The Wanderings of an 800-Pound Chief

Here we have about 800 pounds of baked earth. It's six-feet in diameter, 110 years old, and well-traveled.

For 75 years, that clay medallion was the emblem of the Oshkosh Brewing Company (OBC). After OBC closed in 1971, the emblem remained on the face of the defunct brewery for 15 more years. It endured in stark contrast to the decay gathering all around it.

The emblem was produced in 1911. It was to be the crowning jewel on the new brewery OBC was building at 16th and Doty. They had gone to Chicago and commissioned the nation's premier supplier of terracotta work.

"Up in Oshkosh, once the home of the red man, now the home of the lumber kings and yachting regattas, the Oshkosh Brewing Company has caused its somewhat unique trademark to be “done” in terra cotta, and the Northwestern Terra Cotta Company was called upon to do the job.”
    – The Clay-Worker, February 1912.

The Northwestern Terra Cotta Company of Chicago.

The knowing gaze of the chief had been fixed in place by the time the new brewery opened to the public in May 1912.

The new brewery of the Oshkosh Brewing Company. 1600 block of Doty Street.

And there the emblem remained even as the brewery was being torn down. On December 27, 1986, with the demolition well underway, the emblem was put up for auction.

A flyer for the 1986 auction.

About 100 people gathered in front of the crumbling brewery on that Saturday morning. Nine of them, including Lynne Webster, had come to place bids. Webster was an Oshkosh Chamber official and was there to bid on behalf of the City of Oshkosh. She could go as high as $6,600. But within minutes of the first call, Webster was out of the running.

Auctioneer Don Wagner taking bids.

The minimum bid was set at $1,000. From there, the price quickly shot past $7,000. In 20 minutes it was over. The winning bid of $8,800 was placed by Paul Winter, a 27-year-old former Oshkosh resident who had, at one time, lived near the brewery. Winter said he spent about $1,000 more than he had intended to. “A person gets kind of caught up with an auction,” he said. The total with tax came to $9,240. That didn't include the cost of getting the embedded piece down off the brewery. Winter was given two weeks to accomplish that.

Lynne Webster was disappointed but unbowed. In the days following the auction, she began recruiting donors to raise money to purchase the emblem from Winter. The primary donor would be A. Thomas Schwalm. His family had helped to found OBC in 1894.

Catherine (Schwalm) Clark and her brother Thomas Schwalm.

A. Thomas Schwalm was also a past brewmaster at OBC. He had left the brewery in August of 1950 to become co-publisher of the Oshkosh Daily Northwestern. Schwalm was not at all happy that the emblem had fallen into the hands of a private collector. "We were going to get that emblem a long time ago," he said, "I didn't want it to be lost."

OBC in the 1960s.

It almost certainly would have been lost had Thomas Schwalm not filled the funding gap needed to get it back. "I think his connection over there at the brewery – it touched him," Lynne Webster later recalled. "He saved a bit of his personal history, but also a part of the city's history."

A week after the auction, Paul Winter was persuaded to sell the emblem to the city for $9,040. That was $200 less than he had committed to pay for it. "It was a really tough decision," Winter said. He wanted it to stay in Oshkosh “where everyone could share in its beauty.”

As part of the deal, the city agreed to have a fiberglass reproduction of the emblem made for Winter. The replica was expected to cost another $2,500. Lynne Webster said that Thomas Schwalm also paid for that.

Bringing down the emblem in January 1987.

City officials immediately announced plans to turn the emblem into a monument. Thomas Schwalm said he hoped it would help remind people that Oshkosh was once a center for brewing. The last brewery in Oshkosh – Peoples Brewing – had closed 15 years earlier. “This is a segment of Oshkosh history that we no longer have," said Lynne Webster. "This monument will commemorate all the different breweries that are no longer here.”

The demolition Peoples Brewing, 1974.

Meanwhile, the city needed to decide where the emblem would go. An advisory committee that included Webster was formed to identify potential locations. Three months later, they had narrowed the choices to three: The exterior west-facing wall of the Oshkosh Public Museum; the south exterior wall of the Oshkosh Centre near the Main Street Bridge; and in South Park near the intersection of West South Park and Ohio.

While the committee deliberated, James Metz – editorial page editor of the Oshkosh Northwestern, campaigned for the emblem to be placed at the museum. Metz ran an informal poll in the paper and then announced the museum site to be the overwhelming favorite of those who responded. Metz and his cohort didn't have their way.

In July 1987, the emblem was placed on the south wall of the Oshkosh Centre. The site was favored by the Landmarks Commission for being the most visible location of those under consideration. Thomas Schwalm paid for the mounting. The emblem remained there for the next 20 years.

Looking north over the Main Street Bridge towards the Oshkosh Centre.
The Chief Oshkosh emblem is highlighted in yellow.

After two decades, the emblem came down again. It was removed to make way for the 2008 remodeling of the Oshkosh Centre, which is now the Oshkosh Convention Center.

