunk Cradle Board

while the mother worked, or it could be fastened to an inside tent pole.

The cradle board would be placed on the mother’s back and supported by burden straps which would wrap around the mother’s forehead, shoulders or chest.

Today, Ho-Chunk still make and give traditional infant carriers to one another. These cradle boards are often heirlooms and become family keepsakes.

April, 2021, Baraboo News Republic

Ironton Iron Mine

The smelting and manufacture of iron objects goes back over 7,000 years, when Mesopotamia (Iraq) began the processing of iron from meteorites. At the time, it was considered to be a ceremonial metal and eight times more valuable than gold. The iron age began about 1300-1200 BC when iron became cheap enough to replace bronze.

ton’s weight.” Sandstone covered the top-most layer, “in the fissures and cavities of which veins of fibrous hematite occur.” The yield of metallic iron from the surrounding rock was about 45%.

Rev. A. Frederick, a former pastor at Ironton, wrote in 1909 of the iron mine, “This peculiar stone which,

Early pioneers who came to what was to become Sauk County were also in search of this precious utilitarian metal. Iron deposits were first located near Ironton in section 10. One story of its discovery noted that compass needles near the site would be attracted in that direction by the mass of iron ore, which led to further investigation of the property.

Uncertainties lie in who first discovered the iron fields there; but James Tower, an iron master from New York, is credited with its exploitation in the early 1850s. He purchased 4,000 acres of land in 1855 “after becoming satisfied that iron of superior quality existed there in abundance.”

The ore is located on the brow of a hill which descends some distance sharply into a valley below, near Tower Creek. An 1858 assessment of the location, noted that, “The surface is covered with fragments, generally small, but sometimes attaining a

when the rays of the morning sunlight fall upon it, envelope Ironton in a shade of red it’s this which made the Ironton of the past.”

Tower began erecting houses, mills and smelting furnaces on the land where the village of Ironton exists today. The heavy equipment needed for the operation was hauled with great difficulty from Portage, thirty-five miles distant. Four years later, the equipment was in place, and mining the ore began. Tower hired men to operate the mine and smelter, and built the iron business into a productive enterprise, worth about $100,000 [$3 million today] at the time.

The ore-bed was located about a mile south of the furnace in Ironton, so the raw ore was loaded onto small cars which ran on tracks between the two locations.

Over 150 men were employed at the mill. However, it was noted that, “Hauling of ore comprises but a very small proportion of the team-work necessary to carry on the enterprise, for, of the one hundred and fifty men employed about four-fifths of the number are engaged in burning and hauling charcoal [used to heat the furnaces].” It cost over $12,000 [$350,000 today] per year to accommodate this enterprise. Land from which the wood was cut, was often given to the workers as pay.

Iron castings were manufactured in the foundry, which consisted of sleigh-shoes, plows, kettles, wagon wheel rims, sledges, hop stoves, and other small castings. These items were shipped directly to dealers, primarily in Western markets.

One visitor wrote that, “It was a gorgeous sight at casting time to see the white-hot molten mass pour out into the beds prepared for it in the black sand.”

The finished iron products, about two tons per load, were carried by “strong [oxen] teams with lusty teamsters” to shipping points in Kilbourn, Mauston and Lone Rock

But the iron boom, which put Ironton on the map, was not to last. After 20 years of production, the need for adequate transportation to move the product to market was lacking, “when [compared to] the vast tonnage of the ores from Northern Wisconsin and Michigan came into competition with the compara-

tively tiny quantities which could be mined from… the Town of Ironton.” Also, in 1890, the increasing cost of timber for charcoal, and the decreasing price of pig iron, forecast the knell of the small operation at Ironton. The mine and smelter ceased operation in 1895.

Rev. Frederick opined in 1909, that, “The immense boulders with their dark red sides, offset by the deep ravines, are gorgeous to look upon. And when the sun shines down upon the old ore bed late on an autumn afternoon, and the woods add their varied coloring to the scene, when everything is quiet but for an occasional chirping of birds, then how really beautiful it is to look calmly up from the depths of the iron cave.”

May 2021, Baraboo News Republic

Raw Iron ore, about the size of a baseball

Location in Ironton where the Iron Smelter was located

Face of the Iron Pit

The Iron Mine Pit

Iron-bearing boulder

Electric Cannons in the Civil War!

Over 150 years ago, America was engaged in a Civil War. The soldiers on both sides of the issues had access to many new and innovative discoveries of the day, and they were utilized by both combatants.

I recently conducted research into the Wisconsin 11th Infantry Regiment which consisted of men from Sauk and Dane Counties. The unit served much of the war in the New Orleans area near the swamps and bayous of the Mississippi River. The Sauk County Historical Society has in its collection a copy of a diary kept by William McCready, from the Sauk Prairie area, who served with that regiment.

Disease was the number one killer of soldiers serving in the Southern theater during the war. More men died of disease than died in actual combat. There was smallpox, pneumonia, typhoid, mumps, and exposure. Many of these diseases were the result of drinking contaminated water. Soldiers would fill their canteens from local citizens’ cisterns and wells. However, these were not always available on long marches through the unsettled wilderness, and many times the retreating enemy would poison these sources. So, the troops would be forced to rely on water from the Mississippi River, nearby swamps, bayous, and even muddy rain puddles.

Water purification was one of the mid-1800s innovations, as mentioned in one of McCready’s diary entries: “July 20 1864: Government has erected machinery here at Brasher which condenses the water which we use for drinking and cooking. It has a peculiar taste which is not pleasing to those who use it. It is more wholesome than water from wells or Bayous. There is not sufficient rain water caught in the cisterns here for all of the troops at this post.”

Sleeping out in the open during cold or inclement weather, also contributed to much illness. One disease, however, was mitigated with something that was new to the boys smallpox vaccinations. The vaccine for that dreaded disease was discovered by Edward Jenner around 1800. McCready noted in an April 3, 1862 diary entry: “Many of our men are unwell from vaccination for small pox, by our Regimental Surgeon. ”

Another innovation which the Union utilized was something that few of the boys had ever witnessed, or even heard of. Wm McCready, wrote in his diary: “Sun. 19th. [1864]. This evening an appearance resembling the moon, and about three times her size appeared in the eastern sky and remained there for a time, perhaps for fifteen or twenty minutes when it gradually disappeared.”

What McCready and his troops probably saw was a hydrogen observation resonance balloon. A man would be sent aloft, suspended in a basket, and with the use of a telegraph apparatus, report to the ground the location of the enemy. Hydrogen to lift the balloon was produced in the field utilizing special “inflation wagons.” Charged with dilute sulfuric acid and iron filings, they generated the gas. These portable gas generation wagons gave the Union balloonists the ability to be deployed more freely in the field.

Cannon fired by electricity in 1864? Seems impossible. However, it was done during a 4th of July celebration in 1864 in New Orleans. McCready records the event in his diary: Fri. March 4th 1864. At sunrise a salute was fired by artillery and nearly all of the bells in the city were rung… At the appointed time we marched to La Fayette square where we found a large platform erected and seats sufficient to seat about six thousand people built in a semi-circle on one side of it, and about 70 pieces of cannon on the outside of the circle of seats The Band played, and cannon were fired by electricity.”

It should be noted that the telegraph lines at that time were powered with the use of batteries, and it’s entirely possible that a telegraph key was hooked through wires to the cannon fuse; and when the key was pressed, a spark would ignite the fuse and fire the cannon. It must have been quite a sight to see 70 cannon firing, either in sequence, or all at one time.

Thus, today’s modern warfare finds its roots through the inventions necessitated by the armies of the Civil War. For better or worse, that trend continues on today’s battlefields.

June 2021, Baraboo News Republic

a portable hydrogen generator used to inflate observation balloons during the Civil War.

launching an observation balloon

Above,

Left,

Community Water Fights a Favorite

Well before the age of television, beginning back in the 1930s, country folk and city folk alike gathered on special occasions throughout the warm summer months to enjoy each other’s company and to get away from their daily chores. One such gathering place was a wooded area south of Loganville known as Peper’s Grove, where every July the Equity Farmers’ Union held a picnic.

The grove is located off Hwy 154, onto Eli Valley Road, and then a turn down a dirt path which ended near a wooded area. Cars were parked in a newly mown hayfield, and then it was a short walk through a gate into the grove. In an interview several years ago, LaVern Peper recalled that, “All the roads were gravel at the time, and there was dust flying from one end of the valley to the other, with all the cars coming and going.” He said that at one time there were around 3,000 people who attended these doings.

keep the stream of water on target. He took the brunt of the assault. The teams stood about 75 feet apart and directed a 70-psi blast of water in the direction of opposing team members. As the match began, the nozzle men would direct their stream into the air, with the streams crossing midway between the teams. At the sound of a whistle, the contestants would take aim, and the contest would begin. The team that maintained contact during each two-minute round, hitting their opponents the longest, won, and the winners would move on to the next match. The last two teams standing would participate in a final match, winners take all.

Water fight on Reedsburg’s Main Street, July 5, 1915

One event which always drew the most enthusiastic crowds was the traditional water fight. Toward evening, the fire department brought out its pumper, placed siphons into a small nearby creek which was dammed up for the day and the fun would begin. Volunteer “fighters” faced each other, with two men on each team. In the early days, they were dressed in heavy clothing, gloves, boots, and a leather jacket, if they had one. Later contestants consisted of firefighters dressed in their traditional firefighting gear of rubber or Kevlar. One team member held the hose and faced away from the opposing team. In front of him stood his partner, also holding the hose, but he faced the opposing team to help

Through the years, the rules changed to protect the men from being injured by the strong blasts from the pressurized hoses. A cable was strung across the street between two posts or mounts, and a beer barrel was attached to the cable so that it could be moved by the pressure from the hoses. As in the past, each team con-

sisted of two members who attempted to move the barrel towards their opponent’s side of the street. The team that succeeded won the contest.

Young kids also enjoyed participating in a modified version of a water fight. A volleyball placed on the ground would be the target, and a team of two kids each held a garden hose, and would try to move the ball across their opponents starting line.

Today, the celebrations in a few towns still showcase a water fight of some kind, but it is not the crowd -pleasing event it once was.

July 2021, Baraboo News Republic

Bee Hunting—ASweet Journey

In 1859, one of LaValle Township’s early settlers, H.C. Palmer, recounted an interesting pastime that he and his brother-in-law, John Sanborn, participated in.

Sugar was an expensive commodity in the mid-18th century, and pioneers in Sauk County would use it sparingly. It might be incorporated in special treats when company arrived, or poured over a bowl of snow around the holidays as a frozen candy treat. It would also be used medicinally for a sick child. Early settlers also collected honey to sweeten pies, cakes and cookies. Other products obtained from the hives were beeswax to make candles, flower pollen and royal jelly, used to treat certain illnesses.

After having exhausted their efforts hunting partridges and squirrels, the men decided to take a break and try their luck at sweeter endeavors, that being Bee Hunting. It had been observed that numerous bees were seen feeding on the fall blossoms, and it was presumed that there must be a honey tree somewhere in the vicinity. So, a bait honeycomb was placed in a nearby clearing to attract the bees. Soon, there was quite a gathering of the little critters, sucking up the sweet nectar. Bees store the honey in a honey stomach, which is different than their food stomach. Since it was autumn and the leaves had fallen, it was quite easy for the hunters to determine the direction the bees took on their way back to the hive, that being due west. Palmer wrote, “Then carefully following the bee line the bait was moved from place to place along the course taken by the bees until we were over half a mile from the starting point, the last remove being over on the west bank of the Spring brook that runs thru the land now occupied by August Lucht.” The boys soon realized that they had passed the object of their pursuit, and quickly turned around. Then began the diligent search for the honey tree and the bees were quickly located in a cavity about forty feet up the trunk of a giant oak, “… that looked as though it had stood the storm of centu-

ries,” noted Palmer.

Up until that point, their pursuit had been an easy one. Now they had to determine how to access the honey treasure. They cut down several nearby trees to break the fall of the honey tree. It was quite successful, and the men soon brought forth the smudge pot to smoke out the bees. Palmer recalled that the bees, “seemed to be so stunned by the sudden calamity that had over taken them that they made no resistance.”

The tree generously provided a rich harvest of fully 100 pounds of clean white sweet honey. Palmer concluded his story with, “The hours had passed rapidly and pleasantly by and the October day was drawing to a close when we turned our steps homeward well pleased with the day’s work carrying the crop home in two large tin pails and a wash boiler.”

August 2021, Baraboo News Republic

Airmail ServiceArrives in Sauk County

A headline in the August 1, 1924, Reedsburg Times Press announced “Air Mail Arrives at Local Office –Letters Are Received Here Bearing Post Mark of New Transcontinental Postal Service.”

