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Transactions

Carl N. Haywood, Editor

134 Schofield Hall

University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire

Eau Claire, Wisconsin 54701

Production Editor

Janis Haywood

Poetry Editor

Bruce Taylor

Transactions welcomes articles that explore features of the State of Wisconsin and its people. Articles

written by Wisconsin authors on topics other than Wisconsin sciences, arts, and letters are also occa¬

sionally published.

Manuscripts, queries, and other correspondence should be addressed to the new editor after 1 April

1992:

William Urbrock

Associate Dean

College of Letters and Sciences

University of Wisconsin-Oshkosh

Oshkosh, Wisconsin 54901

Transactions is a publication of the Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts, and Letters, 1922 University

Avenue, Madison, Wisconsin 53705-4099.

© 1992

Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts, and Letters

Manufactured in the United States of America

All rights reserved '

TRANSACTIONS

of the Wisconsin Academy

of Sciences, Arts, and Letters

Volume 80

1992

Contents

The Ordeal of Being a Test Case: 1

In Quest of the Right to Practice Medicine in Wisconsin

Hania W. Ris

In 1949 the State Board of Medical Examiners denied a young, foreign-bom medical

doctor a license to practice medicine in Wisconsin, or even an opportunity to sit

for the examination for the license. The fact that she was licensed to practice in

two other states and had been on the faculty of two noted medical schools made

no difference. But Hania Ris was different, and her account of her successful

challenge of the Board’s decision and procedure will intrigue scholars and general

readers alike.

1988 Drought Impacts Among Wisconsin Dairy Farmers 21

John A . Cross

When a severe drought occurs in an area unused to this hazard, how are the farmers

affected? John Cross divided the state into nine districts and examined specific

drought-related problems. He also examined the question of why some farmers

went out of business during this period. The conclusions contain surprises.

Distribution, Abundance, Larval Habitats, and Phenology 35

of Spring Aedes Mosquitoes in Wisconsin (Diptera: Culicidae)

Jeffrey W. Gilardi and William L. Hilsenhoff

The spring mosquitoes that are a nuisance in wooded areas of Wisconsin belong

to the twenty-three species of Aedes . This paper summarizes previous studies in

Wisconsin and examines new larval and adult Aedes collected in nine representative

areas of the state. Two species were collected for the first time in Wisconsin.

Symbolism in the Cave of Montesinos 5 1

James T. Abraham

In a famous episode in Don Quixote the knight enters the legendary cave of Mon¬

tesinos, where he has a strange dream about the enchanted inhabitants of the cave.

This paper uses psychoanalytical theory to discuss the symbolism of the cave and

the dream and what they reveal about the psyche of Quixote and perhaps Cervantes

himself.

57

The Distribution of Franklin’s Ground Squirrel

in Wisconsin and Illinois

Timothy L. Lewis and Orrin J. Rongstad

Eastern populations of Franklin’s ground squirrel have declined in the past two

decades. The authors studied the range of this squirrel to determine whether a

reduction in range accompanied the population decline.

That Eyes May Be Free: 63

Mary North Allen Talks with Transactions Editor

Carl Haywood

What started as conversation about photography between Transactions editor Carl

Haywood and photographer Mary North Allen ended up covering much more.

Readers will glimpse the complexity, intellect, and vision of one of Wisconsin’s

premier photographers.

The Photography of Mary North Allen 72

Community Response to Floodplain Relocation 87

in Soldiers Grove, Wisconsin

Graham A. Tobin

The citizens’ response to frequent flooding in Soldiers Grove was to relocate the

downtown and several residential properties. This project is often cited as a suc¬

cessful example of multipurpose, community-sponsored planning. Although the

relocation was effective in preventing most flooding, Graham Tobin raises questions

about the social impact.

Depth, Substrate, and Turbidity Relationships 97

of Some Wisconsin Lake Plants

Stanley A . Nichols

In his continuing studies of Wisconsin’s lake plants, the author examines their

tolerance for varying growing conditions. The information gathered will be useful

in managing the state’s lake plant resources.

Poetry 119

Poetry editor Bruce Taylor has selected poems from some of Wisconsin’s well-

known poets and some of our newer, most promising poets for inclusion in this

volume.

IV

139

First Report of Natural Bridges in Eastern Wisconsin

Richard A . Pauli

Although natural bridges are well-known features in the Driftless Area of Wisconsin

and adjacent states, none of these delicate land forms is documented in the recently

glaciated region of Wisconsin. This paper describes natural bridges in two localities

along the Silurian escarpment in eastern Wisconsin.

Live Capture Methods of Sympatric Species 149

of Flying Squirrel

Thomas C. Engel, Michael J. Lemke, and Neil F. Payne

Standard methods of capturing other tree squirrels are not as effective for flying

squirrels. The objective of this study was to determine the trapping success for

sympatric species of flying squirrels relative to tree species, trap type, and the height

of the trap in the tree.

Range Extension of Northern Flying Squirrels 153

Thomas C. Engel, Michael J. Lemke, and Neil F. Payne

The authors examine the range habitats of northern and southern flying squirrels.

Their evidence extends the known range of the northern squirrels farther south into

Portage County.

The Modem Spiritual Condition and the Ancient Wisdom 155

of the I Ching

Claire E. Matthews

The I Ching or Book of Changes is an ancient Chinese manual of divination and

wisdom. It preceded Confucius, who wrote commentaries on it. Later Carl Jung

asserted his belief in its predictions. Claire Matthews presents a case for using the

1 Ching as a means of access to our own society’s beliefs.

Distribution, Abundance, and Diversity of Mollusks 163

(Bivalvia: Unionidae) from the

Lower Chippewa River, Wisconsin

Terry Balding

For four summers the author collected mussels from the Chippewa River between

Eau Claire and the Mississippi. Because freshwater mussels are a good ecological

indicator of water quality, these raw data will be especially valuable as we monitor

our environment during the next twenty-five to fifty years.

v

From the Editor

It was five years ago that I became editor of Transactions. It hardly seems that long, but

my commitment of five years as editor is fulfilled, and this volume is my last. This has been

a period of change in the activities of the Wisconsin Academy and in all its publications. But

the great tradition of the Academy in providing a mechanism for collecting and preserving

the creative, intellectual life of our state, and presenting that information to our citizens, has

continued. It is a history in which the Academy justifiably takes pride, and it has been an

honor to be associated, even for this short period, in the continuing process.

The changes in Transactions during the past five years were built on the groundwork

established by previous editors, particularly Kathryn and Philip Whitford, whose dedication

and work kept the journal alive. During my years as editor there have been a number of

changes. Poetry and photography have been added as regular sections. In addition to regular

issues, three special issues have been published: a history of the limnology program at UW-

Madison {Breaking New Waters), a poetry anthology ( Wisconsin Poetry), and a book on

treaty rights {Chippewa Treaty Rights). There has also been started an occasional series that

will result in at least two other publications. I am happy with these accomplishments, but

they are not those of a single editor. Patricia Duyfhuizen and Bruce Taylor deserve much

credit, and it is my pleasure to recognize their contributions and to thank them on behalf of

all who have enjoyed the results of their work.

Bruce built the poetry section from an idea into one of the exciting places to sample the

poetry of Wisconsin authors each year. It was Bruce who solicited and chose the poetry and

then wrote the introduction to the special issue entitled Wisconsin Poetry (Vol. 79, No. 2),

which has been extraordinarily well received. Bruce’s poetry readings at the annual convention

and around the state have done much to establish the Wisconsin Academy as one of the

leaders in encouraging Wisconsin poets.

Our former Production Editor, Patricia Duyfhuizen, enabled us to expand our services to

authors by increasing the level of professional scrutiny of the journal. Her advice, professional

judgment, and dedication added immensely to the journal. And her work with student interns

brought a level of professionalism that had not been available to previous editors.

When Patricia was unable to continue as Production Editor for this last volume under my

editorship, Transactions was fortunate to find Jan Haywood to produce the current issue.

Only those involved in publishing realize the seemingly unlimited number of mistakes possible

in the process. The professional scrutiny and advice Jan has provided have continued the high

quality of production our readers have come to expect. I am grateful to her for picking up

the work on short notice and for doing so with good humor.

Virtually every piece of paper, telephone call, or message associated with Transactions for

the past five years has been handled by Jan Kroll, a member of the Arts and Sciences staff

at UW-Eau Claire. Perhaps only she and I realize her role in the success of this journal. She

would, of course, dismiss it with “it’s my job,’’ but I know better and acknowledge her

contributions with sincere gratitude.

The current volume of Transactions contains some absorbing articles. The lead essay is an

examination of why a physician, licensed to practice medicine in two states and on the staff

of two noted medical schools, would be denied a medical license by reciprocity or even an

opportunity to sit for the examination to practice medicine in Wisconsin. Hania Ris’ story is

captivating. There are also the poetry section, an interview with Dresen Award-winning

vii

photographer Mary North Allen, along with a selection of her photographs, and articles on

subjects as diverse as the impact of the 1988 drought on Wisconsin dairy farmers, lake plants,

natural land bridges, spring mosquitoes, and ancient Chinese wisdom. And there is even more

for the reader to discover.

Bill Urbrock becomes the new editor with the publication of this volume. All further

correspondence, articles, and proposals should be sent to him at the address on the inside

front cover.

Carl N. Haywood

Editor, 1987-1992

The Ordeal of Being a Test Case:

In Quest of the Right

to Practice Medicine in Wisconsin

Hania W. Ris

When my husband Hans Ris accepted

an appointment as Associate Profes¬

sor in the Department of Zoology at the Uni¬

versity of Wisconsin-Madison in 1948, I was

intrigued. That was the year Life magazine

(6 September) ran its famous cover story

identifying Madison, Wisconsin, as Ameri¬

ca’s best place to live. Although I had an

interesting and prestigious position as a pe¬

diatrician in the Cornell Medical School De¬

partment of Pediatrics, I looked forward to

the move with anticipation. After diligently

studying the Life article, I became even more

enthusiastic. I learned that Madison, with a

population of 80,000, had three lovely lakes,

that the streets were lined with elms and ma¬

ples, that its many parks were maintained

with a very ample city appropriation. Its

“intelligent and alert populace’’ had a lit¬

eracy rate of 98%, and 17% had attended

college. The schools had an excellent repu¬

tation, pertinent information for a couple ex¬

pecting their first child in March 1949. Baby¬

sitters were easily available because of a large

student population. The city had many cul¬

tural groups. The university supported sev¬

eral “artists in residence’’ including a painter

as well as musicians. Drama was provided

Hania W. Ris, M.D., has been a member of the De¬

partment of Pediatrics, UW -Madison Medical School,

for thirty -five years. She is a peace activist and champion

of women’s rights, reproductive rights, the prevention

of teenage pregnancy, quality day care, and national

health insurance. She writes newspaper and magazine

features, as well as scientific papers. An abstract painter,

she has had several one -woman exhibits.

by the Lunts, who lived nearby and usually

opened their new plays in Madison. The ar¬

ticle even referred to the importance of the

Madison League of Women Voters and its

influence on civic decisions.

At the time of the University of Wisconsin

offer we were living in New York City. My

husband, a biologist, had been working in

the field of cytology (structure, function, and

pathology of the cell) at the Rockefeller In¬

stitute for Medical Research. I was working

with Dr. May Wilson at the Children’s Car¬

diac Clinic of New York Hospital as a Fellow

in Pediatrics as well as teaching on the staff

of Cornell University Medical School.

Hania Ris today

1

Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

Before my departure I had to certify my

medical documents. To my amazement and

amusement, I was warned by the physician

in charge that I was moving to a “socialist

state”!

In order to learn something about Wis¬

consin state politics, I read about “Fighting

Bob” La Follette and his Progressive Party,

which lost to the Democrats after the Second

World War. Although La Follette had been

dead for twenty years, his ideas of social

reforms, including care of the unemployed

and the elderly, had left permanent marks on

Wisconsin. It was the first state to pass a

workmen’s compensation law, in 1932, and

to prohibit child labor. Its law became a

prototype for other states. La Follette also

promoted the idea that the state government

should use the university as its first resource

and the university in turn should exert its

influence on the entire state.

All this information added to our convic¬

tion that Madison would be an interesting and

stimulating place to live and to raise a family.

My husband was especially urged to accept

the position by a friend and colleague, Charles

Leonard Huskins, Professor of Botany at the

university. A Canadian, he had been Profes¬

sor of Botany at McGill University in Mon¬

treal until he moved to Madison in 1945. He

and his wife Margaret and their three children

befriended us and offered their home when

we arrived in Madison in June 1949 with our

three-month-old son, Christopher. The

Huskins lived in a spacious older house on

Vilas Avenue near the Vilas Zoo. We stayed

with them a fortnight, and we could not have

had a warmer and more gracious welcome.

The Huskins remained our friends and wise

advisors until their deaths in 1953.

In July 1949 we moved to the University

Houses, built by the Wisconsin Alumni As¬

sociation the previous year for faculty and

families, and later given to the state. A gen¬

erous gesture, but the architecture left some¬

thing to be desired. Imagine a kitchen with

one drawer and minimal counter space! As

an ardent admirer of Frank Lloyd Wright, a

native son of Wisconsin, I could never un¬

derstand why the “Williamsburg” style of

architecture had been chosen. But taking into

account the prevailing housing shortage, we

were grateful.

After getting settled I was ready to con¬

tinue my pediatric work. In preparation for

the move to Wisconsin, I had had the appli¬

cation form for medical licensing in Wis¬

consin completed and certified by the Board

of Medical Examiners of Maryland in June

1949 for the purpose of licensure by reci¬

procity. I had been granted a license to prac¬

tice medicine by the Maryland Board of Ex¬

aminers in 1941, after passing on the first

attempt what was considered a very rigorous

examination, and after I had worked and

studied in this country for only one and a

half years. I had obtained my New York li¬

cense to practice medicine in 1942 through

reciprocity — a standing agreement between

two state boards of medical examiners. Wis¬

consin and Maryland also had a reciprocity

agreement, and I expected to obtain a Wis¬

consin license in the same way. I was there¬

fore totally unprepared for what followed.

I submitted my duly certified application

and my curriculum vitae to the Wisconsin

State Board of Medical Examiners (hereafter

The new Dr. Ris, circa 1937

2

In Quest of the Right to Practice Medicine in Wisconsin

referred to as the Board). My vitae outlined

my experience:

1 937— Graduation with Doctor of Medicine

degree from the Medical School of the Uni¬

versity of Zurich, Switzerland.

1937-39 — Assistant in Pediatrics at the

Children’s Hospital of the University of Zurich.

1939- 40 — Year’s internship in Baltimore.

1940- 41 and 1943-49 — A total of seven

years at the Johns Hopkins Pediatrics Depart¬

ment, including one year of work with Dr. Helen

Taussig, cardiologist, the originator of the world-

famous operation which corrected the defects

in the hearts of “blue babies.’’

1942-43 — Resident in Pediatrics, Chil¬

dren’s Hospital, and Instructor of Pediatrics,

University of Cincinnati Medical School.

1948-49 — Assistant Pediatrician, New York

Hospital, and Fellow in Pediatrics, Cornell

University Medical School.

All of these positions required teaching of

medical students. My experience included

clinical work in syphilis and diabetes, and I

had conducted several Well Baby Clinics for

the Baltimore City Health Department. I also

included letters of recommendation from

prominent physicians with whom I had

worked.

Round I

To my amazement, on 15 July 1949 all of

my credentials were returned to me with the

following arbitrary denial: “The Board of

Medical Examiners of the State of Wisconsin

is not licensing foreign graduates at the pres¬

ent time. It is hoped that within the not too

distant future we will be able to get reports

on the foreign schools which might enable

us to license graduates of some of them.”

To my further dismay, I learned that the

State Board, at a meeting held in 1937, had

adopted a policy of refusing any qualifying

examinations for graduates of foreign uni¬

versities, with the exception of graduates from

approved Canadian schools. This ruling co¬

incided with the immigration to the United

States of a number of physicians threatened

by racial and political persecution in Ger¬

many and other parts of Europe. Critics sug¬

gested that the Board’s 1937 ruling was self-

serving, aimed at eliminating competition and

creating a monopoly under the guise of pro¬

tecting the health of Wisconsin citizens. Other

states had passed similar measures.

Some in government questioned the Board’s

action. I learned that in 1948, Wisconsin

Representative Ruth Doyle had proposed a

bill requiring the Board to provide any ap¬

plicant denied the right to take the exami¬

nation with written notification of the reasons

for denial. It also provided that the Board be

subjected to judicial review of its decisions

in the same manner as other state boards and

commissions. The purpose was to provide

the applicant with an orderly procedure through

the courts. It was blocked by the successful

lobbying of both the Board and the Wiscon¬

sin State Medical Society (hereafter referred

to as the Medical Society).

There is indisputable evidence that the Board

was making exceptions to the 1937 ruling,

however. In reviewing the minutes of the

Board in 1989, 1 discovered, to my surprise,

that it had allowed Dr. Harry Leeb, an

American-born graduate of the University of

Bern Medical School, Switzerland, to obtain

his license. Although denied that right on his

first appearance before the Board on 1 1 Jan¬

uary 1938, Dr. Leeb was granted licensure

at the Board’s subsequent meeting on 27 June-

1 July 1938, during which Dr. Leeb’s case

was discussed “at length” by Mr. Resh of

the attorney general’s office. A resolution

was adopted unanimously that since Dr. Leeb

had received his medical education at the

University of Bern prior to the adoption of

the 1937 ruling, and because of the “mis¬

taken assumption based upon correspon¬

dence with the Board that the Board would

recognize such a school,” Dr. Leeb was per¬

mitted to take the examination. This reso¬

lution also stipulated that the permission would

not extend to other graduates of foreign med¬

ical schools.

Additionally, the Milwaukee Journal, 5

December 1948, reported that an American-

born, Swiss-trained physician had been li¬

censed within the previous three years by the

3

Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

Board, after passing an examination given

especially for him.

Ironically, there was a shortage of physi¬

cians at the time in Wisconsin, as frequently

reported in the Milwaukee Journal and other

newspapers. Indeed, prior to our move to

Wisconsin, I had been contacted in January

1949 by Dr. Amy Hunter, Director of Ma¬

ternal and Child Health, Wisconsin Depart¬

ment of Health, who offered me a position

contingent on my obtaining a license. She

had written me after hearing from Dr. Leona

Baumgartner, Director of the New York City

Health Department, that I would be available

for employment.

I responded to the notification of my re¬

jection by the State Board with a letter dated

8 August 1949, pointing out that I had grad¬

uated from the University of Zurich in 1937,

before the war, that the medical school was

considered one of the best on the European

continent, that I had had ten years of expe¬

rience in the United States teaching in three

leading medical schools, including Johns

Hopkins, and that I was certified in 1944 by

the American Board of Pediatrics, a national

professional organization that certifies com¬

petence in the field.

The Board did not keep me long in sus¬

pense. In its 12 August 1949 reply, it stated:

“It is a definite policy of the Board ... at

this time to grant no licensure to graduates

of foreign schools other than Canadian.” Fol¬

lowing the second refusal, I asked for the

privilege of appearing before the Board at its

10 January 1950 meeting. It met regularly

only twice a year, in January and July. Per¬

mission was granted.

My presentation was factual and legalistic.

I emphasized that the University of Zurich,

from which I had graduated, was comparable

to the American schools with which I was

familiar: Johns Hopkins, Cincinnati, and

Cornell. All my records, European and

American, were available for review. I pointed

out that the Board had, in 1925, licensed Dr.

Karl F. Schlaepfer, a graduate of the Uni¬

versity of Zurich Medical School and an

American citizen. (I had become an Amer¬

ican citizen in 1944.) Dr. Schlaepfer was

practicing at that time in Milwaukee, and his

licensure showed that the Board had already

accepted Zurich as a reputable school.

In addition, I stated that I had been advised

that my credentials could be submitted by the

proper authorities for evaluation by Dr. Helen

Dwight Reid, Chief, European Section, Di¬

vision of International Educational Rela¬

tions, Federal Security Agency, Office of Ed¬

ucation, Washington, D.C. Dr. Reid had also

advised me as follows: “The fact that you

have been accepted for postgraduate training

in American institutions and licensed in two

other states should be helpful in obtaining

recognition, if the State can make any ex¬

ception to its general regulation.” I informed

the Board that I had been considered for a

position with the State of Wisconsin Board

of Health which called for a person with my

pediatric training. I added to my previously

submitted letters of recommendation one from

Dr. Helen Taussig, the world-renowned child

cardiologist with whom I had worked at Johns

Hopkins from 1940-41, testifying to my

character and professional competence and

the reputability of the University of Zurich

Medical School.

To my continuing dismay and growing sense

of unreality, I was once again denied the right

to be admitted for examination for licensure

to practice medicine in Wisconsin. The three

and a half nonchalant lines in the Board’s

minutes hardly reflect the impact that this

decision had on my life: “Dr. Hania Ris,

graduate of the University of Zurich, Switz¬

erland, in 1937, appeared. She answered

questions asked by the Board members rel¬

ative to her professional education and his¬

tory, following which she was informed that

her application was temporarily, at least, re¬

fused. Dr. Ris left the meeting.”

Inner politics of Board and

Medical Society

In the course of preparing for my 10 Jan¬

uary 1950 meeting with the Board, I had been

advised by a respected senior pediatrician,

Dr. Horace Tenney of Madison, to consult

4

In Quest of the Right to Practice Medicine in Wisconsin

with two officers of the Medical Society. I

found Mr. C. H. Crownhart, attorney and

secretary of the Society, and Mr. Tom Doran,

Society employee, both courteous and will¬

ing to advise. It was my impression that they

were sympathetic to my plight and interested

in my obtaining the license. As members of

a professional organization dealing with the

public, they appeared to be concerned about

the image the Medical Society was projecting.

By contrast, the State Board was a legal

body; its eight members (seven physicians

and one osteopath) were appointed by the

governor for a period of four years. I learned

that Dr. C. A. Dawson, the powerful sec¬

retary of the Board and a homeopath, had

run for the office of lieutenant governor. When

Dawson was defeated, Governor Goodland

appointed him to serve as secretary of the

Board of Medical Examiners. The remaining

seven members of the Board were appointed

at Dr. Dawson’s suggestion.

All the members of the Board, with the

exception of the osteopath, were members

of the Medical Society and active in its

affairs. Since the Board and the Medical

Society always presented a united front be¬

fore the legislature in matters such as the

Medical Practice Act, in the eyes of the

public they were not differentiated. It is

germane to note that the Medical Society

had always been a conservative body, cau¬

tious in endorsing new ideas.

A letter from the past sheds light

In my recent search— some thirty-four years

after my original request for licensure— for

documentation indicating covert deliberation

regarding my case, I found nothing other than

my original application in my file or under

various headings such as “Foreign Gradu¬

ates,” at the Historical Society Archives or

in the office of the State Board. My written

testimony presented to the Board, various

documents submitted, the Board’s corre¬

spondence with the Council of Medical Ed¬

ucation of the American Medical Association

(AMA) and with the University of Zurich

Medical School, and the correspondence be¬

tween my attorney and the Board cannot be

found even at the office of the Board. But

my file at the Medical Society (not available

to the public) contained, among other infor¬

mative documents, a letter by C. H.

Crownhart, secretary of the Medical Society.

This letter was sent to me in 1984 by courtesy

of Mr. Earl Thayer, at the time secretary of

the Medical Society. A consultation in 1989

with the attorney general’s office revealed

that it should have been part of the public

documents of the State Board. It was either

suppressed or overlooked, to my detriment.

Crownhart’ s letter of 23 November 1949

was addressed to Dr. H. H. Christofferson

of Colby, Wisconsin, a member of the Board,

a member of the Council of the Medical So¬

ciety, and its president-elect. It was written

six weeks before my 10 January 1950 hearing

before the Board. Three and one-half pages,

single-spaced, the letter was a legal attack

on the Board’s position against licensing for¬

eign graduates in general, and its refusal to

license me in particular.

Mr. Crownhart pointed out that he did not

recall any instance in which there was a di¬

vergence of opinion between the Medical So¬

ciety and the Board. When, in 1948,

“Assemblywoman Ruth Doyle, along with

other legislators interested in the problem of

the foreign graduate, brought in a proposal

to amend the law to make it easier for these

people to qualify, the State Board and the

State Society saw eye to eye on the effect of

that bill. As a matter of fact the Secretary of

the State Board and the Secretary of the State

Medical Society appeared at the hearing and

explained the problem.” Both secretaries must

have been very persuasive in defending the

status quo; the bill did not pass.

However, Mr. Crownhart also pointed out

in his letter that before the Board adopted the

1937 ruling against admitting graduates of

foreign medical schools to examinations, the

graduates of such schools could apply and

their credentials would be verified. As a re¬

sult, there were many foreign-educated phy¬

sicians practicing in Wisconsin. Then Mr.

Crownhart cited my case, emphasizing that

5

Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

I had graduated from the University of Zurich

in 1937 before the war, that I had had ten

years of postgraduate training in this country

in addition to teaching in three medical

schools, and that I was accredited as a spe¬

cialist by the American Board of Pediatrics

and was a member of national medical so¬

cieties. Furthermore, he noted that I was being

considered for appointment in one of the state

agencies on the basis of my credentials and

recommendations .

“It is my feeling,” Mr. Crownhart con¬

tinued in his letter,

that the odds are about even that this particular

situation may ultimately result in wide public

knowledge of her problem. ... It seems to me

that the public would feel that this woman was

entitled to the examination. As a matter of fact

they would feel that even if her school of grad¬

uation should have been inferior to American

schools in the type of training offered, that her

subsequent training as an intern and as a resi¬

dent, and her acceptance on the teaching faculty

of several schools would have overcome what¬

ever deficiencies she might have had from her

academic training.

Mr. Crownhart continued:

I have read the Medical Practice Act many times.

As I have told the Board I, as an attorney, fail

to find in it authority under which the Board

may adopt any blanket rule. The burden of

proof is, undoubtedly, upon the applicant. I

would not question that for one minute, but

unless the Board considers the application and

the applicant’s qualifications and gives that in¬

dividual an opportunity to fulfill the burden that

is upon her or him, it seems to me that the

Board has failed to follow the spirit or the letter

of the law.

Unaware of this letter as I was for forty years,

I could not have known at the time what an

advocate I had — a competent attorney in an

official position at the Medical Society who

was cognizant of the political scene.

My case gains notoriety , or

“Can’t Examiners Examine?”

Indeed my 10 January 1950 appearance

before the Board generated a great deal of

publicity, accurately reported, and all of it

critical of the Board. Europeans traditionally

eschew publicity; I was crushed! I was to

grow more accustomed to and more grateful

for the press as my case was championed over

the following year on the editorial pages of

the Capital Times, the Wisconsin State Jour¬

nal, the Milwaukee Journal, and the Mil¬

waukee Sentinel. Headlines were often bluntly

critical of the establishment: “The State Board

of Medical Examiners Continues to Operate

a Closed Shop,” “Medical Monopoly Still

Upheld,” “The State Board of Medical Ex¬

aminers Continues Its Stubborn Policy,” and

“Can’t Examiners Examine?” It is hard to

remember any other such instance when these

four newspapers, with their otherwise diver¬

gent opinions, acted in such unison.

During this period of publicity the Board

cited cases in defense of its policies. Another

physician, Dr. Ralph Smith, a graduate of

Edinburg Medical School and formerly a pro¬

fessor in Canada, was denied a license to

practice in Wisconsin. He was later found to

be a drug addict.

Another case was that of a Dr. Dubin. In

1930 he had presented himself as a graduate

cum laude of Maximilian University in

Wurzberg, Germany. He was permitted to

write the examination eight times, with fail¬

ure each time. It was later discovered that he

had never actually graduated from Maximi¬

lian University and that by a special dispen¬

sation he had been permitted to take an ex¬

amination and present a doctoral thesis.

I was confronted with this case of forgery

when I was referred by some prominent Wis¬

consin physicians to an administrator asso¬

ciated with the Wisconsin State Laboratory

of Hygiene in the hope that he might inter¬

vene in my behalf. It was devastating for me

to have this prominent administrator insin¬

uate that my own veracity might be

questionable.

In a similarly distressing encounter, a highly

placed medical educator told me that aca¬

demic medicine would be closed to me for¬

ever because of the publicity, that one does

6

In Quest of the Right to Practice Medicine in Wisconsin

From the Capital Times, 17 February 1950 . Courtesy of the State Fiistorica! Society of Wisconsin.

not go public with such complaints in the

United States and especially in Wisconsin. I

informed him that I myself had been per¬

turbed by the publicity and explained that I

had no control over it. He indicated doubt

about this, and ironically an editorial critical

of the Board appeared in the Capital Times

the next evening.

I was not surprised that support for my

plight was not coming from physicians in

private practice, but this prejudiced treatment

from physicians in academic medicine was

unsettling. I was told that Dr. Amy Hunter,

who had offered me the state position on the

basis of my credentials, tried to intervene and

for her efforts was rebuffed by her superior

in the State Health Department. I grew

desperate.

A confidential source within the Medical

Society staff who began advising me about

this time informed me that several physi¬

cians, members of the Medical Society, had

gone to the Governor and asked him to in¬

tervene. But Dr. Dawson, secretary of the

Board, had anticipated their move and pre¬

sented my case to the Governor in a fashion

that made him believe the Board would be

breaking the law by granting me a license,

an interpretation that distorted the law. I was

also told that several physicians hoped I would

7

Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

take my case to court. But none of them had

the courage to protest the restrictive policy

openly.

The biggest blow to my morale was a press

release issued by the Medical Society un¬

conditionally endorsing the Board’s policy

against licensing foreign graduates. In re¬

sponse to criticism by the media, the Medical

Society, on 18 February 1950, issued a news

release commending the State Board for act¬

ing in “good faith in the matter of reviewing

qualifications of those educated in foreign

countries.” It complimented the State Board

for being a moving factor in initiating a study

of foreign medical schools by the AM A. At

that time, thirty-eight schools had been ap¬

proved, but Swiss schools had not as yet been

evaluated. To counteract any suspicion of

prejudice, the Medical Society added that the

“Board consists of highly respected individ¬

uals, many of whose immediate forebears

come from foreign countries.”

If the State Board had done any “fence¬

building,” of which it was accused, the news

release continued, it had done so only “to

protect the health of the people of this state

. . . through the legislative and judicial pro¬

cesses.” Yet this was the very process that

had been described privately by Mr.

Crownhart, the Medical Society’s attorney,

as a failure “to follow either the spirit or the

letter of the law.”

But the communique opened one door,

namely, that the Board would “ continue

[emphasis added] in the future to receive ap¬

plications from graduates of schools not as

yet formally qualified.” (Yet I had been de¬

nied this right when I had appeared before

the Board in January 1950, only five weeks

earlier.) The applicant would have the burden

of proof to demonstrate that “he was trained

under the same general conditions as are re¬

quired of those attending the medical school

of the University of Wisconsin.”