This time, there wasn't a debate about where it would go next. The Oshkosh Public Museum took possession of the emblem in March of 2008. Museum director Brad Larson said it would cost about $12,000 to create a proper display for the piece. The Kuenzl Foundation donated $5,000 towards the project. The Kuenzl family had launched the Gambrinus Brewery in Oshkosh in 1875 and was one of the three founding families behind the formation of the Oshkosh Brewing Company.

The emblem was placed in a brushed-metal framework and covered with a clear, thermoplastic shield. In September 2009 it was mounted outside the main entrance to the Oshkosh Public Museum. You can see it there today. The 110-year-old face of clay at the center of the emblem appears as composed as ever.

Oshkosh Public Museum.

A Few Notes...
A word of thanks to Paul Winter. Thanks also to Anna Cannizzo of the Oshkosh Public Museum. They both helped to clarify information related to the emblem and the replica that was made from it. And thanks to Tom Denow and Scott Krumenauer for sharing their pictures of the emblem while it was still on the brewery.

About that replica: It was created by the Oshkosh Public Museum from a latex mold reinforced with plaster. The fiberglass reproduction was then painted to match the colors of the original emblem. The museum kept the mold, but it eventually deteriorated and has since been discarded. Winter said he was pleased with how the reproduction of the emblem turned out.

A couple of weeks ago I put up a related post about the years of decay and eventual demolition of the Oshkosh Brewing Company's brewery. That can be found here.

You can find more on the tangled history of Chief Oshkosh and beer here.

Derek Gilbertson's Award Winning Homebrew

Winning the Best of Show award at this year's Midwinter Homebrew Competition could have proven fatal for 37-year-old Oshkosh Homebrewer Derek Gilbertson. “I damn near had a heart attack when I saw my name at the top of the results page,” Gilbertson says. You would think he'd be getting used to this kind of thing by now. Gilbertson has been entering his homebrewed beer in competitions for the past three years and in that time has managed to pick up his share of awards. His most recent award, though, is easily the most coveted of the bunch.

Derek Gilbertson making beer in his backyard.

Gilbertson's "Fuzzy Wuzzy" Barleywine, named as a salute to his dog Ginny, was chosen as the best beer from a field of 293 beers at last month’s Midwinter Homebrew Competition. The competition was sanctioned by the American Homebrewers Association and sponsored by the Beer Barons of Milwaukee homebrew club. It's among the largest regional competitions in the nation. This year's event brought in beers from 41 states and was judged by a panel that included 20 certified beer judges.

Gilbertson's best-of-show award and Fuzzy Wuzzy barleywine.

Gilbertson describes his winning beer as having "A really malty backbone with a nice, pine-resin note on the back end from the hops. You also get a little heat in there from the alcohol." The beer was over a year in the making and finished at 10% ABV. It's the sort of strong beer that Gilbertson has come to be known for among the family and friends he regularly shares his output with. "I like making big beers with bold flavors," he says.

In six years, he's come a long way from that first brew of his made with a Mr. Beer Kit. "It was terrible," he says. "I walked away from it saying I'm never doing that again. Then I was telling a friend of mine and he said I needed to go get a real beer kit with good ingredients. I got my first real kit at The Cellar (an Oshkosh homebrew shop) and that one turned out pretty good. So I thought I'd give it another try. After that, I just kept at it and started coming up with my own recipes. I fell in love with it."

Along the way, he began enlisting the help of local experts. Gilbertson met up with Shane and Laurel Coombs, the husband and wife team who operate Rushford Meadery & Winery in the Town of Rushford. The two of them also happen to be certified beer judges. "I started taking my beer over there and asking them to be brutally honest about it," Gilbertson says. "My friends and family would all tell me they loved the beer, they've all been really supportive, but that's not the same as having someone who can really pick it apart. Shane and Laurel helped me a lot with their feedback and suggestions."

That ethos of working with what you have at hand continues to inform Gilbertson's love of beer making. He still sources his ingredients at The Cellar and brews on a cobbled-together system that includes a 20-gallon kettle and a propane-fueled turkey fryer. He's made his home serve as an oversized fermentation chamber, using its varying temperature ranges to influence the flavors produced during the fermentation process. "I'm continually moving different vessels around the house," he says. "It started off as a little hobby and now we've got fermentors everywhere." Gilbertson has dubbed his home brewery Easy Rider Brewing. "Because I also love riding motorcycles," he says..

Gilbertson is preparing to take his hobby to the next level. "I'm going to start doing some national competitions next year," he says. His friends and family have encouraged him to go pro. "They keep telling me to open a brewpub," Gilbertson says. "I do parties a lot in the summertime where I'll smoke a bunch of brisket and have everybody over for barbecue and homebrew. We get together and have a good time." Which is exactly what successful homebrewing is really all about.