After the transcontinental railroad became a reality, it took 108 hours for a letter to go from New York to the West coast.

Between 1911 and 1918, the U.S. Government began daylight test flights to deliver mail between Washington DC and New York. These flights were fraught with difficulties and danger. The pilots were flying World War I, open cockpit biplanes. These planes were designed for fighting and not for long distance flights. The pilots were exposed to the cold and rain, and they frequently had to clean engine oil off their goggles. The mail was flown during the day and when it got dark, the mail was transferred to the railroad to complete the journey.

Air Mail service began in the United States in 1918 on an experimental basis and brought in more money than it cost to fly the mail. However, after a few years of operation, the service began to lose money, due to the expansion of the routes, the greater distances traveled, and the increased gasoline usage.

Despite these difficulties, the public and President Harding were impressed with the test flights, and he

agreed to support a bill to fund the airmail service. Funds went to hire pilots, buy new planes, create navigational aids, and to light the routes with bonfires so that pilots could fly at night. Giant cement arrows were also placed across the country, which directed the pilots to the next stop.

On February 22, 1921, overnight transcontinental airmail service in the U.S. began with flights between New York and San Francisco. Postage to send a letter that distance was 24 cents ($2.38 in today’s dollars). The country was divided into three zones, and the cost to mail a letter was accessed at 8 cents per zone. The trip took 83 hours with 15 stops along the way to hand off the mail sacks to the next pilot and aircraft.

So it was that in 1924, Reedsburg, and Sauk County, began receiving air mail letters from across the nation. It was noted in the Times Press article that the planes did not stop in this area, but the “advantages of the mail service are available just the same and letters will reach here from New York in eight to twelve hours quicker than they will by the regular mail train service.”

The article also stated that a letter sent to San Francisco would reach its destination two days earlier than by the traditional railroad route. “The public has not yet fully learned to appraise it to the extent to which it would be profitable to them,” noted the writer.

September 2021, Baraboo News Republic

Basket Socials

“How much am I bid for this fine basket of delicious vittles. Come on now fellas, put your hand in your pocket and pull out those bills.”

That’s what you might have heard back around the 1900s at an old-fashioned basket or box social. It was a way of raising money for schools, churches or other needy organizations.

An early reference to a basket social appeared in a New York newspaper in 1885. It was advertised as something new. “Each lady in attendance is to bring a basket containing a lunch for two. By lottery the baskets, and their fair owners as company to the feast, are disposed of to the gentlemen. This is a new departure in our social line and I trust will meet with success. Let there be a full house. All are cordially invited to attend.”

The maker of a basket was supposed to be anonymous so the bidders didn’t know who prepared it. However, if a girl fancied a certain guy, she might drop a hint indicating which was hers.

Country schools also held box socials to raise funds for needed schoolroom supplies. Young ladies would decorate cardboard boxes with colorful paper, ribbons, pictures and fancy lace. The bachelors would gather ‘round and bid for the treasures. Sometimes the bidding would escalate beyond expected norms if the lady was especially popular, and the winner would walk away with his prize, much to the chagrin of his rivals. The average price paid for a box was usually around four or five dollars.

Box socials began in Victorian England among the middle class as a means to meet new people and potentially someone of the opposite sex. Women or girls would decorate a box or basket and place inside a lunch for herself and the winning bidder. The contents might include fried chicken, sandwiches, fruit, cookies, a pie or other homemade desserts. The baskets or boxes would then be auctioned off with the highest bidder getting to sit and dine beside the woman or girl whose box they had won.

It was a great way for young people to socialize in rural areas where there were few other

ways to meet new friends and potential mates.

A 1924 article in the Reedsburg Times Press exclaimed, “BASKET SOCIAL AT TWIN PINE SCHOOL. A basket social will be given at the Twin Pine School [Reedsburg], Tuesday evening May 20th by the teacher and pupils. A cordial invitation is extended to all.”

These kinds of social gatherings persisted through much of the late 19th and early 20th centuries and began to wane in the mid-1900s.

October, 2021 Baraboo News Republic

All That Glitters Part 1

The inimitable P.T. Barnum is said to have once observed, “There’s a sucker born every minute.” That observation seemed to hold true regarding an incident that occurred during the pioneer days in the little village of Reedsburg.

The story begins in the fall of 1856 near Beaver Dam when a banker by the name of Wells was returning home one day. Spying an object in the ditch near his residence, he dismounted and retrieved the package. What he found was a packet of letters tied up with a red ribbon. Upon examining the contents, he discovered a letter written by Mr. Burleigh, of Cleveland, OH, to one Mr. Burton of Cincinnati. Also included in the packet was a time-worn sheet of paper, bearing a map to a parcel of land in the village of “Reedsburgh.” The letter stated that as payment for services rendered by Burton when Burleigh had been ill, he, Burleigh, would impart to his friend, a secret which would render them both very rich.

Having fallen on hard times, Burleigh returned to Cleveland planning to recover the buried money. There he took ill and was befriended by Burton, to whom he was now confiding his secret. He requested

that Burton meet him in Beaver Dam on a certain date and together the two would proceed to the spot marked on the old map.

After Banker Wells had finished reading the letter, he became very excited and surmised that Burton had lost the letter and map upon his journey to Beaver Dam. Wells checked the register at the local hotel and found that, indeed, a Mr. Burton from Cincinnati had been a guest there a few days previous. Wells needed help if he hoped to beat the others to the treasure so he confided his good fortune to Judge Wheeler of Portage, who, for a cut of the loot, agreed to assist.

As Banker Wells continued to read the letter, he learned that Burleigh had been one of a band of robbers who had ravaged the upper Mississippi some 16 years previous. Being pursued, and fearing capture, the band split up into four groups, each taking a quarter of their ill-gotten gains. Burleigh’s group decided to bury their $55,000 in a place where it would be safe until the danger had passed.

They struck out on horseback, following the Mississippi to the Bad Ax River, then inland to the Baraboo River, following that until they found a suitable repository for their treasure. They drew up a map, marking the exact location along with directions on how to locate the site. The gold was placed into coffee sacks and buried, and a charred stick was tied to the sacks with a gold chain.

The band of robbers then booked passage to New Orleans, the letter continued, and during the trip two of the group died of yellow fever, and the third also took ill. Burleigh, the remaining desperado, was called back to England on business, where he remained for the next 15 years.

Traveling to Reedsburg, the fortune-seekers soon arrived at the residence of a poor man named L.G. Sperry, who lived in a small log cabin which he had erected, “unconscious of the mine of wealth that lay concealed between the four majestic trees that stood in his door yard,” noted a story in the Dodge County Citizen in a Jan. 1, 1857 article about the adventure. Upon inquiring about purchasing the property (which was then worth about $300), the two were informed that a previous bidder from Cincinnati had offered him $3,000. This confirmed their suspicion that they were on the right track.

The banker, thinking they would lose the opportunity, made a counter offer of $100 more the deal included some property in Beaver Dam and several hundred dollars in cash. After some persuasion, Sperry finally accepted and the trade was made.

The Sperry family left immediately, as they were destitute and had been in dire straits until then.

November 2021 Baraboo News Republic

Continued next month….

All That Glitters

Part 2

In last month’s episode, we learned that a banker named, Wells, had found a map and a packet of letters, written by a Mr. Burleigh, near Beaver Dam. One of the letters explained how Burleigh and a gang of robbers had stashed the sum of $55,000 near “Reedsburgh”. The map indicated where the loot was buried, and Wells, along with his friend, Judge Wheeler of Portage, purchased the land from a poor farmer, named Sperry.

Preparations began forthwith to excavate the treasure. The two took into their confidence the Hon. Sam. Burchard of Beaver Dam and several others. Bella French describes what happened next in her 1875 American Sketchbook, Reedsburg edition:

“One starry night, at the click of twelve o'clock, our gold-hunters sallied forth with their spades and several bran-new coffee sacks, to unearth the hidden treasure. They had taken the precaution to bring new sacks, thinking that the old ones would probably be in a decayed condition, and they did not want to run the risk of scattering the precious gold over the ground while on their way to their night-quarters. Leaving the sacks at the gate, they went into the yard, where they readily found the exact spot, and the digging began. A light night-wind stirred the leaves of the trees as the spades touched the earth, and it brought weakness and terror to the hearts of the gold-hunters.

Minutes later, one of the diggers struck a charred stick, spoken of in the letter. The banker, upon seeing the stick, uttered “My God, it’s ours!” and fainted dead away. He soon revived and wanting to be sure he was the first to gain sight of the glittering gold treasure, exclaimed, “You come out of there, Sam, and let the Judge and me dig a while.”

Burchard handed the judge his spade and the latter continued digging with an effort that would have “discouraged Satin, had he been trying to prevent the finding of gold at that spot, as the superstitions affirm he does, wrote French.

“Be careful,” cautioned the judge, “not to strike the bags with the spades, you might scatter the gold and break the chain.”

As the digging continued, the shovels eventually struck solid bedrock and they could dig no further. The judge sadly and reluctantly realized that further efforts would be in vain. As the two paused over their shovels in sheer despair, Sam leaned over the edge of the pit from above and exclaimed, “Judge, shall I bring the coffee sacks now?”

“The Judge’s reply is not on record from the fact that it would not look well in print,” noted the chronicler of the incident.

“‘I've heard,” whispered one of them, “that the devil always puts a charm on buried money, so as to make it impossible for those who did not bury it to obtain it.”

“‘He is a pretty smart fellow if he beats us out of this haul, Sam,’ returned Mr. Wells, his teeth chattering with terror, while he spoke.”

The Judge did not take lightly to being hoodwinked. He returned to Beaver Dam where Sperry was then residing, and with the aid of several friends, put Sperry into a room and had a “stormy interview” with the man, who by then was literally “trembling in his boots.”

Sperry was “convinced” to return the greater part of the money he was paid for his homestead, being allowed to retain $300 for his trouble. He got back his land and briefly returned to Reedsburg, but did not stay long, allowing the property to be sold for back taxes.

Did Sperry conceive this hoax to get rid of his property at an inflated value, or did outlaw Burleigh, who

supposedly died years earlier, survive his illness and retrieve the treasure? Time has erased all but the facts stated herein.

The article in the Dodge County Citizen concluded by noting that the story has “excited many a merry laugh among our village gossips especially when the question is asked “Shall I bring the coffee sacks now?” December 2021 Baraboo News Republic

William Canfield’s Tree House

William Canfield was an early settler in the Sauk County area and also its first historian and land surveyor. He arrived in the Baraboo Valley in 1842 with his pregnant wife who gave birth several weeks later. They settled near Pewit’s Nest, on Skillet Creek off Co. Highway W, and lived in their storage crates while Canfield built their first log cabin.

Canfield was a consummate historian and took note of his experiences as a pioneer settler. He also chronicled the experiences of many other early settlers in Sauk County.

In 1872 he foresaw the need to provide a venue for saving the artifacts and stories of those early settlers, and he was instrumental in the formation of the Sauk County Old Settlers Association (SCOSA).

Canfield wrote that, “The collection of curios is of the greatest value to education in the small homes, where they can be explained The home of every family should have a case for the entertainment of their friends and passing historical matters to their children and friends.”

In 1904 the SCOSA needed a place to archive its growing collection of historic artifacts. They found a location on the South shore of Devil’s Lake, and Canfield commenced building a log cabin for that purpose. The property would also be used as a campground for members.

It was here that Canfield’s vision of a permanent museum and library was fulfilled. He began the construction of a tree house. Not just an ordinary tree house, but a three-story structure that resembled a giant tree stump.

Canfield wrote, in 1906, “I have all alone enjoyed sweet solitude on the old settlers’ ground (except by visitors) finishing off my ‘secquoy giganty’ tree house made of basswood slabs set up end wise, enclosing a circle of eighteen feet in diameter and thirty feet high, having three floors.”

Encapsulated within the structure on the first floor, which was devoted to “museum curios,” was an oldfashioned fireplace, plus a library and reading room.

Some of the exhibits displayed within the room consisted of mounted wildlife which Canfield himself produced.

“A Canada lynx, killed on the Stephen Phelly place in Bear Creek, and mounted by W.H. Canfield; wild cat’s head, killed among the rocks at Devil’s Lake, a fox, silver mole and pocket gopher, a spotted ground squirrel, head of a wood pecker, with his tongue shown two or more inches long, and silkworm cocoons.”

Also among the collection were a pen and pencil sketch of Devil’s Lake by Canfield, a spinning wheel owned and used by his mother, a rattlesnake skin, snow shoes made by Dekora, a Native American, and many other articles of similar stature which he thought should be preserved for posterity.

The second floor of the treehouse was reached by outside stairs, and contained a library of Old Settlers’ artifacts photos and biographies. “It gives a very clear view of the valley, lake and railroad,” noted Canfield.