This statement gave me some hope. Ironi¬

cally, during that time many European and

American medical academics were critical of

the quality of institutions such as the Uni¬

versity of Wisconsin Medical School. For

instance, at Wisconsin the Department of Pe¬

diatrics was part of Internal Medicine and

did not become independent until 1957. Sim¬

ilarly, the Department of Psychiatry did not

become independent from the Department of

Neurology until 1956. In contrast, the De¬

partment of Pediatrics of my medical school

at the University of Zurich was headed by

the world-renowned Professor Guido Fanconi.

I had also been privileged to study under

Professor W. R. Hess, Director of the Phys¬

iological Institute of the University of Zurich,

who received the 1949 Nobel Prize in Med¬

icine and whose work greatly enhanced phys¬

iologic and psychiatric thinking throughout

the world. American physicians used to come

to Zurich for postgraduate training and to

work with such other famous department

chairpersons as Professor Guido Miecher

(dermatologist and venerealogist), Professor

Hans Rudolf Schinz (roentgenologist), and

Professor Otto Naegeli (hematologist). The

departments of pediatrics in which I had trained

in this country for ten years prior to seeking

the Wisconsin medical license were also in¬

dependent; the Department of Pediatrics at

Johns Hopkins had been independent

since 1914.

One other hopeful note in the Medical So¬

ciety release was its endorsement of a pro¬

posal that the Board consider “such addi¬

tional training as an applicant may have

acquired since coming to this country.” (The

Board never acted on this endorsement in

my case.)

In response to this press release, the Mil¬

waukee Journal printed an editorial entitled

“Whitewash for Doctors’ Fence” on 20 Feb¬

ruary 1950. It attacked the policy of the Board

in protecting its selfish professional interests:

“Doctors of unquestioned ability and repute

have been arbitrarily barred from examina¬

tion in Wisconsin by a policy of the Board

which was never imposed by the legislature,

courts or public. Communities and institu¬

tions in need of those doctors have been de¬

nied them — by the Board and by nobody else.’ ’

Yet Mr. Crownhart, secretary of the Med¬

ical Society, defended the Board’s actions in

8

In Quest of the Right to Practice Medicine in Wisconsin

a letter responding to this editorial which was

published in the Milwaukee Journal and re¬

produced in the Wisconsin Medical Journal,

March 1950. It seems impossible to reconcile

this public statement with his letter sent to

Dr. Christofferson in November 1949.

A steady source of encouragement

While battling what seemed a no-win sit¬

uation, I contacted my former teacher and

mentor, Dr. Edwards A. Park, recently re¬

tired and former chairman of the Department

of Pediatrics of the Johns Hopkins Medical

School. Though others helped, I am con¬

vinced that his tireless one and one-half year

interventions with the AMA were crucial to

my obtaining my license to practice medicine

in Wisconsin.

Dr. Park, a nationally and internationally

renowned pediatrician, became my steady

source of encouragement. At age seventy-

one he took it upon himself to fight my battle

with youthful vigor. He wanted to know every

detail of my dealings with the Board. I wrote

lengthy letters to him to which he always

responded promptly, frequently after con¬

sultation with individuals who he thought

might help. This correspondence became a

useful reference for documenting my case

(and was recently accepted by the Johns

Hopkins Medical Archives to broaden the

profile of Dr. Park).

In his comforting letter to me after the

Board’s second refusal to recognize my ap¬

plication, Dr. Park wrote on 25 January 1950:

“May I say that I was incensed at your treat¬

ment by the examining Board in Wisconsin.

... I am sure you will receive your license,

the examining Board will not dare refuse it

after their exposure by the press. They will

probably wait long enough to save their face.’’

Dr. Park wrote me on 8 March 1950: “The

whole affair makes me ashamed of my coun¬

try and particularly ashamed of the medical

profession.” In a letter dated 22 March 1950

he informed me: “ Time [magazine] has writ¬

ten that they will accept a letter from me on

your case in Wisconsin.” At the urging of

Dr. Donald G. Anderson, secretary of the

Council to the House of Delegates of the

AMA, Dr. Park postponed sending this letter

in order to allow Dr. Anderson to intervene

in my behalf. On 11 April 1950 Dr. Park

wrote to me again noting his request to Dr.

Anderson and further explained, “I hesitate

to take too open a part for the reason that I

am anathema, having headed the protest

against organized medicine. By some I am

regarded as having communistic leanings.”

Round II

In response to the Board’s statement that

it would accept new evidence from the ap¬

plicants as to the reputability of their medical

schools, I resubmitted my credentials on 5

April 1950 to Dr. Dawson, secretary of the

Board. It included the enumeration of every

lecture, every course and laboratory exercise,

certified by the Zurich Medical School. I also

sent a money order for fifty dollars to cover

the reciprocity fee with Maryland, for which,

as I was told by Dr. Dawson, I was to be

eligible, once the reputability of the Zurich

Medical School was established. I also asked

him to consider my application at the forth¬

coming meeting on 19 April 1950.

I accompanied my application with a letter

from Dr. Marion Sulzberger, an American-

born U.S. citizen, a world-renowned der¬

matologist and allergist who was at the time

professor and chairman of the Department of

Dermatology and Syphilology at the Post-

Graduate Medical School, New York Uni¬

versity. He had graduated from the Univer¬

sity of Zurich Medical School in 1926, just

eleven years prior to my graduation. He had

written several textbooks and more than a

hundred articles and had contributed greatly

to his fields of expertise. I could not have

had a better testimony to the reputability of

the University of Zurich Medical School. In¬

deed, some of my teachers were the same as

those of Dr. Sulzberger. At the time I was a

student, Dr. Sulzberger had returned to Zu¬

rich for postgraduate training. How could the

Board ignore these facts?

Providing another written testimony was

Professor Karl Meyer, a Swiss native and

9

Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

Professor of Experimental Pathology at the

University of California Medical Center- San

Francisco.

My application, dated 5 April, was ac¬

knowledged by Dr. Dawson on 10 April 1950.

His letter stated that although the one-day

meeting of the Board on 19 April would have

a heavy agenda, “I shall present your ap¬

plication in its entirety to the Board at that

time.’ ’ When I did not hear from Dr. Dawson

within the following two weeks, I wrote him

on 6 May to inquire about the action the

Board had taken in my case. Dr. Dawson

replied on 10 May saying that the matter of

foreign graduates had not been considered.

He added, “The fact of the matter is that no

change in the policy regarding foreign grad¬

uates is possible at this time inasmuch as no

addition has been made to the list of the ap¬

proved schools issued by the AMA.” This

statement reversed the Board’s alleged public

change of policy that it would honor the right

of the applicant to prove the reputability of

the school of graduation. It became clear to

me that the Board’s intention was not only

to stall but to deny me the license permanently.

Dr. Dawson also mentioned in his letter

that the next meeting of the Board would be

held in Milwaukee on 11-13 July 1950; if I

wished to appear I should let the Board know,

and they would notify me as to place and

time of my appearance. On 17 May I wrote

Dr. Dawson to confirm my interest, adding:

“Undoubtedly, you have by now reviewed

the standing of the Medical School of the

University of Zurich in the prewar period [on

the basis of documents I submitted] .... If

there is any further evidence that you would

like to have presented to prove that ... the

University of Zurich Medical School . . .

provided training equivalent to the Medical

School of the University of Wisconsin, I will

make every effort to obtain such evidence.’’

I had been warned by my confidential source

at the Medical Society that since Dr. Dawson

withheld information and communication from

other members of the Board, I should dis¬

tribute a copy of each communication to every

Board member. This was still a world with¬

out photocopy machines. If I did not advance

my medical career during this interim, I cer¬

tainly did advance my secretarial and para¬

legal skills.

The warning was not idle. I did not hear

from Dr. Dawson until I wrote him again on

3 July, this time sending a copy to each mem¬

ber of the Board. The time constraint was

nerve-wracking and intimidating. Had I missed

the semiannual meeting, I would have had

to wait another six months. Dr. Dawson re¬

sponded with a letter dated 5 July 1950 giving

me an appointment for 12 July at 2 p.m. at

the Pfister Hotel in Milwaukee. There was

no response to my inquiry as to whether the

Board wished to have additional documents

to prove the reputability of my medical school.

Approval of Swiss medical schools

By 1949, the year my fight for licensure

began, the problem of licensing foreign grad¬

uates had assumed national and political di¬

mensions. A report by the Council on Med¬

ical Education and Hospitals to the delegates

of the AMA on 6 June 1949 recognized these

dimensions: “In the past fifteen years more

than 10,000 foreign trained physicians have

migrated to the United States and it may be

expected in the years ahead that at least 1 ,000

foreign medical graduates will be coming to

this country annually.’’ The Council recog¬

nized that the state licensure boards had no

way by which to evaluate foreign medical

schools, and consequently some excluded all

foreign medical graduates, while others ad¬

mitted all foreign graduates to their exami¬

nation for licensure. (In 1949 only twelve

state medical examining boards admitted for¬

eign graduates to examinations for licen¬

sure.) The Council proposed that the House

of Delegates empower it to evaluate foreign

medical schools, which it did.

In preparing to appear before the Board I

learned that on 24 June 1950 the Council on

Medical Education and Hospitals of the AMA

approved five Swiss medical schools, in¬

cluding that of the University of Zurich. Again

my confidential source told me that Dr.

Dawson would try to suppress this infor-

10

In Quest of the Right to Practice Medicine in Wisconsin

mation in order to prevent me from obtaining

the license and to justify his original refusal.

I contacted Dr. Donald G. Anderson, Sec¬

retary of the AM A Council, and asked him

to notify Dr. Dawson about the Council’s

decision. Dr. Anderson kindly obliged on 8

July by letter. On 7 July I received a wire

from the Council of the AM A informing me

of the Board’s notification. Dr. Park’s cor¬

respondence with Dr. Anderson on my behalf

had paved the way to this unprecedented

cooperation.

But there was a problem lurking in the

Council decision. In its evaluation of the Swiss

medical schools, the Council of the AM A

had reviewed their status after 1940, at which

time a new degree was introduced for non-

Swiss citizens: Akademische Zeugnis or the

Certificat d’ Etudes Medic ales (Certificate of

Medical Studies). The only degree available

to non-Swiss citizens like myself at the time

of my graduation in 1937 had been the M.D.

degree, which the Council of the AM A did

not approve. The Council also approved a

second degree, the Swiss Federal Diploma,

for which only Swiss citizens were eligible.

At the time of my study in Switzerland I was

a Polish citizen, although I later became Swiss

through marriage.

The AMA recommendation specified that

the requirement for both approved degrees

was at least eight semesters of study. I was

in my tenth semester when I passed the ex¬

amination for my M.D. degree and thereafter

completed three additional semesters of post¬

graduate study. I took the same courses and

lectures required of the Swiss students eli¬

gible for the Federal Diploma.

Immediately following my degree in 1937

I was granted a position as Assistant in Pe¬

diatrics at the Children’s Hospital of the Uni¬

versity of Zurich, working under the re¬

nowned pediatrician, Professor Guido

Fanconi. I performed the same duties as my

Swiss colleagues holding the Federal Di¬

ploma. I held this position for two years be¬

fore coming to the United States in March

1939, and I had a statement from Professor

Fanconi attesting to these facts. In spite of

this evidence of my training, I surmised that

the Board would use the AMA evaluation as

a weapon against me. I did not err.

On the advice of my confidential source,

I engaged a lawyer. My fortunate choice was

James Doyle, who later became a federal

judge and was married to Assemblywoman

Ruth Doyle.

The date of my appearance before the Board

on 12 July to defend my case was fast ap¬

proaching. On 8 July an important letter was

written by Dr. Kenneth McDonough, As¬

sociate Professor of Pediatrics, University of

Wisconsin, to Dr. J. W. Smith, president of

the Board:

Dr. Ris has made rounds and attended staff

meetings at the Wisconsin General Hospital in

Madison during the past year. I have been im¬

pressed with her intelligence, her knowledge

of medicine in general, and her understanding

of pediatrics, the field in which she is partic¬

ularly interested and for which she has excellent

training. We also have the opportunity to know

her professionally and believe that she will make

a fine practitioner. She will render a valuable

service to the community and state.

On the crucial day, I drove with my at¬

torney to Milwaukee. I did not plan to have

him appear with me at the meeting unless

there was nothing further to lose. Dr. Park

feared that having me represented by a law¬

yer might antagonize the Board. Members of

the press representing major Wisconsin

newspapers were also present.

I spoke and supplemented my oral presen¬

tation with two concise written statements.

One addressed itself to the reputability of the

University of Zurich Medical School and the

other to the approval of the Swiss medical

schools in general. I specifically explained

why I could not possess the Certificate of

Medical Studies. It seemed so simple. This

particular degree was introduced in 1940, and

I had graduated in 1937.

The Board at first denied knowledge of the

AMA’s approval of the University of Zurich

Medical School. When I showed them the

wire from the AMA stating that the Board

11

Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

had been notified, its response was that the

AMA’s letter was not official, because the

approval had not yet appeared in print in the

Journal of the American Medical Association.

Though some members of the Board asked

questions during my forty-five-minute ap¬

pearance, the attorney for the Board, John

W. Davison, questioned me most often. After

the futile battle, I asked to be represented by

my counsel. Davison agreed. Though the

presence of James Doyle appeared not to an¬

tagonize the Board, it simply continued to

stall. My attorney suggested that the Board

should send my credentials for evaluation to

the Council on Medical Education and Hos¬

pitals of the AMA and that the Board afford

me opportunity to present my case personally

to the Council. The Board appeared to accept

this suggestion. When my attorney asked for

a written confirmation of this agreement at

the conclusion of the meeting, the Board’s

attorney stated that this request might anger

the Board. There is no evidence that the Board

ever sent my credentials to the AMA. This

is no surprise since my attorney told me after

the meeting that he had never seen such a

disorganized state body as the Board of Med¬

ical Examiners. Most of the time, he ob¬

served, they did not seem to know what they

were discussing.

The following are the “postmortem” min¬

utes of the 11-13 July 1950 Board meeting

as they relate to my case:

The Dr. Hania Ris case was reviewed briefly

by Mr. Davison, having been announced by

the President as the first order of business. Dr.

Ris had previously requested permission to at¬

tend the meeting, and she was admitted to it at

this time. Mr. Spaulding of the Milwaukee

Journal, and a reporter from the Milwaukee

Sentinel, were also present. Dr. Ris made a

short statement to the Board and answered sev¬

eral questions put to her by the members. Dr.

Ris then requested that her attorney, Mr. James

Doyle, Madison, be admitted to the meeting,

and her request was granted. Mr. Doyle at¬

tempted to clarify Dr. Ris’ position on the mat¬

ter of recognition of Swiss schools, particularly

the University of Zurich, and the matter of her

diploma.

The Board did not take any formal action

on the matter of Dr. Ris’ application, and indi¬

cated to her that nothing further could be done

until a decision had been reached by the Coun¬

cil on Medical Education of the American Med¬

ical Association. Dr. Ris and Mr. Doyle left

the meeting.

Following the meeting, Dr. J. W. Smith,

Board president, spoke to me privately. He

said he had tried to convince the members

of the Board to grant me a license but they

would not listen. He apparently wanted me

to reassure him that he had been fair to me.

The Council on Medical Education and

Hospitals of the AMA and the Executive

Council of the Association of American

Medical Colleges officially reported their ap¬

proval of the University of Zurich Medical

School on 14 July 1950, three days after my

appearance at the Board meeting. My attor¬

ney, James Doyle, sent a written reminder

on 25 July to Davison, the Board’s attorney

(as well as precautionary copies to all mem¬

bers of the Board), to send my credentials

for evaluation to the AMA Council as per

agreement. In the letter Mr. Doyle pointed

out that the language of the AMA report of

14 July was almost identical to the language

of the letter from Dr. Anderson of the AMA

Council that had been in the possession of

the Board at the 11 July meeting.

It was not certain that the Board would

honor its agreement even after an article ap¬

peared in the Milwaukee Journal on 30 July

1950 stating that the Board intended to send

my records to the Director of the Swiss Health

Bureau for evaluation. The article added that

the Board might consider it necessary to send

my records to the AMA Council for inter¬

pretation after the Swiss director’s reply had

been received. In order to avoid further un¬

necessary delays, my attorney requested, in

a 31 July 1950 letter, that the Board send my

credentials simultaneously to Switzerland and

the AMA Council. Mr. Doyle also asked to

receive a copy of the letter the Board was

to send to the Swiss Health Bureau and re¬

quested to be informed which of my records

had been sent. There was no response to Mr.

12

In Quest of the Right to Practice Medicine in Wisconsin

Doyle’s letters of 25 July and 31 July until

he sent a written reminder on 7 August.

The Board’s attorney responded on 9 Au¬

gust: “The case of Dr. Ris has been brought

to the attention of the Director of the Swiss

Health Bureau. To date none of the records

has been sent to Switzerland. It may be nec¬

essary to do so in the future. At the present

time I am not able to furnish you with a copy

of the Swiss correspondence.” We were at a

loss to understand what objection there could

be to our request to see the Board’s corre¬

spondence with the Director of the Swiss

Health Bureau. The disconcerting explana¬

tion was that the Board had not included my

records, even though the basic controversy

centered around the duration and character

of my study.

The delays continued. On 17 November

the Board requested a copy of the regulation

sent me by the Dean of the University of

Zurich Medical School, defining the eligi¬

bility for obtaining the Certificate of Medical

Studies introduced in December 1940. “If I

find it necessary to obtain this information

from Switzerland,” warned the Board’s at¬

torney, “it may take several weeks.” I had,

however, already submitted this six-page,

single-spaced document in the original and

with a translation at my 12 July 1950 ap¬

pearance before the Board!

I learned not to underestimate the Board’s

creative stalling tactics. This same letter from

the Board requested certified copies of my

marriage license. Records from 20 Novem¬

ber 1950 show that the Board’s attorney re¬

quested the marriage certificate “in order to

definitely establish the identity of the appli¬

cant.” This request was made sixteen months

after my original application for the license

and after my two appearances before the

Board! I found it insulting. My attorney was

appalled.

The 1950 document spelling out why the

Board needed my marriage license epito¬

mized the Board’s tortuous rationale against

licensing me. It referred to a new course in¬

troduced by the Swiss Medical Schools in

1940 leading to a Certificate of Medical Stud¬

ies, equivalent to the course leading to the

Federal Diploma. Noted the Board’s attor¬

ney: “Dr. Ris would have been eligible for

this course had she been attending school at

the time. The fact that she was not able to

enroll in this course for the reason that it was

not offered at the time can in no way be held

against her, but neither can the Board be

criticized because of her inability to do so.”

However ridiculous the reasons, it became

clear that the Board hoped above all that its

rationalizations would preserve its credibility

with the public over this issue.

The reply of the Swiss Director of Health

to questions submitted by the Board was nec¬

essarily general in nature, because the Board

had not included my individual records de¬

spite our urging. Later, after I had sent the

records myself and the Swiss director had

reviewed them, he concluded that I had taken

more courses, lectures, and clinics than re¬

quired for admission to the examination for

the degree of Doctor of Medicine; that, in

fact, I had received the same training as Swiss

citizens then received; and that I would have

been admitted to examination for the Certif¬

icate of Medical Studies, if such examination

had existed at the time.

Round III

News of the Board’s refusal on 1 1 July to

grant me the right to take an examination for

licensure reached Dr. Park at his vacation

cottage in Canada. In a letter dated 13 August

this dignified and gentle human being ex¬

pressed his profound outrage: “lam incensed

over the action of the WI. Licensing B’d.

... I have again written to Dr. Anderson

[secretary of the AMA Council] . If this does

no good I shall consider getting Dr. Weech

and Levine to unite with me in some public¬

ity. [Dr. Weech was chairperson of Pediat¬

rics, University of Cincinnati Medical School,

where I worked in 1942-43. Dr. Levine was

chairperson of the Department of Pediatrics,

Cornell University Medical School, where I

worked in 1948-49.] I shall not give up. . . .

I am filled with shame that you should be

treated so.”

13

Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters

My other champions, the Wisconsin press,

meanwhile continued to advocate my licen¬

sure. In fact, the source of our information

about the Board’s contemplated action was

often newspaper articles. An article of 6 Oc¬

tober 1950 indicated that the Board said I

would be notified of the meeting and per¬

mitted to present my case to the Board on 10

January 1951. I was glad to read this, since

I had not been personally notified.

A Capital Times editorial on 9 October

again defended my case: “Dr. Ris is a dis¬

tinguished member of the profession . . . but

here in Wisconsin the political fuddy-duddies

who dominate the Board of Medical Exam¬

iners and whose competence is far inferior

to that of Dr. Ris are allowed to sit in judg¬

ment of her case.” Referring to the critical

shortage of physicians, the editorial urged the

passage of a bill introduced by U.S. Rep¬

resentative Andrew Biemiller of Wisconsin

to provide federal aid to medical schools, a

bill which it accused the AM A lobby of ‘ ‘knif¬

ing in Congress.” This federal aid was deemed

imperative by deans of the major medical

schools “to insure even the barest minimum

of doctors for future civilian and military

needs,” noted the Capital Times. President

Harry Truman had termed the bill “the most

vital health legislation before Congress”

(“Washington Merry-Go-Round,” syndi¬

cated column by Jack Anderson and Fred

Blumenthal, Capital Times, 18 August 1950).

At the end of November I received a long

letter from Dr. Park outlining a strategy to

enlist the aid of Dr. Anderson of the AM A

Council. Dr. Park intended to visit Dr.

Anderson in Chicago and to “be guided of

course by his advice, provided his advice

appears to me in your interest and wise.” He

planned to seek Dr. Anderson’s consent to

send my credentials to the AMA Council for

adjudication, and mailed him records of my

educational qualifications and reports of the

Board’s action. In late December Dr. Park

counseled me to write Dr. Anderson directly

asking for the adjudication before the AMA

Council, if the licensing Board would be

willing to refer my records. Warning me not

to mention his name, Dr. Park suggested that

I try to secure a wise physician-advisor in

Madison to guide me step by step so as to

avoid political mistakes. No one was willing

to take an open stand in what had become a

controversial issue.

In another letter from Dr. Park on 27 De¬

cember, just two weeks prior to the Board’s

meeting on 10 January 1951, he indicated

that he had written Dr. Anderson “that if the

Board did not grant your request at their ap¬

proaching meeting, ... I could no longer

restrain myself. ... I should not be surprised

if Dr. Anderson exerted some pressure on

the Board, for he said to me over the tele¬

phone, ‘Let’s wait and see what they do on

January 10.’ . . .He expressed a belief that

they would pass ‘Hania’ on that date ... if

they fail to pass Hania on that date, he [Dr.

Anderson] would recommend some action.”

Dr. Park also wrote of the possibility of

seeking publicity to expose the Board’s re¬

fusal to license me, perhaps consulting the

New York Times or the Washington Post. In

his strategy letter of 29 November, he had

written: “It might be possible to create enough

sentiment in Wisconsin so that the Board

would be forced out.’ ’ I do not think Dr. Park

realized the political power of the Board.

Meanwhile, the communications between

my attorney, James Doyle, and the Board’s

attorney, John W. Davison, accelerated. Be¬

tween 12 July and 31 October there were

seven such exchanges. In November they ex¬

changed ten letters; in December thirteen, in

addition to a number of telephone calls. There

were always delays in Davison’s answers to

my attorney’s letters, in spite of the fact that

we were critically short of time. For instance,

the letters from the Swiss authorities evalu¬

ating my credentials dated 15 August and

addressed to the Board were not forwarded

to us until 15 November, in spite of several

earlier requests. And at this late juncture the

Board asked me to translate the documents!

Another example of delay and harassment:

On 29 November my attorney requested that

the record of my two semesters (1942-43)

in the Graduate School of the University of

14

In Quest of the Right to Practice Medicine in Wisconsin

Cincinnati, which was in the possession of

the Board, should become part of my official

record. Although the “record book” with

entries constituted an “official transcript” as

the term is commonly used, the Board’s at¬

torney now insisted that we obtain a certified

copy of the official transcript from the uni¬

versity. We complied.

On 12 December my attorney reminded

Davison that the Board now possessed two

documents verifying that my studies at the

University of Zurich had included more se¬

mesters and more courses than required for

the Certificate of Medical Studies, which was

now approved by the AM A Council. (These

were from Dean F. Schwarz, of the Univer¬

sity of Zurich Medical School, and from Dr.

P. Vollenweider, Director of the Federal

Health Department.) My courses of study

would have entitled me to examination for

the Certificate of Medical Studies had such

a certificate been offered at the time I com¬

pleted my studies. Furthermore, Mr. Doyle

reminded the Board that I had taken the same

medical courses as those taken by Swiss cit¬

izens then entitled to examination for the

Federal license.

Mr. Doyle wrote: “I assume that any pre¬

vious uncertainty has now been dispelled by

the AM A Council’s formal approval of the

Medical School of the University of Zurich,

coupled with the unequivocally favorable

evaluation of Dr. Ris’ credentials. ... Dr.

Ris will very much appreciate your early ad¬

vice as to the time and place in January at

which she will be expected to appear before

the Board on her application for licensure by

reciprocity.”

But the Board was not yet willing to accept

defeat. Davison stated in a 14 December re¬

ply that the two documents mentioned by my

attorney were in the process of being trans¬

lated. Translation was hardly the obstacle this

implied. The records were, after all, in Ger¬

man, not Sanskrit, and were only two

pages long.

Attorney Davison’s letter continued: “It

appears to me that the facts which you an¬

ticipate being included in the letters from [the

University of Zurich] . . . could be very eas¬

ily established by procuring from the Uni¬

versity of Zurich the course of study required

for a Certificate of Medical Studies and an

official transcript of Dr. Ris’s credits. If a

comparison of these two documents reveals

that she has taken all of the courses required

for a certificate of medical studies, it would

seem that that particular question would be

definitely answered.”

They were asking for documents they al¬

ready had! They had possessed, since 1949,

the official transcript of my credits and had

had the official documents from Switzerland

concerning courses required for the Certifi¬

cate of Medical Studies since 11 July 1950.

Previously the Board had agreed it was

willing to rely on the direct evaluation of the

Swiss authorities. Apparently it had intended

to honor this only if the result was detrimental

to my record. Now the Board was proposing

a different procedure and adopting new cri¬

teria less than a month before the meeting

where my professional future was to be de¬

cided; I could not interpret this in any way

other than that the Board had been acting in

bad faith.

On 26 December the Board’s attorney called

my attorney to solicit his help in making a

comparison of my courses with those re¬

quired for the Certificate of Medical Studies.

On 27 December Mr. Doyle made the com¬

parison using two parallel columns. I came

off with flying colors. Yet at this late date I

still had not been granted permission to ap¬

pear before the 10 January 1951 meeting of

the Board.

On 27 December my attorney wrote a two-

page letter to Dr. J. W. Smith, president of

the Board (with copies to members of the

Board and its Council), summarizing my one

and a half year struggle for licensure. Mr.

Doyle pointed out that I was entitled to be

informed without delay whether the Board

would grant me permission to appear at its

upcoming meeting.

This was the last document in my own and

attorney James Doyle’s files of my case. What

followed must have been transacted over the

15

Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

telephone because of time constraints.

I was told I would be permitted to appear

before the Board on 10 January 1951 to take

the oral examination for licensure by reci¬

procity. Dr. Edwards Park, my advocate,

awaited the outcome anxiously. Dr. Anderson

of the AM A Council wired Dr. Park on 5

January:

Your letter of January 3 just received. Have

telephoned Dr. Christofferson, chairman of the

Wisconsin Board, who assured me without re¬

servation that Dr. Ris will receive exactly same

type of oral examination as that given to all

physicians seeking licensure in Wisconsin by

reciprocity. Written examination was waived

for her as it is for other candidates for reci¬

procity to spare unnecessary ordeal. I feel con¬

fident that Dr. Christofferson will insure Dr.

Ris a fair examination, [signed:] Donald G.

Anderson MD.

Round IV: I Am Finally Licensed

My appearance before the Board was sum¬

marized in the rather anticlimactic language

of the 10 January 1951 minutes of the Board:

“Dr. Hania Ris, applicant number 25, was

ushered into the room. Dr. Ris’ application

has been reviewed again in the light of letters

from the school from which Dr. Ris gradu¬

ated, giving information that she had re¬

ceived the same education and had taken the

same examination as those students who had

received the accepted degree following which

she left the room.”

My name appeared later in the minutes

among the list of candidates receiving the

Wisconsin license by reciprocity. After one

and a half years of painful negotiation with

the State Board of Medical Examiners, I fi¬

nally experienced one humane act. In mid-

January 1951 I received a letter from Dr.

C. A. Dawson (erroneously dated 13 January

1950 instead of 1951), stating: “Knowing

you are naturally anxious as to the outcome

of your examination, I am telling you con¬

fidentially that you were successful. . . . The

list of all newly licensed physicians will be

furnished shortly.” The first congratulatory

call came from Mrs. Edwin B. Fred (Rosa),

the wife of the president of the university,

who had kept in touch with me throughout

the struggle. Her support was typical of the

non-medical community.

It is ironic, however, that the State Board

of Medical Examiners likely was not follow¬

ing the 1937 law when they denied me a

license to practice medicine in Wisconsin. In

a February 1991 Legislative Reference Bu¬

reau legal opinion, Mr. Barry J. Stem, leg¬

islative attorney, indicates the following:

In my opinion, while the board appears to have

had the authority under the 1937 law to adopt

a policy of accepting an application for ex¬

amination for licensure to practice medicine

from any graduate of a foreign medical school

that was classified in the American Medical

Association (A.M.A.) rating, the board did not

appear to have the authority under that law to

accept an application from a foreign graduate

only if the applicant was a graduate of one of

the A.M.A. classified schools. On its face, the

1937 law, which required an applicant to have

a diploma from a “reputable professional col¬

lege approved and recognized by the board,”

would appear to have required the board to

provide a foreign applicant who was a graduate

of a school that was not classified by the A.M.A.

with an opportunity to show that his or her

school was reputable. [Personal correspon¬

dence, 4 February 1991]

Of course, the saga of my quest for licensure

in Wisconsin does not end on the date of 10

January 1951 . I paid a considerable price for

being a test case, in addition to the price of

being a woman challenging the medical es¬

tablishment. I had many experiences as a

persona non grata; one incident stands out.

While awaiting the decision of the Board,

I attended clinical conferences held regularly

at the University Hospital. At one confer¬

ence, a prominent professor of gastro¬

enterology approached me during a lecture

and said: “You have to leave, you did not

register.” There were approximately forty

participants in the room, which had a large

capacity. I knew I was not displacing any¬

body by my presence, but I received a public

rebuke because of my controversial status.

16

In Quest of the Right to Practice Medicine in Wisconsin

Four decades later, the professor’s command

still rings in my ears. However, at an Alumni

Conference reception in 1981, some thirty

years after the episode, the same professor,

then approaching ninety years, came up to

me, shook my hand and then kissed it (which

was quite unusual for someone without a Eu¬

ropean background), and said, “I had to do

what I have done.” “I forgive you,” I replied.

It is true that the struggle to be recognized

for my professional credentials and expertise,

to have the right to practice medicine in the

state of Wisconsin, left some personal scars.

But there were rewards in winning the battle,

not just for me but for the many foreign phy¬

sicians who followed.