The Second Death of the Oshkosh Brewing Company

The last gasp of the Oshkosh Brewing Company came on October 18, 1971. It was a Monday. Production stopped and the workers went home. Oshkosh’s best-known brewery had met its end.

The dormant brewery sat there for 15 more years. It was gutted and the carcass was left to rot. It became the moldering eyesore at 1642 Doty Street.

1986

By 1986 a lot of Oshkoshers had forgotten what a magnificent thing that brewery had once been. It was built in 1911 and 1912. At that point, the Oshkosh Brewing Company (OBC) had already been in operation for 17 years. The new brewery would replace the two separate facilities OBC had been using to produce its beer.

There was the old Glatz Brewery on the south end of Doty where OBC made its keg beer.

OBC’s Glatz Brewery.

The higher-end beers were made at the OBC plant on Doty just south of 16th. This was the more modern of the two facilities. It had formerly been Horn and Schwalm's Brooklyn Brewery.

Horn and Schwalm's Brooklyn Brewery.

The Glatz facility was torn down in 1914. The Horn and Schwalm plant, most of which still stands, was converted into a bottling house.

By the summer of 1912, all of OBCs beer was being made in its new brewery.

It was designed by the eminent brewery architect Richard Griesser. The sprawling facility was composed of two wings flanking a seven-story brewhouse. The Doty-facing portion of the complex was done up entirely in red brick. It cost $90,530 to build (well over $2 million in today's money) and was said to be the most modern and best-equipped Wisconsin brewery outside of Milwaukee. The home of Chief Oshkosh Beer would be a south side landmark for decades to come.

In the fall of 1971, that brewery stood empty and idle. But there was a glimmer of hope. Less than three weeks after production had stopped, OBC president Harold Kriz announced that the brewery's brands had been sold to the rival Peoples Brewing Company. Ted Mack, president of Peoples Brewing, opened the door to the possibility that the OBC brewery might eventually go back online.

Oshkosh Daily Northwestern; November 5, 1971.

Mack, whose brewery was facing its own set of hardships, was saying a lot of things in those days that didn't add up. A year later, Peoples Brewing closed. Now there were two idle breweries within 500 feet of one another on the south side of Oshkosh.

The south side skyline. Peoples Brewing on the left, OBC on the right.

The defunct Oshkosh Brewing Company began stripping the brewery to capitalize on what value the property still held. Permits were taken out in 1974 and 1976 to open holes in the exterior walls so that conditioning tanks could be removed from the stock house. Over time, the south wall of the brewery became pocked with gaping holes.

Vandalism at the untended property was commonplace. Windows were broken out and the interior was ransacked. In 1975, the brewery suffered extensive damage after two separate fires were started by arsonists.

Inside the brewery.

In 1976, OBC sold the dilapidated property.

Broken windows and a “For Sale” sign. The view from South Main Street in 1975.

The building at 1642 Doty was vacant when Winnebago Northland Inc (WNI) purchased it on May 14, 1976. WNI had been incorporated in 1975 with the intention of acquiring and rehabilitating the property. Leon Luker of WNI said they intended to convert the space into retail shops and offices. It sounded viable, but Luker also mentioned that "The most discouraging note has been the vandalism damage and mess made by young people."

The WNI plan never materialized. A series of small businesses shuffled through, but the old brewery never managed to attract the kind of cornerstone retail establishment that other businesses could grow around. The unabated decay compounded the lack of appeal.

The sign at the lower right reads: Under New Ownership. Occupant Winnebago Northland.

The neighbors began to complain. Each year the brewery looked worse with ever more vandalism and debris scattered about the premises. In 1977, the property was sold again. This time to LSW Enterprises, a group headed by Leon Luker and Robert Stauffer, Sr. During its period of ownership, LSW accomplished nothing in the way of preservation.

In 1979, the Oshkosh Jaycees took advantage of the horror-show atmosphere by holding their haunted house at the empty brewery. It would become an annual event. But that ended after the Halloween of 1982. It was decided that the building had become too unsafe to allow people inside.

October 18, 1979; Oshkosh Advance-Titan.

Earlier in 1982, the brewery had been nominated for listing in the National Register of Historic Places. The designation would have made the property eligible for tax incentives and grants for rehabilitation and preservation. But LSW Enterprises objected to the designation killing any chance of it being listed.

Instead, LSW offered to sell the building to the City of Oshkosh for $375,000. The proposal followed closely on the heels of similar offers made to the city by the owners of the Paine Lumber Co. property and the Deltox warehouse complex. None of the proposals fit within the city's budget constraints.

The last substantial effort to save the brewery came in 1984 when Vintage Investment, a Lansing, Michigan development company, made an option-to-purchase agreement with LSW. The agreement was contingent upon Vintage Investment obtaining $2.5 million in financing to convert the brewery into apartments.

Oshkosh City Manager William Frueh advocated for the deal and sought a federal grant to facilitate the transfer. But in the end, Vintage Investment was unable to raise the money required for the project. The option-to-purchase agreement lapsed. It was over.