Regarding his respect for the Old Settlers Society, Canfield wrote, “Our association knows no politics, religion or secret societies, only love for our ancestors and our neighbor as ourselves. This is real and true religion.”

The tree house no longer exists, having faded into a history of its own. Remnants of the log cabin foundation do still exist on the South shore of Devil’s Lake, shrouded by time and new growth.

January 2022, Baraboo News Republic

Canfield is shown here outside his Devil’s Lake South shore tree house. This artificial structure housed artifacts of the Sauk County Old Settler’s Association.

William Canfield was 85 at the time he began constructing his tree house in 1904.

Civil War Work of Wisconsin Women

In a paper read before the Sauk County Historical Society in 1919, Mrs. L.H. Palmer wrote, “In every great crisis in the history of the world, the women have, with great fortitude, courage, tender mercy and sound judgment, met the need and mastered the situation.”

This courage and fortitude, was once again exhibited by the women of Wisconsin, and Sauk County, during the Civil War which divided the nation in the 1860s.

The shot heard around the world echoed profoundly in the minds of the citizens of Sauk County. Recruiters sought patriotic young men to join the Army to fight and help preserve the Nation.

Gatherings were held in school houses, meeting halls, and courthouses, where recruiters encouraged the men to sign up. Local bands provided martial music to enhance the nationalistic spirit.

Palmer continues, “When President Lincoln in April 1861, issued his first call for troops, not only did the men respond, but the women of every community in Wisconsin rallied to the call for organized relief work for the soldiers and while companies were being formed and sent to the front, the women put forth every effort to provide the soldiers with everything possible for their comfort.”

Upon the departure of their loved ones, the ladies of the community provided the soldiers with suppers and luncheons to send them on their way. After the meal, the soldiers formed up in a dress parade, and a flag was presented to each unit.

To do their part and help with the war effort, the women of Wisconsin formed Aid Societies and began meeting in homes, court houses, schools and town halls, to sew new and repair old garments for the men. There being no bandages or gauze back then, the ladies tore old sheets into strips, and rolled them up for bandages.

“Comfort bags containing pins, needles, buttons, thread and yarn, were made by the thousands.” Flannel shirts were in great demand by the boys, especially during the winter months. Initially, the women used

gray flannel, but they soon learned that was the color of the rebel uniforms, so they switched to a light blue cloth.

Another request from the soldiers was for socks, as all their marching was detrimental to the ones the Army provided. So the women and girls of Sauk County formed knitting bees to provide socks, gloves and mittens for the boys. One unique feature of the mittens was adding an additional finger, to protect their trigger finger.

The Women’s Aid Societies also sent jellies, cakes, and pastries, together with meats and fruits. Produce from summer gardens was also included, such as vegetables, pickles and horse radish Potatoes were sliced and packed into kegs and barrels and covered with hot spiced vinegar as a preservative. Also sent were canned and dried fruits, butter, cheese, wines, and eggs, along with books and magazines. Many tons of cabbages were made into sauerkraut which was packed into barrels and shipped off to Chicago. From there, the produce was sent to the South.

During the summer months when blackberries were ripe, children were sent out to pick the sweet fruit to be made into juice for the soldiers. Apples were also in great demand.

Mrs. Palmer noted that, “The gifts from Wisconsin during the Civil war amounted to $200,000 ($3.5 million today) and the Wisconsin Ladies Aid Society was, next to the Chicago Branch, the strongest organization in the Northwest.”

Rosie the Riveter, of WWII fame who represented the women who were called to replace the men who had gone off to war was not the first to heed that summons. The women of the Civil War era were also called and, “entered many fields of industry as wage earners that had previously been occupied by men only, and so efficiently did they perform the service that it proved to be an entering wedge for women’s work in many channels which hitherto had not been considered as suited to women’s ability,” noted Palmer.

These Civil War women also organized to provide for the aid and comfort of those sick and wounded soldiers who were sent home. It was determined that most hospitals were badly equipped and the nursing staff was inadequate. Dorothy Dix was appointed by the President, as Superintendent of women nurses and she had the power to place them into military hospitals. Mrs. Palmer wrote that, “The army surgeons would have none of them, and after the Government had decided to accept them, the surgeons did everything possible to make their lives unbearable.” Because of this opposition, and the poor conditions of the hospitals, the situation resulted in the formation of the American Red Cross.

A women’s medical corps was established, which was responsible for inspection of hospitals, distribu-

tion of sanitary supplies, and the cleaning up of Army camp conditions.

“Many were the heart-breaking scenes as the poor homesick, suffering men and boys were ministered to by kind-hearted faithful women who had left the comforts of home to share with them the horrors of war. Many women followed their loved ones on to the battle field rendering first aid to the wounded, thus relieving suffering and many times saving precious lives,” noted Palmer.

The women of the Union, of Wisconsin, and of Sauk County, were an integral part of the success of the outcome of the Civil War by aiding the soldiers who were fighting for the reunification of their beloved country. Their heroic efforts should not be forgotten. March 2022, Baraboo News Republic

Engraving from Harper’s Weekly Newspaper

Cigar Making in Sauk County was Smokin’

The earliest use of tobacco plant leaves being lighted to inhale the smoke is lost in time. Archaeological research has found, however, that tobacco was used by native peoples in the Americas as early as 12,500 years ago. Tobacco had already long been used here by the time European settlers arrived and took the practice back to their countries where it quickly became popular. The natives used tobacco in pipe ceremonies, in sacred ceremonies, and to seal treaty agreements.

The leaves of the tobacco plant were also used for medicinal purposes. It was said to ease the pain of a headache, earache, and to shorten colds and a cough. The natives also used it as currency to trade with the colonists in the 1620s.

Farmers in America began using Cuban seed to grow cigar-grade tobacco in both Maryland and Connecticut before the Revolutionary War in the 1700s.

Tobacco was first grown by Wisconsin settlers in 1844 in Walworth County. After the Civil War in the 1860s, the popularity of cigar smoking in the state increased. With the influx of German immigrants in the mid1800s, also came the demand for the stogies.

Tobacco can only be grown on rich, fertile soil; however, the downside is that it depletes the nutrients. At the time of its introduction, the leaves were being sold for from four to ten cents ($.68 to $1.70 today) per pound. The average wage for unskilled labor in the mid-1800s was $1.00 a day.

In 1885, Wisconsin was a leading tobacco growing state with some 16,000 acres grown by about 4,000 farmers. It took 900 man-hours per acre to produce, harvest and prepare the tobacco for market.

By 1900, cigars were considered a social stable staple and were primarily consumed by men as a stress reliever.

Samuel Clemens (Mark Twain), a consummate smoker of up to 20 cigars a day, once said, “If smoking is not allowed in heaven, I shall not go.”

In 1902, there were seven cigar factories in Sauk County, including those in Baraboo, Reedsburg, Prairie du Sac, Sauk City, and Kilbourn (Wisconsin Dells). By 1939, only one small factory existed in Glenville, near Baraboo, operated out of the home of Walter Kaufman.

Most of these Sauk County factories were one-man operations, some having an apprentice or two. It was

noted that in 1902, over 725,000 handcrafted cigars were produced in Sauk County.

The production of hand-rolled cigars is rather complicated and time consuming. The dried leaves are baled and wrapped in burlap. From there, they are moistened by misting or being placed in a room with high humidity. Then the stems from the leaves are removed and it is sorted by tobacco type. Next, the different types of leaves are blended to make a bunch. A bunch consists of three or four varieties which are folded and then broken to achieve the right length. Next, it is hand-rolled around filler leaves and placed in a mold and pressed for 30 to 45 minutes. After leaving the mold, the cigar goes to the roller, who rolls the outer wrapper leaf around the bunch. He cuts the wrapper leaf to the correct size and wraps it in a spiral manner. Tree sap may be used to help seal the wrapper leaf. Finally, the finished cigars are packed into heavy cardboard boxes ready to be sold.

Hand-rolling is considered to be a highly skilled craft which takes years of practice to perfect.

In the early 1900s, the public began changing their consumption of tobacco products with the introduction of cigarettes.

By 1945, the hand-rolled cigar factories were a thing of the past, being replaced by machines that did the same job much more efficiently.

April 2022, Baraboo News

Top, One of Baraboo’s cigar factories used this box for its hand-rolled cigars. Certain tobacco plants may grow 4 to 6 feet tall. Above left, a tobacco tent in Sauk County. Right, some of the plants inside the tent.

Nature’s Marbles

This uniquely created dinosaur sculpture was the handywork of Paul A. Herfort, who donated it to the Sauk County Historical Society in 1954. It is composed of hundreds of spherical-shaped sandstone marbles. These small rounded sand concretions originated in section 11 of Excelsior Township, in a place called Sand Marble Hill.

They were created millions of years ago and can be found embedded in sandstone and shale. Much like a pearl is formed around a nucleus inside an oyster, these marbles were formed when minerals precipitate out and collect around a nucleus, such as a shell, bone, pebble or fossil. The softer sandstone materials which encased the marbles, are dislodged by wind and water, leaving the rounded concretions to migrate to the surface.

They may also be formed in a river or creek when the flowing water swirls them around until the edges are worn smooth by the action. It is unclear how the sand marbles formed in Excelsior Township, but the process may have been similar to one of those mentioned above.

It was once thought that these spheres were meteorites or fossilized dinosaur eggs.

Some believe that these marbles are the source of energy, healing, balance, and rejuvenation. It is also

claimed that they can have a harmonizing effect on the emotions.

Similar rounded stones are often found in Utah, and other western states, and are known as shaman stones and Indian marbles.

Smaller stones similar to these have also been found on Mars where water once flowed on the planet’s surface over 3 billion years ago.

The Sauk County Historical Society’s Sand Marble dinosaur will be on display at the Van Orden Mansion, 531 4th Avenue. Fridays and Saturdays, noon until 4 pm through the summer.

July 2022, Baraboo News

This Sand Marble sculpture was created by Paul A. Herfort.

Baraboo’s NativeAmerican Heritage

M.H. Mould grew up in Baraboo during the mid1800s and was witness to the Native Americans who were living in the area. In the fall of the year, they would come down the Baraboo River in their canoes and dug-outs when the furs of mink and muskrat were at their prime. There were twenty or thirty in a line, and they were headed to a marshy area between Baraboo and Portage. The muskrat houses were large bumps situated across the swamp. The Ho Chunk set their traps around the houses and reaped many of the animals. They would skin them and stretch their hides using willow branches.

Their transportation consisted of dug-outs and canoes which were made by the tribes. The dug-outs were constructed from basswood and were approximately 15 feet long. The center of the log was cut out first, using hatchets, chisels and fire. The interior was lighted on fire to set the pitch which would prevent the boat from leaking. The pitch was made from pine tree sap boiled with grease. Canoes were made from birch bark, primarily by the women. They were created by hand without the use of metal tools. The bark was stitched together with small roots from a cedar tree or hickory bark strips.

The boats had to be fabricated so that they were completely dry when placed into the river. Robes, tent poles, and babies were carried on the trip, along with a limited amount of food. If the trip was long, the family might also need to sleep in the boat.

Once they arrived at their destination, the women would put up the tents and build the fires. The tents would be covered with buffalo or deer skins or rush matts. The men would go hunting for deer, fish and other game. Mould writes that, “I have been to all of these camps when I was a boy. Several times I have seen them shoot fish with a bow and arrow, but they did this more for fun than for food.” But usually, they built fish traps made from vertical poles placed side by side across a river or stream, and in a circle behind the dam. A small slot was left at the center. They would then go upstream and slap the water to drive the fish through the slot. The fish would be kept there until needed for meal time. “They would take them

out as they wanted them with spears or nets,” recalled Mould, “and when there was fish or game, no one went hungry. In an Indian community there was no such thing as one family having more than they could use and another family starving.”

Popular campsites were made at the mouth of Skillet Creek, near the Butterfield bridge, and on the south side of Baraboo, near where the Ringling quarters are today.

Mould recalled meeting with Chief Yellow Thunder, whom he knew well, and had met many times. “He was a bright old man and his face was the color of a baked sweet apple and about as wrinkled, but his eyes were sharp and bright,” recalled Mould. He was about 100 years old at the time. That day, Yellow Thunder was sitting on a stone on the corner of Third and East Streets, talking to Judge Camp. “I heard Judge Camp tell him he should not be allowed on the street dressed as he was, that he did not have clothes enough on to cover his nakedness.” Yellow Thunder took hold of the Judge’s black broad cloth pants, and said, “You give me.”

August 2022, Baraboo News

Chief Yellow Thunder

AJourney Into the Past

Henry C. Palmer, in a 1907 article in the LaValle Leader, recalled making a trip in1855 to the Big Creek region in northwestern Sauk County. He and several friends were seeking several sections of government land which had not yet been claimed. He wrote “The country at that time was a vast forest, extending north ten or twelve miles, and east and west from twenty-five to thirty miles. That width, with but few exceptions, was yet untouched by the woodmen’s axe.”