Aftermath: The Status of Foreign

Graduates

Since the conclusion of my personal battle,

Wisconsin laws pertaining to foreign-educated

applicants have been liberalized. The law of

1957 provided that if an applicant had grad¬

uated from a foreign medical school that was

not approved or recognized by the Board,

but had postgraduate training in this country

substantially equivalent to training at the

University of Wisconsin, the Board might

admit the applicant to examination. How¬

ever, this law allowed no more than twenty-

five licenses a year to be granted under such

conditions, and the ruling was to expire in

1961. After that date the fixed quota of for¬

eign medical graduates who could be licensed

each year was increased to fifty. In 1969 the

Board started to rely selectively on exami¬

nations conducted by the Educational Coun¬

cil for Foreign Medical Graduates. Since 1970

Wisconsin law has governed the licensure of

graduates of foreign medical schools under

provisions similar to those of 1957 but with¬

out the limitation to fifty licenses annually.

In the opinion of Mr. Earl Thayer, who

was employed by the Medical Society from

1947 to 1957 as public relations person, later

serving as assistant secretary (1957-70) and

as secretary of the Society (1970-87), my

test case forced the Board to rethink and re¬

vise its policy and to accept the AMA Coun¬

cil’s approval of some foreign medical schools.

In the years 1930 to 1949, among active phy¬

sicians in Wisconsin who were counted in a

five-year period (Wisconsin Division of

Health, Center for Health Statistics), the

number of foreign graduates ranged between

6 (0.7%) and 44 (5.1%). Between 1950 and

1954 the number of foreign graduates in¬

creased to 140 (16.2%) (I was the first con¬

tributor to this increase), and in the years

1955-60 it increased to 218 (25.3%).

The Woman Question

What role, if any, did the fact that I was

a woman play in the Board’s attitude? I have

never been sure. My perception, no doubt,

was colored by almost a decade of earlier

positive working experiences in friendly,

congenial atmospheres where colleagues,

professors, and administrators had gone out

of their way to be helpful. The first time I

experienced discrimination was when I came

to Madison.

One authority is persuaded that being a

woman and being aggressive were pivotal

factors. Being aggressive was a positive trait

in the world of men, but it was negative when

applied to women. Mr. Earl Thayer, the

Medical Society’s respected secretary, re¬

cently told me that he had been appalled at

the way the Board operated not only in my

case but in general. He said I had been viewed

as “aggressive” and the Board had hoped its

tactics would discourage me.

The general lack of recognition and respect

given to women in medicine was certainly a

factor in my struggle to gain the right to

practice medicine in Wisconsin, but perhaps

it is illustrated even more clearly by a job

offered to me in 1951 in Milwaukee. I was

the mother of a fourteen-month-old infant at

the time and had no private transportation,

which prohibited my commuting. Neverthe¬

less I was offered a position by the Bureau

of Maternal and Child Health for the City of

Milwaukee, which is about eighty miles from

Madison. At first it was suggested that I hitch

a ride daily with a truck driver at truck stops !

Although I have never been conventional, I

17

Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

rejected that idea. It was then suggested that

I take a bus which left daily from Watertown,

Wisconsin, at 6:30 a.m. and arrived in Mil¬

waukee at 7:45 A. M. “In other words, it is

only necessary for you to find transportation

from Madison to Watertown [a distance of

about thirty miles] to make your daily jour¬

ney here possible.’ ’ This kind of sacrifice was

expected of a woman physician in the 1950s:

a willingness to sacrifice her motherhood, her

child, her personal life, for the privilege of

having a position in the field of public health.

These suggestions would have been less

shocking and more amusing had they not come

from a woman physician who was herself a

promoter of maternal and child health.

Women have had to persevere in an arena

and during times when medicine was con¬

sidered male territory. Statistics bear this out.

At the time I received my licensure, in 1951,

there were 204 women physicians (5.5%) in

Wisconsin, compared to 3,492 male physi¬

cians. In 1960 the percentage went down to

4.5% (3,833 males, 183 females). It has risen

steadily since that time: 5.9% in 1978, 7.4%

in 1980, and 9.9% in 1984, the last year for

which statistics are available (Department of

Health and Social Services, Center for Health

Statistics).

But even today there are relatively few

women in medical academia. In 1981 women

constituted only 17% of all medical school

faculty. Few women chair medical school

departments, and few are in leadership po¬

sitions in professional organizations. A case

in point is the American Academy of Pedi¬

atrics, which was established in 1930, and

now has a membership of 37,000 (25% of

whom are women). Only in 1986 did a woman,

Dr. Betty Lowe, become a member of the

nine-person Executive Board. The Acade¬

my’s first woman president, Dr. Antoinette

Eaton, became vice-president and president¬

elect in 1989, by a majority vote of the Acad¬

emy membership.

“Living the Good Life”

While public health medicine appealed to

me, I turned to a much more reasonable and

agreeable alternative. My family and I looked

for a house in Madison that could lend itself

to combining living quarters with a physi¬

cian’s office, where I could practice without

outside pressures and spend as much time

with each patient as necessary. We found

such a house, surrounded by large trees, at

2306 Van Hise Avenue, across the street from

West High School before its expansion. This

work arrangement was rather unusual in

Madison but quite common in the East. I

would have preferred an academic position

or an association with an obstetrician in an

office, but this was unrealistic; I was still

perceived as too controversial and too much

a risk for close professional associations such

as these.

Many of our friends, university teaching

staff, people whom I came to respect and

admire, entrusted me with their children. As

a pediatrician, I later became a specialist in

adolescent medicine, and then part-time

medical director of a school for delinquent

girls. I developed a comprehensive, multidis¬

ciplinary health program for the underprivi¬

leged young women, which led to clinical

research in the field of sexually transmitted

diseases and to the position of medical di¬

rector of all Wisconsin state correctional in¬

stitutions under the jurisdiction of the De¬

partment of Health and Social Services,

Division of Health. Prevention of teenage

pregnancy through sex education and the

elimination of legal barriers to control of re¬

production for teenagers and adults has been

an important part of my activities.

Despite the dire predictions that I would

be barred from academic medicine forever,

since 1956 I have been a member of the Uni¬

versity of Wisconsin Medical School faculty

and am currently a Clinical Professor of Pe¬

diatrics. I have published a number of profes¬

sional articles, mainly in the field of sexually

transmitted diseases in young adults.

Of course, since Life magazine’s 1948 ar¬

ticle about ‘ The Good Life in Madison, Wis¬

consin,” many things have changed. Never¬

theless, I have enjoyed my forty years as a

Madison resident immensely and would still

18

In Quest of the Right to Practice Medicine in Wisconsin

contend that it is one of the best places in

America to live. My fondness for Madison

is probably even stronger because I had to

fight for the right to make it my home, to be

able to practice my profession without dis¬

crimination; I have always believed that is

the right of every American citizen. My per¬

severance has been amply rewarded.

Acknowledgments

It should be obvious to the reader that I

did not persevere without a great amount of

encouragement and support. The press of

Wisconsin championed my case with nu¬

merous articles, and without its airing of the

issues my efforts would have been far more

difficult. The late James Doyle, my attorney,

exhibited incredible skill and patience in

dealing with the machinations of the Board

of Medical Examiners. He contributed greatly

to bringing my case to a successful resolution.

I wish to reserve a special place to cele¬

brate the late Dr. Edwards A. Park, physi¬

cian, scientist, champion of medical care for

the poor, early supporter of Medicare and

Medicaid, and devoted friend. Dr. Park

championed my cause out of his intense com¬

mitment to human decency, fairness, and jus¬

tice. He was among the first to oppose the

AMA’s conservative policy regarding social

health issues. In his teaching and by the ex¬

ample he set, he instilled in people the im¬

portance of the search for knowledge, the

pursuit of truth, honesty, and high standards

in all aspects of life. He published over a

hundred articles, and until his death in 1969

at age ninety-one, his expertise was sought

by authors of scientific publications. Much

of the material needed to reconstruct the events

described in this article came from the vo¬

luminous correspondence I had with Dr. Park,

who obtained confidential information and

advice from many individuals.

19

1988 Drought Impacts

Among Wisconsin Dairy Farmers

John A. Cross

Abstract . Drought such as occurred throughout the American Midwest during 1988 was an

unusual experience for Wisconsin' s farmers , who lost half their hay and corn crops . Dairy

operators, who represent nearly half of the state' s farmers , faced added hardships in main¬

taining their herds in face of feed shortages and rising feed prices. This paper reports the

findings from a survey of Wisconsin dairy farmers concerning the drought impacts and the

adoption of various drought mitigation measures. The consequences of the drought were most

severely felt by farmers already experiencing a variety of economic stresses. Although three-

quarters of the dairy farmers reported receiving federal drought assistance payments, 73%

of these farmers would have survived without such relief. Farmers are pessimistic about future

drought occurrences.

Drought is a frequent and ever-present

hazard for farmers tilling subhumid and

semi and lands and has been most studied

within such environments (Hurt 1981; Ro¬

senberg 1978; Saarinen 1966; and Warrick

1975). Although the rare drought events within

normally humid environments have received

less attention, the impacts of unusual drought

occurrences can be highly significant and are

worthy of study. This paper reviews the im¬

pacts of the 1988 summer drought upon dairy

John A . Cross is an associate professor and chair of

the Department of Geography at the University of Wis-

consin-0 shkosh. His other recent publications have dealt

with geographic literacy, natural hazards, and the Dairy

Termination Program in Wisconsin.

Funding for the research survey was provided by a grant

from the Natural Hazards Research and Applications

Information Center of the University of Colorado, Boul¬

der, through their quick-response research program .

Any opinions, conclusions, or recommendations ex¬

pressed in this paper are those of the author and do not

necessarily reflect the view of the Hazards Center or its

funding agencies.

farmers in Wisconsin. At the time of the

drought, 45% of Wisconsin’s 81,000 farmers

were engaged in dairying, leading the nation

in milk production.

Drought conditions were felt throughout

Wisconsin during the summer of 1988, when

“43% of the area of the contiguous United

States was in the severe or extreme drought

category” (Trenberth, Branstator, and Arkin

1988). In Wisconsin the drought resulted in

the loss of approximately half of the state’s

hay and com (maize) crops. During the win¬

ter and spring of 1989 dairy farmers faced

not only the consequences of these feed losses,

but also the possibility of continuing drought

conditions. This paper summarizes findings

from a survey concerning the impacts of the

1988 drought at a time many dairy farmers

would be expected to be experiencing hay

and feed grain shortages resulting from the

substantially diminished 1988 harvest. The

1988 drought provided an excellent oppor¬

tunity to study drought impacts, mitigation,

and perception among the population of a

normally humid environment that has rarely

had to deal with such a hazard.

21

Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

1988 Drought Conditions

Extreme drought conditions, as defined by

the Palmer Index (Fig. 1), occurred in six of

Wisconsin’s nine agricultural reporting dis¬

tricts during the summer of 1988 {Weekly

Weather and Crop Bulletin 1988). Precipi¬

tation from April through August 1988, as

shown in Figure 2, was the lowest recorded

in ninety-three years of records in both south¬

western and southeastern Wisconsin, with

three additional districts recording their sec¬

ond or third driest growing seasons. Rainfall

was particularly deficient in May and June,

with a Milwaukee weather station reporting

a two-month total of 0.99 inch and Green

Bay recording 0.73 inch — 11.6% of normal

(U.S. Department of Commerce 1988). Ab¬

normally hot temperatures accompanied the

drought, with six of Wisconsin’s nine agri¬

cultural reporting districts reporting their

highest June through August mean temper¬

atures in records dating back to 1895 (U.S.

Department of Commerce 1989b). Although

a portion of eastern Wisconsin received sub¬

stantial rainfall in August and September,

over half of the state experienced an annual

precipitation shortfall of at least six inches,

with the southwestern comer of Wisconsin

receiving fifteen inches below normal pre¬

cipitation (Clark 1989a).

The 1988 com harvest was 60% below the

1987 harvest, alfalfa hay was down 45%,

other varieties of hay were off 44%, and oats

were down 54% (Wisconsin Department of

Administration 1989). Furthermore, because

1987 harvests had fallen from even greater

1986 harvests as a result of less severe drought

conditions in 1987, the 1988 harvests of al¬

falfa hay and com were 46% and 36%, re¬

spectively, of their 1986 harvests. Although

the tonnage of com silage harvested in 1988

was down only 2%, this was accomplished

by a doubling of the harvested acreage, largely

an effort to salvage wilted cornfields that had

been planted for grain (Wisconsin Agricul¬

tural Statistics Service 1988 and 1989). Un¬

fortunately, because of its lower protein con¬

tent, the substitution of such com silage for

alfalfa without additional protein supple¬

ments reduced milk production (Howard and

Shaver 1988).

The dollar value of the 1988 hay harvest

exceeded that of the 1987 harvest by 18.2%

because of the shortage and rapidly escalating

prices. Indeed, hay prices doubled or tripled,

with the price of top-grade alfalfa hay reach¬

ing $250 per ton. Price increases failed to

keep pace with lost production for other crops.

For example, the cash value of the com har¬

vest was down by 48.9%, and the oat harvest

22

1988 Drought Impacts Among Wisconsin Dairy Farmers

generated 25.5% less revenue than in 1987

(Wisconsin Agricultural Statistics Service 1988

and 1989). However, higher commodity prices

were not advantageous to most Wisconsin

dairy farmers. They normally consume their

crop on their farms, and the higher prices

simply translated into higher costs of feeding

their herds to stay in business (Rodefeld

1988a).

Drought-induced crop losses were not uni¬

formly distributed across Wisconsin, with the

western and southern portions of the state

reporting the greatest declines in production

between 1987 and 1988 (Fig. 3). For ex¬

ample, in Polk County the 1988 com crop

was 17.8% of the 1987 harvest, and in Mar¬

athon County — the state’s foremost milk

producing county — the com crop was only

24.5% of the previous year’s harvest. Al¬

though the decline in alfalfa production

(Fig. 4) was not as dramatic as the drop in

the com harvest, similar spatial patterns of

crop losses were noted, with the greatest

drought losses occurring in the north central,

northwestern, and southernmost portions of

Wisconsin.

Press reports during the winter and early

spring of 1989 painted a bleak picture of

conditions facing Wisconsin dairy operators.

Large proportions of farmers had either ex¬

hausted their feed or were expected to do so

before their next harvest. A Wisconsin Ag¬

ricultural Statistics Service survey in early

November 1988 determined that 14% of the

state’s livestock farmers (dairy, cattle, and

hog) expected to have exhausted their hay by

January, 42% by March, and 74% would be

out of hay by May. Grain or grain concentrate

supplies were expected to be similarly ex¬

pended {Wisconsin Farm Reporter 9 Novem¬

ber 1988). Wisconsin’s hay stocks in De¬

cember 1988 were down 3.9 million tons

from December 1987 (Rodefeld 1988b). Re¬

placement of this lost hay and haylage state¬

wide was estimated to cost from $600 to $700

million, and replacement of com stocks was

estimated between $200 and $400 million

(Wisconsin Department of Administration

1989).

Weather conditions during the winter and

spring of 1989 caused further concern at the

same time dairy farmers were facing feed

shortages. Freezing rains (rather than snow)

during January 1989 had seriously damaged

the alfalfa fields (Clark 1989b). Precipitation

during the spring of 1989 was well below

normal, with many areas by early May hav¬

ing received less precipitation since the be¬

ginning of the year than in 1988 (U.S. De¬

partment of Commerce 1989a). The 6 May

23

Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

1989 Palmer Index ( Weekly Weather and Crop

Bulletin 1989) indicated that severe drought

was occurring in southwestern Wisconsin,

moderate drought was present in central Wis¬

consin, and mild drought was present in five

of the state’s other seven agricultural re¬

porting districts.

Methodology

Concerns about how Wisconsin dairy

farmers had managed to deal with the drought-

induced hay and feed grain shortages during

the winter and spring of 1988-89 and about

these farmers’ vulnerability to future stress —

drought and otherwise — prompted the sur¬

vey of Wisconsin dairy farmers that provided

most of the data reported in this paper. An

eight-page questionnaire was mailed on 4 May

1989 to 506 dairy operators throughout the

state. The initial mailing of the questionnaire,

accompanied by a cover letter and a business

reply envelope, was followed six days later

by a reminder post card. This card thanked

participants and encouraged recipients to

complete and return the survey. Farmers not

responding to the initial survey were mailed

a second copy of the questionnaire, a new

cover letter, and a second business reply en¬

velope on 24 May 1989. Completed surveys

were received from 283 farmers, represent¬

ing 57% of the eligible members of the sam¬

ple who received the survey.

Farmers receiving this survey were se¬

lected by a stratified systematic sampling

procedure from an early April 1989 Wiscon¬

sin Department of Agriculture listing of the

35,611 dairy operators whose herds had had

the Brucellosis Ring Test, which is required

quarterly for all commercial milk producers.

The sampling was designed to select 1.2%

of the dairy operators in the six largest ag¬

ricultural reporting districts. In the remaining

three districts, which would have fewer rep¬

resentatives, an additional 1-2% of the farm¬

ers were selected so that district-to-district

comparisons could be made. In addition, a

short survey was sent to agricultural exten¬

sion agents throughout Wisconsin requesting

data on their observations of farmers in their

various counties.

Impacts of 1988 Drought

The 1988 drought had numerous impacts

upon Wisconsin’s dairy farmers, including

substantial crop losses, losses of income, and

shortages of hay and feed grains, together

with a wide assortment of economic stresses

(Table 1). Some even lost their farms.

Crop losses and feed purchases

Crop losses led to a cascade of drought

impacts for Wisconsin’s dairy farmers. The

Wisconsin State Agricultural Stabilization and

Conservation Service in late August 1988 es-

Table 1. Impacts of the 1988 drought

“Indicate to what degree (if any) you have experienced the following as a result of last

summer’s drought?’’

24

1988 Drought Impacts Among Wisconsin Dairy Farmers

ti mated statewide crop losses of 50% for both

hay and com (U.S. Department of Agricul¬

ture 1988). Crop yields for 1988, as reported

by dairy farmers responding to my survey,

were close to these estimates, with their hay /

alfalfa harvest averaging 45% of normal and

their com crop averaging 50% of normal.

When surveyed in May-June 1989, only 37%

of the farmers indicated they had “sufficient

feed grain supplies to last until the next

harvest.”

Purchases of hay or alfalfa hay had been

made by 62% of the dairy operators between

September 1988 and May 1989, and 72% had

purchased feed grains. Statewide, 75.5% of

Wisconsin’s dairy operators reported making

purchases of either hay or feed grains, with

the proportion ranging from 68 to 83% of the

farmers in the various agricultural reporting

districts. In a normal year, over 40% of the

surveyed farmers buy neither hay nor feed

grains. Purchases of hay and feed grains dur¬

ing 1988-89 averaged $14,616, with a me¬

dian purchase cost of $9,000. The mean cost

of these purchases in a normal year averaged

$6,733 with a median cost of $2,000. The

greatest increase in hay and feed purchases

was reported by dairy farmers in southwest¬

ern Wisconsin.

Changing feed, reducing herd size

Farmers also took a variety of other actions

(Table 2) to mitigate the feed shortages. For

example, 35% changed the type of feed given

to their animals, 22% reduced the amount of

feed, and 38% of the respondents reduced

the size of their herds. Conversely, 27.8%

of the survey respondents were able to in¬

crease their herd size.

Farmers most likely to reduce the size of

their dairy herds were located in central Wis¬

consin (where over half took this action), as

well as the southwestern, northeastern, and

south central Wisconsin regions. With the

exception of southwestern Wisconsin, which

experienced the greatest precipitation deficits

in 1988, districts where dairymen were less

likely to purchase feed supplies were those

most likely to have reductions in herd size.

Farmers in east central, west central, and

southeastern Wisconsin (42 to 50%) were most

likely to change the type of feed given to

their herds, while those in northeastern and

south central Wisconsin were least likely (18

to 23%). Reduction of the amount of hay or

feed grains fed to the dairy cows was reported

by over 30% of the dairymen within central,

southwestern, and southeastern Wisconsin,

while fewer than 14% of the dairymen within

Table 2. Actions taken because of hay or feed grain shortages

% % % %

‘Because Wisconsin’s dairy farmers are not evenly distributed among the nine agricultural reporting districts,

this total was calculated by weighting the responses from each district by the proportion of Wisconsin’s

dairy farms that operate in that district.

25

Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

the northern third of the state put their herds

on short rations.

Drop in farm income

Net farm income was down for the ma¬

jority of the dairy farmers, yet for better than

one in ten, income was above average. When

asked an open-ended question, “Your net

income (from all sources) for 1988 was about

what percent of normal?” one-quarter of the

farmers indicated 100% or more (Table 3).

Dairy farmers reporting above normal in¬

come — with some reporting their best year

ever — typically had substantial hay supplies

carried over from 1987. Conversely, 11%

reported net incomes of 50% or less of nor¬

mal, with the mean net farm income being

84.5% of normal (median was 90%). These

estimates are similar to those of the agricul¬

tural extension agents, who estimated that

average income was 89% of normal. Al¬

though one out of seven of the agents esti¬

mated that the average farmer within his or

her county earned a greater than normal in¬

come, in none of the agricultural reporting

districts was the average net income (either

mean or median), as reported by the farmers,

greater than 90% of normal. The greatest

departures from normal were reported by dairy

farmers in central and southwestern Wisconsin.

Sixty-seven percent of the dairy farmers

surveyed indicated that decreases in their net

farm income were strongly or moderately felt,

an even larger proportion than those farmers

reporting decreases in gross farm income

(56%, Table 1). Half of the farmers indicated

Table 3. Change in net farm income from

normal during 1988

“Your net farm income (from all sources) for

1988 was about what percent of normal?”

that shortages in hay or alfalfa were “strongly

felt,” with an additional 24% claiming these

shortages were “moderately felt.” Never¬

theless, increases in farm indebtedness as a

result of the drought were strongly or mod¬

erately felt by only 38% of the farmers.

Drought-induced bank foreclosure threat was

strongly or moderately felt by 8% of the dairy

farmers, and the sale of lands or farm equip¬

ment was similarly felt on 10% of the farms.

Thirty-five percent of the farmers indicated

that a “greater need of off-farm income” was

strongly or moderately felt.

Spatial differences in “strongly felt” im¬

pacts of the drought were noted (Table 4).

Farmers in southwestern, central, and east

central Wisconsin were most likely to report

strongly felt shortages of hay or feed grains.

Decreases in both gross and net farm income

were most frequently reported in northeast¬

ern, central, and southeastern Wisconsin, all

areas where dairy operators had faced above

average economic stresses and declines in the

previous decade (Cross 1989). Dairymen in

the central Wisconsin region were signifi¬

cantly more likely to have strongly felt in¬

creases in farm indebtedness, while farmers

in the north central, west central, and central

agricultural reporting districts were most likely

to have a greater need for off-farm income.

Although these spatial patterns are not en¬

tirely consistent, farmers in central Wiscon¬

sin consistently reported above average lev¬

els of concern about all the potential drought

impacts.

Drought-induced declines in both gross and

net incomes, shortages of hay and feed grains,

and increased indebtedness were experienced

by a broad spectrum of Wisconsin dairy

farmers. No differences in drought impacts

were noted among the farmers based upon

the age of the farmer, the number of years

as farm operator, farm acreage, size of dairy

herd, the farmer’s land tenure status, or

whether the farm was a grade A or grade B

operation. On the other hand, the responses

of the farmers to the shortages of hay and

feed supplies were related to a number of

these characteristics (Table 5). For example,

26

1988 Drought Impacts Among Wisconsin Dairy Farmers

Table 4. Impacts of the 1988 drought in Wisconsin’s agricultural reporting districts

Percent of dairy farmers indicating that the condition was

“strongly felt’’ as a result of the summer 1988 drought

‘Because Wisconsin’s dairy farmers are not evenly distributed among the nine agricultural reporting districts,

this total was calculated by weighting the responses from each district by the proportion of Wisconsin’s

dairy farms that operate in that district.

Table 5. Significant relationships between dairy farmer characteristics and responses to

drought-induced hay/feed shortages

Farmer responses

*NS indicates chi-square not significant at .1000 significance level.

farmers most likely to have already pur¬

chased hay or feed grains as a result of the

drought were the youngest, those with lower

net incomes, those with the largest number

of cows, and those with off-farm incomes.

Drought Relief

Wisconsin dairy farmers were asked to

evaluate the importance of various factors in

helping their farms financially survive the

1988 drought and its aftereffects. The two

most important factors were government

drought relief payments and increased milk

support prices, cited as “very important” by

44 and 41% of the farmers, respectively. Per¬

sonal savings were cited as “very important”

by 26% of the dairy operators, bank credit

by 22%, and off-farm income by 17%. Crop

insurance payments were “very important”

to only 8% of the surveyed farmers.

Several federal and state government pro¬

grams provided assistance to Wisconsin

farmers. Lands in the Conservation Reserve

Program and Conservation Use (set-aside)

27

Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

program were opened to both grazing and

haying. State-owned lands and highway right-

of-ways were opened to haying. Additional

federal funds were authorized to purchase

ground beef, assuring that dairy farmers who

liquidated their herds could do so with a rea¬

sonable market for their cows. A scheduled

drop in the federal milk support price was

postponed, and support prices were in¬

creased. Property tax credits and a guaran¬

teed loan program for farmers were approved

by the state (Richards 1988; Wisconsin De¬

partment of Administration 1989). The larg¬

est relief program was provided by the U.S.

Disaster Assistance Act of 1988, which au¬

thorized compensation to farmers with crop

losses exceeding 35% of normal production.

In general, farmers received no compensa¬

tion for their first 35% of lost production,

were compensated at 65% of the target price

(approximately the pre-drought average mar¬

ket price) for the loss of 36 to 75% of their

harvest, and 90% of the target price for the

loss of 76 to 100% of production. Thus, the

program did not “prevent farmers from ex¬

periencing substantial declines in their in¬

comes” (Jones 1988).

Financial assistance through the Disaster

Assistance (Drought Relief) Act was re¬

ported by 75% of the Wisconsin dairy farm¬

ers surveyed, a greater proportion than those

who reported that this assistance was either

“important” or “very important” in helping

their farm financially survive the drought.

Thirty-seven percent indicated that these

drought relief payments were the primary

source of funds for their hay and feed grain

purchases. Thirty-five percent relied primar¬

ily upon their farm income (milk check) or

withdrawal of funds from their savings to

purchase hay or feed. Thirteen percent bor¬

rowed funds from banks or other financial

institutions.

Seventy-three percent of the surveyed

dairymen who received drought relief pay¬

ments indicated that they would have been

able to remain in the dairy business even

without the aid. In contrast, Wisconsin ag¬

ricultural extension agents estimated that

without the drought relief payments only 9%

of the dairy farmers would succumb. Dairy¬

men in southeastern, south central, and west

central Wisconsin expressed the greatest con¬

fidence that they would have survived with¬

out any drought relief payments. Conversely,

dairy farmers in the central, east central, and

north central agricultural reporting districts

were least confident about their ability to have

survived the drought without drought relief

payments. In central Wisconsin only 53% felt

they would have survived without the

payments.

If we consider only those farmers who re¬

ceived drought relief payments, these pay¬

ments were most significant in the survival

of Grade B dairy farms, the farmers with off-

farm income or employment, those farmers

who reported that decreases in net farm in¬

come were moderately or strongly felt, and

the farmers reporting the greatest hay and

com crop losses in 1988. Indeed, 41% of the

dairy farmers receiving drought assistance who

had lost over two-thirds of their hay/alfalfa

crops doubted their ability to survive without

those payments (Table 6).

Drought relief payments and other federal

and state benefits, estimated at $565 million

for Wisconsin farmers, covered approxi¬

mately 37% of feed expenses and lost cash

crop revenues of Wisconsin farmers. Thus,

Wisconsin farmers (both dairy and crop) had

estimated uncompensated losses averaging

over $11,000 each (Wisconsin Department

of Administration 1989). Since even a year

before the drought 16% of all Wisconsin farms

(a total of 12,800 farms) were considered by

the U.S. Department of Agriculture to be

experiencing “extreme financial stress,” for

many farmers such losses were unbearable.

Furthermore, Rodefeld (1988) indicated,

“Many farmers who survive the coming win¬

ter will have high levels of stress in future

years because of their higher debt loads and

tighter cash flows from this year’s drought.”

Loss of Dairy Farms

Statewide, an estimated 960 farmers had

already terminated their dairy operations by

28

1988 Drought Impacts Among Wisconsin Dairy Farmers

Table 6. 1988 hay/alfalfa crop loss and ability of drought relief recipients to survive

without payments*

*Chi-square = 16.010, 2 degrees of freedom, significance = .00033.

early May 1989 as a direct result of the 1988

drought, based upon estimates of county-level

agricultural extension agents. Between March

1988 and March 1989 the total number of

commercial herds in Wisconsin dropped by

1,351, a decline of 3.7% (Wisconsin Agri¬

cultural Statistics Service 1988 and 1989).

Thus, the drought would appear to be the

leading cause of herd losses. Between March

1989 and March 1990 Wisconsin lost another

1,768 dairy herds, a decline of 5%. How¬

ever, to keep these losses in perspective, we

should note that the number of dairy opera¬

tions in Wisconsin fell by 9.8% (a total of

4,026 herds) between 1986 and 1988 (40%

were participants in the Dairy Termination

Program) and fell by 19.2% between 1982

and 1988 (Cross 1989). Although the annual

loss between March 1988 and March 1989

was smaller than within the previous few years,

many agricultural extension agents felt in May

1989 that it was still too early to determine

the total number of casualties from the 1988

drought. Hence, many dairy farmers ceasing

operations between 1989 and 1990 should

also be considered victims of the drought.

The distribution of the losses of dairy

farmers between 1988 and 1989 (Fig. 5) was

similar to that over the previous half decade

(Cross 1989), with a few notable exceptions.

For example, above average declines were

noted in several counties of northwestern

Wisconsin and in central Wisconsin, simply

continuing trends that existed before the

drought. On the other hand, the above av¬

erage losses during 1988-89 in several

southwestern Wisconsin counties (notably

Grant and Iowa) are in sharp contrast to their

considerably below average declines be¬

tween 1981 and 1988. Losses in dairy herds

between 1989 and 1990 more closely parallel

long-term pre-drought trends (Fig. 6), which

saw the greatest declines in northern Wis¬

consin, parts of central Wisconsin, and near

the Milwaukee metropolitan area in south¬

eastern Wisconsin.

Vulnerability to continued

drought stresses

A third of the dairy farmers surveyed in¬

dicated that, if there was a drought during

29

Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

Figure 6

the summer of 1989, they would no longer

be in business by the spring of 1990. (Al¬

though five of Wisconsin’s nine agricultural

reporting districts received less average

district- wide precipitation in 1989 than in

1988, strategically spaced rainfall spared most

crops [Naber 1990].) However, 7% of the

surveyed farmers did not expect to still be in

business the next year, even if rainfall amounts

were normal during the summer of 1989.

Furthermore, 29% of the dairy farmers af¬

firmatively answered the question, “Would

you like to sell your farm?” This was par¬

ticularly prevalent throughout the northern

third of Wisconsin, where 40% of the dairy

farmers wished to sell. It should be noted the

entire northern portion of the state saw the

highest rates of farm abandonment over the

past decade and the greatest participation rates

in the Dairy Termination Program (Cross

1989).

