A Little Fun With the Boys

The City of Oshkosh was just 15 years old when it was inducted into the ranks of nation’s most wicked cities. The special status wasn’t entirely unearned. But the town’s savage renown became so thoroughly inflated that some accused Oshkosh of being nothing but a fevered myth. It all started as a joke.

Fun with the boys, the girls, a cop, and a horse in Oshkosh; circa 1892.

A Little Fun
Oshkosh stumbled onto the world stage in 1868. The introduction was provided by the Fond du Lac Commonwealth. The newspaper published a gory story painting Oshkosh as gleefully awash in liquor and violence. I’ve included the full text of the original story at the end of this post. A summation will do for now.

It goes like this: A do-gooder minister heads to Oshkosh for some soul-saving. As he approaches the city, he encounters a series of drunken, battered men. One of them carries pieces of chewed-off flesh in his pocket. The minister asks the men for an explanation. Each replies that he has been up in Oshkosh, “having a little fun with the boys." The demoralized minister abandons his mission, concluding that Oshkosh cannot be saved.

Of course, not a word of this was true.

The Fond du Lac Commonwealth was a flimsy, four-page weekly scrounging for content to wrap around the advertisements that were the paper’s primary source of revenue. They came up short for the February 19, 1868 edition. Edward McGlachlin, city editor and printer of the Commonwealth, dashed off a piece of filler he titled Having a Little Fun With the Boys. His 500 words of bullshit not only filled the hole, it pandered to the envy Fond du Lac folks had developed for Oshkosh.

Edward McGlachlin

In the late 1860s, Fond du Lac was stagnating after two decades of growth. Meanwhile, Oshkosh was ascending, on its way to becoming Wisconsin’s Second City after Milwaukee. McGlachlin’s story consoled his readers that their town was at least morally superior to a northern neighbor grown superior in every other respect.

Later, McGlachlin recalled thinking that the piece was hardly worth publishing. But he needed to fill that empty space. He never dreamed his thrown-together fiction would become the cheap shot heard ‘round the world. Fun With the Boys became the most widely distributed text concerning Oshkosh ever published. McGlachlin accidentally created an urban legend.

Making a Myth
There were few readers of the Commonwealth outside of Fond du Lac. But those outsiders tended to be other newspaper editors fishing for extra content to flesh out their papers. One of them worked for the widely read New York City Dispatch. The Dispatch reprinted McGlachlin’s entire tale in the “Weekly Gossip” section of its Sunday, April 5th edition. There was no stopping it after that.

By the end of May, the story had appeared in dozens of eastern newspapers and rebounded westward. As it traveled, it changed. McGlachlin’s story mutated – like the off-color joke The Aristocrats – with each teller putting another slanderous spin on the yarn. The theme, however, remained the same: a minister on his way to Oshkosh gets spooked after hearing of the debauchery festering there.

Like a contagion, the story continued to spread. It sailed over the Atlantic, landed in London, and kept going. Fun with the boys in Oshkosh turned into a multinational catchphrase for boorish behavior. As a writer for the Milwaukee Sentinel observed, “There may be back towns in China and a few dark spots in Africa where the inhabitants haven't heard the remark, but I doubt it.”

Fun with the boys, all ages.

Oshkosh, with a population of less than 13,000, had become perhaps the best-known, most written-about small city in the world. And the myth-making was just getting started. Other newspaper writers followed McGlachlin’s lead. If the need to fill space arose, they’d concoct a fantastic story, set it in Oshkosh, and send it to the printer. Even the origin of the city’s name was reimagined, born in a bar where drunken orders for “hot scotch” were slurred into Oshkosh.

By 1877, the reported outrages committed in Oshkosh had become so numerous and outlandish that the New York Times questioned if there even was such a place.

The unthinking majority of the public, of course, believe that Oshkosh has an actual existence, and bona fide inhabitants. There are those, however, who not only look upon Oshkosh as intrinsically improbable, but who insist that altogether too many things happen in that alleged town… The very fact that a vast quantity of extraordinary things are constantly said by unscrupulous newspapers to have happened in Oshkosh is extremely suspicious. Why should that unseen Wisconsin town have almost a monopoly of remarkable events?
     – New York Times, July 10, 1877.

Tough Love
For the most part, Oshkosh embraced the freakish publicity. McGlachlin’s myth and its rough-hewn mystique were adopted as part of the city’s identity. The phrase “fun with the boys” was soon popping up all over town in advertisements and in the ever-plentiful newspaper stories about Oshkosh saloons and the antics of their patrons.

It sometimes seemed as if the city was doing all it could to live up to – or down to, depending on one’s appetite for fun – the reputation that was thrust upon it. When Oshkosh wasn’t literally on fire, it burned with horrid stories that made McGlachlin’s fiction sound entirely plausible. After reports began circulating in 1871 that Oshkosh was home to a celebrated rat pit, newspapers throughout the state once again lit the “fun with the boys” torch.