They passed several lumber camps along Big Creek where pine timber was being harvested, and the logs would be run down the river to be milled in Baraboo. They also came upon several wigwams of the Winnebago Indians who, he said, were suspicious of the white men that were encroaching into their traditional hunting grounds.

The land in some places was marshy, so they had to tread lightly to avoid the water-soaked sink holes. There had been little settlement in the area before the Civil War, but afterwards there was an influx of settlers, mostly from New York and Ohio. Palmer noted that the land was being cleared, and there were houseraisings as more pioneers arrived to seek their fortune in the west. He wrote that “if those big log heaps that were burned up to clear the land were standing today, they would bring five or six dollars apiece.” That would be in 1907 dollars.

The land was well-suited for cultivation, and brought forth excellent quality crops vegetables and fruit trees flourished. “With a couple of weeks work among the maples in the early spring one could usually get a good supply of maple sugar,” noted Palmer, “and two- or three-days bee hunting during the Indians summer would often reward the hunters with a quantity of fine honey.”

Cattle were allowed free range in the nearby woods, and hogs feasted on the acorns which were abundant among the trees.

To raise enough money to pay their taxes and other expenses during the winter, farmers would haul railroad ties to Mauston, the nearest railway junction

point. They were transported by ox teams a distance of 16 miles with temperatures hovering below zero on many trips. It took six hours to reach their destination, so they had to begin the trip at four in the morning.

Palmer closed his article recalling that, “And after fifty years have rolled away, as the old settler chances to look once more upon one of the old-style log houses with its big stone chimney, silent memorials of the days of long ago.”

He recalled, once more, those old settlers whose wearied hands had erected them, whose work is finished, and who are resting from their labors, and their voices are heard no more.

“Those dear old friends have passed away, Their voices now are still; The white stones mark their last resting place, On yonder forest hill.”

September 2022, Baraboo News

This unidentified Native American is seated by a wigwam which was located near Reedsburg. It would have been similar to the ones that Henry Palmer saw on his trip to the Big Creek region.

ALook at Early Glenville

The village of Glenville is located southeast of Baraboo, just outside the city limits. It was not known as Glenville until around 1890 when the name first appeared in the Baraboo News under the heading of “News Notes from Glenville.”

In a 1937 speech to the Sauk County Historical Society, Harry Slye said that in the early days one of the outstanding features of the village was the quantity of old growth timber consisting of Elm, Basswood, Oak, and Maple that “in connection with the [Baraboo] River and Glenville Creek, produced a scene of natural beauty that probably was not excelled in all Sauk County,” with the exception of Devil’s Lake, noted Slye.

Glenville Creek was first tapped to provide power to turn the water wheel for a grist and feed mill established by Thomas Clark in 1844. Clark diverted water from the creek and installed a dam and raceway. It then ran into a covered flume which discharged the water onto an overshot water wheel. The wheel was exceptionally large, about 25 feet in diameter, which contained numerous buckets around its circumference. As the buckets rotated into the water stream at the top of the wheel, they were filled, and gravity pushed them downward, causing the wheel to rotate. Upon reaching the bottom, they would empty and rotate around to be filled again. Slye believed that this was the first gristmill in the Baraboo Valley. Settlers from all over the area would come with their ox carts loaded with grist to be ground.

Wool carding machinery was put into the mill later on, and it carded the locally grown wool from area farmers. Spinning wheels were still in use in homes at the time.

Later still, wood working machinery was installed and doors, window sashes and blinds were manufactured at the site.

It was essential that farmers had a way to cross the Baraboo River, and three bridges in Greenfield Township provided that access. However, they were constructed of wood which aged and rotted rapidly. Every eight years or so, they needed to be replaced. One of those bridges was near the McArthur Dam. Timbers for the bridge were hauled to the site where they were marked and cut so that they could be easily assembled. On the day of construction, word would go out to the community, and all would come to assist in the building. The work being non too strenuous, it was considered to be just a holiday, noted Slye. He

continued, “This was usually accompanied by a picnic dinner or supper as circumstances might be and sometimes a keg of beer mysteriously appeared, but nobody seemed to be responsible for it. It just happened to be there.” The last wooden bridge at the McArthur Dam was put up in the late 1870s.

That structure lasted until 1888 when an iron bridge replaced the last wooden bridge on the river. It was still in use when Slye presented his talk in 1937. He noted that it would probably be replaced soon, as it only allowed one-way traffic, and it being on a state highway, a wider access would be required.

George McArthur and son, established a towel and rug mill near the Baraboo pumping station in 1898. He built a dam with the help of local farmers who hauled many tons of boulders from the bluff into the river. This mill eventually succumbed to a disastrous fire, and a new mill was built on the rapids along Water Street and the business continued to thrive for many years.

The Glenville dam survived, and in 1937, the plant was generating electricity for rural customers, and for the cottages at Devils Lake.

Slye concluded his speech by noting, “It has been much pleasure to me to recall these few commonplace events and we hope they may be of some interest to the present generation as well as to the generations to come; and as I look back over those years and recall the people connected with those events, I feel that I was fortunate in having had an opportunity to have lived among them.”

October 2022, Baraboo News

Glenville or McArthur Dam on the South side of Baraboo

Baraboo in the 1850s

Mrs. G.C. Remington, in a 1907 newspaper article, recalled her early days as a teacher in Baraboo in 1850. She had recently graduated from a Female College in Milwaukee, and made her way on the long trek to Baraboo. There were few homes in the village at that time, and one Methodist Church. “It was made of logs or slabs, spacious and well ventilated,” noted Mrs. Remington. It was there that she opened her first school. It was a wonderful place she recalled. “Surrounding it was a magnificent playground, of all out doors, with a clear, level place on one side where the children jumped the rope, and a thick oak grove, where they ran and hid and play games, or sat in the shade to rest.”

Dr. Cowles was the only physician in the village at the time. He was a kindly person, and welcomed the local Native Americans who stopped by his home, often times giving them a place to sleep on his kitchen floor. Ruins of the old Indian Council House were still standing east of the village on what is now the Circus World Museum parking lot, and leading to the location were well-worn trails coming from every direction.

Remington recalled that there were few social amenities at the time, but, “there was a spirit of good comradeship which ensured harmony and made light of all obstacles.” There were lectures at the courthouse, games of blind man’s bluff, and on warm summer evenings, the Parish Band, consisting of three brothers, entertained the townsfolk with concerts on the square.

The long cold, winter months offered entertainments too. Sleigh rides were popular with, “drives in the beautiful country around Baraboo. The prairie roads were good, and the woodland way over the Bluff was pleasant and picturesque.”

In the spring outings were common, and Remington and her friends visited the maple sugar grove of William Canfield, near Skillet Creek. There, they were invited into the log cabin for warm biscuits covered with maple syrup.

Another amusement that she recalled were dances in

the hotel dining room. The tables and chairs were cleared away so that they could “trip the light fantastic toe.” The Parish Band provided the music, and sometimes Jim Badger fiddled for those gathered. The dances were quite impromptu with old fashioned quadrilles and country dances being the most popular.

“The first ‘Woman’s Rights’ function ever held in Baraboo is perhaps worthy of record,” recalled Remington. She and about a dozen ladies who were married and good church members desired to get away from their monotonous routine at home, tending babies and housekeeping. They decided to take a day trip to Delton. An improvised bus was created from a lumber wagon with a hay rack. Seats were fastened along the sides and a driver was hired. “A flag was raised in front, with ‘Woman’s Rights’ printed on it in large letters,” recalled Remington. They toured the country around Delton, ate at a hotel, listened to speeches by some of the ladies, and then proceeded home. She noted that their “harmless frolic” caused considerable excitement and criticism from some of the men, especially by the words that had been displayed on the flag.

Mrs. Remington concluded her recollections by noting that, “It was by such simple pleasures as these that the pioneers of Baraboo filled the little time devoted to recreation.”

November 2022, Baraboo News

Sauk County’s Napoleonic Connection

So, what is the connection between Napoleon Bonaparte and Sauk County? When Napoleon’s Grand Army was overrunning much of Europe in the early 1800s, young men from the countries he conquered would be conscripted into his army. Many of these soldiers were German nationals who either willingly enlisted or were drafted. After several defeats on the battlefields for Napoleon, the German soldiers returned home, eventually immigrating to America, and then to Sauk County. There are three Napoleonic soldiers who lived and died in Sauk County one in St. Johns Loganville Cemetery (Jurgen Meyer) and two in Rock Hill Cemetery near Baraboo (Michael Hirschinger and Michael Nippert). They all accompanied Napoleon on his disastrous Moscow campaign of 1812.

Edwin Muller, in a 1942 article for Reader’s Digest, recounts that sojourn into and the retreat from Russia.

“On the morning of September 14, 1812, the Grand Army reached its supreme goal. The advance guard came to the top of rising ground, looked out over the flat plain beyond. There under a leaden sky a dingywhite line stretched half across the horizon. Above it, floating like bubbles, were the soaring cupolas of an Oriental city. Moscow.”

Our three brave and perhaps apprehensive young men were among Napoleon’s 600,000 Grand Army soldiers who also stood and viewed that glorious sight. The blitzkrieg across Europe had taken 72 days and covered 700 miles. 35,000 French soldiers had been killed or wounded during the battles fought enroute.

The Emperor sent soldiers ahead into the city to determine what lay ahead. Muller wrote that, “After a long time, they returned with a strange tale, so strange that Napoleon went to see for himself.

He entered the city by the great double gate. There was no one there to meet him. He rode through the streets. No one stood at the curbs, none looked from the windows. Over all was heavy silence. Patrols were sent into houses, to bring out the inhabitants. There was nobody to bring. Palaces, hovels, churches, stores stood empty.” The 300,000 residents of Moscow had simply vanished.

Soon fires were spotted erupting all over the city, investigations determined that the citizens were burning their homes and grain stores to prevent the army from utilizing them. The citizens also took all the food they could carry. Napoleon’s soldiers would not be allowed

to sustain themselves for long in the desolate, burnedout city.

“Napoleon spoke little. He seems to have been in a puzzled state of mind. He couldn’t believe that the rulers of even a barbarian nation could have ordered such a deed,” wrote Muller.

After all attempts to engage the Russian Army failed, and with winter closing in on him six months after having arrived, Napoleon turned and retreated. During his march to Moscow, many of his soldiers were lost in skirmishes and guerrilla fighting. His Grand Army now left in shame and defeat.

Food was scarce, and the severe winter which they encountered was devastating for his soldiers. Muller continued his story, “Now every driver had to watch his team to keep it from slaughter though there wasn’t much meat left on the animals. Behind the army the road was littered with abandoned loot books, pictures, silverware. Wagons and guns began to be abandoned too; not enough horses were left to haul them.”

On November 5th a wind arose, snow began to fall, and the temperature plummeted to between 30 and 40 degrees below zero. Many of the soldiers froze to death. Supplies could not reach the army, and more starved. “But even in the bitter cold the soldiers would sweat as they struggled through snowdrifts,” Wrote Muller, “Then at night, as they slept on the ground, the damp clothes would freeze solid. The heat drained out of their bodies like a fluid. Some few tried to help those who had fallen and were freezing. But the men on the ground would plead to be left alone, to be allowed to sleep.”

When the struggling army finally got back to civilization, only 100,000 men of the original 600,000 survived. Among them were the three soldiers who ultimately immigrated to Sauk County: Hirschinger, Nippert and Meyer. They were among the lucky ones who lived to see another day.

December 2022, Baraboo News

Jurgen Meyer is buried in the St. John Cemetery in Westfield. He accompanied Napoleon on his disastrous Moscow campaign in 1812.

Jurgen Meyer who accompanied Napoleon to Moscow.

Old Time Winter in Baraboo

An old settler, Henry C. Palmer, a resident of Baraboo, in an article recalled his youth during the winter of 1851, after having newly arrived in the area from the “old country.”

One of his first jobs was to assist a neighbor in making pumpkin butter. “His cornfield was literally covered with fine, ripe pumpkins, which had been frozen hard, but which the present warm weather had thawed out,” noted Palmer. The pumpkins were placed into a press and the juice was squeezed out and placed into a kettle and boiled down into a syrup. Additional pumpkins were stewed down and the results were added to the syrup, along with a goodly quantity of molasses and spices. He noted that the result was “fit for a queen’s table.”

After the day’s work was done and the early evening settled across the land, the setters’ fun had just begun. Palmer recalled that “During the long winter evenings many a merry party both from town and country gathered around the big fireplace and enjoyed a good social visit, relating incidents of their pioneer experiences and our hair often stood quite straight as we listened to the thrilling stories of the hunting exploits and hair breadth escapes of most early settlers.”