Farmers who expressed the greatest con¬

cern about their vulnerability to continued

drought were typically those with smaller than

average farm acreages, with below average

herd sizes, and with Grade B operations

(Table 7). Thus, farmers most threatened by

the drought were the same group the Wis¬

consin Dairy Task Force (1987) had identi¬

fied even before the drought as having the

bleakest chance of economic survival be¬

cause they both lacked economies of scale

and could not “afford relatively expensive

new technologies.” Strong statistical rela¬

tionships were noted between the farmers’

expectations that they could survive a 1989

drought and their crop losses (especially com)

in 1988 and the adequacy of their hay and

feed grain supplies (Table 8). Those farmers

who indicated they did not expect to still be

in business— drought or no drought — by 1990

were generally the oldest, with the greatest

number of years as farm operators, and with

smaller than average herd sizes. However,

those expecting to quit had suffered drought-

Table 7. Significant chi-square relationships between drought vulnerability of farmers and

characteristics of farmers

*AII respondents were asked this question, both those who had and those who had not received any drought

relief payments.

fNS indicates chi-square not significant at .1000 significance level.

30

1988 Drought Impacts Among Wisconsin Dairy Farmers

Table 8. Significant chi-square relationships between 1 988 drought impacts and future

vulnerability of dairy operations

*NS indicates chi-square not significant at .1000 significance level.

induced crop dosses and feed and hay short¬

ages that were no different than the remaining

farmers.

Drought Mitigation for 1989

Many dairy farmers made no efforts to

mitigate possible drought losses in 1989, al¬

though virtually all Wisconsin dairy farmers

had suffered crop losses in 1988 and 70%

expected a drier than normal 1989 growing

season. Nevertheless, crop insurance cov¬

erage expanded, and nearly half the farmers

took some action to reduce future drought

losses.

Crop insurance

Crop insurance to cover drought losses had

been obtained by only 8% of the surveyed

dairy farmers in 1988, although 36% had

obtained insurance to cover hail losses. For

their 1989 crop season, 51% of the dairy

farmers reported that they either had or would

obtain crop insurance to cover drought losses.

Such a low figure is surprising because multi¬

peril crop insurance was required of drought

relief recipients who lost at least 65% of their

crops as a condition for receiving their pay¬

ments (U.S. Public Law 100-387, Section

207). Nevertheless, 16% of the surveyed

farmers whose hay and com crops were both

under 35% of normal — but who still had re¬

ceived drought assistance-had not pur¬

chased drought (or multi-peril) insurance.

Furthermore, several other respondents ob¬

tained only minimal crop insurance coverage

because of its cost. Although the legal re¬

quirements mandating multi-peril insurance

in exchange for drought assistance did not

receive universal compliance, dairy opera¬

tors with the largest crop losses (whether or

not they received financial assistance) were

significantly more likely to obtain drought

insurance for the next year.

Crop planting

The 1988 drought prompted 42% of the

dairy farmers to make changes in their crop

planting plans for 1989. Farmers in north¬

western, north central, and east central Wis¬

consin were significantly more likely to re¬

port these changes. Numerous changes in

cultivation techniques and crops were un¬

dertaken, although only a few farmers men¬

tioned changes in plowing/planting dates, re¬

duced tillage, or fertilizer and herbicide usage.

Farmers with the greatest acreages were

most likely to report making changes in their

crop planting plans for 1989. Likewise,

younger and middle-aged farmers were sig¬

nificantly more likely to report making changes

than the older farmers (those over sixty years

of age). On the other hand, the land tenure

status of the farmers, the size of the farmer’s

dairy herd, and whether the herd was a Grade

A or Grade B operation were not statistically

related to crop planting changes. The deci¬

sion to make changes in crop planting plans

was significantly related to both the farmers’

perceptions of the likelihood of drought dur¬

ing the summer of 1989 and their perception

31

Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

that drought possibilities are a problem in

Wisconsin.

The prominence of hay/alfalfa, com, and

oat production on Wisconsin dairy farms re¬

mains unchanged following the drought.

Ninety-five percent of the surveyed farmers

reported planting com in 1988, and 94% in¬

tended to grow com in 1989. Similar pro¬

portions produced hay and/or alfalfa. Oats

were cultivated on 73% of the dairy farms in

1988, the same proportion that planned to

grow oats in 1989. However, a slightly greater

amount of crop diversification was planned

for 1989, and the proportion of farms pro¬

ducing many of the lesser grown crops in¬

creased. For example, dairy farmers planting

sudan grass increased from 9.6% in 1988 to

13.3% in 1989 and sorghum from 5.2% to

7.3%.

Irrigation is a rarity on Wisconsin dairy

farms. Only 3.2% of the surveyed farmers

had irrigation systems in place before 1988,

with an additional 1.4% installing systems

during 1988. Only two (of the 283 farmers

responding to the survey) planned to install

an irrigation system during 1989. Statewide,

only 250 of Wisconsin’s 81,000 farms in¬

stalled emergency surface water irrigation

systems during the summer of 1988 (Wis¬

consin Department of Administration 1989).

Conclusions

The drought of 1988 has provided us with

a unique opportunity to study drought per¬

ceptions and drought mitigation among farm¬

ers who have rarely dealt with this hazard.

Drought is but one of many conditions that

threaten the livelihood of Wisconsin dairy

farmers. When asked to evaluate drought and

a variety of other problems, farmers more

frequently mentioned everyday economic

concerns as being major problems than any

natural hazard, including drought, hail, and

flood. Indeed, milk support prices were con¬

sidered a major problem by 53% of the farm¬

ers, property taxes by 51%, and drought by

36%. Only 9% of the farmers ranked drought

possibilities as the single most important

problem facing dairy farmers in their Wis¬

consin county, compared with 45% who cited

either milk support prices or wholesale milk

prices.

The final toll of the 1988 drought upon

Wisconsin’s dairy farmers will take years to

tally fully. However, between March 1988

and March 1990 Wisconsin lost 3,119 dairy

operations, an 8.4% decline. The economic

stresses caused by the drought-induced di¬

minished feed stocks and high hay and feed

grain prices were somewhat mitigated by in¬

creased milk production per cow, rapidly es¬

calating milk prices, and drought relief pay¬

ments. The greatest stresses of drought did

not necessarily occur in those areas experi¬

encing the greatest meteorological drought or

crop losses, but in areas where farmers were

already under economic stress, and thus lack¬

ing in the resilience to respond successfully

to another threat. In this respect, Wisconsin

dairy farmers are no different from farmers

in Mexico, where Liverman (1990) made

similar observations. For many Wisconsin

dairy farmers, high debt loads remain, only

increased by the stresses of the drought.

Wisconsin dairy farmers are generally pes¬

simistic about the possibility of future

droughts. Another drought, as severe as the

1988 drought, is expected within ten years

by nearly half of the farmers surveyed (Cross

1990). If predictions of climatologists about

climatic warming because of the Greenhouse

Effect are accurate (Schneider 1989), Wis¬

consin farmers must learn to deal with an

increasingly capricious environment. Al¬

though the Greenhouse Effect cannot be

blamed for an individual drought such as that

during 1988, “the greenhouse effect may tilt

the balance such that conditions for droughts

and heat waves are more likely” (Trenberth,

Branstator, and Arkin, 1988). We should re¬

member what we have learned from this

drought experience, which nationally was

overshadowed only by the droughts of the

1930s and 1950s. Indeed, we should not for¬

get the advice of Miewald, who wrote after

another drought, “If we learn nothing from

the current drought, then it may be said that

32

1988 Drought Impacts Among Wisconsin Dairy Farmers

the worst impact is no real impact at all”

(1978).

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Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

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34

Distribution, Abundance, Larval Habitats,

and Phenology of Spring Aedes Mosquitoes

in Wisconsin (Diptera: Culicidae)

Jeffrey W. Gilardi and William L. Hilsenhoff

Abstract. In 1988 10,651 larval and 1 ,612 adult Aedes were collected in nine representative

areas of Wisconsin during the spring and early summer; an additional 3,146 larvae were

collected during the spring in 1989 and 1990. From these collections and previous studies

we determined the distribution, relative abundance, larval habitats, and probable phenology

of the twenty-three species of Aedes that breed in water from melting snow and early spring

rainfall. Aedes decticus and A. euedes were collected for the first time in Wisconsin. Adult

longevity and flight ranges were also studied.

In May and June Aedes stimulans was the predominant mosquito biting humans in central

and southern Wisconsin, while A. communis and A. punctor were the most important pests

in the north. Adults of A. vexans were late spring pests in most areas in 1988 but were absent

in 1989 and restricted to west central Wisconsin in 1990. Adults of A. canadensis, A.

excrucians, A. fitchii, and A. provocans were minor pests in most areas of the state but were

abundant locally. Adults of A. cinereus were troublesome biters in woodland areas throughout

Wisconsin.

Almost every year in May and June mos¬

quitoes become a nuisance in wooded

areas throughout Wisconsin. This problem is

created by females of twenty-three species

of Aedes that breed in temporarily flooded

areas, which have resulted from snowmelt

and early spring rains. The mosquito nui¬

sance is especially severe after heavy snow¬

melt and/or heavy rains. Adults of these spring

Aedes mosquitoes have a limited flight range

and tend to remain in areas near larval de¬

velopment sites. Most are relatively short-

William Hilsenhoff is Professor of Entomology at the

University of Wisconsin-Madison. As a graduate stu¬

dent, he worked with mosquitoes. Since 1957 he has

studied all types of aquatic insects that inhabit Wiscon¬

sin’s streams, lakes, ponds, and other habitats. Know¬

ing that Wisconsin’s mosquito fauna is poorly known,

he began to study mosquitoes again six years ago.

Jeffrey W. Gilardi teaches at the University of Illinois,

Urbana, in the Department of Entomology.

Research supported by the College of Agricultural and

Life Sciences, UW-Madison, and by Hatch Research

Project 3050.

lived, and after June, mosquitoes that have

emerged in spring are rarely a nuisance.

Fifty-three species of mosquitoes are known

from Wisconsin; twenty-eight of them are

Aedes. All adult mosquitoes probably feed

on floral nectar and other plant liquids (Grim-

stad 1973), but only females take blood meals.

Females of some species feed on reptiles and

amphibians, others prefer birds, but those of

at least forty species, including all Aedes,

readily attack humans and other mammals.

This study was undertaken to determine the

distribution, relative abundance, larval hab¬

itats, and nuisance potential of each species

of Aedes that emerges during the spring and

to summarize previous studies of these spe¬

cies in Wisconsin.

Larvae of all Aedes in Wisconsin develop

in areas that are temporarily inundated with

water, ranging from small cavities, holes,

and depressions to marshes, ponds, bogs, and

swamps. They also develop in fluctuating

margins and intermittent shallow areas of more

permanent habitats. Areas included in this

35

Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

study fall into six categories: (1) marshes,

primarily open areas vegetated with cattails

(Typha) and/or sedges and rushes ( Carex ,

Eleocharis, Scirpus) and associated plants;

(2) Sphagnum bogs and swamps, usually with

leatherleaf ( Chamaedaphne calyculata ),

tamarack ( Larix laricina ), and/or black spruce

( Picea mariana), and with water often lim¬

ited to isolated pockets; (3) woodland pools

surrounded by coniferous and/or deciduous

trees, with a layer of leaf litter, and without

aquatic vegetation; (4) drainage ditches with¬

out associated aquatic vegetation; (5) grassland

pools surrounded by non-woody vegetation

and without aquatic vegetation; and

(6) temporary to semipermanent ponds with

aquatic vegetation.

Species of Aedes in Wisconsin can be di¬

vided into two groups, both of which over¬

winter as eggs. The first group has a single

generation each year, with eggs entering an

obligatory diapause that is terminated by ex¬

posure to several weeks of cold winter tem¬

peratures. In Wisconsin this group includes

A. abserratus, A. aurifer, A. communis, A.

decticus, A. diantaeus, A. euedes, A. excru¬

cians, A.fitchii, A.flavescens, A. grossbecki,

A. implicatus, A. intrudens, A. provocans,

A. punctor, A riparius, and A. stimulans.

Hatching of eggs is related to flooding from

snowmelt and rain and also to warming in

March and early April; it may be delayed in

heavily shaded areas and in habitats that re¬

main relatively cold.

The second group consists of species whose

eggs also hatch in the spring, but these spe¬

cies are capable of having additional broods

throughout the warm months of the year. Ad¬

ditional eggs hatch each time the habitat is

reflooded after it has become dry. This group

includes A. atropalpus, A. campestris, A.

canadensis, A. cinereus, A. dorsalis, A. hea¬

der soni, A. nigromaculis, A. spencerii, A.

sticticus, A. triseriatus, A. trivittatus, and A.

vexans. Some of these species may have only

one brood in some northern locations. Aedes

nigromaculis (Ludlow, 1907) and A. trivit¬

tatus (Coquillett, 1902) were not studied be¬

cause their larvae develop in late spring or

summer. Also not studied were A. header -

soni Cockerall, 1918 and A. triseriatus (Say,

1823), which breed in tree holes and artificial

containers, and A. atropalpus (Coquillett,

1902), which develops in rock pools.

While several studies of mosquitoes have

been carried out in Wisconsin, the relative

abundance, statewide distribution, and larval

habitats of species of spring Aedes have re¬

mained poorly known. Dickenson’s mono¬

graph (1944) provided the first account of

Wisconsin mosquitoes, listing thirty-eight

species. It was followed by Allen’s summary

(1950) of Wisconsin mosquito studies and

his preliminary survey of species in the Uni¬

versity of Wisconsin-Madison Arboretum.

He documented the only statewide survey of

adult mosquitoes, which was conducted in

twenty-three counties by the Wisconsin State

Board of Health in 1941; univoltine species

of Aedes were poorly represented in this sur¬

vey because many counties were sampled only

in mid or late summer. More recently, Siverly

and DeFoliart studied larvae (1968a) and adults

(1968b) in northeastern Wisconsin, signifi¬

cantly contributing to our knowledge of spring

Aedes. A study by Porter and Gojmerac (1970)

identified A. stimulans as the most important

pest in Point Beach State Forest, Manitowoc

County, and another study (Gojmerac and

Porter 1969) compared pest species of Point

Beach State Forest with those of Wyalusing

State Park, Grant County, where A. com¬

munis group species and A . vexans predom¬

inated. Amin and Hageman (1974) identified

A. stimulans and A. vexans as important

springtime pests in southeastern Wisconsin.

Other studies that included county records or

other information pertinent to this study were

carried out by Ryckman (1952), Patel (1959),

Thompson (1964), Thompson and Dicke

(1965), Thompson and DeFoliart (1966), Loor

and DeFoliart (1970), Wright and DeFoliart

(1970), Wright et al. (1970), Grimstad (1973),

and Kardatzke (1979).

The bionomics of mosquitoes, including

almost all species of Aedes, was summarized

by Carpenter and LaCasse (1955) for North

America and by Wood, Dang, and Ellis (1979)

36

Spring Aedes Mosquitoes in Wisconsin

for Canada. Several previous studies in Wis¬

consin also provided ecological information,

especially those by Siverly and DeFoliart

(1968a, 1968b). Additional information on

larval ecology in nearby states and provinces

appeared in Owen (1937), Barr (1958), and

Price (1963) for Minnesota; Knight and Wonio

(1969) for Iowa; Ross (1947) for Illinois;

Matheson (1924), Irwin (1942), Obrecht

(1949, 1967), Beadle (1963), and Wilmot,

Henderson, and Allen (1987) for Michigan;

Christensen and Harmston (1944) and Siverly

(1959) for Indiana; Venard and Mead (1953)

for Ohio; and Beckel and Atwood (1959) and

Steward and Me Wade (1960) for Ontario. In

our “Account of Wisconsin Species,” which

follows, these references are not cited unless

the information differs from our findings.

Methods and Materials

Study areas

Larval and adult Aedes populations were

surveyed in nine approximately 24-mile-square

areas defined by Billmyer (1971) in con¬

junction with a survey of Wisconsin stone-

flies (Fig. 1). These areas were selected as

representative of Wisconsin based on topog¬

raphy, geology, soil types, vegetation, and

climate. Study areas were located as follows:

Northern: North of T47N, R4-7W in Bayfield

and Ashland counties.

Northwestern: T37-40N, R15-18W in Burnett

and Polk counties.

Northeastern: T36 -39N, R15-18E in Flor¬

ence, Forest, and Marinette counties.

North central: T33-36N, R2-5E in Lincoln,

Oneida, Price, and Taylor counties.

West central: T23-26N, R1 1-14W in Buffalo,

Dunn, and Pepin counties.

East central: T15-18N, R19-22E in Calumet,

Fond du Lac, Manitowoc, and Sheboygan

counties.

Central: T16-19N, R7-10E in Adams, Mar¬

quette, and Waushara counties.

Southwestern: T9-12N, R1E-3W in Craw¬

ford, Richland, and Vernon counties.

Southeastern: T2-5N, R14-17E in Jefferson,

Rock, Walworth, and Waukesha counties.

Larval collections

Using a long-handled 350-ml dipper, Gilardi

collected mosquito larvae from twenty to thirty

sites in each study area on two dates between

4 April and 19 May 1988 (Gilardi 1990). The

first set of collections was made when most

larvae were early instars. The second set was

made just prior to, or coinciding with, the

first appearance of adults. Larvae were not

present in all localities when the first collec¬

tions were made, and many sites had dried

up before they were sampled again. Five dips

were taken from each site on each collection

date. Each dip was taken from a different

area within the site because numbers and spe¬

cies composition may vary with location

(Service 1976). Because larvae submerge

when disturbed, they were allowed one min¬

ute to return to the surface following a dis¬

turbance of the habitat (Hocking 1953) before

each sample was collected. Larvae were reared

to the fourth instar and pupae were reared to

adults to facilitate species identifications.

Ten sites in each area were selected for

additional larvae collections by Hilsenhoff in

1989 and 1990. Collections were made just

prior to first emergence in 1989 (18 April-

10 May) and somewhat after first emergence

in 1990 (25 April- 8 May), with ten dippers

of larvae or a maximum of fifty larvae being

collected from each site. Identifications of

larvae and adults were based on keys and

descriptions by Barr (1958) and Wood, Dang,

and Ellis (1979). Voucher specimens are in

the University of Wisconsin Insect Collection.

Adult collections

Gilardi (1990) also collected adult mos¬

quitoes with an aspirator during the daytime

from 6 June to 21 July 1988 as they at¬

tempted to feed. Although the propensity to

feed in daylight varies among species, ef¬

fective biting responses were obtained by

collecting in heavily vegetated areas where

mosquitoes rest during the day, and by dis¬

turbing vegetation before obtaining samples.

Two sets of collections were taken. The first

37

Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

Figure 1. Nine approximately 24-mile-square study areas selected to be representative of

Wisconsin (Billmyer 1971), with a number for each county.

set approximated peak adult populations. The

second was obtained five to six weeks later.

Collections were made for a ten-minute pe¬

riod at ten previously identified breeding sites

within each study area and also at locations

one to five miles from all known breeding

areas. Mosquitoes were collected from all

areas of the body that could be reached with

an aspirator; the head and back were pro¬

tected with a repellent.

Because female adults of several species

of Aedes cannot be readily identified after

more than a few days of flight, some were

often identified only to species group. Two

groups are typically recognized for species

in this region. The A. stimulans group in¬

cludes the following band-legged species: A.

euedes, A. excrucians, A. fitchii, A. flaves-

cens, A. riparius, and A. stimulans. The A.

communis group includes the following black¬

legged species: A. abserratus, A. cinereus,

A. communis, A. decticus, A. diantaeus, A.

implicatus, A. intrudens, A. provocans, A.

punctor, and A. sticticus.

38

Spring Aedes Mosquitoes in Wisconsin

Results and Discussion

Weather

Prior to the study period in 1988, precip¬

itation ranged from near normal to more than

40% below normal. An early thaw occurred

and was followed by cold temperatures, which

may have affected the larvae of some species.

Kardatzke (1979) determined that larvae of

A. ahserratus, A. communis, A. diantaeus,

A. provocans, and A. punctor may appear

during early thaws in northern Wisconsin and

Michigan but ^subsequently become vulner¬

able to refreezing. James (1962) documented

mortality of A. provocans larvae trapped in

ice following a thaw in Ontario.

The 1988 study period was characterized

by unusually warm temperatures and the on¬

set of a record drought. Small or shallow

breeding areas remained dry, and an unu¬

sually large proportion of habitats dried be¬

fore larval development was completed. The

spring of 1989 was very dry, and some sites

that had been sampled in 1988 contained no

water. Very warm temperatures and melting

snow in mid-March of 1990 caused an early

hatch of Aedes larvae, but unseasonably cold

temperatures followed, retarding larval de¬

velopment. The onset of very warm weather

during the last ten days of April accelerated

development and caused rapid pupation and

emergence of mosquitoes in most study areas.

As a result, larvae of early emerging species

were missed or underrepresented at some sites.

Except for the northeastern study area, which

remained very dry, water levels in 1990 were

similar to those in late April of 1988.

Collections

A total of 10,651 larvae and 1,612 adults

were collected in 1988, representing twenty

of the twenty-three species of spring Aedes

known to occur in snowmelt habitats in Wis¬

consin. Included were the first collections of

A. euedes within the state. The 1988 collec¬

tions are summarized in Tables 1 and 2. Lar¬

val collections from ten selected sites in each

area numbered 1,546 in 1989 and 1,600 in

1990, which compares to 1,658 (total ad¬

justed for differences in collecting proce¬

dures) from the same sites in 1988 (Table 3).

The 1989 samples included the first records

of A. decticus in Wisconsin.

Species distributions

Crossing the state diagonally is a region

of climatic and ecological transition that is

reflected in a tension zone of varying width

between two major floral regions, the North¬

ern Hardwood-conifer province and the Oak-

prairie Province (Curtis 1959). Aedes com¬

munis, A. decticus, A. diantaeus, A. euedes,

A. implicatus, and A. intrudens are boreal in

Wisconsin, and the southern limit of their

range apparently parallels this floral tension

zone. Ranges of A. aurifer, A. canadensis,

A. cinereus, A. dorsalis, A.fitchii, A.flaves-

cens, A. sticticus, A. stimulans, and A. vex-

ans encompass the entire state. Aedes ab-

serratus, A. campestris, A. excrucians, A.

provocans, A. punctor, A. riparius, and A.

spencerii are probably also present through¬

out Wisconsin, but may reach their southern

limit in southern Wisconsin or northern Il¬

linois. Aedes campestris, A. provocans, and

A. riparius have not been reported from Il¬

linois. Aedes grossbecki is represented in

Wisconsin by a single specimen from Dane

County, which probably represents the north¬

western limit of its range.

Geology and soil type also influence the

distribution of mosquitoes. Two sections in

the Central Lowlands Geomorphic Province

of the United States are represented in Wis¬

consin (Hole 1976), the Wisconsin Driftless

Section in the southwestern part of the state,

and the Great Lakes Section elsewhere. Mos¬

quito breeding was confined primarily to

floodplain marshes and pools in the Wiscon¬

sin Driftless Section (southwestern and west

central study areas), which limited somewhat

the diversity of species collected. Larval hab¬

itats were more varied and numerous in the

Great Lakes Section (all other study areas).

Paleozoic bedrock is present in nearly all areas

except a southern extension of the Cana¬

dian Shield into the northern third of the

state. Certain northern species of Aedes were

39

Table 1. Larvae and collection sites (in parentheses) for species of Aedes collected from nine 24-mile-square areas of Wisconsin in the

spring of 1988

Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

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40

Table 2. Adults and collection sites (in parentheses) for species of Aedes collected at known breeding sites in nine 24-mile-square

areas of Wisconsin in 1988

Spring Aedes Mosquitoes in Wisconsin

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associated with the latter area (Wood, Dang,

and Ellis 1979).

Larval phenology

Based on larval collections and rearing,

the order of appearance of fourth instar larvae

approximated the following sequence: (1) A.

spencerii; (2) A. implicatus, A. intrudens, A.

provocans; (3) A. communis , A. diantaeus,

A. punctor, A. sticticus, A. stimulans; (4) A.

abserratus, A. aurifer, A. excrucians, A.

euedes, A. flavescens; (5) A. canadensis, A.

fitchii, A. riparius; (6) A. cinereus, A. vex-

ans. Larval development of most species was

synchronized, with nearly all members of a

given species entering the fourth instar within

a week or less in the same region. Exceptions

were A . cinereus and A . vexans, which often

had staggered emergence periods.

The central sandy uplands and plains, and

northern loamy uplands and plains, respond

quickly to seasonal warming (Hole 1976).

Larval development in these regions was

considerably advanced relative to develop¬

ment on other soils.

Adult dispersal

Aedes canadensis, A. cinereus, A. excru¬

cians, A. fitchii, A. provocans, A. stimulans,

and A. vexans were frequently collected within

two miles of known breeding sites. Collec¬

tions at greater distances did not occur for A .

excrucians and were infrequent for the other

six species. These observations are similar

to reports of Aedes flight ranges by Jenkins

and Hassett (1951), Neilsen (1957), Burst

(1980), Washino (1984), and Joslyn and Fish

(1986), although many workers have cited

much greater flight ranges for A. vexans dur¬

ing the summer. Horsfall et al. (1973) in¬

dicated that dispersal varies with environ¬

mental conditions and may be thwarted in A .

vexans populations that emerge in the spring

before evening temperatures are conducive

to flight.

41

Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

Table 3. Larvae of each species of Aedes collected from ten selected sites in each of nine 24-

mile-square study areas in 1988, 1989, and 1990

Continued on next page

42

Spring Aedes Mosquitoes in Wisconsin

Table 3— Continued

Adult longevity

Because drought prevented additional

broods of multivoltine spring Aedes in 1988,

this study provided an unusual opportunity

to identify persistent components of spring

populations. The second set of adult collec¬

tions yielded A. aurifer, A. campestris , A.

cinereus , A. stimulans group, and A. vexans .

Aedes stimulans group adults are frequently

reported to persist into August and occasion¬

ally September. Carpenter and Nielsen (1965)

reported a seventy two -day biting period for

A. campestris , and Horsfall et ah (1973) con¬

cluded that the typical lifespan of spring gen¬

eration A. vexans females is about seventy -

two days. At the opposite extreme, the nui¬

sance potential of A. provocans was offset

by its brief adult lifespan. Adult collections

of this species were primarily a measure of

how recently it had emerged in a given area.

Wood, Dang, and Ellis (1979) noted that adults

of this early species were seldom seen in

Canada after other spring Aedes had emerged.

Account of Wisconsin species

Aedes abserratus (Felt and Young, 1904)

= Aedes implacabilis of authors before 1954,

except Walker, 1848. County records (Fig. 1):

2, 6, 9, 11-13, 18, 32, 45, 48,* 49, 51, 52,

55, 63,* 64, 65,* 69. (Asterisks indicate

published records only.)

Aedes abserratus was fairly common state¬

wide. Larvae were almost always associated

with Sphagnum in swamps, bogs, shrubby

marshes, and woodland pools. Larvae de¬

veloped in essentially the same habitats oc¬

cupied by A. punctor, but A. abserratus lar¬

vae were more prevalent in sandy regions,

and A. punctor larvae were more prevalent

in and around Sphagnum bogs. Other re¬

searchers also noted the association of larvae

with Sphagnum among shrubs or trees.

Aedes aurifer (Coquillett, 1903). County

records (Fig. 1): 2, 13,* 17,* 18,* 35,* 43,*

46,* 51,* 52,* 57,* 61,* 63,* 70.

This statewide species is apparently rare

in early spring breeding sites in Wisconsin.

In 1988 a single larva was collected from a

large, open cattail pond in the southeastern

study area, and five adults were collected

near a small woodland lake in the northern

study area. Other studies in Wisconsin re¬

sulted in the collection of a limited number

of specimens. Breeding sites reported from

43

Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

nearby states and provinces include perma¬

nent and semipermanent bodies of water,

cranberry bogs, river-overflow areas, wood¬

land pools, and roadside habitats, with larvae

frequently being collected away from shore¬

line areas.

Aedes campestris Dyar and Knab, 1907.

County records (Fig. 1): 2, 52,* 63.*

Aedes campestris is apparently rare in

Wisconsin in the spring; it may occur more

commonly in the summer. A single adult was

collected in the northern study area from a

row of trees surrounded by open farmland.

This species was found during three surveys

in Dane County and was represented by only

three specimens in the State Board of Health

General Survey (Allen 1950). Elsewhere in

the United States and Canada, it was usually

found in open areas; larvae were reported to

develop in alkaline prairie pools, especially

those with a high organic content.

Aedes canadensis (Theobald, 1901).

County records (Fig. 1): 2, 5,* 6, 9, 11-13,

17,* 18, 22, 30, 34,* 35,* 37,* 45,* 46,*

48,* 49, 52, 55, 56 (unpublished), 57,* 58,*

63,* 64, 69, 70, 71,* 72.*

This species was fairly common statewide.

Larvae were most abundant in woodland

seepage pools in the south and boggy areas

in the north but also occurred in sedge-cattail

marshes. Many researchers in nearby states

to the south of Wisconsin noted that wood¬

land pools, especially those associated with

streams, are a preferred habitat. Others in

northern states and provinces noted an as¬

sociation with Sphagnum.

The limited number of adults that were

collected may be attributed to the wide range

of hosts that are attractive to this species.

Limited biting activity was also noted in Wis¬

consin by DeFoliart (1967), and Carpenter

and LaCasse (1955) observed that this spe¬

cies is seldom a pest in the eastern half of

its range, even when present in considerable

numbers. Several authors have noted that

adults often feed on turtles (Crans 1964; Hayes

1965; Nolan, Moussa, and Hayes 1965;

DeFoliart 1967; Crans and Rockel 1968).

Nevertheless, adults are known to readily at¬

tack humans, and they may be an important

pest in some areas of Wisconsin, most no¬

tably in woodland seepage areas.

Aedes cinereus Meigen, 1818. County

records (Fig. 1): 1,* 2, 4,* 5,* 6, 7,* 9,

11-14, 17,* 18, 19,* 22, 23,* 30, 32, 34,*

35-37,* 39,* 41,* 43,* 44, 45,* 48,* 49,

51, 52, 55, 57,* 58,* 61-63,* 64, 65, 66,*

69, 70, 71,* 72.*

Larvae were fairly common in a wide va¬

riety of habitats but were mostly found in

sedge and cattail marshes or in bogs. They

were especially common in the northern,

northwestern, and north central study areas.

Often several instars were present at the same

time, indicating a staggered emergence. The

wide variety of larval habitats was noted pre¬

viously in Wisconsin and by many workers

in nearby states and provinces.

Adults attacked readily throughout the day

in woodlands, where they were often en¬

countered in considerable numbers. This spe¬

cies was identified as a pest throughout Wis¬

consin in the State Board of Health General

Survey (Allen 1950); it was the second most

numerous species biting humans in Iowa

County (Loor and DeFoliart 1970).