In 1984, a raze or repair order had been issued by the city for the badly deteriorated building. Now, there was no question as to which option would prevail.

At city hall, Frueh had grown frustrated with the LSW group and Robert E. Stauffer, Sr. in particular. "We’re still hoping the owners can come up with something concrete and that the building can be saved," Frueh said. "But we haven’t heard anything. We’ve given him ample opportunities to develop something so the building could be used. But so far nothing has happened."

William Frueh (left) and Robert E. Stauffer Sr.

Demolition was set to begin during the week of October 12, 1986. Former OBC employees gathered at the brewery in the days leading up to the teardown.

At the brewery in early October 1986.

On the left is Merritt Safford, an OBC salesman. He worked at the brewery for 38 years beginning in 1931.
Audrey Ackerman was OBC's corporate secretary. She was with the company from 1950 until it closed in 1971.
On the right is George Ratchman who worked in the bottling department for 15 years. He was hired in 1954.

"Razing the brewery is like dying a second death," Ackerman said. "But this time the death is going to be more final. No one is ever going to see it again.”

As the building was coming down, the owners of the property extracted its last bit of value. The iconic Chief Oshkosh emblem above the entranceway to the brewery was put up for auction. It sold for $9,240 to Paul Winter, a collector of brewery memorabilia. Winter later sold the emblem to the City of Oshkosh. It now resides near the entrance to the Oshkosh Public Museum.

An auction amid the rubble.

The obliteration resumed. It took months to bring the brewery down.

There’s nothing left of the towering brewery that loomed over Doty Street for 75 years. Where there once was an architectural work of art there now squats a drab, metal warehouse.

The brewery has been gone now for almost 35 years. Even after all this time, it still seems like something there is missing.

   

Coda

Well if that wasn’t painful enough... A few years ago, I made a three-minute video showing the brewery’s demolition. You can see that here.

I owe a debt of gratitude to Correen Redlin and Chuck Kunz of Oshkosh for supplying some of the pictures used in this post. Thanks, I appreciate your time and help!

Woke Cold Brew Coffee Stout

There’s a coffee stout on at Fox River Brewing that’s a collaboration of a different sort.

Woke Cold Brew Coffee Stout

The beer was made by Fox River. The coffee was roasted by Bare Bones. “The coffee was a Peruvian blend at medium roast,” says Drew Roth, head brewer at Fox River. “Dan (Dringolli, owner of Bare Bones) had given me a sample of some and I liked it. Whenever possible, I like to use local ingredients so it seemed like a good fit.”

At the Fox River taproom, Woke is pouring on nitro, but even with that less boisterous gas, the coffee aroma leaps out at you. I could smell it well before the glass reached my face.

To help preserve that aroma, Roth introduced the coffee – 10 pounds of it – on the cold side; treating it like a dry-hop addition. “The coffee itself was added as a whole bean and allowed to cold steep in the cold-crashed fermenter for around a week,” he says.

That process seems to have helped inhibit any of the acrid, bitter flavors you sometimes find in a coffee stout. The beer is exceptionally smooth with the coffee flavor having a sweet, caramel-like aspect.

“The way we added the coffee, as well as how we treated the dark malts, is what I think led to the super-smooth flavor,” Roth says. “The dark malts were also added as cold steep.”

If you’re into coffee stouts you should make a point of getting to this one. It would be an ideal beer for a weekend brunch. In addition to the nitro release, Fox River also now has the standard carbonation version available in bottles.

Woke Cold Brew Stout is 5.2% ABV and pouring in both the dining room and the taproom at Fox River Oshkosh.

Winter Beer Deliveries…

In the early 1900s, Rahr Brewing in Oshkosh made its deliveries by horse-drawn sleigh. Notice those wooden beer kegs that are about to be hauled from the brewery. 

Circa, 1914.

And now we have this... The newest Oshkosh beer truck belongs to Fifth Ward Brewing. It's not quite as romantic as the Rahr sleigh, but it's got a lot more horsepower.

The Native Grisette at Bare Bones

Here's the first beer made by a commercial brewery that's fermented entirely with native Oshkosh yeast.

That's the Grisette that will begin pouring when Bare Bones opens its taproom Friday, February 19.

What's a Grisette? It's an almost lost style of Belgian table beer closely related to Saison. Historically, it was brewed to be lower in alcohol than Saison and with a cleaner, more refreshing character. The Grisette at Bare Bones hits the style perfectly. But that's not the surprising part.

What's surprising is that the bright, refreshing character of this beer was produced from a yeast found floating through the air near the south side of Oshkosh. The journey from airborne microbe to beer in a glass took two years.

It began when Jody Cleveland, head brewer at Bare Bones, started harvesting yeast that was lingering about the flora in his yard; which is downwind of the old Glatz Brewery. After capturing what looked like a suitable candidate, he isolated a single cell and then began the process of culturing it. Technically, this is a wild yeast, but don't get the wrong idea. The beer it produced has none of the sourness often associated with American ales made from wild fungi.