The evening’s events culminated with a 10 PM supper, and one of the favorite treats was the newly cooked pumpkin butter.

Another winter event that was enjoyed and looked forward to by the young folk was an old-fashioned spelling bee. The kids from the other side of Pine Bluff sent out a challenge to the young people of Greenfield to join them at the Ikey school to “learn to spell hard words.” The challenge was soon accepted with “We’ll be there.”

“The very idee,” one young lass from Greenfield said, “of those youngsters coming up out of the wilderness to teach us to spell!”

Transportation to the event was provided by a young man with a “fine yoke of oxen,” who was claimed to be an expert teamster. “The sleighing was fine, and a merrier crew of boys and girls never left the shores of

Greenfield,” recalled Palmer.

But the trip was not all fun and games. When going down one particularly lofty hill, the sleigh ran aground and “promptly upset, discharging the cargo ‘promiscuously’ into a big snow drift.”

All survived the mishap and successfully arrived at the school house where the youngsters from the wilderness, did, indeed, show their spelling prowess and spelled down their opponents. Nothing was heard from them for the rest of the winter, noted Palmer.

The soft winds of spring soon began to awaken the land, with the arrival of great flocks of pigeons in April. Presumably these were passenger pigeons, which were hunted to extinction many years later.

“The early morning resounded with the soft notes of the prairie chickens, the wild geese were daily sailing northward and all nature proclaimed the advent of spring,” wrote Palmer.

He concluded his trip down memory lane with these words: “It has often been remarked that in the time of old age we live over again our youthful days and we have found this true in our own experience.”

January 2023 Baraboo News

AHighwireAct Thrills Baraboo Spectators ca. 1870

The skill of walking along a tightrope stretches back into the past at least 1,700 years. Paintings found on the walls of the buried city of Pompeii depict individuals walking on tightropes stretched between two Aframes back as far as 79 AD. There is also evidence of tightrope walkers performing in ancient Rome. These kinds of performers existed all across Europe for centuries before the art was brought to America.

Tight rope walking, also called funambulism, is the skill of walking along a thin wire or rope stretched between two anchor points and elevated to a high location above the spectators, usually about 20 feet, and is generally associated with circus acts. The “walker” maintains his or her balance by using an umbrella or balance pole. Some walkers simply use their bodies to maintain their balance, a much more difficult act to perform. Performers may also use wheelbarrows which contain passengers, or animals which accompany them on the rope.

The secret of maintaining one’s balance is to keep their center of mass above their feet. By placing one

foot in front of the other, their sway is from side to side, a much easier stance to control. Soft leathersoled footwear is sometimes used to conform to the shape of the rope or wire to enhance their grip.

The conveyance upon which the aerialist performed was usually made of rope in the early days. A more reliable steel cable came into use around 1800 which allowed more complicated tricks to be performed, such as riding a bicycle across the wire.

In the late 1800s, traveling acts made their way across America performing in various cities to the delight of viewers watching breathlessly from below. A wire was stretched across a street between two tall buildings and stabilized with guy wires attached to the sides of the wire. In the accompanying photo, the performer has added a traipse to the wire to enhance the excitement and to provide a more entertaining act. This photo was taken in the 400 block of Oak Street in Baraboo, looking North, between 1867 and 1871.

February 2023 Baraboo News

Good Times in the Good Old Days

Despite the hardship of clearing the land, building a cabin, putting in crops and taking care of livestock, early pioneers who settled in the Baraboo area enjoyed many good times too. Recollections of the good times that prevailed during those early years are recounted by Ruth Southard and Eliza S. Chapman who wrote of those days, recalling them in articles to the Baraboo News during the first quarter of the last century.

One young bride from Troy, New York, put it this way “To think that I am way out here away from all my friends and living in this rude style and enjoying it too. Why I would not go back to the city to live for anything. I just delight to work in my garden and watch things grow.”

Shoes were abandoned during the summertime by most boys and girls, and they went barefoot until the leaves turned golden and frost covered the land. “It was no hardship to walk, to one who had known no other way of locomotion except to ride Old Bill, or Tom, ‘bareback,’ and what farm boy or girl had not aspired to this privilege,” wrote Southard.

Amusements in those days consisted mostly of dancing, skating on a frozen pond or creek, coasting down a nearby hill, and occasionally attending a sociable at some private home. “A few played cards but they were few. Seldom a lady knew how to play cards and never for a prize,” wrote Southard.

She also recalled that dancing parties were well attended, however, they did not last past 11 or 12 O’clock. People would come early and leave early. Taylor’s Hall, on the corner of Broadway and Third, was once a dance hall where the pioneers tripped the light fantastic, back in the day.

Romance was also alive back then. Eliza Chapman wrote of those days, soon after the pioneers settled in. A young man considered himself lucky to own an ox team with which he could take his sweetheart out for a ride. “As oxen wore no bridles they had to be governed by word of mouth, so he would occasionally

have to shout out ‘Whoa, haw, gee there, Nip and Tuck.’”

As the couple’s romance blossomed, wedding bells were soon heard around the neighborhood and the couple settled down in their one-room shanty. Most of their furniture was homemade; chairs were created by upholstering an old flour barrel, wrapped with several yards of calico. And, “very comfortable it was too,” noted Chapman.

During sultry summer days, when it was too hot to do food preparation in the kitchen, the old cook stove was moved outdoors. A few boards overhead served as a shelter from the weather. “Soon a brisk fire was burning and the waiting meal was often partaken of under the shelter of some nearby tree,” she noted.

The traditional horse and buggy were another primary means of conveyance for a couple out for a summer’s day of courting. Southard wrote, “It was not till courting time came that the single buggy with its trim whip, and gay lap robe became the outward evidence of all that was elegant, and the girl who was invited to share a seat with the owner was envied beyond words by her mates.”

With the warm sunshine in their faces, and the clip, clop of the horses’ hooves, the afternoon seemed to slide by with unabated swiftness. The soothing chirping of birds and the rippling of meandering streams, the flickering sunlight streaming through the trees, and the fragrance of colorful flowers in the fields and along the roadside, all added to the romantic atmosphere as the couple meandered through the countryside. “Romance wove its spell around those old buggy rides,” wrote Southard.

Pioneer life was what you made of it. There were hard times when work was exhausting, but there were memorable times too, which I believe, balanced the equations. These pioneers survived, and paid forward what they learned and accomplished. Would that we should do the same today.

Baraboo News March 2023

young lady awaits her beau for a Sunday afternoon ride through the countryside.

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Pioneer Days in Baraboo

The settlement of Baraboo commenced in the mid-1840s when pioneers arrived from the East seeking a better way of life and a new beginning. Their lives would be considerably more difficult from what they left behind, but they were determined to improve themselves and tame the land onto which they had set their dreams. The first settlers who arrived in 1848 found little shelter in which to call home. Several families spent the winter in the two-room schoolhouse. Another family stayed in the sawmill for a time until their house could be built.

The sawmill on the south shore of the Baraboo River was kept running day and night to meet the needs of those newly arrived settlers. “D.P. Crandall was known to work forty-eight hours at a stretch without sleep to keep the mill at top speed so houses could be built for the homeless,” noted Ruth Southard, an early chronicler of pioneer days. Log houses were called huts, and those built of rough slabs were known as shanties.

Dr. Samuel Crandall was an early settler, who set up his practice soon upon arriving. “He was one of the oldtime doctors who carried their medicines in saddlebags on the back of a faithful horse through wind and weather,” noted Southard. His practice took him to patients who were scattered across the wilderness, “where only blazed trees marked the trail.” The winters were severe with little opportunity for rest or shelter. “He rode when rain and sleet froze on horse and rider alike, when blinding storms made it almost impossible to follow the trail.” The Sauk County Historical Society has his diploma and saddlebags in its collection.

One of the earliest buildings in town was built of slabs and had a sawdust floor. The Methodists held their services there, and it was also pressed into service as a schoolhouse.

The Baptists also established one of their earliest houses of worship in Baraboo. Southard writes, “During an exciting winter revival many who attended the Baptist church ‘got religion,’ Mrs. Mathews among them.” One cold winter day, the minister gathered the flock together for an immersion. A hole was cut in the frozen Baraboo River, and the flock gathered ‘round on the snow-lined banks. Members queued up to be baptized and finally, only Mrs. Mathews was left. She, being much too heavy for one man to lift, her husband and another man were called upon to do the job. Southard continues, “With one man on each side of her, she was dipped and brought to the surface gasping and sputtering.” Fortunately no one suffered any ill effects from the chilling experience.

Teachers usually women were paid eight dollars a month, and some earned only a dollar a week. Most boarded with one of her student’s families. She would be required to build a fire in the stove before the pupils arrived. The district furnished the wood, sometimes it would be unseasoned green logs, “which sizzled and stewed,” noted Southard, “and plenty of woe was the portion of the teacher who was short of kindling and plenty of tears were caused by the smoke of a bulky stove.”

By 1850, the population of Baraboo was 250, ten years later it had increased to 1,100.

Southard concludes her reminiscence with, “If walls could speak, what stories they could tell. The early builders of Baraboo have been ‘gathered unto their fathers,’ but they left a rich heritage to their descendants of independence, courage and integrity that has outlived the years.”

Today, we are the benefactors of that heritage. Baraboo News April 2023

As Phony as a $3 Bill, or is it?

A real U.S. three-dollar bill was recently donated to the Sauk County Historical Society. Technically, the U.S. Government has never produced a three-dollar bill, however, there was one such paper note in circulation in the country in 1776. During the American Revolution, the Continental Congress was not able to tax its citizens to raise revenue, nor to prevent the depreciation of its paper money in circulation at the time. The only other medium of exchange was British bills, which were usually counterfeit. So, what were colonists to do?

The Continental Congress, in May, 1776, then decided to authorize the use of Spanish paper currency in denominations of $1 through $8, including a $3 bill. A total of five million dollars of this currency was printed and made available to the colonists. An inscription on the note read, “This Bill entitles the Bearer to receive Three SPANISH Milled Dollars, or the value thereof in Gold or Silver, according to a Resolution of CONGRESS, passed at Philadelphia, Nov. 2, 1776.”

The bills were illustrated with an eagle attacking a crane, with the Latin motto, “EXITUS IN DUBIO EST,” which means, The Outcome is in Doubt. The eagle represents Great Britain and the crane, America. In the illustration, the crane’s beak is piercing the eagle’s breast. The meaning being that the eagle, with its superior strength, may be expected to win the battle. However, the crane (America) should not “count to heavily on petitions or negotiations, but to use the means which God has placed in its power,” or, to fight with all its strength and fortitude to win the struggle, even though it is the weaker of the two combatants.

The three-dollar bill, which was recently donated to the Society, is, indeed, one of those rare notes.

Photo caption: This three-dollar bill, printed in 1776, was recently donated to the SCHS.

Baraboo News June 2023

Plenke’s Pond

Ken Plenke was born January 10, 1912, in Wisconsin Rapids and was a graduate of Wisconsin Rapids High School. He was a member of the state tournament basketball team for two years, and a member of the Chicago White Sox farm team in Wisconsin Rapids.

Ken was an avid sportsman, enjoying hunting, golfing and fishing. Capitalizing on this interest, he opened Ken’s Bait & Tackle Shop in Reedsburg in the basement of his home around 1965. He operated the business for some 25 years before retiring.

Plenke’s interest in the outdoors was an inheritance from his father, John, who introduced him to the wonders of the wilderness at an early age. “My dad used to wrap me up in a sheepskin and take me up to the Pine River by Wild Rose when I was barely old enough to walk. We’d sit by a bonfire and wait for dawn to start trout fishing,” noted Plenke.

One of Ken’s life-long interests was to provide a place for local children to enjoy themselves at a sport which had intrigued him throughout his lifetime. When the Woolen Mill dam went out, most of the local fishing holes dried up, so Ken decided to do something about it. In 1982 he began work on a pond where children under l5 and the handicapped could while away their time angling for that big one.

Plenke purchased a seven and one-half acre parcel of land on the southwest side of town off Granite Ave. and began the construction of a U-shaped pond, 125 feet by 650 feet. The pond, which ranges from 10 to l3 feet in depth, is fed by three pumps, which provide 60,000 gallons of fresh spring water daily. The pond is stocked with crappie, largemouth bass, bluegill, northern, walleye and catfish. No fishing license is required.

A pier, built by the Reedsburg Outdoor Club, extends out into the pond from which to fish, and 50 trees surround the facility. A picnic area is also provided for family outings.

Ken’s wish was for the children of the community to enjoy the same pleasures of growing up that he had. “I’ve seen a lot of kids come through this shop,” he was quoted as saying, “some of them grew up right here in front of me. An awful lot of them are really nice. They all wave at me and stop by.”