Aedes communis (De Geer, 1776).

County records (Fig. 1): 2, 5,* 9, 11-13, 18,

35,* 48,* 63,* 72.*

This boreal species is an important pest of

the Canadian Shield. Larvae were collected

only in the northern, north central, and north¬

eastern study areas, where they were the pre¬

dominant or only species in certain sites. They

occurred only within soils of loamy uplands

and plains. Here they were found in vernal

ponds, mostly in woodlands and partially

shaded areas, and along margins of swamps

and leatherleaf bogs. Larvae were especially

common in 1989; they were much less com¬

mon in 1988 and 1990. Rapid drying of hab¬

itats in 1988 and possible emergence before

completion of sampling in 1990 may have

contributed to lower numbers of larvae in

these years. Siverly and DeFoliart reported

this to be the most numerous species in larval

collections from Forest County (1968a), and

the second most abundant spring mosquito

44

Spring Aedes Mosquitoes in Wisconsin

in adult collections from five northeastern

counties (1968b). Workers in nearby states

and provinces reported A. communis larvae

from habitats similar to those described above

and also noted that they often occur exclu¬

sively or nearly so in large numbers. Irwin

(1942) found that larvae were particularly

abundant in rapidly drying pools and shallow

habitats in central Michigan; Gjullin et al.

(1961) indicated that adults frequently emerged

just before larval habitats in Alaska had dried.

Aedes decticus Howard, Dyar, and

Knab, 1917. County records (Fig, 1): 12, 18.

In 1989 six larvae were collected in north¬

eastern Wisconsin from two sites that con¬

tained Sphagnum. They represent the first

records of this species for the state. Four

larvae were found in an open leatherleaf bog;

the other two were collected from a spruce-

tamarack swamp. In the western Great Lakes

region other studies associated larvae of this

relatively rare species with Sphagnum.

Aedes diantaeus Howard, Dyar, and

Knab, 1917. County records (Fig. 1): 2, 8,*

9, 11,* 12, 13, 18.

This boreal species occurred uncommonly

in northern Wisconsin. Larvae were collected

from margins of swamps or from pools in

alder ( Alnus ) thickets and were usually as¬

sociated with Sphagnum and alders and al¬

most always with larvae of A. punctor. Siverly

and DeFoliart (1968a) identified a productive

breeding site in Forest County where larvae

occurred in stump holes “formed by cedar

and hemlock windthrow.” They also ob¬

tained modest numbers of adults from five

northeastern counties (1968b). Prior to their

study this species was represented in Wis¬

consin by a single adult from Sawyer County

(Smith 1952). Other studies in our region

associated larvae with Sphagnum pools and

alders or woodland pools.

Aedes dorsalis (Meigen, 1830). County

records (Fig. 1): 19,* 63,* 64,* 72.*

Aedes dorsalis adults may emerge later than

those of most species of spring Aedes in Wis¬

consin, where they have usually been col¬

lected in small numbers, mostly during the

summer. No specimens were collected in this

study. In other states and provinces larvae of

this species were reported to occur in alkaline

and saline pools and also in ponds that are

rich in organic matter. Outside of the prairie

region larvae were usually associated with

industrial wastes.

Aedes euedes Howard, Dyar, and

Knab, 1917 = Aedes barri Rueger, 1958.

County records (Fig. 1): 11, 13, 49, 51, 52.

Aedes euedes larvae were found only in

the northeastern, central, and east central study

areas, where they were uncommon. Seven

were collected in 1988 and seven more in

1990. These are the only records of this spe¬

cies from Wisconsin. Larvae were collected

in association with cattail marshes containing

scattered ash trees ( Fraxinus ) or from rather

open pools adjacent to woodlands. Wood,

Dang, and Ellis (1979) associated larvae with

large open marshes having dense accumu¬

lations of decomposing sedges and cattails.

Wilmot, Henderson, and Allen (1987) re¬

ported larvae from several woodland pools

in Michigan, while Price (1963) found larvae

in nearly all habitats he sampled in northern

Minnesota.

Aedes excrucians (Walker, 1856).

County records (Fig. 1): 2, 4,* 6, 7,* 9,

11-14, 18, 28,* 30, 39,* 41,* 42,* 44, 45,

48,* 49, 51, 52, 55, 57,* 58,* 63,* 64, 65,

66,* 68,* 69, 70, 71,* 72.*

Aedes excrucians larvae were common in

all study areas and occurred in more different

sites and habitats than larvae of any other

species. They were almost always found in

association with larvae of other species and

usually were not the dominant species. The

relatively ubiquitous larvae were most com¬

mon in marshes and margins of swamps. It

was the most abundant larva that Siverly and

DeFoliart (1968a) collected in Lincoln County,

where it occurred in unshaded grassy pools

and ditches. In nearby states and provinces

all researchers reported larvae from a variety

of habitats.

Aedes fitchii (Felt and Young, 1904).

County records (Fig. 1): 2, 4,* 5,* 6, 7,* 9,

11-14, 18, 19,* 22,* 28,* 30, 35,* 37-39,*

43,* 44, 45, 48,* 49, 51, 52, 55, 57,* 58,*

45

Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

63,* 64, 65, 66,* 69, 70, 71.*

Larvae of A. fitchii were fairly common

statewide. They were almost always asso¬

ciated with larvae of A . excrucians and/or A .

stimulans and were never the dominant spe¬

cies in collections. Larvae were most com¬

mon in marshes but also occurred in drainage

ditches, woodland pools, and margins of

swamps and bogs. Siverly and DeFoliart

(1968a) reported that A. fitchii larvae oc¬

curred in a wider range of habitats than A.

excrucians in northeastern Wisconsin. Other

researchers in our region found that larvae

inhabited mostly marshes and rarely were as¬

sociated with Sphagnum.

Although A. excrucians outnumbered A.

fitchii in larval collections, the opposite was

true in adult collections. This may be par¬

tially attributed to the greater propensity of

A. fitchii to invade woodlands, where biting

counts were made. In addition, since adults

of A. fitchii emerge later than those of A.

excrucians, they would have experienced less

mortality prior to the collection of adults in

June and July.

Aedes flavescens (Muller, 1764). County

records (Fig. 1): 2,* 5,* 32, 43,* 49, 60,*

63,* 65,* 69, 72.*

This species was rare in our study. It was

reported to be sporadic over most of its range

and common only in prairies (Wood, Dang,

and Ellis 1979). Three larvae were collected

in the southern half of the state, one from a

woodland pool, another from a cattail pond,

and the third from a glacial kettle. Siverly

and DeFoliart (1968b) collected a single adult

from northeastern Wisconsin. In other areas

of the western Great Lakes region larvae were

associated with grassland pools and marshes,

cattail ponds, and by Irwin (1942) with

woodland pools.

Aedes grossbecki Dyar and Knab, 1906.

County record (Fig. 1): 63.*

Aedes grossbecki is represented in Wis¬

consin by a single adult from the University

of Wisconsin-Madison Arboretum (Thomp¬

son and DeFoliart 1966). This southern

woodland species was reported to be com¬

mon in southern Illinois and rare northward

(Ross 1947; Ross and Horsfall 1965).

Aedes implicatus Vockeroth, 1954 =

Aedes impiger of authors before 1954, except

Walker, 1848. County records (Fig. 1): 2,

9 (unpublished), 11,* 48.*

Aedes implicatus is apparently a rare bo¬

real species in Wisconsin. In the northern

study area a single adult was reared from a

pupa that was collected from a marsh that

contained willows and was next to a stream.

Siverly and DeFoliart, who first reported this

species in Wisconsin, obtained a single larva

from a coniferous woodland stump hole in

Forest County and one adult nearby (1968a);

they also collected one adult from an un¬

specified location in northeastern Wisconsin

(1968b). Porter and Gojmerac (1970) re¬

ported small numbers of adults emerging from

woodland pools in Point Beach State Forest,

Manitowoc County. In Colorado, Smith (1965)

found larvae in “small shallow pools left by

receding streams and shaded by willow thick¬

ets”; Wood, Dang, and Ellis (1979) obtained

large numbers of larvae from a similar habitat

in Ontario. Other workers found larvae mostly

in temporary woodland habitats and

Sphagnum bogs.

Aedes intrudens Dyar, 1919. County

records (Fig. 1): 2, 5,* 6, 9 (unpublished),

11-13, 18, 28,* 30, 44, 48,* 49, 63,* 72.*

Larvae were rare, but those that were col¬

lected were found in all types of habitats

except ditches. The varied larval habitat was

also noted by other researchers in our region,

with Sphagnum bogs and woodland pools the

most frequently mentioned habitats.

Aedes provocans (Walker, 1848) =

Aedes trichurus (Dyar, 1904). County rec¬

ords (Fig. 1): 2, 6, 9, 11-14, 18, 30, 32, 44,

45, 49, 51, 52, 55, 64, 70.

Aedes provocans larvae were very com¬

mon in all study areas. Although they were

collected most frequently from marshes and

woodland pools, larvae were rather common

in all types of habitats that were sampled,

especially open, temporary sites such as grassy

ditches and grassland pools. In northeastern

46

Spring Aedes Mosquitoes in Wisconsin

Wisconsin, Siverly and DeFoliart (1968a) as¬

sociated larvae with grassy pools. The varied

nature of the larval habitat was also reported

in studies in nearby states and provinces.

Aedes punctor (Kirby , 1837). County

records (Fig. 1): 2, 5,* 6, 9, 11-13, 18, 30,

35, 45,* 48,* 49, 52, 55, 57,* 65,* 69.

Larvae of A. punctor , an important pest

of the boreal forest, were common in the

north central and northeastern study areas and

uncommon elsewhere. They were the most

numerous larvae in the northeastern study

area, and also in the study by Siverly and

DeFoliart (1968a) in northeastern Wisconsin.

Among species we commonly collected, A.

abserratus and A. punctor were most often

coincident in larval habitats; A. punctor lar¬

vae appeared in more than three-fourths of

the sites known to be inhabited by larvae of

A. abserratus . During a seven-year study in

Minnesota, Price (1963) observed that A.

punctor larvae occurred in all habitats that

had yielded A. abserratus larvae. While lar¬

vae were collected from a variety of habitats,

they most frequently occurred in Sphagnum

bogs and, to a lesser extent, in woodland

pools with Sphagnum, Most researchers in

nearby states and provinces mentioned that

larvae were associated with Sphagnum and

shrubs or trees. The exception was Steward

and Me Wade (1960), who found larvae in

Ontario in virtually all types of standing water,

most commonly in woodland pools.

Aedes riparius Dyar and Knab, 1907.

County records (Fig. 1): 6, 9, 12, 28,* 43,*

45, 49, 51,* 63,* 64, 65.*

Aedes riparius is apparently rare in Wis¬

consin. Only four specimens were found in

the State Board of Health survey (Allen 1950).

Larvae were collected in small numbers from

several habitats but most frequently were found

in marshes. Researchers in nearby states and

provinces also collected larvae mostly from

marshes that frequently contained some scat¬

tered trees or shrubs, or had trees along their

margins.

Aedes spencerii (Theobald , 1901).

County records (Fig. 1): 2, 5,* 6, 9, 12, 13,*

32,* 51,* 52,* 58,* 63,* 69.*

Aedes spencerii is apparently uncommon

in Wisconsin. A few pupae were collected

in northern areas during the first set of larval

collections in 1988; in 1989 and 1990 adults

had probably emerged before larval collec¬

tions were made. All pupae were collected

from open habitats, including grassland pools,

a sedge marsh, a Sphagnum bog, and a small

pond. In adjacent states larvae were reported

from grassland pools, marshes, and bogs.

Wood, Dang, and Ellis (1979) indicated that

this species has been underrepresented or

overlooked in several studies because of its

early appearance, noting that pupae were

present when larvae of other spring Aedes

were about half grown.

Aedes sticticus (Meigen, 1838). County

records (Fig. 1): 2, 6, 11, 18, 30, 32, 35,*

42,* 48,* 49, 52, 55, 67.*

Larvae develop throughout the state pri¬

marily in flood water pools along streams. Al¬

though rare in this study because of the drought

in 1988, A. sticticus larvae may become ex¬

ceptionally numerous near streams after un¬

usually heavy snowmelt and/or rain. It was

identified as a pest in Manitowoc County

(Porter and Gojmerac 1970). Adults were

collected in considerable numbers in Wood

County (Wright et al. 1970) and in five north¬

eastern counties (Siverly and DeFoliart 1968b).

Cook, Bodine, and Wermerskirchen (1974)

studied the biology of this species in the Twin

Cities area just west of Wisconsin. Eggs were

laid along the periphery of flooded areas and

accumulated in river floodplains and bottom¬

lands during intervals between extensive

floods. They remained viable for several years

under drought conditions and hatched after

flooding. In Canada, Wood, Dang, and Ellis

(1979) observed that A. sticticus populations

are almost always associated with A . vexans,

but that the converse is seldom true “because

A . vexans develops in summer rainpools after

local flooding, whereas A. sticticus requires

extensive flooding, which only follows wide¬

spread excessive precipitation.”

Aedes stimukms (Walker , 1848). County

47

Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

records (Fig. 1): 2, 4,* 5,* 6, 11-14, 18,

19,* 22, 28,* 30, 32, 37,* 39,* 44, 45, 47,

48,* 49, 51-53, 55, 57-59,* 61,* 63,* 64,

65, 66,* 69, 70, 72.*

Larvae of A. stimulans, the most numerous

species in this study, were found in a variety

of habitats but were collected most frequently

and in largest numbers from marshes, tem¬

porary ponds, and woodland seepage pools,

including river valley sites. Some ditches and

grassy pools near marshes also harbored large

populations. In other studies larvae were most

often associated with woodland pools. In

Minnesota, however, Owen (1937) men¬

tioned grassland pools as a preferred larval

habitat, while Price (1963) observed that they

prefer marshes but often occur elsewhere.

Adults were the most important nuisance

in central and southern Wisconsin in May

and early June, but they were uncommon in

much of the north. Siverly and DeFoliart

(1968a) noted a virtual absence of this spe¬

cies in northeastern counties. A similar pat¬

tern is evident in other studies in this region.

Wood, Dang, and Ellis (1979) associated large

populations south of the Ottawa area with

paleozoic sediments, and the general scarcity

northward with the Precambrian Shield, im¬

plicating acidity as a possible limiting factor.

The largest collection of larvae from the four

northern study areas in 1988 (outnumbering

all other northern collections combined) was

taken from a site in the northwestern study

area that is not on the Precambrian Shield.

Aedes vexans (Meigen, 1830). County

records (Fig. 1): 2, 5,* 6, 9, 11, 13, 14, 17,*

18, 22, 29,* 30, 32,* 34,* 35,* 37-39,*

41,* 42,* 44, 46,* 47, 48,* 49, 50,* 51, 52,

53,* 54,* 55, 56-58,* 61-63,* 64, 65-68,*

69, 70, 71,* 72.*

Aedes vexans, the most important pest

mosquito during the summer and fall in most

areas of Wisconsin, was a variable compo¬

nent of spring populations. It was the second

most abundant species in larval collections

in 1988, larvae were absent in 1989, and

larvae were numerous only in the west central

study area in 1990. This was probably the

result of more extensive flooding of habitats

by early spring rains in 1988. Adults, how¬

ever, were found in small numbers in 1988

because many habitats dried before larval de¬

velopment was completed. Larvae were col¬

lected from all types of habitats, but more

than 85% were found in marshes and grass¬

land pools, and only about 1% were from

woodland pools and Sphagnum bogs. Shal¬

low, open, grassy depressions were identified

as primary breeding areas by workers in nearby

states and provinces. However, Horsfall et

al. (1973) and Wood, Dang, and Ellis (1979)

observed that woodland habitats can also har¬

bor large populations.

Larvae were collected most frequently and

in largest numbers within areas containing

sandy or loamy soils, which corroborates

findings in other states (Horsfall et al. 1973).

Siverly and DeFoliart collected substantial

numbers of larvae (1968a) and adults (1968b)

in parts of a five-county area in northeastern

Wisconsin that were dominated by such soils.

Horsfall et al. (1973) indicated that this spe¬

cies is very local or absent in northern Mich¬

igan wherever black-legged species such as

A. communis and A. punctor are abundant.

A predominance of A. communis group spe¬

cies and scarcity of A. vexans were evident

in most larval collections by Siverly and

DeFoliart (1968a).

Possible additional species

Aedes pionips Dyar, 1919. This uni-

voltine northern species was reported from

Itasca State Park, Minnesota (Barr 1958; Price

1963), Isle Royale, Michigan (Cassani and

Newson 1980); and Ontario (Wood, Dang,

and Ellis 1979). It was reported to be com¬

mon in the boreal forest region and rare or

local southward.

Aedes pullatus (Coquillett, 1904). Ear¬

lier reports of A . pullatus from Michigan by

Irwin (1942) were questioned by Barr (1958)

and Wood, Dang, and Ellis (1979), and be¬

cause of their distance from established rec¬

ords and an apparent lack of more recent

material, they were discounted by Darsie and

Ward (1981). However, based on unpub¬

lished data of Wagner and Newson from 1971,

48

Spring Aedes Mosquitoes in Wisconsin

Cassani and Newson (1980) reported A. pul-

latus from six counties in the northern half

of Michigan. Other records show an unusual

disjunct distribution of this univoltine species

in northwestern and northeastern North

America, which may be a result of glacial

history (Wood, Dang, and Ellis 1979).

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G. R. DeFoliart, G. Seawright, and R. P.

Hanson, 1970. Isolations of LaCrosse Virus of

the California group from Tabanidae in Wis¬

consin. Mosq. News. 30:600-603.

50

Symbolism in the Cave of Montesinos

James T. Abraham

The episode of the Cave of Montesinos

in Don Quixote has become one of the

most analyzed and interpreted incidents in

modem literary history. Most critics agree

that it is the crucial moment in the work

because, as Gethin Hughes states, “We wit¬

ness the confrontation of two worlds in Don

Quixote’s mind — the chivalric and the real”

(112). The novel takes a different direction

after Don Quixote resurfaces and tells the

story of his “grande ad ventura de la cueva

de Montesinos.” This is the only adventure

that Don Quixote faces alone, so it gives us

the best opportunity to study his psycholog¬

ical state. By analyzing the dream, we can

better understand Don Quixote’s madness.

This paper discusses the symbols and their

meanings in the dream and the significance

of the dream itself.

Sigmund Freud wrote in his book, The

Interpretation of Dreams, that all dreams have

meaning. The meaning of a dream can be

interpreted through the symbols that appear

in the dream itself. The incident in the Cave

of Montesinos is rich in symbolization. In

the dreamwork Don Quixote descends into a

legendary cave and encounters a beautiful

landscape and crystal palace. He meets sev¬

eral famous characters, all demonstrating bi¬

zarre behavior. Upon seeing his enchanted

mistress, the knight is elated but confused by

her actions. Finally Don Quixote ascends back

James T. Abraham is a doctoral candidate at the Uni¬

versity of Arizona in Tucson, specializing in Golden Age

theater and literary theory. He has recently received his

M.A. degree in Foreign Language and Literature at

UW -Milwaukee . He has lived and studied in Spain,

Mexico, and Brazil.

into the “real” world only to find his friends

criticizing the cave, the adventure, and Don

Quixote himself. Analyzing dreams and their

significance is part of the psychoanalytic pro¬

cess developed by Freud around the turn of

the century. Psychologists today still use the

guidelines set down by Freud to analyze

dreams. The ideas presented in this paper

suggest possible explanations for the dream

and even Quixote’s madness by using psy¬

choanalytical theories.

The first symbol we encounter is the cave

itself. Don Quixote is familiar with the leg¬

end surrounding the cave and insists on stop¬

ping at it on his way to Barcelona. He wants

to descend into the cavern and see “si eran

verdaderas las maravillas que de ella se de-

cfan por todos aquellos contomos (if they

were true, the wonders that were spoken of

the cave in those parts)” (Cervantes, Don

Quixote, 435). Before entering the cave, Don

Quixote must chop his way through thick

brush to find the entrance and fend off bats,

owls, and other nocturnal birds. Quixote has

intense drive and needs to experience what

the cave holds. He is not afraid of his destiny

and is, in this case, actively pursuing his

future.

The cave itself is “a maternal symbol that

excites curiosity” (Becker, 149). It is a posi¬

tive symbol because caves were often used

as oracles. In the pastoral novel of Spain, the

cave was the entrance to the underworld. Ac¬

cording to Frederik de Armas, caverns were

“the source of power of magicians, wisdom

of prophets and inspiration of poets” (Ar¬

mas, 337). They were used to communicate

with the dead. Carl Jung believed the cave

represents the unconscious. Cervantes did not

use caves in his pastoral novels because of

51

Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

their demonic connotations but reversed his

fear in Don Quixote and La cueva de Sala¬

manca.1 The use of a cave by Cervantes sig¬

nals something very important. In this case,

the cave symbolizes a mystical realm in the

unconscious mind of Don Quixote where he

can come in contact with the souls of his

fallen brethren and chivalric heroes from an

age regrettably now past.

This magical place where knights live is

known to Alonso Quijano only through the

books of chivalry that have driven him mad.

The old man’s love and belief in the Age of

Chivalry, yet total lack of experience in it,

mirror in reverse his adventures. In the nov¬

els of chivalry, the aspiring knight learned

of rules and codes of conduct to be followed

by all in order to establish order amidst chaos.

But El Caballero de la Triste Figura, upon

putting on armor and accepting the charge of

knighthood, has come to learn that being a

knight is not an easy endeavor. He is battered

and trampled, disgraced and dishonored.

Needing rest and a return to the code of chiv¬

alry, Quixote sets out on a pilgrimage to the

cave of Montesinos. But the cave is much

more than just another place to explore. He

seeks in the maternal symbol a return to his

novels, to security, to the womb. This is

evident when Don Quixote resurfaces and

begins to tell his story. Sancho, solidly fixed

in the “real” world of the novel, calls the

cave a pit. Don Quixote becomes enraged

and demands that Sancho and the scholar not

call it a pit. With great emotion, he chastises

them saying, “Dios os lo perdone, amigos;

que me habeis quitado de la mas sabrosa y

agradable vida y vista que ningun humano

ha visto ni pasado (God forgive you friends

because you have taken me from the most

pleasurable life that any human has seen or

experienced)” (Cervantes, Don Quixote, 438).

On the surface Quixote may be defending the

honor of his mother since the cave is a ma¬

ternal symbol. However, I believe he is really

defending his entire chivalric world and the

fact that it exists. No part of his “world”

may be put into question because it is founded

on such unsteady ground that it could easily

be toppled.

Deeper into the symbolism, we can look

at the bell that Don Quixote forgets to put

on. The bell is a symbol of reality and his

link to the world outside the cave. It is proof

that he is moving in the flesh and blood world

of reality. If he had been wearing the bell,

Sancho and the scholar would surely have

yanked him back into reality when it stopped

making a sound, thus ending any possible

adventure. Without it, however, the knight

is free to roam in the unknown and experi¬

ence all the “maravillas” of the cave. He is

free to step out of reality and explore the

world of fantasy.

Another symbol that is part of the old

knight’s entrance into the cavern is the rope

used to lower him. Becker states that a rope

represents the sexual act (84). The smooth

walls of the cave represent erect bodies ac¬

cording to Freud (109). Therefore, Don

Quixote’s descent by means of a rope, past

the smooth walls of the cave, symbolizes

what Don Quixote knows little about—sex.

The effect is to emphasize the fact that Don

Quixote is breaking new ground with respect

to the world of his heroes and his own

sexuality.

Once inside the cave, Don Quixote sees a

beautiful place that only nature could create.

He is not sure whether he is asleep or awake

but soon convinces himself that he has all his

faculties. Could the knight be in paradise? I

believe so, at least the paradise that the knight

Don Quixote de la Mancha has envisioned.

The beautiful landscape emphasizes the idyl¬

lic nature of the dream. In this ideal land,

Quixote spies a crystal castle. Crystal rep¬

resents the self (Becker, 154), and here Don

Quixote is looking into a mirror. He sees

himself as a majestic, strong, and royal per¬

sonage equal to his ideals. He has created in

his mind the perfect reincarnation of himself

and his beliefs.

Soon after creating his heaven, Quixote

meets its first inhabitant, the old Montesinos.

The knight describes Montesinos as “vestido

52

Symbolism in the Cave of Monte sinos

con un capuz de bayeta morada, que por el

suelo le arrastraba, cernale la cabeza una gorra

milanesa negra, y la barb a, camsima, le pas-

aba de la cintura (He was clad in a long

mourning cloak of purple baize, which trailed

upon the ground; over his shoulders and breast

he wore a kind of collegiate tippet of green

satin, his hoary beard reaching below his gir¬

dle)” (Cervantes, Don Quixote, 439). Is this

the image of God in Don Quixote’s mind?

Not exactly. Becker says kings or queens

represent parents (85); Montesinos represents

Don Quixote’s father. Quixote further proves

this when he says, “El continente, el paso,

la gravedad y la anchfsima presencia, cada

cosa de por si y todas juntas, me suspendi-

eron y admiraron (His mien, his gait, his

gravity, and his goodly presence each singly

and conjointly filled me with surprise and

admiration)” (Cervantes, Don Quixote, 439).

Just as a child respects his parents, Don

Quixote looks up to Montesinos and respects

him.

Montesinos has been analyzed by many

critics, and all have found different things

about him strange. He is a figure from medi¬

eval Spanish ballads in the region of La Man¬

cha. Carrol B. Johnson, in his book, Mad¬

ness and Lust, remarks that although

Montesinos is dressed in a scholarly way, he

does not know all the answers. He does not

know how to disenchant all the people in the

cave or whether he used a “daga” (dagger)

or a “punal buido” (dirk) to take out his

friend Durandarte’s heart. Even more star¬

tling to Quixote is the fact that Montesinos

is not familiar with the beautiful Dulcinea

(163). Johnson interprets these uncertainties

as Don Quixote’s own or, much more likely,

as those of his father (163). Just as a rebel¬

lious teenager believes that his parents do not

know what is best, Don Quixote questions

Montesinos.

A theme discussed by E. C. Riley is the

absurdity of Montesinos. The picture given

us of Montesinos does not fit the image of a

great knight. He is holding a rosary with

beads the size of chestnuts and ostrich eggs.

He does not evoke awe or fear as a great

knight of his time would but rather appears

ridiculous. Further highlighting the absurdity

of Montesinos is the fact that his best friend,

Durandarte, was to have had a heart that

weighed two pounds.2 Riley writes, “These

ridiculous details puncture the fabric of his

(Don Quixote’s) chivalric vision” (142). He

believes these elements are meant to mock

Don Quixote and his principles (142). They

emphasize the ridiculous nature of the dream

and the old knight himself.

Soon after meeting Montesinos, Don

Quixote asks the old man if the legend sur¬

rounding the removal of his best friend’s heart

is true. Montesinos answers “yes,” and the

fact that there is a question about the dagger

leaves us to wonder about its significance.

The knife is a masculine symbol. The ap¬

pearance of a masculine element within the

womb causes much fear in Don Quixote.

Johnson believes the dagger symbolizes

Quixote’s fear of castration and the castrating

female (167). This symbol is a manifestation

of his inability to interact with women and

probably stems from an unresolved problem

in the Oedipal stage of his childhood (John¬

son, 167).

Next, Don Quixote meets the zombie Du¬

randarte. Named for Roland’s sword, he is

Don Quixote’s image of the ideal knight.

Johnson believes Durandarte is identifiable

to Don Quixote because they are both knights

and both have hairy, bony hands that show

great strength. Don Quixote identifies with

him but is afraid when he realizes that Duran¬

darte is no longer a powerful knight. Because

Durandarte and a sword are so closely re¬

lated, Johnson associates Durandarte to the

phallus through symbolization (164). The fact

that Durandarte is a “sword-phallus rendered

useless by bloody mutilation” (Johnson, 164)

points to impotency. Because Durandarte and

Quixote are essentially the same, Duran¬

darte’s impotency points to fears of impo¬

tency in Don Quixote. Johnson goes as far

as to say that this element of impotency

“bring[s] together some of the most pervasive

53

Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

themes of Don Quixote’s psychic life, with

some of the most deep-seated fears about

himself and his manhood” (164).

The first female character that the knight

encounters is the noble woman, Belerma.

Quixote describes Belerma as clad in black,

with a slightly up-turned nose and a large

mouth with colored lips. Johnson sees three

different themes in the character of Belerma.

First, he believes that she represents all the

older women in Quixote’s life — his mother,

his grandmother, and others (165). The al¬

lusions to the age and sensuality of Belerma

are signs of an Oedipal attraction in the knight’s

past. Next, there is a relationship between

Belerma and Dulcinea since Belerma is to

Durandarte what Dulcinea is to Don Quixote,

mainly the object of courtly love (164). Be¬

lerma, according to Johnson, represents the

reason for his dysfunction, something from

his childhood that has forced him to create

Dulcinea (167). Finally, because they both

have bad teeth and are sexually inoperative,3

Don Quixote and Belerma are identifiable as

one (Johnson, 168). Belerma was a legendary

beauty, but when Don Quixote sees her he

is disappointed and disillusioned. Hughes sees

the symbolism and applies it to Dulcinea. She

believes that it means if Belerma can be made

ugly, through enchantment, so too can his

beautiful Dulcinea (110). It is important to

remember that Don Quixote’s picture of the

enchanted Dulcinea is the ugly maid Sancho

pointed out to him. The image of ugliness

through enchantment bolsters Quixote’s be¬

lief in the existence of an enchanted world

and its need for his help.

Separately, each of these people has major

significance. Is there any significance to the

three being together? Johnson believes there

is. He states, “All three of the chivalric char¬

acters are projections of different aspects of

our hero himself” (167). This idea fits with

Freud’s theory of condensation; that is, many

unrelated elements may come together in a

dream. All share nearly the same age and the

fact that their lives are at a standstill (John¬

son, 167). The three inhabitants of the cave

are sentenced to live forever in legend, while

Don Quixote, although still part of the “real”

world, takes time out from the continuing

action above ground to join them in fantasy

below ground. By joining the three characters

into one, we complete the psychic picture of

the bent knight. Montesinos, according to

Johnson, projects a number of intellectual

insecurities. Durandarte projects Quixote’s

fear of castration and impotence, and Be¬

lerma reflects his fear of aging (167).

Throughout the dream, Quixote is analyzing

himself and struggling with questions that run

deep into his psyche.

Finally, Don Quixote comes face to face

with the “incarnation of his chivalric world”

(Hughes, 109), Dulcinea. She is with two

other damsels and runs away at the sight of

the great knight. One of the damsels soon

comes back and asks if Don Quixote might

lend Dulcinea six reales. He has only four,

but gives them to her anyway. Johnson be¬

lieves the money represents Dulcinea’ s sex¬

ual needs and Quixote’s prowess (158). The

fact that he is unable to give her the total of

six reales once again symbolizes his fears of

impotency and capability of loving his mis¬

tress. Hughes believes the monetary aspect

destroys Don Quixote and his chivalric world

(112). The money is not part of the chivalric

code and thus proves that this world cannot

and does not exist. It is this event that later

(on his deathbed) permits Don Quixote to

accept Sanson Carasco and the priest. Dul¬

cinea’ s simple request for money shows him

that his ideals are fantasy, and he cannot

survive in the current age of realism.