The “boys” at Oshkosh are having a great deal of what they call “fun” at the rat-pit there. They had an orgie last Saturday evening, and probably think it’s a good way to get ready for Sunday.
     – Milwaukee Daily News, February 17, 1871

Rat baiting in the 1870s.

Edward McGlachlin suffered no retribution for his deathless jape. He was regretful, nonetheless, saying the story was meant only as a “take-off” and that he would take it back if he could. Clearly, there was no need for remorse. Three years after the publication of Fun With the Boys, McGlachlin moved to Oshkosh to work for the Daily Northwestern.

But the jokes were wearing thin for some of McGlachlin’s earnest colleagues. In 1877, the Daily Northwestern ran a po-faced piece saying it was time to “fix Oshkosh in the eyes of the people of the whole country as the the home of virtue, enterprise, wealth, eloquence and beauty.” The invocation was ignored. Meanwhile, the notorious “Bad Man” Fred Zielke and his posse of prostitutes were setting up a new dive on South Main Street after a two-year hiatus. A panting Northwestern reporter called it “the toughest hole on the south side.” Reputation rehabilitation projects would have to wait.

The following year, George Lampard, a Main Street music store owner, set the city’s sordid fame to music. His score for “Fun with the Boys March” was published by a Chicago sheet-music house and became an immediate hit. It was meant to be played loud. “The music in melody and harmony is stirring and has a fullness of volume which renders it very desirable,” one critic wrote. “The name is a popular one, and the march promises to have a big run.”

Living the Dream
Fun with the boys grew so deeply embedded in the Oshkosh psyche that people here forgot where it came from. It had become a feature of the place, like the weather or the river. As a new century approached, a younger generation began asking questions about where this all began. There were enough old-timers around to point them in the right direction.

In 1896, Edward McGlachlin, then living in Stevens Point, was called back to Oshkosh to fill in the details. He was as contrite as ever for the “mischief” he created. His regret remained unrequited. McGlachlin wrote a story for the Northwestern re-telling his side of the tall tale. His update set off another round of Oshkosh fables. McGlachlin Oshkosh fantasy was hardening into folklore. Taking stock in 1901, the New York Times observed that “Oshkosh, Wis., is one of the most advertised places in the world.”

The old meets the new, 1896.

McGlachlin scratched out his fever dream of Oshkosh 156 years ago. The myth endures. Every so often, Oshkosh fun stumbles back into the national news: the 1974 St. Patrick’s Day riot, the 1989 beer riot, the May 13, 2020 rush back into the bars amidst the Covid debacle. And then there’s the annual listing of Oshkosh among the drunkest cities in America. Most folks here have a healthy appreciation for our spirited lore.

Main Street Oshkosh, late March 2020.

Like any good folktale, McGlachlin’s fable burrowed so deep that its influence lingers without having to be repeatedly retold. It’s been 25 years since the last publication of the story. It’s time to tell it again…

Countless interpretations and variations of Having a Little Fun With the Boys have been circulated over the years. Here’s Edward McGlachlin’s original text, as it appeared in column seven on the front page of the February 19, 1868 edition of the Fond du Lac Commonwealth.

Having a Little Fun With the Boys

We have recently heard a good story – good only as it represents the moral condition of Oshkosh society.

A minister from a neighboring town started to go over there one day last week, on a kind of missionary enterprise. He drove his own team and when within about six miles of the end of his journey met a man limping along, with blood running down one side of his face.

The minister asked him if that was the road to Oshkosh. "Yes, you are on the right road. I just came from there; I've been up there having a little fun with the boys."

About two miles further on he met another man, one arm in a sling, one eye badly bunged, and his clothing in a badly dilapidated condition

"How far is it to Oshkosh?" asked the minister.

"Only (h-i-c) five m-miles," answered the pitiable object. "Oshkosh is a live town; I've just been up there having a little fun with the boys."

With a sad heart the minister drove on, falling into a reverie on the depravity of man in general and the Oshkoshians in particular, when he suddenly came upon a man sitting by the side of the road. One leg was sprained, one ear had been bitten off, and, seated by the side of a puddle of water, he was seeking relief by bathing the parts affected.

The minister was perfectly awe-struck. Stopping his horse, he inquired of the man what terrible accident had befallen him.

"Oh, not any, at all," faintly responded the bleeding wreck. "I have only just been up to Oshkosh, having a little fun with the boys."

"I suppose you mean by that that you have been engaged in some brutalizing fight," said the minister.

"Yes," said the man. "I have heard that’s what they call it down at Fond du Lac, where they are civilized, but they don't call it by that name up at Oshkosh. There they call it having a little fun with the boys."

"What do you suppose your wife will say when she sees you?" asked the reverend gentleman.

At this the man looked up with a sardonic smile. Putting his remaining well hand into a pocket, he pulled out a piece of nose, a large lock of hair, to which a part of the scalp was attached, and a piece of flesh he had bitten from the cheek of his opponent, and holding them out for the minister's inspection, growled out, "There, what do you suppose his wife will say when she sees him?"

This was a squelcher. As anxious as the minister was to overcome sin and do good, he was not yet prepared to invade the devil's stronghold, and turning around, he returned home.