In 1995, Ken Plenke was awarded a special commendation by the state Natural Resources Board for his efforts in promoting fishing opportunities. The plaque read, in part, that the “future of fishing is in good hands as long as there are people like yourself who will take whatever action is needed to assure it.” A trust fund was set up by Ken Plenke before his death in 1995, to maintain and operate Plenke's Pond.

Reedsburg Independent June 2023

Penny-Farthing Bicycle

This unusual high-wheeled bicycle is on display at the Sauk County Historical Society Museum. Known as the “ordinary” it was more commonly called the penny-farthing.

During the mid-19th century, bicycles were usually made of wood. Riders straddled the frame and propelled themselves by pushing with their feet. By 1870, metals became strong enough and began to be used in these two-wheeled conveyances. The pedals were attached directly to the front wheel, the chain drive having not yet been invented. The tires were of solid rubber, and the front wheel had long spokes, providing a smoother ride than previous bikes.

By increasing the diameter of the front wheel, (ranging up to 60 inches) makers realized that the bicycle could travel further with one rotation of the pedals. This machine was the first one to be called a bicycle (twowheeled). These first bicycles were playthings of the rich, as they cost an average worker six month’s pay.

The penny-farthing was produced primarily in England and the United States, their hey-day being the 1880s. The name was derived from two English coins, the penny and the farthing, the former being large in size, and the latter of a smaller diameter, thus mimicking the proportional sizes of the bicycle wheels.

The handlebars are mustache-shaped, with a spoon brake towards the top which was operated by a lever on one of the handlebars.

One such rider, Mark Twain, wrote of his experiences in mounting a bicycle, “When you have reached the point in bicycling where you can balance the machine tolerably fairly and propel it and steer it, then comes your next task how to mount it. You do it in this way: you hop along behind it on your right foot, resting the other on the mounting-peg, and grasping the tiller with your hands. At the word, you rise on the peg, stiffen your left leg, hang your other one around in the air in a general and indefinite way, lean your stomach against the rear of the saddle, and then fall off, maybe on one side, maybe on the other; but you fall off. You get up and do it again; and once more; and then several times.” This procedure effectively excluded women from riding because of their long dresses at the time.

From accounts of the day, the penny-farthing was notoriously accident prone. If the rider encountered a rut or large stone in the road, an attempt would be made to hit the break and peddle backwards, slowing the vehicle. If that failed, the rider, who was high above the center of mass, would be propelled over the front wheel, landing on his head or “taking a header”. When descending a hill, the rider was advised to place his legs above the handlebars, so that if the bike stopped suddenly, thrusting its passenger forward, the rider had a better chance of landing on his feet.

The Society’s bicycle is unusual in that the small wheel is in the front, which, it was claimed, gave the rider better balance, and it was less likely for the rider to take a header. This version of the pennyfarthing was manufactured by the Eagle Bicycle Company in Stanford, CT, for four years beginning in 1883. The company’s founder, Leonard B. Gaylor, patented this unique design.

By the early 1900’s, the penny-farthing had seen its day. With the invention of the chain drive and gear ratios, the wheel size was reduced. The rider sat lower, and the ride was much safer.

Today these high riders may still be seen in parades, and celebrations.

Baraboo News July 2023

Dial Me Up

The dial telephone is as alien to today’s generation as the crank phone was to their parents. The evolution of land-line phones has been a long and winding road.

Alexander Graham Bell was responsible for the invention of the two-way communication device which we take for granted today. In 1876 he improved upon previous unsuccessful methods of sending the human voice over wires. His new commercial telephone apparatus was first installed in businesses such as banks. Wires were strung on poles throughout larger cities to other businesses and eventually to private homes. Rural communities weren’t wired or hooked onto the networks until the 1930s.

The first phones required the caller to turn a small hand crank on the side of a box hung on the wall, which connected them to an operator, who routed their call to the recipient. Party lines were also common where callers could crank a certain number of turns to alert others on the line that someone was calling them.

The first patent for a rotary dial telephone was filed in 1892. By 1919, AT&T had installed the first dial telephones in Norfolk, Virginia. Over the next couple of years, this improved method of calling spread throughout the east coast, and then throughout the country. The conversion was done one exchange at a time, and it took many, many decades to be completed. The last rural crank telephones were finally eliminated in 1978.

“The transition required replacing the manual switchboards in an exchange with an electromechanical switch, replacing every telephone connected to that exchange with a new dial telephone and teaching every subscriber how to use the new dial phone,” noted historian Sheldon Hocheiser. In the 1930s, dial telephone service was becoming available to the masses. A week before a city switched to the dial phones, short informational films were shown in movie theaters to familiarize customers on how to operate the new device. They had to learn what a dial tone and busy signal sounded like, and more importantly, how to use the little holes in the finger wheel to dial the number of the person they wished to call.

This method of calling existed until the 1960s, when it was supplanted by push-button telephones, which were introduced at the 1962 World’s Fair under the name “Touch-Tone.” By the 1980s the Touch-Tone phone became the primary method of communication. Many land line phones continue to use this method today, however, there are still a few rotary phones in use across the country.

This year, the Sauk County Historical Society has a new exhibit at its museum in Baraboo. Two rotary telephones are set up so that visitors can dial a number on one and talk to someone on the other. A similar setup may also be seen at the Tripp Museum in Prairie du Sac. It is interesting to watch the younger generation trying to figure out how to make this antique contraption work

Baraboo News August 2023

Sauk County’s Only Revolutionary War Veteran

Private John Greenslit is the only known veteran of the Revolutionary War (1775-83) to be buried in Sauk County.

The Greenslade family immigrated to the new colonies from England around 1642 when Thomas and Ann arrived on the shores of America.

The unusual surname can be traced to the Old English “Slaed” which was used to denote a valley. Thus, Greenslade translates to mean a “green valley.”

John was born June 5, 1767 in Hampton, CT, to John & Sarah Greenslit, descendants of that original pioneer family.

It is interesting to note that Mrs. Ann Greenslade, John’s great-great-great-great grandmother, was pronounced under the laws of Salem, Massachusetts to be a witch and sentenced to death. She was hanged around the age of 65 in 1692. Subsequently the family surname was changed to Greenslit. Ann Greenslade was finally exonerated from the charge of witchcraft by an act of the Massachusetts Legislature in 1957. [The Sauk County Historical Society has the complete account of her trial and the contemporary efforts to clear her name.]

In 1776, the British army took over New York, and Long Island became their stronghold for the duration of what was to become known as the Revolutionary War.

In Sep. 1782 John Greenslit, Jr., at the tender age of 15, enlisted with the Connecticut State Troops to help America fight for its independence. Toward the end of the war, it was not unusual for boys of his age to enlist. He served at Fort Trumbull, Newton, CT, and then at Fort Griswold in Groton.

With the surrender of Cornwallis at Yorktown in 1781, America’s war for independence was nearly over. However, there were still minor battles between the British and colonists for another two years.

Private John Greenslit experienced several incursions into Long Island during his year of service in the army and perhaps saw some action, although it is not recorded in his family history.

On Sep. 3, 1783, the Paris Peace Treaty was signed by representatives of the combatants, and the Revolutionary War officially ended. The British finally left New York and Long Island on Nov. 15, 1783.

Private John Greenslit was mustered out of the service in September of 1783 at the age of 16 and returned to his family home in Connecticut.

John married Salome Pitts of Ashford, CT in 1790, and they became the proud parents of a family which would eventually number eight children.

It is not inappropriate to assume that during the long, cold New England winters, seated near the fireplace around a roaring fire, that John would recount his youthful encounter with the Redcoats–his young children listening in rapt attention to every detail. Later in life, he would again retell the stories to his grandchildren, perhaps embellishing a bit upon his role as a soldier during those exciting times in America’s history.

Salome died in 1860 and is buried beside her husband in Dellona Center Cemetery. Baraboo News September 2023

Genevieve Parsons, Ena Moll, Raymond Seger. Front: Ruth Burmester, Jill Vladik, Mark Vladik, Bette Hall.

Wis. State Old Cemetery Soc. & Fay Robinson Chapter of Daughters of the American Revolution members install a marker at the Dellona Center Cemetery grave of John Greenslit in 1975, the only Revolutionary War veteran buried in Sauk Co. L-R, back:

The Old Reedsburg Fairground

The village of Reedsburg was well on its way to becoming one of the prominent cites in Sauk County by the1870s. Alexander P. Ellenwood was one of the primary movers and shakers in the city at that time. In the fall of 1872, he wanted to improve some of the land that he owned north of Babb’s Creek, which was then not much more than swampland and was considered of little value. He had purchased the property in 1871 because he thought the land had promise, but local citizens referred to it as Ellenwood’s Frog Pond. His concept for the improvement of the property was to create a “driving-park,” as it was called at the time. It would provide a venue where local citizens could take their horses to race them. Ellenwood thought that it would also be an ideal location for a fairground. However, his plans would have to wait several more years to be realized. Ellenwood continued to purchase land on the West side, and by 1875 had accumulated 200 acres west of the river. His dream of constructing a fairground, was finally realized in 1874, and in October of that year, the first fair was held, “which proved to be a success even exceeding the expectations of the most interested,” noted an article in 1948s Reedsburg Remembers. Five Thousand people attended that first exhibition, which would ultimately continue for another 45 years. There were 550 entries with thirty of them being a beauty contest for babies. “Mrs. Barnhardt’s [baby] took the first prize for beauty, while [the baby] of Mrs. Bishop carried off the prize for corpulence [obesity]”.

The following year during the holiday week of July 4th, the fair again became a popular go-to place for contestants to exhibit their various talents. Prizes were given for speeches, and commencement exercises were conducted for public schools. Talks by local ministers were also a highlight of the festivities.

In succeeding years, the fair continued to be held on the nation’s birthday. It was noted that Mr. Ellenwood made it a point to secure people of note, or “stars of the first magnitude.” The writer of the day stated that, “It will not be surprising if he succeeds some time or other in capturing a President of the United States, or a real live Prince, to edify the people of Reedsburg and vicinity.”

From that time on, Ellenwood Fairs grew and several years later were considered one of the best attended fairs in the state.

Horse racing also became a popular sport in the country during the latter 1800s, and Reedsburg’s fairground provided a perfect venue for these events. It was noted that many famous trotters, pacers, etc., came to race on the track. Eventually, it was considered one of the best race tracks in this section of the country. Mr. Ellenwood’s frog pond investment had paid off handsomely.

Following Ellenwood’s death in 1901, the fairgrounds were taken over by various businessmen; and fairs were held there annually until 1919 when the weather was exceedingly bad, and the events had to be canceled. During the following several years, bad weather continued to plague the fairs, and they were ultimately canceled for good. The grounds stood vacant for two or three years and were eventually sold.

Krug, in his “History of Reedsburg & the Upper Baraboo Valley” wrote that, “So the Reedsburg or Ellenwood Fair, which for nearly half a century had been an annual event, passes into the pages of history.”

Baraboo News Republic October 2023

Around 1919, airplane rides were given at one of the last fairs held in Reedsburg on the old fairgrounds west of Reedsburg (where Sauk County Health Care Center stands today).

Steam Boats Once Plied Devils Lake

Once upon a time, Devils Lake had a paddle wheeler steam boat two, in fact which would take paying passengers on daily trips around the lake. In 1869 the boat, “Capitola” was purchased in Madison, thus the derivation of its name. A Baraboo News reporter wrote that, “The Capitola, a small steamer that used to ply on one of the lakes at Madison, has been transported hither, and now ruffles the surface of this gem of inland seas.” The boat was forty feet in length by twelve feet in breadth. It was able to comfortably carry over 100 passengers. The engine was of eight-horse power, which allowed it to make one circuit of the lake in an hour. The Baraboo Republic reported that, “It’s shrill whistle can be distinctly heard here in town.”

It was an immediate success with families visiting the lake for picnics and excursions on the little steam boat.

However, some were more skeptical about the safety of the steamer. They wondered if it was too weak, had a “rickety boiler,” an inexperienced engineer, etc. It had previously been run for three years on Lake Monona in Madison from the city to the insane asylum. The boiler was rated at 140 pounds pressure per square inch, and it was being run at 25 pounds per square inch. The operator, Mr. Joseph Mann, was described as having run the boat at Madison the entire time of its existence, and that he “is not only a good and safe engineer, but a pleasant and obliging gentleman.”