By looking at the entire episode of the

Cave of Montesinos, we can get a good look

at Don Quixote’s psychological state. Per¬

haps the best picture comes not from a

psychoanalyst, but from one of Spain’s great

authors, Miguel de Unamuno. Donald Pal¬

mer, in his article entitled, “Unamuno, Freud

and the Case of Alonso Quijano,” points to

Unamuno’s book Vida de Don Quijote y

Sancho4 as the first psychoanalytical account

of Don Quixote (243). In fact, Unamuno and

Freud were contemporaries, and Unamuno’s

book was published while Freud was doing

54

Symbolism in the Cave of Montesinos

his major work on psychoanalysis. In the

book, Unamuno discusses sublimation. Freud

defines sublimation as “the sexual trend

abandoning its aim of obtaining a component

of reproductive pleasure and taking on an¬

other which is related genetically to the aban¬

doned one but is itself no longer sexual”

(Brill, 179). Palmer reports that Unamuno

believed Quixote repressed his amorous feel¬

ings for his teenage maid and, after letting

the repression boil for twelve years, finally

went mad. Claiming that aspects of higher

culture come from sublimations of repressed

instinctual drives (Brill, 215), Freud does not

condemn this sublimation as evil but calls it

“a triumph of spirituality over the senses”

(Brill, 217). Quixote’s quest for the pure,

the noble, and the chivalric is the outcome

of his sublimation of amorous feelings. His

need to contact past heroes is just another

manifestation of his repressed desires. Al¬

though hiding a dark secret, he retains his

honor and dignity (at least in his own eyes).

Johnson agrees with this idea, stating that

Don Quixote has repressed his feelings for

his niece from ‘ ‘just below conscious to deep

unconscious level” (156).

Another plausible explanation for the

dreamwork in Don Quixote’s dream is the

theory of wish fulfillment. Freud writes: “A

dream is a (disguised) fulfillment of a (sup¬

pressed or repressed) wish” (Brill, 57).

Quixote has been struggling with the en¬

chantment of his damsel since Book I, Chap¬

ter 10, when Sancho invented her. Hughes

believes the dream allows him to solve the

problem of Dulcinea’s enchantment (108)

through wish fulfillment. Don Quixote’s wish

for a land where the laws of chivalry are

upheld and adventure involving his damsel

is obvious in the dream. He identifies with

all the people in the dream world, and his

supreme chivalric act would be to disenchant

all its inhabitants. This theory rationalizes the

dream as merely an escape into fantasy land

for the gallant knight, thus having no psy¬

chological value other than to manifest his

aspirations.

The final explanation for this episode is

that it is a look into the psyche of Cervantes

himself. Becker states, “The work of art and,

even more, dreams in works of art have been

considered as confessions of the artist’s un¬

conscious personality, his affective conflicts

and especially his sexual complexes” (103).

He outlines how dreams may be used in lit¬

erature. First, the author may use the dream

explicitly to further the main theme in the

work. Second, he may use the dream im¬

plicitly as an invisible support system for the

structure of the work. Applying this theory

to Don Quixote, we might say Cervantes uses

Don Quixote’s lunacy explicitly to satirize

the Chivalric Age. The dream, once again,

reinforces the madness of the old knight and

the absurdity of the Chivalric novel. Implic¬

itly, however, the dream creates a picture of

the reasons for Don Quixote’s madness. It

subtly shows us that Don Quixote is not just

mad but that there are concrete reasons for

his condition. He has suppressed his amorous

desires for all the women he has ever known

and now must deal with all the repercussions.

He struggles relentlessly against tremendous

obstacles. It is sad that Don Quixote will

never know love, but it is noble that he will

fight until death to keep the hope for it alive.

Endnotes

‘Miguel de Cervantes, “La cueva de Sala¬

manca,” in Entremeses de Miguel de Cervantes

Saavedra, ed. Adolfo Bonilla y San Martin (Mad¬

rid: Asociacion de la Librerfa de Espana, 1963).

2The legend of the day stated that the size of a

man’s heart is directly proportional to his bravery.

Belerma was postmenopausal and Don Quixote

impotent.

4Miguel de Unamuno, Vida de Don Quixote y

Sancho Segun Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, Ex-

plicada y Comentada por Miguel de Unamuno

(Madrid: Renacimiento, 1928).

Works Cited

Armas, Frederik de. 1985. Caves of fame and

wisdom in the Spanish pastoral novel. Stud.

Philol. 82:332-58.

Becker, Raymond de. 1968. The understanding

of dreams. New York: Hawthorn.

Brill, A. A. , ed. and trans. 1938. The basic writings

55

Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

of Sigmund Freud. New York: Modem Library.

Cervantes, Miguel de. 1986. El ingenioso hidalgo

don Quijote de la Mancha. Madrid: Coleccion

Austral.

Gutheil, Emil A. 1951. The handbook of dream

analysis. New York: Liveright.

Hughes, Gethin. 1977. The cave of Montesinos:

Don Quixote’s interpretation and Dulcinea’s

disenchantment. Bull. Hisp. Stud. 54: 107-13.

Johnson, Carrol B. 1983. Madness and lust. Los

Angeles: University of California Press.

Palmer, Donald. 1971. Unamuno, Freud and the

case of Alonso Quijano. Hispania 54: 243-48.

Riley, E. C. 1986. Don Quixote. London: Allen

and Unwin.

56

The Distribution of Franklin’s Ground Squirrel

in Wisconsin and Illinois

Timothy L. Lewis and Orrin J. Rongstad

Abstract. Eastern populations of Franklin s ground squirrel (Spermophilus franklinii) have

declined in the past two decades. We studied the current range of this squirrel in Wisconsin

and Illinois to determine whether a reduction in range accompanied the population decline.

We contacted 236 biologists in Wisconsin and Illinois by mail and telephone to determine the

extent of recent sightings. We found a range extension in northwestern Wisconsin but a range

reduction in southwestern Wisconsin and northwestern Illinois. Several possible explanations

for the range reduction are discussed.

Agrowing body of evidence indicates

that in recent years the number of

Franklin’s ground squirrels has declined at

the eastern extent of its range (Van Petten

and Schramm 1972; Panzer 1986; Johnson

1988). We studied the distribution of this

squirrel in Wisconsin and Illinois to deter¬

mine its current range.

In Indiana Franklin’s ground squirrel was

listed as a “species of special concern” (Pan¬

zer 1986). Recent trapping work in Indiana

indicated a substantial reduction in the ground

squirrel’s distribution (Johnson 1988). At least

two reintroductions of Franklin’s ground

squirrel in Illinois have succeeded in counter¬

ing this decline (Van Petten and Schramm

1972; Panzer 1986). In Wisconsin the squir¬

rel is currently managed by the Bureau of

Endangered Resources.

Franklin’s ground squirrel is reclusive, hi¬

bernating from late September until April each

Timothy L. Lewis is Assistant Professor of Biology at

Wittenberg University, Springfield, Ohio. He was for¬

merly with the Department of Wildlife Ecology at the

University of Wisconsin-Madison .

Orrin J. Rongstad is with the Department of Wildlife

Ecology at UW -Madison.

year (Sowls 1948; Panzer 1986), and is strictly

diurnal. Thus it may spend 90% of its life

below ground (Sowls 1948). Its habitat is

native prairie, brushy borderlands, fence rows

bordering cropland and railroad tracks, or

marshland edges (Cory 1912; Sowls 1948;

Jackson 1961).

This squirrel’s natural range was almost

exclusively in the tall- and mid-grass prairie

region (Hall 1981; Hall and Kelson 1956).

The general range of the squirrel has not

changed much in recent times, although De

Vos (1964) reported a slight range extension

along the Indiana-Michigan border, and An¬

derson (1947) reported a range extension in

Manitoba. De Vos (1964) attributed the ex¬

tension along the Indiana-Michigan border to

human-influenced disturbances. Smith (1957)

attributed the Manitoba extension to climatic

changes.

The Franklin’s ground squirrel has prob¬

ably always been an uncommon species in

Wisconsin and Illinois. The squirrel is more

abundant farther west in Minnesota, the Da¬

kotas, and north into the plains of Canada.

Wildlife biologists in the eastern range of the

squirrel feel that the abundance of the ground

squirrel has declined during the past twenty

years. This survey was conducted to deter-

57

Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

mine whether there have been any changes

in the ranges found in Wisconsin and Illinois.

Methods

We identified wildlife biologists and state

park naturalists as the people most likely to

be familiar with the Franklin’s ground squir¬

rel. In October 1986 we surveyed each bi¬

ologist by mail and by follow-up telephone

interview about recent and past ground squir¬

rel sightings. In the past, sightings were often

recorded because of the squirrel’s destructive

role as a nest predator (Sowls 1948; Sargeant

et al. 1987). Each biologist was asked to

report any Franklin ground squirrel sightings

made in the past ten years.

In Wisconsin we contacted all 68 Depart¬

ment of Natural Resources wildlife biologists

and managers, as well as 4 U.S. Fish and

Wildlife biologists at Horicon National Wild¬

life Refuge. In Illinois we contacted 22 of

25 wildlife managers and all 6 natural heri¬

tage biologists. In addition, we wrote to each

state park supervisor or naturalist at Wiscon¬

sin’s 61 state parks and recreation areas, the

Illinois Department of Conservation’s 71 state

parks and recreation areas, and 4 forest pre¬

serve districts. A sample of nonrespondents

was made to determine nonresponse bias.

Information on Franklin’s ground squirrel

was also solicited from the general public

through wildlife managers, radio programs,

and personal contacts in areas where Frank¬

lin’s ground squirrels were previously found.

Most such sightings reported by the public

were other small mammals; however, several

sightings were later confirmed by personal

observation. Each potential sighting location

in Wisconsin was visited and livetrapping

attempted at five locations.

Results

We received 70 responses from 126 bi¬

ologists (many responded jointly) of the 236

biologists originally surveyed. Follow-up

telephone calls to 15 nonrespondents indi¬

cated nonresponse was due to lack of sight¬

ings to report.

Wisconsin

The Franklin’s ground squirrel was re¬

ported in 14 of 72 counties in Wisconsin.

There were 35 sightings reported for 28 lo¬

cations (Fig. 1). Concentrations of squirrels

Fig. 1. The reported locations of Franklin’s

ground squirrel sightings by Illinois and Wis¬

consin biologists for 1985 and 1986. Note the

lack of sightings in the unglaciated southwest

portion of Wisconsin and northwest Illinois.

58

Distribution of Franklin s Ground Squirrel

were found in Douglas, Burnett, and Rusk

counties in northwest Wisconsin, and in

Waukesha, Racine, and Kenosha counties in

southeastern Wisconsin, as well as thinner

groupings in between in an area ranging from

Marathon County to Dodge County. In ad¬

dition, one Franklin’s ground squirrel was

observed during trapping near Horicon Na¬

tional Wildlife Refuge, and two were col¬

lected in northwestern Douglas County.

Illinois

Franklin’s ground squirrels were reported

in 22 locations in 16 of 102 counties in Il¬

linois (Fig. 1). Squirrels were reported in the

northeast in Cook, DuPage, and Will coun¬

ties. All other sightings were in a band of

central counties from Henderson and Green

counties to Ford, Vermilion, Coles, and

Champaign counties. Squirrel range in Illi¬

nois showed no new extensions; no sightings

were reported in northwestern Illinois, con¬

tiguous to an area of southwestern Wisconsin

where there were no squirrels.

Discussion

Wisconsin

Cory (1912) listed the range of Franklin’s

ground squirrel in Wisconsin as southern and

western Wisconsin. His map (Fig. 2 A) de¬

picted the range from Burnett County south¬

east to Walworth County, west of Lake

Michigan on the Illinois border. No specific

sightings were listed.

Hall and Kelson (1956) drew the range line

closer to Lake Michigan in the southeast,

including Racine and Kenosha counties, south

of Milwaukee (Fig. 2B). They listed only

one specific sighting in Wisconsin, at Lake

Delavan, and relied on sightings in Minne¬

sota and Illinois to place the range line in

Wisconsin.

Jackson (1961), dealing specifically with

Wisconsin mammals, as had Cory (1912),

listed 32 sightings and museum specimens

dating from pre-1900 to 1960. Jackson’s

range for the Franklin’s ground squirrel

(Fig. 2C) is the most accurate to that date,

Fig. 2. The historical distribution of the Franklin’s ground squirrel in Illinois and Wisconsin.

Figure A shows the early distribution in both states according to Cory (1912). Figure B shows

the distribution according to Hall and Kelson (1956). Figure C gives the Illinois distribution of

Hoffmeister and Mohr (1957) and the Wisconsin distribution after Jackson (1961). Figure D

shows the most recent range estimates for both states as given by Hall (1981).

59

Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

based upon museum specimens and sightings

from authorities. He confirmed the range de¬

scribed by Hall and Kelson (1956) in Racine

and Kenosha counties with actual records

and moved the northwest range more south¬

erly to Polk County, just south of Burnett

County.

Hall (1981) revised the 1956 range map in

Wisconsin (Hall and Kelson 1956) in light

of Jackson’s 1961 work and one additional

sighting in Hibbing, Minnesota, and one in

Duluth. Using no records from Wisconsin,

Hall estimated the range to extend north in

northwest Wisconsin into Douglas County

(Fig. 2D). We found five Franklin’s ground

squirrels, including two livetrapped, for

Douglas County, verifying Hall’s 1981 range

estimate. All of the Wisconsin ranges listed

are close to the tension zone described by

Curtis (1959).

Illinois

Cory (1912) placed the range of the Frank¬

lin’s ground squirrel in Illinois as the entire

northern two-thirds of the state except Lake

County in the far northeast (Fig. 2A). His

southern line ran from Madison to Clark

counties.

Hall and Kelson (1956) established the range

80 km farther south based on one sighting in

St. Clair County (Fig. 2B). They also in¬

cluded one sighting in Lake County in the

northeast. Hall (1981) did not modify his

earlier range map (Hall and Kelson 1956)

after twenty-five years (Fig. 2D).

Hoffmeister and Mohr (1957) were more

conservative with their range line (Fig. 2C).

Their line of known locations was farther

north from Adams County to Vermilion

County, with a disjunct population in St. Clair

County.

Our results tended to follow a line from

Madison County to Clark County in the south,

though sightings were reported from St. Clair

County. There were no sightings in northwest

Illinois contiguous with the area in south¬

western Wisconsin that had no recent Frank¬

lin’s ground squirrel sightings.

Changes in distribution

It appears from our distributional data that

Franklin’s ground squirrels have a relatively

stable range in Wisconsin and Illinois. How¬

ever, we found no sightings in southwestern

Wisconsin or northwestern Illinois, where a

few squirrels had previously been reported

(Jackson 1961).

Illinois naturalists familiar with Franklin’s

ground squirrel think it has declined over the

past thirty years, although precise data are

lacking. Jim Grude of the McHenry County

Conservation Department attempted to trap

ground squirrels in the county but found none

during the summers of 1986 or 1987 (pers.

com.). Van Petten and Schramm (1972) wrote

twenty years ago of the “increasing rarity”

of Franklin’s ground squirrel in Illinois. Many

of the responses to our survey also included

comments suggesting the loss of squirrels,

or at least the perception of loss from de¬

creased frequencies of sightings. In order to

counter the decline in Illinois, Van Petten

and Schramm (1972) in Knox County and

Panzer (1986) at the Markham Prairie have

with some success attempted reintroduction

into the former range.

There are several reasons that the Frank¬

lin’s ground squirrel may no longer be found

in southwestern Wisconsin. The squirrels may

never have been common in the unglaciated

portions of Wisconsin and Illinois. This area

is covered by a thin layer of unconsolidated

material less than fifty feet thick, and often

only inches thick. Erosion can be severe and

could create a problem with burrow

construction.

Land-use changes seem to be a primary

candidate for causing a decline, as suspected

in places in Minnesota as early as 1 892 (Her¬

rick). Sowls (1948) related a comment from

C.C. Fumiss that the squirrel “appears to be

retreating before the advance of agriculture.”

Van Petten and Schramm (1972) blamed cul¬

tivation, mowing, and grazing for the decline

of Franklin’s ground squirrel. However, Cory

(1912) felt the squirrel was not greatly af¬

fected by the cultivation of land.

60

Distribution of Franklin’ s Ground Squirrel

The general loss of prairie habitat alone

may not be entirely responsible for the de¬

cline. The Franklin’s ground squirrel is often

locally abundant while nearby areas have none

(Jackson 1961). Recent trappings in the plains

of Canada by A. Sargeant revealed small

concentrations of the squirrel isolated by large

areas without them, despite apparently ho¬

mogeneous habitats (pers. com.).

Isolation of these “islands” could easily

lead to long-term numerical declines. New-

mark (1987) found that over 40% of all spe¬

cies of lagomorph, carnivore, and artiodactyl

(12 species) found in western national parks

have become extinct. The loss of park species

was attributed to the loss of mammals on

adjacent lands, isolating the park popula¬

tions. The populations within the park were

smaller, less stable, and isolated from po¬

tential recolonizers. Habitat fragmentation in

agricultural areas could similarly isolate ground

squirrel populations.

Another factor contributing to a decline

may be that the populations are cyclic. Erlien

and Tester (1984) noted a ten-year cyclic

population pattern in Franklin’s ground squirrel

that they linked to predator shifts during cyclic

lows in the snowshoe hare population. Sowls

(1948) noted a six-year cycle at Delta, Man¬

itoba, that he attributed to climate, infertility,

and disease. Normal cyclic declines in frag¬

mented populations could eliminate some

populations even though habitat is suitable,

and the isolation would prevent reoccupa¬

tion, leading to a general decline. However,

the apparent decline in Franklin’s ground

squirrels at the eastern extent of the range

has been noted for more than twenty years,

and farther south than other cyclic popula¬

tions. There seems to be no macroclimatic

change that could exclude the squirrels from

the area, as they are found farther south in

Illinois, farther north into Canada, farther

east into Indiana, and farther west into Illi¬

nois, Iowa, and the Dakotas.

Further work on site- specific changes in

habitat should be done to examine changes

over time in areas that may have lost or gained

Franklin’s ground squirrels. Also necessary

are studies of reproductive success and

survivorship.

Acknowledgments

We would like to thank the many biolo¬

gists in Illinois and Wisconsin for their co¬

operation with this research, and S. Craven,

R. Guries, and an anonymous reviewer for

comments. Support for this study was pro¬

vided by the Max McGraw Wildlife Foun¬

dation, the University of Wisconsin-Madi-

son College of Agricultural and Life Sciences,

and the University of Wisconsin-Madison

Graduate School.

Works Cited

Anderson, R. M. 1947. Catalogue of Canadian

recent mammals. Canada Dept, of Mines and

Resources Bulletin 102, Biol. Ser. no. 31.

Curtis, J. T. 1959. The vegetation of Wisconsin.

Madison: University of Wisconsin Press.

Cory, C. B. 1912. The mammals of Illinois and

Wisconsin. Publication 153. Chicago: Field

Museum of Natural History.

De Vos, A. 1964. Range changes of mammals in

the Great Lakes region. Am. Midi. Natur. 71:210—

31.

Erlien, D. A., and J. R. Tester. 1984. Population

ecology of sciurids in northwestern Minnesota.

Can. Field-Nat. 98:1-6.

Grude, J. Telephone conversations with author, 6

October 1986 and 11 September 1987.

Hall, E. R. 1981. The mammals of North Amer¬

ica. New York: Wiley.

Hall, E. R., and K. R. Kelson. 1956. The mam¬

mals of North America. New York: Ronald Press.

Herrick, C. L. 1892. Mammals of Minnesota.

Geologic and Natural History Survey of Min¬

nesota, Bulletin 7. Minneapolis: Harrison and

Smith.

Hoffmeister, D. F., and C. O. Mohr. 1957.

Fieldbook of Illinois mammals. Urbana: Natural

History Survey Division.

Jackson, H. H. T. 1961. Mammals of Wisconsin.

Madison: University of Wisconsin Press.

Johnson, S. 1988. Status and distribution of the

Franklin’s ground squirrel. Indiana Wildl. Mgmt.

and Research Notes, no. 407 (March).

Newmark, W. D. 1987. A land-bridge island per¬

spective on mammalian extinctions in western

North American parks. Nature 325:430-32.

Panzer, R. 1986. Franklin’s ground squirrel

61

Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

translocated to an Illinois prairie preserve. Res¬

toration and Management 4(1): 27.

Sargeant, A. B. Conversation with author, 10

September 1987.

Sargeant, A. B., M. A. Sovada, andR. J. Green¬

wood. 1987. Responses of three prairie ground

squirrel species, Spermophilus franklinii, S. ri-

chardsonii, and S. tridecemlineatus, to duck

eggs. Can. Field-Nat. 101:95-97.

Smith, P. W. 1957. An analysis of post- Wisconsin

biogeography of the prairie peninsula region

based on distributional phenomena among ter¬

restrial vertebrate populations. Ecol. 38:205-19.

Sowls, L. K. 1948. The Franklin’s ground squir¬

rel Citellus franklinii (Sabine) and its relation¬

ship to nesting ducks. J. Mammal. 29:113-37.

Van Patten, A., and P. Schramm. 1972. Intro¬

duction, dispersal, and population increase of

the Franklin’s ground squirrel, Spermophilus

franklinii, in a restored prairie. In Proceedings

of the Second Midwest Prairie Conference, ed.

J. H. Zimmerman. Madison: University of

Wisconsin.

62

That Eyes May Be Free: Mary North Allen

Talks with Transactions Editor Carl Haywood

In 1990 the Wisconsin Academy of Sci¬

ences, Arts, and Letters established the

Dresen Award in memory of David Dresen,

longtime photographer with the University of

Wisconsin Photo Media Center.

Mary North Allen was the first recipient,

and the award was presented at the Acade¬

my’s annual meeting held at UW- Platte ville.

Looking at the photographs, I was intrigued

with the question, “What are Mary North

Allen and her work about?’ ’ After the awards

luncheon I sought her out to talk about the

possibility of publishing some of her pho¬

tographs in Transactions, perhaps with an

interview regarding her work and her view

of photography. A year later we met for the

interview at the Academy meeting at UW-

Superior. I thought it would be a relatively

easy assignment, but that was before I knew

Mary North Allen. After talking to her for

hours, listening to the tapes, and reading

transcriptions, I found the results complex

and subtle. Months of correspondence have

followed, with telephone discussions for

clarifications, and Mary has put her answers

in writing, but the answer to my question

remains elusive. As with so many things, the

interview published here does not do justice

to the complexity and richness of one of Wis¬

consin’s remarkable people. The purpose will

have been served if the reader comes to see

the beauty in both the person and her work.

What started out as an assignment has be¬

come a joy, and it is my hope to share that

with our readers.

Transactions: When we talk about “ photog¬

raphy ? ’ what idea or definition comes to mind?

MNA: On a simple level photography is a

way of making pictures by bringing light to¬

gether with a light-sensitive surface. A cam¬

era is a light-tight box containing a device

for holding film. Opposite the film is a hole

through which the light can pass. For opening

and closing the hole a cork would do or a

piece of electrician’s tape. All the stuff you

pay so much money for is there to let you

control exactly how the light will enter the

camera and impinge upon the film. But most

people buy cameras with automatic controls

to coordinate the various actions. Some of

us prefer to do our own coordinating.

The light entering your camera is, of course,

not pure light. What enters the camera is light

that is reflected from the surfaces in front of

the camera. The configuration of light and

shadow which impinges on the film is thus

a reflection of the surface appearance of what’s

in front of the camera. But surface appear¬

ance changes every hour of the day, every

time a cloud passes, every season of the year.

Although the camera is often figuratively

described as an “eye,” it cannot see the way

a person sees. The purpose of photography,

in most cases, is that you want to share with

somebody your interest in what you are seeing.

The camera is just a box. It has no way of

knowing about your interests.

Transactions: In our discussions you have

often used the words ‘ ‘ seeing ’ ’ and ‘ ‘ vision ! ’

Do these have special meaning in your ap¬

proach to photography?

MNA: Vision is more than reception of raw

data, more than identification, more than

seeing enough to avoid bumping into things.

Vision is a thought process, interrelated with

all of mind’s activity, with all our formal and

experiential learning, and with all the bag¬

gage, both essential and superfluous, that we

all carry. A configuration of various inten¬

sities and wave lengths of light impinging

upon the retina of our eyes generates nerve

impulses that travel the optic nerve to enter

an intricate network of thousands of brain

cells. Herein lies the intuitive part of the visual

63

Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

process — what the photographer depends

upon.

I believe that each person’s vision is as

unique to that particular person as his or her

voice. We recognize the voice of a friend

whom we haven’t seen for years. But how

can any of us know our friend’s vision — or

our own vision — unless we communicate it

in some way? And my way is to make some¬

thing — to create a photograph.

Transactions: Have you always had this sense

of seeing or did something in your back¬

ground develop it?

MNA: I am one of those who can’t draw, or

so I always thought. When I was a child in

rural New York State, there was no art taught

in the local schools. Nor was there music,

except for a singing class, for which the teacher

screened us in first grade. He determined that

roughly half of the pupils were listeners, not

singers. Through twelve grades we sat while

others sang.

We lived on a farm and I played in the

woods. I waded in a clear, clean, sparkling

brook. In my trusty oatmeal carton I collected

flowers and pretty stones, twigs of interesting

shape, colored leaves, hemlock cones, wild

strawberries and blackberries and raspberries

(a patch of white raspberries grew by the

remains of an old stone wall where trees met

the upper field) and beechnuts, if I could get

them ahead of the squirrels. When I lugged

my treasures home, my mother didn’t scold

about the holes in the knees of my stockings

or my hair ribbon tattered with briars. In¬

stead, she admired my precious findings and

listened to my tales of adventure. It was

imaginative, inventive play.

After public schools I majored in biology

at Mills College, then washed laboratory

glassware at Hopkins Marine Station, where

I marvelled at intertidal fauna and studied

microbiology. Biology appealed to me as a

new way of seeing the living earth I felt so

close to.

In 1946 I came to Wisconsin with my hus¬

band, who was for thirty years professor of

botony at the University in Madison. We raised

three children on a farm near Mt. Horeb. I

had long been interested in photography and

in the 1960s decided to study it seriously. I

entered the UW- Department of Art, where

I was fortunate to work with George Gamb-

sky, who taught photography and who him¬

self had been a student of Minor White.

In biology I had been asked, ‘ ‘On the basis

of what observations do you draw your con¬

clusions?” There was some important dif¬

ference in the seeing I was now learning to

practice. I was engaged in yet another kind

of learning, another mode of thinking new

to me. Gambsky was reminding us that mak¬

ing a photograph is sending a message. ‘‘Don’t

you think you ought to know what sort of

messages you are sending?” We would sit

in class, in long, concentrated silence, look¬

ing at our own and each other’s prints, before

anybody spoke up.

The photographer has to grasp what Cartier-

Bresson called the “precise moment,” when

all elements of your picture come together,

and this can only be done intuitively. Only

later, when studying prints, can you assess

the message content.

In 1971 I hung my first one-person show.

I was already past fifty, but I had finally

found the right work for me. I was elated to

discover that there is such a thing as grasping

a concept aesthetically, that image-making

opens a whole new approach to understand¬

ing. Above all, I had the joyful feeling that

some part of me that had been totally ne¬

glected was coming to life. I’m still learning,

along with my students, many of whom have

experienced a similar liberation themselves.

Only after several more decades did it dawn

on me that the driving question of my life

has been to make sense of the dilemmas of

being human, the paradoxes that have been

puzzling me as long as I can remember, and

that this is the stuff of art — all the arts. The

arts are of and for all of us, and in simpler

eras they played essential roles in daily living.

It is photography as an art form that par¬

ticularly interests me. There are countless

other applications of photography, from X ray

64

Interview with Mary North Allen

to remote sensing to advertising, about which

I know very little.

For ten years I taught photography with

the UW-Extension, which for much of that

time had one of the best photography pro¬

grams in the country, with more than a dozen

instructors under the direction of Tom

Mclnvaille. In 1985, after Tom had left and

the peak of that excellence had passed, I re¬

signed to found CAMERA WORKS, making

my home into an independent center for pho¬

tographic study.

In the CAMERA WORKS program be¬

ginners do an intensive eight-week sequence

of structured assignments that enable them

to see with their own eyes how the technical

adjustments they have made influence their

images. The basic building block of photog¬

raphy is the one-stop difference in exposure.

Making a series of photographs of the same

subject with a one-stop difference, they see

how change in the intensity of light looks and

how it alters relationships between the ob¬

jects in the picture. At one end of the series,

detail in the shadows is more visible; at the

other end, detail in the highlights. Often there

are several acceptable possibilities, and the

photographer must make a choice: What will

be revealed, what will remain hidden?

From experiments with light, students go

on to learn about depth of field as they work

on problems of making a two-dimensional

picture out of the three-dimensional world.

Finally they work on problems of making a

still photograph out of the hustle and bustle

of a world endlessly in motion.

Encouraged to be aware of the design ele¬

ments all around them, and to see with their

own eyes, students apply the discipline of

the photographic craft to whatever they see

in their daily lives. They begin to discover

new worlds on their own doorsteps. Some¬

times in class we all spark each other. We

stretch ourselves. We outdo ourselves, and

we’re all amazed at the photographs that

emerge.

CAMERA WORKS has been enormously

successful as a pedagogical experiment. I

found that I love teaching, and I’ve come to

see teaching as inseparable from learning.

Take the problems of teaching depth of field.

It is hard to find words for speaking of re¬

lationships in space, as distinct from the mea¬

surement of distance. There was the hockey

coach still mystified after two class sessions.

Well, I venture, sometimes he must be

watching just one player, and other times he

must watch the movements of several. How

does he get just one in focus for one picture,

and then for another picture get several play¬

ers in focus all at once? Right away he sees

the problem, and I have a new way of pre¬

senting it.

I tell a family story to illustrate the com¬

plexities of thinking spacially. Many years

ago we took our children to Niagara Falls.

Here we are standing at the top of the cliff.

I am getting nervous at the height, wanting

to get away before somebody falls. Suddenly

the four-year-old, all excited, is pointing to

the boatload of people at the bottom of the

falls. “Look at all the little people!” he

exclaims.

A small child, in the habit of looking up

at adults towering above him, has found some

adult-type people who are the size of his little

fingernail — what a discovery! Somewhere

along the line we learn to use that illusion of

diminished size as a measure of distance. But

we are not aware we ever learned it until a

child shows us.

Vision is not a simple mirroring of the

world. It’s a capability we have to learn to

use. As I study the responses of students to

my assignments. I realize that I am not clear

enough in what I ask of them. As I search

for ways to clarify my class presentations,

writing and rewriting assignments, I gradu¬

ally see the problems more clearly and in

larger perspective. How the camera functions

in relation to light, in relation to space, in

relation to time — those camera functions be¬

come more understandable when I realize that

vision has got to do with seeing things in

relation to one another — brighter/darker,

nearer/farther, stationary/in motion. I think

about people functioning in relation to light,

to space, to time. Thinking “in relation to”

65

Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

is different from thinking absolutes. Visual

thinking, with its own logic, known as de¬

sign, supplements, complements, enriches

all of mind, all of living.