The next time he starts on a missionary enterprise to the frontier town of Oshkosh, he will take good care not to go alone. He likes a little fun now and then, but he don't care about having it “with the boys.”

Coda
I don’t remember when I began collecting Fun With the Boys tales, but I do recall the first time I heard it. On January 12, 2005, Jim Metz, a former editor at the Oshkosh Northwestern, told the story as part of a talk he gave at the Grand Opera House. I found out later that Metz had an abiding love for the story. During his time at the Northwestern, he re-published it three times and referenced it often in the newspaper and in books he wrote. For me the video below is an absolute treat. It’s from that night in 2005 when Metz shared his version of Fun With the Boys at the Grand Opera House.

---

Email me at OshkoshBeer@gmail.com to receive an email notification when I publish a new post. Your email address will never be shared or sold.

A Bock, 33 Breweries, and 175 Years of Beer from Oshkosh

Here’s one last beer in celebration of this year’s 175th anniversary of brewing in Oshkosh.

175 Bock is being released today (Nov. 29) in a commemorative can and on draft at Fox River Brewing in Oshkosh. The beer is a call-back to the first half of the last century when seasonal Bock beers were the highlight of the beer drinking year. Drew Roth, brewmaster at Fox River, created the recipe using those early Bocks as his template. This is an absolutely excellent beer, and it's a limited release, so grab it while you can.

And with that in mind, I thought now would be a good time to take a quick look back on the incredible brewing history of this city. More than 33 breweries have made beer in Oshkosh since Jacob Konrad launched the first brewery here in 1849.

The Legal Breweries
We’ll start with the 21 legal breweries. The map below shows the location of each of them. I’d recommend viewing this in the full-screen version. Click on the beer mug to see the dates of operation for each brewery.

The Wildcats
In addition to the legal breweries, there have been at least a dozen wildcat breweries in Oshkosh that operated illegally during Prohibition. Again, I recommend viewing this map in the full-screen version here. Same deal, click on the beer mug to find out more about each brewery.



All of the Breweries
Here’s a rundown of the 21 legal breweries. If you’d like a deeper dive, check out the Oshkosh Beer Timeline. There you can find links to the history of each brewery and more.

1. The Lake Brewery, 1849–68
East side of Lake Street, approximately one hundred yards south of Ceape Avenue

1. 1849–53: Jacob Konrad
2. 1853–62: Anton Andrea
3. 1862–65: Leonhardt Schwalm
4. 1865–68: Gottlieb Ecke

2. Joseph Schussler’s Oshkosh Brewery, 1849–52
South side of Bay Shore Drive, midway between Bowen and Frankfort Streets

3. Loescher’s (First) Oshkosh Brewery, 1852–78
1253–83 Bay Shore Drive

1. 1852–53: George and Frederick Loescher
2. 1853–78: George Loescher

4. Fischer, Weist and Kaehler, 1856–1858
Southwest corner of High and New York Avenues

1. 1856–57: Tobias Fischer and August Weist
2. 1857–58: Tobias Fischer and Christian Kaehler

5. Busch Brewery/Fifth Ward Brewery, 1858–1880
Southeast corner of Algoma Boulevard and Vine Avenue

1. 1858: Tobias Fischer and Christian Kaehler, Busch Brewery
2. 1858–80: Christian Kaehler’s Fifth Ward Brewery

6. Rudolph Otten Brewery, 1865
Oxford Avenue.

7. Rahr Brewing Company, 1865–1956
North side of Rahr Avenue near the Lake Winnebago shoreline

1. 1865–83: Charles and August Rahr
2. 1883–97: Charles Rahr’s City Brewery
3. 1897–1917: Charles Rahr Jr./Rahr Brewing Company
4. 1917–56: Rahr Brewing Company of Oshkosh

8. Horn and Schwalm’s Brooklyn Brewery, 1866–94
1630–70 Doty Street

9. Franz Wahle/Glatz Union Brewery, 1867–94
End of Doty Street (Glatz Park)

1. 1867–69: Franz Wahle
2. 1869–79: John Glatz and Christian Elser Union Brewery
3. 1879–88: John Glatz Union Brewery
4. 1888–94 John Glatz and Son (William Glatz)

10. The Gambrinus Brewery, 1868–94
1239–47 Harney Avenue

1. 1868–71: Gottlieb Ecke
2. 1871–75: Charlotte Ecke
3. 1875–94: Lorenz Kuenzl’s Gambrinus Brewery