In August of 1872, the Capitola played host to one of America’s most famous ladies, Mrs. Abraham Lincoln, who was visiting the Baraboo area for a week. The Baraboo Republic reporter noted that “She declined to register her name, and has studiously avoided publicity and the manifestations of respect which many would be pleased to evidence towards her, and which indeed in instances have been forced upon her.” The story goes that she refused to stay at one of the prominent hotels on the lake, because according to her, it was not up to her standards. She chose to spend her nights in a Baraboo hotel instead. She was impressed with the lake, and spoke glowingly of her visit. “Mrs. Lincoln spoke in terms of admiration of the lake, adding a wish that a more befitting and beautiful name might have been chosen for it,” noted the reporter.

Several years later, in 1880, another famous gentleman visited the lake. His name was General U.S. Grant. He was accompanied on a special train by Gov. Smith, along with a “select party of ladies and gentlemen.” At that time, it appears that the Capitola was no longer on the lake, but another steamer, the Minni-Waukan, was plying its waters by then. The General was only there for three hours, which hardly left time for the citizens of Baraboo to meet and pay their respects to him. It was not recorded whether he enjoyed the trip around the lake or not. Baraboo News Republic November 2023

The paddle wheeler, Capitola, right, which provided rides around Devils Lake from the North Shore for tourists, arrived in 1869.

Wing Walking Barnstormers

With the development of the aeroplane in the early 1900s, daring aviators sought to showcase their talents and entertain viewers far below. These daredevil stunt fliers were known as barnstormers which got its name when pilots flew their biplanes through the open ends of barns.

As the displays of these aeronauts evolved, they became more daring as pilots began exiting their planes to stand on a wing. The earliest known instance of someone doing this was in France in 1913 when Commandant Felix left the cockpit of his plane, having locked the controls, and stepped out on the wing, leaving the plane to fly itself.

Soon, this stunt was replicated in America when Ormer Locklear accomplished it at a public performance in Texas in 1918. As this type of entertainment evolved, fliers would try to outdo each other with ever-increasing acts of daring do. They claimed that, “The point of their trade was to make money on the audience’s prospect of possibly watching someone die.”

Chrles Lindbergh was one of the aviators who began his career as a wing walker, as did Mabel Cody, niece of Buffalo Bill Cody.

Death defying acts that were often performed involved hanging by one’s teeth, transferring from one plane to another, and walking on the wing of an inverted plane. Other stunts involved picking up someone from a speeding auto, boat or train. Parachute jumps were also an exciting part of the shows.

When the stock market crashed in 1929, many of these flying circuses did too. In 1936, the U.S. government banned wing walking below 1,500 feet.

An event closer to Sauk County occurred in September of 1948 when a 45-year-old man resurrected his wing walking career. Richard Powell, one of the last old-time aerial stunt flyers, brought his act to Hales Corners, Wisconsin. The Pittsburg Press reported the story. Powell had stated that his performance would put him back in the “big money.”

He began his career at the age of 13 when his father, a WW1 flier, taught him how to fly. Powell did stunt flying for the movies, and flew in “Dawn Patrol” and “Hell’s Angels.”

Over 5,000 spectators, including his wife, were present that day, as he ascended into the air with the pilot, and stepped out onto the wing as the plane flew past the crowd at 100 feet. He bent down, turned and leaned backwards over the wing, being suspended only by his legs, dangling by his knees. As he attempted to regain his position on the wing, he realized that he didn’t have the strength to pull himself back to safety.

“Powell’s strength ebbed away as Pilot Maurice Norum of Waukesha, raced to get the plane over a small lake in hope that the stunt man could drop safely in the water,” noted the reporter. “Norum didn’t make it in time. Powell lost his grip and plummeted 100 feet to the ground. He was killed instantly.”

His manager said that, “Dick was a stunt pilot first and foremost. He never wanted to do any other kind of work.”

Richard Powell is buried in Baraboo’s Walnut Hill Cemetery.

Today, wing walkers are still plying their trade in various shows around the world. However, they must be securely attached to the center of the upper wing. Baraboo News Republic November 2023

Shown here are examples of the daredevil exploits of a skilled wing

walker.

The Ice Man Cometh

Before the days of electric refrigerators, home owners stored their perishables in insulated enclosures called ice boxes which were lined with tin or zinc. From the mid-1800s through the 1930s, ice boxes housed blocks of ice which were harvested from frozen lakes and rivers during the winter months.

The upper segment of the box held a large chunk of ice, and below that in a second compartment, where the items to be cooled. Cool air would circulate down through the storage compartment into the lower section. Melt water passed through a small pipe and out into a drip pan under the ice box.

Large blocks of ice were harvested from lakes and rivers, stored in ice houses and covered with sawdust or straw, which extended its life well into the following fall.

Depending upon how much ice you had in the box, how well the box was insulated, and how often it was opened, the ice would have to be replaced every day or two. Traditionally, the average ice box held a 50-to100-pound block. Housewives had a card sign, which was placed in a window and would indicate how much ice she wanted. A horse-drawn wagon would make the rounds each day, distributing the blocks of ice.

Baraboo also had its ice man during the early 1900s. August Platt bought the business in 1904, and delivered ice to his patrons through the 1930s. “Order Pure Ice of August Platt. Family refrigerators furnished for $8 for season or $1.50 per month. Only the purest ice cut from the Woolen Mill’s Dam,” noted an ad in the Baraboo Republic

In 1904, Platt installed an elevator by the Baraboo River, which would transport the ice from the water into his nearby ice house. It was powered by a gasoline engine. “This is the first machine of its kind to be placed on the river in this locality and to those who never saw one before it is quite a novelty,” noted an article of the day.

The ice was harvested when

it was at least 12 inches thick. Some winters, however, there was no freeze until well into December. On December 31, 1931, an article in the paper noted that, “Baraboo faces an ice shortage unless a freeze comes soon, for the ice houses of August Platt and son, local dealers, have been emptied of their last winter’s stock for some time.”

The ice also had to be thick enough to support a team of horses and a sled full of ice. In December, 1909, “While one of August Platt’s teams was being driven over the river near the ice house, the thin ice gave way, giving the team a most uncomfortable dunking. Another team had to be attached before the horses could be rescued,” noted an article in the Baraboo News.

Ice was also put up at the North end of Devils Lake, for use by campers the following summer.

With the advent of cheaper electric refrigerators in the 1930s, the ice business began to diminish, and the harvesting of ice and its distribution, came to an end. Baraboo News Republic January 2024

The Last Covered Bridge in Sauk County

Traveling the rustic, dirt-covered roads of Sauk County during the latter half of the 19th century was a challenge for both teamster and team.

To early settlers, streams and rivers were an impasse which had to be breeched one way or another. Usually the driver sought a shallow stone-covered bottom, at times traveling miles out of the way to locate a suitable crossing.

Primitive log bridges were later constructed across narrow sections of streams, but floods and the ravages of weather either floated them away or rotted the wood, making the bridge unsafe for passage.

One solution to this problem was to cover the bridges with a roof and side walls, thereby protecting the deck, and preventing the timbers from deteriorating.

The idea for the first covered bridges originated in Central Europe to protect wooden trusses and joints from the weather. Later, the idea was brought to America and used to protect railroad bridges. It was a natural transition to utilize similar designs for roadway bridges.

Local farmers who were responsible for building some of the early covered bridges, patterned their construction after farm buildings; and they usually based the height and width of the opening on the size of a load of hay. The sides were covered with closely placed boards to protect the wooden structure from inclement weather and to keep teams of oxen and horses from getting spooked as they crossed the moving water.

Butterfield bridge on Highway 33 was the last covered bridge in Sauk County.

From 1873 to 1877, six Sauk County covered bridges were constructed by Jared “Jerry” Dodd and his crew. The Dodd family originated in New York where Jerry had built five bridges before coming to Sauk County.

Many of these structures were narrow, and allowed passage in only one direction. With the advent of the automobile, they proved to be disconcerting if speeding vehicles from opposite directions wished to traverse the bridge simultaneously. If they met on the bridge, one would have to back up and let the other pass–often times with the result of an exchange of unkind words between travelers.

Mrs. Andrew Radies of Baraboo, recalled the old Butterfield bridge, in a 1994 News Republic article, “The bridge used to look like a barn, or red building with up and down side boards.

In later years after autos came to be more numerous, the side boards were taken off to let the approaching car know if there was another vehicle inside the bridge as it was a one-way bridge.”

The

John Geoghegan recalled hearing Arnie Wolf tell of an experience he had while crossing the Rock Springs Hwy 136 bridge. Arnie was traveling home one night with his team of horses, under the light of a bright full moon. Upon approaching the bridge, one of the horses refused to cross. A vertical board on the side of the bridge was missing and the moonlight was streaming in the slot, casting a rectangular patch of pale light onto the floor inside. Mr. Wolf was finally able to coax his reluctant horse to cross the bridge by removing his coat and placing it over the horse’s eyes.

Geoghegan also recalled hearing that during the winter, snow was hauled into the covered bridges so that cutters and sleighs could more easily pass through. He said that the snow lasted well into the spring, due to the cool air circulating around the floorboards.

The covered Butterfield bridge on Highway 33 between Baraboo and Portage the last one in Sauk County was eventually replaced by a more modern iron truss bridge in 1934 when the highway was straightened. Previous to that, travelers approaching the old covered bridge had to negotiate a sharp curve just before entering, resulting in numerous accidents.

The bridges of Sauk County have evolved through the decades as technology improved upon their construction, and changing traffic demanded wider and sturdier river crossings. The memories of these old woodcovered bridges are also fading as those who traversed them in their youth, are also fading from the scene.

Baraboo News Republic February 2024

Additional covered bridges in Sauk County. The one below was located on Highway 154 just past the Rock Springs quarry.

Fire Grenades

Accidental fires were quite common throughout the ages; however, the only way to put out the flames was to douse them with water. Then, in 1883, John Harden of Chicago came up with the idea of incapsulating several chemicals inside a glass bottle, which when thrown into the fire, would shatter upon impact and put out the fire instantly.

Harden’s patent described his fire grenade as: “a glass receptacle having an orifice provided with a stopple fitted therein, the stopple being provided with an interior recess opening into the interior of said grenade, containing the requisite acid and alkali, forming a charge of carbonic-acid gas or other fire-extinguishing gas.” These decorative glass bottles were about four inches in diameter with a three-inch neck, usually blue, red or green in color, and embossed with the Harden Fire Grenade company’s name. They were sealed with a cork or some form of cement. The bottles were an inexpensive means of fire protection during the late 1800s and early 1900s.

Up until the 1900s, the Fire Grenades were filled with salt water and ammonium chloride which wasn’t very effective. The ammonium chloride, when exposed to heat, formed a heavier than air gas which would smother the flames. Later versions of the grenades were filled with Carbon Tetrachloride, that also formed an extinguishing gas. However, the chemical was highly toxic if it entered the body through the skin or by inhalation. When carbon tetrachloride was exposed to the heat of the fire, phosgene gas was produced. This form of gas was also used during WWI as a chemical weapon.

The fire grenades were commonly found in homes since gas lighting and wood stoves used for cooking and heating were common sources of fires. They were also kept in barns, blacksmith shops, and other industrial establishments in case of an emergency.

The grenades were often suspended upside down from the ceiling with a wax stopper in the neck. If flames broke out beneath them, the wax would melt, releasing the contents and thereby dousing the fire, much like a sprinkler system of today.

In spite of their toxic shortcomings, these unique fire extinguishers remained in use through the 1920s.

The Sauk County Historical Society has three of these blue glass fire grenades on display in the kitchen of the Van Orden mansion the carbon tetrachloride having been safely removed. Baraboo News Republic March, 2024

Secrets of the Cistern

Back in November of 2009, a large tree stump was removed from the west side of the Van Orden Mansion on 4th Avenue, and a worker was cleaning up some of the residual roots. As he was digging, he came across a sandstone slab about four feet square. When he pried it up, he discovered a three-foot wide cement-lined hole. It appeared to be an old cistern that had been abandoned sometime during the early part of the 1900s.

Cisterns were part of most homes before indoor plumbing replaced them in the early 1900s. They consisted of an enclosed cement structure in the ground, into which rainwater was directed from the downspouts of the house. This was known as gray water. It was not consumed by the homeowner but was piped into the home to be used to wash clothes, irrigate lawns and gardens, and in bathrooms for showers and toilets.

Peering inside the cistern, the worker discovered a large pile of debris. Paul Wolter, a board member of the historical society at the time, entered the cistern later that day; and quite a collection of artifacts was removed consisting mostly of rusted metal cans, glass jars, old light bulbs and large quantities of antique bottles some imprinted with Baraboo business names.

Under the main entry shaft, was a room about 8 feet square and 5 feet high, filled with what the Van Orden’s must have considered junk. There appeared to be no water at the bottom of the room, so most of the contents were in reasonably good shape, especially the glass bottles. Included in the find was a blue Bromo Selzer bottle, a slender dark green Palmer perfume bottle, a brown shoeshine bottle and many other jars and containers of unknown origin. There was a metal Pompeian Olive Oil container, along with a broken brown ceramic teapot.