Half way through the foundation course at

CAMERA WORKS I can begin to detect that

some students have a strong sense of form,

some a subtle sense of timing, some a feel

for color — capabilities they probably did not

know they had. I have watched countless

people free their vision from the blinders of

stereotype, but there is absolutely no pre¬

dicting who is going to do well in photography.

Transactions: Is photography what we see,

a representation of something, or does it

mainly connect us with something we have

experienced?

MNA: A simplistic answer is “all of the

above.” If you want to consider the question

in depth, you have to ask whether “what we

see” is physical world or mental construct.

I have ideas about this, but I’ll leave the

discussion to others more qualified.

We can use photographic materials and

processes in whatever way suits our pur¬

poses, and the results will bear some resem¬

blance to whatever the camera is pointed at.

The critical question then is the kind of re¬

semblance and how it relates to your purpose:

What is your interest in your subject?

You can use words to write a government

document, a business letter, a sonnet, or a

shopping list. So with photography. There

are so many applications of photographic ma¬

terials and methods that I cannot possibly

speak for all. To me photography is a means

of representing a person’s vision/perception

of a subject.

Transactions: If you see photography con¬

nected with vision/perception, do you also

see it as a symbol, like language?

MNA: Yes, the photograph is a symbol in

that it stands for or represents. The photog¬

rapher learns technical basics as tools for

building images with some sort of message

content. When I speak of symbol, I do not

mean just the flag or the cross. I refer to

symbol systems and all the various carriers

of message that human beings have devised:

spoken and written words, numbers, music,

dance, theater, as well as all the visual arts.

A photograph is, after all, a two-dimensional

object, an emulsion on paper. But it can bear

a powerful illusion of the three-dimensional

world we walk around in. In a sense all rep¬

resentation is illusion. I sometimes think that

a photograph is much like theater. It con¬

denses. It intensifies. It demands the willing

suspension of disbelief.

In an anecdote told about Picasso, a vil¬

lager, finding the master in his garden, ap¬

proaches him with a question, “Why don’t

you paint a woman the way a woman really

looks?”

“How does a woman really look?” asks

Picasso.

The man takes from his pocket a snapshot.

“Here, this is how a woman looks. This is

my wife.”

Picasso looks intently, points to the pho¬

tograph and asks, ‘ ‘This really is your wife?’ ’

“Oh, yes, that’s my wife.”

“She’s rather small, isn’t she? And flat?”

Other creatures communicate (we are just

beginning to learn how extensively), but we

are the ones who have devised the elaborate,

complex symbol systems we think with — and

thereby structure the worlds we inhabit. It is

a peculiar predicament we human creatures

have made for ourselves, trying to live in

physical world and symbolic world simul¬

taneously. Here we sit at the junction, Janus-

like, looking both ways: we are the joining,

the transforming link our genius and our ex¬

quisite vulnerability.

I like to think of the first woman drawing

the first picture on the wall of a cave. I can

see her bursting with need . . . need to share

more than food and shelter . . . need ... to

share vision. Suddenly she picks up a charred

stick, rubs it against the rock, and out flows

form. Need and capability and tools and vi¬

sion, enhancing each other, evolving to¬

gether . . . ; today we can scarcely separate

the strands.

66

Interview with Mary North Allen

Transactions: Is what the woman produced

“truth”? It is often said that cameras

never lie.

MNA: That is like saying that words never

lie, or statistics never lie. It is not the symbol

system or technological device that does or

does not speak truth. It is the human being.

People can lie in any language, with or with¬

out technological device, if lying is their intent.

Often, I think, we confuse logical types.

It is important to distinguish between au¬

thenticity, raw data, factual information, lit¬

eral content, subliminal content, verbal inter¬

pretation. A photograph does not necessarily

have any verbal equivalent. You can talk about

it in words, but that is interpretation. Is the

picture on your driver’s license a “true” pic¬

ture of you? A teenager may want to be pho¬

tographed to look like the most recent celeb¬

rity. The teenager’s parents and grandparents

won’t think photographs of themselves are

“good pictures” if their warts show. Con¬

vention dictates that a studio portrait will make

you appear attractive in accord with current

fashion. Whether it reveals anything of your

personality or character is another question.

When a studio photographer uses lighting,

makeup, retouching, etc., to make you look

the way you would like to look, when this

is carried a step further to create fantasy for

marketing shirts, shoes, beer, or candidates

for public office, she/he is following con¬

ventional procedures. Is this lying? Wherein

does truth abide?

It is not the mechanical equipment, but the

skill and hard work of the photographer that

make portraits and ceremonial photographs

look the way we expect them to. The pho¬

tographer has to work fast, ever alert to in¬

clude all elements necessary for a coherent

image, and to exclude all distractions. The

last time I photographed a wedding is a fine

example of the hazards awaiting any pho¬

tographer who suffers a momentary lapse of

concentrated attention. Just before the cere¬

mony I came upon a great scene— -the bride

and her mother conferring with the judge in

a hallway. I failed to notice that behind them

was a door slightly ajar. I failed to observe

evidence that somebody back there was using

the phone. My flash picked up the white tele¬

phone cord and suspended it, shiny-bright

and droopy, from the nose of the mother of

the bride.

Transactions: You appear to be saying that

a photographer creates something from

her/his vision. How would the vision of the

observer relate to the photograph?

MNA: The viewing of a photograph can be

as complex as human vision. It is possible

to return again and again to a truly memo¬

rable image and experience anew the thrill

of discovery. Just as words, used to write

legal or scientific documents or stories or

poetry or lists, will be read with differing

expectations, so with photography. Most im¬

ages invite interpretation. Some require inter¬

pretation by specially trained analysts. Oth¬

ers are adventures in seeing.

In 1979, as part of an Extension photog¬

raphy instructors exhibit, I tried an experi¬

ment which I called “Participatory Photog¬

raphy.” Along with two of my photographs

I provided a little book in which viewers were

invited to write comments. The photographs

I used are the first two in the collection that

follows. I hope readers will take time to look

at these two photographs and then make their

own observations before reading further. Here

are samples of what exhibition visitors wrote:

“Not too different — both couples appear fi¬

nancially secure. One couple waits and the good

things come to them. The other goes out to get

the good things and has to work for them.”

“Two well-to-do couples. Right: Self-made

hard-working couple proudly posing before their

home.”

“I think they are my grandparents.”

“The beauty of old age — especially the beauty

of relationships that have lasted a long time.

My grandmother used to say, This is the last

for which the first was made.’ ”

“Old age is not worth the price of admission.”

“At age 52— AMEN!”

“The hell you say — I know. I’m 67 and I

love it.”

67

Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

“The secret of old age is dying young at the

last possible moment.’’

“They look so unhappy.’’

“In the final analysis we are all alone. That

is the bottom line.’’

“Pictures are grey just like the people.’’

“The photos are ten years old. Do you want

to talk them to death? It seems time to make

some new ones, Mary.’’

“Good work should be shown and reshown.”

“It is a relief to see some pictures of the

elderly as opposed to glossy-color photos of

young models.”

“The first one is great. If I knew why, it

wouldn’t be art, would it?”

“Left: Not paying attention to each other —

space between them has an uncomfortable feel

to it. Right — together.”

“It’s interesting, the man walking behind the

woman.”

“Left: Unhappy situation because of female

dominance.”

“Unhappy for whom?”

“What dominance?”

“I hadn’t even realized that the two people

in the left photo were supposed to be to¬

gether! — chilling comment on marriages of too-

long standing.”

“Do you know, for sure, that they’re

together?”

“The two people are not actually a couple.”

“Left: The action and viewing angle are

interesting.”

“Left: Crop the picture more at top and left

side to cut out extra people.”

“Extra people are vital to composition. They

balance the photograph.”

“No, they unbalance.”

“It’s easy to read too much into these pic¬

tures, but again it’s fun to think about them.

It’s good for the imagination.”

“In the end, it seems appropriate to note that

not only are the photographs themselves inter¬

esting and enlightening, but that the comments

and reflections of others add greatly to the over¬

all growing experience of the work. It should

be added that this book, as a growing statement

on art, is actually a living and growing example

of art. For our perceptions and reflections are

as significant a part of our experience as any

tangible physical items. — Thomas R. G — ’’(last

name illegible)

“It’s interesting how much people tell about

themselves when they comment on the photos.

I found the comments much more interesting

than the photos.”

“Comment on the comments: Most people

seem to have lost the gift of ‘just looking’ at

an image without (at least subconsciously)

naming it, interpreting verbally, editorializing,

or otherwise bogging it down with words. —

JT Beers”

I had selected these two photographs not

because I thought they are the finest, but

because of their potential as a pair. The pho¬

tograph on the left I took as I was sitting on

the steps of the National Gallery in London,

watching people, wondering where they came

from, where they were going, who they might

be. It is an example of image seen intuitively,

caught on the instant.

The photograph on the right: I had asked

the Grabandts, retired grocer and his wife of

Verona, Wisconsin, whether I might pho¬

tograph them. They chose to present them¬

selves exactly as they appear.

Transactions: So the photograph of the

strangers is just an image without any in¬

tended meaning or message; the viewer has

to bring meaning to it?

MNA: Two people can be seen in each pho¬

tograph, but the message content is not the

same. One photograph clearly questions, while

the other presents a statement. Format and

structure contribute to the sense of doubt of

the one, the certainty of the other. The jux¬

taposition of the two pictures reinforces this

difference. Each photograph has become part

of the context in which the other is seen.

Viewers did not find much to say about the

one on the right; the picture has said most of

what there is to say. Did you notice how

many of the comments were attempts to an¬

swer implied questions that viewers read into

the picture on the left?

Transactions: Does this experiment rule out

the possibility that a picture can contain a

universal idea? Can it have anything in com¬

mon with all people?

MNA: Are you asking whether by means of

photography a universal idea might be given

68

Interview with Mary North Allen

some form accessible to all people? I think

that is asking a bit much for any medium.

Between the message sent and the message

received “falls the shadow.”

Everyone is bom and dies and in between

experiences troubles and satisfactions. It is

not difficult to take a picture that refers to

the commonality of human experience, on

some level. More often than not, the effect

is to trivialize. A photography student taking

a picture of a beautiful sunset discovers that

the result is not automatically a beautiful im¬

age. A sensitive photographer who has wit¬

nessed and photographed a terrible event, such

as an act of war, will be painfully aware that

the photograph does not come anywhere near

conveying the full sense of tragedy.

I believe that the true archetype lies very

deep. The more profound, the more difficult

to transform into profound image. I think that

all great art arises from experience felt so

deeply that the artist feels compelled to labor

to give it form.

Viewer response will vary from individual

to individual and culture to culture. Occa¬

sionally a work breaks barriers, and the im¬

age becomes part of cultural heritage. This

can happen in photography. Almost everyone

knows Dorothea Lange’s “Migrant Mother.”

I well remember the first time I saw an

original Edward Weston print, a Minor White,

a Cartier-Bresson. For full appreciation of

fine photographs, people need to have access

to original prints. The subtleties are lost in

reproduction for publication unless the very

finest book papers are used and the very finest

printing methods, all of which are expensive.

Fortunately, it is now possible to see original

prints in many galleries, and I urge everyone

to go and to take time looking. If you have

never seen exhibition quality prints, you may

be surprised to discover what a photograph

can be.

Transactions: Michael Brenson, in a review

of ‘ An Uncertain Grace, the Photographs of

Sebastaio Salgado,” said that the photog¬

rapher had, in fact, and Tm quoting, “ turned

African tribesmen and women into Biblical

kings and queens ” And he went on to talk

about the emotion and energy in the photo¬

graphs of the people. Does his conclusion

incorporate your earlier point about what the

viewer brings to the photograph? How can

Brenson conclude that the photograph has

changed, even metaphorically, a tribesman

into a king? He implies that the photograph

creates nobility.

MNA: I’m glad that you mentioned Salgado.

He is one of the greats, one of those who tie

me to humanity on a very deep level. Salgado

came from Latin America where he had seen

at first hand terrible poverty. He became an

economist, but decided that nothing would

be done about poverty until the world moved

beyond thinking of poverty as an abstraction

and the poor as statistics. Instead of suppos¬

ing that anybody living under degrading con¬

ditions must be despicable, Salgado felt that

human beings who manage to survive ap¬

palling circumstances without losing self-

respect must have great inner strength. That

is the quality Salgado sensed and made visible.

It is the rare artist who can give form to

human suffering endured with spiritual

strength. Only a person of great conviction

would even try. Salgado has not given up

hope for humankind. And, he has succeeded

brilliantly in bringing his vision to the rest

of us. His photographs are powerfully beau¬

tiful. The reviewer was reminded of Biblical

kings. I am reminded of the writings of Elie

Wiesel and Viktor Frankl. Same fundamental

archetype expressed in different forms.

Transactions: If I showed you my photo¬

graph of my grandparents, you could eval¬

uate it technically. When I look at it, I bring

to it a set of memories and experiences pro¬

foundly different from yours. Can we ever

bridge this space? Can there be any common

understanding?

MNA: The way you phrased the question

brings to mind a student I had in class a dozen

years ago. Every photograph was, for him,

evidence of this or that lens or gadget, and

nothing more. I labored the entire semester

to find ways to encourage him to see the

image, and eventually he did. Of course,

69

Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

technical decisions influence the way a pic¬

ture looks, but concern for technique should

never obscure vision.

Sometimes the photographic technology of

the time has an influence we need to take

into account when we look at old pictures.

Were all those stem ancestors of a century

ago really humorless people? Probably they

were not greatly different from us today. You

are observing the consequences of photo¬

graphic materials and equipment now obso¬

lete. Films were slow, lenses were slow. Por¬

trait studios were equipped with head rests

and other props so that people could hold still

for up to several minutes. You might like to

try photographing your next family reunion

that way and see how you look and how it

feels.

I had grandparents too, and I am a grand¬

parent. I might look at your picture and say,

“Hmm, Carl looks like his grandfather. Or,

grandmother has keen eyes. Interesting dress

she is wearing . . . ” I don’t have to share

your family memories to enjoy looking at

your picture and to pick up information about

those two people.

I have included in this volume several pho¬

tographs that might be considered of the fam¬

ily album type. Readers of Transactions are

likely to find the pictures accessible, even

though they have no acquaintance with the

people photographed.

Outside the family, such memorabilia may

be of great interest to cultural historians and

social anthropologists who are wanting evi¬

dence of living habits and customs of ordi¬

nary folk. There is a scholarly journal called

Visual Anthropology, and John Collier’s

classic book of that title is now back in print.

Recently I received Robert Levine’s book,

Images of History, in which he discusses cri¬

teria for historians to use in determining au¬

thenticity of a photograph as document and

for evaluating content.

Transactions: What about the other pictures

you have chosen to include in these pages?

I can see that many are about nature, but

they don’t look quite like most of the nature

photographs I have seen. How do people re¬

spond to your photographs?

MNA: A forester making pictures for a field

guide for trees would be certain that criteria

for identifying species were clearly visible in

his photographs. A plant pathologist would

make sure that disease symptoms in trees

were clearly visible. Their photographs would

not look like mine, nor will the romantic

nature pictures of vacationers and departments

of tourism. All of these photographs are related

to nature, but there the similarity ends.

I’ve been inquisitive for as long as I have

memory. The life of being human presents

dilemmas. I keep trying to reconcile it with

the life of living earth. The older I grow, the

less confident I am of easy answers or ulti¬

mate answers. Not surprisingly, my photo¬

graphs raise questions, tweak the imagina¬

tion, and, I hope, set viewers to wondering.

When my intuitive vision is working, the

resulting photographs might speak some po¬

etic truth. I believe that is possible, but I do

not know.

The woodland pictures came out of a deeply

troubled time in my life. I didn’t know it

then, but the making of those photographs,

in helping me to see my life in a larger con¬

text, was an act of affirmation.

I walk in the woods until some sight com¬

pels my attention. Attention ... I surrender,

becoming completely absorbed in seeing . . .

spaces shaped by light and shadows and by

trees . . .

In the last dozen years I have moved from

exploring light and spaces to exploring mo¬

tion and color: intensity and wave length,

passage of time. I have been tinkering with

color ever since a UW-Art Department course

in color theory. Color photography simply

requires use of a film that is sensitive to the

full spectrum of visible light, but I wanted

to use color to structure the image as a painter

would, for making visible what I could see

in mind’s eye — an interplay of life processes

and human experience. I wanted the added

factor of interacting color. Thinking color is

different from thinking monochrome. It took

quite a few years of experimenting before I

70

Interview with Mary North Allen

began to get the sort of imagery I wanted.

I am envisioning all this in multidimen¬

sional forms for which I know no words. I

have been reading systems theory and chaos

theory. I’m imagining the joys and terrors of

ordinary lives of ordinary folk flowing and

ebbing like river currents joining and sepa¬

rating, mixing and rejoining, slowly wearing

channels through soil, through rock, through

improbable time.

I’m wading in a little stream, so shallow

that rocky bottom colors show, a bit of sun¬

light catches a ripple, an autumn leaf floats

by ... I come in with a close-up lens on a

little red rock barely breaking surface ... I

drop a pebble, the current shifts ... I slow

down the shutter, reflections pull out like

taffy ... I am eliminating any key to scale.

The craft remains disciplined while result be¬

comes deliciously unpredictable.

I’m a child playing; the old oatmeal carton

has turned into a camera. I’ve got treasures

to share with kindred spirits.

My work is an attempt to see eye to eye

with other human beings. All I ask is an

honest response. If one person sees a lament

for vanishing forests and another itches for

a chainsaw, so be it.

A visiting professor from Japan looked long,

without words, and took home several tree

prints.

A farmer from southwest Wisconsin, un¬

known to me, saw one of my color photo¬

graphs on the wall of the Johnston Gallery

in Mineral Point. Later he told me that the

picture jumped right out of the frame.

To see eye to eye with another human being

is rare.

71

Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

The Photography of Mary North Allen

72

Photography of Mary North Allen

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Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

74

Photography of Mary North Allen

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Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

76

Photography of Mary North Allen

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Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

Photography of Mary North Allen

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Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

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Photography of Mary North Allen

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Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

82

Photography of Mary North Allen

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Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

84

Photography of Mary North Allen

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86

Community Response to Floodplain Relocation

in Soldiers Grove, Wisconsin

Graham A. Tobin

Abstract. The Soldiers Grove downtown relocation project is often cited in the hazards

literature as a successful example of multipurpose, community-sponsored planning. Frequent

flooding has been alleviated and the local economy stimulated. Nevertheless, spatial changes

in the physical structure of the community suggest that social impacts should be examined.

It was hypothesized that unforeseen problems arising from the relocation project could lead

to a degree of disillusionment. A questionnaire survey of residents revealed that views were

mixed. Conflicts have arisen because of perceived inequalities in the distribution of benefits

accruing from the relocation. Additionally, internal dissatisfaction has disrupted community

spirit. However, Soldiers Grove remains a model for community involvement and has been

successful in many respects, although further lessons regarding spatial planning can be learned

from this project.

The relocation of Soldiers Grove, Wis¬

consin, is frequently cited as a success¬

ful example of multipurpose, community-

sponsored planning. The stimulus for the

project was a recurring flood problem ex¬

acerbated by a declining local economy. The

plans included the complete removal and re¬

location of the downtown business district,

the razing of several residential properties,

flood proofing of other structures, and the

incorporation of building ordinances zoning

the new town for solar energy. In terms of

flood alleviation, the project has been highly

successful. The old downtown area now boasts

a park and recreational facilities. However,

the social impacts of the project have not

been addressed. This research, therefore, looks

at residents’ opinions of relocation now that

Graham A. Tobin is an associate professor and head of

the Department of Geography, University of Minnesota

in Duluth. His research and publications have been

concerned with issues of water resources, particularly

flood hazard, wetland management, and groundwater

policies.

all major components of the project have been

completed.

The flood hazard literature includes a num¬

ber of examples of small-scale projects in

which real estate property has been relocated

out of the floodplain. Shawneetown, Illinois,

for instance, is often presented as a “plan¬

ning” failure since ultimately a portion of

the town opted to remain at the old site (Mur¬

phy 1958). It is interesting to note that the

new Shawneetown is now more prosperous

than the decaying remnants of the old com¬

munity. More recently, as the emphasis on

flood alleviation has broadened to incorpo¬

rate a greater range of nonstructural measures

(Dzurik 1979), other attempts at partial re¬

location have been made. These have usually

involved local residential areas subject to fre¬

quent or catastrophic flooding, rather than

downtown business districts. A few exam¬

ples include the following: Arnold, Missouri

(U.S. Water Resources Council 1981); Rob-

indale and Nelson, Pennsylvania; Clinch-

port, Virginia; Tulsa, Oklahoma; Rapid City,

South Dakota (U.S. Department of Housing

and Urban Development 1978); and Prairie

87

Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters

du Chien, Wisconsin (Miller et al. 1983).

However, none of these involved the com¬

prehensive planning and community initia¬

tives that were pursued in Soldiers Grove.

The Soldiers Grove Relocation

Project

Soldiers Grove, along with several other

communities situated on the Kickapoo River,

had experienced severe flooding on eight oc¬

casions in the twentieth century. The U.S.

Army Corps of Engineers’ response was to

begin construction on a storage dam at La

Farge, thirty-six miles upstream from Sol¬

diers Grove, and to plan levee systems for

several communities. Building of the dam

started in 1969, and levee plans were pre¬

sented to the community in 1974 (U.S. Army

Corps of Engineers 1975). Since the dam

would protect only 9% of the hundred-year

floodplain area in Soldiers Grove, the levee

system was considered an essential compo¬

nent of the project. However, the high costs

of the levees and the large annual mainte¬

nance charges forced Soldiers Grove to look

for alternative solutions. Furthermore, in 1977,

President Carter imposed a moratorium on

water projects, which stopped dam construc¬

tion and left the Kickapoo communities with¬

out any flood protection. By this time, sub¬

stantial capital investment had already been

made in the project (Tobin and Peacock 1982).

The declining economic base of the town

accentuated the need for a major planning

initiative if the community were to survive.

Consequently, the flood alleviation project

grew to include major socioeconomic changes

incorporating several different goals: (1) to

eliminate the flood problem, (2) to enhance

local employment opportunities, and (3) to

stimulate the local economy. The main thrust

of the project entailed moving the central

business district to a safer location out of the

floodplain. In addition, plans were made to

create further recreational facilities by con¬

verting the old downtown area into a park

and erecting a community center in the new

town. The project called for a general revi¬

talization of Soldiers Grove. For detailed ac¬

counts of development, timing, and imple¬

mentation of the relocation project, see Becker

(1983); David and Mayer (1984); National

Science Foundation (1980); and Tobin and

Peacock (1982).

The flood hazard literature has often touted

the Soldiers Grove relocation plan as a sig¬

nificant advance in floodplain management.

For example, the successful relocation of

property away from flood-prone areas has

been commented on by Becker (1983) and

by the U.S. Department of Housing and Ur¬

ban Development (1978). Others have de¬

scribed the economic advantages accruing to

the community (David and Mayer 1984) and

the energy savings from the solar zoning or¬

dinance (Jenson and Fantle 1979). The com¬

prehensive planning initiated and undertaken

by the local community has been praised by

various authors (Becker 1983; Pierce and

Hagstrom 1978; Time 1981; Tobin and Pea¬

cock 1982). Some criticisms have been raised,

but generally these have focused on failings

of federal government programs to make any

long-term commitment to the locally spon¬

sored project rather than on specific

community-related problems (National Sci¬

ence Foundation 1980). Similar thoughts on

appropriate mixes of local, state, and federal

involvement are echoed in the Interagency

Task Force on Floodplain Management re¬

port (FEMA 1986).

In many ways relocation has been worth¬

while. The community clearly benefits from

projected savings from flood losses and cur¬

rent economic enhancement. The population

of Soldiers Grove grew from 530 in 1978 to

622 in 1980 (U.S. Department of Commerce

1982), although there has been little change

in recent years, according to local officials.

The community tax base, however, has in¬

creased by two million dollars (David and

Mayer 1984). The economic success of the

project, therefore, seems well established.

However, what has not been seriously ad¬

dressed is the impact the relocation plan may

have had on the local population. What do

residents of Soldiers Grove think of the pro¬

ject? In what ways has it affected daily liv-

88

Floodplain Relocation in Soldiers Grove

ing? The literature suggests that residents were

overwhelmingly supportive of the original re¬

location plan, and this aspect has often been

cited as a reason for the apparent success

(Pierce and Hagstrom 1978). To what extent

is this true now that relocation has been com¬

pleted? This paper examines some of the so¬

cial impacts of the relocation project on the

population of Soldiers Grove through a con¬

sideration of residents’ perceptions.

Research Questions

It was hypothesized that residents of Sol¬

diers Grove would perceive the relocation

plan as socially beneficial to the community.

The project was locally initiated and hence

demonstrated all the characteristics of self-

determination necessary to “guarantee” some

degree of success (Hoggart and Buller 1987).

However, it was further hypothesized that

some internal conflicts would materialize be¬

tween groups as the distribution of costs and

benefits was gradually realized. Hoggart and

Buller, for instance, warn against assuming

that rural communities constitute homoge¬

neous populations with uniform ideologies.

In particular, the physical separation of the

business district from the larger residential

areas might be expected to present problems,

especially to the elderly and those without

adequate transportation.

Apart from age and location of residence,

other factors thought to influence perceived

satisfaction with the relocation project in¬

cluded household income, gender, level of

education, and years of residence in the com¬

munity. In the literature, there is ample evi¬

dence that such socioeconomic traits play im¬

portant roles. Youmans (1977) suggested that

the elderly rarely benefit from development

projects and invariably carry any increased

costs associated with transportation difficul¬

ties. Since the elderly are also often women

in the lower income groups, they can be se¬

verely disadvantaged by community changes.

In addition, attitudinal contrasts often exist

between the elderly, who frequently look to¬

ward the past, and younger residents, who

are usually more forward-looking. In other

words, if benefits have accrued exclusively

to local businesses, that is, the economic elite

of Soldiers Grove, then others may now ex¬

press some dissatisfaction with the relocation

project.

Methodology

A personal, door-to-door questionnaire

survey was conducted of Soldiers Grove res¬

idents in August 1988. A stratified random

sample of households was surveyed such that

a representative proportion was drawn from

each residential area within the community.

At the time of the 1980 census, the town had

a population of 622, which included 249

households (U.S. Department of Commerce

1982). Of this population 54% were female,

77% were adults, and 37% of the adults were

over sixty-five years of age. The survey strat¬

egy called for interviewing one adult from

each of the randomly selected residences.

Eighty-five interviews were successfully

conducted with three rejections. An esti¬

mated accuracy rate for the overall survey,

based on the response/no response rate, was

plus or minus 1.5%, using the formula pro¬

posed by Moser and Kalton (1971).

The questionnaire was designed to elicit

opinions on three aspects of the relocation

plan and accumulate socioeconomic infor¬

mation on the residential population. The first

set of questions required respondents to as¬

sess Soldiers Grove as a place to live in an

attempt to determine community “spirit.” The

second set was used to examine the perceived

impacts of the relocation plan on various as¬

pects of the community, and the third set

focused specifically on the flood hazard.

Data were analyzed using standard statis¬

tical techniques including chi-squared and

simple frequency counts. Some recoding of

raw data was undertaken to organize re¬

sponses into larger groups. For instance, in¬

come was aggregated into three categories:

less than $10,000, $10,000 to $20,000, and

over $20,000. These were used to determine

whether any significant differences existed

among the responses of different groups with¬

in the community. Independent variables

89

Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

included residential location, age, sex, num¬

ber of years lived in Soldiers Grove, level of

education, and household income. Except

where otherwise stated, a probability level

of .05 was used to determine significantly

different responses.

Characteristics of Respondents

The survey sample consisted predomi¬

nantly of elderly people, with nearly 50%

over the age of fifty-five years and only 7%

under twenty-five years. Most respondents

had lived in Soldiers Grove for some time;

the modal category was over twenty-five years

(46%). Thirty-two percent of the respondents

had moved to the town since the last flood

in 1978, but only 15% since final decisions

were made regarding the relocation plan

(Table 1). It was expected that this combi¬

nation of age and length of residence would

contribute to a good understanding or aware¬

ness of the problems faced by the community

and how the relocation strategy had sought

to accommodate various interests.

Several other socioeconomic characteris¬

tics were collected. Sixty percent had grad¬

uated from high school, and nearly 15% had

a college-level education. Reported house¬

hold income for 1987 confirmed the generally

low-income nature of the community that had

been reported in the earlier studies (U.S . Sen¬

ate Oversight Hearings 1975, 7149). Forty-

nine percent of reporting households had in¬

comes lower than $10,000 and 24% more

than $20,000. As might be expected, level

of education was positively related to income

and inversely correlated with age of respon¬

dent. Consistency with the census data was

maintained across the sexes with 58% of re¬

spondents being female.

Location of residence within Soldiers Grove

was considered important, since the plan had

resulted in distinct spatial changes to the

physical structure of the community. In par¬

ticular, the relocation of the downtown busi¬

ness district was expected to present trans¬

portation difficulties for the majority of

residents. Initially, five areas were deter¬

mined, but these were later regrouped to re¬

flect proximity to the new downtown

(Table 1). Most of the respondents resided

in two areas, the Flats, which was flooded

in 1978, and the Hill. These residential areas

are immediately adjacent to the area that for¬

merly housed the old central business district

but are approximately 1.2 and 1 .5 miles from

the new town. A substantial number of re¬

spondents also lived in areas around Church

Street and Pine Street. These two were some¬

what closer to the new business district, less

than 1 and 0.75 mile, respectively. Finally,

very few respondents actually lived in the

new town. The flooding that inundated the

town in 1978 not only created problems for

Table 1. Characteristics of respondents

90

Floodplain Relocation in Soldiers Grove

the businesses but also caused extensive

damage throughout the Flats and parts of the

Pine Street area.

Results

(1) Community spirit

As a general introductory question, re¬

spondents were asked to rate Soldiers Grove

as a place to live on a scale from poor to

excellent (Table 2). Of those responding, 75%

rated the town satisfactory or better and only

5% as poor. There were no significant dif¬

ferences between responses based on the in¬

dependent variables.

Two further questions required respon¬

dents to be more specific regarding perceived

“community spirit.’’ Participants were asked

to assess the level of community spirit in

Soldiers Grove both currently and in the pre¬

move period (Table 3). Opinions on the sta¬

tus of community spirit indicated a distinct

decline. Whereas 31% rated pre-move com¬

munity spirit in the highest category, this

figure fell to 7% for the current situation.

Similarly, the proportion rating community

spirit as little or none rose from approxi¬

mately 13% to 35%. These responses were

significantly different. In 1988, therefore,

residents perceived a downturn in community

spirit in Soldiers Grove following imple¬

mentation of the relocation plan. While this

is not conclusive proof that social conditions

had deteriorated, since selective memory is

probably playing a role here, it is an indi¬

cation at least that not everyone is entirely

happy with current community affairs.