11. Leonard Schiffmann’s White Beer Brewery, 1870s
1864 Doty Street

12. Leonard Arnold Brewery, approximately 1875–78
Southeast corner of Sixteenth Avenue and South Main Street

13. Frederick Voelkel Brewery, late 1870s
Northwest corner of Doty Street and West Seventeenth Avenue

14. Loescher’s (Second) Oshkosh Brewery, 1880–89
Northeast corner of Frankfort Street and Bay Shore Drive

1. 1880–84: George Loescher
2. 1884–89: William Loescher

15. Oshkosh Brewing Company, 1894–1971
1642 Doty Street

16. Peoples Brewing Company, 1913–72
1512 South Main Street

17. Mid-Coast Brewing Company, 1991–95
Offices at 35 Wisconsin Street (beer produced in Stevens Point)

18. Fox River Brewing Company, established 1995
1501 Arboretum Drive

19. Bare Bones Brewery, established 2015
4362 County Highway S

20. Fifth Ward Brewing Company, established 2017
1009 South Main Street

21. HighHolder Brewing Company, 2018-2021
2211 Oregon Street

Here’s a rundown of the 12 known wildcats

1. Mathias Sitter
1255 Harney Ave.
Raided on August 24, 1927.

2. Theodore Fisher
601 S. Main St.
Raided on August 24, 1927.

3. Safford Family Home
1627 Kentucky St.
Raided February 14, 1930.

4. Mary Kollross
1325 Oregon St.
Raided on February 14, 1930.

5. Fowler House Hotel
Southeast corner of High and Division streets.
Raided on February 22, 1930.

6. Joseph Widzinski
Near the corner of Wisconsin and Pearl streets.
Raided in the summer of 1930.

7. Henry Noe
Farm brewery near the intersection Highway 41 and State Road 76.
Raided on March 21, 1931.

8. Molitor & Heinzl
W. 20th Ave. near State Hwy 44.
Raided August 1931.

9. Molly Molitor
826 W 6th Ave.
Brewery never raided. Location confirmed by Leroy Youngwirth, son of Oshkosh bootlegger Butch Youngwirth.

10. Airport Tavern
809 W 20th Ave.
Never Raided. Approximate location of a tavern operated by Butch Youngwirth's outfit. The large brewery at this site was confirmed by Butch's son Leroy Youngwirth and former bootlegger Ed "Slim" Suda.

11 Adolph Spanbauer
642 W 9th Ave.
Never Raided. Brewery located in a speakeasy. Location confirmed by former bootlegger Ed "Slim" Suda.

12. Iowa Street Brewery
Near Iowa St & W 6th Ave.
Little is known of this brewery. Appears to have been run by the Butch Youngwirth outfit. Location confirmed by Leroy Youngwirth and Ed "Slim" Suda. They described the brewery as being near the corner of 6th and Iowa.

Prost, to 175 years!
I want to send a huge thanks to the brewers at Bare Bones, Fifth Ward, and Fox River. Early this year, I reached out to them and suggested that we have some sort of city-wide collaboration to honor the 175th year of brewing here. Without hesitation, they agreed. Each brewery produced a bock beer (nothing could be more appropriate) to mark the anniversary. Here’s to another 175 years of Oshkosh-brewed beer!

Fifth Ward’s 175 Bock, released April 4, 2024.

Bare Bones’ 175 Oshkosh Helles Bock, released June 1, 2024.

Fox River’s 175 Bock, released November 29, 2024.

---

Email me at OshkoshBeer@gmail.com to receive an email notification when I publish a new post. Your email address will never be shared or sold.

Romlow’s Last Chance

This is what waited for you at the end of Oregon Street 130 years ago…

And this is that same spot today…

Chester V’s Gastropub, 2505 Oregon St.

There are a lot of folks in Oshkosh who can't see that place without thinking of Romlow’s Last Chance. But the history of taverns at this location goes back even further than that. It begins with a guy named Theodore Schlaich.

The South End of the Southside
Theodore Schlaich had been kicking around on the southside for years, working as a blacksmith and horseshoer. He transitioned to saloonkeeper with help from the Glatz Brewery. They made a deal wherein Glatz would provide the saloon's dispensing equipment if Schlaich would sell only the Glatz Brewery’s beer. Schlaich’s place would be a tied house. By early 1894, his saloon was open and pouring brewery-fresh Glatz beer.

The John Glatz Union Brewery at 24th and Doty.

The set-up with Glatz was recast almost immediately. Glatz had been working on a merger with August Horn of the Brooklyn Brewery and Lorenz Kuenzl of the Gambrinus Brewery. On March 21, 1894, Glatz, Horn, and Kuenzl wrapped their negotiations and signed papers combining their breweries to create the Oshkosh Brewing Company. Schlaich rode the wave. His saloon became an OBC tied house.

An Oshkosh Brewing Company beer wagon making a delivery to the saloon in the early 1900s.

This wasn’t just a beer joint. It was a sporting bar. Schlaich put in a nine-pin alley that ignited the Southside’s bowling craze. Outside the saloon, he rolled out a “fast” fenced-in baseball diamond for the Brooklyns, a team composed of southsiders. They won their 1898 opener at Schlaich’s Park by pounding the Bluffers, their Northside rivals.

May 5, 1898, Oshkosh Daily Northwestern.

Schlaich and his wife, Caroline, lived above the bar. An adjoining set of rooms served as a flophouse for OBC brewers and beer wagon drivers. That cozy relationship would set the course for this place.