Also included in the treasurers was a broken BB gun, a small two-legged plaster bulldog, an acetylene lantern possibly used as a bicycle light. There were countless rusted metal cans which had not survived the test of time. There was also a six-inch cylindrical battery which would have been used to power an early crank telephone. A rusted 1915 license plate dated that layer of debris.

We were only able to remove about half the material which occupied the old cistern, and expect that digging deeper will illuminate additional and older materials from that and earlier eras.

Over 20 large buckets of artifacts were removed that day and stored for further research. By sifting through this material, we hope to get a more intimate insight into how the Van Orden family lived during the early 20th century.

So far, we have not had the time to investigate further into this unexpected find, but it has lain there for over a century, and this Van Orden “trash” isn’t going anywhere. Baraboo News Republic, April 2024

The Great Excelsior Show

You’d think that the Ringling Brothers circus had come to town on June 20, 1885, as the streets of Baraboo were packed with curious citizens. Huge crowds of spectators lined the Oak Street square in anticipation of the arrival of the new Excelsior Twine Binders, which were the highlight of a grand parade that day. According to the Baraboo Republic, the spectacular event was “inaugurated by Peter Wilkinson, the Baraboo rustler, local missionary for Hoover & Gamble of Miamisburg, Ohio, in the sale of these celebrated machines.”

Previously, Wilkinson had canvased the county with his sales pitch on the merits of these wonderful machines. And, on that fine summer day, the farmers who had purchased them were there to take receipt of their investments. “At 10 o’clock the scene at the freight depot where the work of loading [the binders onto wagons] was in progress preparatory to forming the procession was one of great activity,” noted the Republic reporter. “Peter was as active as a fortune wheel at a county fair,” he wrote.

Wilkinson, several factory representatives, and additional local dignitaries seated in a double carriage, led the parade, followed by the Badger State Band all decked out in their colorful uniforms. Following them was a long line of lumber wagons loaded with a dozen reapers and four mowers. The parade wound its way through town from the depot and ended up on the Oak Street square in front of the Warren Hotel where “a large portion of the city population was photographed by Sim Mould.” See photo.

You will note that most of the kids are barefooted and one lad is holding what appears to be a doll. The ladies are dressed in their finest Victorian garb, and everyone - men, women and children - is wearing hats.

Following the parade, dinner was served at the Warren House for special guests and agents from the Excelsior company.

Several more machines were sold that day to local farmers who had not preordered one. The additional binders sold out, but there were not sufficient mowers to meet the demand. “We trust that the active agent of the Excelsior and his honest allies may harvest a bountiful crop of success, the rich reward of enterprise and openhanded liberality,” noted the correspondent. Baraboo News Republic, May 2024

Journeys in Music Land

Professor Edgar “Pop” Gordon before the microphone of his “Journeys in Music Land” radio program. Photo Courtesy of Wisconsin Historical Society, WHI-42114.

How many of our readers remember “Journeys in Music Land” a radio show hosted by Professor Edgar “Pop” Gordon? Well, if you do, you attended grade school during the 1940s and ‘50s. The “Journeys” program was a popular weekly WHA radio program from 1931 through 1955, and was heard by thousands of children across Wisconsin. In the 24 years that Gordon broadcast his singalong program, he taught nearly one million students the benefit of having music in their lives.

Professor Gordon taught music at the University of Wisconsin, and played the violin, cornet and trombone. He was also a leader in his community, teaching music and drama. During his tenure as musicologist, he garnered nationwide respect for his talents.

Madison’s public broadcast station, WHA, licensed to the UW-Madison, has been broadcasting in one form or another since 1917. Gordon’s music program become the longest running continuous radio music course broadcast to classrooms anywhere. Originally called “Let’s Sing,” he taught simple songs to children who would later be introduced to his more advanced music lessons during the Journeys in Music Land.

Teachers would order copies of the music which would be used during the weekly programs, so that the students could sing along as Pop Gordon led his radio audience in song.

Gordon retired from the UW in 1945, but continued his musical programs until 1955. “He was a unique person who influenced large numbers of people through music education, leadership in professional groups, church choir directing, community activities, social work, journal articles and innovative ideas,” wrote Brian G. Angevine, in his 1985 biography of Pop Gordon. His family was also enthusiastically into music, and every Sunday Gordon lead them by playing first violin, Virginia at the piano, Edna played viola, with Edgar S. on the cello. Another aspect of WHS’s musical program, was an invitation for school children to attend one of his live radio shows. It was an exciting day when they piled into their parent’s car and headed for the University of Wisconsin, Madison. Everyone gathered in a large pavilion to sing along with Professor Pop Gordon at his annual radio music festival. It was the climax of each year’s radio classroom instruction. Sitting in a country school classroom, listening with rapt attention to Gordon’s musical radio show, was a brief respite from the everyday routine of lessons and learning. I remember it well.

Baraboo News Republic, June 2024

Fake News

During the early 1900s, sending and receiving picture postcards was all the rage. It was the Email of it’s day, and a convenient way to send a short communication to family and friends. Thousands of cards were exchanged daily with nearly a billion sold annually.

Postcards were a way to highlight holidays, vacations, tourist attractions, and other interesting sights that might be of interest to the recipient. They were also used by local businesses to help promote or advertise their products or sales.

Another form of postcard was the “exaggerated or tall-tale postcard” where an existing card was overprinted with another image to create a humorous or nonexistent scene, similar to today’s images created using Photoshop. The photographer would carefully cut out an image and paste it onto an existing scene, and rephotograph the combination to produce the fake card. Postcards depicting a giant ear of corn which took up the entire wagon were popular in the mid-west. A cowboy riding a giant locust might be circulated in Montana or Oklahoma. Street cars plying the streets of a local small city or a biplane cruising the skies above your town were popular during this era. These fake images were similar to the photos seen today on social media or in tabloid magazines.

Many of the tall-tale postcards, which stretched the truth, were created to advertise a tourist attraction or to highlight a specific feature in a local community. Agiant fish on the line of a fisherman, would imply that fishing was great in Wisconsin. Giant fruits and vegetables such as pumpkins, apples, carrots or onions loaded on a wagon might be used to indicate that these commodities were produced in a specific locality. Thousands of these postcards were printed and the name of the town was simply changed to the name of the community in which the photographer wished to sell them.

The “Fake” tall-tale postcard craze lasted until the early 1920s, when its uniqueness had run its course. Today colorful postcards from places like the Wisconsin Dells, Devils Lake, and other tourist attractions, are still very popular and are a means of letting the folks back home know that you are having a great time on your vacation.

Early postcards from the past are also in great demand by avid collectors of such memorabilia, and prices for rare cards can run into double, and even triple digits. Baraboo News Republic, July 2024

Streetcar on Main Street in Reedsburg.

Aeroplane flying over the village of Plane.

Pagoda-Style Service Stations

During the early 20th Century, gasoline-powered automobiles became the primary mode of transportation, as the horse and buggy era came to a close. To provide gas for these new cars, early filling stations consisted of pumps placed outside hardware stores. Very utilitarian, but not very distinctive. These hand-cranked pumps served their purpose by providing a convenient means of refueling owners’ autos. Early gas stations were ugly, small structures which often times offended nearby neighbors.

Wadham’s Oil and Grease Company of Milwaukee one of the nation’s first petroleum companies operated a chain of service stations during the early 1900s, with headquarters in Milwaukee and its refinery located in Indiana. Harger W. Dodge obtained the company from his father-in-law in 1916. He was an innovator in the service station business and established off-street locations with underground tanks, and electric motors to pump the gasoline. Seeing the need to also improve the service end of the business, he thought the station buildings themselves needed an upgrade to make them more architectural pleasing to the public.

Dodge hired Milwaukee architect Alexander C. Eschweiler to design something new and more appealing. Eschweiler was inspired by the Japanese culture, which was being showcased at world fairs at the time, and created a structure which reflected the era.

An article in Wikipedia described their appearance: “Each building was unique, having a different roofline and floor plan. The pagoda-style roofs were made of stamped-metal tiles. The walls were black with yellow trim around the copious glass.”

Another article in “Keeping History Alive”, described the buildings as “eye grabbing” which would, “distinguish the building from the visual clutter of a typical roadside strip.”

This style stood out in any neighborhood where it was built, and became the centerpiece of the Wadhams Oil & Grease Company’s image. Wadham built over 100 of these pagoda-style filling stations primarily throughout Wisconsin between 1917 and 1930.

The pagoda-style gas station depicted here, was located at the corner of 2nd & Broadway in Baraboo in 1930. It was built in 1928, and was operated by C. Hawkins.

The Wadham Company would eventually be bought out by Mobil. Few of these unique filling stations still exist today. One restored station is located in Cedarburg, Wisconsin, and others, in West Allis, and Milwaukee. Most of them are on the National Register of Historic Places. Baraboo News Republic, August 13, 2024

This pagoda-style gas station was located on the corner of 2nd & Broadway in 1930.

The Organization of the Sauk County Historical Society

By Paul Wolter

On June 5, 1905, a small group of individuals met at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Harry Ellsworth Cole at 121 8th Street, Baraboo to organize a historical society. The idea of preserving local history was certainly not new to Sauk County. The venerable William H. Canfield had been taking care of things since at least the late 1850s and had started the Old Settlers Association in 1872. He had already recorded over a thousand pages of local history. However, the pioneers were getting older. Canfield was 86 in 1905 and although he was still full of enthusiasm, a more modern historical society affiliated with the State Historical Society was needed. The State Historical Society, under the direction of Dr. Reuben Gold Thwaites, was encouraging the formation of local affiliates.

In Sauk County the loss of the once numerous Indian mounds in the county and the eminent danger to the last remaining examples prompted newspaper editor, H. E. Cole, and Arlow Burdette Stout, science teacher at the Baraboo High School to take action. They knew that more would have to be done to preserve the last remaining effigy mounds from complete obliteration. This, along with a desire to secure pioneer relics and history, led them to convene a meeting with like-minded individuals.

So, on a Friday evening in early June of 1905, the two met along with four others and officially started the wheels in motion to organize and incorporate the Sauk County Historical Society. Almost immediately the group began receiving donations of artifacts and archival material and a small museum was started in the relatively new Baraboo Public Library building. In fact, the society had already received an artifact in May of 1905 before it officially began, that being the stone weight or anchor that is Accession No. 1.

This is the room in the courthouse which once housed the Society’s collection.

The first public meeting of the Society was held on a dark and stormy November 23 at the YMCA building in Baraboo. Dr. Reuben Gold Thwaites of the State Historical Society addressed the group of 25 on the duties of a local historical society. Articles of incorporation were filed the next day making the Sauk County Historical Society the fifth auxiliary to the State Historical Society.

In 1907 the preservation of the Man Mound came to the forefront as the farmer who owned it set his price at $500 and stressed that he would sell or plow the field. With the assistance of the Wisconsin Archeological Society and the Federation of Women’s Clubs, the site was purchased and dedicated in August of 1908.

Almost as soon as the new courthouse was finished in Baraboo in August of 1906, the Society acquired rooms in the basement for a museum. The flood of accessions was never ending for a few years and soon filled several rooms and portions of a vault in the building.

The memory of Ho-Chunk Chief Yellow Thunder and his wife and the security of their remains was the focus of attention in 1909. With the help of the Twentieth Century Club of Baraboo, a marker containing the remains was erected on what is now County A north of Baraboo.

In 1916 a tablet was erected at the bird mound near the south shore of Devil's Lake by the generous donation of President H. E. Cole.

The Lynx Mound at Devil’s Lake was marked in 1921, as was the site of the first school house in the Baraboo valley in 1923 and the site of Baraboo’s first permanent settler home in 1926.

In 1938 the Society’s dream for a building of its own became a reality with the purchase of the Jacob Van Orden home on 4th Avenue. Through the generosity of R. B. Griggs, early member and officer, upon his death the Society was bequeathed $10,000 in 1935 half of which could be used for a building and half of which was to be invested. Another bequest of $5,000 from the estate of Frieda Meyers Nishan of Reedsburg put the Society in a position to seriously consider the purchase of a property. After negotiations with Florence Van Orden, widow of Lucas Schuyler Van Orden, the 1904 home was purchased for less than it had cost to build 34 years earlier.

On a cool and rainy Saturday, with the use of a borrowed pick-up truck, the holdings of the Society were moved from the courthouse to the new building. Months were required to set things up, but in 1939 the Sauk County Historical Museum opened in its new home.

And so began the history of the Sauk County Historical Society. It has expanded its holdings and updated the museum as needed over the past decades. The current Society membership is 739.

Baraboo News Republic, September10, 2024

Sauk County Historical Society Museum, Van Orden Mansion as it looked in 2015