The beer itself has all the traits of a fresh, farmhouse ale. There's a distinct pepper note in the nose backed with a hint of clove. It's light-bodied with a crisp, dry finish that's accentuated by an earthy note of Saaz hops. If I had tasted this blind and been told it was made by a Belgian brewery I wouldn't have doubted it for a moment. This is an exceptional ale.

There's one problem here. Because of its genesis, this was brewed as a small batch. There were only two quarter-barrels produced. It will be available only on draft at the Bare Bones Brewery taproom in Oshkosh. No growlers, no crowlers, no cans. Fresh from the tap is the only way to get it. Which, when you think of it, is exactly how a beer like this should be enjoyed.

Oshkosh Can Lines

In today's Oshkosh Herald I have an article about how our local breweries are increasingly favoring cans over bottles when it comes to packaging. I'll post the full article below for those who don't live in the Herald's delivery area.

But before we get to that, here's a look at just how different today's canning equipment is from that used by Oshkosh breweries in the 1950s. The video begins with footage of the Oshkosh Brewing Company's can line in 1956. That's followed by a recent clip of beer being canned at Bare Bones Brewery (NOTE: if the video does not appear in the space below you can access it here).

That Oshkosh Brewing Company clip is taken from a longer, video tour of the brewery. You can view that video in its entirety here. Now, onto the Herald article...

Breweries freshly embrace canning option

Oshkosh Herald, February 17, 2021

If you went to buy a six-pack of local beer a year ago, you would have come home with glass bottles nested in a cardboard carrier. Today that story would probably have a different ending. Though brewers in Oshkosh haven't entirely abandoned glass bottles, aluminum cans have become their packaging vessel of choice. The benefits of canned beer are many, but for brewers like Jody Cleveland of Bare Bones Brewery, it all comes down to quality. "Cans are so much better at preserving flavor and freshness," he says. "There's just no way around that."

In May of 2020, Bare Bones became the first Oshkosh brewery in almost 50 years to package beer on its own automated canning line. The canner had arrived in the nick of time. State restrictions following the COVID-19 outbreak had resulted in the closure of bars and taprooms which curtailed the on-premise sale of draft beer. "I think being able to can beer at that point saved us," says Cleveland, "Having that option with to-go sales helped us a ton, there's no doubt about that."

Fifth Ward Brewing took delivery of its canning line this past December. Since then the brewery has packaged a dozen different beers in cans. That would have been impossible to do in such a short time with a bottling line. "Printing six-pack holders for bottles is very expensive and it's a stupid amount that you have to buy to make it cost-effective," says Zach Clark co-owner of Fifth Ward. "With cans, all we have to do is design and print a new label. We can do that quickly. It allows us so much more flexibility. It gives us the ability to offer more variety and get beers into the retail market that we could only have sold on draft before."

Getting consumers to embrace canned beer hasn’t always been so easy. The Oshkosh Brewing Company was the first brewery here to can beer. When those cans were released in 1949, the reception was lukewarm at best. Some customers complained of a metallic flavor. The issue was soon resolved, but the prejudice lingered on.

Brewery owners Ian Wenger (left) and Zach Clark, canning beer at Fifth Ward.

In 1991, the Mid-Coast Brewing Company of Oshkosh released a new brand named Chief Oshkosh Red Lager in cans. That beer, brewed and packaged on contract at the Stevens Point Brewery, is considered by many to have been the first American craft beer offered in cans. Though the beer itself was highly regarded, the package was a hard sell. “The idea that great beer doesn't come in a can hurt me,” says Jeff Fulbright, president of Mid-Coast Brewing Company. Mid-Coast closed in 1995.

Those old misconceptions are finally giving way. "We initially heard from a couple of people who were disappointed when they saw we were going in this direction," says Jody Cleveland where at Bare Bones they no longer package any beer in glass bottles. "But that went away almost immediately. It's been all positive ever since." Drew Roth, the head brewer at Fox River Brewing, says the reaction among their customers has been much the same.

Roth still recalls his own aha moment. "Back when I first got into beer, one of the marks of a craft beer was that it always came in a bottle," he says. "But that's only because no craft breweries had canners. Once they started putting beer in cans, especially IPAs, it was eye-opening. It was way fresher tasting than anything I've ever had out of a bottle."

Roth estimates that Fox River currently puts about 20 percent of its total packaged product into cans despite the brewery not having a canner of its own. Fox River has been using the canning unit at Bare Bones along with mobile canning businesses that service craft breweries across the Midwest. Among Fox River's most recent canned offerings is BLU Bobber in tall, 19.2-ounce cans. "Ideally, I would put everything in cans," Roth says, "but the aluminum can shortage is making that harder to do."