When Schliach left in 1901, William Jenner stepped in. Jenner had been banging around the bar from the start. He delivered kegged beer to the saloon, first for the Galtz Brewery and then for Oshkosh Brewing. Jenner is the guy who came up with the Last Chance name. As in, this is your last chance for a beer before you head off into the farm fields south of town.

A Glatz Brewery beer wagon, early 1890s. William Jenner may be the driver seated on the wagon.

Romlow’s Last Chance
William Jenner had a friend named Herman Romlow. They had worked together driving beer wagons for the Oshkosh Brewing Company. At the end of 1905, Jenner decided he’d rather be a farmer in Minnesota than a saloonkeeper in Oshkosh. When he left for the farm in early 1906, his buddy Herman donned the apron and began slinging beer. Now it was Romlow’s Last Chance. The Romlow name remained attached to this bar for the next 91 years.

Herman Romlow with his wife, Olga; Daughter, Celda; and son, Archie.

Herman Romlow ran a lively joint. A place where “Fun With the Boys in Oshkosh” was more than a legend. There were brawls, a stabbing… the typical Sawdust City mayhem. Herman was no bystander. He was arrested a couple of times for throwing punches. All that rude enthusiasm brought Romlow to the attention of the Women’s Christian Temperance Union, better known as the WCTU. Better yet known as a pack of insufferable prudes on a crusade to abolish beer, saloons, and most other sources of adult pleasure.

The Oshkosh WCTU said they intended to put Romlow’s Last Chance “out of commission.” In late September 1910, they sent a 17-year-old named Louis Alberts into Romlow’s to buy beer. Young Louis put his nickel on the bar, and Herman served him a beer. The boy came back two nights later and was served again. The following morning, Susan Cooper, the WCTU’s unhinged enforcer, rushed to the police station and swore out a warrant for Herman Romlow’s arrest.

Susan Cooper.

Herman spent a few weeks fighting the charge of selling liquor to a minor. He ended up pleading no contest and paying a $50 fine (about $1,700 in today's money). The WCTU considered it an admission of guilt and demanded the revocation of his saloon license. Their wish was denied. Romlow carried on.

Everybody Knows Archie
Herman Romlow gradually retired from the Last Chance. By 1923, his 32-year-old son Archie was running the show. Archie Romlow was 15 when his father moved them into the apartment above the barroom. He came of age in that tough saloon. He took over at the worst possible time.

Archie Romlow standing in front of the saloon, circa 1920.

The saloon’s primary source of revenue was made illegal when Prohibition began in 1920. Most Oshkosh saloon keepers immediately converted their places into speakeasies. Archie Romlow took a different route. He added a gas station at the front of the property and put an ice cream parlor inside. His wife, Martha, worked there with him. They offered simple meals and staple groceries. The former saloon turned into a proto mini-mart. And in 1926, it all burned to the ground.

The fire started at the gas pump. Martha had just filled the tank of a small truck. As she drew back the nozzle, a spark jumped from the tip. Suddenly, the vehicle was in flames. Martha dropped the hose, spewing fuel across the driveway. The fire raced over the pavement to the saloon. A moment later, the entire building was burning. No one was hurt, and nothing was saved.

They were back in business less than three months later. The building you see there now is from the reconstruction that followed the 1926 fire.

The rebuilt Romlow’s Last Chance. A recent photo follows.

The curse of Prohibition finally ended in 1933. Romlow’s became a bar again. But it wasn’t like the brawling days when Herman was there. Archie was not a chip off the old block. He was good-natured and exceedingly generous. He was a familiar sight, cruising around town on his bicycle. When Standard Oil advertised its gasoline in Oshkosh, the phrase “Everybody Knows Archie” was always included under Romlow’s address. Archie may have been easygoing, but he was firm when it came to civility. If things were getting out of hand at the bar, he’d kick everybody out and close up for the night.

Archie Romlow and a newspaper ad from 1933.

Archie hadn’t sworn off all of his father’s habits. Like Herman, he ran the bar without a cash register. His pockets would become wadded with bills as the day progressed. It was common for Oshkosh Brewing Company workers to come in on payday to cash their checks at the bar. Herman had started that ritual, too. Archie kept it going, doling out their pay from a cigar box. The connection to the brewery was as strong as ever. It was often said that Romlow’s sold more Chief Oshkosh Beer than any other tavern.

"Bottled for Archie Romlow." A liquor store operated in conjunction with the bar. Archie sold a variety of liquors branded with the Romlow name.

The Broken Circle
Herman brought his son Archie into the business. Archie brought his son Herbert in. Herb, like his father, was raised at the Last Chance. He was 13 when Prohibition ended and 18 when he went full time behind the bar. He was 21 when World War II took him away. Herb saw tours of duty in Algeria and Italy with the Army Air Corps. He got through it and back to the Last Chance at the end of 1945. He was married the following summer. The torch was being passed again. It happened faster than anyone wanted.

Archie’s family. From left to right: Archie Romlow, his son Herb, his daughter Olga, and his wife Martha. 1949.