Perception of community spirit produced

significantly different results based on in¬

dependent variables of household income and

age of respondent. There was a tendency for

those with the highest incomes and to some

extent those in the youngest age group (this

latter variable was significantly different at

the .1 level) to perceive a lower level of

community spirit than others (Tables 4 and

5). Not surprisingly, it was found that those

respondents who rated Soldiers Grove less

favorably as a place to live also perceived

little current community spirit.

(2) Impacts of the relocation project

Nearly 70% of the respondents thought that

problems associated with the relocation plan

outweighed any advantages. Contrary to pre¬

vious findings described in the literature re¬

view, those in the oldest category (over fifty-

five years) were less likely to report problems

than those in the two younger age groups

(significantly different at the . 1 level, Table 6).

Since more specific information on the

perceived impacts of the relocation project

would help define the problems, participants

were asked to respond to a series of questions

related to service utilities such as water, elec¬

tricity supply, and garbage collection; quality

of the neighborhood environment; access to

public facilities and businesses, including

libraries, banks, and grocery stores; and

Table 2. Rating of Soldiers Grove as a

place to live

Table 3. Perceived community spirit*

*X2 = 19.08, 2 degrees of freedom, p = .001.

91

Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

Table 4. Perceived community spirit (1988) by household income*

personal finances (Table 7). The perceived

impact on public services and utilities was

predominantly in the no change category

(67%), although there was a large minority

(23%) who perceived that service facilities

had declined with implementation of the pro¬

ject. Those respondents who had perceived

little or no spirit in the community were more

likely to perceive a negative impact on ser¬

vices from the relocation plan (significance

level .1). The distribution of responses re¬

garding impact on neighborhood environ¬

ment was more varied, but still nearly 50%

perceived no change. However, a large pro¬

portion of respondents (36%) felt that the

relocation project had enhanced neighbor¬

hood quality. Similar results were apparent

for impact on personal finances. Over 65%

perceived no change due to the relocation

plan. It was noticeable, however, that no one

from the new town area perceived any det¬

rimental effect on their personal finances.

The greatest negative effect of the relo¬

cation plan appears to have been the impact

on access to public and private facilities. Forty-

seven percent of respondents believed that

access had got worse since the relocation plan

was implemented. However, 22% thought

the opposite. Responses from different areas

within Soldiers Grove were significantly dif¬

ferent (Table 8). Residents living in the new

town were more likely to perceive either no

change or some improvement in access,

whereas those living in the area farthest from

the new business district (the Flats and Hill

area) were most likely to see increasing prob¬

lems with access. This question generated the

most open-ended comments from partici¬

pants, many of whom complained about the

distance to stores and the general lack of

focus of the community.

The relocation project has had a recogniz¬

able impact on the businesses of Soldiers

Grove. Both David and Mayer (1984) and

92

Floodplain Relocation in Soldiers Grove

Table 7. Perceived impact of the relocation project

Table 8. Perceived impact on access by residential area*

*X2 = 7.619, 2 degrees of freedom, p = .022.

Becker (1983) have described the changes

that actually occurred during implementation

of the project. Eight businesses were lost,

including a restaurant, grocery store, meat

locker plant, laundromat, three bars, and the

local newspaper, while there were seven gains,

a restaurant/hotel, dental clinic, real estate

agency, craft store, pharmacy, an insurance

office, and an expansion to a nursing home.

On the other hand, there was a net gain in

permanent jobs of 46.5 (Becker 1983). The

number of persons employed in the business

district increased from 66 full-time equiva¬

lent jobs to 123. Residents’ perception, how¬

ever, was one of decline; 76% believed the

number of businesses had fallen. There was

a significantly different response based on

length of residence in Soldiers Grove. Those

residents new to the community were more

likely to perceive no change or an increase

in the number of businesses operating in Sol¬

diers Grove (Table 9). This response may

reflect the gradual growth and change in em¬

phasis of the new businesses. Many basic

commercial enterprises were replaced by those

related to secondary services. It was also no¬

ticeable that residents in the new town were

more likely to perceive an improvement than

residents from other parts of town.

Respondents were also asked to comment

on the relative success of remaining busi¬

nesses (Table 10). Twenty-nine percent be¬

lieved that businesses were poorer than be¬

fore the move compared to 41% who perceived

that they were more successful. Once again,

respondents living in the new town perceived

greater success than other respondents (sig¬

nificantly different at the .1 level).

(3) Flood hazard

Sixty-six percent of respondents indicated

that flooding was no longer a problem for

Soldiers Grove. This is a high negative re¬

sponse rate and certainly does not reflect the

serious nature of the flood hazard. Parts of

the residential community are still prone to

inundation, and public facilities, roads, sew¬

ers, etc. will suffer periodically from flood¬

ing. A failure to maintain old levees in the

area could also increase the incidence of

flooding in lower parts of the new parkland.

Nevertheless, this is a typical reaction, and

the hazard literature is full of discussions fo¬

cusing on the “false sense of security” gen¬

erated by implementing alleviation projects

(Burton, Kates, and White 1978).

The Soldiers Grove relocation plan had

been developed and financially supported to

93

Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

Table 9. Perceived number of businesses by length of residence*

*X2 = 8.093, 2 degrees of freedom, p = .02.

Table 10. Perceived success of local

businesses

a large extent by the local community. In

light of this direct experience, two questions

were asked regarding responsibility toward

flooding (Table 11). Financial responsibility

for correcting flood problems was placed pri¬

marily on the federal government (72%) and

secondly on state government (47%). Local

sponsorship of adjustments to flooding was

suggested by only 25% of the respondents.

In this question respondents were permitted

to nominate more than one option. These

results conflict with what actually occurred

in Soldiers Grove, where local financial com¬

mitment amounted to a substantial share of

total costs. However, some explanation is

forthcoming from the next question: Who

should take responsibility to oversee flood

control work? Here the response pattern was

different. While 51% still believed the fed¬

eral government should be held responsible,

significant groups supported state (38%) and

local (45%) control. These results indicate

that respondents would like a greater role by

the federal government financially but would

also like to retain some control over what is

actually undertaken in the community.

As a final analysis respondents were asked

their opinions on completion of the La Farge

dam several miles upstream from Soldiers

Grove. This dam had been shelved by the

Presidential moratorium on water projects in

1977 even though it was almost complete and

approximately fifty million dollars had al¬

ready been spent on it (Tobin and Peacock

1982). During discussions on the relocation

project the lack of protection offered by the

dam had been used as a strong argument for

an alternative project for Soldiers Grove. In

spite of this, 64% of respondents believed

that the dam should be completed, 14% said

no, and the rest (22%) did not know. Sig¬

nificantly different responses were found be¬

tween the sexes. Males were overwhelmingly

in favor of completing the dam, whereas fe¬

males were less likely to express an opinion.

Discussion and Conclusions

The response of residents in Soldiers Grove

to the relocation plan can be explained by

current thinking on rural communities. Not

surprisingly, given the degree of change,

Table 11. Responsibility for flooding

Financial Work control

94

Floodplain Relocation in Soldiers Grove

problems have arisen following implemen¬

tation of the project. In particular, there is a

consensus that community spirit is not good.

Over 25% rated the town as only fair or lower

as a place to live. This attitude was partic¬

ularly evident amongst those younger resi¬

dents of the town. Furthermore, respondents

perceive an inequality in the distribution of

costs and benefits accruing from the project.

Residents are now paying the costs of busi¬

ness revitalization. The spatial disassociation

prevalent within the community is especially

troubling for many individuals. Conse¬

quently, more attention needs to be addressed

to these questions before Soldiers Grove

can be cited as the “planning ideal” (David

and Mayer 1984) or model for small com¬

munity floodplain planning (Tobin and

Peacock 1982).

It is clear that residents came to accept the

idea of major change in the community and

gradually overcame any fears and uncertainty

about the future. Undoubtedly, residents per¬

ceived many gains in comparison with few

losses from relocation, which pushed the pro¬

ject toward the certainty end of the scale

(Becker 1983, 38). The severe nature of the

flood hazard (combined with a timely re¬

minder of flooding in 1978) and the declining

economic base of the community must have

been powerful incentives to accept this rad¬

ical change. These stimuli may not be found

in other communities contemplating such

drastic action.

Residential opinions on authority involve¬

ment could be explained within the context

of the theoretical structure described earlier.

The Soldiers Grove relocation project in¬

volved a high level of local commitment and

support and hence was perceived as a suc¬

cessful planning venture. Criticisms were

generally leveled at the federal government

for its vacillating policies and intermittent

funding (Hirsch 1980; National Science

Foundation 1980). Given the high local con¬

tribution to funding and the difficulties in

obtaining money from other sources, it is not

surprising to see respondents requesting greater

federal financial commitment. At the same

time, many residents wished to maintain strong

local control over any projects, thus retaining

an element of self-determination in com¬

munity affairs.

The socioeconomic elite in Soldiers Grove

had been responsible for developing the re¬

location project in the first place. The local

newspaper and several businesses had taken

very active roles in promoting the acceptance

of the project (Becker 1983, 20). This also

conforms to the theoretical structure de¬

scribed at the beginning of the paper, with

local leaders taking the initiative. It was very

much a locally inspired project that retained

local control, but this has also generated con¬

flict within the society. The heterogeneity of

groups within the community has led to dif¬

ferences of opinion about the perceived suc¬

cess of the project.

While the community tended to present a

united face to the problems confronting Sol¬

diers Grove, it is clear that some internal

conflicts now exist. Many residents are dis¬

satisfied with the relocation project and see

it as destroying the spirit, or sense, of com¬

munity. Results of the questionnaire survey

showed that residents are not entirely happy

with how benefits have been distributed. Many

residents perceive costs to have been borne

by all the community, especially regarding

the changing physical structure of the town.

Most residents now must drive to the new

downtown for groceries, for instance. Con¬

sequently, while the basic cost-benefit anal¬

ysis for the relocation plan was favorable

(David and Mayer 1984), attention should

also be devoted to particular gainers and los¬

ers of the project.

In conclusion, the relocation project in

Soldiers Grove has not been the solution to

all the community’s problems. Certainly, there

have been economic gains, and flood losses

should no longer devastate the town. How¬

ever, the social costs have also been high,

and it remains to be seen whether Soldiers

Grove can recapture or develop a sense of

community that at present appears to be lack¬

ing. The structural changes in use of space

throughout the town have clearly had

95

Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

repercussions on the community. The plan¬

ning process in Soldiers Grove, therefore,

can continue to serve as a model for other

communities, but it may also serve as an

example of the need to monitor carefully so¬

cial implications of such changes.

Acknowledgments

This research was supported in part by an

Undergraduate Research Opportunities Grant

awarded to Heidi Kroening by the University

of Minnesota. Heidi Kroening was instru¬

mental in administering the questionnaire

survey.

Works Cited

Becker, W. S. 1983. Come rain, come shine: A

case study of a floodplain relocation project at

Soldiers Grove, Wisconsin. Madison: Wiscon¬

sin Department of Natural Resources.

Burton, I., R. W. Kates, and G. F. White. 1978.

The environment as hazard. New York: Oxford

University Press.

David, E., and J. Mayer. 1984. Comparing costs

of alternative flood hazard mitigation plans: The

case of Soldiers Grove, Wisconsin. Am. Plan.

Ass. J. 50 (1): 22-35.

Dzurik, A. A. 1979. Floodplain management:

Some observations on the Corps of Engineers’

attitudes and approaches. Water Re sour. Bull.

15:420-25.

Federal Emergency Management Agency. 1986.

A unified national program for floodplain man¬

agement. Interagency Task Force on Floodplain

Management. Washington: Federal Emergency

Management Agency.

Hirsch, T. 1980. Personal communication, March.

Hoggart, K., and H. Buller. 1987. Rural devel¬

opment: A geographical perspective. London:

Croom Helm.

In Wisconsin: Kicking the Kickapoo habit. Time

8 (26 January 1981).

Jenson, C., and W. Fantle. 1979. Soldiers Grove:

Moving into the solar age. Altern. Energy

Sources 43:7-12.

Miller, D. J., C. E. Simpkins, J. L. Rooney, and

V. L. Golenzer. 1983. The St. Paul District-

IWR Prairie du Chien interim evaluation study.

In Seminar proceedings: Implementation of

nonstructural measures, ed. U.S. Army Corps

of Engineers. Policy Study 83-G520, 299-325.

Washington: GPO.

Moser, C. A., andG. Kalton. 1971. Survey meth¬

ods in social investigation. London: Heinemann.

Murphy, F. C. 1958. Regulating flood-plain de¬

velopment. Department of Geography Research

Paper no. 56. Chicago: University of Chicago

Press.

National Science Foundation. 1980. A report on

flood hazard mitigation. Washington: National

Science Foundation.

Pierce, N. R., and J. Hagstrom. 1978. One com¬

munity’s answer to flood relief. Nat. J. (Oc¬

tober): 1648-51.

Tobin, G. A., and T. Peacock. 1982. Problems

and issues in comprehensive planning for a small

community: The case of Soldiers Grove, Wis¬

consin. Environ. Prof. 4 (1): 43-50.

U.S. Army Corps of Engineers. 1975. Review of

alternatives for flood damage reduction on the

Kickapoo River. Washington: GPO.

U.S. Congress. Senate Oversight Hearings. 1975.

Committee on Public Works. Hearings before

the subcommittee on water resources. 94th

Cong., 1st sess., 6734-49, 7141-60.

U.S. Department of Commerce. 1982. Census of

population 1980. Vol. 1, Characteristics of

population; Part 51, Wisconsin. Washington:

GPO.

U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Devel¬

opment. 1978. Disaster information. Washing¬

ton: Office of Federal Disaster Assistance

Administration.

U.S. Water Resources Council. 1981. State and

local acquisition of floodplains and wetlands:

A handbook on the use of acquisition in flood-

plain management. Prepared by Ralph M. Field

Associates.

Youmans, E. G. 1977. The rural aged. Ann. Am.

Acad. Poli. Soc. Sci. 429 (January): 81-90.

96

Depth, Substrate, and Turbidity Relationships

of Some Wisconsin Lake Plants

Stanley A. Nichols

Abstract. The depth distribution and substrate and turbidity preferences are described for 78

aquatic plant taxa found in 68 Wisconsin lakes. In general it was found that 1) taxa numbers

decrease with increasing depth; 2) taxa richness is not different between substrate types; 3)

many species are restricted to shallow water, while others are broadly tolerant of water depth

variation; 4) the depth distribution of many species is skewed towards shallow water; 5) the

maximum growth depth for many species is highly variable; 6) there is a significant linear

relationship between water clarity and maximum depth of plant growth; and 7) water clarity,

water depth, turbidity tolerance, and substrate preference influence species association.

Water depth, substrate, and turbidity are

important factors affecting the growth

and distribution of aquatic plants in lakes

(Spence 1967; Swindale and Curtis 1957;

Pearsall 1920; Barko, Adams, and Clesceri

1986; Lind 1976; Dale 1981). Shallow-water

plants may be limited by mechanical damage

from ice, waves, or fluctuating water levels;

deep-water plants may be restricted by light

penetration, temperature, or nutrients. Tur¬

bidity decreases light penetration and acts

selectively, favoring species more adapted to

turbid conditions. Nutrient concentrations,

texture, amount of organic matter, and sil-

tation rate are some substrate parameters that

influence plant growth and distribution. Water

depth, turbidity, and substrate are inter¬

related. Increasing water depth decreases soil

particle size, turbulence, and light (Spence

1967).

Stanley A. Nichols is Professor of Environmental Sci¬

ences, University of Wisconsin-Extension. He is a bi¬

ologist with the Wisconsin Geological and Natural His¬

tory Survey, and he is associated with the Environmental

Resources Center and the Department of Liberal Studies

at UW -Madison. Past articles in Transactions have dealt

with aquatic plant resources in Wisconsin waters.

Is is difficult to describe habitat prefer¬

ences without detailed ecophysiological stud¬

ies of individual species. Variations in life

cycle, morphology, physiology, and repro¬

duction determine how a species relates to

the aquatic environment. Detailed life history

and ecophysiological studies are available for

relatively few, usually nuisance, species

(Nichols and Shaw 1986).

The depth, substrate, and turbidity pref¬

erences of 78 species of submergent, emer¬

gent, and floating-leaved plants in 68 Wis¬

consin lakes are described in this paper.

Specifically, the depth range where species

were found; the species preference for hab¬

itats described by substrate, water depth, and

turbidity; and the species response to various

substrate-depth habitats are described. In ad¬

dition, growth and distribution of species in

Wisconsin lakes are compared to responses

at other geographic locations. This infor¬

mation is useful for conducting further eco¬

physiological studies of individual species and

for management purposes.

Methods and Analysis

Between 1975 and 1983 detailed macro¬

phyte surveys were completed for 68 Wis-

97

Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

consin lakes. The lakes were sampled by

Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources

(WDNR) field staff or by private consultants

for the WDNR Office of Inland Lake Re¬

newal (OILR). The primary purposes of the

surveys were to design lake management

strategies or to collect benchmark limno¬

logical data.

The lakes represent a broad range of Wis¬

consin lake types with regard to geographic

distribution (Fig. 1), water chemistry

(Table 1), and human impact. Physical and

chemical data for each lake were collected

during macrophyte sampling or were col¬

lected earlier as part of surface-water re¬

source inventories for each county.

Field methods

To assure geographical coverage of a lake,

the surveyors selected sampling points using

a grid system. Grid size and the number of

sampling points per lake varied with lake

size, i.e., larger lakes contained more sam¬

pling points on a larger grid.

At every sampling point water depth was

measured to the nearest 0.1m, and substrate

was categorized as being hard (type 1: sand

or gravel) or soft (type 2: silt, muck, or floc-

culent). All plants within a circle 2 m in di¬

ameter around the sampling point were re¬

Figure 1. Location of sampled lakes

corded and were assigned a 1 to 5 density

rank based on the criteria established by lessen

and Lound (1962). Unknown species were

collected and sent to the Wisconsin Geolog¬

ical and Natural History Survey for identi¬

fication. Plant identification followed Fassett

(1969). Specimens were then sent to the Uni¬

versity of Wisconsin-Madison herbarium as

voucher specimens.

Analysis

Because the study is meant to determine

where plants grow, only quadrats with plants

were analyzed. Due to differing water clar¬

ities, plant depth for some analyses is ex¬

pressed as a percentage of the maximum depth

at which plants grew in each lake. Depth

classes of 0-25%, 26-50%, 51-75%, and

76-100% of maximum growth are reported

as depths 1, 2, 3, and 4.

Data were analyzed using standard de¬

scriptive statistics, boxplots, chi-square,

analysis of variance, correlations, and linear

regression (SAS Institute 1985; Lotus De¬

velopment Corporation 1985). Because more

information is available about common spe¬

cies than about rare ones, different levels of

analysis were necessary.

Results

Species occurrence and habitat richness

A total of 123 plant taxa were found in the

68 lakes. The numbers of taxa are nearly the

same for the two substrate types but declined

with relative depth (Table 2). The decreasing

taxa number with increasing depth was ex¬

pected. The similar number of taxa for both

substrates was not expected.

The similarity of species occurrence was

also compared for each depth- substrate class.

This was done by calculating the relative fre¬

quency of species occurrence for each depth-

substrate class from information provided in

Table 3. The classes were compared using

the similarity index 2W/A+B (Bray and Curtis

1957). The vegetation in the shallow-water,

hard-substrate habitat (i.e. , depth 1 , substrate

1) was least similar (i.e., most dissimilar) to

98

Specific Depth of

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Lake name County alkalinity pH at 25° C Secchi Area >3m <1m sampled plant growth influence

Depth, Substrate, and Turbidity Relationships of Lake Plants

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Specific Depth of

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Depth, Substrate, and Turbidity Relationships of Lake Plants

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other stands (Table 4). The shallowest water

was the least similar of all the depth classes.

There was little difference in similarity be¬

tween hard and soft substrates.

Taxa with fewer than ten total occurrences,

taxa identified only to the generic level ex¬

cept for Char a spp. and Nitella spp., and

free floating species such as Lemna spp. and

Wolfia spp., which have little relationship to

depth and substrate, were eliminated from

further consideration. Ceratophyllum demer-

sum was the most common species. It oc¬

curred in 34% of the quadrats and in two-

thirds of the lakes. All species with more than

two hundred occurrences are common aquatic

plants in Wisconsin. All occurred in at least

10% of the lakes. Many of the less common

species are either emergent, or they are found

in bogs or extremely hard- or extremely soft-

water lakes. They have the most restricted

habitat requirements.

Depth distribution and maximum depth of

growth

The maximum depth of any macrophyte

was 7.8 m in Clear Lake, Oneida County.

Clear Lake also had the greatest secchi disk

reading (Table 1). A least-squares regression

of 2.72 + 0.62 X describes the linear rela¬

tionship between maximum growth depth and

secchi depth in these lakes (Fig. 2). There is

a significant positive correlation between the

two factors (r = .58, N = 68, p < .001).

A maximum growth depth versus secchi disk

regression was calculated for lakes where a

charophyte ( Char a sp. or Nitella sp.) oc¬

curred in the deepest quadrat. This regression

was not significantly different from the

regression in which only non-charophytes were

found in the deepest quadrat.

The linear relationship between the max¬

imum depth of growth and secchi depth was

tested for the 43 species that occurred in five

or more lakes (Table 3). A significant posi¬

tive correlation (p < .05) was found for 13

species (Table 5). Eriocaulon septangulare

showed the strongest correlation, and all but

one of the species showing correlation were

submergent.

101

Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

Table 2. Distribution of taxa by relative depth-substrate class

Grand total taxa = 123

Boxplots (Fig. 3) show the depth distri¬

bution of individual species with ten or more

occurrences. The species are arranged in de¬

scending order of median depth. More than

75% of all plants were found in less than 3 m

of water. Chara spp. was found at 7.8 m,

the maximum depth for any species. It also

occurred over the broadest depth range. Na-

jas flexilis followed closely behind Chara with

a maximum depth of 7.5 m. Both species had

a broad outlier range. Nitella spp. had the

greatest median depth and the greatest depth

for the 75% quartile. Myriophyllum hetero-

phyllum, M. farwellii, and Isoetes macro-

spora had the broadest depth range when out¬

liers were not considered.

Species common in deep water were also

found in shallow water, but species common

in shallow were often not found in deep water.

Generally speaking, species with shallow

median depths are emergent species. How¬

ever, Potamogeton foliosus, P. oakesianus,

and P. vaginatus are submerged species with

a shallow median depth.

The maximum depths of plant growth for

46 species were compared to literature values

(Sheldon and Boylen 1977; Wilson 1941;

Schmid 1965; Denniston 1921; Lillie 1986;

Lind 1976). Twenty-three species were found

at a greater maximum depth in other lakes

(Table 6), including six species that were

found at greater maximum depth in a later

study of Devil’s Lake (Lillie 1986). Some

differences in maximum depth probably re¬

late to limnological conditions and others to

the sampling technique used to establish

maximum depth (see Spence, 1967, for a

discussion of problems related to determining

maximum depth of growth).

Various depth statistics were tested, using

correlation analysis, to determine how useful

they might be for predicting the sequential

order of maximum growth depth in a lake

(i.e., in a lake with a given flora, which

species will have the deepest maximum depth

of growth, the second deepest, and so forth).

The statistics tested were median depth, the

trimmed maximum depth (i.e. , the maximum

depth or the maximum depth not considering

outliers, whichever is the most shallow), the

maximum depth, the median of the maximum

depth for species that occurred in five or more

lakes, and the median of the maximum depth/

secchi disk for species that occurred in five

or more lakes (Table 6). Based on median

correlation values, the best predictor of the

sequential order of maximum growth depth

is median maximum depth (Table 7). Median

depth and median of maximum depth/secchi

ratio predicted maximum depth order nearly

as well. Maximum depth was the poorest

predictor of maximum depth order. On the

average, all methods were better at predicting

maximum depth order for Wisconsin lakes

than for non- Wisconsin lakes.

Substrate and depth preference

Substrate and depth preferences were tested

using a chi-square analysis on species oc¬

currence. The hypothesis tested was that the

distribution of a species is not significantly

different from the distribution of all vege¬

tated quadrats (Table 8).

Because each species acts as an individual,

significant variation from the all-species dis¬

tribution is expected. More interesting and

informative are how and to what degree each

species varies. A Z score of (observed/

102

Table 3. Number of species occurrence

Depth, Substrate, and Turbidity Relationships of Lake Plants

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Depth Depth Depth Depth Depth Depth Depth Depth Occurrence of No. lakes Association of

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Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

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Depth Depth Depth Depth Depth Depth Depth Depth Occurrence of No. lakes Association of

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Depth , Substrate, and Turbidity Relationships of Lake Plants

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Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

Table 4. Similarity of stands based on relative frequency

Figure 2. Secchi disk reading versus maximum depth of plant growth

expected)/(square root expected) was calcu¬

lated for each cell of the chi-square table. If

the score was less than ± 1 Z, the association

is weak (designated + or — in Table 9). If

it ranged from 1 to 2 Z, the association is

moderate (designated + + or - in

Table 9). If Z was greater than 2, it is a strong

association (designated + + + or - - in

Table 9).

A valid chi-square test requires a minimum

number of occurrences in each cell. To fit

the criteria of a valid test, species with dif-

106

Depth , Substrate, and Turbidity Relationships of Lake Plants

Table 5. Positive correlation between

maximum plant growth depth and

secchi depth (p < .05)

ferent numbers of occurrences had to be tested

in different ways. All species with 50 or more

occurrences were tested with the full eight¬

cell chi-square pattern of four depth classes

and two substrate types. Species with 25 to

50 occurrences were analyzed separately in

a four-cell depth preference test and a two¬

cell substrate preference test. Species with

15 to 25 occurrences were analyzed with a

two-cell substrate preference pattern. Species

with fewer than 15 occurrences were not

analyzed.

The patterns of positive and negative as¬

sociations were sorted until species with like

patterns occurred close to each other in a list.

The list was subjectively split, and species

groups were labelled with habitat preference

based on the pattern of positive and negative

associations (Table 9).

Twenty-six species showed a preference

for soft sediment; 14 species preferred hard

bottoms. A depth preference with no sub¬

strate preference was evident for 27 species.

The majority of these species showed a pref¬

erence for shallow water. No species showed

a unique preference for hard bottom and deep

water. With minor exceptions, species showed

a smooth transition between adjacent habi¬

tats. No species showed a strongly bimodal

distribution.

Myriophyllum heterophyllum, M. verticil-

latum, Potamogeton epihydrus, P. pectina-

tus, P. illinoensis, Heteranthera dubia, and

Char a spp. are classified as shallow species

by this technique. They may have a deeper

distribution than mid- to deep-water species

when boxplots are compared. Depth in this

test is relative to the maximum depth of plant

growth in a lake, whereas boxplots compare

absolute depth. Therefore, the two tests need

not give the same results.

Species association with turbid water

Twenty-one percent of the quadrats oc¬

curred in turbid lakes (lakes with secchi disk

readings of 1.5 m or less, Table 1). A chi-

square test was done on the 43 species that

occurred in five or more lakes to determine

whether they were found more or less fre¬

quently than expected in turbid water

(Table 3). A Z score was calculated as noted

previously to describe the strength of the

association.

No significant association was found for

14 of the species, 15 species showed a pos¬

itive association for turbid water, and 14 spe¬

cies showed a negative association with tur¬

bid water (Table 3).

Species density and habitat type

Differences in species density ranking for

the four depth classes and two substrate types

were tested using a two-way analysis of var¬

iance. Because of differences in occurrence,

the test had to be modified for some species.

Originally all species with 50 or more oc¬

currences were tested for depth, substrate,

and depth-substrate interaction. Because of

data limitations, two-way analysis of vari¬

ance could not provide a valid interaction

model for some species. In these cases the

interaction test was dropped and the analysis

was recalculated for only depth and substrate.

This test asks whether there is a significant

difference in mean density rank for a single

species between habitats where it is found.

A probability of F < .05 and at least a .5

difference between the largest and smallest

mean density were the criteria established to

107

Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

Species

0 1m 2m 3m 4m 5m 6m 7m 8m

i - 1 — - n - 1 - — i - r— r— — — i — 1

Nitella spp.

Myriophyllum heterophyllum

Ranunculus reptans

Myriophyllum farwellii

Isoetes macrospora

Potamogeton robbinsii

Myriophyllum tenellum

Myriophyllum exalbescens

Myriophyllum spicatum

Ceratophyllum demersum

Potamogeton praelongus

Najas marina

Potamogeton berchtoldii

Potamogeton pectinatus

Potamogeton richardsonii

Najas gracillima

Isoetes echinospora

Myriophyllum verticillatum

Potamogeton zosteriformis

Lobelia dortmanna

Elodea canadensis

Potamogeton filiformis

Potamogeton amplifolius

Utricularia gibba

Cyperus engelmannii

Potamogeton illinoensis

Vallisneria americana

Najas flexilis

Chara spp.

Gratiola aurea

Utricularia intermedia

Heteranthera dubia

Potamogeton diversifolius

Eleocharis robbinsii

Potamogeton obtusifolius

Potamogeton pusillus

Utricularia vulgaris

Utricularia geminiscapa

Megalodanta beckii

Eriocaulon septangulare

Potamogeton vaseyi

Potamogeton epihydrus

Potamogeton strictifolius

Potamogeton gramineus

Nymphaea odorata

Brasenia schreberi

Ceratophyllum echinatum

Nuphar variegatum

I- -

I -

— H

-I

. —I

■—I

H

H

I - •=£>

Figure 3. Boxplots of species depth distributions. Definitions follow Ryan, Joiner, and Ryan

(1981)

108

Depth, Substrate, and Turbidity Relationships of Lake Plants

Species

Eleocharis palustris

Polygonum amphibium

Zanichellia palustris

Potamogeton crispus

Ranunculus trichophyllus

Potamogeton natans

Ranunculus longirostris

Potamogeton nodosus

Nuphar advena

Eleocharis acicularis

Nymphaea tuberosa

Zizania aquatica

Leersia oryzoides

Sparganium chlorocarpum

Pontederia cordata

Sagittaria rigida

Scirpus americanus

Potamogeton foliosus

Sparganium angustifolium

Potamogeton oakesianus

Scirpus validus

Duiichium arundinaceum

Sagittaria graminea

Carex aquatilis

Elatine minima

Sparganium eurycarpum

Typha latifolia

Typha angustifolia

Sagittaria latifolia

Potamogeton vaginatus

1m

2m 3m 4m 5m 6m 7m

8m

Figure 3— Continued

test for significant differences. For any depth-

substrate cell in a single test to be signifi¬

cantly different from another cell, the p <

.05 criterion was used, but the mean density

difference of .5 was not used.

Twenty-six species showed no significant

difference across the range of depths and sub¬

strates. Five species showed significantly

higher densities on soft substrates (Fig. 4).

Seven species showed significantly different

densities according to depth (Fig. 5). Density

of Elodea canadensis and Eriocaulon sep¬

tangular e differed depending on depth and

substrate, but the depth- substrate interaction

was not significant (Fig. 4 and 5).

The density of the remaining ten species

109

Table 6. Comparison of maximum plant growth depths

Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters

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