Breweries began feeling that pinch last summer after there was a spike in demand for aluminum cans. In addition to craft brewers leaning into aluminum, there has been explosive growth in the sales of canned hard seltzer and sparkling water. But according to the Can Manufacturers Institute, the shortages should begin to ease this summer.

"I'm excited to see what happens coming into April," says Zach Clark at Fifth Ward. "We're going to be able to have our new releases here in the taproom and at the stores around the same time. We're only able to do that because of the flexibility we get from cans. The entire market has changed over the last couple of years and cans are a big part of that. People are always looking for the new thing. This is what people are looking for now."

The Blue Label Sample Room

Here we have Oshkosh's Blue Label Sample Room in a photo taken sometime between 1902 and 1905. We're looking at the west side of North Main in what is now the 100 block.

The proprietor, Leonard Michels, is the man on the left. He was born in Fond du Lac County in 1875, the son of German immigrants. Michels' saloon was tied to the Oshkosh Brewing Company. Signs for the brewery's beer fill the entranceway.

Michels died in Oshkosh in 1959. His saloon, and all the other older buildings along this stretch, was demolished in the early 1970s.

The 100 block of the west side of N. Main today.

Wookie Rye Roggenbier

Here's a rare style of ale that went on tap last week at Fox River in Oshkosh.

Wookie Rye is a Roggenbier, otherwise known as a rye beer. This one was made from a mash composed of 60% rye malt. All that rye comes across in a pronounced way. The malt flavors edge their way toward chocolate. People often talk of getting a spicy character from rye but to me, the flavor is closer to that sweet, molasses bite you find in brown sugar. 

The beer has a silky texture and plenty of mouthfeel. At 17 IBUs there's just enough bitterness for balance without it getting in the way. Wookie is 4% ABV, though you'd never guess that. It's a nice beer for this time of year when you want something a little more satisfying without having to down too much alcohol. Definitely a beer worth checking out.

A Bit of Back Story
There's a reason you don't see brewers producing a lot of rye beer. It's because modern brewing equipment doesn't favor the gummy, protein-rich wort that results from mashing rye malt. It makes for a long brew day.

"Runoff was problematic, as you might expect," says Drew Roth, head brewer at Fox River. "The sheer amount of syrup it produced from the proteins was truly impressive, both in the kettle and in the mash tun. The wort could only be described as slick."

That's the modern dilemma of brewing with rye. The flavors produced are rich and complex, but it's just so much damned work.

Prior to the 15th century – when European country brewers were still using wooden tubs for mashing – beers made from rye were common, especially in Bavaria. roggenbier was among the last of the Bavarian ales to have a place at the table in southern Germany. They were almost washed, however, by the 15th-century tsunami of South-German lager. The death knell for Bavarian roggenbier came with the Reinheitsgebot of 1516, which prohibited the use of rye malt in beer (long story short, they wanted to reserve rye as a food source).

So here you have it once again, a true rye ale in Oshkosh. Get it while you can. Oh, about that name, Wookie Rye. It's a hat tip to the Star Wars exhibit now at the Oshkosh Public Museum. Here are Drew Roth's notes on the beer. Prost!

Mamie Seymour and the North-Side Wildlife

Saturday, March 31, 1894
Chief Rudolph Weisbrod left the station and drove his buggy up to the north side. He was almost to the city limit when he stopped, tethered his horse, and entered the house where Mamie Seymour lived. Weisbrod arrested her for selling beer without a license. Then he went to the house next door and arrested Frankie Harris on the same charge. Weisbrod could have gotten both women for crimes more severe than selling beer. But that was not the point.

Seymour and Harris went before Judge James Hamilton Merrill. The Judge was a Civil-War vet and had long been an influential figure in Oshkosh (Merrill Middle School still bears his name). Judge Merrill knew what was being asked of him. He gave both women a meager, $1.50 fine. Seymour and Harris paid up and went back to the north side. Nobody took this shit seriously.

James Hamilton Merrill

Mamie Seymour and Frankie Harris lived on the east side of Ashland Street just south of Murdock. It was the north end of the old Fourth Ward. If you crossed over Murdock you were into Nordheim. This was the outskirts of town where city laws were treated more like suggestions. What thrived there in the 1890s is all gone. It's now another of those quiet Oshkosh neighborhoods that betrays none of its secrets. This was a neighborhood that once spawned scores of secrets.

The southeast corner of Murdock and Ashland streets.

During the 1890s there was a redlight district along the east side of Ashland Street (named Fremont Street until 1896). There were at least five brothels doing business there. They were all conducted by women. There was the house of Anna Adams, there was Nellie Franklin’s, Frankie Howard’s, Frankie Patterson’s, and near the north end of the street was Mamie Seymour’s. Mamie’s place was the best known. Mamie was a local celebrity; the belle of the Oshkosh underworld.