Archie died in 1950 from injuries suffered in an automobile accident. He was with his daughter Olga, her husband Glenn Tabbert, and their two children. They were bringing Archie home from a doctor's appointment in Milwaukee. Archie never liked driving. He didn’t even own a car until he was in his 40s. Tabbert was behind the wheel when they crashed into an oncoming vehicle just south of Fond du Lac. All of them were hurt, but Archie was the only fatality. He was 58 years old.

Herb took over. It was another difficult transition. When Archie began running the bar, he had to contend with Prohibition. Herb had to deal with something worse. Three weeks before his father died, Herb’s eight-month-old son, named Archie, passed away after a brief illness. Herb and his wife, Betty, would have two surviving sons, but neither would get their turn at the family bar. The boys were too young for that when Herb died suddenly in 1954 of a heart attack. He had celebrated his 34th birthday a day earlier. For the first time in 48 years, there wasn’t a man named Romlow behind the bar at the Last Chance.

Romlow’s in the early 1950s. Still serving Oshkosh Brewing Company beer and still no bar stools. There were booths in the back, though, as you can see in the next photo.

The First and Last Chance
Romlow's was reopened by Glenn Tabbert, Herb’s brother-in-law. Tabbert had married Olga Romlow, Archie’s daughter, in 1942. They lived in Milwaukee, where Tabbert worked in sales, before coming to Oshkosh. Tabbert added the incoming direction to the “Last Chance” epithet to make it Romlow’s First and Last Chance.

April 29, 1955 (click image to enlarge).

Glenn and Olga Tabbert moved to Florida three years later. They sold the bar to Victor Jordan, a lifelong Oshkosher and career cop who had just finished serving two terms as Winnebago County Sheriff. Jordan lasted seven years, selling the bar in 1965 to Lester Polzin and his son Bill.

Lester was 47, and Bill was 22 when they bought Romlow’s in February 1965. At the time, they were both working at Morgan Door. The Polzin’s version of Romlow’s is the one that most people recall. But much had changed since the days of Herman, Archie and Herb. The gas station and ice cream were gone. The brewery so closely associated with the bar was faltering and then closed. There were barstools now, but there was no Chief Oshkosh beer.

Romlow's in the 1980s. Beer signs for closed Oshkosh breweries remain above the back bar.

In 1997, William Polzin sold the bar to Mauro and Cindy Martinez, a couple who at the time lived in Fond du Lac. That was the end of Romlow’s. The old tavern became Mario's Restaurant.

Mauro Matinez.

Mario’s became Hermanas in 2014 and closed the following year. Later in 2015, the building was completely renovated and then opened as Chester V’s Gastropub by Dave Vienola and Dirk Binnema. Vienola is now the sole owner of Chester V’s.

Just down the road, a mile past their Last Chance, the three Romlows are buried in Peace Lutheran Cemetery. As it says on Herman’s headstone, "To Rest, To Wake, Not Again to Labor."

Herman Romlow, 1866-1944.

Archie Romlow, 1891-1950.

Herbert Romlow, 1920-1954.

A word of thanks to Chrissy Romlow whose late husband, William, was the son of Herbert Romlow. Chrissy was a great deal of help with this post. Thanks so much, Chrissy!

---

Email me at OshkoshBeer@gmail.com to receive an email notification when I publish a new post. Your email address will never be shared or sold.

A Trip Down Lost Memory Lane

Here's a short video Mike McArthur of the Oshkosh Public Library and I made about the saloon spawned wild life that once inhabited Ceape Ave… I’m even wearing my SOB shirt!

Beyond Beer and Back

These are strange times for small breweries. A generational shift in drinking habits has led to beer consumption levels hitting a 25-year low. For craft brewers, the downward trend has been evident since 2019. The three Oshkosh breweries – Bare Bones, Fifth Ward, and Fox River – were more resilient. But that’s no longer the case. Through the first seven months of 2024, overall beer production in Oshkosh is down almost eight percent. It’s the first non-COVID-related production dip in more than a decade.

The gloomy outlook has brewers searching for novel ways to retain consumer interest. At Fox River Brewing Company, the approach has been to introduce a line of beverages that have little to do with what the brewery has long been known for. In the parlance of marketers, Fox River has gone “Beyond Beer.” Or as Fox River Brewmaster Drew Roth puts it “Beverages that aren't beer in any way, shape, or form.”

This year, Fox River has introduced a range of new products that have nothing to do with barley malt and hops. The brewery has released a line of craft sodas, hard tea, hard lemonade, and continued its line of hard seltzers. “The decision was made late last year to try these periphery beverages out and see if any of them made sense for us,” says Roth. “We were looking at the trends. It made sense to at least take a look at it.”

Oddly enough, the strategy may have actually helped beer sales. Fox River’s Oshkosh facility is the only brewery in Oshkosh that has seen its beer production increase this year; by a modest three percent. Roth will take that as a win for now. “It’s a cyclical thing,” he says. “These trends come and go. It’s like the thing with ready to drink cocktails. They pop up every five or ten years and become trendy, and then cycle back out. I mean, craft beer has been around long enough now that people don’t see it as something new anymore, which is fine.”

Fox River Brewmaster Drew Roth.

If craft beer has crossed over from the fashionable to the familiar, then Fox River is one of the better Wisconsin examples of how that looks on the ground. Next year, the brewery will celebrate its 30th Anniversary. Of the 21 breweries that have operated in Oshkosh since 1849, Fox River is now fourth in terms of longevity. The only breweries here that have survived longer were the venerable Rahr Brewing (91 years), Oshkosh Brewing Company (77 years), and Peoples Brewing (59 years).

This month, Fox River is releasing two beers connected to that legacy. The first is 175 Bock, a lager made in recognition of this year’s 175th anniversary of the beginning of commercial brewing in Oshkosh. The beer, which will be available on draft and in a special commemorative can, pays tribute to the Bock beers that were wildly popular in Oshkosh for over a century.

 “This is an older style of American lager,” Roth says. “It’s based on a pre-Prohibition type of beer. We used American malts and a little corn, like they did in those older recipes. We also used locally-grown hops from Hidden Valley Hops Farm in Winchester.” The blend includes hops cultured from rootstock dating back to the 1840s discovered at the site of one of Winnebago County’s first hop farms in Allenville. “I’m looking forward to getting this packaged,” Roth says, “the flavors are really nice.”

And then there’s a beer with a mouthful of a name: Gambrinus was a Real SOB. The beer came onto Roth’s radar when he judged at a homebrew competition held by the Society of Oshkosh Brewers. “It was by far the best beer in the competition,” Roth says. “It’s a dark lager, a style of beer we like brewing this time of year.” The competition beer was made by Society of Oshkosh Brewers’ member Scott Westpfahl. The recipe is from the late 1800s when the Gambrinus Brewery on Harney Avenue used it to make its Kulmbacher Bier. Roth scaled up that same recipe for his “Gambrinus” beer. “We like working with the SOBs,” Roth says. “They represent a really passionate chunk of the craft beer consumer in this city.”

Fox River Lead Brewer Patrick McHugh (left) and Scott Westpfahl of the Society of Oshkosh Brewers on the brew deck at Fox River making "Gambrinus."

The contrasting strains of traditional and trendy make for a complex juggling act for Roth, who is into his sixth year as brewmaster at Fox River. He oversees brewing operations at the Fox River brew houses in Oshkosh and Appleton and directs a crew of six other brewers. “It’s been a challenging year for sure, but I‘m more settled in than anything else, so we’ve been able to handle it,” Roth says. “That said, I’m hoping this coming year will be a little less hectic. We’re streamlining things and getting more targeted. But there’s always going to be something new to contend with. It’s just the nature of the business.”

---

Email me at OshkoshBeer@gmail.com to receive an email notification when I publish a new post. Your email address will never be shared or sold.

William Leard’s Garden of Evil

Here’s an old part of town with some history that’s gone missing…

The southeast corner of Washington and Rosalia.

That corner is part of the Washington Avenue Historic District, which is listed on the National Register of Historic Places. The neighborhood doesn't exactly scream saloon or beer history. It did have its moment, though. There once was a gaudy, two-acre beer garden at this spot. It was the folly of a guy named Leard.

William Leard was 25 when he came to Oshkosh in 1875 from Oconomowoc. The former farm boy remade himself here. The new William Leard was a haberdasher, dealing in fancy clothes for men. It was a fitting turn. He liked flashy things.

Leard was a hustler with a talent for getting people to loan him money. He started doing business from a small shop on Main Street near the river. In 1879, he upgraded to an elaborate, double-front store up the block. Leard put a steam engine in the basement and a dozen steam-powered sewing machines on the second floor. He had a crew of seamstresses making his own line of clothes. Leard claimed to be the first steam-powered tailor in Wisconsin. He could turn out a custom-made suit in eight hours.

William Leard’s clothing store and factory near the southwest corner of N. Main and High, circa 1887.

Leard was a relentless self-promoter. He would parade around Main Street with a rack of his clothes yelling about his cheap prices. He’d hand out gaudy trinkets to remember him by. He’d have fake bankruptcy sales and run click-bait newspaper ads that grabbed your eyes and then changed the subject.

1881

Leard’s park may have been his first overtly crooked scheme. In the summer of 1883, Leard announced that he had purchased land at the southeast corner of Washington and Rosalia streets. This was his first lie. Leard hadn’t bought anything. The land was owned by a Chicago couple named George and Mary Harmon. It’s unclear if Leard even had a legitimate lease on the property. No matter, he immediately put his own stamp on it.

Leard had a fixation with the lucky horseshoe symbol. It was his trademark and became the park’s motif. A driveway, big enough for buggy rides, looped through the park in the shape of a horseshoe with entrances on Rosalia and Washington. At the corner was a horseshoe gate leading onto a winding walking path that passed by horseshoe-shaped flower beds. A fenced deer park was planned for the back of the property. The grounds were lit by Chinese lanterns bathing the place with an ethereal glow. And in the middle of it all was a bandstand next to some sort of residence. Leard wasn’t saying what the residence was for. He knew better.