She was born Mamie Smith in Michigan in the summer of 1864. Her parents were Irish immigrants. Her early life remains an enigma. By 1885 she was living in Oshkosh. About this same time she began selling sex and using Seymour as her last name. She had arrived in the right town at just the right time. Rudolph J. Weisbrod was about to be named Oshkosh’s chief of police. The new chief took a broad-minded approach in dealing with the city's professional merchants of vice.

Rudolph Joseph Weisbrod

Mamie Seymour had her place on Ashland Street up and running by 1890. The first brothels along that strip had opened about five years earlier. They were referred to as resorts. That was a more fitting label. After all, flesh wasn’t the only thing on the menu. Mamie’s resort was part saloon, part restaurant, part music lounge. Of course, none of it was licensed or legal. But it was more or less accepted.

Mamie usually had five or six other women working out of her place. She also employed a maid, a cook, and a hack driver to taxi her around town and cart customers up from the downtown saloons. Mamie kept a piano player in residence named Philip Oberdorfer. They called Oberdorfer the Professor; an honorific frequently conferred upon whorehouse pianists.

If you could afford it, you could drink there. Mamie sold beer for 50 cents a bottle (about $16 in today's money). The price of sex ranged from $5 to $15, depending on your pleasure. Nothing there was cheap. A good paying job in Oshkosh at this time might bring home $12 a week. That wouldn’t go far at Mamie’s place. She catered to free-spending sports and wealthy hedonists.

Chief Weisbrod handled Mamie with kid gloves. He’d tag her every now and then with some menial liquor offense. It was just to show he was keeping an eye on things. "The periodical arrest of the keepers of disreputable resorts in this city took place this morning," was how the Northwestern described it after Mamie had been arrested in 1899. Once again, it was for selling beer without a license.

1887

Mamie ran an orderly resort. An anonymous Oshkosh cop told the Northwestern, "There was never a woman of her class in Oshkosh who caused them less trouble." That didn't mean there wasn't trouble. There was plenty of it. And despite her standing, Mamie and Chief Weisbrod had a falling out in the summer of 1895. Neither would say why.

Mamie was forced to vacate the house on Ashland. It was rumored she would move to an old farm owned by the Gratten family that was just over the city line in Nordheim. It never came to that. Mamie remained in Oshkosh and built a new house on the east side of Ashland Street about a half-block south of Murdock. She would run her business there for the next decade.

The red dot indicates the approximate location of Mamie's Harrison Street resort.

At the turn of the century Mamie was 35, fairly wealthy, and so well known that when she appeared at the Turner Hall fashion ball – where she was awarded first prize for best costume – the Northwestern referred to her simply by her nickname: Reddie. No other name required.

The other women working at her resort tended to be in their early or mid-20s. In polite society, they were referred to as "Inmates" or "White Slaves" as if their residency were involuntary. That was not the case. The women at Mamie's resort tended to come and go. Although there were those, like Bessie Mengel, who by the time she was 26 had been working out of Mamie's house for five years. The papers wrote of their "life of shame." That sort of knee-jerk chatter didn't count for much among the working girls.

In 1895, members of Oshkosh's Ladies Benevolent Society went to Chief Weisbrod with an allegation that one of the resorts on Ashland was holding a woman named Minnie Boyd against her will. Weisbrod told them he didn't believe it, but he sent a detective to check it out. When Boyd was interviewed she said it was a lie; that she could leave any time she cared to. Laughing, she told the detective "I'm not through sporting yet."

It wasn't all joy riding. The charged atmosphere attracted more than its share of violence. Hardly a year passed without some grim eruption. In 1898, Mamie "pounded" another woman in an alley behind an Oshkosh saloon. She pled guilty to an assault and battery charge and was fined $23.80. "Good deal of money for licking her," Mamie muttered to the clerk as she paid the fine.

The following week, a rival prostitute named Birdie Fox was shot to death by the man she loved, Oshkosh florist George Miles. Their drunken fight began after Fox discovered that Miles had been having a relationship with Mamie. Miles was charged with murder. Mamie was supposed to be the prosecution's star witness. But when she took the stand, Mamie went mum. Miles went free.

Most of the trouble was started by the customers. They'd come in drunk and bust up furniture and abuse the women. For example...

Henry Freeman, a well-known sport about town, is in the city lockup for raising a row in a sporting house. Last night he went to the resort of Mamie Seymour. He threw a beer glass at a girl known as Clara Beth. She dodged the glass and he picked up a spittoon and threw that at her. It struck her head and cut an ugly gash over her right eye… On his way to the station, he told the officer that he meant to kill her and that if she did not die he would finish the job as soon as he was free.
   – Oshkosh Daily Northwestern; July 20, 1891

Clara Beth refused to press charges. But that was the end of Freeman in Oshkosh. The next morning, Chief Weisbrod fined Freeman and ordered him to leave the city and never return.

The worst of the trouble occurred in 1903. Mamie had a full house on the Saturday night of May 9th. At 9:30 pm four more men arrived. One of the newcomers immediately pulled the phone out by the wire and smashed it. Then their guns came out and the plunder began.