A recent aerial view of the land that comprised Leard’s park.

Leard’s park was anything but pastoral. The drive and walking paths were littered with signs advertising his clothing. Admission was free if you didn’t consider the cost of being subjected to all the promotional trash. Leard must have realized that one visit would be enough for most folks. His plan for getting them to come back centered around the peculiar residence at the center of the grounds. It wasn’t a residence. It turned out to be a pavilion surrounded by a beer garden.

The park opened on the evening of August 8, 1883. The Arion Band mounted the stand and began blowing. And then the beer was flowing. This was not what people were expecting. The neighbors lost their shit. Or, as the Daily Northwestern more politely put it, “The neighborhood is much agitated and incensed over the erection of a saloon and garden in that locality.”

Did Leard really think he’d get away with this? With no forewarning, he’d plopped a beer garden into a posh, politically connected neighborhood. He hadn’t even bothered to get a liquor license. His lark was short-lived.

It all came tumbling down a month later when Leard finally applied for a liquor permit. The application was immediately denied by the Common Council. One alderman objected to the rejection, saying that the council never had a problem handing out liquor licenses to dealers in his neighborhood. His name was Larrabee, and he lived on the other side of the river in the blue-collar Fifth Ward. His objections were ignored. Leard’s Beer Garden was kaput.

His problems were only beginning. Leard had been living large, and largely on credit. The bills were coming due. All of a sudden, his old friends were suing him. In early 1886, Leard’s assets were seized and sold off to pay his debts. He then suckered one of his creditors into giving him another shot. Leard was back in business by the end of 1886. But his shop failed again a few months later.

Leard had a side grift keeping him afloat while his other bridges burned. He was in cahoots with a wandering Norwegian cigar maker called Dr. F.B. Hyland. The Doctor was no doctor. Hyland was a charismatic quack claiming to be a human battery who could heal people by rubbing them with his “magnetized” hands. The ruse was even weirder than it sounds. In addition to the groping, Hyland used his dynamic hands to magnetize sheets of newspaper. He instructed his patients to wear the magic newspaper over their affliction. And they did. As if cheating them out of their money wasn’t humiliation enough.

An 1885 ad for F.B. Hyland. The address reflects the old house numbering system in Oshkosh.

Between 1885 and 1889, Dr. Hyland ducked in and out of Oshkosh performing his mysterious rituals. His base of operation was Leard's home on Waugoo Avenue. Eventually, people got wise to the scam. Leard ended up losing the property to foreclosure. You can still see part of that place. The Konrad-Behlman Funeral Home is built around it.

Leard’s former home at 402 Waugoo Avenue.

In 1888, Leard found a new victim: his widowed mother. She had sold off the family farm some years earlier and was apparently sitting on a plump nest egg. She loaned her shady son money to set up a new clothing shop on Washington Avenue just east of Main. His new store was another flop. It closed the following year.

His undoing was now finalized. Leard left town. He went to Superior and opened another shop. His wife didn't go with him. Maggie Leard remained in Oshkosh with their three children. It was a wise decision.

Leard hatched his next financial mess in Superior. He was soon being menaced again by folks he had burned. They were less forgiving up north. At the behest of one of his creditors, Leard was charged with larceny and arrested. He jumped bail and went on the run. They tracked him down in Barnum, Minnesota, about 40 miles away, in late February 1891. Leard was dragged back to Superior and thrown in jail.

Oshkosh Daily Northwestern, March 3, 1891.

That was the last straw for Maggie Leard. She took the three kids and moved to Milwaukee. She got an apartment on the east side. She told people her husband was dead. Not quite.

After a short stint in the pen, Leard moved to Ironwood, Michigan and found a job in a tailoring shop. That’s where the clock ran out on him. In the summer of 1893, Leard caught typhoid fever and died. He was 43-years old.

Despite the fiasco of his time in Oshkosh, Leard maintained a fondness for the old town where he screwed so many people over. He asked that his remains be brought back to Oshkosh for burial. His final wish might not have been fulfilled. He didn’t have many friends left. I haven’t been able to find his grave nor any mention of his funeral or burial.

A faint memory of him flickered some 40 years later. In 1935, the Winnebago County Archaeological and Historical Society hosted a discussion of “old settlers” to share their memories of bygone Oshkosh. That evening, a Mr. Scott spoke of a “forgotten” park at the corner of Washington and Rosalia. He said it was run by William Leard. Nobody else seemed to remember it. As far as I can tell, that’s the last time Leard's park was mentioned until now.

Today, there are 15 homes on the 2.3-acre plot of land formerly known as Leard’s Beer Garden. How many of his horseshoe trinkets have been dug up in backyard gardens there over the years? I can only imagine them being tossed aside. Another odd knickknack lurking in the dirt.

Email me at OshkoshBeer@gmail.com to receive an email notification when I publish a new post. Your email address will never be shared or sold.