There were 11 people at Mamie's place that evening. They were each stripped of whatever valuables they had on their person. "They had taken everything in sight except the heavy silverware," The Northwestern reported. "The men then proceeded to hold high carnival."

The gangsters spent the next two hours at the resort. Between the four of them, they drained 19 bottles of beer and a quart of whiskey. The Professor worked the piano all the while. Every now and then one of them would take a potshot at one of the captives to keep them in line. At least a half-dozen shots were fired. Around midnight they finally left.

Mamie had two alarms in her private room. One went directly to the police station. The other to the Phoenix Fire House on North Main. In her haste, Mamie pulled the wrong alarm. The Phoenix brigade passed by the robbers on the way to Mamie's resort.

The ringleader of the gang was a roving, 5'4" career criminal named Archie McMillan (alias Edward Gray). Oshkosh police caught up with McMillan the following day. He was found in the bed of a prostitute at a resort near the corner of 8th and South Main. Emma Graves, who ran the house, had tipped off police that her new customer might be someone they were looking for. When the cops burst in, McMillan tried going for his gun. He was immediately subdued, cuffed, and taken naked to the police station. McMillan was swiftly convicted and sentenced to 12 years in the state penitentiary at Waupun.

Archie McMillan

Newspaper reports of the crime were extensive. But it was left out that Mamie had been assaulted that night. Her assailant, James McCary, evaded police for three years. He was caught in Menasha in 1906 and brought back to Oshkosh. Along with his other crimes, McCary was charged with felonious assault “upon the person and body of one Mamie Seymour.” Mamie was gone by the time that came to pass.

Around 4 a.m. on the Saturday morning of February 10, 1905, Mamie suffered a stroke at her Harrison Street home. She died within a half-hour. Mamie Seymour was 40 years old.

Her name had been danced across the pages of the Daily Northwestern for years. Always with something sensational or depraved attached to it. The report of her death began like most other stories about her: with an obligatory mention of her presumed moral corruption. But this time, even the Northwestern gave Mamie her due.

"She was generous to a fault and even those who condemned her life admitted that she has done much for charity. No hungry person was turned away from her place and many poor families have been assisted by her. Many times in charitable work her large contribution would be given under the anonymous name of ‘A Friend’ and it was known that if one only be secured to approach her and ask for money for a charitable purpose a refusal would not result. As a consequence, she aided many people who were never aware of it."
   – Oshkosh Daily Northwestern; February 11, 1905.

The funeral was held two days later at Mamie's home. The service was conducted by Rev. E.H. Smith of Oshkosh's First Congregational Church. Mamie had kept family in Michigan unaware of her life in Oshkosh. They were told of her death by Mamie's longtime confidant John Larie, who ran the White Seal Saloon on North Main.

Mamie's estate was valued at over $10,000 (or about $325,000 in today's money). She left her brother Frank Smith $1,500. All the rest went to Larie.

John Larie

The death of Mamie Seymour coincided with another round of calls to have Oshkosh cleaned up once and for all. The clamor, as usual, came mostly from elites embarrassed by the city's reputation as a place of mythic libertinism.

"It is high time that the independent voters assert themselves and demand reform in the moral atmosphere of this city," wrote an anonymous Oshkosh business owner to the Northwestern in 1905. "When we go away from home we soon learn of the reputation that Oshkosh has. It is a state of affairs tolerated only in some of the wide-open western towns, where vice rules for twenty-four hours a day."

Most Oshkoshers would never embrace the kind of reform the gentry hoped to foist upon them. But the old guard, which had fostered the city's "wide-open" atmosphere, was giving way. Judge Merrill, who had been elected mayor of Oshkosh, died in office in 1900. His successor was the Progressive John Mulva, who in 1902 led a movement to have Rudolph Weisbrod removed as Chief of Police. The esteemed Civil-War vet fought off the challenge only to die later that year.

Rudolph Weisbrod, (left) in a photo taken during the Civil War, and Mayor John Mulva.

A new generation was coming to power. Their vision for the city wasn't expansive enough to include the likes of another Mamie Seymour. For 20 years she had flourished here in her own extravagant way. Mamie was utterly of her time. But that time had come to an end in Oshkosh.

Notes

The quotes used in this story were sourced from either Oshkosh newspapers or court reports.

I've mentioned Nordheim a couple of times here. This is a neighborhood that is now part of the City of Oshkosh. It's bounded by Libby Street to the north, Harrison Street to the east, Murdock Street to the south, and Jackson Street to the west. Nordheim was annexed by the City in the 1950s.

I first came across the name of Mamie Seymour in 2012 in an Oshkosh police ledger from 1894. Prior to this I knew nothing of her, but her name became stuck in my head. Over the years I came across her name again and again while doing research on other topics. I recently realized just how much information I had inadvertently gathered on her. This story is a bit off topic for this blog, but I felt compelled to share it here.

The 1894 police ledger.